by Vikki Patis
Miranda comes over and sits beside her, her coffee cup clasped between her hands. ‘It’s okay to be nervous,’ she says gently. ‘It’s difficult being the new girl. But you’ll be fine.’
Izzy chews, thinking of the message her mother sent her last night, a variation on the same words, and yet they made her feel so different. Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine xx
Her form tutor is called Miss Anderson. She is young, mid-twenties at the most, with smooth blonde hair and a silver bracelet on her wrist. She looks up as Izzy enters the room, a map of the school clutched between her fingers.
‘Ah, Isabelle Bennett?’ Izzy nods. ‘Welcome to your form room, I’m Miss Anderson.’
‘Hi,’ she manages, trying to ignore the faces turning towards her. Miss Anderson notices, too, and clears her throat.
‘Folks, this is Isabelle. It’s her first day, so let’s be kind and help her settle in.’
She is seated at the end of the back row beside a girl with short dark hair. ‘Hi,’ she says, flashing her a shy smile. You can be anyone here, she reminds herself. Anyone you choose to be.
The girl glances up from her phone and smiles back, pushing her glasses up her nose. ‘Hey, I’m Leah.’
‘Oh my God, I love your hair!’ a voice interrupts. Another girl is leaning back on her seat, one hand steadying herself on Izzy’s table. ‘Is it natural?’
Izzy feels her cheeks heat up. ‘Yeah. I mean, I used a curl cream. There’s this method–’
‘Curly Girl?’ The girl nods. ‘I’ve seen it on Insta. Been meaning to give it a go.’ She runs her fingers through her straight hair. ‘Does it give you curls if you don’t already have them?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Izzy says, ‘I think it just enhances what you have.’
‘Enhances what you have.’ The girl smiles. ‘I like that. I’m Katie.’ She holds out a hand, and after a beat Izzy shakes it. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Oh, erm, Mannamead I think? I just moved in a week ago.’ She feels herself flush again and silently reprimands herself. Confidence, Izzy. ‘It’s near a big park. It’s got a big wooden gate at the front?’
‘I know it! I live round the corner.’ Katie grins. ‘You’ll be getting the same bus as me.’
‘Oh, my dad’s wife gave me a lift this morning,’ Izzy says. ‘I didn’t know there was a bus.’ There’s so much for her to learn.
‘What’s she like?’ Katie asks. ‘The stepmother.’ She raises an eyebrow at the word.
‘She’s nice. I only met her a week ago. But she’s been with my dad for a few years,’ Izzy adds quickly. ‘He wasn’t… in the picture, until recently.’
Katie nods sagely. ‘My mother pissed off and left me when I was twelve. Lives in the Algarve now, the bitch.’ She cocks her head at Izzy. ‘Where did you move from?’
‘Hertford. Hertfordshire.’
‘Hertford. Hertfordshire,’ Katie mimics, then laughs. ‘You sound so posh! Is it in London?’
‘Erm, yeah. Not far.’
‘I went to London last Christmas, the stepmother took me to see The Lion King. Have you seen it?’
Izzy shakes her head.
‘I saw it at the Theatre Royal,’ Leah puts in. Izzy hadn’t realised she’d been listening. ‘It was brilliant.’
Katie makes a face. ‘That’s not really a proper theatre, though, is it?’ she sniffs. ‘You need to experience it on Broadway. It is incredible!’
Izzy looks between the two girls, noting a hum of tension in the air. Katie is slim and beautiful, with her long blonde hair and tanned skin and bright blue eyes. She is probably popular, with lots of friends and invitations to parties and everything else Izzy wants. Then she glances at Leah and sees the Izzy she used to be, and feels a pang of sadness. She notices a paperback poking out of her bag, recognising the cover, and is about to ask about it when the bell rings, and the air fills with the scraping of chairs and chatter as the students leave the room.
‘What’s your first lesson?’ Leah asks as she stands up.
Izzy takes the timetable out of her pocket and checks. ‘French.’
‘That’s with me,’ Katie says, reading over her shoulder. She slips her arm through Izzy’s and starts to move towards the door. ‘I’ll show you.’
Izzy wants to say something to Leah, see you later or nice to meet you, but Katie is leading her across the room and out into the morning sun. ‘You want to be careful around her,’ she murmurs as they follow the crowd of students finding their way to lessons. ‘She’s so weird.’
36
Liv
We do not speak about what happened.
Seb is avoiding me. He goes to school and I go to work. He does his homework and goes out with friends. We eat dinner together less often, and when we do it is accompanied by awkward, stilted conversation. The space between us is growing, the silence deafening. I feel the tension growing inside the house, expanding, stretching taut like a rubber band. It’s only a matter of time until it snaps.
I watch him as he washes up one evening. I take him in, my grandson, the boy I have raised and loved as my own. For the first time, I see the shape of his father in his long legs, his tight curls. Perhaps it was seeing Rosa again the other day, who looks so much like Brad that sometimes it is hard to separate them. Perhaps it was seeing Seb’s face change as he towered over me, his eyes flashing. He is growing up, but what is he growing into?
And so we do not speak of it. Days pass, humming with electricity. I wish I had someone to talk to about this, someone with knowledge and experience with teenagers. Surely this is normal teenage behaviour? Lashing out, playing up. Testing the boundaries. Pushing me away. But nothing would change the way I feel about Seb.
Unless he hurt someone, a voice inside my head says. A woman. Like his father.
I think of Evelyn then, the way she stared at a fixed point throughout Brad’s trial, never meeting his beseeching gaze. I think of how she has condemned his actions, the tears she has shed since learning of what he did. Did she ever doubt that he was guilty? Did she ever shake her head and say no, no, not my boy. My boy wouldn’t do that. Or did she know, deep down, that he was capable of it? Of such awful, fatal violence. Had she seen it in him before, lurking beneath the mask of her beloved son?
I could never ask her these questions. It is a line I cannot cross, not after everything she has done for Seb. And for me, too. Although she has stuck to the sideline, never encroaching or forcing her way in, I’ve always known that I can turn to her in times of need.
And, a voice inside my head says, she can help you now. She would know the signs, be able to nip whatever this is in the bud. Brad could help too. The thought comes unbidden and my mouth fills with saliva, my stomach roiling. No. I will never ask that man for help.
But something is urging me to contact Evelyn again, to consider doing what terrifies me the most. Seb is speaking to his father regularly, I know, through those voicemail thingies, so what’s the difference if they meet face to face? How much longer can I keep Seb apart from his dad? These questions go around and around in my head, and all the while, Seb is slipping further away from me.
Sean has been on holiday for a few days, and I am grateful for the break from his judgemental gaze. I have never had any trouble at work before, at least, nothing I couldn’t shake off, but Sean seems to have it in for me lately. Perhaps he is one of those men who hates women. Perhaps he is simply enjoying having power over a woman old enough to be his mother.
I shake myself as a customer comes in to pay, plastering a smile to my face as I count out their change. Another customer enters behind them, and as I read the name on the ID she passes through the window, something clicks.
‘Jodie,’ I say, surprised. ‘Nice to see you.’
‘Hi, Liv,’ my grandson’s old friend says. ‘How are you?’
Memories flood back. Jodie and Seb were at primary school together, and they used to play football when they were younger. I remember watching them together
, their dark curls so similar. I had Jodie over for tea a few times when her mother had a late shift at the hospital and she was too young to stay at home by herself. Then I remember why she hasn’t been around for a while, the rumours I’d heard circulating about the man her mum had been dating until recently. Jodie’s mum had been at school with Paige, and she was always one of those girls who found herself in trouble. Drinking, bunking off school, boys. She had an abortion when she was fourteen, I remember, and although I am in no position to judge there, she always gave me a bad feeling, as if she was waiting for me to turn my back so she could pinch something or make a rude gesture.
‘Fine,’ I say quickly to cover the silence. Jodie was different to her mum, I remind myself. She was never like that. She was a sweet girl. ‘I’m fine, thank you. How are you? And your mum, is she well?’
‘Good, we’re both good, thank you,’ she says, and I remember her impeccable manners as a child. She was always so pleasant, never failed to say please and thank you.
‘First bike?’ I nod towards the moped beside pump number two.
Jodie grins. ‘Yep. Just passed my test. First time.’
‘Congratulations. You managed that quickly.’ I remember she is one of the older children in Seb’s year, her birthday in September.
‘After living in London for a few years, I got used to being able to hop on the Tube or the night bus,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘It’s a different world out here.’ She takes the receipt from my outstretched hand, pauses. ‘How is Seb? I meant to pop round after what happened the other day, but–’
‘You were there?’ I interject.
‘Yeah. We bumped into each other and I invited him out with some mates. To catch up, you know.’ Her expression has a hint of defiance, making my hackles rise.
‘Seb doesn’t do drugs,’ I snap. ‘He needs to focus on his education. He’s not like…’ I trail off, but Jodie seems to hear the rest of my sentence. He’s not like you.
‘He’s a big boy,’ she says with a shrug. ‘He can do what he wants.’
‘He’s a child.’ My voice has risen almost to a shout, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter. ‘I don’t want him involved in any of that. Stay away from him. Do you hear me?’
But she is walking away, her braids bouncing as she rips open the door and steps out onto the forecourt. I watch her tuck her wallet in her back pocket and put on her helmet, and as she straddles the moped, she turns back and gives a little wave before speeding off.
I can feel myself trembling, surprised at my own anger, how quickly it rose to the surface. Why is it that the ones I love always seem to be drawn towards those who might do them harm? First Paige, now Seb. But then, I realise suddenly, I was the first. Did I set the path for my daughter and grandson to follow? Did Paige learn from me that it is okay for your partner to hurt you, to humiliate you? Did she learn from me that it’s okay to kill?
I shake myself. I can feel the dark hole yawning beneath my feet, waiting for me to fall in. I cannot let that happen. I will not.
A glance at my watch tells me it is almost six o’clock, and I grab my bag, jumping when I hear Sean call my name from his office.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he says, and I turn back into the staffroom and poke my head around his door. He has his feet up on the table, his arms folded behind his head. ‘I’m afraid I have to give you a verbal warning.’
I blink. ‘For what?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘For leaving work in the middle of a shift, twice,’ he says, holding up a finger. ‘For leaving at short notice when nobody else could cover you.’ He holds up another finger. ‘For being rude to a customer today. You’re turning into a liability, Liv.’
I flush. How much did he hear? ‘The customer was someone I know personally. And as for the other things, they were out of my control, I–’
‘Regardless,’ he cuts in, ‘take this as your verbal warning. Don’t do it again.’
I feel something bubble up inside me, forty-nine years’ worth of anger and frustration, and I turn away before it spills out like lava, covering Sean and this entire sodding place and turning it all to ashes.
I get home earlier than expected, my fury increasing my pace as I walk home. I almost bump into Seb as he comes down the stairs.
‘Oh, hi love,’ I say, trying to ignore the tension between us. ‘Good day?’ He lifts a shoulder and I feel frustration flood me. When did our relationship become so strained? ‘I’m going to have a bath, then we can have some dinner. Bangers and mash, how does that sound?’
‘I’m going out,’ Seb says, fishing in the fridge for an energy drink. ‘I’ll eat at Josh’s.’
‘Is that where you’re going then?’ I ask, remembering my encounter with Jodie. ‘To Josh’s?’
He gives me a look as he bends down to tie his laces. ‘Yep. Do you want to ring his dad and check?’ His voice is laced with sarcasm and I feel myself deflate.
‘No, no. When will you be back?’ He shrugs, picking up a can of Monster and slotting it into his pocket before turning towards the door. I fight the urge to scream. ‘Seb?’ He stops then, one hand on the door handle. ‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If there was something on your mind?’ I try to smile reassuringly at him. ‘You can tell me anything, anything at all. You know that, don’t you?’
There is a beat, two, my question hanging in the air, before he nods again. ‘Yeah, Nan. Course.’ And he is gone, the door slamming in his wake.
37
Seb
Seb doesn’t go to Josh’s. He turns left at the end of the street, skirting down the alley and exiting by the shop. Jodie is sitting on a bench, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She smiles as he approaches.
‘Saw your nan earlier,’ she says. ‘She gave me a right bollocking.’
He frowns. ‘What? Why?’
‘I went to get petrol and she was working. She thinks I’m a bad influence.’ Jodie makes a face.
Seb sits down beside her, taking the cigarette from her fingers. ‘She’s not wrong,’ he says, and she whacks his arm. An old man with a small terrier walks past, and Seb can’t help noticing the look he throws their way. The dog barks at them, two high-pitched yaps that bounce off the concrete, and the man yanks it away roughly.
‘Racist dog,’ Jodie says with a sardonic grin.
Seb looks up to see Olly emerge from the pharmacy, a white bag in his hand. ‘All right?’ he says. ‘Gotta take this to my brother, then I’ll be back.’
‘We’ll come with,’ Jodie says, hopping off the bench. ‘How’s Barnaby doing?’
Olly grimaces. ‘Not great. He’s back on the painkillers, can’t get out of bed without them.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Seb asks as they walk.
‘MS,’ Jodie replies. ‘Olly cares for him.’
Olly glances back. ‘Not just me. His girlfriend does most of the work.’
Seb looks at Olly, feels the picture he’d built up of him in his head shift. How many people have hidden parts of their lives, vulnerabilities that nobody sees? He thinks of his nan then, and how deep her pain runs. Lately he’s been feeling as if she just wants to control him, to keep him on the path she believes is right for him, but has he misjudged her? Has he been lashing out since everything happened with Izzy? Or is there more to it, more than he can comprehend? He shakes his head, trying to clear his muddy thoughts. He feels as if he is at a fork in the road, both identical from the starting point, but what twists might lie ahead? A fallen tree for him to stumble over, a wall he has to dismantle brick by brick. But how can he know what’s waiting around the corner if he doesn’t choose a path?
They arrive at a block of flats. Olly enters a code and opens the door, holding it for Jodie and Seb to enter. The entrance hall is cold and dark, the beige floor tiles shining wetly in the low light, and Seb wrinkles his nose at the distinct scent of urine. Olly turns to the third door on the left, produces a key and unlocks it. ‘Only me,’ he calls, ushering the others
inside. ‘I’ve brought some mates.’
A woman comes out into the narrow passageway, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘Go through, he’s awake,’ she says, glancing at Seb and Jodie. ‘Hiya.’
Seb smiles awkwardly. He notices the dark circles beneath the woman’s eyes, the lines on her forehead that make her look as if she is constantly frowning. The hallway is bare, with patchy paintwork and a thin carpet beneath their feet. It opens up into a small living space, a kitchenette on one side, two closed doors on the other, a brown sofa in the middle. A small TV perches on top of a large cardboard box, an image of a coffee table on the side, but the coffee table is nowhere to be seen. ‘Take a seat,’ she says.
Jodie sits on the sofa and Seb follows, feeling the springs sag beneath his weight. ‘How are you, Jenny?’ she asks.
Jenny sighs as she sits at the tiny dining table, the chair so flimsy it looks as if it will collapse beneath her. ‘All right. It’s been hard lately, not gonna lie. I’ve had to sleep in here for the past few nights. My fidgeting causes him pain.’ She points at a neat pile of pillows and a blanket stacked on the floor. ‘He wakes up screaming most nights.’
‘Shit,’ Jodie mutters. ‘Are you getting any help?’
‘From this government?’ Jenny snorts. ‘Nah. We got a sanction because Barnaby had a hospital appointment when he was meant to go to the job centre. We told them but they don’t give a shit. Any excuse to fuck you over.’ She shakes her head. ‘I had to go to the food bank last week. Humiliating, it was. Proper humiliating.’
Seb absorbs her words, realising that this is another thing he has been shielded from. Money has never been in abundance, but his nan has always made sure that there was enough to eat and the house was warm. How little he knows, he thinks now, of what Liv has done to make sure he was always taken care of. Did she ever go without so that he didn’t have to?