The Argument (ARC)

by Victoria Jenkins

  ‘But why?’

  Olivia shrugs, feigning ignorance. She knows exactly why he wants to send her away, but she’s still not sure that Rosie is old enough or aware enough to understand. ‘They think I’m out of control.’

  ‘You’ve done some weird stuff recently.’ Rosie sniffs and runs the back of her hand under her nose. She tries to stifle a sob, but the noise is louder than she had intended, and Olivia feels it in her chest like the force of a fist. ‘I don’t want them to send you away.’

  Both girls are crying now. Rosie’s nose is running, and she wipes it on the sleeve of her school jumper. ‘I don’t understand,’ she eventually says. ‘Send you away to where? Why?’

  Olivia pauses, unsure whether she should answer every question Rosie has. She doesn’t fully understand these places herself, only that wayward, troublesome teenagers are sent there to be rehabilitated before their behaviour becomes worse. Maybe Rosie is better off not knowing anything about it, and yet Olivia knows she needs her. Rosie is all she has.

  ‘You don’t know what happened here at the weekend, do you?’

  Rosie shakes her head.

  ‘On Saturday night, someone broke into the house. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but they smashed the back door. Mum and Dad have been really weird since it happened.’

  ‘Did they take anything?’

  ‘I don’t know. They might have heard me on the stairs and left before they got a chance, but…’ Olivia trails into silence, not believing her own words. Whoever was here on Saturday, she believes it’s something more personal. Someone wanted to unnerve them, to make them feel unsafe. She just doesn’t know who, or why.

  ‘They think it was me.’

  Rosie pulls a face. ‘I don’t understand. Why would they think it was you? Why would you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She is lying to Rosie, partly. She doesn’t know why, but she feels that whatever happened here at the weekend may have something to do with her grandmother, and she has considered the possibility of telling Rosie about her – about this woman who until the previous week Olivia had believed to be dead - but it doesn’t seem fair to do that to her, not now. There is enough going on to confuse her already; she doesn’t need to be exposed to any more complications.

  Olivia is confused herself. She doesn’t know how or why a break in at their house might link back to a woman too frail to leave her care home bedroom without assistance, but what she does know is that things have started to change here, some silent shift that hasn’t yet made itself visible but is being felt already, by her and by her parents. They sense it coming, she knows they do. They are fearful of it, and the notion makes Olivia feel unusually empowered.

  She has wondered if her mother knows that she went to the care home to see her Eleanor. Someone there might have told her that Olivia had been there, or what if Eleanor told Hannah that her daughter had been to visit her? If either of these things has happened, her mother has said nothing to her about it.

  ‘Who could have been here?’ Rosie asks quietly, and Olivia feels a pang of guilt at having scared her now, unsettling her in the only place she has ever been able to call home. She doesn’t want her to go to bed tonight feeling afraid of intruders, though she doesn’t want her to be complacent either. Rosie needs to know that the world they live in is a fragile one, dangerous, and that it is due to collapse around their ears any day now.

  ‘I don’t know. I only know it wasn’t me. You know that phone call from your school too, the one mum got saying you’d been in an accident? They think that was me as well.’

  ‘But why would you do that?’ Rosie asks, her voice getting higher and becoming more agitated with every question.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t, would I? We know that, but they obviously don’t.’

  Rosie’s little face contorts as she tries to make sense of everything she’s been told. ‘Why would someone want mum to think I’d been in an accident?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Olivia admits again, hating the fact that she knows so little. She feels more responsible for Rosie now than she ever has in her life. It is her duty to protect her, and that’s exactly what she needs to do.

  ‘Where does Dad want to send you?’

  ‘To some sort of summer boot camp, the type they have in America, where they send naughty kids.’ She hears her father’s words repeat in her ear: respect, morals, discipline. He wants her gone, but Olivia doesn’t believe for a second it’s for the reasons he is claiming.

  ‘I need you to do something for me, Rosie. I need you to go into Mum’s room and look for a diary. It’s a red one, it looks like an old exercise book.’

  Rosie looks horrified at the suggestion. ‘How am I supposed to do that?’ she says, still crying. ‘She’ll catch me in there.’

  Their parents’ bedroom has always been out of bounds, ever since they were small children. Her mother argued that it was the only child-free room in the home, and that they deserved to have a space that wasn’t littered with the clutter that comes with childhood.

  ‘Think of something, please, Rosie. I need you to do this for me, it’s so important. Please.’

  Rosie sighs and rubs her hand across her face, wiping away her tears. ‘What if I get in trouble too?’

  ‘You won’t, I promise. Their bedroom is so tidy, there’s not that many places to hide a diary. You’re a smart girl, Rosie, you can do this.’

  Rosie smiles at the compliment; they aren’t handed out often, not by Olivia. She wipes the last of her tears away and nods, a silent agreement that she will do as her sister requests of her.

  ‘I don’t want them to send you away.’

  Olivia reaches out to Rosie, pulls her closer and kisses her on the forehead. ‘Don’t worry,’ she tells her. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  16

  Seventeen

  Hannah

  * * *

  ‘Mum,’ Rosie says. ‘Could you help me with this homework, please?’

  Hannah is unloading plates from the dishwasher while Rosie sits behind her, her schoolbooks covering the kitchen table. ‘Just give me a minute.’ She finishes what she’s doing before joining Rosie, scanning the opened page she is studying. It is a Maths problem involving a delayed train and passengers who are going to be late for work.

  ‘You’ve gone wrong here, by the looks of things,’ Hannah says, pointing a finger to a section of Rosie’s calculations. ‘That should be 10, not 100.’

  Rosie tuts. ‘Silly me.’ She takes her eraser and rubs out the mistake, replacing it with the correct number. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Am I a good girl?’

  The question takes Hannah by surprise. ‘Of course, you are. Why would you ask that?’

  ‘Olivia’s not though, is she?’

  Hannah sighs. They have already spoken about her sister and what happened at school, and she had hoped that the conversation had been ended the day before. ‘Olivia’s got some problems at the moment. It’s nothing for you to worry about.’

  Rosie nods, processing the comment. ‘Why do you think she’s got problems?’

  Hannah takes a deep breath. She doesn’t have time for this, not today, not with everything else that is going on. Rosie is bright and naturally inquisitive, but Hannah had hoped she wouldn’t become like Olivia, always asking questions and needing to know more than is good for her.

  ‘She’s a teenager. It happens.’

  She hopes the response will be enough, but apparently not. Rosie puts down her pencil and studies Hannah intently, a look that makes her feel uncomfortable. ‘Why am I good and she’s not?’

  Hannah doesn’t like the question; it feels too loaded. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what do I do that’s good?’

  Hannah smiles, relieved Rosie’s question is far more innocent than she had at first assumed. All Rosie wants is validation, she thinks, using this opportunity to have her own qualities praised, made more glorious a
gainst her wayward sister’s.

  ‘You do as you’re told,’ Hannah says. ‘You listen. You don’t ask too many questions. Not until now, at least.’ She smiles and taps the exercise book. ‘Now get this finished up before you forget what you’re doing.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Is this another question?’

  Rosie nods. ‘A good one though. When I’m finished, do you think I could have a bath, please?’

  Hannah raises an eyebrow. It is usually all she can do to persuade Rosie to take a quick shower.

  ‘I’d like to finish reading A Dog’s Life in the bath.’

  Hannah nods. ‘Sounds like a good idea to me. There’s some bubble bath in the cupboard above the sink.’ She watches her daughter return her focus to her homework. Hannah feels grateful for these peaceful moments, even more so when they occur amid the chaos that is taking place elsewhere among the family. She thinks of Olivia upstairs in her bedroom, still immersed in her silence, and wonders whether she feels any remorse for the things she has done over this past week. Despite everything, Hannah doesn’t believe she does. She doesn’t know what it will take for her daughter to comprehend the scale of what she is doing to their family.

  She wants to know what Michael said to Olivia that morning. She is sure that whatever it was, she hasn’t been told all of it. He was up in her room for long enough to have said far more than what he relayed back to her. She wonders if he has mentioned what they’ve talked about, about sending Olivia to a boot camp. When it was first suggested, she almost laughed, it sounded so ridiculous. She has seen television programmes about these kinds of places where troublesome teens are sent for rehabilitation, but it all sounds so foreign, the kind of thing once again that would apply to other families, and never to hers. Yet here they are, considering it a very real possibility. Michael has pitched his justification, laid out all his reasoning. It makes sense, as he always does. He is planning it with all their best intentions at heart.

  Hannah is contemplating their uncertain future when she hears the doorbell ring. It is used so rarely that the sound has become an alien one, used rarely by the postman and ignored when pressed by the occasional salesperson, and Hannah wonders for a moment whether she has been careless enough to leave her key in the door. She passes Rosie to get to the kitchen door and heads into the hallway. There is a silhouette on the other side of the glass front door, willowy and dark. Retrieving her keys from where they are kept, Hannah unlocks the front door. There is a young woman standing on the doorstep, mixed race and pretty. She looks no older than in her mid-twenties and is wearing a short skirt with a sheer pair of tights and high-heeled ankle boots. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, loose wisps hanging at her ears. Her eyes are lined with kohl and oversized earrings hang from her lobes.

  ‘Hannah?’

  ‘Yes?’ She wonders if she knows this girl; her name was spoken as though she is expected to recognise her.

  ‘My name’s Carly,’ she tells her. ‘I need to talk to you about your husband.’

  ‘What about my husband?’

  The girl shifts her weight from one foot to another, glancing past Hannah and into the house. Hannah steps defensively to one side, a subconscious attempt to block the young woman’s view.

  ‘I’d rather not speak to you out here. Could I come in?’

  ‘No,’ Hannah replies bluntly. She doesn’t know what this girl wants or what trouble she has come here with the intention of causing, but whatever her plans are, Hannah is about to stop them dead in their tracks. ‘I don’t know you. I don’t know what you want, but Michael’s not here.’

  ‘I know that. That’s why I’ve come. Please…I need to speak to you.’

  Hannah feels her pulse start to quicken. She looks the girl up and down in a way she knows is judgemental, but she can’t stop herself and she doesn’t care. Whatever she wants to say to her, Hannah doesn’t want to hear it.

  ‘Mum.’

  Hannah turns sharply to see Rosie standing behind her, clutching her copy of A Dog’s Life.

  ‘Go upstairs,’ Hannah tells her, and Rosie doesn’t wait for a second instruction.

  Hannah turns back to Carly. ‘I’m busy, as you can see.’ She pushes the door closed.

  The girl puts a foot in the way, using her heel to try to stop it. ‘You’re making a mistake. You need to listen to me. Please, I really need to talk to you, and I don’t think we should do it out here.’

  Hannah pushes the door harder, not caring that she is cutting into the girl’s ankle. At last she relents, and the door slams closed as Carly pulls away. Hannah falls against the hallway wall, breathing heavily, trying to fight back angry tears. A moment later, an envelope is pushed through the letterbox. Hannah waits for the girl to say something, to speak to her through the closed door, but she doesn’t. She waits to hear her footsteps on the chippings of the driveway, listening to her leave, and even when she knows she is gone, she waits longer, not wanting to have to touch or look at what has been posted to her.

  Yet she knows that she will. She cannot help herself.

  Hannah stoops and picks up the envelope. She takes it through to the kitchen and closes the door behind her. Sitting at the table, she opens the envelope with shaking hands, knowing that whatever is inside, she needs to see it. She devours the words written there, words communicated purely for her consumption, swallowing them down as though she has not been fed for days. Each one makes her sick, poisoning her stomach with its intent. She has had enough, she is uncomfortably full, yet still she cannot stop reading.

  By the end of the letter, Hannah’s body is shaking. She goes to the cooker, lights one of the rings of the hob and stands with the letter held over it, trembling with the thought that a single catch of a flame could make all this go away. It would be so easy, she thinks.

  And yet it isn’t. She turns the dial of the cooker, killing the flame. With the letter still gripped in her trembling hand, she goes upstairs. The bathroom door is pulled closed; she can hear water running as it fills the bath. She heads to her bedroom and when she pushes the door open, Hannah is greeted with a gasp. Rosie is at her bedside table, kneeling on the carpet in front of it, its drawer pulled open.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ Hannah feels blood rush to her temples and a sudden heat courses her body, fuelling her with rage. ‘Get out! Get out!’

  Rosie rushes past her, slamming the door shut behind her, and Hannah sits on the bed to cry silent, angry tears.

  * * *

  Eighteen

  Olivia

  * * *

  Olivia sits on her bed listening to the shouting that comes from across the landing. It is only her mother’s voice she hears, followed by the thundering of feet rushing past her room. She doesn’t need to leave her bed to know what has happened, and she doesn’t need to see her mother or Rosie to know that this is all her fault. She hopes Rosie isn’t punished for being caught; she couldn’t bear the guilt of being responsible for it. When she argued with her mother on Friday, Olivia had meant every word, but she could never have imagined that things would go this far in such a short space of time.

  As Olivia expects her to, Hannah appears at the bedroom door a while later. She has been crying, though she has made attempts to conceal the remaining evidence of her tears. Olivia can’t recall the last time she saw her mother cry, and she knows that she only ever does so in frustration. Something has happened. Whatever has managed to reduce her mother to tears, Olivia doesn’t believe that finding Rosie in her bedroom is enough to have made her as angry as she is.

  Hannah comes in and closes the door. Her mother is looking older, Olivia thinks; she has noticed it for a while now. She has yet to reach her thirty-fifth birthday, but she could easily pass for someone much older, someone worn down by life and all that it has thrown at her. She wonders whether her mother has always been old, in the way that some people just seem to be. She can’t be that many years older than Miss Johnson, yet the two of them couldn’t be
less alike. A permanent tiredness is etched in the skin around her mother’s eyes and her shoulders are hunched as though in perpetual defeat. Olivia imagines that she should feel sorry for her, but she can’t.

  ‘Are you trying to make her like you now, is that it?’ she says, stepping closer to Olivia. Her voice is low and threatening. Of everything that has happened, Olivia suspects that this is the one thing that will aggrieve her mother most. Involving her precious Rosie is the most heinous thing Olivia could have possibly done. ‘You sent her looking for this, I suppose?’

  Her mother produces the diary, waving it in front of Olivia as though using it to torment her. In many ways, she is. Olivia knows that diary inside out, having read it page for page so many times. Her mother holds it in front of her before swiping it away again, giving Olivia no time to grasp it from her grip.

  ‘None of what is in here is any of your business,’ Hannah tells her.

  Olivia leans forward. ‘Liar.’

  The word is the first she has spoken to her mother in nearly a week, and she speaks it slowly, deliberately, not realising the effect that it will have. If she did, she would no doubt relish it. In recent days, Olivia has taken a perverse pleasure in watching her mother’s frustrations grow, but now, looking at the reddened face and tightened fists, she realises she has no idea of just what her mother is capable of. There can be no satisfaction in seeing her so angry and so seemingly on the edge of losing control. She will only be pushed so far before she snaps, and Olivia realises she has no comprehension of what might happen when she finally does.

  ‘You really are poison, aren’t you?’ her mother says. ‘I’ve always known it, but this week you’ve confirmed it for me.’

  ‘Why did you tell us your mother was dead? Why doesn’t she know you’ve got children?’

  Hannah’s face tells Olivia that she had no idea she has been to the care home and met with Eleanor. She can almost see the questions bouncing around her mother’s brain, their shadows flitting across her eyes, all crashing into one another in their desperation to be formed with words, because the diary alone gives no clue as to whether Eleanor is still alive. Her mother doesn’t realise just how much Olivia knows. She might not know just what her mother is capable of, but Hannah obviously underestimates Olivia too.