by David Owen
‘I wish I could be glad that he’s back,’ said Wesley, wondering how much he should say, finding that he didn’t care. ‘I just think he broke the family apart in a way that means we’ll never quite fit together properly again. I don’t know if there’s room for both of us.’
Or for you either, he didn’t say.
Dave nodded, and now it was clearly him wondering if he should say what came next. ‘I had a thought, about all of you. I’ve already talked to your mum about it, but it’s only fair I ask you, too. You’ve done so much to look after her all these years.’
It was more than pride that Wesley felt now, a fragile luminescence he didn’t know how to name. This was how it felt to be recognised, to have someone notice the efforts he had made. It almost made him miss what Dave said next.
‘How would you feel about all of you moving into my place?’
There was genuine hope in Dave’s eyes, making it clear this was something he really wanted to do and not the result of some misguided pity or demand from Mum. So when Wesley didn’t answer straight away he began to talk faster.
‘It’s just an idea to get you and Evie away from that damp, out to a slightly nicer area. Not that I live in a palace, mind,’ he said. ‘It was just an idea.’
‘No. I mean, I’m not sure.’ Wesley hadn’t even seen the place, but there was something tempting about the idea. If Dave’s place didn’t smell of bins it would be an upgrade.
But where they were now was their place. The first they had called their own since living in a long line of places they didn’t belong. Instinctively, he knew that he wouldn’t belong there either, that he would be handing Mum over, erasing everything they had been through. If he wasn’t there to look after her, why was he there at all? She wouldn’t need him any more.
And if things went south with Dave, and they had to start all over again . . .
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ he said.
Although Dave looked disappointed, he didn’t push it any further. He was so decent it was almost annoying.
‘What about Jordan?’ Wesley asked.
Dave sighed, like he’d made a decision he knew would come back to haunt him. ‘We’re going to talk about it. All of us. Speaking of which . . .’
He pointed to the road, where an Uber had just pulled up. Mum emerged from the back, throwing them a wave, leading Evie out after her. From the front, carrying a short stack of pizza boxes, came Jordan.
‘There’s my working boy!’ said Mum, slipping between the cars to plant a kiss on Wesley’s cheek, before doing the same to Dave.
‘You make me sound like a rent boy,’ he said.
Thankfully she wasn’t wearing any rings, so the smack to the back of the head didn’t hurt too much.
‘I thought we were meeting you at home?’ said Dave.
‘You can drive us back, can’t you?’
‘Pizza is the best excuse to finish early.’
‘Pizza!’ said Evie.
Briefly, Wesley wondered if there might be a chance to sneak inside while they talked and pocket a set of car keys before anybody noticed.
‘I hope you’ve worked up an appetite,’ said Mum.
Dave smacked him on the back. ‘He’s a hard worker.’
Mum beamed, and there was the pride again, welling up like struck oil. He caught Jordan’s eye, who had joined them with the pizzas, but looked away before he could catch his expression.
‘Going cold,’ said Jordan.
‘Pizza!’ reiterated Evie, jumping at the boxes.
While the others waited by Dave’s car, Wesley watched him lock up: paperwork filed away, lockbox sealed, before closing the office itself. The keys went straight into the right pocket of his leather jacket.
When he joined them at the car, he found Jordan watching him, but it had to be paranoia that said he looked suspicious. Wesley pushed past him, almost unbalancing the pizzas, and closed himself in the front seat of the car.
26
Fake News Crocodiles
Wesley listened to the washing machine whirring in the kitchen, the bag of dirty laundry Jordan had produced as soon as they got home the surest sign of all that things between them were changing.
Sitting and squabbling over pizza together felt like being a family again, until he realised there was no again. They had never felt like a family. A unit. Anything whole. This might have been the closest they had ever managed.
There weren’t enough seats for everybody in the front room. Wesley was on the floor while Mum and Dave sat wedged together on the sofa, Evie balanced between their laps. The armchair was taken by Jordan, separating him from the others, but he leaned over the arm while he told his story as if trying to be as close to them as he could.
‘There was this guy in my hostel in Darwin who believed crocodiles are a hoax. Like, actually believed these five-metre killing machines were made up by the Australian government to attract tourists.’ Jordan took a bite of pizza, cheese sticking between his teeth. ‘So a bunch of us decided to take him out and prove him wrong.’
Dave covered Evie’s ears, predicting the story was going nowhere good.
‘We drive him to this billabong in the outback which is famous for having loads of crocs, so of course when we turn up there isn’t one in sight. This guy starts ranting about how we’re gullible idiots, how we’ve fallen for “fake news crocodiles”, and he goes and stands right at the edge of the water.’
Wesley had never left the south of England, but even he knew that was a bad idea.
‘Bear in mind they tell you never to go within five metres of any water like that because crocs can jump their body length. And I swear,’ said Jordan, almost certainly meaning it was made up, ‘this guy pulls down his pants and starts mooning the water.’
Everybody but Evie, ears still covered, had stopped eating, waiting rapt for what happened next. Wesley was no exception. He couldn’t deny his brother’s natural charisma, his ability to fit in and belong wherever in the world he put himself.
‘He’s shouting “come and get me, crocodiles!” and waving his pale arse, when all of a sudden there’s this ROAR from the water and a crocodile the length of a car comes snapping at him.’
Mum jumped enough to send a piece of pepperoni flying across the room.
‘Jeff!’ called Evie.
‘Was he okay?’
‘Oh yeah, he was fine, the croc missed him.’ Jordan leaned back in his seat. ‘Except he literally shat himself.’
Everybody groaned.
‘You were in Australia for almost two years,’ said Mum, wagging what remained of her pizza slice. ‘And that’s the story you choose to tell us.’
‘And over dinner,’ added Dave.
‘And that definitely, actually happened,’ finished Wesley.
Jordan regarded him levelly. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t believe in crocodiles either, bro?’
Wesley took a bite of pizza and stayed silent. It shouldn’t be so easy for Jordan to come back into their lives. If anybody was paying attention, they would see he hadn’t really changed, that he was just doing what he could to be accepted. If they let him, he would only do more damage, unravel everything they had achieved without him.
‘So that’s your best memory of Australia, is it?’ he said. ‘Nearly getting a guy eaten alive?’
Jordan’s satisfied smile faltered. ‘He was probably more alive in that moment than you’ve ever been, little bro.’
Nobody else seemed to acknowledge the barbed comment, reaching instead for the last few slices of pizza.
‘Thanks for the food,’ said Jordan, smiling broadly – too broadly – at Dave. The pact to never get friendly with any of Mum’s boyfriends was well and truly broken. Jordan wouldn’t do that without an ulterior motive.
‘Pizza,’ whispered Evie to nobody in particular.
Mum finished her slice, shifted Evie off her lap, and sat forwards. ‘We need to talk to you about something.’
Wesley knew what wo
uld happen from there. They would agree to move into Dave’s house, all of them, and Jordan would take his place, pushing him to the outside like always. The last year or more would no longer matter – if it ever had. Wesley would lose the last place he thought he belonged.
He glanced at the front door, where Dave’s leather jacket was hanging. There was still a chance he could belong somewhere else. Everybody needs something to live for.
Pizza turned out to be the perfect accomplice, sending everybody to bed early to sleep it off. Wesley would have hours to claim the keys. Just as soon as he got Jordan out of the flat.
‘Where are you staying?’ asked Mum.
‘Just with a mate,’ said Jordan, putting on his shoes a little more slowly than seemed necessary.
A hesitation, Mum looking to Dave for encouragement before she spoke again. ‘You can stay here tonight. If you want?’
Jordan smiled and nodded, and looked immediately to Wesley with a smile that spoke of triumph. Wesley glowered in return, betrayal sizzling in his belly.
‘Night, bro,’ Jordan said, as Wesley carried their sister to the bedroom.
Sleep didn’t even seem like an option, and when his phone told him it was just after one a.m. he threw back the covers. Evie always slept like a brick, but he had already swept the floor clear of her toys and paints just in case he trod on anything to alert her. He eased the door open and peered out into the dark hallway. Next door Mum was snoring, but otherwise it was quiet. Wesley picked up his trainers and padded into the sitting room.
His brother was a long lump on the sofa, face down on the pillow, breathing noisily. Back when they had shared a room, there had been nights Wesley was frightened he might suffocate like that.
The boards squeaked under the thin carpet as he crept past him to the door. The jacket was still there, and Wesley reached into the pocket, gripping the keys hard so they wouldn’t clink together.
Watching Jordan the entire time, he opened the latch and pulled the door open just enough to let his body through, before going out into the night.
27
Second-hand Kisses
The town centre was busier than usual, after-work drinkers getting caught up with those on a full-blown night out. Walking through them all felt different now. Kat could have reached out and become any one of them, shrugged their lives around her shoulders to try them on for size. She should be looking for one that fit, one she could soon call home. Despite her determination to redeem herself, it was still so tempting to experience it one last time, while she still had the power.
Safa stumbled on her heels for the tenth time since leaving the house. ‘That’s it,’ she said, scooping them off and throwing them across the square.
‘You’ll get tetanus,’ said Kat.
‘By this time tomorrow there’ll be nothing left to get tetanus.’
They had emptied Safa’s wardrobe onto the bed to choose their outfits. While Safa chose a long, flowery dress she claimed to have never worn, Kat had quickly realised everything on offer was too short for her. They had raided her mum’s wardrobe instead, and Kat wondered how long it would take for the strappy top and neatly ironed jeans to be missed.
A line of people shivered away from the door of a club on the far corner of the square. Automatically, Kat went to join the queue, before Safa sashayed past like a celebrity.
‘We’re under age,’ she announced to the bouncers that flanked the door, before looking at Kat over her shoulder. ‘The security here is a joke.’
Past the cloakroom, where the noise of the club was muffled, before they pushed through a set of double doors. Kat had never been to a club before. The music landed like a physical blow. It thumped in her chest, tickling her throat and making her want to cough. The air was hot, wet against her skin, like the rainforest inside the boy from the march. Flashing lights made her head spin.
She followed Safa to an open space against a wall overlooking a dance floor. It was probably still early for a club, but there were plenty of people dancing, more leaning against the walls or lounging at tables.
‘What do we do now?’ Kat shouted over the din.
Inside, Safa’s confidence seemed to have dimmed. Whenever the lights swept through her she all but disappeared, making it seem as if she flashed in and out of existence. She looked around – the dance floor, growing busier by the second, the crowds at the bar, the queue for the toilet – and appeared lost.
‘Are you going to do it again?’ Kat shouted, gesturing to the people around them. They all tugged at her, inviting her inside. She remembered how good it had felt. The relief of escape.
Safa leaned close to her ear. ‘I think I could without it tipping me over the edge. I can hold on. Until tomorrow.’
Tomorrow.
At least they had tonight. Kat could give her that.
‘We’re standing against a wall,’ she said, as the music shifted to something faster, sending people running to the dance floor.
‘So?’
‘I bet this is exactly what we would do in a nightclub.’
A smile unfurled across Safa’s lips, and she set off towards the dance floor, Kat following close behind. It was packed now, and they found a space for themselves near the middle.
‘They say you should dance like nobody’s watching,’ said Safa. ‘We’ll never have a better chance.’
And she threw up her arms in time with the music, grinning wildly as her hair flew. Kat laughed and did the same, swinging her head and her hips, smiling so widely it hurt. The music was relentless, and the crowd jostled around them, pumping their fists in the air. The flashing lights seemed to obliterate Safa and remake her in jittery patterns.
The beat shifted, and the crowd began to jump, bouncing to the rhythm. The two of them moved as one, falling into time, bodies swaying closer. The last of Kat’s self-consciousness withdrew. She jumped as high as she could, sweat already flying from her skin.
‘Hey,’ shouted Safa.
‘Hey,’ Kat replied, quiet enough that she may not have spoken at all.
‘One last time.’
Safa spun away into a tight space between a group of girls dancing behind them. Without hesitation she slipped into the nearest body, sugar dissolving in water.
The newfound host kept dancing as if nothing had happened, smiling across at her friends. Kat eyed a young guy beside her dancing only with shuffling feet and arrhythmic nods of the head. The yearning was too strong. Tomorrow she would save herself. So why shouldn’t she enjoy tonight? When Kat reached for him the barrier broke with ease. One last time. She took a breath as if going underwater.
Vertigo. The melee of the club muted.
There were two of her again. A proxy still in the club, another standing on a white sand beach with clear water lapping between her toes. Every grain of sand was warm, a memory, a feeling, on a beach that seemed to stretch for ever. She wanted to lie back and bury herself in the sand, armour herself with its possibility. Who might be watching him? Where might this night lead? This could be Kat’s life, second-hand, if she chose it.
Except there was something else on the beach. A black shape of flotsam buried on the tideline. She waded towards it, feeling the energy emanating from it and the sand’s determination to swallow it down. It was a box, just like she had seen in the rainforest, sealed tight but always threatening to leak.
In the club, the song changed again. A tempo shift sent ripples through the crowd. The guy – she, Kat – turned just enough to see Safa’s host, and for a fleeting moment their eyes met. Kat watched as Safa stepped out of the girl’s skin and burrowed deeper into the mass of bodies, slipping into another skin as the dancing intensified.
There was still a force inside her host trying to push her out, but she could hold on for longer if she wanted. Instead she let it evict her, emerging again on the dance floor, thrumming with energy. She gave chase to Safa, leaping into another body. It was so easy now, the resistance weakening with every transition.
A mountaintop, snow falling gently across a sweep of valley. Every flake was made of belonging, confidence, lightness, release. She caught them on her tongue, ignoring the looming black shape caught in a snowdrift.
When Safa switched again, she followed, bounding from body to body across the dance floor. A jungle, a yacht deck, a picnic blanket spread out in a park with gleaming skyscrapers on all sides. She couldn’t get enough. It could all be hers, without the weight of Kat Waldgrave being attached to drag it all down.
And always the box, pushed out of sight, whatever lay inside a doomsday device ready to destroy it all.
Kat wanted to catch Safa out this time, switch first, get ahead of her in the chase. Close by were a boy and a girl dancing out of time to the music, arms draped over each other’s shoulders, foreheads pressed together. Kat stepped out onto the dance floor and reached for the boy, just as Safa appeared and slipped into the girl. At the same moment the couple brought their lips together.
It wasn’t her kiss, but oh god it was so close, and she sank into it as deeply as she could. Every inch of her body tingled, every nerve ending set ablaze, as surrogate lips nipped and opened, stubble scratched against skin. It said everything Kat had been unable to put into words, made her blind to whatever landscape was inside the boy. Pleasure sang through her. The pleasure of being noticed, of being seen by the only person who mattered. It was everything.
Except . . .
It wasn’t her skin. They weren’t her lips.
It lasted only seconds before it overwhelmed and bucked her out of his body, all thundering heart and sweaty skin. Safa appeared at the same moment, wide-eyed and breathing hard. Kat gasped at the sight of her.
‘Look at you,’ she said.
Safa glowed opaque, as if every star in the universe was lighting her up. The fade was gone.
Hardly daring to breathe, Kat lifted a hand and found it was solid, complete.
‘Holy shit.’
The couple they had inhabited broke their kiss, and stared at them reproachfully. Others around them were looking too, looking right at them, sensing that something was wrong.