I want to call down and ask what’s happened, but my voice isn’t there. I can feel the heat of my breath in my throat, but I can’t make any sound. I hear the rustle of their police jackets, but their shoes don’t make any noise as they walk you into the living room. Your hand is across your face and I know it’s bad and I don’t know what to do.
It’s funny how the really, really good stuff and the really bad stuff feel like a film, you know? When your mind plays it back and you try to see, it feels like you’re watching a screen, only the actors are you and the people you know, and the film just keeps on going.
I remember hearing people talking, at the funeral, I don’t know who it was, I just remember them saying, ‘They had to cut her out.’ The car was so smashed up they had to cut away the metal to get to her. Weird as it sounds, I pictured those little trees, you know, the really small ones they have in Japan and people look after them with little scissors and delicately snip and cut, trimming the leaves.
Imagine if that was your job? To cut people out of cars.
They said she died instantly, that when she swerved and the bus hit her, there wouldn’t even have been time to think, but I don’t believe that.
The brain is fast. Mom always said that. She said somebody could think a hundred things in a second if they had to.
You remember me asking you that? What she thought, in that last second?
You said she thought about me. You sat on my bed and you said that she thought about me and that she smiled. And I cried till I couldn’t breathe.
— Am. Am. Ameeeliaaaaaaaah!
The voice lifts Ameliah’s eyelids. She feels her head heavy on her pillow. Her legs curl up towards her chest underneath the duvet, trying to climb back into sleep.
— Wakey-wakey.
Ameliah smiles as she recognises Heather’s voice and feels the weight of her best friend on the end of the bed. She pulls the duvet over her shoulders up to her ears.
— What time is it?
— It’s nearly half nine. What were you dreaming about, was it that boy?
— What? What boy?
— From the park. The other day, he was nice, so what happened?
Ameliah feels her eyes starting to focus.
— What happened when?
— In your dream, was he naked?
Ameliah laughs.
— Shut up, Heather. I didn’t dream anything.
Heather stands up and peels off her thin sky blue hoody. Her dark straight hair is tied up in a ponytail.
— OK, whatever you say. I saw you look at him though. You know, you’re allowed to dream. Last night I dreamed that me and Ricky Moran were in this big swimming pool full of this weird pink water, bit like a lava lamp, both of us completely naked, you know he had a massive—
— OK, I get it. Did Nan let you in?
— Yeah, with that man.
Ameliah looks at Heather.
— What man?
Heather pouts into the wardrobe mirror, feeling her cheek with her fingertips.
— The man downstairs.
Ameliah sits up.
— What man downstairs, Heather?
— I don’t know, he’s a man. He’s pretty handsome actually. For an older guy, I mean.
— Is it Richard?
Ameliah leans forward. Heather turns to her.
— Who’s Richard?
— Heather, did he say his name was Richard?
— I don’t know. I didn’t really speak to him. I got here and he was standing on the step, about to knock on the door.
— What did he look like?
Ameliah watches Heather think.
— He didn’t look like a Richard.
— What does that even mean?
— It means he didn’t look like a Richard. Richard is, I don’t know, it’s not right, he looked more like a Jack or a Jake or a Carlos.
— Carlos?
— I dunno. Something strong. And moody. What do you care anyway?
Ameliah leans against the wall behind her pillows.
— I don’t. It probably is Richard. I think he’s trying to get with my nan.
Heather looks surprised.
— I don’t think so, I mean no disrespect to your nan, but this guy is a lot younger than her.
Heather sits down on the bed. Ameliah moves her legs across to give her more room. Heather smiles cheekily.
— Why don’t we go down and check him out? Sweat him out a bit?
— Sweat him out?
— Yeah, you know, ask him some personal questions, watch him squirm. It’ll be fun.
Ameliah smiles at her.
— You’re such a bitch.
Heather shrugs.
— I’m just saying. Between us we could probably suss him out. I mean if he’s after your nan and he’s that much younger than her, there must be something dodgy about him, no?
Ameliah pictures Nan, hypnotised into a trance. Her eyes are glazed as she hands a cheque over to a greasy younger man in a dark green suit, smiling a smile with too many teeth.
She kicks Heather from under the duvet.
— Let’s do it.
Ryan squeezed a thick line of brown sauce on to his scrambled eggs. He reached the edge and doubled back, making a ‘V’. He thought about writing SOS. A burnt brown call for help on an eggy beach. Across the table from him Sophia shook her head.
— Have you seen what that stuff does to an old 2p coin?
To his right Nathan rolled his eyes as he cut into a thick sausage. To his left Dad sipped his tea, his elbows on the table, holding his mug in both hands. Ryan looked back at Sophia. He wondered how old he would say she was if he didn’t already know.
It struck him that she looked a little bit like Maid Marian from the Robin Hood film with Kevin Costner. He didn’t know the actress’s name.
— Does that not bother you, Ryan?
She opened both hands as she asked. Ryan thought about the Sheriff of Nottingham and looked at Nathan.
— Robin Hood.
Everyone looked at him, confused.
— I mean not really. If it cleans a 2p, then maybe it’s cleaning my stomach.
Nathan went back to his sausage.
— Weirdo.
Ryan imagined jumping across the table, pinning Nathan down and pushing the rest of the sausage into his mouth.
Dad put down his mug.
— Now look, boys. This is what we’ve been talking about. Every time we sit down this happens. The other night was totally spoiled by you behaving like little children.
Nathan looked at Sophia then at Dad.
— He started it. He’s a weirdo.
— Stop it, Nathan.
Sophia leaned forward and pointed a finger at him. She reached for Dad’s hand and their fingers locked together. As they looked at each other, Ryan knew something was coming.
— Sophia—
Dad interrupted himself.
— We think that all of us need a little help to get along.
Ryan looked at Nathan. Nathan stared back. They both looked at Dad and Sophia.
— We had a talk and we’ve decided that what would be great for us all would be some time together. Out of the house.
Ryan felt his stomach drop. He looked at Nathan and for the first time ever he got the impression that they were both thinking exactly the same thing. As Dad’s mouth opened to carry on, he imagined freezing time. Dad and Sophia suspended in motion, their faces fixed solid as he and Nathan stood up and walked out before they could deliver what was obviously going to be rubbish news.
— So we’ve looked around and booked us a trip.
Nathan frowned.
— What kind of trip? Where to?
Dad looked at Sophia. Sophia smiled, her voice excited.
— It’s called Haven Holidays. They’re apartment-style caravans right next to the sea, in Devon. Five days.
Ryan tried not to pull a face. He felt all the muscles in his neck tighten, straining t
o keep looking neutral. Nathan didn’t make the same effort.
— What? No. I’m not going. Five days? Just the four of us? In some stupid caravan? No way!
Ryan agreed completely, but bit his tongue.
Dad shrugged his shoulders.
— Well, we thought you might not be keen, Nathan, so we had a back-up plan.
Ryan looked at Dad. Nathan looked at Sophia.
— Yeah? And what’s that?
Dad smiled.
— To force you.
The pleasure in his voice was clear. Ryan watched Dad squeeze Sophia’s hand and, even though he wasn’t happy about the idea of the trip at all, he felt good for Dad getting his moment.
Nathan turned to Sophia in protest.
— Mom! You cannot be serious. Tell him he can’t force me to do anything.
Sophia pursed her lips.
— I’m sorry, Nathan. We talked all about it. We think it’ll be good for us. We just need you to make the effort. OK?
She looked at Ryan. Ryan felt his shoulders slump. Dad reached out and laid his hand on Ryan’s arm.
— OK, mate?
Ryan felt his face wrinkling up as the words left his mouth.
— When?
Dad glanced at Sophia then looked at Ryan and Nathan.
— Tomorrow.
— This is bullshit!
Nathan threw down his fork and stood up. Sophia looked shocked.
— Nathan! You watch your mouth! Sit down!
— No. And if you think I’m gonna get in the car and drive with you to some stupid caravan, you must be crazy. Wait till I tell Dad!
He stormed out of the room, stomping up the stairs.
Ryan stared at his scrambled eggs. The brown sauce had soaked into the fluffy yellow.
Sophia sighed heavily.
— I told you. Didn’t I?
Dad shook his head.
— Don’t worry. He’ll come round. He’ll have to. Besides, Ryan’ll help convince him, won’t you, Ryan?
Ryan looked at Dad and wondered if he even remembered ever being thirteen.
Ameliah feels her fingers tingle as she stares at the man sitting next to Nan on the sofa. His stubbled chin and bird’s-nest hair. He sits upright like someone who either takes care of their body or is on edge. His T-shirt is different, a royal blue now, but he’s the man from the escalator in town. She still can’t place him, but her gut tells her something is wrong. She feels Heather’s arm brush hers as they both stand in front of the sofa like they’re about to perform a dance routine. She looks at Nan, smiling too much, like a nurse about to give an injection.
— Where’s Richard?
Her voice cuts out of her mouth, stabbing the air between them. Nan frowns.
— Excuse me?
— Richard. Where is he?
Ameliah can feel the man looking at her. Something about him is tense. Nan touches her hair, embarrassed.
— What has Richard got to do with anything? What do you know about Richard?
— I know this isn’t him.
Ameliah feels powerful in her standing position. Nan shifts in her seat.
— I think you should remember your manners, young lady. This is Joe. He’s an old friend of your dad’s.
Ameliah feels the wind knocked out of her sails at the mention of Dad. She racks her brains trying to place the man in her memory. Who is he? Where has she seen him before? She can feel Heather shifting her weight between her feet, uncomfortable in the situation.
The man stands up. He’s at least six feet tall, not big, but strong-looking. Like he could be quick if he wanted to be. His face is awkward, like he’s trying really hard.
— Pleased to meet you, Ameliah.
Ameliah notices Nan’s nervous face, waiting for her response. She stares at the man. His voice is deep but clear and holds the slight twang of an American accent. She gets a flash of the voice, shouting maybe, a long time ago.
Her eyes narrow, her stomach tight.
— Shake the man’s hand, Ameliah. I’m sorry, Joe, I don’t know what’s wrong with her.
Joe turns to Nan. Ameliah thrusts her hand forward while he’s not looking, shaking his hand quickly. His palm is dry next to hers and his grip feels deceptive, like he’s holding back.
He looks at Ameliah and she pulls her hand from his, dropping it to her side, looking him up and down. She can feel Nan’s eyes on her. Joe lowers his hand.
— You look like your mom.
Ameliah squirms inside her baggy T-shirt. She looks at his hands and notices he doesn’t have a wedding ring. She feels Heather tugging on her pyjama bottoms. Joe forces a smile.
— How old are you now?
She is sure she knows his voice. Nan stands up. Ameliah chews her lip.
— She’s thirteen going on thirty-three. I’ll make tea. Would you like breakfast, Joe?
Joe turns to Nan.
— I would love to, Patricia, but I can’t stop, I have work to do. I just wanted to drop by and leave you my contact details.
Ameliah watches Nan smile back at him and exaggerate a nod.
— Well, thanks very much for coming and feel free to pop in any time.
She glances at Ameliah.
— We’re usually a lot more hospitable. Where did you say you were staying again?
— I just moved into a flat nearer town. I haven’t even unpacked. It’s a real mess.
Nan looks at Ameliah and Heather.
— Joe works at the university. He recently moved back from the States. He’s, what did you say you did again sorry? My mind’s like a sieve.
Ameliah watches Joe’s mouth as he fakes a polite laugh.
— That’s OK. It’s a bit techy. I’m doing a research project, I just got my funding through. It’s physics, sort of.
— So you’re a professor then?
Ameliah cuts in and stares at Joe. Nan looks nervous. Joe stares back at Ameliah.
— Yes. I am.
— My dad was a professor. Is that how you knew him?
She watches Joe’s throat as he swallows.
— Yes, I know he was, a good one too, and no, that’s not how I knew him. I knew him before then.
— When?
Ameliah holds his stare. Joe eyes are serious, like he’s weighing her up. Nan cuts in.
— Let me show you out, Joe. It was lovely to meet you.
She gestures towards the door. Ameliah grabs Heather’s hand as Nan leads him out. Just as he steps out of the room, Joe looks back, straight at her. Ameliah stares back. Then he’s gone.
— What the hell are you doing?
Heather struggles to whisper, slapping Ameliah’s shoulder with the back of her hand.
— That was so rude!
Ameliah stares at the living-room door, hearing Nan thank Joe again and close the front door. She adjusts her feet, planting herself as Nan’s footsteps head back.
— What on earth was that, young lady?
Nan rests her hand on her hip.
— Why the attitude?
Heather looks down nervously.
— Hello, Heather. How are you?
— I’m fine, thank you, Patricia.
— Well? I’m waiting, Ameliah.
Ameliah shrugs.
— Who is he?
Nan rolls her eyes.
— His name is Joe and he’s an old friend of your father’s.
— Really? Says who? Him?
— I’ve got no idea why you behaved like that, but if it was up to me, you’d be running down the street right now to give him an apology. He’s perfectly nice. Look, he gave me his address and his number, in case we need it.
She holds up a folded piece of torn white paper. Ameliah can see the edge of letters in black ink. She blows air out of her mouth.
— Need it for what? What about Richard?
— What the hell has Richard got to do with this?
— I don’t know, you tell me.
Nan’s eyes close as she sighs
.
— I can’t deal with you when you’re like this. I’m sorry, Heather, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m going for a lie-down. There’s food in the fridge. Make sure to leave me a note if you go out.
Heather nods politely as Nan walks out of the room and starts upstairs. Ameliah bites her teeth together.
— Can you believe her?
Heather turns to her.
— You were a bit harsh, Am.
Ameliah frowns.
Heather shrugs.
— I told you though, didn’t I? He definitely didn’t look like a Richard.
Ryan moved over to the window and stared down into the narrow back garden. Nathan sat at the top end, his head down, scratching a line into the ground with a broken stick. A battered white leather football sat next to him on the thin grass.
Ryan glanced right then left. The back gardens of all the houses in the street were like stamped copies of each other with their small rectangle of slabs at the bottom near the house and then patchy grass up to the back fence. He imagined that from above they’d look like the spines of books on a shelf.
At the top of the garden, beyond the fence, the gardens of the next street reached up to the backs of those houses. A mirror image of this side.
Ryan watched Nathan. He could tell he was still fuming. It looked like his mouth was moving as he dragged the stick back and forth and Ryan imagined him mumbling swear words like Muttley from Wacky Races.
He remembered Dad’s and Sophia’s faces when they talked about the holiday. The way they’d continuously glanced at each other nervously as they spoke. He knew they were both finding it hard and Ryan felt himself torn between feeling sorry for them, and also pleased that it wasn’t working out.
He thought about Mom. How this had been her house, her choices. How, if he was to get a forensic team to dust for prints, Mom’s finger tips would be all over the place. Her footprints in the carpet. Tiny signature spirals on the light switches and the forks. She walked differently to Sophia. When he lay in bed and heard feet coming up the stairs, Sophia’s steps were different. Lighter somehow. Like she wasn’t sure.
Tape Page 8