‘Come on then,’ Aggie sighed. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’
The dressing gown, made for an adult man, was far too big, but Kerry savoured the musky smell of her big brother. She and Aggie sat on the sofa with the television on and a mug of hot chocolate each. Aggie was gnawing on her fingernails and staring at her phone. It was now gone eleven o’clock, but something told Kerry it didn’t matter when she went to sleep tonight, despite it being a school night.
The smell of bleach was stronger in the living room. Aggie had cleaned the kitchen while Kerry slept, and no trace of bloodshed caught Kerry’s eye while her sister had stirred their drinks. Kerry lifted her mug to her mouth, breathing in the sweet aroma of chocolate, which she much preferred to bleach.
A car engine rumbled outside, and Aggie stopped chewing on her nails to listen. Kerry set her mug down and tightened the dressing gown around herself and the cat on her lap stirred. The three of them jumped when the car beeped its horn.
Quietly, Aggie moved to the window and peered out.
‘It’s Preston,’ she announced.
‘Preston doesn’t have his car,’ said Kerry.
‘Well it looks like he’s liberated a pickup truck. Come on, he wants us down there.’
It didn’t seem right to go outside with nothing but her brother’s t shirt and dressing gown on, but Kerry supposed everyone was gone anyway. She picked up the cat and carried it after Aggie, not wanting to leave the poor creature on its own. They descended two flights of stairs and emerged outside, where Preston waited next to the idling truck, which was parked on the pavement.
‘Get in,’ said Preston.
‘We’ve left the telly on,’ Kerry objected.
‘Where are we going?’ Aggie asked.
The question apparently didn’t warrant an answer. Preston flashed them a cold smile and hopped into the driver’s seat. Shrugging, Aggie gestured for Kerry to comply. She took the passenger seat, while Kerry and the cat sat in the back. Something in the back thumped loudly as Preston manoeuvred the truck off the pavement and she saw Preston wince.
As they drove slowly across the road, towards the park, Kerry spotted Preston’s rucksack at her feet. She toed it and something rustled, but her attention was diverted as they mounted another curb and the thing in the back rumbled again.
‘What have you got back there?’ snapped Aggie.
But again she didn’t get an answer, and the truck reached the park and kept going. They swayed and wobbled as they drove over grass, and Kerry was sure they were about to hit the swing set when Preston braked. The girls looked at Preston, who’d taken his hands from the wheel and began lighting a cigarette.
‘Shall we?’ he said with a mysterious grin.
Gently, Kerry picked up the cat and slid out of the truck, her bare feet meeting cool grass. Crickets sang and the truck rumbled and all was still. Preston strode around the truck to the back, which he opened with a tug. In the back lay two shovels and something wrapped in a sheet.
‘We literally just crossed the road,’ Aggie grunted. ‘We could’ve walked. Why are we here?’
‘Can I go on the swings?’ said Kerry. The cat purred its agreement.
‘We could’ve walked,’ Preston agreed, smoke escaping with his words, ‘but I didn’t really fancy carrying him.’
‘Him,’ Aggie repeated.
Preston tossed her a shovel. ‘Help me dig, will you?’
Realisation dawned on Aggie’s face as Preston stabbed his own shovel into the grass. Kerry watched him for a moment before she turned towards the swings, which were illuminated by the truck’s lights. She put the cat in one of the baby swings, where it sat without complaint, and then sat down on her own swing. She could only grip the one chain, so she didn’t swing very high.
Across the road, Kerry could still see the TV light flickering in the flat’s window. She’d sat on this swing many times, watching that window, and when David stuck his head out and whistled she knew to go back. She always felt safe with David watching her from the flat, and she was always amazed that he could whistle louder than the constant heavy traffic.
The digging seemed to take forever. Preston moved methodically, never seeming to break a sweat, but Kerry could see that her sister was growing tired. She kept stopping to catch her breath and scratch her sweaty head. The cat had fallen asleep in its swing. Kerry wished she could take a photo of it.
Finally they stopped digging. They’d made a big, wonky hole in the ground, just long enough for the thing in the back of the truck, and very deep. Kerry hopped off her swing and peered into the hole. It was dark in there so she took a step back.
‘I can’t believe we’re burying him in a park,’ Aggie whispered, taking Kerry’s place on the swing and sticking a thumb in her mouth.
‘Alternatively we can let him get eaten in the Spaghetti House,’ snapped Preston.
Tears sprang to Kerry’s eyes as Preston lifted David carefully from the back of the truck. He struggled under the weight, but he managed somehow to gently lower the sheet-covered body into the hole. She wanted so badly to see her brother’s face.
Preston cleared his throat and straightened up, clapping some of the dirt off his hands.
‘Say some shit to him if you want,’ he grunted.
Briefly meeting his gaze, Kerry nodded. In all her nine years, this felt like the most important thing she was ever going to do. She knelt beside the grave, mud curving around her knees, and took a deep breath.
‘Here lies David Twain,’ she breathed, ‘best brother in the world.’
She glanced up to check she was doing okay, because usually she did things wrong, but Preston nodded stiffly.
‘David,’ she said, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, ‘I would let Preston take all my fingers away if it meant you could come back. I already miss you. I love you forever. Thank you for my birthday present.’
Kneeling in the dirt beside her, Aggie sighed. It was a sigh weighed down by exhaustion and loss. Kerry laced her fingers through her sister’s. Aggie’s speech was short:
‘Thanks for everything, David.’
The sound of dirt hitting the body was thick and loud. Kerry forced herself to watch as her brother disappeared, one shovelful at a time. The ground accepted him, closing around him like a hug, and in a matter of minutes he was gone. Kerry thought of the beach, of burying her brother in the sand while he laughed and seagulls screamed overhead. Preston filled in the hole in silence, his face unreadable, and the girls sat in the dirt, holding hands and watching him.
David would’ve liked being buried in the park, Kerry decided. He could still watch over her as she played, and he would always be close to home. If he looked really hard, Preston could still see him from the window. It was better than a graveyard.
Wiping sweat off his brow with his wrist, Preston dropped his shovel. It was done. Kerry placed a hand on the grave. She imagined she could feel a heartbeat beneath the earth. Preston glanced around, as if unsure of where he was.
‘Are you going to say something?’ said Aggie, and Preston raised an eyebrow.
‘Please,’ he chuckled darkly. ‘If this was a real funeral I wouldn’t have even attended. We both knew I was meant to go first.’
Aggie got up, pulling Kerry up with her. They stood like that for a moment, the girls watching Preston as he looked at anything but the grave he’d just built. He looked lost. Aggie put a filthy hand on his shoulder.
‘You should say something,’ she muttered, and then she fetched the cat and began walking back to the flat.
Kerry remained where she was, but Preston didn’t seem to notice her. He never did.
He opened his mouth, took a breath, and then closed it again.
Finally he looked at the grave, and it was like he was holding David’s gaze.
‘That thing,’ he grunted.
Kerry waited, but he didn’t seem to know how to go on. He swore and lit a cigarette. He sucked on it and blew out smoke.
‘That thing,’ h
e attempted again, ‘that we always refused to admit. I never would’ve said it but I think you knew. And I hate you for leaving me with them.’
The Furious Four
Books have never really appealed to Beth; she always opted for film adaptations when given the option. Preston and Gabriel, however, are so absorbed in pages that they probably wouldn’t notice if a horde of Ailing limped in grunting. The fleeting thought that they could’ve been related in another life makes Beth shudder. It scares her, how like Preston her son is becoming.
They’ve already been in the book shop too long, but Beth just can’t bring herself to disturb Gabriel yet. He’s reading a graphic novel, something she’s sure he’d have been into in the Old World. It’s strange, calling it the Old World after only eight years.
‘All these heroes,’ says Gabriel thoughtfully, not lifting his gaze from the colourful pages. ‘They all have cool names.’
‘So?’ grunts Preston, who is enveloped in a novel about cats. Typical Preston.
‘So we should have a cool name,’ says Gabriel. He shows the cover to Beth. ‘The Fantastic Four: that should be us.’
‘More like the Furious Four,’ says Beth with a smile.
Gabriel beams and nods, then opens the comic once more. Beth has the overwhelming urge to hug him, so she moves away. She walks slowly past the checkout, running a finger along the counter, trying to picture people behind the cash registers. After all this time, the emptiness of everything is too eerie and she longs to be surrounded by people. She can name her four best friends from Back Then: Georgia, Darren, Michelle and Rory. But she can only picture them in fragments: a huge black afro, jangling bangles on a slim wrist, a spattering of freckles across a pale ski slope nose...
But of course she remembers Desmond Gruger. She remembers his thick, loose black curls. She can picture the hard muscles in his arms. She remembers his pale, smooth skin and those miraculous blue eyes that somehow Gabriel has inherited. She can recall exactly how her body slotted into his when they fell asleep side by side. He was nineteen – three years older than her – and her friends and her parents did not approve.
‘Beth.’
The image of Des dissolves and she’s back in the book shop, with Kerry in the place of her old flame. Kerry is seventeen, tall and slim, with long red hair and light green eyes. Freckles seem to cover her entire body and she has a finger missing on her left hand. Beth envies the beauty that Kerry has blossomed into in these eight years.
‘I need new boots,’ Kerry announces. ‘Shall we leave the boys to it?’
‘But-’
‘Gabriel will be fine,’ says Kerry. ‘I’m sure they know where to find a fire alarm if they need us.’
‘My son always needs me,’ Beth could say.
‘My son never needs me,’ she could also say.
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘boots.’
‘Boots,’ Kerry agrees, a smile blossoming on her freckled face.
They bid the boys adieu and the boys grunt in response. They pass Ratbag, who is snoozing on a table piled with books, on their way out, and Kerry scratches him behind the ear.
‘Keep an eye on them,’ she tells the cat, who bats her hand away with a growl.
Space embraces them as they exit the shop and emerge into a completely desolate indoor mall, their footsteps echoing loudly. Potted palm trees stand proudly in the building’s vast centre, surrounded by benches. Light pours in from the glass ceiling and the glass banisters gleam. Beth looks around hungrily at all the well-lit shops and boutiques. This is the best and worst thing about the New World: she could have her pick of shiny new things and not pay for them, but she can’t spare the weight.
Arm in arm they make a beeline for the most expensive-looking shoe shop they can find. They fuss over stilettos and strappy sandals before Kerry gets down to business. Beth looks herself over in the mirror while Kerry collects armfuls of boots. She’d shaved off her beloved black-and-blue dreadlocks years ago; they’d been heavy and sweaty and nice thick handles for attackers to pull her back with. Today she wears a grey beanie to cover her bald head, the edges of her blue glasses tucked neatly under it. She wears a green vest, skinny jeans and a leather jacket and her chunky black boots are in good condition. She doesn’t need anything, but the lust for new things sings seductively in her ear.
Humming tunelessly, Kerry plonks a pile of boots next to Beth, lining them up in order of favourites. There’s a lovely suede pair that are completely impractical for winter but Beth stares at them longingly anyway.
‘You know,’ says Kerry thoughtfully as she tries on the first pair of boots, ‘this is all for nothing if you can’t enjoy yourself now and then.’
‘We enjoy ourselves plenty back home,’ replies Beth, frowning.
‘Yes,’ agrees Kerry, ‘we do. What I’m saying is, those suede boots are only extra weight between here and home. You have to make time to enjoy the little things because we may never have big, wonderful moments again.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes you do. But it’s up to you if you want to listen.’
Shrugging, Beth wanders to the kids’ section, running her fingers over the pink jelly sandals and the tiny little high-tops. She would’ve liked for Gabriel to have a little sister, in her fantasy reality where they live in a big house with Des and maybe a couple of dogs. She remembers when Gabriel lived inside her and she was sure he was a Gabrielle. She would look at shoes like these and she’d get butterflies in her tummy. Or maybe that was her little boy kicking up a disgusted fuss. The thought makes her smile.
She turns away from the girls’ shoes and picks up a sturdy khaki pair of boots in Gabe’s size. She squeezes the sides and the front, and she pulls at the laces, searching for weaknesses. Satisfied, she finds an empty basket and drops them into it, then slides the basket onto her arm like a handbag.
A pile of discarded shoes is mounting beside Kerry when Beth returns, and she’s trying on a particularly spiky black pair with pointed silver toes that Beth finds perfectly revolting.
‘You got something,’ Kerry beams. ‘As long as they’re not crocs, I’m proud of you.’
‘I got new boots for Gabriel.’
‘What about new boots for Beth?’ Kerry sighs, kicking off the ugly boots and adding them to the pile.
‘I don’t need anything. Gabriel always needs new boots.’
‘Then Gabriel should get himself some new boots.’
‘Why are you making this an issue?’
‘Because everyone in this so-called group puts themselves first,’ mutters Kerry, ‘everyone but you.’
‘I’m his-’
‘Mother,’ Kerry finishes. ‘Yes. You’re his mother. Sometimes he needs you to look out for him, but a lot of the time he doesn’t. He can shoot any target and he can parry as well as the rest of us so he should be able to get his own boots. He may be a child but in his own ways he’s an adult too.’
‘I’m always going to put him first,’ snaps Beth, crossing her arms defensively. ‘Nothing matters to me more than his survival.’
‘I’m just saying you’re allowed to make yourself happy sometimes.’
Happiness is a concept as ancient to Beth as dial-up broadband. She can’t remember how either thing worked and neither seems to be a necessity to her. There have been many occasions when Gabriel seemed so alive and so ecstatic – sparring with Preston, playing with the cat, reading books and comics – and Beth watched the infectious smile spread across his face but all she felt was sadness.
Kerry is watching her. She hugs the basket to her chest and attempts a smile.
‘Crocs were so terrible,’ she says with a quiet laugh.
‘Yes!’ Kerry agrees, grinning. ‘Pair them with some wet-look leggings and you’re well on your way to Fashion Week!’
‘You know,’ mutters Beth, ‘maybe a nice pair of earrings wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Yes!’ cries Kerry once more, pumping her fist. ‘Ea
rrings are exactly what we need! I just have to pick between these two pairs of boots first.’
Glancing at the only two pairs not on the pile, Beth notes the hideous spiky pair Kerry had tried on earlier and grimaces. The other pair is simple and practical: shiny, sturdy biker boots. The choice seems quite clear to Beth but Kerry seems genuinely torn.
‘Please,’ Beth sighs after a moment, ‘just don’t get the spiky ones!’
It’s almost like a day in her old life, browsing the shops with Kerry. They try on jewellery, they peruse handbags, they drool over expensive makeup and, eventually, they end up flicking through magazines. Kerry is wearing her shiny new biker boots. Beth is wearing a pair of rose gold heart-shaped studs that she fingers absently now and then, subtly pleased. The basket containing Gabriel’s new boots sits at her feet.
‘I always had a thing for Chris Pine,’ Beth admits, allowing herself a small smile as she flicks through a glossy volume. ‘Des loved the Star Trek films and I’d only watch them with him because of Pine. I think I have a weakness for blue eyes.’
‘I liked Harry Styles,’ says Kerry. ‘I wonder if he’s still alive.’
Beth makes a face. ‘Each to their own, I suppose.’
‘I was nine,’ giggles Kerry, playfully whacking Beth with her magazine, ‘what do you expect?’
‘I think I fancied Flynn Rider when I was nine.’
‘Does he count as a celebrity?’
‘Probably not,’ Beth shrugs.
Quiet descends once more, interrupted only by flicking pages. Kerry finishes her magazine first and replaces it on the shelf, twirling her braided hair around her fingers thoughtfully. Beth glances up at her.
‘Preston has blue eyes,’ Kerry observes.
‘I suppose he does,’ grunts Beth, snapping her magazine shut.
‘Do you have a weakness for those?’
Beth shoots her a withering look. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I see you sneaking looks at him sometimes, you know.’
‘He’s good looking,’ mutters Beth, shrugging and putting her magazine back, ‘but he’s also a psychopath. You know sometimes I think he prefers the world being this way.’
After The End (Book 1): The Furious Four Page 4