‘What’s going on?’ I say, the door closing behind me.
‘Hi, love,’ says Gerry from the sofa. Gerry has always liked me. Nick, he’s not so sure about. And he always seems confused by Danny, as if he likes him but he can’t quite work out why their lives are connected.
‘Gerry and Marie are here,’ says Danny, pointlessly.
‘Hi!’ I say, trying to act surprised.
‘You’re just in time for a cup of tea,’ says Marie. ‘Have you had a good day at your school?’
‘Are you here for dinner?’ I say.
‘No,’ says Marie. ‘We’re going to the theatre. And since we had to come in to London we thought we’d call in on you. See how you’re getting on.’ She looks at Nick. ‘Not very well, by the sound of things.’
‘Yes, we’re a bit of a disappointment,’ says Danny. Nick just looks like he wants to die.
‘I’m going to get changed,’ I say, edging round the wall towards my room. ‘No sugar in my tea, please.’
From my room, I hear Marie speak in what she probably thinks is a low voice. ‘This is about Alena, after all. Hasn’t she had enough instability in her life?’
I don’t know what this is supposed to mean and clearly Danny doesn’t either. ‘Excuse me,’ he says. ‘She’s had almost no instability in her life whatsoever.’
‘Well, she lost her mother.’
‘Well, so did I.’
‘And if you don’t mind me saying, Daniel, I think it probably affected you rather more seriously than you’ve allowed yourself to admit.’
‘Mum, for god’s sake,’ says Nick.
‘I do mind you saying,’ says Danny.
I turn my radio on, loud, while I change into my jeans, and an old grey t-shirt that says NYC Superstars 1988 on it that I got for £1 at a car-boot sale. Sometimes Marie buys me clothes for Christmas. She always gets it wrong, but I don’t know. It’s nice anyway.
‘—if it was about money then you should have just—’ she is saying when I come back out. They all fall silent and look at me. The lift rumbles in the centre of the building, going up or down I can’t tell.
Gerry clears his throat. ‘How about all this East End Bomber business, then, eh?’ he says, which is obviously his idea of a good subject change.
‘Dad,’ says Nick. ‘Please.’
‘Isn’t it terrible?’ says Marie. ‘Just terrible.’
‘Whole world gone mad,’ says Gerry.
‘Do they think he’s a white supremacist, then, or something else?’ Marie looks at Danny like he might be an authority on the matter.
‘I think they haven’t ruled anything out,’ Danny says, but in the voice he uses when he’s really, really pissed off about something.
‘Such a tragedy,’ says Marie.
‘I’ll be glad when all this is over,’ says Gerry. It’s not really obvious what he means, but I totally agree.
TWENTY-SIX
I think maybe Nick will stay when his parents finally leave to go to the theatre, but he doesn’t. He says that he has to go back to work, and Danny just nods. ‘I’ll call you later,’ Nick says to him, which is good, I guess, except for that it means he’s obviously not coming back here tonight. ‘And I’m sorry about that. I didn’t even know they were coming into the city. So. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ says Danny. ‘It’s always a pleasure.’
I’m sitting on the arm of the sofa, and Nick leans over to hug me before he leaves. He kisses the top of my head and says, ‘I’ll see you very soon.’ I feel like crying.
Even though it’s only April, for some reason I start fixating on Christmas – like what if Nick is gone by then, so we don’t visit Gerry and Marie either, so it’s just me and Danny alone in the flat opening presents from each other. Plus the present I always get from Niamh and Drew which is always uncomfortable since Danny never gets anything, not even a card.
I spend the next evening at the coffee shop, and the one after that, and Nick keeps telling me to go home but actually I think he’s pleased that I’m there. And I turn off my phone so Danny has to phone him to ask where I am. ‘She’s doing her homework,’ Nick says. ‘She’s fine. I’ll walk her home.’ And I think, Now it’s been two days, now it’s been three days. On Saturday, Nick said to me, a couple of days.
‘It’s Wednesday,’ I say to him, when he comes to sit opposite me near closing time and turns my physics homework round to look at it.
‘Yes,’ says Nick. ‘It’s Wednesday. What’s this supposed to be?’
‘It’s a bat,’ I say. ‘I’m drawing the way a bat knows where things are. From listening to echoes. Because it’s blind. It’s a drawing of a bat.’
‘It’s very good.’
‘Are you going to stay at Adam’s again tonight?’
He looks at the picture for a few more moments, and then turns it back to me. ‘Yes.’
So this means he will walk me home but not come inside and I will go inside on my own, and Danny will be doing work at the kitchen counter and he’ll try and be really nice but it will be totally fake and I’ll snap at him and then he’ll snap at me and then he’ll look guilty and then I’ll go to my room and go to bed and the light will be on in the kitchen until really late.
‘Do you have enough socks, and everything?’ I say. Because as far as I know he didn’t pack a suitcase when he left and Nick is not somebody who would ever wear the same socks two days in a row.
He looks at me for a while. ‘I’ll be home in a few days,’ he says.
Nick doesn’t lie to me. I make myself think this, deliberately: Nick does not lie. Nick does not lie. Apart from the thing about Colombia, which was more of an omission.
I keep accidentally reading about the person who was killed. His name was Eduardo Capello, which is a really beautiful name to say out loud. All the papers print the same picture of him, holding his new baby daughter and looking like the happiest person you’ve ever seen. He’s lovely in the picture, all soft brown eyes and huge smile. And he kept exotic fish, it said in an article I read; he was an exotic fish enthusiast and he had an aquarium in his living room.
I wish that I didn’t know this.
I hope that somebody will look after his fish now that he’s dead.
Nobody looks after the things my mother loved. I’ve been thinking about that recently. They are all locked up in storage, in the dark, all the things she ever cared about or bought for herself as a treat or presents that she saved, and nobody touches them or looks at them. All those things that are pieces of her. There are probably toys from when I was little, stuff we played with together. Pieces of us.
Wednesday is feminist book club night at the coffee shop: they have pushed two tables together in the corner, and they’re sitting around them with copies of the book. They’re reading The Bell Jar, which I read a couple of years ago even though my English teacher at the time said that I was too young, and actually wrote a letter to Nick and Danny telling them that I was too young. And they were both really cross about it and massively overreacted and spent ages writing this letter back about how you can’t protect children from everything and reading was a powerful and liberating act and they wanted me to read whatever I wanted, and then they were really pleased with themselves for ages, and brought me a whole bunch of Sylvia Plath poetry for my thirteenth birthday, which I read sometimes although it’s really intense and honestly I think my English teacher might have had a point, but still.
I think this is a good story. This is one of the stories I would tell you if you asked me to tell a story about my family.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Then, the next night, Thursday evening, Danny comes to get me. He comes straight from work but even so it’s nearly nine o’clock. I don’t see him come in. I am sitting at a table opposite Mike, who came in for his evening espresso and sat down to talk to me, and Danny suddenly looms up next to us, his laptop bag over his shoulder and his tie halfway undone and looking ill, like he has the worst case
of the flu, or something. He says, ‘Hey,’ and makes both of us jump so that Mike spills his coffee and swears, softly.
‘What are you doing here?’ I say. Nick is behind the counter and the shop is busy. When I twist round to look for him I see him giving someone their change and staring in our direction.
‘Since when do I need a reason?’ says Danny. ‘I’m just coming home. I thought you’d be here. Thought I’d come and pick you up. Save Nick walking you back.’
‘I’m not going home, yet,’ I say. ‘I’m doing homework.’ My copy of Hamlet is on the table, face down and open in the middle. ‘I’m doing Hamlet.’
‘Danny, sit down,’ says Mike. ‘Long time no see. Get a coffee. I keep meaning to call you.’ He nods in my direction. ‘This one’s doing homework. She’s got some interesting things to say about Hamlet.’
Danny looks at Mike briefly, then back at me. He is very deliberately not looking at Nick, who has a queue of five people but is still watching us.
‘I’m not staying,’ says Danny. ‘Just stopped to get my sister. This is late to be out, Lena.’
‘This is late to be coming home from work,’ I say.
Mike clears his throat. ‘Come on. Danny, sit down for ten minutes. Have a chamomile tea, for god’s sake.’
‘I’m here to get my sister,’ he says again.
‘And what’s the rush? She’s right here.’
I tuck myself back into the corner of the booth and make my bag into a barrier between me and him. I pick up Hamlet, look at the front cover. At the end of the school year we’re supposed to go and see a production of it.
‘Really, Danny,’ Mike is saying. ‘Daniel. Sit down. Let her finish her milkshake. Sit down. Relax, a bit.’
It’s weird people telling Danny what to do but Mike is about a hundred years older than him so I guess he’s allowed to. Danny’s shoulders sag. He puts his bag down and then, as he does, he leans over to pick up my coat which was on the seat next to me but has fallen on the floor. Straightening up, he brushes it down with his hand and folds it, puts it back on the seat.
‘All right,’ he says. ‘Ten minutes.’ But before he sits down, Nick comes towards us. Zahra has taken over at the till.
‘Hi,’ says Nick, walking over, sticking his hands in his pockets, fake casual. ‘How are we all doing over here?’
Danny turns to him, folds his arms. ‘We’re fine. How are you?’
‘Good. That new Ethiopian coffee is going great.’
‘Yeah. Seems like you’re busy.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I’m doing Hamlet,’ I say, faintly.
‘Are you here to pick up Lena or do you want a coffee or something?’ says Nick.
‘I’m here to pick up Lena.’
‘I was going to walk her home in half an hour.’
‘Well, I’ve saved you the trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble.’
‘No,’ says Danny. ‘But it’s not your responsibility, is it?’
Nick’s face goes very, very hard. ‘Is it your responsibility? Because if it is and you’re not finishing work until nine o’clock then it doesn’t seem like you’ve exactly—’
‘Exactly what?’
‘—exactly got your priorities—’
‘Unless I’m wrong, you’re still at work, Nick. Whereas I am done and I’m taking Lena home.’
‘She’s fine where she is.’
‘Except of course you’re allowed to work seventy hours a week because your job is good and fun and morally superior and more important than anyone else’s.’
‘Fellas,’ says Mike. ‘Comrades. Get a room. Neither of us want to be involved in your inter-marital problems. I’ve got enough of my own.’
Danny and Nick glare at each other for a few more moments. They are actually a lot alike when they’re pissed off about something. The rest of the time they’re different but when they’re angry with each other, they both get exactly the same. All snippy and sarcastic and defensive.
Maybe I get the same way too. Maybe we are all the same.
‘Alena, what do you want to do?’ says Danny, in a clipped voice.
‘I want—’ My voice comes out croaky so I stop and clear my throat. ‘I want to stay here. I’ll walk home with Nick.’
Nick is a nice person so he doesn’t look smug.
But Danny looks totally betrayed and I think, for a moment, He came here specially, but then I shut that thought down. I look down at my book, flick the edge of it with my thumb.
‘OK.’ Danny picks up his bag again. ‘OK, whatever. Yeah. Fine.’
‘Half an hour,’ says Nick.
‘Fine.’
‘I’ll come up for a coffee, maybe,’ says Nick. ‘We can—’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ says Danny, which means no. I don’t know why he gets to decide since it’s Nick’s flat as much as his, but Nick just says, ‘Yeah, or maybe not tonight.’
‘Is everything OK at home?’ says Mike after Danny leaves and Nick goes back to the counter. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nick’s not at home,’ I say. ‘He’s staying with his brother for a while.’
Mike looks at me, all serious and kind. ‘Oh.’
‘It’s like sleeping in the guestroom but we don’t have a guestroom.’
He nods, looks at me for a while longer. ‘Lena,’ he says. ‘You ever want to stop by the office, come and say hi, you know you’re welcome. Come and have a Sprite one afternoon. I’m there all hours. Just ask my wife.’
I try to smile but my mouth is stiff and stuck in a straight line. ‘OK. Thank you.’
‘And your friend, too, with the violin. You’re always welcome. Any time you want to see inside the glamorous world of local news.’
The Hackney Standard office is above an electrical shop on Grove Road. You wouldn’t know it was there except for a tiny sign above the buzzer. It’s cramped and it’s a mess, hence why Danny always used to work from home or the coffee shop. Why Mike sometimes works from the coffee shop, too.
I nod my head, mute.
‘Look, now,’ he says, lowering his voice. ‘I can’t say I understand these things, but I’m sure it’ll all work out fine. They’re grown-ups. They’ll work it all out. Those two can’t be away from each other for five minutes.’
Obviously not true, I think, but I nod again. I finish my milkshake as slowly as possible.
Nick walks me home but we are mostly silent. When we get back to the flat I see him reach for his keys and then stop himself, so I have to get mine out instead.
He waits for the lift with me. ‘Listen, Lena. Maybe you should just go home after school tomorrow,’ he says. ‘You’ve been at the shop every night. Danny’s missing you.’
‘How would you know?’ I say. It comes out meaner than I intend it to but Nick is unfazed.
‘Because I know,’ he says.
The lift door pings and opens. I ignore it. ‘You’ve been away for a week now,’ I say. ‘Almost a whole week.’
The door realises nobody’s getting in and closes.
‘I know.’ Nick presses the button so that it opens again. He squeezes my shoulder. ‘I’ll see you soon, OK?’
I step inside the lift.
No, I think. Not OK.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mike has written the article that’s on the front page of the Hackney Standard website on Friday morning. I’m supposed to be finishing an essay for history but instead I’m reading the news while I eat a bowl of cornflakes, my laptop balanced on a stack of newspapers on the kitchen counter. Danny has had three cups of coffee already and can’t find any clean shirts because he’s only just realised that it’s Nick who always does the laundry.
I used to be excited when Danny’s articles were on the front page of the Standard. I used to tell my teachers like it was something really impressive, like it was something I’d done myself. I’d secretly tear out the articles and bring them to school. Half his articles used to be about stabbings and murders and fire
s and I’d get sent home with letters, We do not think ‘Gang warfare claims another victim’ was an appropriate piece for show-and-tell, and Danny would have to call the school and apologise. I never even thought about what the articles said. I just liked seeing his name printed out, Daniel Kennedy, since I was Kennedy as well.
Maybe all those stabbings and murders and fires were part of why he stopped working for Mike.
But there’s no murder on the front page today.
Residents of Hackney are responding to Jacob Carlisle’s ‘strong leadership’, a Hackney Standard poll has suggested. Asked about the top five candidates in the race for the mayoral election – including Mr Carlisle, who has stormed ahead from seventh place into third in an unprecedented popularity surge – and their responses to the actions of the ‘East End Bomber’, 62% of respondents stated that current mayor Christopher Buckley’s response had been ‘hesitant’ and ‘indecisive’. A majority of respondents – 68% – said that they were ‘very convinced’ that Jacob Carlisle’s proposed policing reforms and his ‘strategy for safety’ would reduce the threat of violent crime and terrorism in the city. See full poll results below.
In a television interview yesterday morning, Mr Carlisle announced that he had spoken to the widow of Eduardo Capello, the Italian tourist who was fatally injured in the explosion in March. He appeared emotional as he spoke of Lucia Capello’s grief, and, for the first time in public, recalled the sudden loss of his own wife in a car accident seven years ago. ‘The shock is devastating,’ he said. ‘You feel numb. You feel disconnected from the world around you. You feel as though you are trapped in a nightmare.’ He continued: ‘If there is anything we can do, anything at all, to protect other people from these kinds of tragedies, we must do it. I am as devastated by this as we all are.’
‘If Jacob Carlisle wins,’ I say when Danny comes into the room, buttoning a creased shirt, ‘does that mean you’ll carry on working for him?’
‘It’s too early to think about that.’
‘Not really. The election’s in a few weeks, right?’
‘Right.’
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