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‘No；’　she　said；　her　back　to　him。　‘I　never　saw　it。’

He　watched　her　work　the　pump；　and　observed　the　pressure　dial　with　the　indulgent　smile　of　a　man　observing　some　pagan　ritual。

‘Too　high；’　she　told　him；　as　the　needle　registered　one　hundred　and　seventy　over　a　hundred。

‘I’m　on　pills　for　it；’　he　said；　scratching　where　the　cuff　had　been；　and　letting　down　his　sleeve。　‘Dr　Crawford　seems　happy。’

She　scanned　the　list　of　his　medications　onscreen。

‘You’re　on　amlodipine　and　bendroflumethiazide　for　your　blood　pressure；　yes？　And　simvastatin　for　your　heart　…　no　beta…blocker　…’

‘Because　of　my　asthma；’　said　Howard；　tweaking　his　sleeve　straight。

‘…　right　…　and　aspirin。’　She　turned　to　face　him。　‘Howard；　your　weight　is　the　single　biggest　factor　in　all　of　your　health　problems。　Have　you　ever　been　referred　to　the　nutritionist？’

‘I’ve　run　a　deli　for　thirty…five　years；’　he　said；　still　smiling。　‘I　don’t　need　teaching　about　food。’

‘A　few　lifestyle　changes　could　make　a　big　difference。　If　you　were　able　to　lose　…’

With　the　ghost　of　a　wink；　he　said　fortably；　‘Keep　it　simple。　All　I　need　is　cream　for　the　itch。’

Venting　her　temper　on　the　keyboard；　Parminder　banged　out　prescriptions　for　anti…fungal　and　steroid　creams；　and　when　they　were　printed；　handed　them　to　Howard　without　another　word。

‘Thank　you　kindly；’　he　said；　as　he　heaved　himself　out　of　the　chair；　‘and　a　very　good　day　to　you。’
II
‘Wha’　d’you　wan’？’

Terri　Weedon’s　shrunken　body　was　dwarfed　by　her　own　doorway。　She　put　claw…like　hands　on　either　jamb；　trying　to　make　herself　more　imposing；　barring　the　entrance。　It　was　eight　in　the　morning；　Krystal　had　just　left　with　Robbie。

‘Wanna　talk　ter　yeh；’　said　her　sister。　Broad　and　mannish　in　her　white　vest　and　tracksuit　bottoms；　Cheryl　sucked　on　a　cigarette　and　squinted　at　Terri　through　the　smoke。　‘Nana　Cath’s　died；’　she　said。

‘Wha’？’

‘Nana　Cath’s　died；’　repeated　Cheryl　loudly。　‘Like　you　fuckin’　care。’

But　Terri　had　heard　the　first　time。　The　news　had　hit　her　so　hard　in　the　guts　that　she　had　asked　to　hear　it　again　out　of　confusion。

‘Are　you　blasted？’　demanded　Cheryl；　glaring　into　the　taut　and　empty　face。

‘Fuck　off。　No；　I　ain’t。’

It　was　the　truth。　Terri　had　not　used　that　morning；　she　had　not　used　for　three　weeks。　She　took　no　pride　in　it；　there　was　no　star　chart　pinned　up　in　the　kitchen；　she　had　managed　longer　than　this　before；　months；　even。　Obbo　had　been　away　for　the　past　fortnight；　so　it　had　been　easier。　But　her　works　were　still　in　the　old　biscuit　tin；　and　the　craving　burned　like　an　eternal　flame　inside　her　frail　body。

‘She　died　yesterday。　Danielle　on’y　fuckin’　bothered　to　lemme　know　this　mornin’；’　said　Cheryl。　‘An’　I　were　gonna　go　up　the　’ospital　an’　see　’er　again　today。　Danielle’s　after　the　’ouse。　Nana　Cath’s　’ouse。　Greedy　bitch。’

Terri　had　not　been　inside　the　little　terraced　house　on　Hope　Street　for　a　long　time；　but　when　Cheryl　spoke　she　saw；　very　vividly；　the　knick…knacks　on　the　sideboard　and　the　　curtains。　She　imagined　Danielle　there；　pocketing　things；　ferreting　in　cupboards。

‘Funeral’s　Tuesday　at　nine；　up　the　crematorium。’

‘Right；’　said　Terri。

‘It’s　our　’ouse　as　much　as　Danielle’s；’　said　Cheryl。　‘I’ll　tell　’er　we　wan’　our　share。　Shall　I？’

‘Yeah；’　said　Terri。

She　watched　until　Cheryl’s　canary　hair　and　tattoos　had　vanished　around　the　corner；　then　retreated　inside。

Nana　Cath　dead。　They　had　not　spoken　for　a　long　time。　I’m　washin’　my　’ands　of　yeh。　I’ve　’ad　enough；　Terri；　I’ve　’ad　it。　She　had　never　stopped　seeing　Krystal；　though。　Krystal　had　bee　her　blue…eyed　girl。　She　had　been　to　watch　Krystal　row　in　her　stupid　boat　races。　She　had　said　Krystal’s　name　on　her　deathbed；　not　Terri’s。

Fine；　then；　you　old　bitch。　Like　I　care。　Too　late　now。

Tight…chested　and　trembling；　Terri　moved　through　her　stinking　kitchen　in　search　of　cigarettes；　but　really　craving　the　spoon；　the　flame　and　the　needle。

Too　late；　now；　to　say　to　the　old　lady　what　she　ought　to　have　said。　Too　late；　now；　to　bee　again　her　Terri…Baby。　Big　girls　don’t　cry　…　big　girls　don’t　cry　…　It　had　been　years　before　she　had　realized　that　the　song　Nana　Cath　had　sung　her；　in　her　rasping　smoker’s　voice；　was　really　‘Sherry　Baby’。

Terri’s　hands　scuttled　like　vermin　through　the　debris　on　the　work　tops；　searching　for　fag　packets；　ripping　them　apart；　finding　them　all　empty。　Krystal　had　probably　had　the　last　of　them；　she　was　a　greedy　little　cow；　just　like　Danielle；　riffling　through　Nana　Cath’s　possessions；　trying　to　keep　her　death　quiet　from　the　rest　of　them。

There　was　a　long　stub　lying　on　a　greasy　plate；　Terri　wiped　it　off　on　her　T…shirt　and　lit　it　on　the　gas　cooker。　Inside　her　head；　she　heard　her　own　eleven…year…old　voice。

I　wish　you　was　my　mummy。

She　did　not　want　to　remember。　She　leaned　up　against　the　sink；　smoking；　trying　to　look　forward；　to　imagine　the　clash　that　was　ing　between　her　two　older　sisters。　Nobody　messed　with　Cheryl　and　Shane：　they　were　both　handy　with　their　fists；　and　Shane　had　put　burning　rags　through　some　poor　bastard’s　letter　box　not　so　long　ago；　it　was　why　he’d　done　his　last　stretch；　and　he　would　still　be　inside　if　the　house　had　not　been　empty　at　the　time。　But　Danielle　had　weapons　Cheryl　did　not：　money　and　her　own　home；　and　a　landline。　She　knew　official　people　and　how　to　talk　to　them。　She　was　the　kind　that　had　spare　keys；　and　mysterious　bits　of　paperwork。

Yet　Terri　doubted　that　Danielle　would　get　the　house；　even　with　her　secret　weapons。　There　were　more　than　just　the　three　of　them；　Nana　Cath　had　had　loads　of　grandchildren　and　great…grandchildren。　After　Terri　had　been　taken　into　care；　her　father　had　had　more　kids。　Nine　in　total；　Cheryl　reckoned；　to　five　different　mothers。　Terri　had　never　met　her　half…siblings；　but　Krystal　had　told　her　that　Nana　Cath　saw　them。

‘Yeah？’　she　had　retorted。　‘I　hope　they　rob　her　blind；　the　stupid　old　bitch。’

So　she　saw　the　rest　of　the　family；　but　they　weren’t　exactly　angels；　from　all　that　Terri　had　heard。　It　was　only　she；　who　had　once　been　Terri…Baby；　whom　Nana　Cath　had　cut　adrift　for　ever。

When　you　were　straight；　evil　thoughts　and　memories　came　pouring　up　out　of　the　darkness　inside　you；　buzzing　black　flies　clinging　to　the　insides　of　your　skull。

I　wish　you　was　my　mummy。

In　the　vest　top　that　Terri　was　wearing　today；　her　scarred　arm；　neck　and　upper　back　were　fully　exposed；　swirled　into　unnatural　folds　and　creases　like　melted　ice　cream。　She　had　spent　six　weeks　in　the　burns　unit　of　South　West　General　when　she　was　eleven。

（‘How　did　it　happen；　love？’　asked　the　mother　of　the　child　in　the　next　bed。

Her　father　had　thrown　a　pan　of　burning　chip　fat　at　her。　Her　Human　League　T…shirt　had　caught　fire。

‘’Naccident；’　Terri　muttered。　It　was　what　she　had　told　everyone；　including　the　social　worker　and　the　nurses。　She　would　no　sooner　have　shopped　her　father　than　chosen　to　burn　alive。

Her　mother　had　walked　out　shortly　after　Terri’s　eleventh　birthday；　leaving　all　three　daughters　behind。　Danielle　and　Cheryl　had　moved　in　with　their　boyfriends’　families　within　days。　Terri　had　been　the　only　one　left；　trying　to　make　chips　for　her　father；　clinging　to　the　hope　that　her　mother　would　e　back。　Even　through　the　agony　and　the　terror　of　those　first　days　and　nights　in　the　hospital；　she　had　been　glad　it　had　happened；　because　she　was　sure　that　her　mum　would　hear　about　it　and　e　and　get　her。　Every　time　there　was　movement　at　the　end　of　the　ward；　Terri’s　heart　would　leap。

But　in　six　long　weeks　of　pain　and　loneliness；　the　only　visitor　had　been　Nana　Cath。　Through　quiet　afternoons　and　evenings；　Nana　Cath　had　e　to　sit　beside　her　granddaughter；　reminding　her　to　say　thank　you　to　the　nurses；　grim…faced　and　strict；　yet　leaking　unexpected　tenderness。

She　brought　Terri　a　cheap　plastic　doll　in　a　shiny　black　mac；　but　when　Terri　undressed　her；　she　had　nothing　on　underneath。

‘She’s　got　no　knickers；　Nana。’

And　Nana　Cath　had　giggled。　Nana　Cath　never　giggled。

I　wish　you　was　my　mummy。

She　had　wanted　Nana　Cath　to　take　her　home。　She　had　asked　her　to；　and　Nana　Cath　had　agreed。　Sometimes　Terri　thought　that　those　weeks　in　hospital　had　been　the　happiest　of　her　life；　even　with　the　pain。　It　had　been　so　safe；　and　people　had　been　kind　to　her　and　looked　after　her。　She　had　thought　that　she　was　going　home　with　Nana　Cath；　to　the　house　with　the　pretty　　curtains；　and　not　back　to　her　father；　not　back　to　the　bedroom　door　flying　open　in　the　night；　banging　off　the　David　Essex　poster　Cheryl　had　left　behind；　and　her　father　with　his　hand　on　his　fly；　approaching　the　bed　where　she　begged　him　not　to　…　）

The　adult　Terri　threw　the　smoking　filter　of　the　cigarette　stub　down　onto　the　kitchen　floor　and　strode　to　her　front　door。　She　needed　more　than　nicotine。　Down　the　path　and　along　the　street　she　marched；　walking　in　the　same　direction　as　Cheryl。　Out　of　the　corner　of　her　eye　she　saw　them；　two　of　her　neighbours　chatting　on　the　pavement；　watching　her　go　by。　Like　a　fucking　picture？　It’ll　last　longer。　Terri　knew　that　she　was　a　perennial　subject　of　gossip；　she　knew　what　they　said　about　her；　they　shouted　it　after　her　sometimes。　The　stuck…up　bitch　next　door　was　forever　whining　to　the　council　about　the　state　of　Terri’s　garden。　Fuck　them；　fuck　them；　fuck　them　…

She　was　jogging　along；　trying　to　outrun　the　memories。

You　don’t　even　know　who　the　father　is；　do　yeh；　yer　whore？　I’m　washin’　my　’ands　of　yeh；　Terri；　I’ve　’ad　enough。

That　had　been　the　last　time　they　had　ever　spoken；　and　Nana　Cath　had　called　her　what　everyone　else　called　her；　and　Terri　had　responded　in　kind。

Fuck　you；　then；　you　miserable　old　cow；　fuck　you。

She　had　never　said；　‘You　let　me　down；　Nana　Cath。’　She　had　never　said；　‘Why　didn’t　you　keep　me？’　She　had　never　said；　‘I　loved　you　more　than　anyone；　Nana　Cath。’

She　hoped　to　God　Obbo　was　back。　He　was　supposed　to　be　back　today；　today　or　tomorrow。　She　had　to　have　some。　She　had　to。

‘All　righ’；　Terri？’

‘Seen　Obbo？’　she　asked　the　boy　who　was　smoking　and　drinking　on　the　wall　outside　the　off　licence。　The　scars　on　her　back　felt　as　though　they　were　burning　again。

He　shook　his　head；　chewing；　leering　at　her。　She　hurried　on。　Nagging　thoughts　of　the　social　worker；　of　Krystal；　of　Robbie：　more　buzzing　flies；　but　they　were　like　the　staring　neighbours；　judges　all；　they　did　not　understand　the　terrible　urgency　of　her　need。

（Nana　Cath　had　collected　her　from　the　hospital　and　taken　her　home　to　the　spare　room。　It　had　been　the　cleanest；　prettiest　room　Terri　had　ever　slept　in。　On　each　of　the　three　evenings　she　had　spent　there；　she　had　sat　up　in　bed　after　Nana　Cath　had　kissed　her　goodnight；　and　rearranged　the　ornaments　beside　her　on　the　windowsill。　There　had　been　a　tinkling　bunch　of　glass　flowers　in　a　glass　vase；　a　plastic　pink　paperweight　with　a　shell　in　it　and　Terri’s　favourite；　a　rearing　pottery　horse　with　a　silly　smile　on　its　face。

‘I　like　horses；’　she　had　told　Nana　Cath。

There　had　been　a　school　trip　to　the　agricultural　show；　in　the　days　before　Terri’s　mother　had　left。　The　class　had　met　a　gigantic　black　Shire　covered　in　horse　brasses。　She　was　the　only　one　brave　enough　to　stroke　it。　The　smell　had　intoxicated　her。　She　had　hugged　its　column　of　a　leg；　ending　in　the　massive　feathered　white　hoof；　and　felt　the　living　flesh　beneath　the　hair；　while　her　teacher　said；　‘Careful；　Terri；　careful！’　and　the　old　man　with　the　horse　had　smiled　at　her　and　told　her　it　was　quite　safe；　Samson　wouldn’t　hurt　a　nice　little　girl　like　her。

The　pottery　horse　was　a　different　colour：　yellow　with　a　black　mane　and　tail。

‘You　can　’ave　it；’　Nana　Cath　told　her；　and　Terri　had　known　true　ecstasy。

But　on　the　fourth　morning　her　father　had　arrived。

‘You’re　in’　home；’　he　had　said；　and　the　look　on　his　face　had　terrified　her。　‘You’re　not　stayin’　with　that　fuckin’　grassin’　old　cow。　No；　you　ain’t。　No；　you　ain’t；　you　little　bitch。’

Nana　Cath　was　as　frightened　as　Terri。

‘Mikey；　no；’　she　kept　bleating。　Some　of　the　neighbours　were　peering　through　the　windows。　Nana　Cath　had　Terri　by　one　arm；　and　her　father　had　the　other。

‘You’re　ing　home　with　me！’

He　blacked　Nana　Cath’s　eye。　He　dragged　Terri　into　his　car。　When　he　got　her　back　to　the　house；　he　beat　and　kicked　every　bit　of　her　he　could　rea