by Sara Barnard
‘Just that? Me making them stand up and admit what they did to me is about more than me and them?’
He releases his grip on the counter and turns away slightly to toss the used tea bags into the bin. ‘Yes, because it’s not just you. They’re my parents too.’
That’s the breaking point. This moment.
Without thinking about what I’m doing, I hurl the bottle across the room towards him. It spins as it flies, spraying vodka all over the carpet, before it collides with the wall near his head in one immensely satisfying crash. Glass and vodka rain on to the floor.
‘Get. Out.’ My voice doesn’t even sound like me. It’s so full of rage.
The bottle missed him completely, but still he jerks to look at me with the poleaxed expression of someone who’s never had a bottle thrown at them before and had never even thought it could happen. It’s not like I was actually aiming for him or anything, but still. He didn’t even duck. Amateur.
The silence stretches out between us. I can hear my own breathing, loud and harsh.
‘OK,’ he says.
And for a second I’m terrified that he really is going to leave, that this is the horrible, defining moment we’re going to end in, that he’s going to go and never come back.
But, ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘That was a shit thing to say. I’m sorry.’
My brother. If nothing else, he really knows how to nail a quiet, sincere apology. God knows he’s had enough practice with me.
‘You don’t really want me to go, do you?’ he asks. Gentle.
I shake my head, and that’s when the tears really come. Because I do want him to leave, but I don’t. I hate him and I love him. How can two opposite things be true at the same time?
‘Oh, Zannie,’ he says, and I hear the helpless, frustrated worry in his voice. So familiar. I’ve been hearing it from him my whole life. He comes over to me. ‘Please let me hug you?’
‘No,’ I say, stepping away from him, even though all I want in the world right now is for someone to hug me. I cross my arms in front of me, but it’s not enough of a shield, so I push my hands further until I’m clutching my shoulder blades, trying to hold myself in.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I made a mistake and I’m sorry. That’s why I came here – to say that. Not to start a fight. It’s OK that you’re angry with me.’
I know it is! I want to say, but before I can voice the words, the buzzer goes. We both look at each other automatically, startled.
‘Who’s that?’ he asks.
I lift my shoulders, trying to think through the vodka and residual rage-fog who it could be.
‘Sarah?’ Brian suggests as I spring into life and move to answer the buzzer.
‘She knows the code,’ I say. I press the button. ‘Hello?’
‘Hiya.’ It’s Matt. Shit. ‘It’s me. Can I come up?’
‘Er …’ I say.
‘Who’s that?’ Brian asks again from behind me.
I’m so confused I press the button that unlocks the front door, so I have no choice than to say, ‘Come up.’
‘Who’s that?’ Brian asks again.
‘It’s Matt,’ I say, unhelpfully. I try to think about how to explain Matt, but he’s already knocking at the door and I’m opening it on autopilot. ‘Hey.’
Matt’s face, which was presumably wearing a smile a second before, drops in undisguised shock at the sight of me.
‘All right, I don’t look that bad,’ I say, glancing down at myself. ‘Do I?’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, taking a step towards me and into the flat. His concern is so genuine, and so intense, that it’s too much. He reaches for me, his hand on its way to my face. The gesture is way too intimate to happen in front of my older brother, which is why I rear away from him and his touch. He doesn’t know that, though. He looks hurt.
‘I’m actually in the middle of something,’ I say, trying to brighten my voice. ‘So … could you come back later?’
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks again, more intensely this time. His focus is so completely on me that he hasn’t even noticed there’s someone else in the room.
‘Me,’ Brian says, and Matt jerks in surprise.
‘This is my brother,’ I say. ‘We’re fighting. It’s kind of a thing.’
Matt, who’d relaxed slightly at the word ‘brother’, tenses again. ‘Fighting about what?’ His forehead crinkles slightly and he glances around me. ‘Did you spill vodka in here?’
‘She threw it, actually,’ Brian says. ‘The bottle, that is. At me.’
‘I didn’t throw it at you,’ I say. The viciousness in my voice surprises me. ‘It didn’t even touch you.’
‘Will you just calm down?’ Brian’s starting to lose his composure, I can tell. Matt’s appearance has completely thrown him, and it’s like he doesn’t know how to deal with me any more.
‘Why does she need to calm down?’ Matt asks. ‘What did you do?’
‘No,’ I say, loud enough to stop Brian responding. ‘Don’t turn this into a two-of-you thing. Please.’ I look at Matt and soften my voice so it’s just for him. ‘This isn’t anything to do with you.’
He hesitates, glancing at Brian and then back at me. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asks, giving me the choice my own brother didn’t.
‘No,’ I say, the answer coming so easily I don’t even think about it. ‘Stay? But give me a second to …’ I point at Brian, who clenches his jaw in poorly concealed frustration. I go over to him. ‘You have to leave.’
‘Zanne …’ Brian begins.
‘Go,’ I say again. It’s all I can manage, because my mind is stuck on this: Brian, aged twelve, scooping up my battered seven-year-old self off the floor and carrying me away, hugging me safe and close. Brian, thirteen, coaxing me out from under his bed, where I’d gone to hide. He’s gone, he’d said. I promise. Brian, fifteen, carefully counting out the coins of his allowance, sharing it with me. Brian, seventeen, standing in front of me like a shield. Fuck off, Dad, he’d said. He actually said those words. Can’t you just leave her alone? Brian, eighteen, driving me around Reading while the Kinks played over the stereo until I fell asleep and we returned to a silent, calm house.
I’m waiting for another rush of rage to take over me, but it doesn’t come. I just feel … heartbroken. That’s what it is. For him and me and the lives our parents gave us both and what it’s turned us into.
He does leave, finally; a hollow victory. The cups of tea that he poured are still waiting on the kitchen counter.
‘Do you want tea?’ I say to Matt, who’s stayed quiet, waiting for his cue.
‘Sure,’ he says, cautious.
‘I don’t want tea,’ I say. ‘I would’ve told him that, if he’d asked.’
‘Suze,’ Matt says. ‘What happened?’
‘Did I drink all my vodka?’
‘No, Suze. You smashed the vodka, remember?’
‘Oh,’ I say.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you some water.’ I watch him hunt around my cupboards until he finds a glass. ‘So … that was your brother, huh?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Hey,’ he says. He puts the glass down and reaches for me, folding me in for a soft, light hug. It’s a very nice hug. I want to give in to it, let myself be comforted. It would be so easy. But I can’t take it back if I let him see me like this; if I give away the only cards I have; if he sees what a state I’m actually in, a state I’m never truly that far away from.
I want him to stay, though. So I kiss him, because then he’ll stay, and he won’t be looking at me like he can actually see me, and I won’t have to talk or think or feel.
I kiss him, and he pushes me away. Very gently, but still.
‘Not tonight,’ he says, just as gently.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you are very, very drunk,’ Matt says. His face is slightly fuzzy. He reaches forward and moves a wayward strand of hair from my face. ‘And v
ery, very sad.’
I shove his hand away. ‘I’m not sad.’
‘OK,’ he says, meaning, You are. ‘But you are drunk.’
‘So?’
He laughs a little. ‘Come on, Suze. Let’s just chill until you sober up a bit, OK?’
I put my hands to the zip of his jeans. ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘You can have me. I don’t mind.’
He reaches down and takes hold of my wrists, lifting my hands up and away from him. ‘Hey,’ he says, soft. ‘It’s OK. Stop.’
‘Why are you here?’ I demand, pushing him away harder than I should and stepping back. ‘Why did you even come if you don’t want me?’
‘I do want you,’ he says. ‘But not right now. Not like this. I came here because you didn’t turn up in town, and then my replies weren’t going through and my calls wouldn’t connect. I was worried; I wanted to check you were OK.’ He hesitates. ‘Which you’re not. So I’m going to stay because of that, not for … anything else.’
I move my hands behind my back and latch them together so hard my wrists rub and burn. ‘If you stay,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady but no longer sure exactly what steady even means, ‘I will cry on you.’
‘You’re already crying.’
Am I? ‘On you.’
‘That’s fine.’
I shake my head. ‘Why aren’t you leaving?’
‘I know you’re drunk, but do you really think for a second I would leave you like this?’
‘Like what?’
Matt looks at me like he doesn’t even know where to start. ‘Want me to be honest?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like a total mess.’ He says this simply, no malice or sneer in his voice. If anything, he seems sad. ‘Like someone who needs to have another person with them until they sober up.’
I hear, Like someone who needs. ‘I’m not some charity case.’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘Is what you said.’
Matt shakes his head, his eyes moving over my face. ‘What can I do? Do you want to eat something? That might help. We could order a pizza or something?’
‘What time is it?’
‘About nine.’
Oh God, it’s so early. He takes a gentle hold of my arm and begins leading me towards my bed. He’s bunching up my sheets, piling up pillows, coaxing me to lie down, pulling one of the blankets over me. ‘Not a child,’ I mutter.
‘Sleep it off for a bit, OK? I’m right here.’
‘Don’t care if you’re here.’
He doesn’t speak for a while, but I can hear him rustling around as I try to fight off sleep. He settles at the end of the bed, squeezing my foot but not coming any closer to me. A moment later, the strumming of a guitar fills the room.
‘Don’t fucking serenade me,’ I say, but it comes out like a growl, ridiculous and sulky, and he laughs but doesn’t stop strumming. It’s actually quite nice. I let myself ask, but just quietly, ‘What is it?’
‘“Time in a Bottle”,’ he says. ‘Jim Croce. Don’t worry. It’s not serenading if I’m not singing.’
I listen for a little longer. My head feels foggy. ‘Will you teach me how to play it?’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘In the morning.’
‘You’ll still be here in the morning?’
‘I’ll still be here in the morning.’
29
‘Like Gold’
Vance Joy
He is.
When I wake up in the morning he’s asleep beside me, on top of the covers, still fully dressed. I lie there for a while, half dozing, listening to him breathing. Most of last night is a blur, but I have vague memories of being awake with him, crying on to his shoulder. The uncontrollable, raspy kind of heartbroken crying. The kind I don’t do in front of people. I’m not sure how much sleep either of us actually got. I feel hungover in a way that is more to do with the crying and shouting than the vodka I drank. Drained, like all the light in me has gone, leaving me empty and cold. After a while, I slide out from under the covers and go to the kitchen to pour myself some water. It occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve ever slept with anyone in this flat, and that’s all we did. Sleep.
I make tea and toast, eating mine over the sink and leaving a plate and mug for Matt on the floor by the bed. It feels a bit weird to shower while he’s in the flat, but I feel so rubbish, I do it anyway. I close my eyes under the water and it helps. When I come out of the shower area, Matt’s awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed, tapping into his phone. He looks up and smiles.
‘Hey,’ he says.
‘Hey,’ I say. I’m wearing leggings and a T-shirt, my face scrubbed clean, my hair still wet, combed through with my fingers. I feel raw. ‘Thanks for … um. Staying.’
‘Course,’ he says. He puts a hand out to me. ‘C’mere.’
I sit next to him on the bed, leaning against his side while he drinks his tea, and find my phone under my pillow. There are messages from Brian, asking me to call him when I’ve ‘calmed down’, apologizing again, telling me he loves me. I scroll through them, clenching my jaw so tight it hurts, until I get to the one where he tells me he’s staying with Sarah. Damn. I should have seen that coming. I have a missed call from her and a message saying Give me a call when you can. I’ve spoken to your mother. And then, maybe because she can read my mind or maybe because she knows me, she’s added, I’m on your side, every time.
‘You’re not working today, are you?’ Matt asks. When I shake my head, he says, ‘Want to go for a drive or something? It might be good for you to get out for a bit?’
‘OK,’ I say. I know there’ll be no getting around seeing Sarah today so I do the adult thing and reply to her message instead of ignoring it. Thank you. I’ll call later – promise. Spending today with a friend. I’m fine xx
I’m in the passenger seat of Matt’s car when my phone lights up with ‘Mum’ onscreen and my stomach turns over. Mum hardly ever calls me, because we don’t have that kind of relationship, and every learned instinct is yelling at me to answer it, quick, before she goes back to pretending I don’t exist.
But I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to hear her defend Dad or Brian or apologize for them. I don’t even want to see her name on my phone screen. I reject the call, and it feels like smashing a hammer down on one of those Test-Your-Strength games at a carnival. I feel strong. And then I follow the thought through, and I take it one step further. I pull up her contact card on my phone and block her number. And then Brian’s.
It’ll just be for a couple of days, but doing it makes me feel calmer. A couple of days to steady myself, to debrief, maybe. To feel safe.
‘OK?’ Matt asks.
‘OK,’ I say.
We spend the day driving around the south coast from Brighton, through Eastbourne, past Hastings, all the way to Camber Sands. ‘See?’ he says when we walk over the dunes. ‘Genuine sandy beaches, right here in East Sussex.’ It’s bright and sunny but cold, the two of us buried deep in our coats. He tells me to race him to the sea and I do, even though the tide’s out and it looks miles away. After a few seconds of feeling stupid, weighted down by my coat and boots, I feel this impossible kind of freedom take over me, lifting me up, carrying me along. When I get to the sea, just behind him, I’m laughing. I take off my boots and socks, roll up my jeans and let the icy cold waves sweep over my feet.
‘You’re crazy,’ Matt says. ‘It’s February!’
‘It’s great,’ I reply, teeth chattering. ‘Bracing.’
‘Brrr-acing,’ he replies, and the joke is terrible but I laugh so hard my eyes tear over.
On the drive back we listen to Vance Joy and when Matt sings along, I do too, because why the fuck not. We play a version of ‘I packed my bag’ with album titles. When we get back to Brighton and it’s time for him to leave I almost say, ‘Stay?’
I wait until later in the evening before I go to see Sarah, because I’m hoping if I leave it late enough Brian will
have left. This turns out to be unnecessary, as she’d sent him home hours ago.
‘I told him it would be best,’ she says. ‘I thought you’d need time. Was that the right thing to do?’
I nod. ‘Thanks. What did he tell you?’
Everything, it seems, from what she says. It actually sounds like he was honest about it. I guess that’s something.
‘If your dad ever pulls anything like that again, you don’t have to talk to him,’ she says. ‘You don’t owe him anything. Call me, or call the police if you want to. But don’t put yourself through that.’
‘Did Mum know?’ I ask. It’s the only thing I care about right now. ‘Did she know he was going to do that?’
Sarah shakes her head. ‘She was very upset.’
‘I was very upset.’
‘From what she said to me, it seems like they’d discussed coming down here together to talk to you, with me. All of us sitting down together to talk about the money. But Darren jumped the gun a bit.’
Something in my chest tightens. Even Sarah, who’s on my side, can’t help but minimize it. Jumped the gun. Seriously?
‘I wish you’d told me about the suing idea,’ she continues. ‘We could have talked about it.’
I bite down on my tongue to stop myself snapping at her. ‘That was never a thing. I just mentioned it to Brian. I’d obviously never do it. This is all so stupid.’
‘You’d be within your rights,’ she says. ‘It’s not stupid at all to want some kind of justice.’
‘I just want to live a life that they’re not constantly stomping all over,’ I snap. ‘That’s all. Why can’t they just leave me the fuck alone if they’re …’ I mean to say ‘if they’re not going to love me’, but the words don’t make it out. I try again. ‘I don’t even want any money from them.’
She’s calm. ‘Suzie, think about how far that money could go in your life. How useful it would be. Don’t turn it down without thinking about it.’
‘What I’m thinking about is the fact that I’ve been living on no money in a bedsit and they’ve just got five grand lying around,’ I say, trying to keep my voice at a normal level but not quite succeeding. ‘Seriously? They can just throw around that kind of money like it’s nothing? While I’m …’ I swallow, bite down on my lip and turn away.