‘The two of you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Danny is saying. ‘Maybe we should start talking about what you believe in.’
‘Well,’ says Nick. ‘For starters, I believe in an ethical commitment to—’
‘Not you. I’m asking Lena.’
I try to think of something, but my mind is blank.
‘Leave her alone,’ says Nick, and Danny glares at him, and I think, Nick, I believe in Nick, I believe him when he tells me stuff because he always tells me the truth.
I can’t say this. ‘I don’t know. But I’m not running for mayor, am I?’
Nick grins. ‘That’s a good answer. Danny, admit that’s a good answer.’
‘That’s a fairly good answer,’ says Danny. ‘It’s an acceptable answer for now.’
‘Are you going to tell us what you believe in?’ I say.
He leans over the counter and takes a piece of red pepper off the chopping board. Nick swats his hand away. Danny ignores the question and changes the subject. ‘So, hey, Lena. How’s the guitar?’
‘My fingers hurt,’ I say. He opens his mouth to reply. ‘Please don’t say anything about Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan isn’t the answer to everything.’
‘Wrong. That’s just the kind of naïve thing only a child would say.’ He leans against the counter and folds his arms. ‘I’m going for a run. When are we eating?’
Going for a run is one of those things Danny always says he’s going to do but in reality has done about once in his life.
‘Ten minutes,’ says Nick. ‘Go after dinner.’
‘Fine,’ says Danny, and then, in his best let’s not argue anymore voice, says, ‘Let me chop something.’
I go back into my room before I get asked to chop anything, and check my email. I have two new messages since I last looked, fifteen minutes ago: a reminder about library fines and an email from Nick’s mum with a picture of their cat that just says, Hello Alena from Snowflake! Snowflake is the cat. In real life Nick’s mum is super-serious and always has very thoughtful, intelligent conversations with people, but on email she is all cat pictures.
There’s nothing else. It’s been two hours since I sent an email to Lynn Wallace care of the Save Ocean Court campaign.
Dear Ms Wallace, it said. I don’t know if this is the right email address for you but if not maybe somebody will forward this on to your own email. I have signed the Save Ocean Court petition.
I found your name by accident on this website—
Lies. I trawled through hundreds of Lynn Wallaces to find it and it took ages, but I wasn’t going to let Oliver Cohen be the only one with research skills, especially when the research was my family. Eventually a few weeks ago I found a site which had only just been created, and on the info page it said that the Save Ocean Court campaign was coordinated by Ocean Court resident Nisha Sawhney and housing law campaigner Lynn Keller Wallace. Even then it might not have been her, but there was a picture of them both standing in front of the estate looking pissed off and I held my Greenham Common postcard up next to it and you could believe she was the same person, just thirty-three years older.
It said: For more information please contact [email protected]. I bookmarked the page and then I kept starting to write emails and then changing my mind, not knowing what to say. Finally, this evening, I just decided to do it.
—and I wondered if you were the same Lynn Wallace who used to know my mum, Heather Kennedy, a long time ago? She lived in Stoke Newington, I think, and there is a postcard from Greenham Common with both of you in it. If you are the same person I guess you know that she died very suddenly when I was little and unfortunately I don’t really remember her. I also don’t know anybody that she used to be friends with but I would like to know more about her and what she was like. So if you are the same person I would really like to meet you. But if you don’t want to that’s OK. And if you’re not the same person then sorry. Please could you send me a message either way? Thank you so much.
Best wishes,
Alena Kennedy
P.S. I am fifteen now, but you might have even known me when I was little as I think you were at my mum’s funeral or you might remember my older brother Daniel Kennedy who is my guardian.
When I read this back again I think that I sound like an idiot, like a five-year-old, and that there’s no way the serious lady in the picture would take time out from saving Ocean Court to talk to me, but whatever. It’s done now.
‘Marie sent me a picture of Snowflake,’ I say when I go back into the kitchen.
‘Who do you think your mother loves more, Nick?’ says Danny. He’s setting the table. ‘Out of you, your brothers, and Snowflake?’
‘She loves us all equally,’ says Nick. Danny says, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I need a lift to Teagan’s house after dinner,’ I say. ‘We have to work on our history project.’
‘Fine,’ Danny says. ‘I’ll take you. Hey, do David and Rachel want me to come in so they can celebrate my diversity?’
Nick cracks up, as he did the last seven hundred times Danny made this joke.
The reason, I think, that they will never break up, is that they find each other really, really funny, and practically nobody else does.
I’m almost sure this is enough.
FIFTEEN
I check my email twice more at Teagan’s house but there’s nothing new. Teagan is stressed because she’s trying to learn some super-difficult piece of music for an audition and she can’t get it right; I lie on her bed while she practises, trying to look supportive. I tell her it sounds fine and she says, fine isn’t good enough, and looks very determined. Sometimes I’m jealous of her ambition.
Over her desk I notice she’s stuck a bunch of drawings that Ollie’s done – either stuff he’s given her or stuff he’s left lying around that she’s just taken. They look good, all together, like a gallery or something. You can tell that it’s the same person who’s drawn them, the same way I can tell if it’s Teagan playing the violin over anybody else at school. They have a way of doing the thing that they do that’s totally unique to them.
Her dad drives me home when it gets late. Trying to be polite, I ask if he wants to come in, but he says he has to get back, which is just as well because when I let myself into the flat I know straight away that something’s wrong. That feeling you get like if you walk into the middle of an argument. Nick is standing in the kitchen and Danny is standing in front of the TV and the moment I walk in they both look at me but don’t say anything. Danny is holding a nearly empty glass of wine. He finishes it and puts the glass down on the coffee table and says, ‘You’re home.’
Usually I would say something sarcastic to this, but instead I just say, ‘Yep,’ and look between them. ‘What’s going on?’
‘How’s your history project?’ says Nick.
‘Good. It’s good. We’ve nearly finished.’
‘Good.’
‘Yeah.’ I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, still holding my keys in my hand. ‘I invited David in for coffee but he said he had to go home.’
Nick nods and looks like he’s about to say something else but then Danny says, ‘We’d like to have a quick chat with you about something.’ I see Nick’s eyes narrow a little bit at the word we.
‘What is it?’
‘Sit down.’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’
Danny gives me a brief, tense smile to acknowledge this joke. ‘No. You’re fine.’
I go and sit down on the sofa in front of him, still wearing my coat. I start to toe off my Converse and kick them under the coffee table. ‘What is it?’
‘Does anyone want tea?’ Nick says.
Danny says, in a voice strung tight like wire: ‘So apparently you got in touch with Lynn Wallace.’
‘I’m having tea,’ Nick says.
I say: ‘What?’
‘You sent her an email.’
‘What?’
‘There’s no
point looking at me like that, Alena. You sent her an email. Right?’
‘How do you—’ I panic, a little bit, thinking he has been in my room, he has been on my computer, trying to work out if denial or outrage or what is the best strategy. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because.’ Danny picks up his wine glass, sees that it’s empty, and puts it down again. ‘She just phoned me.’
‘What?’
‘She just called me up. Fifteen minutes ago. Hello, Danny, this is Lynn, it’s been a long time. Et cetera.’ He picks up the glass again and for a second it almost looks like his hand is shaking. He circles round the sofa to the kitchen so I have to twist round to see him. He gets the bottle out of the fridge and pours himself another glass. Nick is watching him carefully. The kettle is boiling.
‘I don’t understand,’ I say.
‘It’s not really very complicated.’
‘How did she know your number?’
‘God knows. Does that really matter? She probably keeps secret files on everybody who’s ever disagreed with her about anything.’
‘Danny.’ Nick puts a hand on his arm. ‘You’ve had the same number for years. You had the same number before your mum died. She just still happens to have—’
‘That doesn’t give her the right to just – anyway.’ Danny looks at me, and clears his throat. ‘Look. Look. You’re not in trouble.’ He says this in a voice that says that I would be in trouble if he had anything to do with it but that Nick has talked him out of it.
‘Of course you’re not in trouble,’ says Nick.
‘Why would I be in trouble?’
‘You’re not,’ says Nick.
‘But I really wish if you were that desperate to talk to her that you would’ve spoken to me—’
‘I did speak to you.’
‘—instead of going snooping round on the Internet trying to uncover—’
‘It’s not snooping round, it’s the Internet. It’s just there. I didn’t even know if it was the same person.’ I am shaking my head, trying to understand. ‘Why did she phone you? She didn’t even reply to my message.’
‘God knows,’ says Danny again. ‘God knows why she ever does anything.’
‘She called because she wanted Danny to know that you’d contacted her,’ says Nick. ‘And to ask his permission to get in touch with you. Which I have to say—’
‘She does not have my permission.’
‘—I think is an amazingly responsible, respectful thing to do. That is really beyond what you would expect from most people and considering—’
‘She doesn’t need your permission,’ I say. ‘Why does she need your permission? It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Nothing to do with me?’
‘You’re obviously not interested in being in touch with her. Fine. But I am. I’d just like to hear some stories about Mum, and if you don’t want to—’
‘What stories? Since when? There are no stories. Whatever idea you’ve got in your head about this woman—’
‘Don’t call her this woman,’ says Nick.
‘—is wrong. And she does need my permission, and she doesn’t have it, and neither do you. I’ll call her whatever I like.’
Nick is now looking at Danny like he’s a little bit crazy, so I do the same. ‘Why?’ I say.
‘She’s a bad influence. She’s a bad influence. She’ll get you into trouble. You’re at the kind of age where you’ll – you know, it’ll all seem exciting and glamorous to you—’
‘What will?’
‘What will, Danny?’ Nick has taken a step back from him and his arms are folded, his head tilted to one side. He has given up on making tea.
‘Her lifestyle.’
‘You know there are people who used to say that our lifestyle was dangerous for Alena, so that’s exactly the kind of language—’
‘Oh, please,’ says Danny. ‘Nick, support me or stay out of this, all right?’
There’s a moment of dead silence. The Nick speaks in a very quiet voice. ‘You’re turning her into something she’s not. She was your mum’s best friend. If Lena wants to talk to her then maybe—’
‘Did you hear what I just said?’
‘—maybe it’s time that she—’
‘Nick, shut up.’
‘You can’t talk to him like that.’ I stand up again. ‘Don’t talk to Nick like that.’
‘It’s all right,’ says Nick, flatly.
‘She shouldn’t be sending – Lena, you shouldn’t be sending secret emails to people you don’t know, all right? It might not even have been Lynn Wallace, it could have been – you know, it could have been Joe the Paedophile and he’s reading this email from some fifteen-year-old girl, he asks you to meet him at a bus stop somewhere—’
‘What?’
‘Look,’ says Danny. ‘Look.’ He puts his wine down and holds both hands up. ‘I don’t want to fight. We don’t need to fight about this. She asked for my permission to talk to you. I didn’t give it to her. Alena, I’m sorry, I know it’s hard for you to understand but when you’re older – you know, when you’re a bit older – if you want talk to people then I guess that’s fine but right now I’m telling you – I’m asking you not to go looking into things like there’s some big conspiracy – I mean. I just—’
He stops, picks up his glass again. ‘I don’t think it’s really appropriate.’ He glances at Nick. ‘Right? Lynn’s a grown woman, she’s a busy woman, I doubt she really even has time—’
It’s like he’s hoping Nick will go, Oh actually yeah that’s a great point but he doesn’t, so Danny trails off. Then he clears his throat and says: ‘Look. Please. I don’t want her in my life again. Not right now. Just, please.’
The obvious thing to say would be that it’s not his life we’re talking about, it’s mine, but there’s something about his voice and the glassy look in his eyes that makes both me and Nick go quiet. You can tell Nick is totally pissed off, but he just shakes his head and starts tidying up the kitchen and putting the glasses in the sink.
‘What did you say to her on the phone?’ I say quietly. ‘Did she ask anything about me?’
‘I told her that I’d rather she didn’t communicate with you at the moment. That I thought it would distract you from schoolwork. And you know she lives all the way down in—’
‘So she’s not going to reply to my email.’
‘—Kennington, anyway. No. She’s not.’
‘That’s just – it’s rude. It’s impolite.’
‘Well, she was never all that worried about good manners as far as I can remember.’
‘Not her, you.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Alena, what’s impolite is you going behind my back—’
‘What’s to stop me emailing her again and telling her to ignore you?’
‘The fact that I’m asking you not to and that I trust you.’ He says this in such a strangled voice that it’s hard to tell if he means it or if he’s just casting around for anything to say.
I’ve never had much reason to think about whether Danny trusts me or not. I can’t think of anything to say in response, because I’m trying to sound mature and I’m trying to work out if I even trust Danny, or what that even means – and suddenly all the lights in the flat seem too bright and I feel like a headache is starting somewhere right in the centre of my brain.
I go to bed without saying goodnight to either of them. In the dark, under the covers, I check my email on my phone just in case maybe she wrote to me even after she spoke to Danny, said something like, Who cares about him, let’s get together anyway, I’ve got so many stories and I would love to meet you. But there’s nothing.
The first story she could tell me is what they fought about after the funeral. We can work back from there. Then I’ll tell her about me. I will think of something to tell her about me.
I wonder if right after the funeral means, like, a couple of days after, or actually right outside the church while they’re all still dresse
d in black. It’s hard to imagine that people would argue at a funeral. You’d think everyone would be sad and respectful and think solemnly about the dead person that they have in common. You’d think everyone would probably have been really nice to Danny and concerned about his grief. Put their hands on his shoulder and asked him how he was. Whoever everyone is: I’ve no idea who was there. Maybe hardly anybody, maybe just Nick and Danny and my aunt and uncle and Lynn Keller Wallace.
Not that I’d know how people behave because I’ve never actually been to a funeral. I’ve never been to a wedding, either. Sometimes I wonder if Nick and Danny will bother getting married one day. I asked them a while ago after it was legal when they’d do it but they were in the middle of arguing about who should clean the fridge and Danny said, Don’t hold your breath.
And then I’m lying in bed and I’m thinking maybe I have been to a funeral. Maybe I was at hers and I don’t even know it. And suddenly I want to know this so badly that I almost can’t stand it, that I almost get up and go and knock on their door just to ask – and then I can’t sleep at all for thinking about it and when I hear one of them get up and go into the kitchen I have to get up as well—
But there’s no one in the kitchen so I don’t know what I heard. It’s all dark apart from the clock on the oven, glowing red. I go back down the corridor and I can see the light under their door, hear the murmur of their voices, rising and falling; then Nick’s, getting louder, ‘—sake, Danny, do you have to always—’
I stand outside for a moment, then I slip back into my bedroom, let the door click shut softly.
SIXTEEN
‘Are you still asleep?’
There’s the creak of my bedroom door opening and Danny’s voice, almost a whisper. My curtains are closed and my room is gloomy and warm and comfortable. I know it’s nearly eleven o’clock and the murmur of the television in the living room woke me up a while ago, but it’s Saturday and I’ve got no plans to get up and talk to anybody. I am thinking of maybe staying here all day. I burrow down under the covers, let him wait for a while before I answer. ‘Yes. Go away.’
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