by Carrie Elks
September arrives, and I’m still a caged animal. Stuck in a routine of sleeping, eating and stagnating. With the occasional visit to a local group that labels me a sinner and urges me to give myself over to the Lord. I coast through my days as though I’m overdosing on downers, my emotions muffled by the depression that weighs down on my shoulders like an iron shawl.
I don’t cry anymore. I don’t feel anything. I hardly know if I exist.
The trees in our back garden fade into golds and oranges, curling and drying before they flutter to the ground. The air turns cold, coating windscreens and pavements with glistening frost, sparkling like diamonds under the autumn sun.
As the seasons move, I stand still. A statue amongst the blur of change. My parents go back to their normal routine: work and housekeeping, evenings at the club. Saturdays spent on the green or at the nineteenth hole. As the months pass, I gain a little more freedom, the ability to click online, visits to the library to borrow books I can’t afford to buy. Slowly, slowly, I come to the realisation that I can’t go on like this. If I don’t make the change, nobody will. It’s all up to me.
Maybe it always has been.
23
Two weeks later I move into a shared flat, carrying my belongings up endless staircases to a small room that overlooks an internal yard. Complete with dustbins, abandoned bicycles and a resident cat, it has all the elements to guarantee a sleepless night. Yet it isn’t rattling bin lids or screeching kittens that keep me awake, but a strange mattress and the lack of body heat. Not to mention an overactive thought process that just won’t shut up. I lie in the darkness and make plans. Determined this is a stopgap; I can’t live like a perpetual student forever.
The next week is spent doing all the crappy things you never think about before a move: changing my address with the world and his wife, setting up contracts, and finding the strength to telephone my parents and break the news to them. When I finally get around to it, I end up having to lean out of my window to get some reception.
“Bethany, how lovely to hear from you.” My mother has that ‘we have company’ tone to her voice. She’s overdoing the gushing. “How are you, darling?”
I can almost picture what she’s wearing: some variation on the skirt suits she always chooses when she hosts dinner. She’ll have been to the hairdressers in the afternoon to have a wash and set, possibly while the steaks marinated in the fridge. Dessert will be bought from the local delicatessen, because by the time they get to it, none of her guests will notice it’s not homemade. Even if they do, they’ll be too sozzled from my dad’s elderberry wine to care.
“I’m fine. Listen, Mum—”
“And Simon, how is Simon?” She’s always been a fan of his.
“That’s what I’m calling to talk about.”
“Is he all right? What’s happened?” An edge of alarm coats her words.
“Nothing like that. We’ve decided to separate. I wanted to give you my new address.” You know, in case you ever want to visit, I add silently. Fat chance.
A long, heavy silence, followed by a deep sigh. “Oh, Bethany. What have you done?”
If I live to be eighty, I’ll still feel like a small child who never lived up to her parents’ expectations. I sit down heavily on my bed. Why does everything have to be my fault? No mention of Simon’s role in any of this.
“It was a mutual decision. We both agreed it was for the best.”
There’s a pause for a moment, as if she’s trying to absorb my words. “I suppose you’ll want to come home like the prodigal daughter,” she says crossly. “I’ll have to move all of my scrapbooking. We’ve only just got rid of your bed.”
“I don’t want to move home,” I sigh. “You don’t need to move anything. I’ve found somewhere temporary to live and I’m looking for something permanent.” I rub my head, trying to soothe away the sharp, stabbing pain behind my brow.
“Well, I’m sure you and Simon will sort it out.” She lowers her voice. “Just wear a short skirt and appeal to his baser instincts. That’s what I always do with your fath—”
“Mum!” I don’t know what’s more appalling. The fact she’s trying to pimp out her own daughter, or the sudden vision I have of her dancing around my dad. “Anyway, I’d better let you get back to your guests. Have a lovely evening.”
“How did you...oh, yes. But we need to talk about you and Simon...”
I hang up before she can impart any more wisdom. My duty is done; she won’t be calling up Simon’s house and getting a nasty shock. I mentally tick that particular chore off my ever-growing list with a mental flourish, breathing in deeply to calm myself down.
* * *
I come to life whenever Niall’s close. Like one of those stop-motion videos, where you see a flower blooming in sped-up time. Even when the children run into the classroom with their excited chatter and loud footsteps I still feel his pull.
Niall is at the front of the room, talking about Van Gogh’s starry night. There’s an intensity to his eyes when he mentions the yellowness of the stars and the inky blueness of the sky. He urges the kids to go out and look at the heavens tonight, and remember it’s the same one that Vincent saw all those years ago. I look around the room, amazed at how the children are hanging on his every word.
All except one.
Cameron Gibbs catches my eye and stares at me, giving me an exaggerated wink. It takes a minute for me to realise he wants to tell me something. Even longer to work out he wants to talk to me in private. I get a sinking feeling when I realise he can only have one thing to talk about.
Niall is still explaining how Van Gogh painted while he was a patient at an asylum—a fact that the kids barely bat an eyelash at—and I realise there’s only one thing for it.
“Cameron, can you help me get a couple of things out of the supply cupboard?” I ask.
Niall breaks off his speech to look at me. “I can help.”
Any other time I’d have jumped at his offer, but I’m anxious to hear what Cameron has to say. “It’s all right, you carry on. This’ll only take a minute.”
When we walk to the cupboard I leave the door open so I don’t arouse suspicion. This means we have to speak in lowered voices, but it’s worth it just to find out his news. There’s a smug expression on Cameron’s face, as if he knows he holds all the cards.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve found some stuff out.”
What I thought was smugness is actually pride. It melts my heart a little. “About Allegra? What’s happened?”
“I’ve seen that bloke hanging round. The one with the slicked-back hair and leather jacket. Face that looks like papier mâché.”
My stomach drops. It sounds just like Darren. He must’ve had bad acne as a kid, because his face is pocked with tiny craters.
“Where did you see him?” My tone is urgent. I need to know if Allegra is in danger. “Do you know if he went into their flat?”
Cameron screws up his nose and thinks. “Nah, I seen him hanging ’round the park. Doing some deals, smoking with his mates.” His face lights up as if he’s just thought of a brilliant idea. “I could follow him next time, like one of those detectives. I’m stealthy; he won’t notice a thing.”
Fear chills me to the core. “No,” I whisper-shout, my eyes widening. “He’s dangerous. If he even knew you were watching him he’d go mad.” How stupid I was, involving a kid in something so foolish. “Don’t go anywhere near him.”
He stares at me as if I’m crazy. “I wouldn’t let him see me.”
“Cam.” I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you so much for looking out for Allegra. You’re a good kid. But I don’t need you to keep an eye out anymore. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.” He almost looks disappointed. He thinks this is a game. Something to do when he gets bored of kicking a ball around with his mates. If I tell him how dangerous Darren can be, he’ll see the whole thing as a challenge.
“
Nah, I reckon you’ve repaid me twice over. I don’t want to end up owing you.” I make an expression of mock-horror, hoping he can’t see right through me.
“I suppose not.” He shrugs. “Have it your way then. As long as we’re even?”
“We are.” I nod. “Definitely even.”
I send him out with some old boxes of magazines that need recycling, directing him to the big bin at the back of the clinic. When I walk back to the front of the room, Niall catches my eye and inclines his head. “Okay?” he mouths.
Even though I’m far from okay, I give him a brief smile before I nod. I’m not ready to share this yet, not until I think through the implications. My eyes gravitate toward Allegra, who is dabbing gold paint on the black paper Niall has given them, creating her own version of the Starry Night. Her sleeves are rolled up, enough for me to see her pale forearms, unblemished by red marks or bruises. I check the rest of her exposed skin: face, neck, and skinny legs, but there’s nothing to give me alarm.
She looks like a normal eight-year-old kid. As normal as she’ll ever be.
Of course, there could be all sorts of horrors hiding underneath her clothes, or even worse, beneath her skin. I walk over and stand behind her, admiring her work, and Allegra turns to smile up at me.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful. I bet your mum will love it. Does she put your paintings up in her kitchen?” I try to picture their dingy flat, hoping the mess in there has long since been cleared up.
“Maybe.” Her face lights up as if I’ve suggested something world-changing. “I’ll ask her. We could tack it to the wall.”
“Or put it up in your new bedroom?” I suggest.
Her expression darkens. “We haven’t painted it yet. Mum says we’ll do it soon.”
“I expect you’ve been too busy to do much decorating. Is it nice to be home?”
Allegra nods. “Mum lets me stay up late and watch TV.”
I swallow hard. “And have you caught up with your friends? I expect they were glad to see you.”
“Yeah, it’s nice to play at the park with them.”
The park is on the far corner of the estate. It’s the same place that Darren has been hanging around, dealing to kids. “Do you go to the park often?”
She shrugs. “If the weather’s good. Otherwise we go to Shona’s house and play on her Xbox.”
“What about your mum? Does she see much of her friends?”
A blank look. Allegra turns and adds some more paint to her stars. “Dunno.” I chastise myself for being so obvious. She must think I’m crazy, shooting so many questions at her.
“Well, maybe we can all go out and do something nice soon. Go out to the cinema or something?”
Allegra stops painting again and looks up with a smile. “I’d like that,” she says.
So would I. I don’t say it, but she knows. I’m already thinking how I can bring up the whole subject of Darren with Daisy without making her defensive. The last time I saw her was outside social services, celebrating the return of her child. Would she really give it all up, put everything in danger for the sake of a scumbag like him?
For the rest of the afternoon I let Niall take the lead, while I sit at the desk and try to think things through. My mind feels full of cotton wool—soft and mushy. Trying to find clarity is almost impossible. Every so often, Niall glances over at me, and I guess there must be something in my expression that worries him. More than once his look turns into a stare that seems to see right through me.
I don’t have the slightest idea what to do. My first instinct is to run over to the estate, grab Darren Tebbit by his collar and beat the shit out of him. But it’s never going to happen—I’ll end up lying at the bottom of a ditch somewhere. I could go and see Grace the social worker and tell her about the sightings, but as soon as she starts questioning me and discovers I’m relying on the word of a thirteen-year-old kid who’s recently been arrested, she’ll probably laugh me out of her office. If I mention I’ve actually asked this same boy to keep his eye out for a criminal—and I still can’t believe I did that—she’ll probably blow her top with me. No matter what I do, I can’t see a good resolution to this situation.
“A penny for ’em?”
“I don’t want to fleece you. They’re not worth that much.”
Niall raises his eyebrows. “You’ve been miles away all afternoon. You missed an amusingly gruesome re-enactment of Van Gogh’s ear being chopped off.”
“Kids love a bit of gore. Maybe we should make it a pre-requisite that all artists chop a body part off.” I catch his eye. “Present company excluded, of course.”
He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s too busy looking at me with concern. “Did Cameron Gibbs say something to you?”
Niall’s more perceptive than I give him credit for. Damn him.
“It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t being a pain or anything. I just asked him to keep an eye on Allegra and he was reporting back.”
He looks more confused than ever. “Keep an eye on her? Why?”
The temptation to let everything spill out is overwhelming. I’m desperate to share this information with somebody, but half of it is probably confidential, while the other half paints me in a terrible light.
“I don’t even know where to start.” When I look up, Allegra’s walking over to us, holding her painting out for me to see. It effectively silences any conversation we can have about her, still I don’t feel the relief I expect to. Instead, I experience a pang of regret. I want to hear what he has to say, because his opinion matters to me.
So when Niall turns and mouths “Later” to me, I find myself nodding in agreement.
24
An hour later, the classroom is empty of children. The white-painted walls no longer echo with their excited chatter, though the paint-splattered floor is evidence they were here. We share the cleaning as usual, with Niall pegging their starry paintings on the drying line we’ve strung across the ceiling, twelve pieces of paper swaying in a gentle breeze. We seem to have fallen back into the old rhythm of washing, stacking and making the occasional comment. It’s as if we both know we will be talking later. For now, we can just be.
Although it’s hard to simply be when Niall brushes past me. The second time he does it, I wonder if it’s on purpose. He’s very good at being surreptitious. By the time I think to comment, he’s on the other side of the room, and I’m opening and closing my mouth like a demented fish.
The feelings I have for him are confusing. A mixture of nostalgia and desire, maybe, but there’s something more, too. An ache to be with him, to know what he thinks on every subject. I want to get to know him all over again.
I want him to know me. The real me. The one I’ve been trying to suppress ever since Digby’s death. The one I thought I’d left behind. It turns out she was here all along, waiting for me to find her for real.
And I think I like her.
“We done?”
Niall smiles at me. There’s a smudge of black paint along his jawline and without thinking I reach out to wipe it. Like a reflex response, his hand circles my wrist, keeping my fingers resting on his jaw.
Neither of us breathes.
“You have paint,” I finally say. “On your face. Black paint.” Am I making sense? I’m not even sure.
He unclenches his fingers from my wrist and moves his hand up to cover mine. “Have I?” Not once does he move his eyes away from me.
My palm presses harder on his rough skin. His beard is starting to emerge. It’s scratchy, but somehow I like the way it feels. As I stand there, my thoughts drift back to that night in his flat, remembering how his jaw felt against my neck, my chest, my cheek. It burned in such a sensual way.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away and let it rest on my hip. “I guess it’s time to go back to my glamorous bedsit.”
“Are you liking it there?” Though his voice is even, his eyes are still dilated. I like the way I affect
him.
“It was a bit weird at first, getting used to just living in one room. It’s nice to have somewhere I can call mine, though.”
“What do you do in the evening? Do you share the cooking with your housemates?”
I laugh, thinking of the takeaway cartons scattered around our tiny kitchen. “No, I hardly see them to be honest. I think they prefer kebabs to nouvelle cuisine.”
“You don’t sit and watch telly with them?”
“We don’t have a living room.” It was strange at first, realising there was no communal space. I guess the landlord wanted to squeeze every penny he could out of his real estate. What used to be the living room is now a third bedroom. “The only time I see them is when I’m making a cup of tea. It isn’t so bad.”
His nose screws up. “What does Simon think? Won’t he pay for something better for you?”
“I don’t want him to. It isn’t his choice I moved out. I don’t want to look as if I’m sponging off him.”
It would feel so wrong. Everything Simon has, he owned before we got married. Even at our lowest, the last thing I thought about was taking him for all he had. It’s his money, not mine. I’d like it to stay that way.
“It seems unfair that he has everything and you’re living in a dingy room. You know the offer of my spare room still stands.”
It would be so easy, moving into his place, drifting into a relationship; maybe never leaving, but if Niall and I are ever going to be together it won’t be by default. This time I want any relationship to be on an equal footing.
“It’s fine. Just somewhere to stay while I work everything out. They don’t make too much noise, don’t have crazy parties. They just keep to themselves.”