I’m still quite shocked. ‘What happened?’
‘Another one of Miriam’s crazy nights out. Of course, it’s left to her old man to pull her chestnuts out of the fire, make some phone calls and mop up the mess.’
I frown. ‘Phone calls?’
Danny sighs with pent-up frustration. ‘Can you imagine what it felt like for me to get a call that my eldest daughter has been arrested for assault, criminal damage and disturbing the peace. The cherry on top was threatening a police officer. She decided to pay her former girlfriend a visit, who she accused of stealing certain items from her. There was a fight, someone calls the police and Miriam ends up banged up in a cell.’
Danny shakes his head. ‘That’s Miriam’s MO. Fight. Cops. Cell.’ His expression is the hopelessness of a parent who doesn’t know what to do any more. ‘The idea of a child of mine in a prison cell sickens me. I called in one or two favours and managed to secure her release.’
Favours? Is he talking about friends in the police? I obviously haven’t realised how connected Danny is.
‘Do you fancy a drink?’ Danny looks like he could knock back a couple of stiff ones.
‘I would, but I’m worried about Miriam. She looked awful.’ I hate to think of her alone. To think of her upset with no support or comfort.
He looks grim again. ‘You won’t have far to look; she’ll be in one of the bars or pubs on this street.’ His expression shifts as he watches me. ‘One of my contacts in the council says he’ll have details of the Suzi Lake Centre tomorrow. I’ll call you.’
‘Okaaay.’ I draw the word out because I’m still on the fence about whether to continue my search.
Danny watches me keenly. ‘What’s wrong? Has something happened?’
I avert my gaze, alarm staining my cheeks because I don’t want him to know I was abandoned on the street. I feel such shame even though the logical part of my brain keeps telling me it’s not my shame.
‘Are you having second thoughts?’
With surprise I gaze sharply at him. How does Danny do that? Know exactly what I’m thinking? I confess, ‘I’m tired of every corner I turn getting emotionally smashed in the face. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.’
Danny takes my arm, gently pulling me to the side. ‘Would your adoptive mother, Cherry, have wanted you to find your birth mother?’
I swallow hard at his bold question. ‘Yes. I think she would have.’ The memory of my beloved Mummy Cherry tips my lips into a tiny smile. Then that was Mummy Cherry, always bringing joy into my life. ‘She used to say to me to grab every morsel of love that came my way.’
My blood father squeezes my arm. ‘There you have your answer. Keep looking for your mother.’ His hand falls away. ‘Did you have a chance to look in Sugar’s room?’
Sheepishly I shake my head because I don’t want Danny to know I have no intention of doing that.
‘Well, when you do,’ he stridently says, although he looks dead on his feet too, ‘let me know. Whatever we find we can put it in my operations room.’
He starts striding away. Turns back. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow so we can meet to go to this Suzi Lake Centre.’
I find Miriam in gloomy isolation at the end of the bar in a pub that sits on the corner of two streets. Before I step inside the baby hairs on my neck stand on end, a warning that something is wrong. That someone’s watching me again. I twist to face the street and intently search. Nothing. No one. The sensation remains creepy-crawling over my skin. There’s no one here; it must be today’s emotional events catching up with me. It’s not every day you find out you were dumped on the street as a baby.
I step into the pub. The lights are low and the place pretty packed, so I jostle and elbow my way over to her. She’s hunched over a glass filled with brown liquid. Probably a triple by how much is in the glass.
‘Miriam?’
She’s in no hurry to look at me. Her profile is marked with the dirty prints of dried tears, her hair flat and dull beneath the pub lights. It’s the first time her black clothes don’t look so chic, but rather like yards of material that seem to be trying to swallow her whole. I’d like to see her in light colours, like the curtains in her living room, billowing and flowing free. How can someone look so lonely in a room filled with people?
Miriam salutes me with her glass and knocks the contents back in one. She slams the glass down. Her voice rasps with the roughness of the liquor. ‘Has Dad sent you disguised as a concerned member of the family to give me another tongue-lashing?’