‘It’s not what you think,’ said Angel. ‘I don’t want to go.’

She didn’t. But she didn’t feel able to say no to Donny. That would make him mad. And she didn’t like it when he was mad, not at all.

‘He’ll make a fool of you,’ said Dora flatly. ‘Just like he’s made a fool of me.’

Then Uncle Donny’s key was in the door. He came in quietly, looked from mother to daughter. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, picking up on the tension in the atmosphere.

‘Nothing,’ said Angel, still staring at Dora. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Thought you’d be ready by now,’ he said, looking at his watch.

He looked stunning in a black suit, white shirt and olive-green tie. Ready to go. Holding an orchid corsage in a plastic box. ‘Here. For you to wear,’ he said, and held it out to her.

Angel stared at the flower. It was beautiful. Nobody had ever bought her flowers before, of any kind. Her eyes went to her mother’s set, venomous face and she felt the guilt wash up over her again.

‘Ten minutes,’ said Angel, and turned away from the pair of them. She went off into the box room.

Once she was in there, she threw off her daywear and yanked on the pink dress. She stood in front of the mirror, dabbing rouge on her cheeks, stroking on mascara, applying a vibrant red lipstick. Then she unpinned her hair and let it down, brushed it out. Squirted the Je Reviens scent Donny had bought her on her birthday on her wrists and throat. Then she unpacked the posh orchid corsage and found it was attached to a stretchable band of fake pearls so it could be worn on the wrist. She put it on, turned it this way and that, admiring it, although it felt a little tight. Then she stopped, catching her own eyes in the mirror. Wondered what the hell she was doing, wondered what Dora had been going on about. How could Donny be punishing her mother? For what?

No time to think about that now. Angel snatched up her evening bag and hurried from the box room. Donny let out a low whistle when he saw her emerge. Dora watched sullenly from the couch.

‘You look lovely,’ he said.

‘Thanks,’ said Angel awkwardly.

He held out a hand to Angel. Looked at Dora. Smiled.

Was there something cruel, something devious in that charming smile of his?

Angel took his hand, and he led her to the door. He threw a glance back at her mother, who was watching them both.

‘Don’t wait up, Dora,’ he said, and they left.

88

It should have been a nice evening. There was dinner, drinks, and dancing. Dancing in Donny’s arms was magical, and it was also terribly wrong. Angel knew that. He plied her with drink, and everything got hazy as the evening wore on. His friends and their girlfriends and wives all seemed to be on the force, and looked at her like she was a curiosity, like she didn’t belong. Well, maybe she didn’t. What was crippling her more and more was the guilt over her mother, and the firm belief that Donny should have invited Dora, or his wife, and not her.