Today, though, she’d found herself wandering aimlessly through the flat, unable to settle to anything. Her head felt as though it was buzzing with ungraspable thoughts. It was the absence of Richard, she knew; his going back to work had signified a return to normal life that she wasn’t entirely ready for. So she’d got up an hour after he’d left, and wandered aimlessly from room to room, carrying the scent of steaming coffee with her from space to space; and at midday she’d retreated back to bed, exhausted by her unproductiveness, and fallen into an instant, dreamless sleep.
It was deep enough that the ringing phone didn’t entirely rouse her, and it was a few seconds after the caller had hung up that she realised she was awake. The sunlight – greyish November mid-afternoon almost-dusk – touched dustily on her belongings; and Richard’s, of course. Their intertwined existence scattered thoughtlessly throughout the room. The rumpled space of the duvet next to her, waiting for his return.
The phone started to ring again, and she hauled herself out of bed.
It took four rings to cross the living room and pick up the receiver. Her mumbled hello was greeted with a five-second-long silence that was almost enough to convince her she’d imagined the ringing of the phone; and then she realised that there was no dialling tone.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’
‘Lils.’ Connie, sounding not like Connie, like not-Connie. ‘I thought you’d be back at work by now.’
‘I don’t… I couldn’t.’ She struggled for a moment for a fuller explanation, and gave up. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Sure. Of course.’
‘You don’t sound okay.’
‘Don’t I?’ She laughed, a not-Connie laugh, humourless. ‘I’ve been worrying about you, I suppose. Silly of me.’
‘You shouldn’t.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Is there… Did you want to speak to me about something?’
Connie laughed again, and this time there really was humour there, though Lily couldn’t imagine where it might have sprung from.
‘I suppose I just wanted to talk.’
‘Oh.’
‘But of course, that’s the last thing that you want to do, right?’
Lily didn’t bother to respond. Couldn’t see what there was to say.
‘Do you ever think about Dad?’ Connie asked.
‘I… What’s wrong?’
‘Our parents are dead, Lily.’
‘Yes.’
‘They’re dead. Gone. Don’t you ever think about that? Don’t you want to talk about it?’
‘Are you drunk?’
A pause. And then: ‘Oh, fucking forget it, then.’
Lily stood for a while, holding the receiver to her ear, listening to the buzz that signified Connie’s departure from the conversation. Trying to remember where she’d heard that tone of voice before.
To lose. To part with or come to be without. From the Old English, losian: to perish. And also forlēosan: to forfeit.
He had lost his job, parted with it, come to be without it. Forfeited it? Yes, almost certainly. For what?
What had he gained in return?
Lily had lost her parents, lost her friends, lost her words. And he had found her – he with an abundance of words, which he gave to her, willingly. Find: to meet with or discover by chance, to discover or obtain by effort – which was it? Chance or design? He had found her by chance, certainly. But how had she found him? Through her own chances, or through his desire to hold on to her?
Did she make decisions, he wondered, or did she simply drift along on the tides, finding, losing, allowing other people’s chances to shape her existence?
He walked the streets with no destination in mind, the photo of her in his jacket pocket, his knowledge of what he had done nestled at his breast. He felt as if he teetered on the edge of a precipice. Could see what had gone before but had no idea what was to come. Didn’t know how to tell her what he’d done. Couldn’t decide how to proceed.
Maybe he could just wander into the Jobcentre. Find something else. Continue as if nothing had happened.
One decision didn’t have to change everything.
And yet, it inevitably did. Because what would he do? He couldn’t rely on a good reference. Couldn’t get another job at a paper, even if there had been one available. And what else was there? Five years in one direction, only to find you’d been driving towards a brick wall all this time. And when you got there, what did you do?
Swerve abruptly to the left?
Crash into it and hope for the best?
Or drive straight through, and discover that the wall was not made of brick after all; that you’d emerged on the other side, unscathed?
It was Connie who found him; accidentally, because of course she wasn’t looking. He was sitting on a bench, watching children play on one side of a park while teenagers toyed with adulthood on the other. And, in between, parents provided the sense of a necessary order: the destination towards which the younger generations were headed.
She had Luke and Tom with her. Richard realised they were on their way back from school: both of them in their uniforms, dark blue sweatshirts with nondescript logos, Tom holding Luke’s hand to keep him from running off. Luke clamouring for something – ice cream, video games, Richard couldn’t tell, but whatever it was he wanted it and he wanted it now, please, thank you very much.
Both boys started running when they spotted him, and even Connie sped up, though she limited herself to a purposeful stride.
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
He smiled lopsidedly. ‘Haven’t gone back yet.’
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘Uncle Richard, I’ve got a treasure map! Look.’ Luke dove into his rucksack, emerging with a crumpled piece of paper, which was indeed a crudely executed treasure map. X marks the spot, in red pen, a sharp contrast to the blues and greens of the background.
‘Excellent. Did you make it?’
‘Yes.’ Luke nodded solemnly. ‘Me and Tom are going to find the treasure. Do you want to come?’
‘Definitely. Give me a minute to talk to your mum first, though.’
The two boys bounded off in the direction of the playground, and Connie sat down next to him, her eyes never leaving them as they retreated into the distance.
‘How did you know I was lying?’
‘Well, I rang Lily today, and you weren’t there. She didn’t say anything, of course, but I figured you’d gone back to work. And now you’re here, and if you weren’t at work you’d be at home looking after her, so – there you go. Also, you’re a rubbish liar.’ She smiled, though she didn’t seem to mean it.
‘I lost my job.’
‘Oh, Richard.’
‘It’s my own fault. I walked out when Lily was in hospital. Forgot to tell them where I was going. And then I walked out again today.’
‘So you didn’t exactly “lose” it, then.’
‘Mmm. I was thinking about that. Forfeited my job, is what I’ve settled on.’
Connie gave him a curious look, but didn’t comment. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Well, you’d better start thinking pretty quickly. What with Lily being in the state she’s in –’
‘Don’t try to pretend you know what state Lily’s in. She might be fine, for all we know.’
‘She’s not fine. You know she’s not. That collapse – you know what it meant.’
‘It doesn’t have to mean anything,’ Richard said. ‘She’s never been like that since I’ve known her. Maybe she’s changed.’
‘People don’t change.’
‘They do, though. Aren’t you different from the way you were ten years ago?’
Connie leaned back against the bench, stretched her arms out in front of her. ‘Not really.’
‘Come on. You’re a wife, a mother. Those are things that change you.’
‘I’m still the same person, though. I still worry
about the same things. I still react to things in the same way. I’m still wasting hours of my life trying to look after my baby sister when I should be devoting my energies to looking after myself.’
Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you really think that?’
‘Of course.’
‘But you don’t need to look after her. I’m here for that.’
‘And a fantastic job you’re doing, right now.’
‘Don’t be a bitch –’
‘It’s true. You may be devoted but you don’t understand her the way I do, and you never will. Every time something happens, you run to me for advice because she won’t talk to you and you can’t read her mind. Which is fine, I understand that, but you can’t then act as though I’m completely superfluous to the whole thing. She might not realise how much I do for her, but you, at least, could have the decency to remember it every now and again.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’
‘I know.’
‘I just feel like I’ve let her down. But all I was trying to do was help her.’
‘Look, Richard, some people can’t be helped. Lily is never going to change – and don’t protest that you don’t want her to, because I know that you don’t, or at least you think you don’t. But I for one would like it if she changed just a bit. Just enough to convince me that she was okay, so I could stop worrying about her all the time and get on with my own life. And I think it would benefit you, too.’
They sat in silence while Richard tried to formulate a response. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but she wasn’t. At least not entirely. It was as though there was an essence of correctness about what she was saying, but it missed the mark. It wasn’t how he felt.
How to make her understand that what he loved about Lily was the notunderstanding? That being with her was something akin to being in the presence of God, a being so far beyond his comprehension that he was constantly in awe of her.
Then again, maybe he was just a typical man, and she was just a typical woman, and he wanted to protect her.
‘Maybe it’s you that needs to change,’ he said eventually.
Connie laughed; a short, humourless burst of inarticulate emotion.
Then she went to be with her children, and left him to his own devices.
then
Connie sat in the middle of a row of red cushioned chairs, slouched so low that she was almost horizontal. Her school bag occupied the seat next to her. The chairs lined the wall opposite the deputy head’s office in one of the busiest school corridors, designed for maximum humiliation in between classes when the hallways boiled with students. For the moment there was no one around except a squeaky-shoed receptionist who kept walking back and forth, giving Connie a disdainful look each time she passed, but it wouldn’t be long until she was subjected to the stares of every passing student.
It was nearly the end of the school year, and there was a feeling of anticipation, of general winding-down as everyone edged closer to six weeks of freedom. Sunlight streamed through the windows behind Connie and warmed the back of her neck, carrying tantalising hints of ice cream and freshly cut grass and tanned shoulders. Inside, though, the darkness was thick and dusty, as if the overall air of gloom couldn’t be penetrated by mere sunlight.
The door in front of her opened, revealing a tall man, slightly younger than her father, with a tuft of dark hair that was greying at the sides. Mr Elliott’s face was generally kind, though at that moment he didn’t look pleased to see her. He gestured her into his office without a word, and closed the door behind them, waving his hand in the direction of a chair. ‘Take a seat, please.’
She did as she was asked, and waited silently while he walked around the desk to sit down opposite her.
‘Are you going to tell me why you’re here?’
Connie looked down at her knees, unsure what to say. She’d never seen him look angry before, and there was a hardness in his eyes she found unnerving.
‘Connie, please, do me the credit of at least attempting to explain yourself. We both know the official version of the story, of course. I’m asking to hear yours.’
She bit her lip, feeling small and childish. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, come on.’ His voice was derisive.
‘I don’t know what they’ve told you. But it’s lies.’
‘How can you know it’s lies if you don’t know what they’ve said?’
She raised her head to glare at him. ‘Because it’s always lies. You know that as well as me. Everyone knows how they all treat me, and the school still always takes their side over mine. Every time. It’s not fair.’
‘Unfortunately, Connie, fairness isn’t really the issue at hand here.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Isn’t this my chance to tell my side of the story? To – to vindicate myself, or whatever?’
‘Go on, then. Vindicate yourself.’
Connie realised she was trembling. ‘You won’t believe me.’
Mr Elliott sighed, and leaned back in his chair. ‘Actually, Connie, I always believe you. I just think you go about dealing with things in the wrong way. I don’t think it’s fair that you have to deal with it in the first place, but you only make things worse for yourself.’
She glared at him, but his expression was unrelenting. ‘Okay. Fine,’ she said eventually. ‘They stole my PE kit. And when I tried to find it they shut me in the showers, and no one realised until after the lesson, because they told Mr Bentham I’d gone home ill. So I was pissed off, and I punched Eleanor in the face. And instead of punching me back, like a normal human being, she ran and told a teacher so I’d get in trouble, and she’ll beat me up after school instead, where no one can tell her off. That’s it. The whole story.’ The injustice of it made her eyes sting with tears, but she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of the only teacher who didn’t think she was some kind of monster teenager from hell.
Mr Elliott was still leaning back in his chair, surveying her, his face calm. His eyes had softened, but his expression was largely unreadable. Connie couldn’t tell if he believed her or if he just felt sorry for her for being such a pathetic liar.
‘Do you think,’ he asked eventually, leaning forwards and resting his chin on his hands, ‘that punching Eleanor was the best way you could have reacted?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So why did you do it?’
‘Because she’s a bully and she makes my life hell every day and I really, really wanted to.’
The corners of Mr Elliott’s mouth twitched as this. ‘Do you know why she bullies you? Maybe if we could get to the bottom of why she doesn’t like you then we could try and fix whatever the problem is.’
‘Why does there have to be a reason?’
‘There’s always a reason.’
‘No, there isn’t. Plenty of people get bullied just because they’re – short, or they have – I don’t know – ginger hair, or whatever. Those aren’t real reasons. They’re just things that bullies make up when they’ve decided they don’t like someone.’
Mr Elliott nodded. ‘And does Eleanor ever give you a reason like that? Does she think you’re short?’
He was smiling, now, and Connie looked at him sharply, trying to figure out if he was mocking her.
‘No.’
‘Does she say anything?’
‘What does it matter? Nothing she says is true. She knows it isn’t true. She just says it to be mean.’
‘But maybe she believes it to be true.’
Connie narrowed her eyes. ‘She knows she’s lying.’
‘But what if she doesn’t, hmm? How do you know what she thinks? If she genuinely believes something about you – something awful – then maybe her behaviour is slightly more understandable.’
‘If you know what it is, then why are you making me tell you?’ Connie folded her arms over her chest, defensive.
‘I don’t know anything, Connie. I’ve just heard rumours, like everyone else, and
I’ve read newspapers, like everyone else, and I think you know exactly why Eleanor doesn’t like you but you’ll do anything as long as you don’t have to talk about it.’ His voice was even, and free from accusation.
‘They’re just rumours.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Then why aren’t you taking my side? Why isn’t she in here, if you know I’m telling the truth?’
‘Because I don’t know anything. I believe you, that’s all. Fact is, I’ve still got a pupil who’s been punched in the face and says you did it. And you’re not denying it, so what am I supposed to do? I can’t be seen to condone your behaviour.’
‘But you can be seen to condone hers?’
‘Are you going to officially complain to me about her behaviour?’
Connie looked at her feet, and said nothing.
‘Thought not. Look, Connie, I want to help you. Really, I do. But the only way this is going to get resolved is if you talk to these girls. Tell them what happened when you were younger. Isn’t it possible that this is all a misunderstanding – that these girls are actually scared of you because of what they think happened out there?’
Connie snorted. ‘If they were scared of me they wouldn’t be constantly trying to beat me up.’
‘Sure they would. That’s what I do when I’m scared of people.’ Mr Elliott smiled and, reluctantly, Connie smiled back.
‘Thanks for the pep talk,’ she said. ‘So what’s my punishment?’
‘Is that all you have to say for yourself?’
She nodded.
‘Fair enough. I think a week’s worth of detention ought to do it, don’t you?’
The house was warm and slantingly sunlit when Connie arrived home. She could see all the dust, highlighted at odd angles by the shafts of light, thickening the air around her. Her footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she placed her bag on the floor next to the rows of shoes, listening carefully. There was no sound from inside, though she could hear distant voices in the garden.
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