Thea: A Vampire Story

by Steven Jenkins

  But only for a moment.

  I stare at the black screen of the TV, trying to build up the courage to go to bed. I’m not sleeping on the couch again. I take a few breaths and finally get up. Normally I’d stumble a little from a bottle and a half of red wine. Those days have long gone. Flicking off the light switch, I leave the room, heading for the stairs. In my head, I hear the back door open, and Ivy coming home, staggering across the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Too wasted even to tiptoe. I feel a lump in my throat, cutting through the numbness. I’d give anything to see her face again. Stoned or not.

  I shake it off and return to a state of detachment. No good will come of this torture. I climb the stairs and reach the landing. The first door I pass is the bathroom. Even that whisks me back to that fateful night, watching Thea as she pleaded for her sister to watch a film with her.

  What if she’d said yes? Would she still be alive today?

  Stop it, Sarah. You’re doing it again.

  I whiz past Ivy’s door, almost holding my breath, and head for Thea’s bedroom. Her door is ajar, a blue glow seeping out from its edges. I open it to find the TV on and the sound muted. She’s sleeping. I pray her dreams don’t torment her like mine do. Let her dream of a future—a happy one—even if it’s without her sister. I can’t see one, though. All I see is a long, dark country road that leads to nowhere.

  I pick up Thea’s remote and switch the TV off. Her head and arm are dangling out of her bed. I carefully push them back in and readjust her quilt. She looks peaceful, almost content. Maybe sleep is an escape for her. It makes me smile—but only inside. My lips have forgotten how. I stroke her soft hair. For a moment it reminds me of Ivy’s.

  But only for a moment.

  I kiss her on the forehead, whisper that I love her, and then start to leave.

  “Ivy?” I hear Thea say, croakily.

  “No, sweetheart,” I whisper, walking back over to her bedside, “it’s Mum.”

  “I thought you were Ivy,” she whispers, staring at me through bloodshot eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just turning the TV off.”

  “I had another dream,” she says, quietly. “About Ivy.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and gently stroke her hair again. “Did you, sweetheart? What happened?”

  “We were playing in the garden.”

  “That sounds nice,” I say with a smile.

  Thea shakes her head. “She was being mean to me. Telling me that it was my fault that she died.” She bursts into tears. “It was horrible.”

  I hug her tightly. “Don’t cry. It was just a dream. It was no one’s fault.”

  Except mine.

  I shush her softly for a few minutes, but it does nothing to settle her.

  “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer, but I feel her head nodding against my chest.

  I somehow find the strength to pick her up out of bed and carry her to my room. I lay her on my bed, pull the quilt over her, and then climb in next to her. Thea closes her eyes and the crying soon stops. I think she’s sleeping. I need to sleep too, but the very notion makes me sick to my stomach. I have to at least try, though. I’m only half a mother when I’m walking around like a zombie, so I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.

  What’s another night of torture?

  4

  Wednesday, 3rd March, 2014.

  I never thought I’d ever say this, but it’s great to be back at work. Mum thinks it’s too soon, but I need the distraction. I suppose I could have switched to mornings instead, but then I’d have no Kate to gossip with. Four years we’ve worked the night-shift together, and after everything I’ve been through, she’s the only one who can still put a smile on my face. It’s a gift. Mum just doesn’t get it. She’s so busy stuck in that house looking after Dad; she can’t see the bigger picture. Bloody hell, the only time she gets to leave that prick is to babysit Thea when I’m working.

  I’m sitting down on the aisle floor, stacking the lower shelf with tins of tuna. I’m done with crouching; my back can’t take it anymore. I see Kate walk up to me, a mischievous grin on her irritatingly beautiful face. We don’t have a lot in common. She’s slim, immaculate teeth, and glowing brunette hair down to the base of her back; tattoos down her right arm, two at the back of her neck, a weed smoker, absolutely no kids, and of course she’s only twenty-five. And there’s me: three stone overweight, crooked teeth, unmanageable brown hair to my shoulders, and too uncool and skint to have a single tattoo. The only thing we have in common is this scruffy little supermarket.

  “Check out this guy on the bread aisle,” Kate says, prodding me on my shoulder. “He’s pissed out of his mind. He’s been staring at a package of crumpets for about ten minutes.”

  Using the shelving for support, I pull myself up, groaning like an elderly woman. I follow her over to the next aisle. I see a balding man, in his early forties, slumped against the shelf staring at the package. “What the hell’s he looking for on the label?” I whisper. “They’re bloody crumpets, not antibiotics. Should I say something to him?”

  “Nah,” Kate says with a grin. “Let’s just enjoy these little moments when we can. What else is there to amuse us this time of night?”

  Tapping her on the arm, I motion with my head for us to leave him. “We’d better get back to work, otherwise Lenny’ll be on our backs again.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sarah,” Kate says, excitement in her tone. “You haven’t heard the latest.”

  We walk back over to the tuna section. “Latest about what?” I ask.

  “Lenny won’t be barking orders anytime soon. He’s been sacked.”

  “My God,” I say, returning to the floor to finish the stacking. “When did this happen?”

  “Last Monday night. Police came for him.”

  “Police? Why?”

  “Poisoning.”

  My eyes widen in shock, unable to comprehend Lenny doing something so vile. “Poisoning? Really?”

  Kate leans against the shelf, her face alive with gossip. “Well, apparently his brother was dying of leukaemia.”

  “Yeah. I remember him mentioning it.”

  “Well, according to Rebecca, he infected him with vampire blood.”

  “Oh my bloody God,” I say, holding off blurting it out loudly. You don’t know who might be listening in this place. “So they’ve arrested him?”

  “Damn right. He’s looking at twenty years for that.”

  I lean against the shelf, shaking my head in astonishment. “That’s bonkers. What happened to his brother? I mean—did he turn?”

  Kate shrugs her shoulders. “I assume so. They took him away somewhere, so it must have worked.”

  “Well, that’s unbelievable. He must have been desperate to risk all that.”

  “Must have been. Poor bastard.”

  I glance behind me to make sure a customer isn’t eavesdropping. “So what would his brother be like after he turned?”

  Kate chuckles. “What am I, a vampire expert?”

  “Well, you know more than I do.”

  Kate shrugs her shoulders. “Well, I suppose he’d get stronger, maybe faster; he wouldn’t age as quick; he’d be immune to disease.”

  I stroke the loose skin under my chin. “A life of slowed-aging? A healthy body? Shit, that doesn’t sound all that bad.”

  Kate chuckles.

  “How long would he live?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. No one knows that for sure. Two, three hundred years maybe?” Kate shakes her head, smiling. “Didn’t you pay any attention in school?”

  “Of course I didn’t—otherwise I wouldn’t be stuck in this dump with you.”

  Kate playfully punches me in the arm. “Cheeky bitch.”

  The balding man suddenly appears out of nowhere and grabs a tin of beans from the shelf. I tighten up and grin at him nonchalantly. He returns a grin through rotten teeth, and then wobbles away. “So what did the police d
o with Lenny’s brother?” I ask; this time my voice is much lower.

  Kate drags her finger across her throat. “Executed.”

  “No way would they do that,” I say with wide eyes. “It’s murder.”

  A woman pushing a trolley rolls past us. We fall silent for a moment until she’s out of sight.

  “I’m telling you they do,” Kate replies. “They have to. What if Lenny’s brother couldn’t control his bloodlust? He could have been sucking on your neck this weekend.”

  “I should be so lucky.”

  Kate laughs as she carries on pushing tins of tuna onto the shelves. “You’re mental, Sarah. You know that?”

  “Well, Kate, that is some bloody great gossip. Your best yet.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “So where did he get the vampire blood from?” I ask, getting up off the floor. Kate grabs my hands to help. “From the Internet?”

  Kate snorts—as if I’ve just said something ludicrous. “No chance. That stuff online is fake. God knows what they put in it. He must have got it from a real source.”

  “What, an actual vampire? Lenny?”

  “No, of course not. He must have got it from a drug dealer.”

  My cage of stock is empty, so I push it towards the storeroom to refill it. Kate follows me. “Well,” I say, still dazed by the news, “you think you know someone, and then they end up doing something like that.”

  “I know,” Kate replies. “It’s madness. Do you think Ivy or Thea would do that for you when you’re old and—” Kate’s face suddenly drops. “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” she says, grabbing my hands, eyes broad with embarrassment. “It just slipped out. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I reply with a smile. But it’s forced because an image of Ivy suddenly pops into my mind. “You can still say her name. She’s not Voldemort.”

  “I know. But it’s not just that. You’re going through absolute hell, and all I’ve been doing is talking bullshit all night.”

  “Don’t be silly. Bullshit is exactly what I need right now. All I get at home are reminders of everything that’s happened. Mum doesn’t help, and Thea? Well, she’s dealing with it in her own way. You’re the only escape I have left.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I smile. This time it’s genuine. “Of course I am, you dick.”

  “Thanks.”

  I grab a box and slide it into the cage. “So, got any other gossip for me?”

  Kate loads up another box. “What? Better than my vampire story?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kate purses her lips, nods, and that mischievous grin returns. “Maybe.”

  5

  Wednesday, 3rd September, 2014.

  “How about another slice of toast?” I ask Thea. It’s the third time I’ve asked, but I can’t help myself; she’s so skinny these days. She needs a little fattening up.

  “No, Mum,” Thea protests, waving her hand at me, “I’m full. Stop fussing.”

  I pour her a glass of juice and set it down on the kitchen table. “Okay, but at least drink something. God knows what rubbish they’ll serve in that canteen.”

  Thea gets up from her chair, rolling her eyes at me. This has become a habit lately. She reminds me of her sister. “The food will be standard food,” she replies. “The same when Ivy went there. Nothing’s probably changed.”

  I pick up the glass and present it to her. She rolls her eyes again, accompanied by a low, pissed-off groan. “Fine,” she says, reluctantly taking the juice and glugging it down in one.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard,” I say, a pleased smile on my face. “Can’t have you getting queasy—especially on your first day.”

  She unhooks her school bag from the back of the chair and then swings it around her shoulder. “Are you going to be like this every day?”

  “Of course not,” I reply. I probably will be. “I just want everything to go well, that’s all. I remember how hard it was for Ivy in that school.”

  “Look, Mum. You’re making it worse. You’re putting too much pressure on me.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s just tough for me.”

  “And me,” she says, walking over to me. “But it won’t be the same. Nothing bad’s going to happen. I’m not Ivy. I’ve got different friends, and I’d never touch drugs—even if you paid me.”

  I take hold of Thea’s soft hands. A lump forms in my throat, a mix of sadness and happiness. A year’s a long time in an eleven-year-old’s world, but it’s nothing in mine. It still feels like yesterday. I think it always will. “Thank you,” I say with a smile. “That’s good to know. And I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll be home at three thirty to tell you all about my day.”

  I pull Thea in for a hug, squeezing her too hard.

  I don’t want to let her go.

  “You’re crushing me,” she says, playfully.

  “Tough,” I reply, fighting hard not to weep. “I’m stuck to you for the day.”

  I finally release her, kissing her on the cheek. “Be careful today. And stay away from bad crowds. That school is full of them.”

  “You’re doing it again, Mum.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” I say, stepping away from her, both hands up in surrender. “I’ll see you later for all the gossip.”

  “Okay.” Thea gives me a little wave and then leaves through the back door.

  I blow her a kiss, but she doesn’t see it. It makes my heart ache. Don’t cry. Save your tears. She’ll be fine. She’s strong. She’ll be home in no time at all. A new school. A brand new chapter in her life. Nothing bad is going to happen.

  She’s not Ivy.

  * * *

  My second glass of wine doesn’t touch the sides. I’m too tense. I’ve been staring at the back door for the past hour, waiting for Thea to walk through it.

  Where the hell is that bloody girl?

  She promised she’d be straight home after school. After giving me that lecture, telling me not to worry, and she goes and does something like this.

  I glance down at my mobile to see if she’s texted me.

  She hasn’t.

  I call her. Voicemail again.

  What if something terrible has happened to her?

  No, the school would have called.

  What if she missed the bus home and had to walk?

  No, it’s not that far, and she would have called me to come and get her.

  Oh my God, what if some paedophile snatched her on the way home?

  I’m gonna look for her. Where though? The school? The shopping centre? A friend’s house? Christ, I don’t even know where half of them live. She could be anywhere.

  I take a huge swig of wine, swallow hard, and then grab the bottle for a refill. Calm down, Sarah. If I leave now, then she may come home to an empty house. I’ll give her a little more time.

  That’s all you gave Ivy—and look how that turned out.

  I fill the glass, spilling a little on the kitchen table. I don’t bother wiping it, even though it might stain the wood. It’s not important—and it never will be again. I gulp the wine and slam the glass down hard. I can’t breathe so I fill it up.

  And again, until the bottle is empty.

  * * *

  “Where the hell have you been?” I scream at Thea, too drunk even to get up off the chair.

  Thea stares at me as she enters the kitchen, a deep frown across her forehead. “We just decided to get a milkshake on the way home. We weren’t that long.”

  I manage to stand, using the table for support. “Don’t lie to me!”

  “I’m not lying,” she replies, backing away from me. “Why would I lie?”

  “You’ve been out with a boy,” I snap, pointing my finger like a dagger, struggling to keep my eyes focused on her. “Haven’t you?”

  “Mum, it’s only just gone five.”

  “You promised me that you’d be home by half past three.” I start to stagger towards her. “Yo
u let me sit here, worried sick, for almost two hours.”

  Thea slips past me, heading towards the hallway. “No one asked you to do that.”

  “Don’t speak to me like that!” I shout, following her out of the kitchen. “You’re going to end up dead—just like your sister.”

  She doesn’t retort as she disappears upstairs.

  “Is that what you want?” I yell up from the foot of the stairs. “Do you want to end up lying dead in a pool of blood? Do you? You don’t know what I’ve been through! You think you’ve had it hard—well you don’t know the meaning of the word!”

  “Shut up, Mum!” Thea weeps from the landing. “Just leave me alone.”

  I hear the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut. I think about going up to her, telling her that she’s grounded, that tomorrow I’ll be picking her up from school. But instead, I sit, slouched on the first step, staring at the hallway floor.

  My head drops into my hands and I start to sob.

  6

  Wednesday, 6th April, 2016.

  Kate stares at me like I’ve got a piece of food in my teeth. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Stop looking at me.”

  “You’re not fine,” she replies, picking up two loaves of bread from the cage. “You’ve been like a bloody zombie all shift. What’s wrong with you?”

  I want to tell her about the week I’ve had, but I just don’t have the energy. Eventually, she’ll get it out of me; she has a gift. But right now, all I want to do is get through this night shift and sleep off a pounding headache.

  “Look, Sarah,” Kate continues, “I know you’re probably sick of talking about your problems—but without listening to you drone on about your horrible life, I’ve got nothing to entertain me. And you wouldn’t want to see me unentertained. I can get up to all sorts of mischief.”