Imo points at the third picture – a bride and groom. “Is that you and Amber’s dad?”
“I still miss him, so do the girls. He’d turn in his grave if he knew how things had panned out.”
Imo’s confused. Amber told them her father was an accountant in London. She remembers how Amber went on about “in Town”. “When did your husband pass away?”
“Jade was eighteen and Amber thirteen. Heart attack on the tube on his way to work. Our world turned upside down. Jade was due to start university the following week. She’d done most of her packing, but that got put on hold.” She looks at her daughter. “But you’ll get there one day, love. And you’re doing all right, managing a top family restaurant.”
Jades gives her mother a weak smile and her eyes come to rest on Imo.
“It must have been hard for you both,” Imo says, feeling lame. She turns to the mother. “Hard for Amber too.”
Mother and daughter exchange a glance and Imo feels the room chill. Mrs Murphy slouches in her seat, looking even more exhausted. Jade brushes lint off her trousers.
Eventually Mrs Murphy says, “Amber seemed to take it worst. She was thick as thieves with her dad. After his death she retreated into her own world and came out now and again as different people. That’s how she came to dress like that.” She glances at the Goth girl in the photograph. “She got in with a bad crowd for a while.”
Jade’s head shoots up and she stares at her mother.
“But it was a stage of the grieving. We have to understand that.” Mrs Murphy looks at Imo as she speaks, but Imo’s sure she’s addressing Jade. “Her wildest time was around fourteen, fifteen. By sixth form she’d calmed down and managed to take her A levels.” She takes a breath. “Perhaps she’ll go back to studying when she’s ready.” She glances at Jade. “You both will.”
There’s silence and Imo sips her tea. What more is there to say? Amber didn’t settle at university because she’s still finding a way to mourn her father. Five years is a lot of grieving, but Imo can understand it. The light went out of Imo in February. Until then, she thought families like hers only existed on TV news and true crime documentaries.
She gets up and thanks them for the tea. This family has its own tragedy. They don’t need Imo poking her nose into it. She has to let Amber go.
Mrs Murphy shows her to the door and promises to give Amber the bangle. When she sees her. The sentence is punctuated in half by a deep sigh.
There’s ages until Imo’s train so she decides to walk to the station. Jade catches up in the street and walks beside her. “Just so you know. Amber’s not the sad girl lost that my mother paints.”
“That’s okay,” Imo says, walking on. “You don’t have to explain.” The welfare rep was right; she needs to concentrate on her own uni experience. It was Amber’s choice to leave; her text home proved that. Time for Imo to get back to Abbeythorpe.
But Jade has more to say. “Amber must have put on one hell of a performance for you to come all this way. But then Amber’s good at acting: grief-stricken daughter, Goth, junkie. She even acted pretend-pregnant for months. Broke Mum’s heart with that one.”
Imo walks faster, regretting her visit even more, but Jade keeps up, filling the air with bile.
“Then she went one worse, told us she was psychic and trying to contact Dad. I’d have chucked her out but Mum forgave her every time.” She touches Imo’s arm and stops walking. Imo has to stop too. “It’s a mile and a half to my restaurant but we don’t have a car any more. Mum sold it to pay Amber’s uni accommodation fees. And now the ungrateful madam vanishes and leaves us to pay a term’s rent for no reason.”
“I’m sorry,” Imo gasps, the word vanishes having sent her heart rate into freefall. “I guess I didn’t know Amber at all.”
Chapter 23
Amber
New pains – ankle and knee. Payback for all the times in the last few days when she’s faked them. Amber’s head clangs with Tegan’s imagined laughter: Serves you right. The spite is sharp, then muffled, then sharp again. A din to be endured.
She opens her eyes, but it stays dark. Her brain is mushed like in the old days, back under the bridge with her true friends. Everything bathed in a chemical shadow.
For the first time in years, her head feels the same whoosh and buzz. And the smells: pee on concrete, unwashed flesh, stale food. Only the sweet, fusty scent of weed smoke is missing. Maybe if she inhales deeply enough, it will be here too. A rush of warmth; she’s home. It’s nice to be back at the bridge.
Then she remembers Danno. She can’t stay. Broke him once, mustn’t again. The thought triggers an older memory: through the unfamiliar cottage window in Derbyshire, a serene world of white outside. Doubled over, hand pressed against the glass, wanting the pain to be over. Wanting her mum.
She must leave before Danno gets here. But when she tries to stand up, her leg doesn’t move. Her head hurts too much to work it out. She curls up and sleeps.
Chapter 24
Tegan
When she hears Imo’s door being unlocked, Tegan resists sticking her head out into the hallway. None of her business where the girl’s been all day. But when footsteps go from Imo’s room to the kitchen, she picks up her coffee mug and joins her.
“Thought you’d done an Amber.”
Tegan’s tone is jokey but Imo doesn’t smile. It looks as if she’s been crying. Tegan’s school friends were the same, always blubbing. Maybe she’s the odd one, hard-hearted. She clenches her hands around her empty cup, forces a smile. “Lectures, was it?”
Imo shakes her head and flops onto a seat. “Why am I such a bad judge?”
“Too trusting.” The words are out before Tegan realizes it’s a rhetorical question. She sits beside her. “Has something happened?”
“I went to see Amber’s mother.”
“At home? In … where is it she lives?” Tegan asks, wondering how she’s ended up with these flatmates: a disappearing fantasist and now an obsessive.
“Chadcombe. I skipped a lecture.”
There’s a question in her voice. What does she want – a bollocking or reassurance? Tegan doesn’t give a toss if Imo misses lectures. Tegan plans on missing most Accountancy classes unless the lecturer Hennessey bucks up his ideas.
“I feel stupid,” Imo continues. “Her mum was nice and everything, but it was obvious from what she told me that she wasn’t surprised Amber’s gone travelling. Then Amber’s sister filled me in on some of the stunts Amber’s pulled over the years. This disappearing act is mild in comparison to other things she’s done.”
“I always thought she was a liar.” Tegan winces after she’s said the word. Storyteller would have been kinder, but now that Imo’s seen the light, the truth will do.
“I should have listened to you and Phoenix. Remember when she told us her dad was an accountant in London? It turns out he died five years ago.”
Tegan stiffens and feels a moment of empathy with Amber. Maybe the girl had good reason to pretend her father was still alive. Tegan has made up a fair share of tales about hers.
Imo stands up. “Amber lasted two days. That was her choice. Why should I care?”
“Some people don’t want to be helped,” Tegan says.
Her phone buzzes. It’s bloody Ivor in Flat 7. He’s been a limpet since the pre-s party. She reads his text: Papa sends his love. Ivor’s attached a photograph of a postcard, the words Montreux Chillon in yellow print over a photo of a waterfront castle on Lake Geneva.
Papa? He can’t mean …? Tegan feels a flurry of interest. Has her dad actually sent her a postcard, put pen to paper? He hasn’t done that since she was twelve. These days he manipulates his ex-wife, her mother, into speaking for him. Is this a sign he’s changed? But the silly idiot must have got her flat number wrong: 7 instead of 17.
“I’ve got to pop downstairs,” she tells Imo. She’ll get the card from Ivor straightaway. But before she’s out of the kitchen, Ivor sends another photo: the b
ack of the postcard.
“Darling Tegan. Switzerland is fine place. Sorry you not here. Back Thursday. Give Dad a call? Love Dad, Kanya and Dylan.”
Of course, her dad hasn’t written to her. It’s his Thai bride’s handwriting. Give Dad a call not even your dad. Just Dad, like she thinks they’re part of one happy family. And why mention the kid? It’s not like Tegan’s ever going to play big sister to their brat.
“Changed my mind. I’ll make some drinks,” she says, coming back to the kettle.
Chapter 25
Wednesday 5 October
Imogen
Imo’s limbs still echo with the motion of the train journey. Her eyes stay closed despite the distracting moonlight through the curtain gap, but her mind won’t switch Amber off.
Vanishes – Jade’s word to describe her sister’s actions.
Something was troubling Amber. Imo remembers the night she was drunk and puking into a plastic bowl. Amber rambling about her father. When Imo thinks of it now, it’s obvious the girl was mourning. But she mentioned something else too, someone. Was that another of her tales, or the only time she spoke the truth?
Amber. Sophia. Imo’s head is loud with both. She forces the student rep’s words into their place and relives her patronizing tone. Are you getting enough sleep?
Her thoughts eventually settle on allowable worries. How is she going to explain to Dr Wyatt why she missed the lecture? When she fails the exams at the end of the year – and she’s bound to fail – she’ll be dumped off the course. No concessions for skivers. She tots up her missed sessions in her head. And it’s only Tuesday of the second week. She checks the time on her phone: 2 a.m. It’s Wednesday. Another bout of coughing forces her onto her other side. The new position relaxes her and she drifts into sleep.
Dreaming again, Sophia’s face flickers into focus. She’s looking down on her.
“It’s dark in here. I can’t hold out much longer,” Sophia whispers.
Imo wakes in a sweat. For a moment she doesn’t know where she is. All she knows is that the nightmare has found her again.
***
The familiar weight presses on her chest when she wakes in the morning. After the nightmare she must have slept soundly but the memory of it has brought her grief to the fore. It’s a monumental effort to get out of bed and shower. After she’s dressed, she’s exhausted. The only eighteen-year-old running on empty. Phoenix will have jogged off with her Mech Eng crew and Tegan, immaculately coiffured, will have zoomed out in her convertible. And Amber … What if Amber’s changed her mind and come back? Imo rushes through the hallway.
But Amber’s door stays closed no matter how loudly she knocks. When Riku comes through the front door with a parcel, she points theatrically at Amber’s door. “Have you seen her?”
Riku shrugs and disappears into his room.
To her surprise, the door opens when she tries the handle. Amber’s belongings sit in half a dozen cardboard boxes. Scissors and brown tape rest on top of one. Imo sighs sadly. Soon Amber will be packed away and gone forever. She closes the door behind her.
Back in her own room, she checks her laptop. Still no Facebook posts from Amber, but Dr Wyatt has emailed a two-thousand-word essay and a reading list. Imo throws on clothes and trudges to the library. The campus is busier this week because the second years have arrived. Lots of them are hanging out on the central concourse, oozing confidence and recounting their glorious summers.
Inside the library, she feels like a girl overboard, not knowing in which direction to swim. No staff in sight, how’s she supposed to find the German section? Lauren is at a desk with a stack of books. She beckons Imo over.
“The German books are down there on the right. They’ve got multiple copies of everything on Dr Wyatt’s booklist.”
“Thanks,” Imo says and glances at Lauren’s pile. There’s a Mother and Baby magazine beside the German textbooks. “Frankly, I’d rather read that.”
Lauren reddens and pushes it to the next desk. “It was here when I sat down. It’s not mine.”
In case the magazine owner intends coming back and taking the seat, Imo says goodbye and goes to find a free table. She stupidly picks one that looks out onto the smokers’ courtyard. They huddle in packs, stay ten minutes, then leave. The camaraderie is obvious. Imo wonders if she should take up smoking.
She finds the German section where Lauren said it would be. After flicking through a few titles, she picks three that look the most relevant to the essay question.
Hours and chapters pass and she needs the loo.
The toilets are in the foyer next to the coffee machine. When she comes out of the ladies, she sees a man sitting over a Styrofoam cup. There’s something familiar about his hunched shoulders.
When he sees her, he tries to smile but looks like he’s given up. “I left my class. Just walked out. They told me my teaching was pointless. We all make mistakes. I live with mine.”
It’s Imo’s Accountancy lecturer, Sean Hennessy. He must recognize her from the last lesson, because she had been the only one paying attention.
“I told them I felt like Reggie Perrin, so now they’re all googling Reggie Perrin because they haven’t got a clue who he is.” His head sinks towards his drink.
Imo smiles politely and, when she gets back to her desk, she looks up Reggie Perrin. It’s a TV comedy from the 1970s. She keeps on breathing but feels a hole grow in her chest as she reads. The main character thinks his life is pointless, fakes suicide and disappears.
Chapter 26
Imogen
It’s seven o’clock when her rumbling stomach finally makes her call it a day at the library. Tegan and Phoenix will have gone to the canteen without her, but she can eat a tin of beans in the flat.
Back in her room she finds herself thinking about Amber again. Five years isn’t really that long to grieve for a father. To mourn any loved one.
She has an overwhelming urge to talk about Sophia. But who to call? Dad’s the practical one, organizing posters, visiting Sophia’s favourite places, leafleting her university. Mum retreats to Sophia’s room and sits in silence for hours. Freddie acts like it hasn’t happened, but through his closed bedroom door Imo’s heard him sobbing. Grandma’s the one who wails in public and lets Imo wail with her.
If Imo’s parents have gone away to search for Sophia, Grandma Jean will be at their house. She used to go there to babysit her three grandchildren, now it’s the house she sits with. Someone must be there when Sophia comes back.
But it’s not Grandma Jean’s turn today and she answers her home phone. Air catches in Imo’s throat as she pictures her alone in her high-backed chair waiting for the phone to ring.
Her grandmother’s voice is bright. “Hello, Imogen, sweetie. You’ve just caught me. I’m meeting Freddie for a drink.”
“My brother?” She’s astonished.
“We’re making it a fixed thing, every Wednesday at the wine bar, now he’s working locally.”
A pellet of envy forms in Imo’s chest even though she knows he took the low-paid job to be close to home. The unsaid one out one in rule applies more than ever. Imo occupied her parents’ offspring-shaped hole when Freddie managed to return to his graduate placement in Birmingham. Now it’s his turn to plug the gap while Imo’s away. But they both know it’s a chasm they’ll never completely fill. Only the third sibling can do that.
“What about you, sweetie?” her grandmother asks. “I expect you’re finding it hard to settle.”
“What?” Imo snaps, hating the way she’s been found out. Then she moderates her voice. “Of course, what else?”
“You mustn’t worry about everyone.”
Imo stands up and paces her bedroom. “I’m not, I don’t.” The floor space is tiny so she gives up and sits on her bed again. Why deny it?
“It doesn’t have to be like …” Grandma swallows. “It breaks me to know what you’ve all gone through.”
“I know.” Imo lies back on her p
illow, hacking. She shouldn’t have phoned.
“That’s a nasty cough. Been kissing too many boys?”
Imo has to sit up again to clear her throat. She’s relieved by the subject change despite knowing what will come next. A pretty girl like you.
“A good-looking lass like you must be fighting them off.”
And next: Never mind about your skin.
“How’s your acne? Did you get the brownies? I baked gluten-free. I read somewhere that wheat is bad for the complexion.”
Damn, the parcel she never collected from the post room. “Delicious. Thank you.” Keeping the lie out of her voice, and the guilt. “How are you?”
Her grandma’s voice drops. “Getting there. I tell myself Sophia wouldn’t want us to mope. We’re a strong family and I’ve got good friends.”
Imo can’t speak. She thinks of the good friends, the ones who clutch her arm and, in hushed tones, ask, “Have you heard anything?” Don’t they know it would be on every bloody news? Or are the “good friends” Grandma’s other buddies who change the subject whenever she mentions Sophia? Move on; she’s gone.
Grandma Jean breaks the silence to talk about Strictly, their go-to subject when Sophia gets too much.
Imo barely listens. How strong are they as a family? Not as robust as they were at first. In numbing shock, they shuffled into a formation. Dad knocked on doors. Freddie designed the poster – the only one who knew how. He and Imo left the smiling Sophia in mortar board and gown on lampposts, in shops, on fences around the railway station. Mum waited at home.
They went on outings: Slimbridge, Alton Towers, Weston-super-Mare – favourite places from Sophia’s childhood in case she’d gone there. But the excursions have dwindled. Too much disappointment is corrosive.
Their lives, their days, turn on a sixpence. A trip to Tesco, Mum’s hospital shift, Dad’s quiz night, all disrupted by another suspected sighting. The anticipatory rush to Inspector Hare, barely breathing for the happy end, only to have hopes dashed. Not their girl. Often not a girl at all.
The Roommates Page 9
