Hidden Sin: Part 2 of 3: When the past comes back to haunt you

‘What is it, Mo? Did we do something wrong?’ Joey asked finally, the sound of silence getting altogether too loud. ‘Are things still alright down at the club?’

He braced, waiting to hear that everything had gone tits up before he’d even got started. He hadn’t forgotten how many clubs had been set up and closed down before this one. Oh, how his mum would bloody crow.

Mo shook his head and turned around, then crossed one ankle over the other, leaning back against the run of kitchen units. His shoes were as brightly polished as the worktops. Did he look like things were going tits up? No.

He sighed. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, boy, okay? So I’m just gonna say it.’

‘Say what?’ Joey asked him. ‘You’re fucking scaring me now, Mo.’

Mo’s teeth flashed white as he returned from his vigil at the window. He sat down again. ‘You’re my boy, Joey,’ he said. Then nothing more.

Again came that sense that Mo was setting him up for a disappointment. ‘Yeah, I know that,’ Joey said. ‘Course I do. I know you have my back.’

‘No, Joey,’ Mo said. ‘I mean that I’m your father.’

When he recounted it later, to Paula, as he obviously would, Joey knew he would struggle to find words to describe it – that ‘what the fuck?’ moment when he thought Mo was kidding, then the thump in his chest and, as the blood flowed in his temples, a sensation of falling – of almost spinning out – when, no more than half a second later (it was almost instantaneous), he knew without question that Mo was not kidding at all.

And perhaps he had disappeared somewhere, even as he was rooted to the spot.

‘Joey.’ Mo’s voice was sharp. ‘Joey, are you hearing what I’m saying? I’m your father. You’re my son.’

Joey grabbed the slab of granite now, making claw marks instead of fingerprints, entirely clueless as to how he should process what he was being told. What exactly did you do with that kind of information anyway? What did it mean? What did it change? He pulled Mo back into focus, seeing him anew. Seeing him as a man he barely knew. And was his father. It changed every fucking thing.

‘Look, boy,’ Mo said, reaching out a manicured hand towards him but not touching him. ‘I’m not out to make trouble. I’m not out to make a cunt out of you, okay? I just wanted you to know. So you know. So you see where I’m coming from. Fuck, boy, I knew the very minute I first clocked you. Someone told me you were Christine’s and it was, like, whap!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘I’d have known even if they hadn’t. I’d have worked it out.’

Joey felt a sudden welling of emotion that he couldn’t put a name to. Just everything, he decided, just the whole fucking bigness of it all. He searched Mo’s face – not for meaning; Mo’s meaning couldn’t have been plainer – but for points of physical similarity; for landmarks he could recognise in the handsome, leonine face. Features that could be singled out and ticked off and counted. The same jawline, the same eyes, the same fucking smile, even. Why the fuck had he not noticed any of this before?

Oh, you are so your mother’s son! People said that to him often. Had done so all his life – oh, you’re the spit of your mam, Joey! Such a Parker! And all this despite the one glaring bloody fact that no Parker alive had ever had brown skin and a head of wayward curls. Despite? Or because of? That point hit him hard now. Just how hard everyone worked to try and help him forget the stark reality that he wasn’t just a Parker – he was something else too.

He was Mo’s. He shared half of his genes.

‘You need some time,’ Mo said, clearly interpreting his racing thoughts. ‘I get that, and I’m sorry to just lay it all on you like this. It’s a lot to swallow. But it’s a fact, and you needed to know the truth.’

Truth. Joey found himself jolted into a completely different mindset. Truth. And its opposite – lies. The lie he’d lived with all his life, more specifically.

The questions teeming in his mind became more and more urgent. ‘Why?’ Joey asked Mo, the polite coffee break now forgotten. ‘Why now? Why not fucking years ago?’ He paused, but not for long. ‘Why not back when I was a kid and didn’t know why my dad didn’t want me? Had disowned me. Why my mam wouldn’t tell me. Why I had a step-dad but –’ Another thought hit him hard. ‘Does my dad even know about this?’

Mo nodded. ‘Yes, he does. He’s always known, Joey. And listen’ – he raised his hands, the gold of his rings glinting – ‘I have no intention – none, okay – of trying to step in and mug Brian off. He’s always been your dad, and from what I’ve seen so far, it seems like he’s made a great job of it, too. No matter about our past.’ What past? Joey filed the thought away. ‘I have respect for him for that. Big respect,’ Mo continued. ‘And, you know, you and me are both men now; we don’t need to have that kind of relationship. Just a kinship. If that’s what you want, of course. You might not. And in answer to your question, I never thought I’d see you again, and that’s the truth of it. And I can’t make up for all those years. Fuck me – I’d never attempt to even try. I just hoped – and I still hope – that once we became friends, we might stay that way, you know? Which is why I had to tell you the truth. Friends don’t lie to each other, do they? I didn’t want to deceive you for any longer than I had to.’