‘Lady, this is Badgeley. If they didn’t want us to drink cider and fornicate, they should have built us a fucking sports centre like we wanted.’
‘Chelsea, I’d expect more from a young lady headed off to Oxford.’ The counsellor played up the shock for effect. It was just an excuse to mention it, to take her share of the credit.
‘Fine – Ruby’s actions were no more damaging than your average seventeen-year-old’s. I don’t know where she’s gone.’
The woman stilled, and her grey, watery eyes met Chelsea’s. ‘But you can guess?’
‘She wanted what all of us wanted, to get out of this place and go somewhere we’d be seen. Where we’d matter. Well, for Ruby it’s more, she wants to go someplace she’ll be adored. Where she’ll be wanted.’
The woman looked back, cold and vague. ‘So she mentioned that her foster parents were arranging for a transfer?’
‘No, she didn’t. But why would she, if she never planned to be here anyway?’
With all of it, the sad, sweet sense of betrayal, that Ruby had gone without them, had disappeared to a new life whilst they struggled to catch up, there was also, shamefully, a sense of relief. She didn’t have to go to London, she didn’t have to be Chelsea from the estate at all. Ruby had taken everything only she knew, about the court case, the assault, the guilt, and Chelsea had no hold on it any more.
That afternoon she went back home, drained from all the questions, and the quiet sadness of the others, suddenly so sure they’d done something to upset their strange, wonderful friend. She found a letter on the side. It had been posted. When she tore into the letter, there was a newspaper clipping, with a bright green heart-shaped Post it-note on top.
‘Badgeley man found bloody and beaten after rape charges dropped.’
The Post-it note was scrawled in black biro, loopy and large in that way Ruby’s was. It simply said: Sometimes guardian angels are a bit naughty too.
Years later, Chelsea recognised it as the first line in Ruby’s second number one hit: ‘Bad Men Get What’s Coming’.
***
It was easy enough to fill her days, she could do stuff at the studio, she could sneak in some work at home, though her boss had insisted she could not come into the office. Most of the time Chelsea spent showing Tyler her London, the one that had lured her away all those years ago, the one that seemed to hum with promise. They spent days in a curious limbo where she wasn’t sure if there should be a telephone call from the police, or her mum, or even Kit. She thought Kit might have called, or texted, just to see how she was. Alistair must have told him what happened. But maybe he was doing what she’d asked all along, and respecting her right to have secrets.
She thought about him constantly, when she over-boiled the spaghetti she was trying to make for dinner, remembering how he’d once thrown the pasta up to the ceiling of his kitchen, insisting that’s how Italians checked it was al dente. She’d giggled gently, not entirely sure that he wasn’t insane, and then those pieces of spaghetti fell, almost in slow motion, hitting that cultured man in the face, and he had laughed in shock. God, Kit was beautiful when he laughed. He looked like sunshine.
The nights were the worst. She tried to stay up late, watching YouTube videos and random movies with Tyler, talking about everything, but nothing important. She learnt he’d had a girlfriend until recently, when she dumped him for a guy with a car. She learnt he’d been watering down their mum’s vodka bottles and bought her lighter cigarettes whenever she sent him to the shop. She knew he’d been googling Kai’s breathing difficulty and had been hoovering in the baby’s room, in case it was allergies. That he’d printed out the low fat diet the doctors recommended for Jez’s high cholesterol. That he made Jermaine’s sandwiches for school. She’d left, and Tyler had taken over. Every now and then, she just squeezed his hand or ruffled his short hair and he smiled, genuinely, before he seemed to get embarrassed, or suddenly remembered how he’d ended up there.
‘Chels, you know I can’t stay here forever, right?’ He lay back, throwing the last crust of pizza into the box.
‘I know that, it’s getting cramped as it is. And I’ve got to go back to work next week.’
‘So?’
‘So?’
Tyler sighed. ‘So am I gonna end up in jail or what?’
‘I don’t know, I think the police are going to call? I don’t know how this all works,’ she grouched, gripping her wine glass like a lifeline.
‘Well, you think you could call them? ’Cause I kinda need to know so I can make plans, yeah? Future living arrangements. Or if I get nicked then at least I won’t have to find money for a deposit.’
He grinned widely, and Chelsea shook her head.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘No it’s not,’ he said seriously, ‘it’s a sorry state this country’s in when it’s cheaper to live in prison.’
‘Oh, you’re a politician now?’ Chelsea rolled her eyes.
‘Nah, it’s just something I heard that lawyer say at the station that night. It stuck.’
‘Did he not leave a card, maybe we should call him?’
‘Didn’t seem like that sorta bloke. Looked half cut and like he’d just woken up. Those freebie ones probably get crap pay,’ Tyler shrugged. ‘Plus he was kind of an arse.’
They sat in silence for a moment, staring past the TV. ‘So, you gonna call Mum and ask to come back home?’
‘No.’ Tyler’s voice brooked no argument. ‘She was right, I had my chance and I fucked up.’
‘But how are they going to survive without you?’ she said, thinking his pride might kick in, that he might be drawn back to look after them all if he knew no one else was there to do it.
‘You ever ask yourself that when you left?’ he said simply.
‘No.’ She didn’t hesitate. ‘Because if I did, I would never have left.’
Chapter Thirteen
Chelsea had to admit, she was going to miss having her little brother around. It was nice to watch as he laughed with Evie about their first pints in The Old Stag on the corner, and how each generation of teenager had sipped a sad shandy whilst their feet got stuck to the floor. She watched how he looked at Killian with respect, learning to join and carve and make things. Within a few days of being there, he dragged her into the workshop and pointed at a bookcase.
‘Look! I made that!’
She felt so much like she had when she’d pinned his paintings on the fridge, because her mum hadn’t said anything about them. Those moments of childish excitement made her suddenly ache for all those years she’d abandoned him. He might have been happier, she might have got him out sooner, or…it was impossible to tell.
And he was funny. They were sitting around that evening in Evie’s flat, eating a roast dinner, Mollie desperately piling up Tyler’s plate into a mountain of food, drizzled with gravy. He grinned at her. He’d spent the afternoon with Esme, listening very seriously as she told him all about the rules of her made up game, until eventually he decided it was more fun to grab her and carry her around like she was a monkey on his back, pretending that he couldn’t get her off. It was hard to recognise the surly teenager who curled his lip and glared at her for so many years. He was…softer. Like he didn’t have to pretend. But the truth was, at some point, he was going to have to go back to Badgeley.
‘That was the year my mum got that tattoo, for her fortieth, Chels do you remember?’ Mollie shook her head, laughing. ‘A bunch of roses on her arse.’
‘God, what’s that going to look like when she’s older?’ Chelsea said absently, not fully listening.
‘A bit like a hanging basket, I’d guess,’ Tyler shrugged and Evie spat her wine out, coughing a little. Killian laughed. ‘Hey Chels, looks like your brother got the funny gene.’
‘Oh, did yours get the handsome one?’ she smiled back sweetly.
Killian raised an eyebrow. ‘Come on, we both know you think I’m devastatingly handsome, there’s no need to hide it any m
ore.’
Chelsea laughed, and shook her head. Killian seemed to be trying really hard to make up for Kit not being there – she could tell he felt uncomfortable, like he just wanted everything to be the way it was. He felt like a friend, which was surprising.
The banter carried on, and Tyler excused himself, hearing his phone ring. She watched as he walked to the corner of the room, answering the call, and she bit her lip, wondering if it was the police. Maybe the death knell was finally being rung.
She simply heard Tyler say, ‘No, thank you,’ and hang up. She shrugged, assuming it was cold callers and turned back to the table, where her own mobile rang. She stepped away from the table as Tyler returned, watching him sit at the table, his face suddenly stony.
‘Hello?’
‘This is a call from an inmate at Woodhill Prison – will you accept the call?’
Chelsea looked at Tyler and sighed, ‘Yes.’
She stepped further back, towards Evie’s bedroom, her eyes still on the table, watching as Tyler nodded along, eating slowly.
‘Chelsea? Is that you, my angel?’
‘What do you want?’ her voice croaked, and she thought of the thousand things she wanted to say. Why did you do it? Why did you drag him in? Why didn’t you just leave him alone?
‘I wanted to say sorry to Ty, that’s all.’ His voice was tearful, and she felt herself softening, even when she didn’t want to. ‘He’s a good boy and I didn’t want to get him into trouble.’
‘Most dads just take their kids for ice cream,’ she hissed, walking further into Evie’s room. ‘Not turn on them and get them almost sent to jail.’
‘That’s what I’m calling to say, I spoke to Ty’s lawyer, and he agreed about the confession. I said Ty had no idea, I’d just told him to look out. He won’t be in trouble, the lawyer said it would be enough. Won’t even be on his record, or anything.’ He sighed deeply, and Chelsea said nothing. ‘I really am sorry, love. I know I’m a fuck-up, I always have been. Never seemed to get it right. I wish I could give you both something, something that mattered. All I ever managed was to get Ty into trouble and send that Larson kid back to jail.’
Chelsea blinked. ‘What?’
‘Robbie Larson, the son of a bitch who attacked you. He got convicted a couple of years ago. Couldn’t get out of it this time, the evidence was against him, there were witnesses – everything. I’d heard from one of the guys who was there that night, got him to make a statement. I know it wasn’t my place, but…I can’t protect you, I could never protect you. The only thing I could do was get that fella to tell the truth.’
Chelsea didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent.
‘Love, my time’s running out here, I have to go. Please tell Ty I’m sorry, and I love him. I’m just…I’m not good at anything. I’m sorry.’
The call ended and Chelsea felt like her heart was beating in her stomach, and her brain had dropped down there too. Her dad had known about the Robbie Larson case? And he’d remembered it, ten years later. Most of all, the overwhelming relief that the bastard was finally behind bars, that those years where she’d felt responsible for a rapist walking free, they were bad, but he’d got what was coming to him in the end. Ruby had been right. Guardian angels weren’t always angelic.
Chelsea walked back to the table, not really sure how to sit through dinner with so much on her mind. But Ty would be free, and their dad would be in jail, and everything was right in the world. Except that Mollie was scooping ice cream into bowls and handing them round, and it was Kit’s favourite, butterscotch. He’d ordered the most ginormous ice cream that first night in Italy, scoop upon scoop piled up and when she’d laughed and said, ‘that’s ridiculous’ he’d said, ‘well babe, the best things come in ridiculously large packages, you should know that by now,’ and had kissed her. But that was before, she couldn’t sit around crying anytime his favourite ice cream was served, or someone drank a Camden Pale Ale, or an Attenborough documentary was advertised. Chelsea was starting to realise she could spend her life crying over things that reminded her of Kit. It was the pain of knowing someone. And perhaps he would feel the same, maybe now he was eating an almond croissant and seeing her copy of Roman Holiday on the side of the DVD player, and feeling a bit lost. Maybe he’d realise those were the things that made a person, and that he did know her after all.
‘Who was that?’
‘A little birdie in a cage, making apologies.’
Esme poked her head around, using the sleeve of her purple-checked pyjama top to wipe her eyes and blinked. Then her eyes widened, ‘HEY! Are you eating ice cream without me?’
‘Yes, madam, because it’s been bedtime for a very long time,’ Mollie said simply, ‘back to bed.’
‘Oh, let her stay?’ Tyler said, grinning at Esme. ‘She can sit with me, I won’t be able to eat all this ice cream by myself.’
‘You’ll pay for that later, my friend,’ Killian whispered as Mollie sighed and shrugged.
‘Fine, sugar at bedtime. Great.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t be here much longer.’ Tyler smiled at Mollie, as Esme ignored the chair he’d put out for her and climbed up next to him, putting her arms around his neck as she had earlier.
‘No – don’t go. You’re fun!’
‘Sorry Ez, gotta go back to my world.’ He shook his head a little and smiled.
Esme frowned, rubbing his closely shaven head. ‘There’s only one world, unless you’re going to outer space.’
‘Well, Badgeley feels like that sometimes.’
‘Well, we used to live there, and now we live here. Why can’t you?’
Ty’s eyes met Chelsea’s and she shrugged. Maybe, in some comedy sitcom world, she would move into a two bedroom flat and her brother would move in, they’d be really close and all sorts of hijinks would ensue. But they both knew that wasn’t going to happen.
‘Because I’ve got two little brothers, and they need me to look after them,’ he said to Esme, turning round to look at her.
‘Doesn’t their mummy look after them?’
‘No, some mummies aren’t very good. You’re lucky, you got one of the best ones.’
Mollie rolled her eyes and patted his hand. ‘You turned out all right, you know.’
‘Only took being arrested for everyone to see it,’ Tyler snorted and coughed. ‘Anyway, I was thinking, yeah, I had this idea. With the circus event tomorrow night…I looked at your lighting and I think it could be better.’
‘We don’t know much about it…’ Mollie shrugged, making a face.
‘I think I could knock up something proper good, like really wicked. Can I have a go at it?’
Evie and Chelsea looked at each other. ‘Do you need money for it?’
‘If you’ve got a spare £50 quid for some bulbs, but everything else is salvaged.’
The women grinned and shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘Well, then, young Master Donnolly,’ Killian grinned, nudging him. ‘Impress us.’
Chelsea didn’t see her brother again until the opening the next evening. He’d started on whatever he had planned that evening, working out of Killian’s workshop, and slept on the sofa at the studio, and then was right back to work the next morning.
Mollie called to say she’d given him breakfast.
‘Are you sure he has to leave?’
‘He said he wants to.’
‘We could get him a job somewhere round here, couldn’t we?’ Mollie was wheedling. ‘Esme loves him. And look how good it’s been for him to get out of Badgeley. Yesterday he actually took his baseball cap off for a full hour. I shit you not. And he’s using full sentences.’
‘Stop trying to turn my brother into your Eliza Doolittle. You already have a child,’ Chelsea laughed, pacing back and forth in her tiny flat, trying to find something to do with her time. She always used to be busy, what on earth did she do when she wasn’t working, or wasn’t with Kit? Her evening had consisted of a pathetic girly movie that made
her feel maudlin, and a psycho thriller that made her feel a sense of perspective. Neither were enjoyable.
‘But…we could give him a chance, Chels. The chance we all wanted when we were kids.’
‘He doesn’t want it,’ Chelsea huffed, ‘but we’ve convinced him he can have more, which was all I ever wanted for him. He wants to go back and see Jay and Kai and he feels guilty being away from them.’
‘He’s just like you were,.’ Mollie had a smile in her voice, but Chelsea shook her head, holding the phone stiffly.
‘No, he’s actually much better.’
How much better, they hadn’t realised until Chelsea arrived at the studio that afternoon whilst the acts were setting up. Her brother had insisted that she turned up for the show, and not before, so he could show her what he’d done at its best.
She entered the dark room with the rest of the ticket holders, finding her seat in the circular setting. When the lights finally came on, she was astounded, not only by the performers, aerialists hanging on ribbons from the ceiling, the contortionist and dancers full of colour and movement, but the structure her brother had created. Light beams of wood led from the edges of the room into the centre, each one wrapped with fairy lights, a collection of red and yellow bulbs alternating on the bottom of each piece of wood. In the centre, there was a spotlight that then refracted around the edges, with little shards of mirror hanging around the edges of the beam. It was…magical.
Afterwards, he was waiting in the wings, looking at her with an expectant grin.
‘So, whatcha think? Pretty sick?’
Chelsea simply gave him a hug. ‘Yes, pretty sick. How did you even come up with that?’
‘Dunno,’ he shrugged, ‘was working on some stuff with Killian and I thought it made sense.’
‘Well, you’ve got talent,’ Chelsea smiled, ‘maybe even –’
‘– I could get an apprenticeship or something and make something of myself,’ Tyler laughed. ‘Yeah sis, I get it. I’ll look at what’s about, okay?’
She smirked, nudging him with her elbow as she watched the final few people milling about, talking to the performers or buying another drink from the bar area. She noticed a young girl, staring at one of the pictures on the wall, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, her small frame accentuated by the oversized, floating dress she wore. As she turned, she made eye contact with Chelsea. Celia.
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