I remember coming in from school one day and my mum happily telling me she was getting married.
To Robin.
They were sat on the sofa laughing and drunk. My mum was grinning like a Cheshire cat in her ‘I’m so happy I’ve found a man’ kind of way. I think I was about 9 or 10 and we were living in Harrogate but it could have been Leeds.
Anyway Robin was ginger in that pink way. With ginger eyelashes and ginger eyes and a ginger sort of wheezy, hissy, through his teeth laugh. I see him with ginger smokers fingers as well but my mind might have made that up. His feet stank but he could play piano, which sis was eager to learn.
I remember when we moved into our new house in Harrogate, the butter took on the smell of paint. It had the smell and the taste of eggshell emulsion. I can taste it to this day. It was a bad sign. A sign of things to come.
