Blood Loss

by Kerena Swan

  ‘I’ve been to the shop. Got some bread and bacon too. Thought you’d be hungry.’ She brushes a strand of greasy hair from her face and fixes me with a direct gaze.

  She’s waiting for me to challenge her about going out in her nightwear again, but I keep quiet. I just hope she put her coat over her pyjamas instead of the dressing-gown.

  ‘Thanks. Mum. I am hungry.’ For now, I don’t care what the neighbours think. I’ll just enjoy the cup of tea and bacon sandwich. They’re probably used to her anyway. When she needs more alcohol her only thought is getting supplies.

  ‘What brings you home, then? Boyfriend trouble again or did you walk into a door?’

  ‘Something like that.’ I sit at the table, pushing bottles aside to clear a space.

  Once I’ve eaten I’ll sort this place out. I’ll take the empties to the bottle bank and chuck the bedding from the boot in the clothing bank. At least there’s no blood on it to raise suspicion. Then I’ll go to the library and look at the internet to check the news and find a job. I have to carry on as though the police will never find me. Build a new life. I suddenly realise I haven’t even considered going back to Manchester this morning. I can’t face heading north and getting nearer to yesterday’s traumatic event.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’ Mum asks.

  I jolt and look at her with surprise. It’s as if she can read my mind and knows something terrible has happened. I’ll never confide in her, though. As if she’s worth listening to. God! How many times have I seen Dad knocking her into the next room? She’s hardly a marriage guidance counsellor. ‘Visited Dad lately?’ I ask, and she turns away to put sugar in the tea then brings it to the table.

  ‘I tried my best for you, Sarah. Your father wasn’t an easy man, even from the start.’

  ‘Why did you choose him then?’

  ‘It was more a case of he chose me. Once he had his sights on me he wouldn’t let go. It must have been my Spanish ancestry that appealed to him. Called me his little gypsy girl because of my long dark hair and golden skin.’ She almost smiles at the memory. ‘I was flattered by his attention and everything was wonderful for the first couple of years. It all changed after you were born.’

  ‘Maybe he never wanted kids. He certainly never made me feel wanted.’

  Not only did he push me away, at times it felt as though he really hated me. I don’t know what I did do, or didn’t do, to justify it. Mum always denied it, but when he threw my artwork aside or ignored that the fact that I’d scored the highest in my spelling test, I knew there was no pleasing him. ‘I used to catch him staring at me like I was a maggot on his pizza. He hated me,’ I added.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course he loved you. He just wasn’t good at showing it.’ Mum examines her dry hands as she says this. She can’t meet my eyes because I know and she knows that she’s talking bullshit.

  I stand abruptly. ‘Let’s get that bacon in the pan, then we’re going to clean this place.’

  I’ll wait until she’s had a few vodkas then I’ll ask her why he hated me and why he ruined both our lives. I have my suspicions, but I want to hear it from her. From this day forward I’m going to take control of my life. No one is going to make me feel inferior or mess with my head ever again.

  Chapter 8

  The Following June | Jenna

  Nisha takes the paracetamol from my outstretched hand. ‘Thanks Jenna, you’re a life-saver. If I don’t stop this headache now it could develop into a migraine.’

  I’m here on a mission of mercy as Nisha isn’t allowed to leave the travel agency to pop to the shops. ‘How can you even go to the loo?’ I ask her, as I sit down. I’ll stay for a quick chat.

  ‘I put the closed sign on the door but my boss doesn’t like me doing that too often. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘I’m lucky I don’t get migraines, but I’ve seen Lucy and Dad with them so I know how awful they can be.’

  ‘Is it getting any easier, being without your dad? Not that it’s ever going to be easy.’

  ‘Mum still isn’t great. In fact, she’s getting worse. She’s even fainted a couple of times recently because she isn’t eating properly. It’s a shock to see her like this because she’s always been so strong and capable.’

  ‘Maybe she should see a doctor.’

  ‘She’d probably refuse.’

  We sit quietly for a moment then Nisha says, ‘Did you look at those brochures I gave you?’

  ‘They look wonderful. Amazing.’ I try to inject enthusiasm into my voice.

  ‘Not having second thoughts, are you? Your mum wouldn’t want to hold you back from your dream, and it isn’t as if she’ll be alone because Lucy’s nearby.’

  ‘True. Lucy will love having Mum to herself. She’ll be the caring daughter who stayed while I gallivant around the world. Not that she’ll do much to help.’

  Lucy thinks I’m selfish and lazy. She says I should do the cleaning, but I’ve got two jobs and Lucy never did it when she lived at home. I suppose when I go travelling she’ll boss poor Grace around instead. In fact, she’ll probably ask Grace to increase her hours so there’s no risk of having to pitch in herself. Luckily Mum can afford it, especially now she’s paid the agency a finders’ fee so Grace works for her directly.

  ‘So, you don’t need to postpone travelling, do you? Not for longer than it takes to save up the money you need, and by then your mum should be a lot better.’

  Nisha dumps a box on the desk and rips off the tape. Inside is a pile of brochures. I lean across to look at the covers but they’re for Disneyland so I sit back again.

  ‘How are the party arrangements coming along?’ Nisha asks.

  I roll my eyes as I think of Lucy’s grand plans, but find I have to swallow as my eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m not opposed to it because it’s Lucy’s idea,’ I say, though perhaps that’s how it started. ‘I really don’t think Mum’s ready for that sort of socialising, especially not after this second fainting episode. She isn’t ready for anything.’

  I blink the tears away but Nisha’s already seen them and squeezes my hand. I may not be fading away physically, but losing Dad has hit me hard too and seeing Mum become so frail is even more upsetting. I want her back as she was. I catch sight of the shop clock and groan. ‘I have to go. I’m meeting Lucy to check through the arrangements.’

  I hurry outside and run as fast as my restricting long skirt and flip-flops allow. The heat from the sun bounces off the pavement and I’m far too hot. I see Lucy in the café window where we’re meeting, tapping her fingers on the table and checking her watch as I approach. My top is sticking to my damp skin when I rush through the door, and beads of sweat prickle on my upper lip.

  ‘You’re late.’ Lucy glares at me as I flop down onto the chair opposite her. ‘Been to the bloody travel agents again?’

  I open my mouth to explain that I was merely running an errand for Nisha and don’t have anywhere near enough savings to go travelling yet, then close it again. What’s the point? She’ll still be arsy with me. I’ve tried to be friends with Lucy over the years, invited her to come shopping or see a film together, but she always says she’s busy. Anyone would have expected us to grow closer in our time of shared grief, but, if anything, we’ve moved even further apart. I want to talk about Dad and share a tear or two, but Lucy keeps everything inside. Her need for control is out of all reasonable proportion to the whole situation. She’s gone completely overboard with these party arrangements.

  ‘I’ve bought invites to post,’ she says.

  Who sends out party invites nowadays? ‘Can’t we just put it out on Facebook and phone the oldies who don’t use social media?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I want this done properly. Show Mum how much we care, and we have to make sure no one is missed out. You need to go through Mum’s address book to check who to put on the list and phone Liz at the University. She’ll know who to invite from there.’

  I don’t realise I’m rolling my eyes until Luc
y slaps her hand on the table, making me jump. Jesus, I wouldn’t want her as my boss. I bet the teams she turns around in her role as management consultant are scared witless.

  ‘I hate it when you do that, Jenna. It’s so disrespectful.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’m sorry.’

  Fucking lists, though! I’ve had twenty-four years of being subjected to Lucy’s lists. According to Mum, Lucy even made lists when I was born. She was only six but wrote down everything I needed and when I should eat or sleep. Mum and Dad humoured her – no, encouraged her, delighted she was taking an interest in her new sibling, and I’m still paying the price. I thought my life would improve once she left home and moved in with her fiancé, but she’s still trying to control me. The sooner I can set off travelling the better.

  ‘I’ve prepared a list for the caterers. As you’ll see I’ve added egg and cheese sandwiches for you and any other vegetarians.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Lucy, I’m a vegan. I don’t eat dairy produce because… You know how I feel about all animals. There might be others with dietary needs too. In fact, you should put it on the invites – please let us know if you have any special dietary requirements.’ Hah! That’ll give her something else to think about. I smile sweetly as she purses her lips then scribbles on a piece of paper.

  ‘And don’t forget about my peanut allergy.’ I touch my EpiPen in my pocket. It’s like my talisman and I take it everywhere with me. It saved my life once when I ate a friend’s home-made flapjack, not realising it contained nuts. ‘Are you coming to see Mum later?’ I ask. ‘Grace is there now but she has to go at two. I need to ride Merlin and I don’t like leaving Mum alone with the way she is at the moment.’

  ‘I can’t today. Ellis and I have an appointment to view a house. If we get it, we’ll be nearer to you and Mum. Look.’ She pulls a sheaf of house details from her bag and sifts through them until she finds a picture of a four-bedroomed Victorian semi here in Woburn Sands.

  ‘I thought you liked living in the centre of Milton Keynes. Didn’t you say when you bought the flat that it’s good to be in the heart of the place – to feel the buzz? Be with other like-minded professionals?’

  Lucy knows I’m taunting her but she doesn’t react.

  ‘Woburn Sands is a better investment and we might need more space soon.’

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ Wow! I quite like the idea of being an auntie. I could show my niece or nephew that there’s more to life than getting a promotion, buying a bigger house and sorting out a pension. I could teach them all about the beauty in the world, how to respect animals and how to save the environment for future generations.

  ‘No, but we might try for a baby after the wedding.’

  Typical Lucy – has to do everything in the right order. I put aside my little fantasy for the future and glance at the house details again. They’re so expensive. I pull another brochure from the pile.

  ‘Bloody hell, Lucy! £800,000? Surely you can’t afford that one?’

  She snatches it from my hand and gathers up all the house details before shoving them back in her bag. ‘I can dream, can’t I?’ She glares at me.

  I’ve had enough now. I look pointedly at the time on my phone. ‘What else do you need to talk about?’

  ‘You’ve only been here ten minutes and barely finished your smoothie. We’ve got a lot more to go through yet.’

  I sigh dramatically and roll my eyes to wind her up. ‘Some of us have responsibilities, you know.’

  ‘Don’t lecture me on responsibilities. I’m not the one who bought a horse I couldn’t afford to keep.’

  ‘I meant Mum,’ I say quietly and she closes her mouth, silencing her next retort.

  Three lists later, I have a ton of tasks to do and I feel overwhelmed. I wonder if Grace might help. She’s so obliging with everything else.

  ‘One last thing,’ Lucy says. ‘You’ll have to sort those out.’ She waves a dismissive hand at my dreadlocks. ‘Mum’s friends are all very staid and respectable.’

  ‘But this is who I am. If people don’t like it, they can look the other way. I’m not changing my hair.’ I grab a handful and admire the blue and green sequined ribbons running through it. It makes me feel like a mermaid, unique and beautiful. I look at Lucy with her boring haircut and neat clothes, and find it hard to believe we’re sisters.

  ‘You’ll be an embarrassment to me, and it will be disrespectful to Mum.’

  ‘I’m not changing my appearance to conform to your middle-class, patriarchal standards.’

  ‘Why do you have to rebel all the time? You’re twenty-four, for Christ’s sake, not fifteen,’ she hisses, then gets up. ‘You’re so selfish, Jenna. Think of others instead of yourself for a change.’ She snatches her bag from the chair and walks out of the café.

  I sit open-mouthed and watch her go.

  Chapter 9

  The Previous February | Sarah

  I’ve only been away for two years but I swear Milton Keynes is busier than it was the last time I was here. They’ve crammed more houses into what were once empty fields and that means more people and more cars. I am sure that there never used to be this many traffic lights. I thought the whole purpose of the grid system with a roundabout at each intersection was to keep traffic moving. Now, it seems, all the large roundabouts have numerous sets of lights around them. It’s taking me ages to get about.

  I park next to the bottle bank and feel a strange pleasure in hearing the bottles smash into the bin. Mum’s kitchen immediately looked better without all the empties and I haven’t even started on the backlog of washing-up. I scoop the bundle of bedding from the boot of my car and deposit it into the clothes bank, wipe my hands down my jeans and drive off again. I feel lighter, unburdened, as though I’ve taken my first step to a new future. There’ll be no evidence left soon to link me to Robert.

  My bloodied jeans and jumper are whirling around in Mum’s washing machine on a cold wash to loosen the stains. I’ll put them on a hot wash when I get back. She saw them through the small window and merely raised her eyebrows when she noticed the bloodstains on the jeans. She assumed they were from my nosebleed and I was happy to let her think that. If they don’t wash out I’ll chuck those garments in the bin.

  Right. The library is next. I could have checked Mum’s television for the news but she’d ask why I was taking a sudden interest, and, if the incident were to be featured, I’d struggle not to react. No. The least she knows the better.

  Parking is difficult near the central library and I have to walk some distance through the bitter wind. The old anorak I found in the hall cupboard isn’t as warm as my coat but that’s damp from being sponged down. My eyes water and I worry the tears will wash my concealer off. I don’t want to attract any pitying glances. I pull a small mirror from my bag to make sure the bruises aren’t showing then make my way up the stairs.

  It takes me several minutes of trawling the internet to find any mention of the death in Perthshire and that’s only because I search the local news there. Are there that many murders and stabbings that they’re not newsworthy anymore? It’s as if no one cares about Robert. I cared. I’d cared too much. I scan the article to see if the police have any leads, but it seems as though they don’t even know his true identity.

  Shit! His passport and work phone. My stomach churns and my armpits prickle like heat rash. I hid them in my glove box in the car. Thank God he kept the phone turned off and just checked it occasionally. I’ll have to get rid of them fast. But where?

  I could throw them in Mum’s rubbish bin but what if a bin man spots them? No. Burning and burying is the only answer. I’ll get some matches, go for a walk in the woods and find a quiet spot for a little bonfire. I also have to dispose of the pay-as-you-go phone I’d used to communicate with Robert. I’ll bury that while I’m there too.

  A man with dark curly hair and a large nose is studying the titles on a bookcase nearby. Is he watching me? I’m certain he keeps looking across. Shit. Maybe the
police have discovered who Robert is and stopped the name going to the press so as not to alert me? Have they tracked me down? Is this a plain-clothed policeman? I ignore him and scan the jobs page, determined not to look up again in case he sees the anxiety that must be etched on my face. I try to focus on the adverts instead of him.

  I need to find employment that pays weekly. I’ve only got a few pounds in the bank and I doubt Mum has much. At least there are plenty of jobs around here, far more than up north. Tesco and Sainsbury’s are looking for customer assistants. I’ll call them later. I rummage in my bag for a pen but can’t find one. I glance around at the tall bookcases, relieved there’s no sign of the dark-haired man, and spot the main desk. A woman with tiny, liver-spotted hands and a neat grey bob is frowning at a screen.

  ‘Hi, could I possibly borrow a pen?’ I ask.

  The woman looks up, her pale eyes disappearing amidst folds of skin as she smiles.

  ‘Of course. Anything else I can help you with?’

  I look around at the rows of books and my heart lifts. Books have always been my escape. To lose myself in someone else’s dangerous situation, feel a frisson of fear then find myself in the relative safety of my warm bed is a pleasure I never tire of.

  ‘I’d like to join, please, and where are your psychological thrillers?’

  The woman points to an aisle and I’m halfway there when I have a thought and go back to her desk.

  ‘I don’t suppose there are any jobs going in the library?’

  ‘We’re looking for volunteers. Could you spare a couple of afternoons a week?’

  I leave my muddy shoes at the lounge door rather than the back door. I refuse to walk in my socks on this disgusting kitchen floor. Mum is back on the sofa watching an inane reality show. I stomp across the room and switch it off.

  ‘Hey, I was watching that.’

  ‘Come on. We’ve got a house to clean. I can’t live in this dirt and mess.’