by Paige Toon
‘Of course I do,’ I reply.
‘I think we parked just around this corner.’
He slows right down and a moment later pulls onto a grassy verge. I sit up in my seat, looking out at the hills, which are overexposed and silvery white in the car’s headlights.
He yanks on the handbrake and cuts off the engine, then opens his car door and hops out. ‘Come on,’ he says, slamming the door.
‘Where are you going?’ I call after him.
He doesn’t answer, but I hear the rear door open and when I join him, he’s sitting in the boot space of the Land Rover with his legs dangling out of the back. I perch beside him.
‘Can you hear the stream?’ he asks.
I listen for a moment. ‘Yes.’ It’s tumbling over rocks nearby.
‘Look up,’ he whispers.
‘Wow.’ I gaze at the dark sky twinkling with stars.
‘Are you cold?’ He glances at my bare arms.
‘Not really,’ I reply. The heat from the July day has carried through to the evening, but I take the lightweight jacket he passes me, slipping my arms into the cool material. It smells of him.
‘So, Elvis & Joe’s, hey?’ I say with a wry grin. ‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’
‘Sorry I didn’t give you any warning. Stewart hasn’t stopped bleating on about your burgers, and then it occurred to me that we could drop in tonight.’
‘Do you think he’ll tell his dad about me?’ I ask nervously.
‘He will when he’s heard you sing. I gave him a copy of your demo.’
‘You still had one?’ I ask with surprise.
‘Of course,’ he replies. ‘I’ve still got a couple, actually, just in case I ever get a chance to give them to anyone important. I’m not lying when I say I like your music, you know.’
I’m touched, but I don’t know what to say.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve heard any of your new stuff, though,’ he adds.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve written anything new,’ I confess. ‘I only ever play covers at gigs these days.’
He glances at me with a frown. ‘Why is that?’
‘That’s all they want at social clubs.’ I sigh. ‘It was kind of nice, the first time they asked me to do a few covers. The punters really got into it with everyone singing and clapping along. But the next time I went back, the manager wanted more of the same. That happened in venue after venue. I was only supposed to tour the working men’s clubs for a couple of years, but two turned into five and... I don’t know what’s happened. I think I’ve lost confidence. That bloody demo didn’t help.’
‘What do you mean?’ His eyebrows knit together.
‘It was such a headache. I remember finding it so hard to choose between all of the songs I’d ever written and narrow them down to five. I used to think my earlier material was my best, but I worried that it sounded dated – plus I’d played it so much busking. In the end I went for variety and sent CDs off to a whole bunch of record companies. I didn’t hear back from any of them. I probably should have stuck to a more cohesive sound.’
‘I wish you’d asked for my opinion,’ he says sadly.
I sigh again. ‘Yeah.’ My confusion over choosing which songs to use eventually led to me feeling unsure about myself. Busking is the only time I ever really sing my own stuff any more, and I do enjoy it, but I’m not exactly raking it in.
‘I hope Joe says yes,’ I whisper. ‘At least, I think I do.’
‘I haven’t rushed you into this, have I?’ he asks tentatively.
‘Yes.’ I flash him a smile. ‘But it’s good. It’s... just... Thank you,’ I finish.
‘You’re welcome.’ He reaches across and gives my shoulder a tender squeeze.
Chapter 19
Phoebe
Today we went on the Montenvers train from Chamonix up to Mer de Glace, France’s largest glacier.
The mountains are lush at this time of year, the ground thick and leafy with ferns. There’s no snow on the pine trees, but the branches still droop downwards as if laden with weight. They remind me of melted wax dripping down a candle.
The glacier is dirty grey and dusted with shingle, very different to the Bossons glacier, which is icy blue like Remy’s eyes. But you can just make out the ice underneath, rolling like a huge frozen river down the mountain.
We caught a gondola to the bottom of the glacier and then walked down hundreds of steps to the grotto, which is sculpted fresh out of the ice every summer. The tunnels are lit with colourful light displays and along the way there are whole rooms carved out of the ice, with chairs, tables and frozen-solid beds in them. It made me think of Rose – she loves that sort of thing. But Eliza would probably like it too.
On the way back up the steps, I was laughing, telling Remy about that time when the school bully, Danny Riley, grabbed me and asked me if he pinched me, would my sisters feel it? Eliza kicked his shin so hard that he screamed like a little girl and let me go. She was the smallest of the three of us, for anyone looking closely enough to notice, but she was the bravest. Dad used to call her the runt of the litter – fondly – although I don’t think he ever said it to her face.
I don’t know why Rose has always given her such a hard time. Rose can be the kindest, sweetest, most giving person in the world – that’s how most of us see her. But she’s not like that with Eliza. With Eliza, she has no patience. With Eliza, she can be mean.
I remember one time at school during a P.E. lesson. When our classmates were picking teams for games, Eliza would usually get chosen towards the end because she’s so uncoordinated – unless I was captain, and then I’d always call her name early on. But this time, Rose was captain, and she let Eliza stand there while she called out name after name. The numbers kept dwindling and Eliza was motionless, staring at her. Eventually the other captain took pity and picked her for his team, but I’ll never forget the look in Eliza’s eyes as she walked towards him. I could’ve hit Rose. I’d always tried to stay out of my sisters’ arguments, but that time, I let rip.
Later I felt guilty because it was around that time that Mum and Dad decided to separate us into different classes at school. Rose was happy, but she didn’t bank on me being the one to go with Eliza. I know she struggled that year. Eliza thought it served her right, but I felt so sorry for her.
Rose is naturally a jealous person and it’s not something she can control, but I have wondered if there’s a reason for why she’s like that. She used to be very clingy with Mum when we were young. If Mum ever tried to leave the house for whatever reason and Rose wouldn’t let her go, Mum would sometimes speak quite sharply to her. Rose would scream and cry and kick up such a fuss.
With only two parents and three of us going through the same stages of childhood, there just wasn’t enough attention to go around.
Rose eventually got what she wanted when we moved to the new house and she and Mum bonded out in the garden. Eliza gave up trying to get Mum and Dad’s attention and lost herself in her music instead, but I’ve always felt guilty about her being left out in the cold.
God, I do miss her. And I miss Rose, too. Despite how she is with Eliza, Rose has always been there for me, and if it really came down to it, I know she’d put aside her differences and be there for Eliza, too. I hope so, anyway.
Chapter 20
Rose
Gavin wasn’t back yesterday and Toby was in a foul mood, but when we had a break, I got out the tube of arnica cream I’d brought in and offered to put some on him. He seemed quite touched.
‘Didn’t you like being a nurse?’ he asked as I was applying it to his cheek, being careful not to press too hard and hurt him.
‘Yes and no. I liked looking after people, but I found it hard to let go when nothing could be done to help them.’
‘Yeah,’ was all he said, but I could tell he understood.
He’s pretty cute, you know. He’s got that indie-rock, skater boy look. He’s tall and skinny and hi
s eyes are a warmer brown than I first thought.
‘Is it okay if I take a set of keys to come back here this evening with my mum?’ I ask Toby at the end of the week. ‘I need to go and collect her and you won’t want to wait around.’
‘Er, sure, but they’re the only ones we have.’
‘You only have one set of keys?’
‘We haven’t got around to getting any more cut yet,’ he explains.
‘Well, I can nip out and do that tomorrow if you remind me. There’s a key cutter down the road. But tonight I could just drop your keys back to you?’
He doesn’t say anything.
I frown at him.
‘Okay,’ he agrees eventually. ‘I’ll write down our address.’
He doesn’t seem very pleased about it.
That evening, Mum stands and surveys the interior of Jennifer’s. She looks reasonably impressed, even more so when her eyes land on the cupcakes.
‘Won’t those go stale overnight?’ she asks.
‘Whoops, I forgot to put them away,’ I say, going behind the counter to retrieve an airtight container.
She looks thwarted as I pop them, one by one, into the container.
‘You can have some if you like, though?’ I’ll make sure the money finds its way into the till. I’ve already given her a loaf of bread today. That’s one of the advantages of working here – free bread if there’s any left over.
‘Well, it’s just that my new Bridge club is meeting tomorrow morning and I thought perhaps...’
‘Of course,’ I say quickly. ‘How many are you?’
‘Four,’ she replies, looking pleased as I fill up a cardboard box for her.
‘I’ll leave them on the top. Let’s not forget them,’ I say.
‘Thank you, darling.’ She casts her eyes around the interior again. ‘It’s quite smart, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a lovely place to work,’ I say.
‘Doesn’t it get hot up here by the front window?’ she asks.
‘We leave the door open on warm days, but there’s no through breeze, so it’d be nice to be able to open the windows at the back. Have a look.’
I take her through the bakery to the back door and we step outside.
‘Okay.’ Mum nods, surveying the scene as I surreptitiously kick Toby’s cigarette butts around the corner of the planter box. ‘It depends how easy you want this to be.’
‘Very easy,’ I say. ‘I’ll probably be doing most of it after hours.’
‘I hope they’re paying you,’ she says indignantly.
‘Highly unlikely,’ I reply, adding, ‘I want to do it, Mum.’
‘Oh, Rose,’ she says with frustration. ‘I do wish—’
The sigh I let out is very loud and very dramatic. It does a good job of cutting her sentence short.
She takes the hint and cuts to the chase about what I could do to tidy the place up.
I look up Toby’s address after I’ve dropped Mum off. It’s not in a very nice part of Sale, but considering how lovely Jennifer’s is, I’m expecting great things. Ten minutes later, I’m disappointed.
The front garden is overrun with brambles and the house beyond it is in a state of disrepair with white paint flaking off the red brickwork and the wooden windowsills rotting away.
Of course, they only moved here recently so maybe they got the house for a steal and plan to do it up. Yes, that must be it.
I unclick my seatbelt and get out of the car. Almost instantly I hear a man shouting, and I freeze when I realise that the sound is coming from inside Toby’s house.
Suddenly the door flies open and Toby storms out, skateboard in hand.
‘You get back here, right now!’ Gavin shouts after him.
‘Toby!’ I hear a woman cry.
‘Piss off!’ Toby shouts back, kicking the door shut with a loud bang.
I watch with alarm as this scene unfolds and then a thought slams into me: is Gavin responsible for the bruise on Toby’s face?
Toby spies me on the pavement and stops in his tracks. The rage on his face makes me want to return to my car and drive away at great speed.
‘Give me the keys,’ he snaps, striding purposefully towards me. Fumbling, I get his set out of my bag and offer them up. He swipes them from my extended fingers and shoves them into his pocket, glaring at me. Then he drops his board to the ground and skates off.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I run after him.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks over his shoulder. I sense that some of his anger has already dissipated.
‘Checking you’re alright,’ I say, struggling to catch up.
He skids to a stop around the corner from his house and digs into his pocket for his fags.
‘I’m fine. You can go home now.’ He nods back in the direction we came.
I shake my head and he sighs. He’s completely unruffled as he stares down at me.
‘You don’t have anything to worry about,’ he says calmly. ‘He loses his temper sometimes, but he always keeps his cool at work.’
‘I’m not worried about him hurting me,’ I say with incredulity. ‘I’m worried about him hurting you!’ I reach up to touch the bruise on his face, but he catches my hand and laughs with disbelief.
‘You think Dad did this?’
‘Didn’t he?’ I ask with a meaningful look as he lets go of my hand.
He shakes his head as he’s lighting his cigarette. ‘Unbelievable.’
I stare at him with confusion.
‘Haven’t you ever shoved the door open a little too hard when you come out of the bakery?’ he asks, continuing before I can pause to think. ‘Well, that’s what I did, and then I remembered I hadn’t brought the rolls out so I turned around and smacked straight into it as it started to close. My dad may be a bit of an arsehole sometimes, but he’s not violent.’
I realise he’s telling the truth.
You’re hilarious,’ he adds.
‘I’m glad I entertain you.’
‘Hey,’ he calls, as I start to walk off. ‘Sorry.’ He sounds contrite. ‘I know you mean well.’
You make me sound like an interfering busybody,’ I mutter with annoyance, coming to a standstill. ‘And it’s barms, not rolls. That’s what we call them here in Manchester.’
He purses his lips and I can tell he’s trying to keep a straight face.
‘So what were you arguing about, then?’ I dare to ask.
He sighs, wearily. ‘He wanted to go to the pub, I wanted to go out. I’m his slave all day long so I’m buggered if I’m going to sit at home every night, too.’
‘Why can’t you both go out?’ I ask.
‘Mum wanted one of us at home.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I ask gently, imploring him to open up to me.
His eyes dart down to meet mine and after a long moment, he says: ‘She won’t leave the fucking house.’
It turns out that his mother has anxiety issues which keep her housebound and, more often than not, bedridden. As a result, she’s very overweight. Toby and Gavin are her sole carers.
‘Dad inherited that shithole we live in from my great-aunt.’ He shakes his head. ‘That sounded really ungrateful, sorry, Aunt Bessie.’ He glances up at the sky, but I don’t know if he’s being ironic. We’re sitting on a bench in the park. ‘Dad was her only living relative. Anyway, we sold our house in London and poured all of our money into buying the bakery. Dad thought it would be good to have a fresh start, but she’s no better here than she was there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘And I’m also sorry for sticking my nose in. I bet that’s the last thing you wanted.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s okay, Rose. You’re alright, you know.’
I’m glad to hear he thinks so.
Angus is watching telly when I get home, a beer in one hand and a handful of crisps in the other.
‘There you are!’ he exclaims. ‘Where have you been?’
‘At the bakery with Mum and
then I got caught talking to Toby.’
‘I thought you must’ve gone out,’ he says.
‘Nope. I told you I didn’t have any plans.’
‘Yeah, Friday night.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘What are we like?’ he says good-naturedly. He’s been in remarkably good spirits all week.
I swear I heard him coming home in the middle of the night on Monday. I thought at the time it was an odd night to go boozing, but he didn’t smell of alcohol the next morning. I hope he hasn’t started seeing someone. I know he’ll move on eventually, but I won’t be very good at coping with it when he does.
‘Do you want a beer?’ he asks me, getting up from the sofa. ‘Or a glass of wine?’
‘Wine would be lovely, thanks.’ I follow him into the kitchen where he retrieves a bottle from the fridge. His dinner plates are where he left them on the countertop.
‘Have you eaten?’ he asks.
‘Nope, but I’m not that hungry. I might make a cheese toastie with this bread from Jennifer’s.’ I brought a ciabatta home with me.
His eyes light up. ‘Would you do one for me, too?’
‘Greedy sod,’ I say with a grin, getting out the cheese and butter. ‘Of course I can.’
He hasn’t eaten well over the last year, judging by the weight he’s lost, but he seems to have got his appetite back.
‘Thanks, Rosie,’ he says warmly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and planting a kiss on my temple. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
My insides fill with warmth. ‘I’m glad I’m here, too,’ I reply sincerely.
He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘You don’t miss your mum?’
‘I still see her,’ I reply a touch defensively. ‘But it’s nice to have the company of someone my own age again.’
I haven’t exactly built up a social life since I returned to Manchester in October, nine months ago. My closest school friends moved away when I did, mostly settling in their university cities of choice. I have a couple of friends in Portsmouth where I studied and a few friends in London where I worked – some have visited over the last year, but I haven’t much felt like going out.