The Face of It

by Rosie Williams

  ‘Shhhhh, It’s OK.’ Taylor said, stroking her hair. ’It’s going to be OK.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Found

  Dylan woke up a few hours after his parents arrived. He avoided making eye contact with anyone and instead slipped away to take a shower. Taylor tided up all the bedding while her mum made everyone more hot drinks, then the three of them sat in near silence waiting for Dylan to return. The ticking of the living room clock echoed around the room and the sound of the shower running drifted through the ceiling. The sun climbed a little higher in the sky and more cold light flooded into the room. Taylor took a sip of her tepid tea. Her father was staring straight ahead, gripping his still-full mug with white knuckles. Her mother kept fidgeting, first with the cushions, then with the books on the table, finally getting up and putting them back on the bookshelf. Taylor didn’t have the heart or energy to tell her that that wasn’t where they lived.

  The pipes clunked as the shower was shut off, making Taylor and her mum jump. All her father did was set his tea down on the table. Dylan eventually came down the stairs and walked straight through the living room into the kitchen, without saying a word. Their father clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palm. The smell of toast drifted into the room, as did the sound of the kettle boiling and clicking off. A chair scraped on the tiled floor as Dylan sat at the kitchen table to eat his breakfast. Their father moved as if to stand up, but their mother put her hand out and touched his thigh, with a slight shake of the head; that wasn’t how to hunt, you had to let the prey come to you.

  Eventually Dylan appeared in the doorway, staring at the floor. He opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but quickly closed it again and swallowed hard. Unable to take the tension anymore, Taylor spoke.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  ‘I... I don’t know’ Dylan answered.

  ‘What do you mean, “you don’t know”?’ their father said, his nostrils flaring.

  ‘I went out for lunch with Mark and the rest of my flatmates. That’s all. That’s all it was supposed to be,’ he wept, his tears cascading down his face.

  ‘How did lunch turn into getting so drunk you could barely stand up straight?’ their father demanded.

  ‘I don’t know!’ Dylan screamed before storming off upstairs.

  ‘That went well,’ Taylor bit sarcastically, taking another sip of her now cold tea. Her mother got up and resumed straightening things around the room, whilst her dad just ran his knuckles up and down his thighs.

  ‘I’m going to call Mark,’ Taylor said, getting up and heading into the hallway, careful to shut the living room door behind her. The last thing she wanted to do was speak to the brute from the kebab shop again, but she needed answers.

  The phone rang for quite a while before Mark groggily answered. Taylor tried to be diplomatic and polite, shoving the memories of last night’s confrontation out of her mind. They discussed yesterday’s events in calm tones while she passed up and down the hallway, her fingers trailing across the wall. The facade of calmness was quickly shattered.

  ‘You did WHAT?’ Taylor yelled down the phone. The living room door flung open as her parents rushed into the hallway. Taylor and Mark exchanged a few more heated words before Taylor angrily hung up, throwing her phone to the floor, causing the screen to crack.

  ‘Taylor?’ her mother said, gently reaching out for her daughter, who aggressively shrugged her off. Her father stepped forward and put his hands on either side of her shoulders to force her to stop pacing. The rage boiled in her eyes.

  ‘Mark spiked his drink,’ she eventually managed to spit out. ‘He thought Dylan was being “too uptight”, so he ordered him real cocktails, instead of the mocktails he’d been drinking. I’m going to KILL him!’ Taylor said, ripping out of her father’s grasp and starting to pace again. Her father’s features softened.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to him,’ he said, turning to go upstairs.

  ‘I need to get out of this house,’ Taylor said, grabbing her shoes and coat and heading for the door, slamming it behind her.

  The trees lining her street were almost completely bare now, the last few brown leaves clinging on as tightly as they could, fighting the inevitable. The wind picked up and blew some of their fallen fellows into her path, making a satisfying crunch every time she put her foot down. Taylor zipped her coat up tighter, so it covered her mouth, and shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets; in her haste she hadn’t grabbed her hat, scarf, or gloves. She started walking faster to try and keep warm.

  There were some children playing in the street up ahead, kicking a football between them and laughing as one nutmegged the other. The cars parked on either side almost looked like they were wincing every time the ball came near them. The sound of the children faded as Taylor moved further away, marching forward despite her heart pulling her back with memories of her brother, interlaced with the hopelessness etched across his face that morning.

  It had taken months of rehab and therapy for him to get sober. And before that her parents were on first-name terms with the local police officers due to the number of times they had brought him home for his own safety. But Dylan had worked so hard to stop drinking. He had cut ties with all his unsupportive friends, which didn’t leave him with many. He started using exercise as a way to escape, first at the gym in the rehab facility and then he’d finally got back into climbing. At the same time, he worked hard with a therapist to be more open with his emotions instead of burying them, which is what had led him to start drinking excessively in the first place. All of that could be lost due to the actions of one vindictive person, spiking Dylan’s drink for his own amusement. Taylor could feel the anger rising up inside her again. It wasn’t fair.

  Back at the house, Dylan had come back downstairs and sat on the sofa. He was quietly crying while his mother comforted him, making shushing noises and holding him tight. Taylor found her dad in the kitchen in the middle of making more drinks.

  ‘Hey, kiddo,’ he said once he noticed Taylor’s presence.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked.

  ‘Hurt. Scared. He feels betrayed by someone he thought he could trust and he’s scared it’s taken him back to square one with his recovery.’

  Taylor put a comforting hand on her dad’s back and started the kettle boiling again.

  ‘What are we going to do, Lor?’ he asked, his voice shaking and his eyes shimmering.

  ‘We move him in here,’ Taylor said matter-of-factly. Her father didn’t respond straight away, but stood up straighter and looked at his daughter, almost as if he was sizing her up for the challenge she was about to take on.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, trying to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice and failing.

  ‘I’m sure. I believe he didn’t mean for this to happen. And the best way for it to not happen again is to get him out of that flat. I can keep an eye on him better if he’s here.’

  Her dad reached out and put his hands on her shoulders again, gently pulling her towards him and kissing her forehead, before slipping away to the living room where, Taylor assumed, he was telling her mum and brother the plan. Taylor made herself a strong black coffee and took a large gulp. This was not going to be easy.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and sent a quick email off to her supervisor, asking for a week of emergency leave, citing family issues. She knew she was just being polite; there was no way she was going into work that week. She downed the rest of her coffee and went back into the living room where her family were huddled together on the sofa. Dylan’s eyes were dry now, but they were still crimson.

  ‘Dad, can you help me sort the spare room? And Dyl,’ she said, speaking to her brother for the first time since last night. He couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘Make a list of everything you need from your flat for the next few days, stuff we can grab quickly. We’ll move the bigger stuff once we’ve sorted out a van; I don’t really want to do multiple trips
with Mark around.’

  Dylan nodded and immediately retrieved a notebook and pen from the side table, putting his head together with their mother as they discussed what he might need.

  Taylor and her father made their way upstairs and into the spare room, surveying the towers of boxes.

  ‘Where do you want to start?’ her father asked.

  Taylor shrugged before ripping open the nearest box. Her dad imitated her and soon the sound of packing tape ripping and cardboard crunching filled the room. The sun lazily peaked in the sky before beginning its descent towards the horizon. They kept working, Taylor directing her dad to the appropriate room with every new discovery. They had placed a ‘to donate’ box by the door and it was quickly filling up as they worked their way through the room, bulldozing the towers that had stood there for so long. Taylor’s father started on the top box in the last tower and suddenly froze, pulling out a china doll Taylor had had since her childhood. Or what was left of it. Inside the plastic container the separate pieces of the doll had been carefully wrapped in bubble wrap. Taylor had her back to her father so had no idea what he had found.

  ‘Lor, what happened?’ he asked, softly, holding out the box of broken doll bits.

  ‘It’s nothing, she got broken, that’s all.’

  ‘Taylor,’ her dad said sternly. She didn’t meet his gaze.

  ‘Daniella broke it. On purpose.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,’ he said, putting the box down and wrapping his daughter in a hug. Taylor allowed herself to be consoled for a few seconds, nostalgic for a softer time when a hug from her father could fix all the world’s problems. She didn’t indulge herself for long. There were only a handful of boxes left now; she could see the floor in this room for the first time in years. A distinct layer of dust adorned the carpet in the few spaces where there hadn’t been boxes, or where there had been gaps. It created a haphazard maze; one that disintegrated if you touched it. The maze was bordered by another layer of dust running the entire way around the edge of the room on the skirting board, framing it. This was going to take a lot of cleaning.

  ‘Dad, can you take Dylan to get his things? Take Mum as well. He can sleep on the sofa again tonight and we’ll go furniture shopping tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course, sweetheart,’ he responded, kissing her gently on the head before leaving the room. A few minutes later Taylor heard the front door click shut as her family departed. Silence filled the house for the first time in what felt like months. The sun slipped lower in the sky as dusk began to fall, and Taylor flinched as she turned on the bright ceiling lights. Having cleared the last box, and taken the donation box downstairs, she went to get the vacuum cleaner and some rags to dust with. But she couldn’t find the vacuum cleaner attachments.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, turning the utility room upside down looking for them. Her mind flashed back to last night, when in this same room the dam had broken and she’d begun almost wailing with the pain of not being able to protect her brother. Her eyes started filling again, the flood threatening to break through the levees. She took a deep breath and mentally shook herself.

  ‘Right, come on!’

  That night the smell of greasy pizza and garlic bread filled the living room. The only sounds were the occasional movement of a pizza box or the opening of a pop bottle. It was completely dark outside, the moon just about visible through the clouds. A large navy-blue duffel bag now leant against the side of the sofa, its seams groaning under the tension. Taylor and Dylan were sat at opposite ends of one sofa, whilst their parents sat side by side on the other, their father’s right hand resting gently on their mother’s left. In the soft light of the living room her parents looked younger than their years, and from the outside they could be any happy couple just enjoying being in each other’s presence. But Taylor could see the worry lines on her mother’s face had gotten that little bit deeper, and the warmth that normally glowed in her father’s eyes had all but disappeared. They’d been here before. Each battle leaving them a little bit more weary, taking another little piece of them that they had no way of getting back.

  Taylor put her half-full pizza box on the table, picked up the television remote, and dragged one of the blankets over herself, wanting to fight off the evening chill.

  ‘Shall we watch something?’ she asked, her voice slicing into the silence. Dylan didn’t give any indication that he had heard her, and her mum gave a forced sweet smile but didn’t say anything. Her father however stretched his legs slightly and moved his and his wife’s shared pizza box to the floor.

  ‘I think we should probably head off soon, it’s getting late,’ he said, getting to his feet. Her mum stood up, still silent. ‘It was good to see you, kiddo,’ her father said, walking the few steps over to his daughter and hugging her tightly. ‘Call us if you need anything, OK?’ he whispered into her ear, so quiet that only she could hear. Dylan stood up from the sofa to say goodbye to his parents, and his father offered him his hand to shake. Dylan hesitated, before eventually taking it. They shook a few times before his father pulled him forwards and into a hug, and Taylor could see Dylan’s eyes begin to fill with tears. When they broke apart again Dylan coughed and muttered about having something in his eye.

  Taylor’s mother now stood in front of her, having patiently waited her turn with her kids. Her father and brother had already started making their way to the door so were out of earshot. Her mother grabbed both her hands and squeezed them tightly.

  ‘Make sure you take care of yourself too, OK?’ she said, her eyes pleading.

  ‘I always do, Mum, don’t worry.’

  ‘No... you don’t,’ her mother said enigmatically, with a hitch in her voice. Taylor didn’t understand what she was on about. ‘Just make sure you keep doing whatever you were doing before he moved in. We’ll find him a programme here, then his sobriety will become their responsibility, not yours, OK? You don’t have to babysit him.’

  ‘Have you tried babysitting Dylan? He’d drive me up the wall!’ Taylor chuckled.

  ‘Well, yes, that’s what all the childminders you had when you were kids said. But what I mean is, don’t sacrifice your life for his. His happiness isn’t any more important than yours, and I think you forget that sometimes.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ Taylor said, not really believing her.

  ‘Promise me, Taylor, please? Or I’ll just end up worrying about the both of you.’

  ‘OK, Mum, I promise’ Taylor said, retrieving her hands from her mother’s grasp and embracing her.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  Taylor and Dylan stood by the open front door to wave their parents off. Their mother tried waving back with a smile but even from that distance Taylor could see it was forced. She hoped Dylan couldn’t.

  The door shut with a gentle click and the house quickly fell silent again. It was the first time the siblings had been alone together since the night before.

  ‘Taylor, I’m s -’ Dylan began almost as soon as they were back in the living room.

  ‘Don’t, Dylan,’ Taylor responded.

  ‘But -’

  ‘No. You don’t apologise. This wasn’t your fault,’ Taylor said sternly. Dylan beating himself up over this was not going to help him stay sober. Taylor watched as the tension in her brother’s shoulders eased slightly and the tears threatened to fall once more. ‘You’re a different person when you’re drunk, and you shouldn’t have to apologise for that other person, especially when Mark is the one who unleashed him.’

  ‘Taylor, I’m scared,’ Dylan whispered, his voice trembling. ‘I can’t go back there. I don’t think I’d survive it again.’

  ‘We won’t let you slide down that slope. We’re all here for you, we’ve got your back, we’re going to help you through this.’

  ‘You saw Mum and Dad. How much this hurt them. I’m not sure they can take any more.’

  ‘So don’t make them. Stay sober. We’ll find a group or some
thing for you to join on Monday. As for now, let’s just worry about eating the rest of our pizzas and finding furniture for your room.’

  ‘I already finished mine...’ Dylan said, a half smile creeping across his face.

  ‘Of course you have,’ Taylor said, rolling her eyes and laughing at him. ‘Well, I’ll finish my pizza while you look at furniture, then,’ she said, flopping back down on the sofa and pulling her pizza box toward her again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Bedding and Beginnings

  The next day the twins were slowly wandering around IKEA, trying to pick out items for Dylan’s new room. He had to be quite restrained in his choices, such as opting for a single bed rather than a double, so he at least still had floor space in the small room. The store was buzzing with the sound of couples chatting, and families yelling at each other from the other side of the room about something-or-other they’d just found that the other person had to see. Each ‘room’ within the store had been tastefully decorated, but the contrasting colours so close together was quite jarring, and the bright lights were giving Taylor a headache. About halfway around the store the twins decided to stop and grab a drink in the café. They sat down and Dylan started running through his list, identifying anything they’d missed and would have to go back and find. Taylor slowly sipped her drink, squinting every now and again as pain radiated around her head.

  ‘Are we missing anything?’ she asked, as her brother folded his list back up and put it in his pocket.

  ‘Just a duvet set and some coat hangers,’ he said, getting ready to stand up again.

  ‘Wait,’ Taylor said, holding her hand out. ‘Five more minutes? My head’s killing me.’

  ‘Do you want to go wait in the car? I can get this stuff myself,’ Dylan offered.

  ‘If I go wait in the car, you’ll come out with that giant stuffed giraffe that is twice as tall as you.’