Fierce Fragile Hearts

by Sara Barnard

  ‘You don’t have to explain it,’ I say. ‘I’ve missed you too. Cads, I’m sorry I’m not always the friend you need me to be. I really am trying. I just … I find life really hard. A lot of the time, it’s just really hard, and sometimes trying isn’t enough, and I fuck up, or I know I’m going to fuck up, so I turn off my phone. Does that make sense? I know it doesn’t, or at least it won’t to you. But my life and yours are different, Cads. It’s not just that you’re at uni. It’s everything.’ I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘We react to things differently. We need different things. And I think I always knew that, but maybe you didn’t, and this year you’ve realized?’

  ‘I’ve always known that, Suze,’ she says. ‘I think this year you’ve realized. I know you find life hard, but you have to let me in sometimes to help. Me and Roz. You have to let us help you.’

  ‘I am,’ I say. ‘This is what this is. See? I’m trying.’

  We’re both quiet again for a while. Eventually, she says, ‘Roz told me about Matt.’

  ‘I guessed she would.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah. What about you? How are you feeling about Kel?’

  ‘Sad. Lots of regret. I’m hoping we can be friends, but I don’t know, maybe that’s naive. We’ll see.’ She lets out a small laugh. ‘God, there’s so much I want to talk to you about. Matt stuff and Kel stuff, and why you have a dog, and … Oh, hey, Tess likes you now.’

  I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. ‘Does she?’

  ‘Yeah. The word she used is “baller”. She says she’s never seen anyone do anything so selflessly stupid. I was like, that’s Suze.’

  I laugh harder. ‘That is me.’

  ‘It is! She’s been on at me to make up with you since Brighton. But I just … I don’t know, I needed to be mad for a while. For a whole bunch of reasons.’

  ‘It’s OK. I get it. Really.’

  She sighs. ‘So much to talk about. Want to come visit? I promise I won’t be weird this time.’

  I smile at the wall, feeling my eyebrows lift even though there’s no one to see. I want to ask her to elaborate, but there’s no point. I know what she means. ‘Let me sort out my living situation first, then I’ll think about visiting.’

  ‘Oh shit, sorry! I forgot! What are you going to do? Do you want to go stay with Tarin? She really wouldn’t mind. You know she loves you.’

  ‘I’m still figuring it out,’ I say. ‘I’ve got a couple of weeks. Honestly, though, Cads, I care way more about you and me than where I’m living.’

  ‘I know,’ she says drily. ‘That’s why I worry.’

  37

  ‘No Wrong Way Home’

  Alexis Harte

  I call in sick to work the next day, because there’s too much going on in my head to shut out for eight hours. Instead, I spend what feels like hours online, scrolling through Gumtree and SpareRoom, going over and over my budget, trying to make the sums work. My eyes are starting to hurt when my phone rings, and it’s Matt.

  ‘Listen.’ His voice is quick, breathless. ‘One of my housemates is moving out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Lars. He’s got offered a job in Bristol so he’s leaving in about a week. His room is going up for rent. It’s a double room, seven hundred pounds a month plus bills. I know it’s pricey compared to where you are now, but you’d earn more living in London. I can get you a job at the bar if you needed something straight away. It pays well. What do you think?’

  I’m clutching my phone to my ear. ‘Matt, I can’t just—’

  ‘This is a friend helping out a friend,’ he says. ‘Honest. I’m not … asking for anything.’ He groans. ‘That makes it sound like I am. But I’m really not. It just seems like incredible timing. You’d love London, Suze. The city was basically made for you.’

  ‘I …’ I begin. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Think about it,’ he says.

  I am thinking about it. And I know exactly what would happen if Matt and I were living in the same house.

  Would that be such a bad thing? a small voice asks.

  Yes. I made a choice, didn’t I? I’m not ready for a relationship. And if I’m not ready for that, I’m definitely not ready for a probably-not-a-good-idea-but-let’s-be-friends-with-benefits-anyway complicated living arrangement. I’d love to live with Matt, that’s the truth. We could talk about music, and he could teach me to get better at the guitar, and we’d go to gigs together and just … hang out, like all the great times we have done over the last few months. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. I’m not exactly known for my self-control, and it doesn’t seem like he is, either.

  ‘You know it’s a bad idea,’ I say.

  ‘I know why it sounds like one,’ he says. ‘But I would never have suggested it if you hadn’t just been made homeless. I’m trying to help.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  It would be so, so easy to say yes. He could take care of me; there could be a whole new life waiting for me in London. Another new city to start again in, another new address, yet another version of myself, of my life. It could be really great. It could be everything I ever wanted.

  ‘Suze?’ he says.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You’re going to say no, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He sighs down the phone. ‘Damn, are you going to make a habit of rejecting me?’

  I feel the grin on my face. ‘Looks like it, yeah. Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just really not a good idea.’

  ‘But where are you going to live?’

  ‘I’ll figure it out,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Little bit late,’ he says. ‘Let me know what you decide, OK? And obviously just tell me if you change your mind.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I better go.’ I almost – almost – say ‘Love you’, like I would if it was Caddy or Rosie, but I catch myself just in time. ‘See you,’ I say instead.

  I try to go back to my search online, but my brain is too frazzled. I look at the list I’d been writing of my options and I know – I just know, all of a sudden – that they’re all the wrong ones.

  I need to get out of this bedsit.

  ‘Walk?’ I say to Clarence, animating my voice, and he leaps up, tail wagging. ‘Come on, then.’

  It’s a great excuse to go outside, having a dog. The two of us head to Preston Park first, walking the perimeter and then looping back through the middle. After, I’m still thinking, not quite ready to go home, so I take him through the city towards the seafront. Brighton is as busy and alive as it always is, almost buzzing with it. As I walk through the main city centre I scoop up Clarence into my arms so he doesn’t get stepped on, pausing on the way to watch a street artist chalking patterns over the concrete.

  I love this city. I love its vibrancy and colour. I love how I feel like I belong here, that it contains some of my best memories as well as my worst ones. Coming to Brighton when I was fifteen had changed everything about my life. It had given me the freedom I’d always needed, and the kind of people I’d always wanted. Maybe it had taken me a long time to realize all of that. Maybe I had to leave to know I could come back. But Brighton is home. I don’t need another fresh start; I want to make it work here.

  Muddles, the cafe Sarah owns, isn’t that busy when I walk in. Sarah is ringing up a customer’s order, nodding, smiling. Holding Clarence to my chest, I wait for her to see me.

  ‘Hello,’ Sarah says, beaming, when the customer takes her tray and goes to sit down. ‘Was I expecting you?’

  ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Hi! I need to talk to you.’

  ‘OK,’ she says, glancing at the clock. ‘Well, I’d say come around here and we can chat, but I can’t have a dog behind the counter. Health and Safety.’

  ‘Maybe I can come to yours later?’

  She nods, curious. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Stuff,’ I say. I’m tempted to say ‘
I got evicted!’ and then just leg it out of there, but the fall-out later probably wouldn’t be worth it, however funny it would be for me. ‘I’ll come round at about seven?’

  When I get back to Ventrella Road, I take a second to check my mailbox, even though there’s never anything in it. I let Clarence off the lead but he just sits at my feet, looking up at me. Sure enough, my mailbox is empty, and I’m about to head up the stairs when the door to Dilys’s flat opens and Clarence goes berserk. He bounds inside like it’s the gates to dog heaven.

  ‘Oh God,’ I say, lunging after him. ‘Sorry.’

  The woman, who must be about Sarah’s age, is standing in bewildered silence in her doorway, watching as I sink to my knees and pat my thighs, calling, ‘Clarence! Here, boy,’ like a dog owner from a children’s TV show. I never say, ‘Here, boy.’ But he comes anyway, thank God.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say again, scooping him up as I stand. ‘He used to live here, so he got confused.’

  ‘I see,’ the woman says. She doesn’t seem very friendly. She squints at me. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Suzanne,’ I say, automatic but cautious.

  ‘Oh!’ Her face lights up and she points at me as if I should know why. ‘I have something for you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The woman heads over to her kitchen counter and picks up a parcel. ‘This arrived the other day, but I didn’t know who Suzanne was, so I didn’t know what to do with it. I was going to return it. Here you go.’ She hands it to me, her smile a little warmer now. The package is addressed to ‘Suzanne, c/o Flat 1’ in thick black marker pen. No Watts, just my first name.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  I don’t open it until I get upstairs. Clarence has deflated since he was removed so unceremoniously from his former home, and he’s just sitting in my lap, head on my knee. Every now and then, he sighs.

  ‘Cheer up,’ I murmur, stroking his ears between my fingers with one hand and peeling back the parcel flap with the other. I’m not sure exactly what I’m expecting, and I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but when the first item slips out on to my bed, my heart leaps.

  The Little Prince. The same copy I’d taken to read to Dilys, my hospital-receipt bookmark still in place. I reach into the package and pull out the rest of the contents in one impatient sweep.

  Photos of Clarence. ‘Half tiger, half poet’ on a Post-it note. The lyrics to ‘Blackbird’. A pouch of dried lavender. A note:

  Suzanne,

  It seemed wrong to throw these things away, so I am returning them to you with thanks. Apologies for not passing them and the letter on to you at the funeral – I had so much to deal with at the time and I hadn’t yet sorted through her trinkets from the home. Give me a call when you’ve made a decision about the piano. All the best to you and Clarence.

  Graham

  Letter? Piano?!

  I shove my hand back into the parcel bag, but it’s empty. No letter. ‘Find the letter, Clarence,’ I say as he sniffs cautiously at the lavender.

  I pick up The Little Prince, open the front cover and there it is, carefully folded, waiting for me. I’m expecting to see her handwriting when I open it, but the letter is typed, which I realize makes sense. Dilys couldn’t handwrite anything after she was first taken to hospital. I wonder who helped her write a letter like this. Who printed it off. Marcus, I think. It had to have been Marcus. Does this mean she knew she was dying? Do people feel it coming? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she has written a letter for me.

  I’m stalling, because I know that this moment, the last time I will ever not know what Dilys’s last message to me was, is precious. I squeeze the lavender pouch in my hand and let my eyes focus on the words.

  To my dear Suzanne,

  What a sincere pleasure it has been getting to know you these past few months. It has meant more to me than I think you realize.

  It is my dearest wish for you that one day, when you are old and withered and cranky, you will meet a young woman with a good heart and fire in her soul who will sit with you and share stories. Perhaps she will play music for you. And then you will know what you have done for me.

  My dear, you are a beautiful person with courage and strength. You are going to be a light in the world, and you are going to mean so much to the people you let into your heart. Keep it open for them. They need you.

  I want you to understand that the people who have failed to love you simply do not know you. That is not your fault. And I want you to also understand that you owe these people nothing. Not your time, not your love, not your forgiveness. This is your only life, and it is short. Surround yourself with people who love you.

  It has been an honour and a joy to share music with you. How I wish I could teach you the piano. Instead, please accept my old piano, which I am gifting to you. It is currently in storage, waiting for you. If you’d prefer to sell it rather than try to find somewhere to keep it, please do so with no anxiety or guilt. I ask only that if you do choose this route, you spend the money on something wonderful.

  I wish I could have spoken more with you. I had so much I would have liked to say. My hope is that these words are the right ones, set down on paper for you that you may hold them in your hand and keep them forever.

  With love,

  Dilys

  38

  ‘Almost Home’

  Keston Cobblers Club

  When I go to Sarah’s later that evening, I’m calm. It’s probably a weird reaction to everything that’s going on, but it’s true. After an afternoon spent researching, making notes, making plans, I’d met with Miriam and we’d ended up having a kind of unscheduled pathway plan review. I’d thought things had fallen apart, but they haven’t. I actually think they might have fallen together.

  I have Clarence in my arms when Sarah answers the door and her smile – instantly wide at the sight of me – falters. ‘Is that your dog? I thought you were just walking it earlier.’

  ‘He,’ I correct cheerfully. ‘This is Clarence. I took him in after Dilys died.’

  Sarah blinks at me, looking dubiously down at Clarence when I settle him down on the floor. ‘Far be it from me to question you, Suzie,’ she says. ‘But can you look after a dog?’

  ‘Yep,’ I say. Henry Gale saunters down the hall, sees Clarence, and freezes. ‘Uh, is Henry all right with dogs?’

  ‘We’ll see, shall we?’ Sarah says.

  Henry’s tail twitches, his back arching. Clarence is just standing there, head slightly cocked, curious but unbothered. Henry lets out a low, grumpy yowl, turns on his heel and walks back towards the living room, tail flicking in haughty annoyance.

  ‘Good boy,’ I say, leaning to scratch Clarence’s ears. ‘OK, so. I’ve got some news, and it’s not great, and you’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Sarah says. She tries to smile, but I can see how worried she is. Which makes sense, considering how much bad news I’ve inflicted on her over the last four years. Detentions, suspensions, police visits … God only knows what she’s imagining now.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘We should probably sit down.’

  We go into the kitchen and I slide on to one of the stools while she makes tea. I watch, chin on my hand, until she puts two cups on to the table in front of us both. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘I’m ready.’

  I decide to just say it. ‘I’m getting evicted.’

  Sarah closes her eyes, pressing her lips together.

  ‘It’s because of Clarence,’ I add. ‘I’m not allowed pets in the bedsit; I didn’t realize.’

  She takes a deep breath, then opens her eyes. ‘OK,’ she says again. ‘Let’s talk through your options. Have you spoken to the council?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘I’ve already done all that. That’s not why I’m here.’

  She frowns a little. ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No. I’ve talked to a bunch of people, and I’ve thought about it. My friend offered me a room in his house, and basically everyone I kn
ow had a sofa I could sleep on.’ I feel an unexpected smile on my face. ‘Turns out people really care, you know?’

  She smiles back, cautious. ‘Of course they do.’

  ‘So anyway, yeah. Eviction. That’s the bad news. I would have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to worry you before I’d figured out what I was going to do.’

  I can tell I’ve surprised her, but she’s trying to hide it. ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘Well,’ I say. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ I take a deep breath in. ‘Is the offer still open to come and live here?’

  Sarah’s whole face changes when I say these words. It lights up, like I flipped a switch. ‘Oh, Suzie—’

  ‘Let me just make my offer first,’ I say quickly. ‘I don’t want to just live here. I want to pay you rent and contribute to the bills. It’s not like a looking-after thing. And sometimes you have to let me cook.’

  She laughs tearfully, wiping her eyes with the pads of her thumbs. ‘That’s fair,’ she says, nodding.

  ‘I’ll pay you the same amount as I paid at Ventrella Road. I’ll be like your tenant.’

  ‘Counter-offer,’ Sarah says, putting her hand up. She’s smiling so wide. ‘You’ll be like my flatmate, not my tenant. You can pay half of the amount you pay at Ventrella Road. The rest can go into a savings account.’

  ‘Counter-counter-offer,’ I say. ‘The rest can go towards studying costs.’

  She blinks. ‘Studying?’

  I nod. ‘I’m going to do an Access course. A nursing one. And then, if I pass, I’m going to apply to Brighton uni to study Nursing properly.’ I can tell she’s too surprised to know how to respond, so I add, ‘I have a five-year plan now.’

  ‘When did you decide all this?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but then Ma— a friend of mine suggested coming to live in London, and I realized everything I want is here in Brighton. Including the nursing thing. I can do the Access course in Lewes; I looked it up. It’s one year, like an equivalent to A levels, to get me good enough to go to uni.’