‘Are you threatening me?’ David scoffed. ‘I should call the police, that’s what I should do. This is outrageous.’ The idea of her father calling the police on tiny Talia Martakis almost made Millie smile. Almost.
‘Call them,’ Millie said as she moved forward to stand next to Talia and squeezed her hand back. ‘I think I’ve still got Rachel’s number in my handbag. I wonder whatthatheadline would look like?’
The week after her father’s abysmal press conference where Millie had been a very obvious no-show, Rachel Mulholland had published an article on the Morrisons. Somehow she’d dug up all sorts of sources from Millie’s past: ex-nannies fired for complaining, teachers concerned about the way Millie was being treated, school contemporaries who thought it was unfair for Millie to be with children much older than her.
But even more damning than that was the up-to-date information about Millie’s estrangement from her parents, coupled with the photographs. It seemed that Rachel was skilled in the art of covert photography. To be honest Millie thought that the images she’d published had probably been the deciding factor for the public. There was one in the bathroom at the Savoy. Valerie Morrison was gripping Millie’s arm, her face twisted with fury; Millie’s back was to the camera but you could see her face reflected in the mirror above the sinks. Her expression was so achingly sad and resigned that even Millie had been a little shocked by it. Various other photographs had been taken that night and on the day of the press conference – one of them with Gammy and Pav in between Millie and her parents when those ugly words had been exchanged, all of which Rachel had recorded. As it turned out, the public don’t like parents who neglect their child, or ones who would blackmail them by threatening an elderly relative.
Millie had not been over the moon about the articles. She had been bluffing when she said she had Rachel’s number – she would never have wanted that story out there. The woman had contacted her for comment of course, but Millie chose to say nothing. Yes, her father didn’t deserve to be the leader of his party, but not because he was a crap father: his politics were flawed and he was a lying, manipulative bastard who would do anything to get the power he craved.
Millie had once gone to a lecture about personality disorders. The psychiatrist drew a graph with power on one axis and love/dependence on the other. Average people were plotted in the middle of the graph with some power being important to them (like earning money and their career) but also family and love being of equal importance. Millie knew straightaway where to plot her parents: up the top of the power axis with very little love, right along with the serial killers. The difference with her parents was that they didn’t achieve power by killing people; they achieved it through more conventional means and needed a conventional family in order to do that. Having Millie was never about love; it was about being more credible. And having a gifted child was never about helping Millie achieve her dreams; it was about using her to gain more power.
Millie was a firm believer that there were CEOs, high-profile politicians and world leaders who werenotlike her parents and serial killers. Not everybody in power was a psychopath. So, yes, she was pleased that the press had exposed her dad, as now someone better could step into his shoes. But there was no way Millie would ever do anything to garner more press attention. For a few weeks things had been uncomfortable. Had she not had the support she did, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to bear it. But judging from her parents’ pale faces and horror-filled expressions, they did not realise this at all. It only went to show how little they knew her.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ whispered her mother, but her voice had lost its edge as it broke with uncertainty.
Millie did something that she had never done before, something she’d seen Kira and Libby do frequently in an argument: she put her hands on her hips.
‘Try me.’
Valerie Morrison’s eyes dropped to her daughter’s attitude-filled stance and surprise crossed her face before she carefully blanked her expression. ‘Fine,’ she said, retreating with her husband and sweeping the room with a contemptuous look as they moved to the door. ‘Have your pathetic little wedding and live your pathetic small life without us. I hope you and your new, ridiculous, mentally unstable family will be very happy.’ The door slammed after them both and Millie smiled.
‘We will,’ she whispered as she turned back to the people that mattered to her.
*****
Nine years later …
‘How old was Gammy when she died, Mummy?’
Millie’s breath caught in her throat as she saw her little man standing in the doorway in a smart shirt and dark trousers. Unlike her other two children, whose outfits had already undergone two changes since breakfast in an attempt to keep them clean for the funeral, Leon’s was still immaculate. She smiled and walked over to him, then crouched down so she was at his eye level.
‘She was ninety-eight, darling,’ she told him, smoothing his dark curls away from his face.
He frowned and stared over her shoulder for a moment. ‘Does that mean that I’ve got ninety more years alive?’
‘Well … uh … I’m not sure how –’
‘Because that doesn’t seem like a very long time at all.’ He was speaking more quickly now, his words tumbling out in his anxiety. Trust Lee to worry about his own mortality before most of his friends had even learnt their times tables.
‘Lee, my darling,’ Millie said, shaking her head and pulling him in for a hug. His arms came up around her neck and he buried his face in her hair. It was down, just as her husband liked it, and it was covered in all manner of stuff transferred from little hands that morning: a few cornflakes, chocolate, some glitter. Appearance would always be important to Millie, but she had learnt to let go of the obsessive perfectionism over the years. When Leon drew back his expression was calmer; he needed that affection to anchor him when his little brain went into overdrive. His brother and sister might be more pushy and outgoing about … well, everything really, but it was Leon who really thrived on regular hugs even though he was the least likely to ask for them.
‘But … but I can count to ninety,’ he whispered, looking down at his shoes, which were shiny from the polish he’d insisted on applying that morning. ‘What if I don’twantto die then?’
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Lean Bean. Everyone dies at some point. But it doesn’t have to be a sad thing. Look at what we’re doing today. Gammy didn’t want us to stand around being sad, so we’re going to play bingo and eat sausage rolls before we scatter her ashes. She had a good life and she was ready to go. She wants us to be happy too.’
‘I miss her.’
Millie blinked as her eyes started to sting; she kissed Leon on the nose. ‘I miss her too, baby,’ she whispered back. ‘But we couldn’t keep her forever. She’s got other stuff to do, up in heaven.’
Leon looked off into the middle distance again; she could almost hear his mind whirring away. ‘About heaven and God, Mummy …’
Millie laughed and pulled him in for another hug. ‘Let’s leave the theological debate for another day, shall we?’ she said as she swung him from side to side. Two sets of thundering footsteps gave her a short warning before the two compact bodies collided with her and Leon from either side. Millie drew back enough to get a look at them all and started laughing again. Costas’s face was streaked with mud and Tallie’s dress was covered in a mixture of paint and glitter, whilst one of her bunches sat up on the side of her head and the other hung down rather forlornly, with the ribbon only just holding on to the silky mass.
Tallie moved into the centre of the enforced group hug and rugby-tackled Leon, the low centre of gravity of her little body taking his longer and leaner one down to the floor. Once there she sat on his chest and tickled him. Costas broke away from his mother to join in and soon the three of them were rolling around the floor of the kitchen together. Death and theology discussions thankfully put on hold, as Leon’s laughter, mixed with his siblings’, filled the kitchen.
‘What was that about?’ Pav’s low murmur sounded in Millie’s ear as his strong arm came around her middle to pull her back into his body.
‘Just the usual Leon worries,’ Millie said, turning in his arms to look up into his handsome face. ‘You know: death, mortality, God, the meaning of life. Standard stuff.’
