by Vikki Patis
‘I want the truth,’ he says, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it. The smell reminds him of Izzy and his heart contracts. How little he knew. How little he has understood.
‘About what?’
‘Izzy.’
Sian drops her gaze. ‘That’s all over with now. The police have dropped it.’
‘The police might have dropped it,’ Seb says, blowing smoke into the sky. ‘But I haven’t.’
‘She doesn’t even live here anymore. She’s old news.’
‘Don’t you care?’
‘About what?’
‘About Izzy. About what you’ve done to her.’
‘I haven’t done anything to her. I don’t even like her.’
Seb watches her face, searching for signs. He doesn’t know Sian very well, he realises, not really, but he knows her well enough to tell when she is lying. And she is lying right now. ‘Why did she send you that photo then?’
Sian’s eyes widen. ‘What? She didn’t, I–’
‘You’re the one Izzy sent it to. The one who asked for it.’ He looks at her, notices the colour creeping up her neck, her lips slightly parted. Her arms go around herself as if desperate for comfort. ‘I saw her Kindle in your room, under the bed. I recognised the cover. How long has it been going on?’
She doesn’t respond. She is speechless for once, her words ripped from her by his accusation. But he knows he is right. Everything makes sense to him now – the photo, Izzy dumping him. She never liked him, not in that way, and he is surprised to find that it doesn’t matter. He would rather have Izzy as a friend who can be herself, than the Izzy who has been hiding in the shadows, desperate and alone.
‘Look,’ he says, exhaling. He feels sorry for Sian in that moment, which surprises him too. ‘I get it. It isn’t easy to come to terms with who you are, if it means being out of the norm. Different. But why share the photo? That’s what I don’t get.’
Sian hesitates for a moment. ‘Abby,’ she whispers. ‘She found it, sent it on. She said she’d tell my parents about it, that I was…’
‘Gay?’ She flinches. ‘It’s not a dirty word, Sian,’ he says, his voice gentle now.
‘I know. I just… My dad, he wouldn’t understand.’
Seb takes a deep breath. ‘You know, all my life, my nan has been waiting for me to turn into my dad. Angry, violent. She’s tried to keep me away from him, in case his influence turns me into him. But I’m not him. I will never be him.’ He fixes her with his gaze. ‘My dad killed my mum when I was four. He’s been in prison ever since.’
Sian’s eyes are wide with surprise at his confession. ‘I had no idea. It’s not the same though.’
‘No, it isn’t. But it means I understand what it’s like to try to live up to people’s expectations of you. I know what it’s like to want to lash out.’ She looks up and meets his gaze. ‘You’ve been bullying Izzy because she made you realise who you are, because you were being bullied about who you are.’ She starts to cry then, her head dropping into her hands. Seb moves forward and takes her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her face. ‘You need to put it right,’ he says softly. ‘You need to make amends.’
58
Izzy
Her mum is drunk.
She watches her stagger as they exit the restaurant, laughing loudly and grabbing onto Michael’s arm to steady herself. Caitlyn usually moderates her drinking, since the car crash when she broke her arm and received points on her licence, the girls miraculously unhurt, but every so often, something happens and she reaches for the bottle, searching for the solace Izzy knows she will never find.
They say goodbye to Miranda in the car park, Izzy holding on to her for a second too long before pulling away. Caitlyn chatters the whole journey home, her words slightly slurred, her voice too high, too loud.
‘Isn’t Miranda lovely?’ she says, twisting around towards the back seat. ‘I can see why you like her. And a trip to Brittany! How nice. How nice.’ But in her mouth, it sounds the opposite of nice. Izzy doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. She can feel the tension crackling in the air, her mother’s words laced with something she doesn’t like the sound of. ‘I see now why you’d rather live with her than with me.’
Izzy closes her eyes. She feels Alicia shuffle beside her, is grateful when she feels her hand slip into hers. She is reminded of those days when their mother was unrecognisable, a lump beneath the duvet, the air stale and cloying. She used to sneak into her sister’s room at night, hiding under the covers with her, or they would creep out onto the landing, hand in hand, listening to their mother cry, the smashing of glass punctuating the sobs. They were too young then to understand, too young to know why their mum was upset, and where their father had gone, but they had felt the change in atmosphere, still feel the ripples of that time all those years ago.
Izzy blames him, she realises, opening her eyes. She blames him as much as she blames Caitlyn for those months lost at the bottom of a bottle. Anthony may have taken her in, may have made her welcome in his home, but how much of that was down to Miranda? Why hadn’t he been in touch before now? And why hasn’t he spoken to her about it all? It has just been brushed under the carpet, like so many things in her family. She doesn’t want to go down this road, is only too aware of where it will end. She needs him, needs the refuge of his house in Plymouth, the new life he has given to her. But can she ever forgive him? Can she forgive her mother?
Izzy turns to Alicia, who is scrolling through her phone, her head down. She wants to ask her sister why she started speaking to him again, how they found one another. Does she resent Izzy for going to live with him? But no, how could she? She knows Alicia told him about the photo, the bullying. She knows this is why he came, appearing out of the blue after twelve years of silence, and despite everything, she is still grateful for it.
‘Where is Miranda from, anyway?’ Caitlyn says, interrupting her thoughts. ‘She said she lived in Brittany, but she isn’t French.’
‘I don’t know,’ Izzy says. ‘I think her dad moved them out there when Miranda was a teenager. When he remarried.’
‘Ah,’ she says, nodding. ‘Another child of divorce. No wonder she feels so drawn to you.’
Izzy feels a surge of anger. ‘That isn’t why.’
‘No?’ Caitlyn turns to look at her. ‘Why, then?’ Izzy is silent. ‘You think you know everything, don’t you? You think you know how the world works?’
‘Cait,’ Michael says, his voice low. ‘Come on.’
‘What?’ She whips her head around to face him. ‘What? I’m talking to my daughter. Mine. Not yours. Not his.’
‘Mum,’ Alicia says angrily. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Ah,’ Caitlyn says again, tapping the side of her nose. ‘That’s another thing you don’t know, isn’t it, Isabelle?’
‘What do you mean?’ Izzy asks, hardly daring to breathe. She turns to look at her sister. ‘What is it? What do you mean?’ she demands again.
Alicia shakes her head, and Michael mutters, ‘Well done.’
‘You need to stop drinking,’ Alicia says angrily.
‘Oh, piss off,’ Caitlyn slurs. ‘I’m sick of you all dictating my life. Don’t do this, Caitlyn, and don’t do that, Caitlyn. Watch what you say, Caitlyn. Stop drinking. Don’t enjoy yourself.’
‘This is you enjoying yourself, is it?’ Alicia says with a bark of laughter. ‘You’re being a twat.’
‘Don’t speak to your mother like that,’ Michael says, but there is no conviction in his voice. He just sounds tired.
‘I’ll speak to her however I want when she’s acting like this. You’re an embarrassment. And a liar.’
‘What do you know about lies?’ Caitlyn laughs, but it is without mirth. ‘You are a child.’
‘You need to start telling the truth,’ Alicia says, her voice low and almost unrecognisable. ‘Izzy deserves to know.’
Izzy watches her mother’s face change then. She is shaking her head, her eyes wide. ‘Ali
cia, don’t–’
Alicia’s lip curls. ‘If you don’t tell her, I will.’ There is a beat, a heavy pause before Alicia turns to her sister, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘Izzy, it’s time you knew the truth. Dad. Anthony. He isn’t your dad.’
Shock momentarily stuns Izzy, turning swiftly to anger. Why is Alicia trying to take this from her? The one thing she has that her sister doesn’t. ‘You’re the liar,’ she hisses. ‘You’re just jealous that he wanted me to live with him and not you.’
Alicia shakes her head. ‘Poor little Izzy. You don’t know anything, do you?’ She leans close; Izzy can feel her breath on her cheek. ‘You’re just like her,’ she says, jerking her head towards Caitlyn. ‘A drama queen. Attention-seeker.’
The slap comes from nowhere. Alicia’s head snaps to the side, her hair whipping across her face. When she looks up, Izzy sees that her cheek is red, and her eyes are burning with fury, but Izzy’s fury is burning brighter, smouldering inside her, ready to erupt.
59
Caitlyn
It wasn’t an affair. It wasn’t even a one-night stand. It was a man I thought I knew, a man I called a friend, who I trusted to get me home safely after a night out.
I told Anthony the truth straight away, unable to keep the horror off my face when I took the test. Pregnant. I knew instantly whose it was. Anthony and I had been going through a bit of a rough patch, struggling to navigate the choppy waters of new parenthood, so we hadn’t slept together in a while. When I started feeling nauseous at the smell of coffee, I knew, and the test confirmed my worst fears. I was pregnant with my rapist’s child.
I got as far as the clinic, the appointment booked, my mind made up, when Anthony changed it. Again. He caught me outside, dropped down to one knee and presented me with a ring. He’d bought it with the money he’d made from his latest sale, a beautiful landscape of the view from Windmill Hill in Hitchin, the bright green grass turning to the high street with old buildings full of character. We were living in Baldock – Cambridge too expensive now we were no longer students – in a tiny two-bedroom flat above a betting shop. But things were going to change. Anthony was a rising star, and he promised me that he would buy us a house, a beautiful forever home with enough space for our growing family. Somewhere up and coming, both historical and modern and with everything a young family could need. And so we moved to the house in Hertford, with renovation plans big enough to keep me busy while my stomach grew. Busy enough to keep the doubts at bay, for the most part. And we rewrote history.
When Izzy was born, I was relieved that she looked more like me than him. Alicia took after Anthony, with her ski-slope nose and freckles, but Izzy was all me. Except her hair. Her curls came from him, and I spent the next fifteen years trying to tame them, trying to remove that one trait of his that had won out. Because I couldn’t bear to see any of him in her. I couldn’t bear the idea of her knowing where she had come from, knowing that she had not been wanted. But she knew. Despite my early promises, whispered in the dead of night as I rocked her back to sleep after a feed. When Anthony left and I fell into a deep hole, I made it clear that Izzy was unwanted. Unwelcome.
Tears slip down my face as I sit hunched against the wall, my phone still clutched in my hand. I have been calling Izzy for hours, her phone ringing and ringing, since she jumped out of the car and ran.
I hug my knees against my chest, unlocking my phone and trying Izzy’s number again. It rings out, the impersonal voicemail kicking in. I leave another message.
‘Darling, it’s Mum,’ I say, trying to stop my voice from breaking. ‘Can you ring me please? We need to talk about this. Please.’
But she does not call back. I try Alicia, my hands shaking as I find her number.
‘Leave me alone!’ she shouts, her fury blasting through the speaker like a tornado. ‘Stop fucking calling me. You started this. It’s all your fault.’
‘Lis, darling, I–’
‘No.’ Her voice is a whip, silencing me. ‘You’ve gone too far this time.’ And then she is gone, her phone switched off or my number blocked, and I sit alone on the cold floor, crying for my lost daughters. What have I done?
Miranda calls me back after I leave a garbled message on her voicemail. ‘Caitlyn, it’s the middle of the night. Is everything all right?’
‘Is she with you? Izzy?’
‘No. I wasn’t expecting to see her until tomorrow. What’s happened?’ I close my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest. ‘Caitlyn?’
‘We had an argument, and she hit her sister. She ran off, last night. I thought she might be with you.’
‘Izzy hit Alicia?’ Miranda sounds shocked. ‘What were you arguing about?’
I try to find the words to explain, but they stick in my throat. ‘Have you heard from her?’
‘No. I’ll try to call her now. I’m sure she’ll be fine, she’s probably just gone to a friend’s.’
She hangs up and I wait, clutching my phone to my chest. Where could she be? I search through my contacts, looking for names and numbers to call, but it’s the middle of the night. Everyone will be asleep. Should I call the police? I go into the kitchen and dig out PC Willis’s card, remembering the look in her eyes the last time she was here. If I can do it, anyone can. Did something similar happen to her when she was younger? She must be in her early twenties, closer to Izzy’s age than she is to mine. Can she help us now?
I dial the number, pressing my phone to my ear. ‘Hello? It’s Caitlyn Bennett. I’m so sorry to call you at this time, but I need your help.’
60
Liv
I stayed at the hospital until the early hours, clutching Jodie’s hand until her mother arrived, eyes bloodshot and full of fear and concern.
‘She’s okay,’ I told her, releasing my grip and moving out of the way. Her mum sat down, reaching out to brush a stray hair from her daughter’s forehead. ‘She was lucky.’
Jodie tried to sit up as I turned to leave, groaned in pain. ‘Liv,’ she croaked. ‘Seb. He’s a good boy. He didn’t mean it.’ And suddenly everything made sense. Jodie had been protecting Seb, protecting him from whoever wanted to drag him into their dark web, and she had almost been killed for it, murdered by those who cannot see a way out of their darkness. I realised then that I had her all wrong, that there is so much more to her than meets the eye. She is still that sweet child who used to eat at my table, her legs too short to reach the floor, her hair in need of a wash. She is a product of her environment, and she deserves better. But where was Seb when all of this was going on?
I got a taxi home, too drained to walk, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but it was broken sleep, full of shadows and memories I’ve tried so hard to forget. When I wake again, for a moment I don’t know where I am. I dreamed I was in Mum’s house, listening through the wall to the sound of Mum crying. My mind goes straight to Seb, and I sit up, pushing back the covers. He must be home, I’m sure I saw his shoes downstairs when I got in. I remember thinking that I would take the day off work and we would talk, properly, and I would listen. I will listen, to whatever he has to say.
The doorbell rings as I lift my fist to knock on his door. I frown and move away, glancing at the clock as I go downstairs. It is almost six o’clock, far earlier than I’d expected it to be. I’d only managed to get a few hours’ sleep. A wave of exhaustion washes over me and I open the door, expecting the postman. I stare at the woman on my doorstep for a moment, wondering if I am still asleep, still dreaming, until she speaks.
‘Is Seb here?’ Caitlyn demands. Her eyes are wide and heavy with dark circles, her hair tangled and unkempt. She looks as if she hasn’t slept for a week.
‘Why?’ I ask, bewildered. ‘What do you want with him?’
‘I need to speak to him. About Izzy.’ She goes to push past me and I bring the door closed, blocking her path. That’s when I notice the woman standing behind her. It takes me a second to recognise her out of uniform. I feel my eyes widen with sho
ck.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Izzy didn’t come home last night,’ PC Willis says. ‘Has Seb seen her?’
‘She’s missing,’ Caitlyn sobs, her eyes meeting mine, and I suddenly see the despair, the desperation in them. ‘We argued and now she’s missing. Please. Does he know where she might have gone?’
I feel something inside me release, and I hold open the door. ‘Come in,’ I say gently. I show them into the living room, watch Caitlyn perch on the edge of the sofa like a nervous bird, her hands twisting in her lap, while the police officer sits in the armchair. ‘Why are you here, PC Willis?’ I ask.
‘Charlotte, please.’
‘Are the police looking for her? You’re not in uniform.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m just helping Caitlyn for the time being.’
‘I don’t want the police involved,’ Caitlyn says. ‘They might scare Izzy away.’ She glances up at PC Willis – Charlotte – almost apologetically. ‘I just want her home.’ She puts her head in her hands, and pity floods through me as I turn towards the stairs. The woman must be going out of her mind with worry. But Izzy will turn up. She’s a teenager, and she’s been through so much lately. She’ll just be acting out. I knock gently on Seb’s door, wait, knock again.
‘Seb?’ I call through the door. ‘Seb, there’s someone here to see you.’
No response. I push the door open and stop, taking in the empty bed. He isn’t here. I check the bathroom, knowing I will find it empty, then my own room. Empty.
I run back downstairs and check the shoe rack. His shoes aren’t there. I go into the living room, my heart pounding. ‘He isn’t here,’ I say, breathless. ‘I don’t know… I don’t think he came home last night.’
Charlotte stands up, alarm on her face. ‘Do you think he might be with Izzy?’