by Vikki Patis
‘I didn’t know she vaped,’ I hear Alicia say from the back seat. ‘Cool.’
‘Addiction isn’t cool,’ Michael says lightly, and I see Alicia make a face in the rear-view mirror.
‘It’s better than smoking, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘Anyway, she’s a grown adult.’ I get out of the car, plastering a smile onto my face. ‘You found it all right then?’ I ask unnecessarily.
Miranda returns my smile. ‘Yes, though I think I scraped my car on the way in.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘It’s a tight turn,’ Michael adds, coming up beside me. ‘You don’t want to meet anyone on the way in or out.’
‘Is your car okay?’ Izzy asks, her brow furrowed in concern.
Miranda smiles. ‘It’s fine. Let’s call it a souvenir.’
‘Shall we?’ Michael leads us through the car park, our feet crunching over the gravel. He opens the door and we file into the restaurant, and I realise that I have not counted the steps between the car and the door. For the first time in weeks, months, years, my anxieties are quiet, pushed to the back of my mind. Perhaps it is a sign.
After a slight scuffle over the extra person in our party, we are shown to a table in the corner, menus placed before us. The kitchen door opens and the chef comes out, making a beeline for our table.
‘Ah, Isabella,’ he says in his Italian accent. ‘Nice to see you again. The birthday girl, no?’ Izzy nods, her cheeks flushed. He claps his hands together. ‘A celebratory drink then!’
‘Good idea,’ Michael says, and the chef goes off into the kitchen.
‘She’s not quite sixteen yet,’ I say quietly.
‘Oh, what’s a few days?’ Miranda says. ‘Just a small one won’t hurt.’
‘Quite,’ Michael says, grinning as he picks up his menu.
The chef returns with a small bottle of Prosecco and two glasses. ‘For the young ladies,’ he says, winking at me as he places a glass in front of each of my daughters.
A waiter takes our drinks orders and I put my menu down, folding my hands over it. ‘What are we having then?’
‘Are we having starters?’ Alicia asks.
‘I am,’ Michael says. ‘The aubergine parmigiana is my favourite bit.’
‘Ooh,’ Miranda says. ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘It’s superb. You should get it.’
‘Izzy?’ I prompt. She looks up, her menu falling to the side and I see that she is on her phone. I frown. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah,’ she mumbles, sliding her phone into her pocket. ‘I’ve decided.’
We order, Alicia and Izzy deciding to split a portion of garlic pizza bread. Miranda is telling us about the renovation on her house. I sip my wine, noticing the way Izzy seems to hang off her every word, and feel a bubble of envy that I try to push away.
‘There was a disaster with the bathroom,’ Miranda says, rolling her eyes. ‘The plumbing was as old as the house – eighteen hundred and something – and there was a lot of lead piping.’ Michael whistles and rubs his fingers together. She nods. ‘Yes, it did cost quite a bit to rip it all out. But it was worth it in the end.’
‘We ran into some trouble with our renovation,’ I say. ‘They delivered the wrong flooring for the kitchen, and then the one we wanted was out of stock. It was like living in a sandpit for weeks, dust got everywhere.’
Miranda chuckles. ‘Living on a building site is no fun, I don’t think I’d do it again.’
‘Miranda just got planning permission for a pool in the garden,’ Izzy says excitedly. ‘Isn’t that amazing?’
‘Wow!’ Alicia says. ‘I’d love to visit.’
‘Oh, but you must,’ Miranda says, reaching a hand across the table and patting Alicia’s arm. ‘Perhaps during the summer break. It’s your home as much as Izzy’s.’
I see something flash across Izzy’s face, something that seems to mirror my own feelings. Jealousy. I take another gulp of wine.
‘I bet you have some brilliant dinner parties in that kitchen of yours,’ Michael says. ‘Izzy sent us some pictures.’ I think of our own kitchen diner, which is also perfect for hosting, but we so rarely have people over anymore. Maybe that can change, I think, now we have more free time.
Miranda smiles. ‘Yes, I do love entertaining. We often have a full house at Christmas.’
‘Christmas!’ Izzy exclaims. ‘Do you have a real tree?’
‘Yes. Usually in the dining room, by the back door.’
‘I’d love to see it,’ Izzy says, and Miranda glances at me.
‘I’m sure we can organise something,’ she says lightly, fingering her glass of red wine. A waiter approaches our table, arms laden down with plates. ‘Ah! Thank goodness, I’m ravenous.’
‘Didn’t you order a starter, Mum?’ Alicia asks when everyone has been served and the waiter asks if he can get us anything else.
I turn to him with a smile. ‘Just a bowl of olives.’
He nods. ‘Coming up.’
We eat, Alicia regaling us with stories from university and the horrors of shared living. ‘All the mugs were going missing from the kitchen cupboards. It was really peculiar,’ she says, tearing off a strip of the pizza bread with her fingers. ‘Anyway, we eventually tracked them down in Stuart’s room.’
I make a face. ‘He didn’t bother to wash up the ones he’d used?’
She shakes her head. ‘It gets better than that. Turns out he couldn’t be bothered to walk the five steps to the toilet either. He’d been using the mugs to pee in.’
‘Eurgh!’ Izzy exclaims, and Michael almost chokes on his food as he laughs.
‘How disgusting,’ Miranda says, a hand at her breastbone.
‘I hope you threw them away,’ I say. ‘Or I’ll know not to accept a cup of tea next time I’m at yours.’
‘Oh yeah, they went straight into the bin,’ Alicia says. ‘We keep everything in our own rooms now.’
‘Remember when someone tipped your milk down the sink and used the bottle to store their leftover spaghetti?’ Izzy says, laughing. ‘Was that the same guy?’
‘Weirdly, no,’ Alicia replies. ‘That was last year. So I’ve lived with two gross boys so far.’
‘Girls only next year, then.’ Michael chuckles.
‘Have you had any thoughts on where you’ll live yet?’ I ask.
‘You have to secure accommodation quite early on, don’t you?’ Miranda puts in. ‘There are quite a few student houses near us, they always seem to be full.’
Alicia nods. ‘I’m going to stay where I am. The rent is cheap and it’s a decent area.’
‘I hope Stuart’s moving out,’ I say.
‘He already has. He was so embarrassed when we found out, he moved in with his girlfriend a week later.’
Izzy makes a face. ‘I hope he doesn’t do the same thing there!’
‘Not my problem,’ Alicia says with a grin.
Our mains arrive, and when we’ve finished eating I order another round of drinks.
‘Can I have another Prosecco?’ Izzy asks, turning her wide, pleading eyes on me. I can’t help but laugh, remembering when she would do this as a child, asking for just one more biscuit.
‘All right then,’ I say. ‘Just the one though. And you’re having dessert to soak it all up.’
‘What a hardship,’ Alicia jokes, elbowing her sister. ‘I’ll have a rosé please, Mother. With ice.’
‘Ice? In wine?’ Michael looks horrified.
‘It’s quite nice,’ Miranda says. ‘Refreshing.’
Alicia nods. ‘See? At least someone has good taste.’
A waiter comes to clear the plates away. ‘Presents?’ I suggest. Michael reaches beneath his chair and pulls out a wrapped bundle. Izzy takes it with a smile, unwrapping the bow carefully and folding back the paper.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims, revealing a stack of three hardback books. ‘I haven’t read these yet. Thank you.’
‘My turn!’ Alicia squeals with delight and fumbles beneath her seat, bringing
out a pink sparkly bag. She places it in front of Izzy with a flourish.
‘It’s so pretty,’ Izzy says, lifting the tag and reading it.
‘Open it then!’ Alicia prods her sister, and Izzy tears into her present. She pulls out a silver necklace, the word Sizzy carved onto a circular pendant. Alicia lifts the chain around her own neck. ‘Now we match.’ She bumps her Sissy necklace against Izzy’s and they grin.
‘I love it,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’
‘De rien, ma petite soeur.’
‘I didn’t know you spoke French,’ Miranda says. ‘J’habitais en Bretagne. My sister still lives there.’
‘I’d love to go to Brittany,’ Alicia says with a sigh. ‘Or Paris. Anywhere in France really.’
‘Well,’ Miranda says, glancing at me. ‘I would have waited until next week, but since we’re all here.’ She opens her handbag and pulls out an envelope. ‘Happy birthday, Izzy.’ She passes it across the table with a smile.
‘But you’ve already given me my gifts,’ Izzy says.
‘There’s one for you too, Alicia,’ Miranda says. ‘So this isn’t really a birthday present, I suppose. Just a surprise gift for you both, from your dad and me.’
Izzy gasps as she opens the envelope, pulling out two thin rectangles of paper. Tickets, I realise with a lurch. Two ferry tickets to Brittany.
‘Really?’ Alicia says, grabbing one of the tickets. ‘Yay! This is amazing!’
‘Look, Mum,’ Izzy says, showing me her ticket, and I force myself to smile widely.
‘How lovely, darling.’ But inside I am screaming. First, Anthony reconnects with Alicia behind my back, then he takes Izzy to live with him, and now this, a surprise trip to France. How can I ever hope to compete?
56
Liv
I pace the living room, four steps from one end to the other. Such a small room which has always forced me to be tidy. It’s a good thing I don’t own much, I suppose. A TV in the far corner, sitting on a unit which is older than Seb. One of the doors squeak when you open it, but we don’t go in there much anymore. It is full of DVDs, and who watches those these days? It’s all Netflix and same day delivery and on demand. Is that why Seb is becoming this way? The fast pace of everyday life, so used to having everything now, now, now.
My leg bangs into the coffee table as I turn and I stop, reach down to press a hand against the pain. It pulsates beneath my fingers, like a living thing separate to myself. This is what it’s like having children – or, in my case now, grandchildren. Sometimes it is hard to distinguish them from you, to identify where they end and you begin. When they cross the road for the first time without holding your hand or go to school for the first time, it is like a part of you has gone with them. And when they are in pain, you feel it too.
I press a hand to my chest and try not to cry. When did it all start to go wrong? A few months ago, Seb was a high achiever, with good grades and a decent future mapped out for him. He had nice friends and a girlfriend who was sweet, if a little shy. I know this photo thing hit Seb hard, but is there more to it? Is that the cause of everything? Or was it because I refused to see what was right in front of me? The sins of the father, Seb said. Have I been inadvertently pushing him towards his father’s path?
I shake myself. Seb is not his dad. Seb is his own person, who will make his own mistakes. But how do I drag him back from the brink?
I sit up waiting for him to return, the room growing dark around me. The clock ticks past eight o’clock, then nine, then ten. Now it is almost eleven and my body has stiffened in the chair, moulding itself to the fabric. I need to get up. I need to do something.
I go into the kitchen and drink a glass of water, relishing the shock as the cold hits my teeth. I slip into my shoes and check my pockets for my keys and phone, then leave the house, closing the door quietly behind me. He can’t have gone far. As I walk, I look through his social media pages, trying to find names that stick out, someone he might be close with, but it is fruitless. My finger hovers over Caitlyn’s name but I skip over it, remembering the way she looked at me when she accused Seb of leaving those flowers. Pity. Doubt.
I walk around the estate, searching the empty streets. The park is quiet, a swing moving gently in the breeze. The air is hot, muggy almost, the promise of a storm lingering on the horizon. I hope I don’t get caught in it.
I find myself outside the block of flats where Jodie lives. Which number is it again? Her mum will probably be at work, another night shift at the hospital. I peer up at the second-floor windows I think belong to her flat; they are dark, closed tight despite the heat. Is anyone at home?
I’m about to press the buzzer for number twelve when a scream rings out behind me. I whirl around, my heart beating faster. Was it a fox? Another shout and I start walking towards the noise, trying to keep my footsteps quiet. I turn the corner and stop, my fingers gripping the wall. A small group of people, barely visible in the darkness, are standing in the alley. Two figures are leaning against the fence, smoke drifting above their heads, but the others – three? No, four – are closer together, heads almost touching like bucks getting ready for a fight. Their voices are louder now, the air full of hard consonants as they argue. One pushes another, and they stumble back, just avoiding tripping over the kerb. I cannot see who they are; their faces are in darkness, some with hoods up despite the warm weather. A bike lies discarded further along, a bag dropped beside it.
‘You don’t scare me,’ a voice says, a voice which sounds like it belongs to a girl. I feel my fingers tighten on the wall, my nails digging in almost painfully. What is going on?
‘You owe us,’ another voice says, deeper this time. ‘Time to pay up.’
‘I don’t owe you shit,’ the female voice says, louder, aggressive. I see the cherry-red tip of a cigarette butt bounce across the pavement, sparks flying. ‘Now fuck off.’ The figure starts to walk away, in my direction, and I hold my breath.
A tussle then, feet scuffing against the ground. Someone falls – which one? – and groans, collapsing to the ground. And then they scatter, like ashes on the wind, fleeing in different directions. I listen to their footsteps fade away, echoing against the buildings, and then my feet are moving towards the figure still lying on the floor, their shadow a pool of darkness beneath them. Suddenly I am running, and I almost trip over something, looking down to see my foot caught in some kind of fabric. A hoodie, a familiar logo visible in the low light. I keep going, as if pulled on a string, and as I get closer, my pulse pounding in my ears, for a split second, I feel certain it is Seb, and my legs turn to jelly. I fall to my knees beside him, my mouth open, my hands fluttering above him as I take in the scene before me.
It isn’t a shadow spreading out beneath him. It’s blood. Shock hits me like cold water, my brain struggling to keep up with what my eyes are seeing. I place a trembling hand on his shoulder, turn him so I can see his face. Relief floods me, closely followed by horror, for it isn’t Seb. It’s Jodie.
She is bleeding heavily, her eyes closed, and when I place my ear close to her mouth, I can just hear her shallow breathing.
‘Jodie,’ I whisper, digging out my phone and switching on the torch. ‘Jodie, it’s Liv. Wake up.’ I search for the wound, find it on her stomach. I reach behind me and snatch the hoodie, pressing it against her as I dial 999 with my other hand. ‘Jodie,’ I say again as I’m put through. ‘Jodie.’
She moans, shifting beneath me, and her eyes flutter. The operator answers. ‘Ambulance,’ I blurt. ‘Please.’ I tell them where we are, tell them that a girl has been stabbed in the stomach. ‘There’s so much blood. Please, please hurry.’
I don’t know how long I kneel there, my hands pressed against Jodie’s stomach, talking to her, trying to keep her awake. I tell her about Paige, about how she’d wanted to be a barrister, or maybe a university lecturer. She’d wanted two children and a house with a large garden with trees she could build a den in for the children. She wanted a dog, maybe two, t
hose sausage dogs she’d always loved. ‘She liked their little legs,’ I tell Jodie, smiling through my tears. ‘She loved fish too, but she didn’t like the idea of keeping anything in a tank or a cage. She was kind like that, soft-hearted. Just like Seb.’
‘Seb,’ Jodie moans, and the breath catches in my throat. ‘Seb… kind…’
‘Yes,’ I whisper, thankful that he was not here tonight, trying not to think about where else he might be. ‘Yes, he is.’
I stay with her until the ambulance arrives, the flashing lights turning the world blue. I am reluctant to move away from her, the paramedic gently taking my arm and helping me to my feet. My knees are sore, gravel stuck to my trousers, and I stand stiffly, watching them lift her onto a stretcher.
‘Are you family?’ a paramedic asks. She has blonde hair tucked back in a neat bun, a stripe of pink at the front, and a large tattoo of a rose on her forearm. I tear my eyes away from it and shake my head.
‘But I know her, and her mum. She’ll be at work, there isn’t anyone else. Can I…?’
The paramedic smiles. ‘Of course.’
And I step inside the back of the ambulance, sitting down beside Jodie and holding her hand in mine, trying to stop the tears from falling.
57
Seb
Seb calls her, imagining the phone vibrating on her bedside table, lighting up the room. It goes to voicemail and he tries again, and she answers on the fourth ring.
‘Hello?’ Her voice is croaky. He has woken her up.
‘I’m outside,’ he says. ‘We need to talk.’
She comes out wrapped in a silk dressing gown, thick socks on her feet. He is waiting by the entrance to the small car park which sits behind the house, and they go into it, hidden from the street beyond. In the dim light he can see the bruises on her face, the dark rings beneath her eyes, and guilt floods him.
‘What do you want?’ Sian demands, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘Do you know what time it is?’