‘Typical Grace,’ I say, drawing her name with my finger in the steamed-up window. ‘Can’t stand to come across as a work in progress.’
‘Something like that,’ she says quietly.
There’s a pause.
‘God, I need a wee,’ she says.
I offer her an empty Coke bottle from the footwell.
‘Very funny,’ she says.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers, Grace.’
‘It’s because we stopped talking,’ she says. ‘I need you to keep going, distract me from my weak pregnant lady bladder.’
‘Well, what do you want me to talk about?’
‘Tell me about what happened with Aaron.’
‘Grace—’ I begin.
‘Please,’ she says. ‘No judgement, no interruptions, I swear. I just want to listen.’ She glances at me. ‘I promise not to breathe a word to anyone,’ she adds. Then she crosses her heart, across her chest the way we used to when we were little anytime we exchanged secrets, big or small.
‘I dunno, it’s kind of a long story. It’s not just about that night.’
She raises her eyebrows at the satnav display. ‘I think we’ve got time.’
I hesitate, unsure where to start, before taking a deep breath. ‘Thinking about it, I suppose it all kind of started to go wrong the morning I found out you were coming home …’ I say slowly.
I expect Grace to butt in or defend herself but she doesn’t. She just listens. And when I’m finished she holds onto me tight until the cars behind start beeping at us to get moving.
35
‘Better?’ I ask Grace as she emerges from the service station toilets twenty minutes later.
‘Blissful,’ she confirms.
‘Have you got any cash so I can get a bag of crisps or something?’ I ask. ‘I’m starving.’ Apart from half a protein bar I found under the passenger seat, I haven’t eaten a thing today.
‘We should eat something proper,’ Grace says. ‘We’ve still got a long drive ahead of us.’
Our choices are limited to McDonald’s or the ‘Fresh Choice’ café, which looks anything but.
‘McDonald’s it is, then,’ Grace says, heading towards the queue.
‘But you hate McDonald’s,’ I say. ‘You think it’s the devil’s food.’
‘It’ll be quick at least,’ Grace says. ‘And besides,’ she adds sheepishly, ‘Bean’s kind of been craving Chicken McNuggets lately.’
‘This is so weird,’ I say ten minutes later.
Grace is sitting opposite me alternating dunks of her chicken nuggets into a packet of barbecue sauce, with noisy slurps of her chocolate milkshake.
‘It’s like you’ve been body-snatched or something,’ I add.
‘I told you, it’s Bean.’
‘Whatever. Everyone knows cravings are just an excuse for pregnant women to stuff their faces with all their favourite foods.’
‘Not true,’ Grace says. ‘Just look at Mum; when she was pregnant with you she licked bricks.’
‘What?’
‘I’m serious. It’s really common apparently.’
‘That’s so gross.’
‘Pregnancy kind of is,’ Grace says, shrugging.
‘Mum and Dad are going to be landing soon,’ I say, glancing at my phone.
‘I know. They said they’d try to ring us once they’re through passport control.’
‘What are we going to say?’
‘I don’t know yet. It depends on whether we’ve reached Audrey or not by then.’
I rub my chest with my fist. I’ve eaten my cheeseburger too quickly and need to burp.
‘Did you have any idea?’ Grace asks, taking Audrey’s note out of her pocket and smoothing it out on the sticky table. ‘That Audrey felt this way?’
The sight of it makes my stomach flip-flop with worry. ‘Not really,’ I admit. ‘I mean, I knew it bothered her when we argued, but not enough for her to do this.’
‘Same here.’ Grace wipes her salty fingers on a napkin.
‘Are we bad big sisters?’ I ask.
She considers this for a few seconds. ‘I just think life maybe got in the way for a bit. The only thing we can do now is bring her back and do our best to make it up to her.’
I nod. ‘I just hope she’s OK, Grace,’ I whisper.
‘Me too, Mia,’ she whispers back, reaching for my hand. ‘Me too.’
We know we’re getting close when the terrain around us begins to change. After miles and miles of just motorway with fields on either side, I can see actual mountains now, their jagged tops dark and menacing against the pinky orange sky. We’re getting closer.
My phone beeps. ‘I’m going to run out of battery any minute,’ I say.
‘Use mine,’ Grace replies.
I try Audrey once more and leave her a final voicemail letting her know we’re nearly there.
It’s almost dark when we pass the sign welcoming us to Windermere. Grace steers the car through the winding streets, through the town centre as featured on the postcard, and out the other side again, the gaps between the houses getting bigger and bigger.
‘Frankie wasn’t kidding when he said he was living in the middle of nowhere,’ I say.
We haven’t seen another house or human being for at least three miles now, the road getting increasingly narrow and windy as the car chugs uphill.
Finally the smooth voice of the satnav informs us we’ve reached our destination as we drive up to a large stone cottage with lots of tiny windows. My legs feel stiff and slightly numb after so many hours cooped up in the car. I glance at Grace. She’s peering up at the house, a worried expression on her face.
‘Is this definitely it?’ I ask.
‘Yes, I think so,’ she says. ‘Number fifty-five, look.’ She points at the brass number on the rickety gate.
‘Do you think we maybe got here first?’ I wonder aloud.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Grace says. ‘Auds had a pretty good head start on us. And all the trains up here were running OK – I checked on my phone when we were at the service station.’
We approach the front door cautiously. The doorbell is disconnected, hanging off the wall, stray wires sticking out in all directions. Grace uses the knocker instead, thumping it against the door.
Silence.
I push in front of her and have a go.
Again, nothing.
I drop to my knees and stick my fingers through the letterbox, forcing it open so I can peer in. The hallway is pitch black and smells of fresh paint and wood shavings.
‘Audrey?’ I call. ‘Are you in there? It’s Mia. Let us in.’
Grace groans as she crouches down to join me at the letterbox, her body creaking with effort. ‘Auds,’ she calls, her McDonald’s breath warm on my cheek. ‘It’s Grace. Open the door, sweetheart.’
For a few beats, apart from the gentle fizz of the never-ending drizzle, there’s absolute quiet. With every second that passes, my heart sinks further and further, from my stomach to my knees, to my feet. I’ve got it wrong, haven’t I? Audrey isn’t here after all. She’s on the other side of the country, wet and lonely and scared.
Then we hear it. A loud creak on the stairs. Grace’s fingers seek out mine. She squeezes. I squeeze back. Together we watch as a fat torch beam bounces on the stairs, a few seconds later illuminating a familiar pair of battered pale-pink Converse.
I help Grace stand up just in time for the door to ease open a few centimetres, Audrey’s brown eyes peering over the top of a chunky safety chain.
My body floods with love and relief.
‘You found me,’ Audrey whispers, her voice wobbling all over the place.
‘Of course we did, you dumb-arse,’ I say. ‘You’re our little sister.’
She starts crying properly then, snot bubbles and everything.
‘Now, are you going to open the door or what?’ I ask.
The second the door is fully open, Grace and I lunge at Audrey, sandwiching h
er between us. We’re all crying now, hot, messy, happy tears.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Grace asks when we finally separate, gripping Audrey by the shoulders and looking her up and down as if inspecting her for injuries.
Audrey wipes her eyes and nods. ‘Positive.’
‘Why didn’t you ring us back? Didn’t you get our messages?’ Grace asks, rifling in her bag for a tissue. ‘We’ve been worried sick.’
‘There’s no mobile reception here. I walked up the lane for a bit but it didn’t make any difference and it was starting to get dark so I thought I’d better come back to the cottage, then try again in the morning.’
‘Is Frankie not here?’ Grace asks, looking over Audrey’s shoulder.
‘No. He’s been at his niece’s wedding in Cornwall, remember?’
‘Wait, he doesn’t know you’re here?’
Audrey shakes her head and looks guilty.
‘How did you get in then?’ I ask.
‘I found a key under a plant pot.’
‘You broke in?’ Grace cries.
‘It’s not breaking in if you use a key. Is it?’ Audrey asks, looking a bit scared suddenly.
‘It is if you don’t have permission,’ Grace says.
‘Frankie wouldn’t mind. He said I could come visit him in the holidays. I’m just a bit early, that’s all.’
I can’t help but grin.
‘I haven’t touched anything!’ she adds.
‘That’s not really the point,’ Grace says, folding her arms across her chest.
‘Look, never mind that. Can we come in?’ I ask. ‘My hair’s getting well frizzy.’
Audrey nods and leads us inside.
We stick our heads into each of the downstairs rooms in turn. All the furniture is draped with white sheets and the shelves and the windowsills are bare. The smell of paint tickles my nostrils.
‘Frankie’s been staying with his sister while they do the work,’ Audrey explains. ‘That’s how I knew it would be empty.’
I try flipping a couple of the light switches but nothing appears to be working.
‘The electricity isn’t on,’ Audrey confirms. ‘Or the water.’
Upstairs, we discover Audrey has set up camp in the corner of the smallest bedroom at the very back of the house. Her SpongeBob SquarePants sleeping bag is already unfurled on the bare mattress, her belongings lined up neatly against the skirting board, a couple of fat church candles providing just enough light for us to see each other’s features properly.
Beyoncé is nestled on Audrey’s travel pillow nibbling a lettuce leaf.
‘I can’t believe you ran away with your guinea pig,’ I say, taking off my raincoat and wellies.
‘What was I meant to do?’ Audrey asks, scooping Beyoncé up in her arms. ‘I couldn’t trust you to feed her. You hate her.’
‘Hate is a strong word, Audrey. I’m not keen on the nasty little ball of fluff, that’s true, but I wouldn’t purposefully starve her. I’m not a monster. Oooh, is that wedding cake?’
‘Yes, want some?’ she asks, holding up a plastic container stuffed full of leftovers.
I never got any at the wedding (for obvious reasons) so I help myself to a slice of each flavour. We sit on the bed and munch in silence for a bit, listening to the rain patter against the windowpanes. After about a minute Grace takes out Audrey’s note and sets it down in front of her.
Audrey chews on her fingernail.
‘Is this really how you feel, Auds?’ Grace asks, her voice gentle.
‘Sometimes.’
‘Why didn’t you talk to us about it?’
‘It’s not that easy,’ Audrey says, her voice going all wobbly again. ‘Whenever I try to keep the peace, you always tell me it’s between the two of you, like that means I’m automatically not going to worry about it. But I do! I worry all the time. I’m just so tired of feeling like I’m stuck between you all the time and no one noticing I’m even there.’
I stare at her. Audrey feels stuck in the middle? But that’s my place.
‘It’s like you don’t even realize I have eyes and ears sometimes,’ she continues. ‘You two are so loud and confident, I just fade into the background half the time.’
‘You?’ I splutter. ‘But you’re like school royalty. Everyone at Queen Mary’s worships the ground you walk on.’
‘Only when I’m in the water. I mean, it’s nice that people are supportive and stuff, but sometimes I worry what it would be like if the swimming was taken away from me and I was just plain old Audrey.’
‘But why would it?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know, I’m just saying “what if”. I know I’m only popular a bit because people think I might win an Olympic medal some day and become some kind of celebrity.’
‘Do you want to stop swimming?’ Grace asks gently. ‘Is that what this is about?’
‘No!’ Audrey yelps. ‘I love swimming. I just don’t want it to be my whole identity.’
I continue to stare at her. All this time I’ve been worrying about being pigeonholed as the party girl with big hair, oblivious to the fact Audrey has been dealing with the same kind of insecurities.
‘Mum and Dad’s lives revolve around you,’ I say. ‘How can you feel left out when you’re at the centre of everything they do? I mean, they planned their entire wedding and honeymoon around your training schedule.’
‘I know. And that’s part of the problem,’ she says. ‘Ever since things got really serious, all Mum and Dad seem to talk to me about is swimming stuff. It’s all schedules and meal plans and working out who’s taking me to the pool and when. I don’t know, sometimes I worry if I suddenly stopped swimming, I’d stop existing altogether.’
A brand-new tear, big and fat, escapes from her right eye and rolls determinedly down her cheek.
‘Oh, come here, you wally,’ I say, kneeling in a slice of cake as I crawl across the mattress to hug her. Grace waits a second before putting her arms around us both, resting her chin on my shoulder. She smells of chicken nuggets and the oil she rubs on her belly to prevent stretch marks.
‘It’ll be OK, Auds,’ Grace says as we separate and continue to eat our cake. ‘When Mum and Dad get back from New York we’ll all sit down and have a proper talk. You shouldn’t have to bottle this stuff up, OK?’
Audrey nods. ‘I really didn’t mean to scare you,’ she says.
‘That’s OK, Nemo,’ I reply.
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Grace clarifies. She checks the time on her phone. ‘It’s way too late to drive back tonight,’ she says. ‘Let’s spend the night here and head back in the morning. In the meantime we should probably drive somewhere where we can get some signal so we can get in touch with Mum and Dad. If they try to get hold of us and can’t, they’ll be frantic.’
We drive back into town. Mum and Dad must still be at the airport because Grace’s call goes straight through to voicemail. We leave a long message explaining we’re all getting an early night, in the hope they won’t try to contact us again until tomorrow morning. On our way back, we stop at a late-night supermarket, where we purchase bottles of water, a trio of unappetizing sandwiches and a toothbrush each for me and Grace. By the time we’ve got back to Frankie’s and have eaten our rubbish sandwiches, we’re all exhausted, flopping onto the mattress in a heap and falling asleep within seconds of each other, our limbs tangled up in a messy heap, sisters reunited.
36
A hand on my shoulder jerks me awake. It takes a couple of seconds for my brain to catch up and remember where I am. I guess the candles must have burnt out, because despite the lack of curtains hanging at the windows, the room is as black as ink. It’s started to rain again, a steady pitter-patter against the rickety old glass.
‘What is it?’ I croak. My left arm is totally dead. I pick it up with my right and whack it against the mattress.
‘They’ve broken,’ Grace says. Her voice sounds weird, panicky.
‘What have?’ I a
sk, the feeling in my arm slowly returning.
‘My waters,’ she says, her voice continuing to quiver. ‘I think the baby’s coming.’
I sit up. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Grace says. ‘The mattress is wet through. Feel.’
She grabs for my hand. I shake her off. As if I want to feel. ‘Look, are you sure you haven’t just peed yourself?’ I ask. ‘I know what you’re like these days.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she growls, spit hitting my cheek.
‘God, I was only asking, there’s no need to bite my head off. It doesn’t necessarily mean the baby’s coming though, does it? Your waters can break, like, days before you actually give birth.’
‘How do you know that?’
I hesitate, not wanting Grace to know I’ve been looking at her stupid pregnancy book. ‘One Born Every Minute,’ I bluff.
‘No,’ Grace says. ‘It feels really, really weird. And I’ve been awake with stomach pains literally all night. Bean’s coming, I’m certain, Mia.’ She lets out a low almost animalistic moan, her left hand gripping my wrist so hard I yelp out in pain.
‘OK, OK, I believe you,’ I say, prising off her fingers one by one. I reach for my phone to check the time before remembering it ran out of battery ages ago. ‘Where’d you leave your phone?’ I ask, clambering out of bed, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dark.
‘In my bag,’ Grace says. ‘You’ll need to turn it on, though.’
I walk round the edge of the bed, feeling for Grace’s bag on the floor. Her phone seems to take for ever to turn on. Behind me, she continues to groan. Finally the phone lights up. It’s 3.33 a.m.
All About Mia Page 23