In The Dark

by Vikki Patis

‘I brought her some a few days ago,’ Maggie says, opening the cupboard next to the fridge. ‘Aha! Here we are.’ She brings out an unopened box and lays it on the counter before turning back to me. ‘I’m glad to have met you, Liv,’ she says, smiling. ‘I was concerned that your mum didn’t have anyone taking care of her.’

  ‘I’m here as often as I can be,’ I say, too sharply. ‘I work, and I have a grandson who lives with me.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely!’ Maggie exclaims. I wonder how old she is, and realise that she’s probably around my age. ‘My son recently had a baby, they called him Oscar. He’ll be one in September. How old is your little one?’

  ‘Sixteen,’ I say, and watch the confusion flicker over her face for a moment before explaining. ‘I was a young mum, and so was my daughter. She… passed away, when her boy was four. I’ve been looking after him ever since.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Maggie says, placing a hand on my arm. ‘How awful. I’m so sorry.’

  I turn away to make the tea, not wanting this woman’s sympathy. I have never done well in the face of pity, the baleful glances and oh, you poor thing. Sympathy doesn’t get me up in the morning; sympathy doesn’t pay the gas bill or fill the fridge or keep Seb on the straight and narrow.

  ‘So, this Ken,’ Maggie says after a moment. ‘Does he exist?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of him.’

  She purses her lips. ‘It was quite a to-do, I have to say. She came screeching out of the house in just a nightie, no shoes or slippers on. It was around three o’clock in the morning, she scared the living daylights out of me. Woke half the street up.’

  I pause in stirring the tea, concern bubbling through me. This is a new development, something else to keep me up at night. Not only do I have to worry about her setting the house on fire or falling down those sodding stairs, but now she’s taken to running around the streets in her pyjamas.

  ‘She said Ken had fallen over,’ Maggie continues. ‘Paul, that’s my husband, ran upstairs to the bathroom, but there was nobody there.’ She shakes her head. ‘Poor love. Dementia, is it?’ I nod. ‘My dad had it too. Nasty illness. Have you thought about sending her to a nice home? There are some lovely ones in the area, or even by the sea. My dad went down to Kent, he loved it there. They did everything for him – cooked, cleaned, even personal care. Nothing for me to worry about at all.’

  I bite my tongue to keep from biting her head off and pick up two mugs of tea to take into the lounge. Maggie rests a hand on my arm again and I try not to flinch. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she is rubbing me up the wrong way.

  ‘Looking after an ageing parent is hard,’ she murmurs, ‘especially when a teenager’s at home as well. What about your husband, does he help?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ I say, and she must see something in my eyes for she takes a step back. If only she knew the truth. As my mother said one day when I turned up with a screaming Paige and a black eye: ‘You’ve made your bed. Now you have to lie in it.’

  27

  Caitlyn

  ‘Have you got everything, darling?’ I ask for the fifth or sixth time, my hands on Izzy’s shoulders. She rolls her eyes, but she is still smiling.

  ‘Yes, Mum. Anyway, I’ll be back in a few weeks.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I say, though it will be closer to four weeks by the time she comes back. She is staying longer this time, to get settled in. I pull her in for another hug then release her, and instantly feel the lack of her. Michael stands behind me, hands in his pockets, one shoulder leaning against the door frame. I look up at Anthony, who is leaning against his car in a similar fashion, and I think, if you don’t look after her, I will bloody kill you.

  ‘We’d better be off,’ he says, avoiding my gaze as if he has read my mind. ‘Beat the traffic on the M5. It can be hellish.’

  ‘Bye, Mum,’ Izzy says, leaning in to peck me on the cheek. I breathe her in.

  ‘Bye, darling. Safe journey. Text me when you get there!’

  And then she is gone, strapped into the passenger seat beside a man she hasn’t seen in so many years, but who is her father and is offering her a way out. I wave until the car disappears around the corner, my arm dropping to my side like lead.

  I suddenly wish Alicia were still here, that someone was here to throw their arms around me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. Michael has always taken a back seat where the girls are concerned, and I know he thinks I am silly for wanting to hang on to them. ‘She’s growing up,’ he said when I told him what Anthony had offered. ‘Maybe some space will do her good. Do you both good.’

  But Izzy has not grown up. She is not an adult. She is still a child, still so young and vulnerable and in need of a mother’s protection. And yet I have failed her. Time and time again, I have failed to be there for her in the way she needs. When Anthony left and I fell into a pit of vodka and despair; when the bullying started and Izzy cut herself for the first time; when she tried to take her own life, once and then again. Now she is gone, and I have no one to blame but myself. I am a bad mother, and bad mothers lose their children.

  I go back inside to find Michael in the kitchen making a pot of coffee. He puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes. ‘She’ll be fine,’ he says, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. ‘It might be the making of her. A fresh start.’

  I nod, because I want this to be true. I want Izzy to have a fresh start, to find herself and the path she is meant to take. I clutch the coffee Michael makes me in both hands and sit down on the sofa, curling my legs beneath me. I can hear him tapping away at his keyboard in the study, and wonder when this distance between us began to grow. We got together when Izzy was just about to start secondary school, and Alicia was almost a teenager and already rarely in the house, always out shopping or at the cinema or, later, drinking with friends. I am not some clueless mother who has no idea what her children are up to, but they have managed to pull the wool over my eyes a few times over the years. Or have I just been so wrapped up in myself that I’ve missed the things going on in their lives? When Izzy was struggling to make friends at school, I was busy worrying about shaving my legs for dates with Michael. When Alicia moved away to university, Michael was moving in, his pants taking up space in my underwear drawer, his razor stowed in the caddy in the bathroom. The razor Izzy used to…

  I flinch away from these thoughts, burrowing down deeper into the sofa, my head resting on the arm. When the dental practice I worked at as a receptionist went bust three years ago, I took my redundancy pay and decided not to get another job. My health was at its worst then, and although I am better now, we get by with Michael’s salary, plus there was enough left over from the sale of my parents’ house to keep us going, even after the renovation. I remember the dreams I had when I was a student, of graduating with a first and going on to a master’s degree. I’d wanted to do a PhD, to be Dr, not Mrs. But then I met Anthony, and my life changed forever.

  I flush with guilt as I remember those dark days, after he left. He had tricked me into motherhood, I raged as I drank bottle after bottle, holed up in my room like an angry teenager. I had never wanted children, or at least, they had not been on my radar. And yet I’d found myself pregnant at twenty-one, just after I graduated from university, and he had convinced me not to have an abortion, to move into his studio flat and be a family.

  ‘Our greatest adventure,’ he said, and I, stupid and young and flushed with love, had gone along with it.

  I do not regret my children now. I suppose that is what I’m meant to say: I wouldn’t change them for the world. But does it make me a bad mother to want to change the timing? To want to change how things played out?

  I make myself wait a full five hours before texting Izzy. According to Google Maps, it takes about four-and-a-half hours to get to Plymouth from here, coffee breaks and crashes notwithstanding. Her reply comes back immediately.

  Just got here, Mum, my room is huge!! x

  I smi
le as I’m flooded with relief, ignoring the pang of loss that hits me in the stomach. Send me a picture x I type back.

  A photo comes through within seconds, followed by three more. I see a large bed against one wall, a window beside it, and then the room opens up to what looks like a living space, with a large bay window on one side and two doors on the other.

  It’s basically a studio flat! I type. Wow! Is that an en suite? x

  Yep! My own bathroom and walk-in wardrobe. Miranda said I can decorate it however I like xx

  How lovely! What are you going to go for? x

  Not sure yet, Dad said he’ll take me to B&Q one day x

  Dad. Already he is Dad to her again, not the man who left when she was four and never again showed his face, never sent a birthday or Christmas card. I am amazed at how he has waltzed in and saved the day, able to give Izzy exactly what she wants – what she needs – at this moment in time. I wonder again whether Alicia had told him all about the photo, but no, she said she hadn’t. Had he come across the photo online then? I cringe as I picture it being shared wide across the internet, retweeted and reposted again and again and again, until everyone in the world has seen my little girl at her most vulnerable.

  Viral, another ‘after’ word.

  28

  Seb

  Going back to school is worse than Seb had feared. He tries to pay attention in lessons, keeping his head down as he doodles in his exercise book, but all he can hear are the whispers, the burn of eyes staring at his back. He hears her name everywhere – Izzy – and tries to ignore the shame coursing through him. They are all laughing at him, the boy who got dumped by the most unpopular girl at school, and it needles at him, sending prickles along his skin. His head is pounding by the time the bell rings at the end of the day, his mouth dry and fuzzy, and he packs up his bag quickly, rushing out of the classroom without stopping.

  He is almost at the bus stop when he hears his name being called. He turns to see Liam and Josh jogging down the path, bags bouncing on their backs.

  ‘Where you been?’ Liam asks breathlessly. ‘Haven’t you seen our messages?’

  ‘We heard about Izzy moving away,’ Josh says. ‘Are you okay?’

  Seb lifts a shoulder. ‘I need to catch my bus.’

  Josh glances at Liam before speaking. ‘You busy tonight?’

  ‘We’re going out,’ Liam says. ‘You should come. It’s been ages since we had a night out.’

  Seb thinks for a moment, trying to remember the last time he went out with his friends. He remembers trying to persuade Izzy to go, the way she bit her lip as she shook her head. Come on, it’ll be fun. And it was, until the night was cut short by Izzy feeling unwell.

  It was a party at Sian’s house, the lights turned pink and purple, pulsating in time with the music. She had recently moved in, the house a new build on the edge of town, and her parents were away for the weekend. She held court in the kitchen, mixing drinks and putting out bowls of crisps and nuts, laughing loudly. Abby made Izzy a drink, pressing it into her hands with a grin, and before long Izzy was so drunk, she could hardly hold her head up. Seb remembers the way Sian and Abby had giggled as she staggered to her feet and disappeared out the front door to throw up in the bushes.

  ‘They spiked me,’ she told him the next day, after he had taken her home and put her to bed with a glass of water, leaving quietly so her mother didn’t hear. ‘They put something in my drink.’

  ‘You just drank too much,’ he said. ‘Something didn’t agree with you.’ And she had stared at him, her eyes full of hurt that he didn’t believe her. That he had, once again, failed to stick up for her.

  ‘All right,’ he says now, banishing Izzy from his thoughts. ‘I’ll be there.’

  At home, he kicks off his shoes and goes into the kitchen to check the fridge. His nan writes everything down; her work shifts, when she’s looking after her mum, and he sees that today she is working until eight.

  Bolognese in the fridge she has written beneath on the whiteboard. Garlic bread in the freezer xx

  But Seb isn’t hungry. He goes upstairs, shrugging out of his uniform and pulling on a pair of jeans. He lifts his mattress and takes out a pouch of tobacco which he stuffs into his pocket. He checks his phone before he leaves, tapping on the Instagram app and watching Izzy’s story for the third time today. It is a video taken from a moving car, a huge river glistening beneath the sun as the car drives past. The location tag says Plymouth. Seb feels as if she is moving further and further away from him, until she is nothing but a speck on the horizon.

  Liam and Josh are sitting on a bench opposite the water, watching the swans huddling by the edge. Seb counts four cygnets as he approaches them, their grey feathers fuzzy and damp from the river.

  ‘Take your time,’ Liam says with a grin. ‘We almost started without you.’

  They walk along the path, towards the bridge and over it, then through the long grass until they come to a quiet spot beside the river, where the grass is flattened and littered with old cigarette butts. They sit with their feet dangling off the edge, the water rushing past beneath them.

  ‘I saw Izzy’s stories earlier,’ Josh says. ‘Have you spoken to her?’

  Seb feels his stomach tighten at the mention of her name. He shakes his head. ‘Not since she dumped me.’

  ‘Who’s she living with?’ Liam asks.

  ‘Her dad.’

  ‘I thought he wasn’t in the picture.’

  ‘Why are you asking me?’ His words come out stronger than he intended and he winces inwardly.

  ‘All right,’ Liam says, holding up his hands. ‘Just asking.’

  ‘Sucks though,’ Josh says, lighting a cigarette. ‘Her just dumping you like that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Liam says. ‘Especially after, you know.’

  Seb does know. He feels his cheeks heat up as he realises that even if he is not blamed for what happened, he is still viewed differently now. Judged. Pitied. He doesn’t know what’s worse.

  ‘She’s always been a bit funny,’ Liam says thoughtfully. ‘Even as a kid.’

  ‘Was she?’ Josh asks. ‘I didn’t know you were close.’

  ‘Since we were ickle babies.’ Liam laughs, looking at Seb. ‘All three of us, remember?’

  Seb nods, a memory flashing into his mind. The three of them in assembly, singing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ at the top of their lungs. They were in the same class, seated at the same table. And then at break time, when Liam refused to let Izzy play It, telling her that girls couldn’t play, even though Alex was a girl and she was playing.

  ‘Alex is cool,’ Liam sneered, and Seb can see it again now, the way he curled his lip as he spoke. He is different now, Liam, softer, and Seb is surprised at the memory. How cruel children can be. How easily they can hurt each other. How strong the echoes are, reaching through the years to haunt you.

  ‘Anyway,’ Liam says now. ‘Have you heard from the police lately?’

  Josh sighs. ‘No. My dad went mental when they came to interview me. I think they’re too scared to come back.’

  ‘I wonder who else they spoke to,’ Liam says. ‘They can’t have interviewed the whole school. Have you heard from them, Seb?’

  ‘They’ve only been round once. I think they blamed me though.’

  ‘Why?’

  Seb shrugs. ‘Because I’m her boyfriend. Was,’ he adds quickly. ‘I think they thought I’d pressured her into taking it.’

  ‘But she didn’t send it to you, did she?’ Josh asks.

  Seb shakes his head.

  ‘I wonder who she did send it to in the first place,’ Liam says. ‘And why.’

  ‘It’s not cool, is it,’ Josh says. ‘When she had a boyfriend.’

  Seb feels his stomach tighten, frustration building up inside him. ‘Can we stop talking about the fucking picture?’ he says, reaching out and grabbing a can of cider from Liam’s bag. ‘I’m sick of hearing about it.’

  ‘What picture?’
Seb turns to see Abby behind him, Sian and Jess flanking her. He suppresses a groan. ‘Silly me,’ Abby says, sitting down beside him. ‘There can only be one picture we’re still talking about.’

  ‘Can I have some?’ Sian asks, sitting beside Liam and taking the cider from his hand before he can answer.

  ‘Oi!’ He snatches it back before she can take a sip. ‘Get your own.’

  She flashes him a grin as Jess sits on his other side and takes it from him again. ‘Too easy.’ Jess laughs.

  Abby sits beside Seb, her bare knee grazing his. He resists the urge to shuffle away. ‘So,’ she says, opening her bag and bringing out a bottle of vodka. ‘The picture.’

  ‘We weren’t talking about that picture,’ Seb snaps. ‘Just leave it, yeah?’

  Abby rolls her eyes. ‘How typical of a man to not want to discuss a girl being violated.’ He feels himself burn with indignation, and opens his mouth to retort before she bursts into laughter. ‘Kidding! Izzy was totally up for it.’

  He stares at her, shock rendering him speechless. Up for it?

  ‘What does that mean?’ Josh demands.

  ‘Well,’ Abby says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. ‘I have it on good authority that Izzy knew exactly what she was doing.’

  ‘Yeah, okay then,’ Seb says, turning away from her.

  She ignores him. ‘She knew it was going to get shared around. We tried to warn her, didn’t we, girls?’

  Jess nods. ‘What are friends for?’

  ‘You weren’t friends,’ Seb snaps. ‘She hated you.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Sian murmurs.

  ‘Hate is such a strong word,’ Abby says. ‘We tried our best with her, we really did. It’s not our fault Izzy never fit in.’

  ‘Or annoyed everyone,’ Jess adds.