Chapter 5: Uncle Den

Dennis came into the chemist on Friday at ten past four.

I was behind the counter counting out somebody's blood pressure tablets.

He waited by the sun cream until the queue went, and then he came up to the glass with his cap in his hands.

"I'll not keep you, love," he said. "I know you're working."

"What do you want, Dennis?"

"To see you right."

He put a flask on the counter and a paper bag beside it.

"Tea, two sugars, the way your mum used to make it. And a flapjack from our Pauline, which she says I'm not to tell you she sent."

I almost smiled.

I hated that I almost smiled.

"I'm not coming back to the club," I said.

"I know."

"I'm not standing at the front on Sunday while you bless my sister's baby."

"That's your right." He nodded slowly. "I'm not here to push."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I love the pair of you, and I've watched that lad make an almighty hash of it."

"He's not mine."

"He is, though." Dennis said it kindly. "Whatever he's done. Eleven years. You don't throw that out of a window."

I said nothing.

"Here's what I can do," Dennis said. "The house is yours. The club pays the mortgage, and Joss goes to the flat above the garage."

"And Poppy?"

"She and the babby stay. She can't be on her own, and you'll not want to put a girl out with a newborn."

"So Poppy stays in my house."

"Till she's on her feet."

"And Joss lives in the garage."

"Joss does as he's told." He smiled, tired. "Nobody on God's earth will say you went short."

It was a good offer.

It was generous and sensible and grown-up.

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