Very Nearly Normal

by Hannah Sunderland

  Mason was ready and waiting for me on the mats. I strapped on my gloves and made my way over. He’d given me a few exercises to strengthen my wrist and they’d helped a lot. I felt like I was ready to punch with that hand and give my new partner a good wallop.

  ‘Afternoon,’ I said with a cheerful lilt to my voice.

  ‘Hey, Eff. You ready to kick some arse?’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Just show me my partner and I’ll make sure I make her cry.’

  ‘Actually, your partner is a he.’

  ‘Really? I just assumed you’d put me with a girl.’

  ‘I’m all about equality.’ He grinned. His teeth were the whitest I’d ever seen.

  Mason and I did some warm-ups, while we waited for my sparring partner to arrive. I’d only had a few sessions with Mason, but even so, I could feel myself getting quicker, fitter, better.

  Finally, he turned up, fifteen minutes late. I didn’t see him at first. His body was blocked by Mason as I landed a hard kick to the pad strapped to Mason’s arm.

  ‘I know, bruv, I’m late,’ he said. I frowned in recognition. I knew that voice. Mason stopped and turned around, revealing my partner.

  ‘Great, you’re here. This is Effie.’ Mason began to introduce us; he needn’t have bothered. ‘Effie, this is …’

  ‘Daz.’ I sent him a smile and waited for the recognition to kick in. ‘We’ve met before.’

  Daz frowned for a moment or two, I could practically see the underused cogs whirring inside his brain, then the penny dropped and his brows raised in a look of panic.

  I showered and washed my hair in the changing rooms, the hot water soothing the bruise that would soon develop on my shoulder from where I’d dodged a little too slowly and Daz had caught me. I hadn’t quite beaten the shit out of him, but I hadn’t held back either. All it had taken was a quick replay of our diner date in my mind and I was ready to go. At least I could rest easy that my bruise would be hidden, but Daz would have a hard time covering the entire left-hand side of his face.

  I let the hot water douse my skin and exhaled with contentment. Today had been a good day.

  On Christmas Eve I said goodbye to Amy at midday, giving her enough time to delve into the panic of last-minute Christmas Eve gift shopping. I closed the shop and went up into the apartment to wrap what few gifts I had bought. For Dad, I had got a desk organiser, something to clear the clutter that he was getting buried under. For Mum, I bought a spa day voucher; maybe they could loosen that stick up her arse and send her home smiling. For Caleb, I got an enamel pin to add to his collection. It was a pair of hands high fiving with the word friends behind it in a colourful comic book-like burst. I’d bought a rawhide bone for Otis. I’d be taking that to him tomorrow when I did my Christmas Day shift before heading home to endure the awkward tension of my first encounter with my mother since our fight a month and a half ago. I placed Ali’s gift in the centre of the penguin print wrapping paper: a copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It had stuck in my mind since she’d told me that she used to love it and, with the festive spirit filling me like a virus, I wrapped it up and shoved it into my bag with the other presents.

  That night I drank half a bottle of wine before bed and when I eventually lay down I couldn’t sleep. I stared up at the ceiling and thought of him.

  Would he be spending tomorrow at home with his family? Was he still ill? Fully healed? Dead?

  I’d given up hope a long time ago that he might be coming back for me. That one day I might find him standing at my door telling me how he’d made an awful mistake and he would do anything to have me back. In some versions of that fantasy I kicked him so hard that he fell backwards down the stairs; in others I pulled him close and kissed him, but both scenarios were improbable. Theo was over me and I was attempting to get over him. That didn’t stop my heart from skipping every time someone knocked on the door or my phone pinged with a new message.

  Believe it or not, my phone had been pinging more often than not since I’d pulled my head out of my arse and started living. Caleb messaged me hourly about anything and everything and he’d added me to a WhatsApp group that contained everyone from our volunteering team. Ned would often chime in with the odd Dad joke, most of which I found embarrassingly hilarious, and Liz would post links to other charitable causes that she wanted us to get involved in. Arthur and Toby sent me pictures and emails telling me how they’d moved on from Prague to Vienna. The last had been a photograph of Toby, silhouetted against the setting sun, his glass of beer glowing amber in the light.

  But still, every time that sound pinged, I hoped that it would be Him. There was no word from Kate, but then I hadn’t expected any. She probably had enough going on, reorganising her life to fit the new order of things, to have time for a drink.

  I rolled onto my side and looked at the empty space beside me, cold and untouched by anyone except me when I spread myself out like a starfish as I slept. I wished there was someone to complain about my stretching out, someone to keep me awake with their snoring or their spasms and kicks during the night.

  I closed my eyes as the heavy feeling of sleep filled my head and when I was finally sleeping, I dreamt of mountains and Staffordshire bull terriers and Daz’s bruised face.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christmas had always been a strange one for me. I’d always loved the build-up and hated the actual day. The build-up was filled with music and traditions and carols, all happening while the thrill and excitement of the ‘big day’ hung in the air. But when the actual day came around it was nothing but twenty-four hours of gently stewing yourself in various forms of alcohol until one of you has one port too many and starts World War Three over the pigs in blankets. Someone would inevitably end up crying or injuring themselves by trying to de-segment a Terry’s Chocolate Orange with their fist and the day would wrap up with everyone sitting in separate rooms, drunk, and telling themselves that next year’s Christmas will be ‘the one’.

  I woke up early and dressed in my shelter uniform. I folded a green velvet top that I’d bought a week ago, when I’d gone out and bought clothes to replace the baggy jumpers that I’d decided to forgo, and placed it in the bag with my gifts. I’d change into that before I made my way to what could quite possibly become the world’s most awkward Christmas. I put my bag by the door – I was bound to forget it otherwise – and went to make myself some coffee.

  As I stood by the kettle, watching the blue light illuminate the bubbles inside, my eyes drifted to the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. I smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. It suddenly felt as if I had no saliva left. I clicked off the kettle and unscrewed the wine, pouring an inch or two into the bottom of the mug. I lifted it to my lips and inhaled the rich smell. Before the liquid touched my lips, I lowered the mug and stared down into the dark reflective surface.

  What was I doing?

  I knew that Christmas gave everyone an unofficial excuse to drink from the moment your eyes popped open in the morning, but this wasn’t a one-off for me and my head was still heavy with the wine from the night before.

  I tipped the mug over the sink, then grabbed the bottle and poured the rest of the blood-coloured liquid down the drain. Maybe an early New Year’s resolution was in order. I grabbed my bags and headed out.

  Caleb’s gift twinkled in the morning light as it glinted from his lapel. He’d laughed when I’d given it to him and then he’d presented me with my gift. It was exactly the same. I pinned mine to my bag strap and gave him a high five, both of us shouting the word friends when our palms touched, then laughing at how dumb that must have looked to the rest of the office.

  Ned, Caleb, Janet and I were the only ones who could make it from our group that morning. We’d met in the foyer and Caleb and I split a mince pie before we headed out onto the street.

  Since I’d been doing this, I’d learned a lot about the people who I’d walked past and ignored only months earlier.

  Carl and
Denny slept in an alleyway between New Street and the train station and even though Carl had recently had to have his leg amputated at the knee, he always had time for a chat and a laugh. Today they had another member of the group, Maggie, a Polish woman who’d come here looking for a better life and found this instead.

  Down at the Square, George and Nina sat on the edge of the city’s famous fountain, a nude woman reclining in a tub of water, affectionately known as the Floozie in the Jacuzzi. They were whispering about something that seemed intense, but the second they saw us all gossip fell away and they turned to us with expectant smiles.

  We handed them some food and a hot drink and shared a chat before heading down towards the bottom of the street. I reached into my bag and took out the two gifts, the book for Ali and the bone for Otis.

  ‘What you got there?’ Caleb asked as we waited for Janet to hand out a cup of tea.

  ‘It’s for Ali – not the bone obviously, that’s for Otis,’ I replied. ‘It’s the Narnia book that she told me about when I first met her.’

  ‘That’s really nice, Eff. But don’t let the others see; we’re not meant to have favourites.’ He winked my way as we approached Ali’s doorway, but when we got there it was empty.

  ‘Where is she?’ I asked Caleb, who frowned.

  ‘Maybe she’s staying at a friend’s, or she could just have moved on. People don’t tend to stay in one place for too long,’ he explained. I sighed with disappointment and pushed the gifts back into my bag. We carried on down the street, handing out hot drinks and chatting with the people who would find Christmas Day to be very like any other, only quieter.

  When we got back to the office there was a crowd of people in the break room, a solemn atmosphere tainting the festive vibe. Janet and I returned the equipment while Caleb went to find out what was going on. He returned a few minutes later with a grave look on his face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. I think I knew before he told me.

  ‘One of the volunteers has just quit,’ Caleb began. ‘He found Ali’s body this morning. She’d OD’d.’

  Otis had been brought in by the volunteer who found them and they’d shut him in one of the office cubicles. He’d been sitting beside Ali’s body waiting for her to wake when they arrived. The moment I walked in he ran to me and licked my hands, and he laid his head down on my knee the second I’d sat down on the floor.

  I unwrapped his gift and he tucked in ravenously. I sat red-eyed and watched him with tears wetting my cheeks.

  I thought back to all those years I’d spent feeling sorry for myself, when I’d had so much more than Ali ever had.

  After a while Caleb came in and sat beside me, his arm linking through mine. ‘Will you be wanting to leave us now?’ he asked as we watched Otis’s saliva drip from the gnawed remnants of his bone and seep into the carpet tiles.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘If anything, it’s made me realise how important this is.’

  He looked over at me and sighed. ‘We’ll have to get someone from the Dogs Home to come and collect him,’ he said, nodding towards Otis.

  ‘Caleb,’ I said, ‘can I take Otis home for a few days? I hate the idea of him spending Christmas in a kennel.’

  He smiled and squeezed my arm.

  ‘Sure thing. The mutt’s all yours.’

  It was midday when Otis and I showed up like the ragtag band of outcasts that we were. Dad didn’t even mention the dog as I stepped into the hallway for the first time since I’d left with my things.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Dad,’ I said as he pulled me into a hug. It was the strongest he’d ever squeezed me. A garland of fir branches and poinsettias twirled up the banister, the flowers looking slightly dishevelled from Elliot’s attack on it the previous year.

  My aunt, uncle and cousin Felicity lounged in the living room, already half a bottle of scotch and a tub of Celebrations down. I left Otis with them while I prepared myself for the only person I had left to see.

  Mum was in the kitchen stirring the gravy when I walked in. The smell that filled the air made my mouth water instantly.

  ‘Hello,’ I said meekly.

  ‘Hello, Effie,’ she replied without turning around.

  Silence.

  I closed my hand around my wrist – it still ached from time to time – and pressed my lips together into a line.

  ‘Dinner smells good.’ My voice sounded little in the quiet room. She didn’t reply. ‘I didn’t know that Aunt Rita was coming. Has she drunk you out of wine already?’ That was rich coming from me, I know. When she didn’t answer I knew that I had to call her on it or we’d be like this all day. ‘Are you going to speak to me?’

  She began savagely whisking the gravy and I saw her tense her jaw through the curtain of her bob, which was now beginning to grow out and looked much nicer.

  ‘What would you like me to speak to you about?’ Her voice was taut, ready for a row.

  ‘I’ll apologise for what I said if you will too.’ As soon as I’d finished speaking, she whipped around, the gravy pan slamming down hard on the counter and drops of molten gravy spraying out like a geyser.

  ‘What do I have to apologise for, Effie?’ She crossed her arms and set her jaw. There it was again, that steadfast ability to hold a grudge until the last. I guess that’s where I’d inherited it from.

  I sighed. I didn’t think I could handle an argument after the morning I’d had.

  ‘I was in a terrible place. I was the lowest I’d ever been and instead of trying to help me out of it you kicked me and kept on kicking me until I snapped.’ I kept my voice in check, although I wanted to shout. ‘I know I’ve not been the best of daughters. I didn’t turn out how you wanted me to and I’ve come to accept that, but there are two people in this relationship and neither of us has been perfect.’

  She let her hands fall limply to her sides, her eyes drawing back with a look of despondency. She flapped her hands as if struggling against what she wanted to say and what she felt like she should say. ‘You wouldn’t tell me what happened. You turned up with a splint on your arm and decided you were going to live in the treehouse. You cried non-stop and wouldn’t eat a thing and I had no idea why. I’m your mother; why wouldn’t you talk to me?’

  I swallowed the rapidly rising lump in my throat and tried not to cry. ‘Because I couldn’t. I could barely even think about it without wanting to go and throw myself off a building and I knew exactly what you’d think when I told you. You’d think that I’d done it again, I’d chased away another man because I didn’t know how to make one happy and I’m always so moody and how can I expect someone to love me when I’m always so cross?’ I looked up at her; she’d started crying already. ‘Your disappointment in me is something that I’ve become used to, but after what happened I couldn’t bear to hear it.’

  She walked over and took my hands. The contact made me want to cry too. ‘I’m not disappointed in you, Effie.’ She leaned in and kissed my forehead, her tears smearing over my face as she did. There was no point holding back now, so I let myself cry.

  ‘But I’ve failed at everything. I’m a failure.’ I sobbed into her festive apron.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ she said over my shoulder as she rubbed my back and held me firmly. ‘You’re not a failure.’

  I told Mum everything, about Theo’s letter and how I’d been convinced that Jenny was the cause of him dumping me and how those ideas had been dashed when I’d met her at the market.

  I told her about Caleb and Ali and Otis. I talked for over an hour, the dinner slowly growing crisper as we both forgot the hungry people waiting in the other room. I talked and she listened and when I’d spoken my last, I felt like we saw each other clearly. The cloud of judgement had gone from our eyes and for the first time in years I smiled at her and meant it.

  When we walked back in and told them that dinner was ready, they all looked at us sheepishly, saw that our arms were linked and applauded. I guess they must have heard the whole thing.


  Mum was smiling. She’d finally found joy in something. That was until she saw Otis lying on the sofa, his legs up in the air and his tongue hanging out to the side, and almost had a mental breakdown.

  I watched my cousin Felicity staring aimlessly through the kitchen window as I sat in the treehouse with Elliot beside me. When he’d finally come in to welcome me home, he’d seen Otis and hadn’t stayed long.

  I turned to him, his unimpressed yellow eyes already fixed on mine.

  Don’t for a moment think that he’s staying, he seemed to say.

  There was something strange about the smile that had found its way onto my lips and lingered for at least two consecutive hours. For the first day in the almost two months since I’d last seen him, I hadn’t thought about Theo much at all.

  When I did find myself thinking about him, I still felt the ache, like when I sat with my legs dangling over the drop from the treehouse or whenever I saw the lighter, still stuffed into the plant pot where I’d hidden it that first night he’d come around for our non-date. But it wasn’t as sharp as it had been and nowhere near as unbearable. Even so, I knew that this new ache was here to stay. It would remain like the residual pain of a broken bone, going unnoticed until something reawakened the pain for a moment.

  I still had so much to say to him, so many words that needed saying, and for the first time since he’d said goodbye to me I felt like I was ready to say them.

  I found his number in my contacts and stared at it for a minute or two before I called and hoped for voicemail. I needed to say the words, typing them would not help me purge myself of the things I needed to get out of me.

  It rang six times, each ring making my heart flutter. When I heard the woman’s voice asking me to leave a message I sighed in relief and cleared my throat.