‘I’m really not,’ I reply, practically shouting to make myself heard over the pumping music.
She doesn’t say anything else, she just looks at me, smiling, before her lips are on mine.
And I kiss her back, feeling amazing, feeling free, happy, warm. A deep contented heat runs through my body until she pulls away. She holds my hand and leads me through the throng, the people dancing, the people kissing, the people jumping up in the air screaming, until we get outside into the smoking area.
The quietness is almost painful on my ears, the difference in volume disorientating. I look at Lucy, confused. ‘I don’t smoke,’ I say.
Lucy smiles, that mysterious smile she’s been giving me again and again all night. ‘Neither do I,’ she says. ‘Do you still feel drunk?’
I shake my head. ‘Do you?’
She shakes her head, stepping closer. Her face reaches mine, and I think she’s going to kiss me again but instead she moves her mouth to my ear. ‘Are you up for a bit of fun?’ she says, as I feel pressure in my hand. I look down to see the small white pill she’s placed into my palm. I look at her, eyes wide.
‘I don’t do that sort of stuff,’ I say.
Lucy smiles at me. ‘I thought you wanted to forget who you were, isn’t that what you said at the pub?’ I look down at the pill in my hand. It feels stuck to my sweaty palm. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’
I wake up, my head heavy. Mouth dry. I turn over to see a girl, passed out asleep next to me. I rub my sore temples. How many days has it been since I went to London?
I’ve lost track. On the first night I had so many missed calls and texts from Georgia, it was driving me crazy. So after sending her an ‘I’m fine, stop worrying’ message, I switched my phone off. And then I think the battery must have been flat, because I haven’t managed to switch it back on again.
If I’m honest, I haven’t given it too much thought. For the first time in weeks, I have been thinking about something other than Willow and my grief.
I lost Lucy somewhere around day two, but somewhere along the way I managed to latch onto some new friends.
I don’t know the girl in bed next to me. In fact, I literally can’t remember last night at all. She is pretty, with a small sort of pixie face and a mane of red hair trailing down her shoulders. She looks peaceful, relaxed. I envy her. Where even am I? I rub my eyes, hoist myself onto one elbow and survey the room. It has fairy lights, polaroid pictures, and many art prints in white plastic frames. It looks like a snapshot straight off the Urban Outfitters website. White-painted 3D letters on her desk spell out the name Jess. At least that awkwardness has been avoided.
I sniff my armpits. Jesus. I need a shower. As soon as I sit up, Jess groans, her eyes open, and she stares at me groggily. ‘Dustin?’ she says, her voice husky. ‘Thanks for staying, I thought you might have left by the time I woke up.’
‘I wouldn’t go,’ I say, lying back down next to her. I don’t have anywhere to go anyway, except I probably shouldn’t tell her that. I put my arm around her, scooping her closer to me. I feel totally numb.
She smiles, cuddling into my chest. But I stare upright, as thoughts start flooding into my head. What are you doing, Dustin?
Me and Jess go out for breakfast, to a little café round the corner from her flat. She orders us both avocado and eggs on toast. That’s what Willow used to order. I feel bad to leave it, but with every bite I feel worse. Is it the hangover or the memories? Jess is also a student. I swear everyone I’ve met so far is a student. Jess is chattering away, and I’m trying to listen but I can’t seem to focus on what she’s saying. She doesn’t seem the slightest bit hungover. Is this because she’s a student? Are their livers used to this life? From what Joe and the New Haw lot have said about their own university experience, that would make a lot of sense. Jess had a shower, put make-up on and now seems to be fresher than a daisy. We’re sat outside, and the heat of the sun is hitting my neck, making me feel more uncomfortable, and then Jess decides to light a cigarette. I have to subtly cover my mouth, because as the smoke hits my nostrils, my stomach lurches again.
‘So you’re going to come tonight then?’
I close my eyes, hoping that’ll make me feel better, and nod my head. Why do I keep getting invited to all these things? Is it not a bit weird, inviting a stranger to all of your nights with friends? Maybe they just feel sorry for me. But then why would they? They don’t know that my girlfriend has left me, and I’ve got a baby I don’t know how to take care of. They just think I’m a guy who needs some time away from home. Which, to be fair, isn’t a lie. I just didn’t mention that the last time this happened I didn’t come back for two years.
‘You sure it’s OK for me to tag along?’
Jess smiles. ‘Of course. Last night was pretty fun. My group of friends are all so chill,’ she says, blowing smoke into my face. ‘Party with us as long as you like, Surrey boy.’
‘Thanks, Jess,’ I say, giving her a weak smile. ‘So where are we going tonight?’
Her eyes light up. ‘A warehouse rave.’
My liver screams in horror.
‘Sounds fun,’ I lie.
And Jess decides to tell me how fun it is going to be, and I let her natter on. It’s safe to say I’m going to get ruined again, but that’s the aim, isn’t it?
‘Zara, Zara, come here.’
Zara. Sorry, what? My stomach drops. My head whips around as I try to identify the owner of the voice. Jess is totally unaware of my distraction as I hear her voice drone on in my ear.
‘Sara, come to Mummy, Sara,’ a lady with a magnificent head of curly hair says from the opposite side of the seating area. She is standing at the entrance, holding a pushchair, and there’s a little bit of panic in her voice. Oh. Sara. Not Zara.
A plump little girl with almost identical hair weaves herself through the chairs and runs up to the lady. From looking at her she must be about two years older than Zara. The lady crouches down and scoops her up. ‘You’ve got to stay with Mummy,’ she says, a look of relief on her face. ‘Mummy doesn’t know what she’d do if she lost you.’
My stomach lurches further than it has before, and I move my hand to my mouth again. I feel sick, sicker than I was. Worse than I thought I could. And it’s not the messy nights, it’s not the stupid things I’ve done in these past couple of days, it’s not any of that. I feel a shiver run through my body as I look back up at Jess. She’s still blathering on. Does she seriously still think I’m listening? I look over to see that the girl and her mum have walked away now.
‘I need to go, Jess,’ I say, cutting her off.
She looks at me for a few seconds, before nodding her head. ‘Yeah, that’s fine. To be honest I have a lecture in forty minutes, I should go soon. But see you tonight, yeah, I have your number right? I’ll text you the details.’
I shake my head, feeling my brow scrunch.
‘No, no. I need to go home. I need to go now.’
Chapter 62
Willow
Then – February 2020
I barely leave the house now. Gran was the one that forced me outside, encouraged me to do things. When I can face it, I try to sort through some of her things. Dustin keeps telling me I need to decide what I’m keeping and what to throw away.
But how can I make a decision like that? This is Gran’s whole life. How can I judge some of that life to be worth keeping, and other parts of it fine to discard?
I take out my phone and open up our WhatsApp conversation. She left me a voice note once, by accident. It’s ten minutes long and it’s just her watching Coronation Street, muttering to herself or yelling at the screen when one of the characters does something stupid. I must have listened to it a hundred times over the last few weeks.
It makes me smile to hear her voice again. But it also means I can’t watch Corrie any more. Why should I get to watch it, when Gran can’t?
I don’t recognise the majority of these photos. I didn’t realise Gran had
kept so many. I flick through the photos of Dad when he was younger. As a child he looked so innocent and happy – chubby-cheeked with a toothy grin and freckles that faded with age. To see the later ones you’d never think it was the same boy. He filled out a lot in his teenage years. Muscly, yes, but there’s a flabbiness in places too. Extra skin under the chin and around the cheekbones. In later pictures Mum is there too – skinny and sallow with black hair. There are fewer photographs as time goes on. Only a couple of Mum pregnant, then a few more of me as a baby and young child.
There’s one photo that I focus on. It’s us in Disneyland. Gran, Mum, Dad and me, a tiny toddler, dressed in a Minnie Mouse costume. I don’t remember the trip, but I remember Gran talking to me about it, how she surprised Mum and Dad with the tickets, how we all had so much fun, how we went on It’s a Small World ten times because I loved it so much. I wish I remembered it. I’m sitting on Dad’s lap, Mum is next to us and Gran stands behind them both, beaming from ear to ear. Dad is looking down at me, planting a kiss on my head, and Mum is staring straight at the camera but she’s not smiling. The expression on her face isn’t sad exactly, more … vacant. Absent. Like her mind is somewhere completely different. I wonder if Gran lied to me, and just made me believe it was a happy trip. I don’t look happy either. I look like I’m on the verge of tears. I stroke my fingers along the picture of Dad, holding me, kissing me on the forehead.
Where is he now? I feel my eyes starting to water, my lips trembling. ‘I need you, Dad,’ I whisper, my fingers going automatically to the chain around my neck.
The necklace he gave me the last time I saw him. The night Gran announced we were leaving Brighton.
July 2017
I wipe a tear from my eye as I push my earbuds further into my ears, trying to block out the sound of the traffic, the shouts of pedestrians, the coming and going of the world. I’m taking the long route home. I’ll go past the pier, walk on the pebbled beach, and hopefully the air will make me feel better so Gran won’t know I’ve been crying. I can lie and tell her I met up with a friend for a coffee. I can’t help but laugh at the idea that Gran actually thinks I have friends. I thought college was going to be different. A new set of people, a new environment. But it turns out it’s just more of the same. Cliques, conversations broken off quickly whenever I approach. Right now the group of girls I thought were my friends are all at Lucy’s house. An early birthday party. I only found out because Jenna accidentally let it slip this morning and asked me what I was wearing. Alice next to her turned bright red and muttered something about Lucy’s mum only letting her have a limited number of people.
So whilst they all took the bus together after college, I’m walking home listening to Keaton Henson. Joke’s on me, quite literally. The whole group. Apart from me. I don’t know why I ever thought I was part of the group anyw—
Suddenly I feel two hands grab me, and pull me into the alleyway. Fuck. I try to cry out but the scream gets caught in my throat, I thrash my arms wildly.
‘Hey, calm down,’ a voice says. It’s a male voice, gruff, older.
Finally I find my voice and I scream, a shrill piercing noise that ricochets off the cold stones walls. A heavy hand clamps over my mouth. I can’t see him, which makes it even worse.
Then I feel myself being pinned against the wall and I am suddenly face to face with my attacker.
‘Ssh, Willow,’ he says. How …? I stare at his small green eyes, dwarfed by his bushy black eyebrows. The hair on his head is thick too, though losing its colour, just like his salt and pepper beard, and he has a small heart tattoo on the side of his cheek. I stop screaming and the hand is lowered from my mouth.
‘Hey, Angel,’ my dad says.
He is not supposed to see me, I learn. It’s one of the conditions of his parole. The others – staying on the right side of the law and checking in with a supervisor every week – he intends on keeping, apparently. And he’s sober, clean, and looking for a job.
I haven’t seen my dad in over six years. Not since he first went to prison. With his beard and the extra weight around his middle, I wouldn’t have known him if I’d passed him in the street. But now that I look closely, I can see he’s still the same dad I remember. A few more wrinkles, a crookedness to his nose I don’t remember from before, but fundamentally the same. The weirder thing is how on earth he recognised me. Given that I was eleven that last time he saw me.
‘Your gran sent me pictures. With her letters,’ he explains.
I didn’t even know Gran had been writing to him, but now that I think about it, of course it makes sense. He’s her son, after all.
‘You’ve grown so much, Angel.’ He puts a hand gently on my cheek. ‘I can’t get over how grown-up you look. And I can’t believe I wasn’t there to see it all happen.’
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I whisper, smiling at him.
He looks down sadly. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t a good dad to you.’
I stare at him, blinking a few times to check it’s still him. ‘You’re still my dad though.’
‘No, that’s not an excuse, just because someone’s family doesn’t mean they get a pass for being horrible.’
‘You weren’t horrible, it wasn’t your fault you were ill. You had an addiction.’
‘Yeah, and I put my addiction before you, Angel. And you suffered the consequences. I missed you growing up.’ He frowns again. ‘I’m not allowed to be in your life till you’re eighteen, and even then that’s your choice to make whether you want to see me.’
‘I’m old enough now, Dad.’
‘Not in the eyes of the law, hon,’ he says sadly.
I stare at him, trying to work out how I’m feeling.
‘Does Gran know you’re out?’
Dad smiles slightly. ‘Since one of the conditions of my parole is not seeing you, I reckon they’ll have to tell her.’ He pauses. ‘Don’t tell her you saw me, it’ll get me in trouble.’
Dad starts to stand up, and my stomach drops. ‘It was good seeing you, kiddo, but now I have to go.’
I scrabble to my feet. ‘Wait, Dad.’
He tries not to look at me. ‘I have to, I can’t get in trouble again, sweetheart.’
‘But I want my dad,’ I say, my voice cracking, and I grab onto his arm.
‘I’ll be looking after you, I’ll always be with you, just not physically.’ He holds out a small silver chain. A necklace, with a charm at the end. An angel.
‘See?’ he says. ‘I’ll always be with you. Looking after you like an angel.’
I take it carefully, staring at it. ‘You make it sound like you’re dead.’
He chuckles. ‘Hey, please don’t be one of those kids that say your parents are dead. A few of my mates from inside, their kids used to tell their friends their parents were dead. I guess it was easier than saying they were in prison, but it broke their hearts.’
‘I’d never do that.’
I put the necklace in my pocket and look up to him, but by that point he’s already left.
When I arrive home, Gran is sitting on the floor, packing books into boxes.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Your Auntie Jayne needs a hip replacement,’ she says. ‘And she’s going to need a bit of help. So I’ve said we’ll go and help. Going to move to Surrey.’
But the way she looks at me, her eyes so sad and serious, I can tell.
She knows.
Once I turned eighteen, I tried all I could do look up Dad. I found nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Every month I’d search his name, and eventually I accepted you can’t find someone when they don’t want to be found.
Chapter 63
Dustin
Georgia picked me up from the station. I had been gone four days. After that one text to her, I didn’t let anyone know I was safe. I didn’t tell anyone my plans. I spent the majority of the time drunk, while everyone was stressing out. I called Georgia from Jess’s phone, as she
didn’t have her charger with her. Georgia was the only person’s number I could remember. When I got into the car, Georgia said Mum and Alicia and everyone at the pub had been worried sick. She didn’t say much else other than that.
Then I get home, and Mum immediately wraps her arms around me. ‘I thought you had left again,’ she whispers, with a shaking voice.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ I mumble. I stand frozen, not hugging her back.
She pulls away, her hands on my face as her eyes scan me intently. ‘What the hell have you been doing?’
She’s definitely angry, but she’s trying to keep it under wraps. Back in the day, she would have shouted, probably chucked me out of the house temporarily. But somehow I can’t imagine her doing that any more.
I avoid her eyes.
‘Oh, um, I got a bit waylaid, and then my phone kind of ran out of battery.’
‘Are you OK?’
I force myself to nod my head as I step away from her in the direction of the stairs. I briefly glance inside the living room and see Alicia standing in the doorway, Zara in her arms and Elliot behind her. Her eyes are cold and blank. Zara is giggling happily. I cast my eyes down, move away from everyone and go upstairs. I’m totally aware that I should stay down and talk, hold the daughter I haven’t seen for four days, apologise to my family for having been so selfish and stupid and putting them through such anxiety. But I can’t do that.
I have a shower, and then I sit in my room, head in my hands, eyes closed, wishing more than anything that I could just disappear. Wish I could turn back time. Wish I was a different person.
I put my phone on to charge, and go downstairs. Mum is in the kitchen, Alicia is holding Zara on her lap. I don’t know where Elliot is.
‘Georgia left,’ Mum says.
I shrug my shoulders and stand awkwardly.
‘I’m sorry I left,’ I mumble, leaning forward to pick up Zara.
‘At least it wasn’t for two years this time,’ she says.
The Missing Pieces of Me: Discover the novel that will break your heart and mend it again Page 19