Free The White Family by Maggie Gee

She always does.’ May couldn’t resist a glance at Dirk’s dirty jeans.
    ‘These are my work clothes,’ he said, flushing. ‘I had to come here straight from work. We have to stay open late because the frigging Pakis do.’
    ‘Will you shush,’ May hissed, one eye on Pamela. ‘Shirley asked after you. She always does.’ (Then she thought about it, and realized she didn’t.)
    Alfred’s voice got that preachy sound. ‘You always used to be so close to your sister.’
    Dirk glowered at him. ‘You know what happened. It was you that said it, we had to make a stand.’
    In a small clear voice that seemed to come from a dream in which she was someone stronger and braver, May said, ‘I liked Kojo. And I like Elroy. And Kojo was very good to you. You forget how many times you got your tea round at their house.’ She ran out of steam, surprised at herself.
    ‘I never denied I got my tea.’
    ‘She’ll meet someone soon, and settle down,’ said Alfred. ‘Everything’s going to turn out for the best.’
    May thought, let all be well, be well … Tennyson was hopeful rather than certain:
    Oh yet we trust that somehow good
    Will be the final goal of ill
    To pangs of nature, sins of will,
    Defects of doubt, and taints of blood …
    And what did he mean by ‘taints of blood’?

13 • The White Family
    Seeing Dirk had shaken Shirley. The hospital foyer was huge and cold.
    I used to love him
. I adored that boy. But what’s he turned into? A thug. A – fascist. Worse than Dad, without Dad’s excuses.
    She wasn’t quite ready to go out into the dark and struggle through the wind across the wild black car park. She sank down on to an empty seat, picked up a magazine and stared at it blindly.
    When her focus returned, she was looking at furs. Two pages of red and blond winter furs. ‘There are the whingers and the whiners, yes. There are the dowdies, the dated, the dull … And there’s you. Daring to be a babe. Ready for fun. Purring for fur … You, babelicious in the new seal-skin …’ The heart-shaped face of the journalist looked all of seventeen years old, and brainless.
    Still the furs were pretty, thought Shirley. Soft. Elroy might like to see me in furs … But she knew it was just a fantasy.
    No one wore furs. It just wasn’t done. No one, that is, except rich foreign women you saw getting out of cabs with dark glasses and fussy expensive designer handbags. Arab men’s women, she thought, contemptuously, then caught herself thinking it and was ashamed.
    So she was a bigot like the rest of her family.
    We all like to think we’re better than someone.
    She knew what people said about her. ‘Shirley White goes with black men.’ They never got over their excitement about it, though she’d been married to Kojo for nearly eight years. As if a marriage was just about sex.
    I liked being married. I liked the comfort.
    Her parents had been married for over forty years. What would her mother do if Dad died? Shirley remembered all too clearly the blank exhaustion when Kojo was dying. The sense that part of her body was missing.
    But they’ve been lucky. They’ve had nearly half a century.
    She slapped the magazine shut with a sigh.
    As she focused on the big automatic doors that would let her out into the night again, they opened, as if by the power of thought. A man came in and blinked at the light.
    Suddenly familiar. White, thickset, with golden skin and dark wavy hair. Handsome in a rugged, crumpled sort of way. Heavy eyebrows, frowning towards her.
    ‘Isn’t it – Shirley? It’s Thomas Lovell. ‘Do you remember me …?’
    It was Darren’s friend.
    ‘Have you come to see Dad? That’s very kind. I saw you on the television, you know. When your book came out. Some time ago.’ Of course, it was Thomas who saw Dad fall. Used to be a writer. Then he became – What? – something sensible. Yes, a librarian.
    ‘It must be ten years since we met.’
    ‘Probably Darren’s second