‘Come on,’ he whispered eventually. ‘Get yourself to bed for a few hours. And, Meredith?’

‘Yes?’

‘Please … look after Mum for me. When I’m gone.’

‘I will, Dad, I promise.’

27

1983
Meredith

For the first time, I was disappointed not to smell Caitlin’s patchouli scent and hear the little bells jingling on her Indian skirt when I arrived at nine o’clock the Saturday after my birthday.

It had been a horrible week at home, now that the news was out about Dad. Mum was no longer trying to hide her emotions and would grab any of us who passed within arm’s reach in long, tight hugs that took every ounce of my self-restraint not to break out of. I’d never been a very huggy person – unless the bestower was Samantha, as I’d recently discovered.

Pete wouldn’t talk about it at all, and was in a massive mood with me for leaving his rucksack and sleeping bag at Greenham, even though I kept saying he’d get it back, and if he didn’t, I’d buy him new ones. Dad looked worse every day. Now that I knew, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before. It was as if he was shrinking before our eyes. I couldn’t take it in.

School was increasingly tedious, and I couldn’t concentrate on my A levels because my head was so full of panic: panic about Dad’s condition; panic about never seeing Samantha again – I hadn’t heard a word from her; panic about failing my exams…

So it was a relief to get to work on Saturday, and I’d been dying to compare notes with Caitlin about the teddy bears’ picnic.

The shop door was unlocked when I arrived, but the shutters were still down. Alaric, Sarum Discs’ owner, was behind the shop counter making himself a cup of tea from the kettle in the alcove. He didn’t offer to make me one. In fact, he had a face like a slapped arse – probably because he loathed getting up before eleven, especially on a Saturday.

‘Where’s Caitlin?’

He scratched his black stubble and scowled. ‘In prison.’

‘What?’

‘She only went and got herself arrested at Greenham Common last weekend.’

I ripped off my jacket, joined him behind the counter and hung it on the back of the battered swivel chair next to the till. ‘Oh my God! Actually, I got arrested there last weekend too.’ I couldn’t keep the pride out of my voice. ‘But how come she’s in prison? I got released with a warning. She doesn’t have any previous, does she?’

I said ‘previous’ oh-so-casually, the vocabulary of being arrested tripping off my tongue as if it was a regular occurrence.