A Flash of Blue

by Maria Farrer

  “And you’re grounded for the rest of the summer,” he shouts after me. “Do you hear me?”

  Of course I hear him, how could I not with him yelling his head off? I don’t bother to reply. How can he ground me for the rest of the summer? He’s not here half the time. I slam my door and throw myself on to the bed. Anger pulses through my body in great waves. Someone had to tell him, didn’t they? I thump the pillow with the unfairness of it all. And in among all this, neither of them has told me anything about Gran. I lie there, alternately seething and sad and sick. Sick of everything.

  Anger turns to remorse and remorse to self-hate. I sit up late into the night, tears dripping off my cheeks as I make a card for Gran. I remember summers in the garden where Mum would unravel lengths of old wallpaper and Liam and I would stand in trays of paint then jump and run and stamp all over it. That was when life was simple; when we were a proper family.

  “GET WELL SOON,” I write across the top.

  Perhaps she doesn’t want to get well. Perhaps she’s had enough of all this too.

  I don’t know what to write inside.

  Please get better. I am so sorry I wasn’t there when you came to pick me up. I will never forgive myself – not ever and I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please come home soon. I miss you. Amber XXXX

  I do some underlining. I underline “so” and “never” twice and “Please” three times. It makes me cry all over again. Then I look at it and I’m angry because it sounds like it’s written by a three-year-old. But it’s too late now so I put it in an envelope and seal it up. I don’t want Mum or Dad to see what I’ve written.

  I listen at my door to make sure neither of them are around, then creep to the bathroom. Brushing my teeth makes me think of the caravan and Tyler. I look at myself in the mirror: my pale face, my hazel eyes. The sun has brought out more freckles than usual.

  I refuse to go down for supper. I lie on my bed, wrap my arms round my pillow and try to think of Gran. “Get better,” I whisper over and over again. My mind keeps drifting from Gran to Tyler: the way he held me in the cemetery, lying together on Liam’s bed. I’m fascinated by him. Knowing he is out there makes me feel less alone. He’s the only person who’s ever really talked to me, straight up, about Liam. I envy Tyler in his caravan. He’s right, we do need to look after each other, because no one else is going to look after us.

  I don’t know when I last ate properly. I pray Gran is still alive. I wonder what on earth I am going to say to Simon – how I’m going to explain. And I wonder how I can contact Tyler and if he was being serious about seeing me again.

  I hope Dad might’ve left for work, but he’s still in the kitchen when I come down. He raises his eyes from his cereal bowl and then lowers them straight away, as if the sight of me makes him feel ill.

  So this is how it’s going to be.

  I pour myself a bowl of cereal. “Any news on Gran this morning?” I ask, terrified of the answer.

  “She’s the same. A little better. They’re moving her to the high-dependency unit later today.”

  I exhale – I must’ve been holding my breath. “Does that mean I can visit her?”

  “She doesn’t want to see you, Amber.”

  I stare at him.

  “Can you blame her?” he continues, keeping his eyes on his newspaper, pretending to read and talk at the same time. “No, the best thing you can do for your grandmother is stay away. We’ve told her you’re all right. ”

  I keep staring at him for a long few seconds. I hate him. I’m not stupid. I get why Gran doesn’t want to see me. I just want the chance to explain so she can understand what happened. I just want the chance to say sorry. I go to the fridge to get milk. There’s none and I look around, finally spotting the empty bottle on the table next to Dad’s bowl. I sigh.

  I spoon dry cereal into my mouth, hoping he’ll notice.

  When Mum comes down, she’s showered and dressed and her hair is clean. Dad smiles and tells her she’s looking nice. She’s looking sober, so that’s something.

  “We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” Dad snaps at me. “You’d better go and get ready.” I stop midway through a mouthful.

  “So I can go and see Gran, then.”

  “No,” he says, slamming his paper down on the table. “I’m going to drop you at work first and then take Mum on to the hospital. I need to make sure you are where you are supposed to be.”

  Mum puts out her hand to Dad and he takes it. “Do you have to work today?” she says to him. “I could do with the support.”

  “Sorry, love. I’d like to stay, you know I would, but these meetings are important.”

  I could come to the hospital, I think. I could support you – if only you’d let me. But I dare not say it out loud.

  “Will you be all right getting home?” he asks Mum.

  She nods. “I’m going to stay at her place. It’s closer to the hospital There are things she’ll need me to collect and she’ll be worried about her plants and the cat being left alone.”

  “Aren’t you back tonight then?” I say to Dad.

  “No. I’m working. And don’t you go getting any ideas. You’re grounded – remember?”

  “Where are you going this time? Surely you can get time off if you tell work what’s going on?”

  Dad narrows his eyes and explains in a clipped voice. “I’m up to Manchester tonight then on to Birmingham tomorrow. I’ll be back on Wednesday. Someone has to keep the food on the table.”

  So Dad’s away and Mum’s more worried about leaving the cat alone than me.

  “As long as the cat is OK,” I say. “I’ll feed myself. Perhaps you could bring back some milk.” I tip the rest of my cereal in the bin.

  Mum sighs and Dad stands up and gives her a hug. “I suppose we can trust you to behave, Amber?” asks Mum. They both look at me.

  “I suppose.”

  “You are not to go out,” adds Dad. “Do you understand? When I say grounded, I mean grounded.”

  “Does that count going to work? I thought you said you were dropping me off.”

  “Don’t start,” says Dad. “We don’t need any of your attitude. Work is work and Cathy’ll let us know straight away if you don’t turn up.”

  “And no one is to come round here either,” says Mum.

  “Like I’d ever invite anyone to this dump,” I mumble. I can’t remember when I last invited friends round. I haven’t dared – I never know what state Mum is going to be in. That’s probably why I don’t have any friends any more.

  “Ten minutes,” says Dad. “I suggest you go and get ready.”

  We struggle through the morning traffic and Dad keeps checking his watch. He doesn’t bother to park when we get near the café, just tells me to get out at the lights.

  “Will you give this to Gran for me?” I hand my card to Mum.

  She takes it as the light goes green and I only just manage to slam the door before Dad drives off.

  “Bye,” I say to the rear of the car as it disappears across the lights and down the street. I spin round on one foot and make my way to work. Now I’ve got to face seeing Simon and explain myself to him. I’m not too worried. He’ll understand. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to hearing his version of events.

  The smell of coffee and baking fills the café and my stomach somersaults with hunger. “I’m certainly glad to see you,” says Cathy. There’s a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  “Sorry about yesterday. My phone got stolen and then Gran…”

  Cathy softens. “I know. Your mum says she’s doing a bit better. Knowing your gran, she’ll be back on her feet in no time.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  Cathy holds her hands in the air so I can see her crossed fingers. I make myself a large mug of coffee and pinch a couple of croissants stuffed with cheese and ba
con.

  “So what’s going on with Simon?” she asks.

  I stop with the croissant halfway to my mouth. I look at my watch.

  “He’s late,” I say. I take a huge mouthful and swallow before adding, “Probably still recovering from his hangover.”

  “So he hasn’t told you then?”

  “What – about the weekend?”

  Cathy carefully folds a dishcloth. “He’s handed in his notice. Well – not notice, exactly. He’s left.”

  I almost choke. “He can’t do that!”

  “Unfortunately he can. He says he needs a break.” She’s still looking at me.

  “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  Cathy shakes her head. “I thought you might know what was going on.” The way she says it makes me think she knows more than she’s owning up to. “He turned up late yesterday, with – as you say – a terrible hangover and in a filthy temper. At the end of the afternoon, he told me he wouldn’t be coming back. I asked him why and he told me to ask you. He left half his stuff here so I thought he wasn’t serious. But he’s rung in this morning to say he’ll be picking up his things before the café opens.” She looks at her watch.

  “And he said to ask me? Why?”

  “That’s what I hoped you’d tell me.” She keeps folding her clean dishcloths into neat squares.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I say. “He’ll change his mind.”

  “Let’s hope so. We don’t need to be losing experienced staff over the summer.”

  My hunger has vanished. I can understand that Simon would be pissed off with me, but I can’t understand why he’d leave the café. It’s good pay and he enjoys it – or that’s what he’s always said. I wonder if it’s something to do with Mum. I don’t have much time to think about it because the door opens, Simon walks in and he stops dead. He’s obviously surprised to see me – and not in a good way. He stands in the doorway, neither in nor out.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asks. “I thought you’d be at the hospital.”

  “I’m not allowed to visit yet.”

  Cathy appears from the kitchen. “Right, you two. I’m giving you twenty minutes. Go away and sort this out. Go on – off you go.”

  She kicks us out the door like a couple of naughty dogs. Simon starts to walk and I follow along behind. Maybe I’m angry with myself, I don’t know, but Simon’s behaviour makes me feel both defensive and aggressive at the same time. Can’t he see he’s just making a bad situation worse?

  “I’m sorry about the party,” I say, gruffly. “I didn’t know if you were coming or not.”

  “I said I’d come, didn’t I? I’m not the kind of person who lets people down at the last minute.”

  He doesn’t bother to add “unlike some” and I roll my eyes. First point to Simon.

  “My phone got stolen, I couldn’t call you.”

  “So I hear.” He manages to sound one hundred per cent unconvinced.

  I spread my hands. I’m telling the truth. It’s not my fault if he chooses not to believe me.

  “So where were you?” he asks. “I was worried.”

  “Not worried enough to stop you having a good party, from what I’ve heard.” I know I’m dealing with this all wrong, but I can’t stop myself.

  He pulls me to a halt. “I waited. I thought you’d come back. You weren’t answering your mobile, I tried you at home. OK, so maybe your phone had been nicked, but where were you?”

  “I stayed the night with a friend.”

  “A friend? What friend? I thought you didn’t know anyone. You were supposed to be staying with Kelly.”

  I look at the ground.

  “So who was it?”

  “Someone I used to know.”

  “Oh, come on, Amber. Who were you with?”

  “Tyler.”

  “Tyler Dawson?”

  “What’s wrong with that? He turned up a couple of hours into the party. He said the police would come and shut it down and we needed to leave if we wanted to stay out of trouble. I couldn’t call you or Gran, so I went back to his place. What else could I do?”

  “I didn’t see any police.”

  I shrug. “By the way, thanks for telling Mum and Dad I was at Kelly’s.”

  Simon shakes his head and sits down with his back against a wall. I stay standing. “I had to,” he says. “What else could I do? Your gran was in hospital. No one knew where to find you.”

  He tips his head back and closes his eyes. We get a couple of funny glances from passers-by. We must look odd, the two of us there together, not speaking.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I messed up, I know that. You’re not really going to leave the café, are you?”

  He opens his eyes again. “I already have.”

  “Just because of Saturday night?”

  “No – not just because of Saturday.”

  I wait, arms crossed.

  “So here’s the thing.” Simon clears his throat. “I like you a lot. More than a lot. I know we’ve been friends for ages, but I thought … I mean, I know it’s hard to move from that into any kind of relationship… It’s just, I can’t… Anyway, I think it’s time for me to move on.” He lapses into silence.

  My imagination fills in the gaps. I guess I’ve known for a while and now I feel guilty. I want him as a friend, he wants something more. Maybe I’ve even encouraged him, but the simple fact is that I like him, but I don’t fancy him.

  “I thought maybe you needed time after Liam died,” he says, “I didn’t want to push anything. And then when you went off with someone – with Tyler – at the party, I guess that proved that I’d been waiting for nothing. I can’t watch you being with someone else. I can’t help how I feel about you. I wish it could be different, but there we go.”

  “Nothing happened between Tyler and me – you’ve got that wrong.” I feel myself blushing even as I say it.

  He looks at me, smiles and shakes his head. “I’m not stupid.”

  “So you’re chucking in your job at the café because of a bad guess about what happened on Saturday night? That sounds stupid to me.”

  “I’m chucking in my job because I don’t want to see you for a while. It’s too hard. I’ll get over it, but I need to give myself a break.”

  “But we can’t not see each other.”

  He looks up at me and the hopelessness on his face says it all.

  “And we need you at the café.”

  He shakes his head, sadly as if I just don’t get it. But I do get it. I hate that I’ve made him so unhappy. But what am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault he wants something different to me. I can’t pretend I fancy him. Why can’t we carry on like before? He’s my best friend – was my best friend.

  He heaves himself back on to his feet. “Please don’t call me,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Just leave me alone. For a while. Please.” He lifts his hand in a kind of farewell and turns away.

  “What about your things at the café?”

  “I’ll get them another time.”

  “Simon!”

  He walks, shoulders up, tense… Simon – my best friend. My only friend.

  I kick a bollard, kick it again and again and again.

  “That’s enough of that, young lady,” says an elderly man as he passes me.

  “Piss off,” I say. He has the sense not to respond. Just shakes his head and walks on. He reminds me of my granddad. I hate myself even more and I walk back to the café alone.

  “No luck?” says Cathy.

  I burst into tears and she gives me a hug. That makes me cry even more. I’m glad there aren’t any customers yet.

  “Do you want to go home?” she says. “Have the day off?”

  “No,” I sniff. “I’d rather be busy and anyway, you c
an’t manage by yourself.”

  “OK. Good. Let’s get on with it then.” She smiles and she doesn’t ask any questions.

  I struggle my way through the day. At the end of the afternoon, the phone rings and Cathy answers. I see her nod and hear her say, “Hang on, I’ll just get her.”

  I experience a bubble of expectation. “Simon?” I mouth at her.

  She turns her mouth down. “Your mum.” She hands me the phone.

  Mum sounds sensible and sober, but I can hear the strain in her voice as she tells me there are complications. They’re having trouble keeping Gran stable. She’s back in intensive care – Mum will be staying at the hospital and she’ll update me in the morning. And NO, I definitely can’t visit.

  “But—”

  “Not now, Amber, I’ve got to go.”

  The phone goes dead and I replace it slowly. I want to know if Gran has seen my card. I need to be sure she understands how sorry I am. She can’t die without me saying sorry. She can’t die full stop.

  I polish the wooden tables, pressing the cloth hard into the surfaces and pushing it backwards and forwards, round and round. Next, I give the glass of the serving counter a good clean. I double-check for smears. I want to have it just as Gran would like it. Sparkling. I tell myself that if I don’t leave any smears, then Gran will live. I check it about ten times. We’re late closing because we have to cover all Simon’s jobs too.

  “He’ll be back,” says Cathy as we scrub down the kitchen.

  “Not while I’m around, he won’t,” I say.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You can’t blame yourself for everything.”

  Cathy’s wrong. I can blame myself. I do.

  By the time we leave, the sun of this morning has changed to drizzle and I chuck on a sweatshirt. Cathy locks up and I say goodbye, her setting off in one direction and me in the other. I don’t hurry; all I’ve got waiting for me is an empty house.

  Instinctively I reach for my phone – and then remember I haven’t got one. I walk along in a miserable daze until I almost bump into someone and am forced to stop.