In The Dark

by Vikki Patis

  ‘What do you need?’ Jodie asks, getting up and walking into the kitchen. Seb is surprised by her forwardness, her apparent ease in this strange flat. But she has been here before, probably lots of times, and she knows what it is like to look after yourself. He remembers her eating dinner with him and Liv while her mum worked the late shift, the back-door key hidden beneath a small statue of an owl. He remembers her creased school shirts, the shoes with worn soles that leaked when it rained. All these things he witnessed but didn’t understand, until now.

  Seb watches as Jodie opens the kitchen cupboards. They are mostly empty, but for a few tins and some loose packets of crisps. He thinks of his own kitchen, not much bigger than this but more inviting, the small cubbyholes filled with knick-knacks and the calendar full of scribbles, denoting the everyday life of his family. His family of two. He suddenly longs for it, the house he has grown up in, the nan who has given him everything. How has this happened? They used to get on so well together, with a few hiccups like everyone else, but now Seb feels as if something has inserted itself between him and Liv, some truth that wasn’t there before, and he can’t seem to see a way around it.

  ‘Write me a list,’ Jodie says to Jenny, coming back into the living room. ‘We’ll get you what you need.’

  They leave Olly at his brother’s after he tells them he needs to stay for a while. As they walk, Jodie kicks a stone along, her hands shoved into her pockets.

  ‘It’s so shit, man,’ she says. ‘How do they expect people to live?’

  Seb is quiet, cannot yet find the words he needs to express how he is feeling. Something is bubbling inside him, a mixture of everything that has ever happened in his life, and everything that is still to come. ‘How can we help?’ he asks after a moment.

  Jodie’s eyes rake over him as if she is assessing him. ‘We get them what they need,’ she says. ‘By whatever means necessary.’

  The implication is clear. Jodie doesn’t have any money, at least not enough to help Olly’s brother, so she has to find another way. He thinks of the jar his nan keeps in the kitchen, the university fund he isn’t sure he’ll ever use. But no, he couldn’t steal from her, she who has so little. So he has to find another way too.

  ‘All right,’ he says, and with that, he takes a step towards one of the paths laid out before him.

  38

  Izzy

  Instead of going home after school, Katie persuades Izzy to go into the city centre with her. ‘I need a new bag,’ she says as they walk arm in arm from the bus stop towards the shopping centre. ‘And I want to get some new hair stuff. You’ve inspired me to go curly.’

  Izzy has never inspired anyone before, and she basks in the golden light of Katie’s friendship. They make their way around Primark, Katie picking out items and holding them against Izzy, declaring that she would look amazing in this or that, but Izzy doesn’t buy anything. She has some pocket money, transferred to her account from her dad for ‘whatever teenage girls need’, but she doesn’t like any of the clothes Katie picks out for her, doesn’t think she could pull any of it off.

  ‘I’m skint,’ she says instead of telling the truth. ‘Maybe next month.’

  They go into Superdrug and Izzy finds the hair products Miranda bought for her. Katie buys the whole range, including three different types of conditioner, plus a new eyeshadow palette and a pink lipstick which she gives to Izzy.

  ‘It’ll suit you better than me,’ she says, handing it over outside the shop. ‘Red is more my colour.’

  Izzy takes it with a smile, amazed at how forthcoming this girl is, how unashamedly herself. She has taken Izzy under her wing, and she feels as if they have known each other for longer than one day. This is what real friendship is like, she thinks as they walk through the city and up towards the sea. I’d forgotten how good it feels.

  ‘This is the Hoe,’ Katie says as they emerge on top of a hill, coming to stand in the shadow of a war memorial. She laughs at Izzy’s quizzical look. ‘I know, weird name. I don’t know where it comes from.’

  Izzy is staring out to sea, the water shimmering beneath the sun like diamonds. Seagulls whirl overhead, crying out to one another, and a group of small children run across the grass chasing a ball, a dog on their heels.

  ‘I love it here,’ Katie says quietly, and Izzy looks at her, feeling a change in her new friend. Her eyes are half-closed, a small smile on her lips, and her expression is relaxed, unguarded.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Izzy says, and Katie’s smile widens.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, pulling Izzy by the hand. ‘Let’s get closer.’

  They head towards the seafront, passing the couples lazing on the grass, bottles of cider open beside them, the families on picnic blankets with half-eaten sausage rolls lying on the grass, tempting the seagulls closer. They follow the path down to a road, stopping at the low wall and looking out across the Sound.

  ‘What’s that?’ Izzy asks, pointing at a semicircular pool of water to their left.

  ‘The Lido,’ Katie says. ‘It’s usually full of screaming kids, but I used to love it when I was younger.’

  ‘When you were a screaming kid,’ Izzy teases, confident in a way she hasn’t been in a long time.

  Katie laughs, the sound echoing out around them. ‘Yeah. I was a little brat.’

  ‘I can’t swim,’ Izzy confides. ‘Neither can my sister.’

  Katie frowns. ‘At all? Didn’t you ever learn?’ Izzy shakes her head, and Katie grins. ‘I’ll have to teach you then. You can’t live by the sea and not know how to swim.’ She checks the time on her phone. ‘We’d better head back. There’s a bus in twenty minutes, we should just about make it.’

  They turn back, walking up the hill towards the lighthouse.

  ‘Can you go inside?’ Izzy asks as they approach it.

  ‘Oh yeah, the view is amazing. We’ll do it together one day, you’ll love it.’

  Izzy is warmed by the promise of another day together. She pauses, turning to snap a photo of the lighthouse, catching the shimmering sea in the background, a boat zipping across the water.

  ‘Let’s take a selfie,’ Katie says, holding her phone up and wrapping an arm around Izzy’s shoulders. Izzy smiles at the camera, her head pressed against Katie’s, and it is a real smile, with genuine happiness behind it.

  ‘Send it to me,’ Izzy says when Katie lowers the phone. ‘I’ll send it to my mum.’ She flushes, realising this probably makes her sound like a baby, but Katie nods.

  ‘Tell her she’s got nothing to worry about. You’ve got me now.’

  ‘How was your first day?’ Anthony asks when Izzy enters the kitchen. She drops her bag on the floor and sits at the table. ‘Made a friend already?’

  Izzy can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. ‘It was good. The city is beautiful.’

  ‘I meant to take you up to Smeaton’s Tower myself,’ he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a pack of mince. ‘You know you can go inside?’

  ‘The lighthouse? Yeah, Katie said. We’re going to go one day.’ Her dad’s smile flickers, and she realises her error. ‘But didn’t you say there are boat trips?’

  His smile widens. ‘Oh, you’d love it. They go all the way up to the Tamar bridge. We’ll go one day, when the weather’s nice.’

  Miranda breezes into the room, squeezing Izzy’s shoulder as she passes. ‘Good day?’ she asks.

  Izzy nods. ‘Is it okay if I get changed? Then I can help with dinner.’

  ‘What, no homework?’ Miranda says, winking. ‘I thought children were buried under homework these days.’

  ‘It’ll all be revision now, won’t it?’ Anthony says. ‘Not long until your exams.’

  ‘God, don’t mention the E-word,’ Izzy mutters. ‘I’m so nervous.’

  Miranda makes a noise in the back of her throat. ‘I hated exams. I always ran out of time.’

  ‘I scraped through mine,’ Anthony says with a grin. ‘Just about made it to university.’<
br />
  ‘And look at us now,’ Miranda says, smiling. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much, Izzy. Exams aren’t the be-all and end-all. Most people don’t care what GCSEs you have.’

  ‘Or O levels, in our case,’ Anthony adds.

  ‘Really?’ Izzy can’t hide her surprise. ‘But Mum says this is the most important year of my education.’

  Anthony and Miranda exchange a glance before Miranda responds. ‘And she’s right to prepare you,’ she says gently. ‘Qualifications are important. But there’s no need to stress about them. There are plenty of options ahead. You’re a bright girl, you’ll find the right path.’

  Izzy feels something shift inside her, a warm feeling spreading out from her stomach. She has never been treated like this before, like an adult. She has never felt like someone who knows her own mind. Like someone who can find her own path.

  39

  Caitlyn

  I wake in the early hours of the morning with a start, my daughter’s name on my lips. Izzy. The dream is slipping away as I blink at the ceiling, though the anxiety remains, bubbling in my stomach.

  Michael’s side of the bed is empty, and I remember that he is in Dublin for a few days. Or is it Belfast? I check my phone to find a message from him.

  Had to change hotels – some idiot had booked me and Pete into a double room! Will send the details. Izzy will be fine xxx

  And I suddenly remember why I fell in love with him in the first place. His confident grin, the way he always knows what wine to have with a meal, and his kindness. He used to be so thoughtful, so careful with the girls. He’d wanted them to like him, and they did. They do. He alone helped Alicia move into halls because I’d hurt my ankle while out jogging. He spent a long weekend laying the patio in the back garden, Izzy fetching the large stones from where they’d been delivered out the front, gritting her teeth as she pushed the heavy wheelbarrow. He built the new chest of drawers in Izzy’s room, then spray-painted it white when she decided she no longer liked the look of pine. He used to cook dinner every Friday night, finishing work early and heading to the supermarket for ingredients. He’d light candles and always make sure there was something sweet and decadent for dessert.

  I sigh. When did this gulf appear between us all? But I know. It was last year, when the bullying started.

  ‘She’s not made of china,’ Michael snapped once when I was making a hot water bottle for Izzy, who was lying on the sofa wrapped in a blanket. ‘It’s normal, kids being kids. It’ll blow over.’

  The cracks started to appear then, thin at first, hairline fractures that could be covered up with a warm hug and a cup of tea. Our first proper argument consisted of angry words hissed in the bedroom, across the bed where we had slept and laughed and loved together, and was now full of words piled up between us like an impenetrable barrier. The three words that silenced him, that sent him into the spare room for two nights, never spoken again but never forgotten either: ‘She’s my daughter.’

  And now she is gone. Living with a father she barely knows, a father who abandoned her when she was still young enough to forget about him. But Alicia didn’t forget. Memories are drifting back, of when the girls were young and I had crawled my way up from the bottom of a vodka bottle. Alicia asking where the photos had gone, the photos of Anthony that I took down because they were too painful to look at. Izzy wearing a shirt she took from the washing basket, the shirt Anthony bought when he sold his first painting when we were at university and had left behind, forgotten. I tried to erase him from our lives, scrub him from my mind with a little compartmentalisation and a lot of alcohol, but their memories endured.

  I should never have tried to stop them from loving him, I realise that now. And if I’m entirely honest with myself, I know Anthony wasn’t solely to blame. He left because he couldn’t carry the weight of our secret, my secret, and I have never been able to bring myself to tell the girls the truth. But despite everything, he has still taken her. Izzy. Taken her down to Plymouth to start again, to finish her education and put all of this behind her. If she can.

  I play the radio loudly, trying to drown out the quietness of the empty house. Alicia has forgiven me for our argument, a box of brownies sent through the post with a typed note: This is for you, Mum. Lis xx

  But I am still alone, and I cannot bear the silence, so I sing, loudly and out of tune, as I dig the dust sheets out of the airing cupboard and position them in the downstairs toilet. I’ve been meaning to redo this room for years; it is the last one to be done since the renovation, and still bears the style of the previous owners, but I have never found either the time or the energy to do it. But now I have both. I feel rested, despite some fractured sleep, and I have nothing else to do today, so I am going to paint over the lime-green back wall I’ve always hated with a deep forest-green, and freshen up the other walls with a lick of white paint. I unscrew the shelves and lay them in the hall, before grabbing the tins of paint and roller brushes from the cupboard under the stairs.

  While the walls are drying, I make a cup of tea and sit at the island, flicking through my phone. Izzy posted something on Instagram last night: a red-and-white lighthouse standing above a grey, shimmering sea with the caption Smeaton’s Tower at Plymouth Hoe. I double tap the image and go to leave a comment, then pause as I read a comment left by someone with the name Watthe04.

  Plymouth HOE lol

  I frown, something tingling along my spine as I realise what is happening. They’re doing it again. They’re still doing it. Someone is still bullying my daughter. After everything, after everything she has been through, they are still bullying her.

  I feel myself shaking with fury as I tap on the profile. It’s locked, of course, with no profile picture. I hit request to follow and wait, then on impulse hit send a message.

  Who are you? I type. Why are you harassing my daughter?

  I lock my phone with a frustrated sigh, wondering if I have just made everything worse. Should I report it to the police? Could it have anything to do with the investigation? I drink my tea, trying to calm myself down. I’ll call PC Willis later, I decide, maybe she will have an update on the case.

  I go back into the bathroom and take down the old mirror, replacing it with a new black-rimmed one. I clean the sink and empty the cupboard beneath it, sorting through the half-empty bottles of bleach and emptying handwash into a new dispenser which matches the mirror, then start on the second coat of paint.

  By the time I’m finished, the dust sheets gathered up and thrown back into the airing cupboard, the wall fully dry and the shelves back up, the sun has gone down and I hear my stomach rumble. It is too late to call PC Willis, but when I open my phone the Instagram app pops up, a new message in my inbox.

  Stay out of it.

  I dial PC Willis’s number first thing the next morning. She answers on the third ring.

  ‘Hi, it’s Caitlyn,’ I say. ‘Isabelle Bennett’s mum?’

  ‘Hi Caitlyn,’ she says, a tentative note in her voice. ‘How’s Izzy?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. She’s down with her dad now, in Plymouth. Started at her new school this week.’

  ‘That’s good.’ A pause. ‘Is there something wrong, Caitlyn?’

  I take a breath. ‘Yes. Well, I think so. I don’t know. There was this comment on Izzy’s Instagram, calling her a… a hoe.’ I stumble over the word, wincing. ‘It came from an account called Watthe04. I messaged it, asking who they were–’

  ‘You messaged them?’ PC Willis interrupts. ‘What made you do that?’

  I swallow, chastised. ‘I just… I thought if they knew I was her mum, maybe they’d lay off a bit?’ As I speak, I can hear the disapproval in her silence. ‘It was probably a stupid thing to do, I see that now.’

  ‘What happened? Did they respond?’

  ‘Yes. They said stay out of it. I’ve tried sending another message, but it’s not coming up as “seen” and they haven’t replied.’

  ‘You’ve probably been blocked,’ she says. �
��That’s the way it works on Instagram. The profile doesn’t entirely disappear like on Facebook.’

  ‘Oh.’ I suddenly realise how little I know about these things. ‘Did I… Do you think it could be related?’

  She makes a non-committal noise in the back of her throat. ‘Ms Bennett,’ she begins.

  ‘Caitlyn.’

  ‘Caitlyn. I understand you’re worried about your daughter. Bullying is an awful thing to go through and it can have very serious repercussions.’ We are both silent as I picture those repercussions: the cuts on Izzy’s wrists, the empty blister pack on the bathroom floor. PC Willis sighs heavily. ‘I’ve been meaning to call you actually. Is it okay if I pop round today? There’s been a development that we need to discuss.’

  An hour later, I open the door to her. She is alone, with no sign of PC Singh.

  ‘I just wanted to have a chat,’ she says, giving me a warm smile I’d only seen her give Izzy before, and it catches me off guard. She follows me into the kitchen where I put the kettle on, inviting her to sit down at the island. ‘I meant to say before, this is a lovely home,’ she says, looking around. ‘Did you do it yourself? This part is an extension, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, we extended the whole of the back out to create this space. The kitchen used to be where the study is now, at the front of the house. It was tiny.’

  ‘You’ve done a great job. I’d love to get my hands on a renovation project.’ She smiles as I place a cup of coffee in front of her. ‘I’m a sucker for shows like Homes Under the Hammer.’

  ‘I used to love watching that when Izzy was small,’ I say, remembering. ‘She’d usually have her mid-morning nap around that time.’

  ‘Speaking of Izzy,’ PC Willis says, bringing her coffee to her lips. ‘She rang me yesterday.’