by Angela Mack
“They left yet?” Ryan asked and I nodded.
“Just now.” They were going to some fancy party to schmooze a potential investor, apparently. It was the last Christmas before Big Mike went bankrupt and I didn’t know it then, but this investor was our last hope at staying afloat. He obviously hadn’t schmoozed them well enough.
“Do you think they know it’s Christmas Eve? Maybe they’ve forgotten,” Ryan said, hopeful.
“Oh, they know, they just don’t care. They don’t care about Christmas, and they certainly don’t give a shit about us.” I looked up as Ryan sighed. “Hey, sorry man, just in a bad mood.” I hated my shitty parents for not giving a damn. It was Christmas for fuck’s sake, couldn’t they stop thinking about themselves for just one day?
“Hey, I have an idea,” I smiled at Ryan as inspiration struck. I hurried to the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards.
“What are you looking for?” Ryan asked.
“Aha! Gotcha!” I grabbed a bag of flour. “Go get the bag of presents I’ve hidden in the cupboard under the stairs, will you?” Ryan frowned but did as I asked. I followed him out the kitchen and headed over to the Christmas tree that me and my brothers had decorated at the beginning of December. Big Mike had laughed when he saw us putting it up so early, but Georgie was excited to do it. He couldn’t wait any longer.
“Arrange them around the tree,” I instructed. As he placed the presents underneath―there weren’t many―I opened the bag of flour and started to sprinkle it over the floor. I grabbed a pair of Big Mike’s work boots from the porch and began leaving footprints in the flour.
“What are you doing?” Ryan laughed at me.
“I’m trying to make sure Georgie still believes Santa is real.” I still remember Georgie’s face the next morning. We waited until 10 a.m. to see if Mum and Big Mike would wake up any time soon, but there weren’t any signs of them stirring. They’d clearly had too much to drink the night before. I couldn’t contain Georgie any longer and he launched himself down the stairs, stumbling in his haste. His brow was crinkled, worried that Santa had decided not to stop at our house. Me and Ryan followed, giggling behind him.
“Oh my God, he came! He still came! Even though I didn’t leave any mince pies or carrots.” Georgie admired the ‘snowy’ footprints in awe.
“Of course he came. He knows how awesome you are!” I ruffled his hair. I still left footprints every Christmas, even in the shithole we lived in now. I was sure by now that Georgie knew Santa didn’t exist, but we both pretended anyway. And when I'd suggested it to Sammy and Charlie, they had been eager to continue my weird tradition. God, I missed Georgie. I wished I could give him a cuddle.
“Hey,” Ryan called as he walked towards me. The snow crunched beneath his feet. I’d told him about The Quad after I’d followed Charlie and Sammy out here. We both liked that there was still an outside space we could get to.
“What are you doing out here?” Ryan sat next to me. He was turned away a little, so he could rest his back against the tree as well.
“Thinking about footprints made of flour.” Ryan laughed down at the snow around us. We sat in comfortable silence for a while. I glanced at him over my shoulder.
“Did you know?” Ryan squinted his eyes in confusion, tilting his head as he waited for me to explain. “Did you know that we could still move things?” Ryan looked away, guilty. He nodded.
“But it hurts. You have to concentrate. And you can’t do it for long.” He confirmed my suspicions. “And you have to feel...you have to have a very strong feeling for it to work,” he added, avoiding my eyes.
“Like being super pissed off?” I huffed. I didn’t expect him to respond, but he did.
“Or when you’re scared.”
Chapter 9
Isabel
I couldn’t believe that I was back at sixth form. It felt so wrong. I should be by Josh’s side, not lumbering towards the sixth form common room. When I had gotten off the bus at the stop outside Martins, where Josh used to work, it had taken all my willpower to keep moving towards school. I had so badly wanted to wait for the bus that would take me in the direction of the hospital instead. But every time I’d felt my resolve wavering, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Georgie.
I could see my reflection in the glass of the common room doors. My hair was still damp from my shower this morning―I couldn’t even remember if I had brushed it or not. Judging by the lank clumps dangling beside my cheeks, I would say it was unlikely. I couldn't make out the detail in my face, I was just a shadow. I had a baggy grey jumper on over the top of black leggings, my Converse scuffed and worn. I didn’t know how to act once I went inside. I couldn’t pretend that everything was normal, that I was OK. I was not OK. I didn’t want to hear about the latest TV show that everyone was going crazy about, or the new bar that had opened in town, or how much coursework sucked. None of that mattered. I didn’t give a shit about any of it.
I hadn’t spoken to Jess or Sophie in weeks. I had been ignoring their calls and messages. I didn’t want to get angry with them or upset them. They didn’t understand, and that wasn't their fault, but I was holding on to my sanity by a thin thread. And if they said the wrong thing, that thread was going to snap. It was like I didn’t have control of my emotions anymore. One minute, I was smiling at Georgie as he stuffed his dinner into his face. The next, I was so angry that I wanted to smash my plate on the table, over and over, until there was only a dusting of porcelain on the floor.
“Are you, er, going inside?” A guy stepped up behind my reflection, waiting to enter the common room. I blew out a breath, pushing open the doors. It didn’t exactly go silent when I entered, but I was sure everyone hushed their voices. I avoided making eye contact with anyone and saw a chair propped by a window at the back. The chair was on its own, as if people had gradually stolen its companions, pulling them into other circles. I dumped my bag on the floor and slumped into the chair. I raised my feet to rest them against the wall below the window, pushing off it to rock my chair back and forth on its hind legs. I could see one of the school fields, the trees lining it swaying in the breeze. They were still bare, their gnarled branches tangled with each other.
“Hey, Izzy.” Sophie stood next to me, Jess by her side.
“Hey,” I responded, not bothering to look at them. There was some frost on the ground, making the field reflect the wintry sun. I watched a squirrel scamper up a nearby tree.
“How are you?” Jess asked and I shrugged. I didn’t even know where to begin.
“Is there any more news on Josh and Ryan?” Sophie queried and I shook my head.
“Nope.” My mouth made a popping sound as I emphasised the ‘p.’
“We have a free period at 11 a.m., if you want to come study with us? I can try and help you catch up with biology,” Sophie offered, smiling.
“Can’t. I have counselling.”
“Oh.” There was an awkward silence that stretched on for many minutes. I glimpsed Jess and Sophie looking at each other, unsure how to proceed. The bell rang, but I showed no sign of leaving. I continued rocking my chair, staring blankly out the window. They both turned to go.
“It’s really good to have you back, Iz. Come sit with us at lunch, yeah?” Jess tried one last time to engage me in conversation, but I didn’t respond. Sophie glanced over her shoulder at me before they disappeared out the common room. I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about how I’d behaved. I didn’t feel embarrassed about my appearance. I didn’t feel sad that I had been ignoring my two best friends, friends that had taken me so long to find. I didn’t feel anything.
✽✽✽
“Hello, Izzy. Please take a seat.” I almost didn’t turn up to this stupid counselling session, but after missing my first class and then barely staying awake for my second, I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone called my parents if I missed counselling too.
I looked around Miss Lovey’s office (yes, that was genuinely her real n
ame. I checked) and realised that calling it an office was a bit generous. It was tucked at the very back of one of the oldest campus buildings and was likely an old storage cupboard, it was that cramped. I was certain that if I stood in the middle of the room with my arms outstretched, my fingertips would touch the walls on both sides.
I sat down on a ratty looking armchair wedged in a corner, the brown fabric fraying along the arms. There was a small table next to it, a large box of tissues perching on the surface. There were also two beanbags and some floor cushions squashed around the chair. Miss Lovey sat opposite me, her back to a tiny desk and a narrow bookshelf. She poured a glass of water and set it down on the table next to me.
“So, Izzy, what would you like to talk about today?” Miss Lovey had short grey hair, clipped close to her head. She wore a slick of dark eyeliner and maroon-ish coloured lipstick, her lips surrounded by laughter lines. Her grey woollen dress fell to below her knees, the hem meeting her grey suede boots. She usually worked one-to-one with students that had learning difficulties in the school’s Special Educational Needs department, but she also doubled as the school’s counsellor―lucky me. I had never interacted with her before today.
“I don’t really want to talk at all, if I’m honest,” I replied. I spotted a cat ornament on the bookshelf over her shoulder. It was one of those Japanese lucky cats, the ones that had a raised paw and waved back and forth. I watched as the paw rocked, mesmerised.
“And why is that?” I glanced at Miss Lovey and she was smiling at me, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. The mug was shaped like a cat, a similar style to the lucky cat on the shelf. It even had paws sprouting from the bottom and the handle was shaped like the tail, as if it could jump out of her hands and walk off at any moment. She must really like cats.
“I don’t know what to say.” I fidgeted, biting the nail of my thumb.
“Mr Tapps said your parents are worried about you. About how you’re coping with what happened to Josh.” She took another sip of her tea and stared knowingly at me.
“Do you know what happened?" She nodded.
“Josh and his brother are currently residing in Gilleford Hospital after suffering a beating from their father. Their youngest brother, Georgie, is now living with you and your family.” Wow, I couldn’t believe she had summed it all up in only two sentences. Whenever I even thought about trying to explain it to someone, I felt overwhelmed. Where would I even begin? How did I explain that it felt like so much…more? I wanted to give them every detail, every little anecdote I'd stored away up until that fateful day. How Georgie could be so carefree and fun when he wasn't worried about going home. How Ryan would lose his sarcasm and cynicism when he wasn't worried about where his next meal was coming from. How Josh's smile could light up an entire room when he felt safe. When he felt loved. How else would anyone understand how I felt if they didn't know those things? How could they begin to empathise? To know what I was going through?
“How do you feel about that?” I struggled to hold in a laugh. What a stupid question. How cliché, how predictable.
“About what? The fact my boyfriend is in a coma or how his brother is living in our spare room? Well, my dad is living in the spare room. Georgie sleeps with Mum pretty much every night.” I said it with nonchalance, as if I was unfazed by it all. A lie.
“Why is Georgie sleeping with your mum? He’s nine years old, correct? Seems a little old to be sleeping with an adult.” I couldn’t tell if she sounded judgemental or not.
“He has nightmares. He screams out in his sleep.” I gulped, finding it difficult to swallow.
“Nightmares?” she prompted.
“Mmhmm. About the day it happened.”
“The day of the beating?”
“Yes.”
“I see. That must be hard for you.”
“Hard for me? Why would that be hard for me? Georgie is the one suffering.” I began biting the nail on my index finger.
“Are you not suffering too?” she asked. I shrugged.
“Not as much as Georgie.”
“Why do you think that he’s suffering more than you?” I laughed, shaking my head. She must be joking.
“He stabbed his dad! He had to listen to both of his brothers getting beaten up whilst he hid in his room. And when he was so scared that his dad might actually kill them, he grabbed a knife and fucking stabbed him!” I panted, waiting to see if she was going to reprimand me for my language. She didn’t.
“And that is something that no one should have to go through. But just because you weren’t there, that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel pain, too. It doesn’t mean that Georgie’s pain is any more important than yours.”
“Tell that to my mum,” I grumbled. She raised an eyebrow.
"I’m only here because Mum thinks it will be good for Georgie to see me going back to school. And if he sees I’m OK with getting counselling, then hopefully he’ll be OK talking to someone too.” I rolled my eyes, even though deep down I knew I was being unfair.
“And how does that make you feel?” Again, with that bloody question? I was so irritated with her that I was surprised when I found myself answering.
“Like Mum is putting Georgie’s needs above my own. Like she’s using him to manipulate me into doing things I don’t want to do.” I clamped my lips shut tight, afraid of what might spill out next.
“It’s OK to be honest about how you feel. This is a safe space.”
“But that’s not how I feel. I don’t know why I said that.”
“No?”
“No. And even if she is putting Georgie’s needs first, she should! He’s been through enough and needs all the help he can get. Besides, I don’t think he’s ever been put first in his life.” My eyes welled up, shame rearing its ugly head again. I was being so selfish. How could I be so nasty about Mum and how she was treating Georgie? She had done everything for me my whole life and now someone else needed her help, I was, what, jealous? Urgh. I was a disgrace.
“I need to go.” I scooped up my things and ran for the door.
“Izzy, please, come back. It’s―” I threw the door closed behind me, running for the nearest toilets. I was sure I had seen some near the entrance of the building. I could barely see where I was going with the tears flying down my face, blurring my vision. I stumbled into the toilets, dashing into a cubicle. My bag slammed to the ground and I grabbed my hair seconds before I vomited into the toilet. I heaved again but I had hardly eaten in days; there was nothing left to throw up. I scrambled back into a sitting position, leaning against the locked toilet door. I stared up at the ceiling. Josh, I need you. I’m a mess without you. And I love your brother so much, I really am so happy that he’s living with us. I’m sorry I’m being such a selfish bitch. I just...I miss you…please wake up. Please.
Chapter 10
Joshua
“You know, Sammy and I were so happy when Izzy was born.” Charlie was sitting next to Ryan's bed, his shoulders level with Ryan’s. His knees were wide apart, his elbows resting on his thighs as his hands dangled between them. His body was facing the same way as Ryan’s and he stared at the wall opposite them both. I was lying next to Ryan, part of me disappearing into his body so that we both fit on the bed. It had been a little weird at first, especially as his head cage blocked some of my view, but I found it comforting to lie close to him. The real him.
The sun was streaming into our room, the light stretching to my body in the next bed. Sammy and Georgie had gone to get breakfast, but Charlie remained at Ryan’s bedside. It had become something of a routine for him, to have a morning chat with Ryan when no one else was around. Usually he told Ryan about his week; what had happened at work, what movies he and Georgie had watched, or any other titbit he felt like sharing. I loved to hear about their normality; a glaring contrast to the freakish nightmare that I was not quite living. No one else really talked to us so without Charlie, I wouldn’t have had a clue that Izzy had gone back to sixth form or
that Sammy was taking Georgie shopping next weekend for new clothes. Sure, Izzy and Sammy sat with me a hell of a lot, but they didn’t really say anything. They were just there, waiting, hoping, praying. Sometimes it was hard for me to watch―I didn’t know how to take their pain away. But with Charlie, I could close my eyes and almost pretend we were having a real conversation. Sometimes I even filled in my side of it, even though he couldn’t hear me. Ryan jumped in with something every now and then, too.
I glanced over at him, watching him hover as far away from his body as possible. He stared out the window―he always did whenever we listened to Charlie.
“I told Sammy that I didn’t care if we had a boy or a girl, but secretly I was desperate for a girl. I was desperate for that ‘daddy-daughter’ relationship everyone goes on about.” I turned my head and through the rods of Ryan’s cage, I watched Charlie’s cheeks rise as he smiled at the wall. “She was such a chubby baby,” he laughed. “I knew as soon as she squeezed my finger for the first time that I was a goner. I’d do anything and everything to make that little girl happy.” I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my emotions at bay. I could feel the jealousy trying to claw to the surface; had my mum or dad ever felt like that? Like the world would stop spinning if I weren’t in it? Doubtful. Would things have been different if they’d had a daughter, instead of three sons? I shivered, batting away the terrifying visions that tried to invade my mind. A daughter may have been even worse.
“I would have had more children, I think. But Sammy lost her sister to Leukaemia when she was in her early twenties. Lizzie was a remarkable human being, such a kind soul. We’d not long had Izzy, and Sammy...I thought it was going to break her. She and her younger sister were so close. She’d done everything she could to save her, even donated her bone marrow. She still has the scars over twenty years later.” I watched Charlie’s tears splash onto the floor. “She said she never wanted anyone to feel the pain of losing a sibling. She couldn’t bear the idea of having more children.” I stared back up at the ceiling, feeling uncomfortable about listening in to Charlie’s private thoughts. Charlie sighed, trying to smile through his sadness.
