‘Who are Hope, Amina, Sheryl and Veronica?’ I confront Sugar with the names of the women in the photo. I say the names in the order they appear in the photo. Somehow rearranging them feels so wrong.
Sugar and I are seated in the living room. He’s in his favourite burgundy-red armchair and I’m on the sofa opposite. The aroma of cinnamon rises from the pot of homemade chai tea Ronnie made for us. Mine remains in the cup going cold. I’m surprised at how sure my question sounded, how confident. I’ve never challenged Sugar about anything in my life.
‘Who?’ Sugar picks up his ‘Daddy and daughter together forever’ mug I gave him as a present on his fiftieth birthday.
‘The women in the photo on your whiteboard. It looks like it was taken in the 1990s, in an office somewhere.’
Ronnie’s appearance stops our discussion. She’s already left tea and now she settles a plate with two slices of her homemade ginger cake on the table. Is it my imagination or does a tight look pass between her and Sugar before she leaves?
After a few deep swallows of tea and a lengthy dismissive wave of his hand, Sugar answers my question. ‘Old stuff that I’ve been meaning to clear out for ages.’ His expression drops into a half-lidded stare. ‘What’s this all about? My private room has never been a problem for you before.’
‘The Good Knight was on the desk in the photo.’ My words stumble slightly. The Good Knight isn’t something I talk about. The place he holds in my life is almost too intimate to share with others, even Sugar.
Sugar’s brows dip. ‘The Good Knight?’ His chin lifts with understanding. ‘Oh, that Good Knight. I’ve never noticed a similar type of figurine in the photo before.’ His voice lightens. ‘I know your friend, the Good Knight, is special, and why that is, but I’ve always assumed it was mass-produced so other people will have one as well. Maybe it was something popular in the nineties.’
Frustration tightens my lips. Sugar’s being evasive, giving me the runaround.
I won’t let up. ‘And my name’s there too.’ This feels so dangerous to say. ‘Why have you written on the whiteboard, “Was baby Eva meant to die?”’
I watch Sugar’s face for a reaction. There’s none. What he does do is stand and instruct, ‘Follow me.’
Nervously, I follow him and am amazed that he takes me into his room. We stop in front of the whiteboard. The photo of the women remains, as does a Good Knight on the desk in the shot. But as for the chilling question with my name in it . . . Gone.
Furiously, I face Sugar, arms wound tight around my middle. ‘I know what I saw.’
He lets out a laboured sigh. ‘You’re upset, shaken up, it’s no wonder you’re seeing things.’
I lean into him, meanness marring my mouth. ‘Like I was seeing things when you installed that woman into Mummy Cherry’s house.’
As soon as it’s out I want to bite it back. I know Danny told me to work things out with Sugar, but anger at Sugar’s treatment eats me up.
His gaze drills into me. ‘I told you not to come back here if you were going to carry on with that nonsense.’
Spinning on his heels he heads back to the living room. He settles into his chair while I remain standing just inside the doorway. There are so many warring emotions going on inside me that I can’t sit down.
Sugar has other ideas. He points to the seat I recently vacated. ‘Sit.’ His voice is calm, but I hear it; that soft command he’s been using on me since I was a child.
Reluctantly I do as he asks. I say, ‘What are you hiding?’
He picks his cup up and glances at me over the rim. ‘Hiding? What are you talking about?’
I won’t be put off despite this being the person I turned into a hero when I was eight. ‘The burglar was only interested in your room.’ This realisation dawns on me as I speak these words. The intruder went straight for Sugar’s private room. ‘Why was that? Is there something in there they want?’
Sugar’s expression shifts to confusion. ‘He’s a burglar and that’s what they do, target rooms in other people’s homes.’
‘When I first heard the intruder, I mistook them for Ronnie. By the time I got there he or she was already in your room.’
‘He or she?’
I nod. ‘Their face was covered and their build . . . They could have been a man or woman. But why go straight for your room?’
Sugar doesn’t drink from his cup but holds it like a prop. ‘If you hadn’t disturbed him, the bastard would probably have gone through the house like the bubonic plague. You’ve probably forgotten that I told you about the increase in break-ins around here. Junkies, most of them, looking for easy money to finance their habit. It was a crime of opportunity. He’d probably already cased the house for a while to figure out if there was a pattern to mine and Ronnie’s comings and goings.’