Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1

took a pace backwards with his palms raised,
‘There’s no way I’m going on the back of a bike with you. I’ve seen you on the road. You’re a madwoman.’
‘That’s a pleasant thing to say to a friend - not.’ Kitty tried to put it in his hands. ‘I won’t kill you. You’re being soft.’
He folded his arms. ‘I have a very sensible attachment to my life - and my limbs, thank you.’
‘Come on. I’m paying the wages so do as you’re told.’
Sam grinned. ‘I love it when you’re mistressful.’ He accepted the headgear. ‘Where are we going?’
‘The theatre.’
‘The theatre? Isn’t this the wrong style of hat? Why the theatre?’
‘For coffee at a big clean table - and to bring back memories. Come on.’
Sam tightened the helmet strap under his chin and shrugged into his Parka. The mottled mirror reflected his idiotic ensemble, and with a sigh, he followed his employer.
~~~
‘Remember this place?’ Kitty asked.
The theatre foyer seemed smaller and scruffier than he recalled. ‘Yes.’ He nodded to his left. ‘We had drama lessons up there. I wonder if they still have art on the walls.’ He made as if to go upstairs but Kitty grabbed his sleeve.
‘Oh no you don’t. No time for art; we’ve got work to do. I’ve got pages of stuff from the siblishes and Liz to collate.’ She yanked Sam towards the smoked glass doors of the bistro. ‘Let’s see if this is still the same.’
And there they were, straight back in their childhood. Same tables and chairs. Same smell. The pair looked at each other, and Kitty gripped Sam’s hand and muttered, ‘God. I can almost see them.’
Sam swallowed and squeezed hers back. His eyes travelled across the restaurant to the table where his mother always sat with Josh on her lap, talking to Fee and Millie. Today, a solitary woman relaxed in Mum’s seat reading something on her phone. Oblivious to the ghosts keeping her company: their mothers, waiting while Sam, Kitty, and Livvie danced and prance. It was at that table in the corner that the women’s friendship began; the start of everything. ‘Good job they didn’t know what was ahead,’ he murmured.
‘Come on.’ Kitty said.
At a different table, Kitty pushed a laptop at Sam. ‘Here, you record it all as we talk. I think a spreadsheet might be best.’
A tangle of ‘speed-hand’ romped across the pages of her notebook and they worked through it and the notes from Liz, slotting in rough dates.
‘We need a lot more than this,’ observed Sam.
There were very few events, and many of those had no date. Sam squinted at the screen. ‘Basically, we know when our mothers left our fathers, in autumn and winter 1991. Millie opened Feast, and we all celebrated in March 1994. We know roughly when Max first dined there, and that he came back on another occasion… We could try asking him for a more precise date. I wonder if he’d talk to us.’
Kitty ignored that and distracted Sam by saying, ‘Then there’s our dads’ comings and goings. I’m not sure how relevant those are, as they happened a while before Millie died. The business when my dad battered the blokes next door. I seem to think that was spring.’
‘Which spring?’
‘Good question. Soon after we left, I think. So, I would have been about five.’
‘I’ll put spring 1993 then, would that be right?’ Sam tapped on the keys.
Kitty did a quick calculation. ‘Yes. I was six in that November, remember? My dad came to my birthday party and got drunk. Mum chucked him out.’
‘I remember.’
They sat in silence - Sam at a loss for words, Kitty trying not to be cross, even now, at the ruination of her birthday celebration. Then Sam propped his chin on one hand. ‘It’s bound to have been a bad time for everyone. Funny, I’ve never considered that before; how the grownups must have felt. First you and your mum lived at Crispin Road alone, then we all turned up. It got crowded. I bet that wasn’t what Fee had in mind when you moved in there.’
‘I suppose not. I haven’t thought about it, either. I remember how my dad felt because he went to pieces, but I always imagined our mums had it under control. I bet they didn’t, though.’
‘Do you think they felt guilty?’ Sam’s fingers toyed with his napkin.
‘Well, we can’t ask them now, can we?’ Kitty snapped.
Sam disregarded her irritation. ‘We could add seemingly irrelevant details in a new column. Might come in handy sometime.’
‘OK, so what have we got first?’
‘Your mum leaves your dad. Not much we can add to that.’
Kitty screwed up her eyes. ‘What was the woman next door called - with Charlie, Finn and Annie… Victoria?’
‘Nicola,’ said Sam.
‘That’s it. I need to see what she remembers.’ She made a note, and Sam added this detail to the spreadsheet. ‘OK. What next?’ he asked.
‘Your Mum moved in.’
Sam typed something.
‘What have you written?’
‘Just that she had no job and was our primary carer.’
‘I wish I’d thought about all this before.’ Kitty’s brow creased. ‘I’m trying to put myself into Twitch’s shoes now. Imagine having all of us on her hands. One minute she had two children and suddenly three more arrived.’
‘And we didn’t respond well to leaving our dads behind. It would have been tough for everyone,’ said Sam. He squinted at the laptop. ‘I’ve got your birthday next. We don’t need to put about your dad.’
‘It might be relevant. Can’t think why, but we’re trying to build a full picture of their lives.’
‘OK.’ Sam typed for a while, then read out his words: ‘Paul got drunk. Fee chucked him out. Nicola there. House newly painted. Egg sandwiches.’
‘Egg sandwiches? That’s stupid.’ Kitty met Sam’s grin