In The Dark

by Vikki Patis

By the time they reach town, Seb is howling with laughter. He remembers how funny Jodie used to be, how observant she was. She still arches one eyebrow when she cracks a joke, still tips her head back to laugh. He suddenly realises that he has missed her, this friend who was only a friend outside of school, away from the Izzys and the Joshs and the Liams. Someone who lived two streets away, whose mum told him to make himself at home, and just go up, Seb, no need to stand on ceremony. He had let this friendship drop, focused instead on the people his nan thought he should be spending time with, doing the things his nan told him to do, and he realises his error now.

  ‘So what are we doing anyway?’ he asks as they walk through the supermarket car park. It is early evening, the air still warm, and the park is full of children, playing and screaming at the top of their lungs.

  Jodie glances at him out of the corner of her eye, mischief in her gaze. ‘You’ll see.’ She leads him across the road and onto the field, then over a small bridge. The path is lined with trees, the sky blocked out by heavy leaves, and the river trickles past, moorhens drifting by along the water.

  They turn down a smaller path, cutting through the trees, clothes snagging on branches like outstretched fingers. It is colder here, away from the late spring sun, and Seb realises he can no longer hear the sounds of the young families in the main park. Jodie pushes open a low gate, and as Seb follows, he sees that they are in an enclosed space, with high barbed wire fencing them in.

  ‘What is this?’ he asks, looking around.

  Jodie grins. ‘Just a little place we found.’ As she speaks, Seb notices a small brick structure at the far end. The door swings open and a girl steps out, both arms raised above her head.

  ‘Jode!’ she calls. ‘Who’s the boy?’

  ‘An old mate,’ Jodie says as they move closer. ‘He’s cool. Seb, Tasha. Tasha, Seb.’ She waves a hand between them.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, trying not to squirm under Tasha’s gaze. Her eyes rake over him, making him feel as if she can read his innermost thoughts.

  ‘You’re late,’ she says after a moment, turning her gaze back to Jodie.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jodie replies, moving past Tasha into the building. ‘Where’s my shit?’

  ‘Where you left it.’

  Seb stays outside, turning away from Tasha and looking around the field. It is so quiet, and a sense of peace settles over him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. All thoughts of Izzy seem further away here.

  Jodie emerges with two large carrier bags. She flicks her long braid over her shoulder as she grins at him. ‘Take these, will you? I need to get the chairs.’

  He does, holding the heavy bags against his chest while Jodie wrestles two folded deckchairs through the narrow doorway. She sets them up round the side of the building, and Tasha rolls out a large striped blanket beside the chairs.

  ‘Help me with the bench,’ she says to Seb, and he places the bags down before following her. ‘So how do you know Jodie?’ she asks as they grab opposite ends of a metal bench.

  ‘We used to live near each other. We hung out a lot when we were kids.’ Tasha makes a noise in the back of her throat. ‘You?’

  ‘Community service,’ she says, flashing him a grin that brings to mind a wolf baring its teeth. ‘She still the same?’

  Seb shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I just bumped into her today.’ They manoeuvre the bench through the door and carry it round the side of the building. ‘How did you find this place?’ he asks Jodie, who is sitting cross-legged on the blanket, a small rectangular tin open on her lap. He watches her sprinkle small green flakes onto a line of tobacco.

  ‘My boyfriend brought me here last summer,’ Tasha answers, collapsing onto one of the deckchairs and opening a bottle of cider with her teeth. ‘It’s been abandoned for years.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Jodie says to Seb without glancing up. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’

  He perches on the bench, suddenly wondering why he is here. The Jodie he used to know is still there, but she is buried under a harder exterior, one which has been battered by the elements. He should leave, but where would he go? Izzy is gone, and he doesn’t want to see his friends, doesn’t want to be reminded of everything that has happened over the past few weeks. He just wants to forget.

  Jodie licks the paper, twisting it into a perfect cone, before holding it up triumphantly. She digs out a lighter and holds the flame to the end, watching as it catches, a small line of smoke drifting upwards. She puts it in her mouth and inhales before holding it out to Seb.

  He shakes his head. ‘Not for me.’

  Jodie laughs. ‘Oh, go on. You look like you could do with a pick-me-up.’ But he shakes his head again.

  Tasha snatches the spliff from Jodie’s hand and takes a long drag. ‘I didn’t realise you were mates with pussies,’ she says, blowing a smoke ring into the air.

  Jodie whacks her leg. ‘Seb isn’t a pussy. He’s just not a delinquent like us.’

  ‘Who’s a delinquent?’ A voice makes them turn. Three boys and a girl have emerged through the trees, ducking beneath the wire fence and walking towards them.

  ‘You’re the biggest one, Olly,’ Jodie says, laughing. She takes the spliff back from Tasha and holds it out to one of the boys. ‘Just in time, as always.’

  ‘I can smell bud from half a mile,’ he says, grinning as he takes it from her. He looks at Seb while the others find places to sit. ‘Who’s this then?’

  ‘This is Seb,’ Jodie says. ‘Seb, meet Olly, Dylan, Ben. And Kyra, of course.’ The girl gives a small wave from where she sits down on the blanket while the boys nod. Olly sits beside Seb on the bench, spreading his legs and leaning back on the cool metal. He holds the spliff out to him.

  ‘He doesn’t do drugs,’ Tasha pipes up. ‘He’s a good boy.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Seb protests. He doesn’t mind weed, has smoked it a few times with his friends, but he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel afterwards, when the high is gone and he is left feeling empty.

  Olly shrugs. ‘No pressure. Not all of us are crackheads, Tash.’ Tasha’s nostrils flare, her eyes darkening at the slight. Olly turns to Seb. ‘So, Seb. Short for Sebastian? “Under the Sea”?’ He laughs, not unkindly. ‘Where you from?’

  ‘Not seen you around before,’ Dylan says, opening a can of beer and cursing as it sprays his leg. ‘You one of them posh boys?’

  Seb shakes his head. ‘I live near Jodie. We knew each other as kids.’ It suddenly strikes him that he is doing the opposite of what he has done all his life, reaffirming that he is from the estate on the edge of town that nobody in his circle of friends would ever visit, instead of playing it down. He has always tried his best to fit in with the people who live in nice, semi-detached houses with more rooms than they need and a fridge full of food, who always have the latest phones and brand-new trainers, but he has never fit in, he realises now. He has never been able to keep up.

  ‘We were good pals,’ Jodie says. ‘Remember when your nan took us berry-picking and we got lost?’ She laughs.

  Seb smiles, remembering. ‘You lost a shoe in the mud.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that.’ Jodie shakes her head. ‘My mum had a fit.’

  ‘Heart-warming,’ Tasha says, her voice full of sarcasm. Jodie shoots her a look.

  ‘How about a cider, Sebastian?’ Ben says, fishing a can out of a bag. ‘We’re celebrating.’

  ‘Are we?’ Kyra asks, glancing at Ben. He slides an arm around her shoulder.

  ‘Course we are. Our Dylan got off, didn’t he?’

  ‘What happened?’ Tasha asks Dylan, who shrugs.

  ‘Suspended sentence,’ he says, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Yeah!’ Ben says, grinning. ‘Fuck the police.’

  Seb feels Jodie looking at him. ‘Didn’t you have the feds at yours the other day?’ she asks, leaning back on both elbows.

  ‘Yeah?’ Tasha says. ‘What did you do, cross the road without waiting for the green
man?’ She sniggers.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Seb mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up.

  Jodie clicks her fingers. ‘Hang on, didn’t something happen to your girlfriend?’ She turns to Kyra. ‘That girl at your sister’s school. Something about a photo?’ His stomach lurches. How does Jodie know about Izzy? She gives a shrug as if he has asked the question aloud. ‘I saw it on Facebook, Izzy something? She’s your girlfriend, yeah?’

  ‘Oh God,’ Kyra says, her eyes widening. ‘Yeah, that poor girl. A naked photo went around the school or something.’

  ‘Naked photo.’ Tasha wrinkles her nose. ‘Like revenge porn?’ She glances at Seb and his body tenses at the accusation in her eyes.

  ‘Nah,’ Jodie says, ‘didn’t she take it herself or something? Sent it to someone?’

  Ben whistles. ‘I’d be well pissed off if my girlfriend’s nudes went around.’ He tightens his arm around Kyra. ‘Unless I released them myself. Sometimes girls deserve it.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Jodie says, kicking out at his ankle.

  ‘She probably cheated,’ Dylan says with a yawn.

  ‘Did she?’ Olly asks, but before Seb can answer, Olly is shaking his head. He passes Seb a bottle of Malibu. ‘Females are more trouble than they’re worth,’ he murmurs, nudging Seb with his shoulder. ‘Drink up, mate.’

  Seb opens the bottle and drinks, the liquid burning his throat.

  ‘And males are a bunch of dickheads,’ Tasha mutters.

  Jodie looks at Seb, her head cocked to one side. ‘Is that what happened? Did you share it?’

  Seb doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t know what possesses him in that moment to lie, but he nods, and something shifts irrevocably inside him.

  32

  Izzy

  Miranda drives through the city, the car snaking down the backstreets, and pulls into a small car park. She turns to Izzy with a smile. ‘I’m so pleased you found the paint you wanted,’ she says. ‘It’s such a lovely pink. Should we decorate this weekend?’

  Izzy nods. ‘That would be great, thanks.’ She thinks of how grown-up her room will look, how stylish, and smiles to herself.

  ‘You’re going to love this place,’ Miranda says as she pulls up the handbrake. ‘It’s where your dad and I went on our first date. Well, our first in England.’

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘Ah, now there’s a story.’ Miranda gets out of the car and crosses to the meter to pay for parking. Izzy checks her phone while she waits, sees several notifications waiting for her. She opens them one by one, heart lurching as she reads the messages from new, clearly fake accounts. Why can’t they leave her alone? She has blocked so many of these accounts over the last few weeks, has even considered taking herself off social media again, but she knows her mum sees every one of her posts, and besides, she wants to show the world that she is doing okay. That she is moving on. So why can’t everyone else?

  ‘Ready?’ Miranda asks, slipping the parking ticket onto the dashboard and locking the car. Izzy looks up and pockets her phone, trying to ignore the prickle of anxiety at the words she just read. She won’t let them get to her here. She won’t.

  ‘Ready.’

  They walk past the aquarium, the water in the harbour beside them a deep blue, glistening in the morning light. Seagulls cry overhead, and boats bob gently on either side of the walkway. Izzy reads some of the names as they pass. Grace & Serenity. Seas the Day. Ships & Giggles.

  ‘Your dad and I met abroad,’ Miranda is saying. ‘In Brittany. There was an exhibition, and I wanted to buy something for my sister. She’s a real art lover.’ She flashes Izzy a grin. ‘You’d like her. She’s quite a bit younger than me, from my dad’s second marriage. She’s an influencer.’ She rolls her eyes at the term, but she is still smiling.

  ‘Does she live here too?’ Izzy asks.

  ‘Oh, no. She still lives in France, in a house built on our father’s land. Close enough to have dinner every evening and not have to do the washing-up. Far enough away so she can escape the third wife.’ Miranda winks. ‘Anyway, it was Anthony’s exhibit, though of course, I didn’t know it at the time. He was wandering around, and to be honest I didn’t pay much attention to him. I was looking at a painting of a woman riding a horse, thinking how perfectly it would go in my sister’s dining room, when he approached me. He asked if I liked horses.’ She makes a face. ‘Some chat-up line.’

  Izzy laughs, picturing it, as they approach a building made almost entirely of glass. Miranda holds open the door for Izzy to enter and a waitress approaches, greeting Miranda by name and showing them to a table in the far corner. The water laps gently against the window, mesmerising Izzy.

  ‘The sourdough bread here is amazing,’ Miranda says, placing a menu in front of her. ‘I’m going to have poached eggs. And veggie bacon, sod it. Go wild.’

  ‘When did you move to Plymouth?’ Izzy asks after they have ordered.

  ‘Anthony lived in Exeter when we met,’ she says. ‘I’d just put in an offer on the house. My house in Brittany is rented out to holidaymakers, so I rented a small flat in the city until the house was ready, and then Anthony joined me.’ She smiles. ‘It’s funny how things work out, isn’t it?’

  A tall glass of orange juice is placed before Izzy, a paper straw sticking out of the top. Miranda puts a cube of sugar in her coffee and stirs. They eat in companionable silence for a while, half-listening to the low conversations around them, the sound of cutlery scraping against plates, the clatter of pans coming from the kitchen.

  Izzy looks at the ring on Miranda’s finger, a plain gold band with an intricate vine pattern etched into it. No engagement ring. ‘Where did you get married?’

  ‘In Brittany last year. It was a lovely service, very small and intimate.’ Miranda pulls a face. ‘I’m sorry you weren’t there. You and your sister would have made beautiful bridesmaids. Perhaps we could do something with you both, renew our vows or whatever people do.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Izzy says, then, braver now: ‘Did you know about me? Us? When did he tell you that he had children?’

  ‘Oh, yes, very early on,’ Miranda says. ‘He had wanted to contact you for a while, but he didn’t know how to go about it.’

  ‘Did he tell you about what happened between him and Mum?’

  A pause. ‘A little. I didn’t like to pry. It’s none of my business anyway; past relationships are in the past.’ She puts down her cutlery and sips her coffee. ‘How is your mum?’

  Izzy realises with a pang that she hasn’t spoken to her since Saturday. ‘I need to ring her today,’ she says. ‘She sent me a message last night, but I was asleep.’

  ‘She’ll be happy to hear from you. Anthony has told me all about her. She’s quite a remarkable woman.’ Izzy frowns. She has never heard the word remarkable used to describe her mother before. Miranda smiles. ‘It’s difficult to see our parents as actual humans sometimes, isn’t it? But your mum has been through a lot, and she’s come out the other side. You should be proud of her.’

  ‘Why?’ Izzy asks, then flushes. ‘I mean, what has she been through? She doesn’t talk much about the past. Not even about Dad.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s very painful for her to talk about, especially with her children. As a mother, you’re expected to be the strong one. The one everyone depends on.’

  ‘Do you have children?’ Miranda pauses, and Izzy immediately regrets her question. How rude can you be? she scolds herself silently. How thoughtless. She is about to apologise when Miranda speaks.

  ‘No. I had a child, once. A boy. His name was Raphael.’ Her smile is watery, her gaze faraway. ‘He passed away when he was five. Cancer.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Izzy reaches out and takes Miranda’s hand. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘Oh, no, Izzy,’ Miranda says, squeezing her hand. ‘I should talk about him. I never want to forget about him.’ She sits back, picking up her coffee again. ‘You know, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she say
s. ‘I know things haven’t quite gone to plan, but you are so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Trust me. Things will get better.’

  Izzy nods, trying to hold on to Miranda’s words like a drowning woman grasping onto a piece of driftwood. She watches the gentle waves splash against the window, trying to centre herself, trying not to think about the messages she hastily deleted as she leaned against the car. She tries not to think about Seb, and how much she hurt him. She has spent her life feeling as if she is always out of her depth, her legs kicking uselessly against the current. Can things be different here? Can she be different? She has to believe the answer is yes.

  33

  Liv

  That day, two things happen that change everything.

  The first thing happens just as I’m leaving for work, my phone buzzing in my pocket. Private number flashes up on the screen, and I instantly think police. Is this what my life has become now, waiting for the proverbial knock on the door?

  But it isn’t the police. On the other end of the phone is a man who introduces himself as Trevor in a Jamaican accent. And he informs me, in that lovely, rich accent, that he is with my mother, who had been found wandering the streets in her underwear, a large kitchen knife in her hand.

  ‘Where is she now?’ I ask, my pulse quickening.

  ‘She’s at the hospital now. They’re just checking her over.’

  ‘And who – sorry, but who are you?’

  Trevor chuckles. ‘I’m the postman round that area. I found her outside the Indian restaurant, down the bottom of Bullocks Lane.’

  ‘Jesus. That’s… that’s ages away from where she lives.’

  ‘I know, I’m her postman too,’ Trevor says. ‘I’ll wait with her until you get here.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,’ I say quickly, grabbing my car keys and hurrying out the door. ‘What about your round? You must be so late.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me,’ he says firmly. ‘I’ve known your mother for some years now, it’s a pleasure to wait with her. We’ll see you soon.’