"Thank you," she heard her mother say, and then an engine started.
"We'll talk about this later, young lady," her father said as he hauled her into the house.
She was in so much trouble.
Four
Sunlight streamed in through the window. The curtains hadn't been closed, and the room was too bright, too hot. Sian groaned and rolled over, pulling the duvet up over her head. Her stomach churned, her mouth was dry and her throat sore. There was a foul taste on her tongue, like stale bile. She squeezed her eyes shut and eventually managed to fall asleep again.
When she next awoke, the room was cooler, and a light breeze was coming in through the open window. She sat up, feeling much better, and sipped water from the glass somebody had left on her bedside table.
Outside, a floorboard creaked, and she quickly put the glass back down and slumped back in the bed, pulling the covers up over her head again. The door opened, and she didn't dare breathe.
"Sian?" Her mother's voice. "Are you awake?"
Sian didn't reply.
"It's time to wake up now," her mother said, louder this time. "Your father will be home soon."
As if that were motivation to get out of bed.
"Come on."
Sian groaned loudly as the covers were wrenched off her and tried to cling to them, failing miserably.
"If you're feeling awful, it's your own fault. I'll run a bath for you, and I expect to see you out of this room in ten minutes. You understand me?"
Sian nodded and slowly sat up as her mother left the room.
The bath was still running as she stepped into it, and she hissed at the heat of the water, quickly turning off the hot tap and twisting the cold higher before sinking down into the bubbles. At least her mum couldn't be that angry if she'd taken the time to add bubbles for her. She imagined her dad would be a lot less sympathetic when he got home.
She sank back into the water, turning off the cold tap and letting the bubbles settle around her. She closed her eyes, and clenched her fists under the water. She'd completely embarrassed herself last night. Alisha probably thought she was some silly little girl who couldn't hold her drink—and she wouldn't be entirely wrong, either. Probably she'd ruined any chance she'd had with her; Alisha wouldn't want to see her again now. Nobody wanted to end up taking care of their dates like that. She was just lucky Alisha had taken care of her, else she'd probably have spent all night in that toilet, since Tilly had run off and left her.
Sian scowled. Tilly should have been there for her. Sian was supposed to be spending the night at hers, after all, and she knew the trouble Sian would get into for drinking like that.
"Bitch," she muttered and submerged herself under the water, sloshing it up the sides of the bath and getting the tiles wet.
When she emerged, she felt a little better, and she began lathering her hair in shampoo.
She'd call Alisha and apologise later. Maybe she could send flowers. That was what guys always did in films when they had to say sorry for something. What sort of flowers would Alisha like? Personally, Sian had always liked chrysanthemums, but they might be a bit too bright and cheerful for an apology. Roses were probably safest, and Alisha had a rose tattoo, so she would almost certainly like them. Was red too pushy? Maybe she should go for pink, or white...
Downstairs, the front door slammed, and Sian quickly rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and climbed out, wrapping a towel around herself and scurrying to her room to dress.
She heard her mum call her name and groaned, quickly pulling a brush through her hair and grabbing her ugliest cardigan from the drawer. Maybe if she looked demure and responsible, she'd be let off lightly.
She dawdled on the stairs, but she couldn't put off the inevitable no matter how slow she moved.
"We're in the living room," her mum called.
Sian hovered outside the door for several seconds before taking a deep breath and pushing it open.
Her father sat in his armchair, gaze fixed on a David Attenborough documentary about penguins or the arctic or something. Her mum was on the sofa, back straight, hands folded in her lap. She was not wearing the sympathetic expression Sian had been hoping for.
The television clicked off, and her father turned to her. He had pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and his bushy eyebrows were knotted close together.
"Do you want to explain yourself?" he asked, and Sian wavered, torn between sitting down and fleeing the scene.
She shook her head.
"Why was it that, when you were supposed to be at Tilly's house, you were picked up from a nightclub, drunk as a bloody skunk?"
Sian grimaced. "It wasn't really a nightclub. It was just a bar. Some friends of Tilly's were playing there."
"Oh, were they? And when you called me to say goodnight, you were lying to me?"
Sian bit her lip. "I didn't want you to worry," she said in a small voice.
"You didn't want me to worry..." he repeated, looking amazed and peering at her as though he'd never seen her before in his life.
She swallowed nervously, still worrying her lip between her teeth.
"Then tell me, young lady, why were you drinking in a bar if you didn't want me to worry? Why did I have to carry you out of the taxi and put you to bed myself, hmm?"
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, staring intently at the red and gold patterns in the carpet.
"I'm sure you will be. Because you're grounded. No phone privileges, no computer except for homework. You are not to set foot outside this house except for college, do you understand me?"
There was nothing she could say. When her father was set on something, he wouldn't budge, no matter how much she wheedled or begged. Still, she had to try. "Please. I'm nineteen now. Most people my age go out drinking every week."
"And that is exactly the sort of behaviour I've tried to discourage." He sighed. "Clearly, I haven't done as good a job as I thought."
Sian felt her face reddening, tears prickling behind her eyes. She swallowed around a small lump that seemed to be forming in her throat and took a deep breath. She would not cry.
"Give me your mobile, and then you can help your mother in the kitchen."
Sian hesitated. If she gave up her phone, she wouldn't be able to call Alisha. If only she'd thought to write the number down somewhere, then she could use Tilly's phone at lunchtime on Monday.
"Now, Sian," her father barked, snapping his fingers.
Reluctantly, she handed it over. As she did so, she noticed there were two missed calls, although she couldn't see who from without clicking on them. Maybe they were from Alisha, but probably they were from Tilly.
Once she'd heard what happened, Tilly would feel guilty, Sian knew. And she should. If Tilly hadn't ditched her, this never would have happened.
"How long am I grounded for?" she asked, watching as her phone disappeared into her father's shirt pocket.
"That remains to be seen," he said, turning the documentary back on.
Sian was dismissed. She followed her mum into the kitchen, where she was put to work chopping carrots, onions and mushrooms for dinner. She dithered, doing every task slower than she usually would. She was sulking, she knew, but she felt she had every right to when her father had taken away her only means of communication with Alisha.
Dinner that night was quiet and subdued; conversation was sparse, and the only time Sian bothered to speak at all was to ask if she could be excused from the table. She wasn't, and she had to wait until her parents had finished before clearing the table and, after what felt like days, finally slinking back up to her room.
She sat back on her bed and closed her eyes, imagining what Alisha was doing right now—whatever it was, it had to be better than this.
*~*~*
"He's such a twat," Hugo grumbled, heaping another spoonful of sugar into his tea.
It was eleven in the morning, and Alisha had hoped to have a lazy day in bed, but Hugo had swung round just after nine and had
n't left yet. Apparently, Johnny had borrowed his second favourite set of drumsticks and lost one of them. Frankly, Alisha couldn't care less. Hugo was being melodramatic, as per, and her thoughts kept drifting to Sian—she was going to have one hell of a hangover this morning, that was sure.
"Maybe it'll turn up," Alisha said, sipping her tea and leaning back into the sofa. She was still in her pyjama bottoms and vest top, and her feet were bare, grey-tinged from the cold because her landlord was too cheap to turn on the heating.
"He'll probably just lose it again if it does."
"Oh, God." Alisha half-groaned, half-laughed, tipping her head back. "It's just a drumstick. Buy another one."
"I can't just 'buy another one,'" he explained. "My uncle bought them for me from Germany."
"So go to Germany."
Hugo glared at her. "I don't think you're taking this seriously."
"You're right. I'm not. Whatever your artistic differences with Johnny, please, for the love of God, fix them."
"Can't we just get another keyboard player?"
"No, but we might be able to stretch to another drummer."
"Personally I think we should get another frontman. Woman, whatever. You know what I mean."
"You can't. The public love me." She grinned and tossed her hair back, a move straight out of a shampoo advert.
"Oh, is that why we've only sold fifty copies of Behind Closed Doors?"
"Oh, stop exaggerating. The last count was five hundred, not fifty, and we only released it a month ago. Give it time."
"Well, if Johnny actually bothered to advertise it on his YouTube channel, maybe we'd shift a few more."
Alisha groaned again. "Why don't you advertise it?"
"Because I don't have twenty thousand subscribers. Or a YouTube account, come to that."
"Well, exactly."
"Yes, exactly."
Alisha groaned. She was so done with this shit. "Hugo, did you only come round this morning to bitch about Johnny? Because if you did, maybe you could fuck off now."
Hugo scowled but continued to sip his tea. "I was just saying," he muttered.
"Look. Johnny'll get round to it, okay? It's not like we haven't been busy lately. We've practically had gigs every night this month. We're playing at least five out of seven. I feel like I've barely had time for a cup of tea, let alone making and editing a whole video."
"Fine. I just feel like we should be doing something. Maybe we could make a music vid."
Alisha nodded. "Sounds good to me. We'll talk it over with the others tomorrow."
"Yeah, you say that, but I bet you won't."
"Well, if I don't, then you can," Alisha said. "Now, out. I want to enjoy the rest of my Sunday in peace."
She saw Hugo out and then flopped back down on the sofa, digging herself in to the soft cushions before reaching for her phone.
She waited while the line rang out. When no one answered, Alisha shrugged and dialled again. Sian might think she was clingy, but sometimes it was better to be too eager than not eager enough, and really, she didn't care. She just wanted to know how she was doing after the debacle of last night.
"Hello?" a woman whose voice she didn't recognise answered. Her tone was very prim and clipped, and Alisha wondered if she'd ever had acting lessons, or some kind of speech therapy.
Alisha frowned. "Who's this?"
"This is Elizabeth Williams, Sian's mother. Sian can't come to the phone right now, I'm afraid."
"Why? What's wrong with her?" She should have recovered from her hangover by now, surely?
"She's grounded."
Alisha wondered if she'd heard right. "Grounded? I thought she was nineteen…"
A sniff. "She is."
"Right... but she's grounded?"
"That's right."
"You're telling me you actually grounded your nineteen year old daughter? You are aware you legally become an adult at eighteen, right?"
"I'm perfectly aware of that, thank you, but it's really none of your business. I'm afraid I must be getting—"
"It bloody well is my business," Alisha growled, gritting her teeth to stop herself from hurling the phone across the room. She had a distinct urge to punch something. "She's my friend, and you can't—"
There was a short beep, and the line went dead.
"Fuck," she hissed, and slammed the phone down on the desk.
Pacing over to the kitchen, she opened the fridge door, grabbed a beer, and slammed it shut again. She kicked the sofa as she passed it and sat heavily in the little wooden desk chair, causing it to creak and wobble. She wrenched the cap off the bottle and took a long drink.
She needed to talk to Sian.
Five
Never had college felt so much like freedom. Even business studies, her worst subject, the subject her parents had insisted she take, felt like a release. It was certainly better than being in the house with her father's scowling, acting like he barely knew who she was, and her mother's disappointed, worried glances.
Sian loved her parents, but she hated it when they were like this. Not that she'd done anything to warrant it since she was twelve and got a three day suspension for hitting a boy in her maths class. That had been worse than this: she'd been grounded for two months, not even allowed to go to her after school clubs or music lessons. She still felt like she'd been justified for hitting him; he'd been bullying one of her friends, not that anyone bothered to listen to her when she told them that. But this was, if anything, more humiliating. She was nineteen years old; she was supposed to do stuff like this. Admittedly, she'd been pretty stupid, and she saw her parents' point, but she just didn't feel that the punishment fit the crime.
The worst thing was the loss of her phone and internet privileges. All she wanted to do was talk to Alisha, to hear her voice, to apologise and try to win another chance with her. Instead, the best she could manage was a Facebook message from the college library computers. It wasn't the same, and she knew she couldn't hope to convey everything she wanted to—it just felt so impersonal, and worse, it was so easy to ignore.
She clicked send and hoped the simple apology would be enough.
She spent the rest of her lunch hour outside, eating in a warm spot of sunlight at the back of the science labs as she caught up on her reading of Hamlet. She wasn't sure she understood half of it.
"What're you reading?" Tilly asked from behind her.
Sian didn't answer her, instead forcing herself to keep reading.
"Are you angry with me?" Tilly sounded genuinely surprised. "What have I done?"
Sian scowled as Tilly sat down next to her, and closed the book shut with a snap. "You," she said, "just abandoned me the other night, and guess what? I had to go home to my house, and now I'm grounded for God knows how long."
Tilly winced. "Shit. I thought you'd be going back with Alisha."
Sian huffed. "Yeah, right, you did. I bet you didn't think about it at all, did you? You just forgot about me. Well, thanks a lot. Now I can't even phone her to say I'm sorry she had to carry me to a taxi."
"She had to carry you? But you never drink."
"Yeah, well," she said, bitterness edging into her voice. "Guess I picked a great time to start."
"Sian, I'm really sorry."
Sian folded her arms across her chest, leaning back in her seat. "Yeah, sure you are now. But give it two weeks and you'll do it again. You're always ditching me for random guys, and you know what? I'm sick of it. I want a friend I can actually rely on."
"What do you mean? You've always been able to rely on me. And I don't just ditch you, not when you actually need me. I'm sorry if you're feeling jealous, but I do have a life, you know."
"You think I'm jealous?" Sian laughed bitterly. "I'm not jealous. I'm angry. I'm angry because right now, everyone hates me, and it's all your fault."
"My fault? Look, I didn't make you drink as much as you did. That was you. I'm sorry I didn't notice you'd had too much. I'm sorry I fucked up and left you hang
ing, but I can't look after you all the time, Sian. Sometimes you have to do that for yourself."
"I don't need looking after. What I need is a friend who actually gives a shit." She stood up, grabbed her bag and strode off, gravel crunching underfoot as she tried to put as much distance between herself and Tilly as possible.
*~*~*
When she got home, both her parents were still at work. Sian dumped her bag in the hall cupboard and shrugged off her jacket. She had at least half an hour until her mum got home, and she intended to make the most of it.
Heading into the kitchen, she pulled open cupboards and drawers, looked behind the microwave and the toaster, even at the back of the cutlery drawer. But she found nothing.
In the office, she pulled the books off the shelves, putting them back again very carefully, and checked in all the corners, the windowsill, even the plant pots. She pulled open the drawers, but there was nothing. The bottom left, though, was locked.
She paused outside her parents' bedroom, hand hovering over the doorknob. She knew it wasn't right to enter this room without permission, but they'd taken her phone and that was just as bad. She opened the door and walked in, footsteps soft as she strode across to the chest of drawers. She pulled them open and rummaged through for a key to the desk.
She found it, eventually, in a box in the wardrobe, along with a friendship bracelet she'd made when she was five and a bundle of old photographs held together with an elastic band. She paused, the top picture catching her eye, two smiling blonde babies grinning up at her, identical. She closed the lid of the box and headed back into the office, unlocking the drawer and pulling it open. There, right at the front, sat her phone, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
She couldn't use it—her mother might go through her call log and notice the time. Instead, she opened up her contacts. There was Alisha's name, right at the top. Sian's heart beat a little faster just seeing it there on the screen. Shaking her head at herself, she picked up a pen and scrawled the number onto a piece of scrap paper.
She was just slipping the paper into her pocket when she heard the key turn in the front door downstairs. Jumping, she quickly shoved the phone back in the drawer, locking it quietly and creeping across the landing to place the key back where she'd got it from.
Keeping it Together Page 3