by S. E. Lynes
‘I’m not.’
‘So what time?’
‘Thyme for Coffee.’
I almost slapped you. I almost wrapped my hands around your neck. ‘Don’t be so bloody cheeky. You know what I mean! What time are you meeting her?’
‘Eleven thirty. I just said, didn’t I? God, Mum, you are so controlling. You’re suffocating me. I literally can’t breathe.’
‘And this is you asking if you can go? This is your attitude, is it?’
‘You already said I could go! Oh my God, you can’t change your mind, it’s not fair.’
I grabbed you by the zip of your hoody. Oh my love, I actually grabbed hold of you. What was I thinking? I wasn’t – that’s the point. I’d, as you would say, lost it.
‘I can change my mind any time I like, young lady,’ I said. ‘I can change my mind and do you know why? Because you’re fifteen, you are a child, you are my child, and I’m a grown-up and I’m your mother and if I say you can’t go then you can’t, do you understand?’
You met my gaze, your eyes like coals.
‘Why won’t you just fuck off?’ You shouted this into my face. ‘I hate you.’
And before I’d even had time to process the words that had come out of your mouth, you turned and ran down the hall. You grabbed your rucksack and jacket from the coat hook. You left.
I hate you.
That’s the last thing you said to me.
Forty
Bridget
Bridget is still in bed when she hears them arguing, hears the slam of the front door. It’s 10.30 a.m. Probably should be getting up anyway; got to feed Helen’s cat for one.
She finds Toni in the kitchen, her face flushed, her eyes red. ‘Went well then?’
‘She’s impossible. Bloody impossible.’ Two tears trickle down her sister’s cheeks, but they’re tears of frustration and they’re running out of steam. ‘And I made a mess of it as usual. I just… My senses are tingling, Bridge. I can feel that something is wrong. She wouldn’t look me in the eye. And then she just flew off the handle about absolutely nothing.’
‘Oh dear.’ Bridget touches the flat of her hand against the kettle. It’s hot – there’s enough water for coffee.
‘She said she hated me.’ Toni’s voice is high and frail. ‘She told me to F off, Bridge.’
‘Parents fall out with teenagers all the time, Tones. It’s in the manual.’
‘But you don’t fall out with her. She doesn’t tell you she hates you, does she?’
‘That’s a different dynamic, isn’t it?’
‘You always say that.’ The pain shows on Toni’s face; her cheeks sag and she looks so tired. Poor thing. If Bridget had a magic wand, she would wave it, she really would. She’d have waved it a long time ago. She tweaks her sister’s nose like she used to when they still lived in Benson Close.
‘Thing is,’ she says, ‘I am much, much cooler.’
This works, to a degree. Toni manages a smile at least. And at least she talks things through instead of walking round with a sword through her neck saying she’s fine, like that meme Rosie showed her. And she’s talking now, nodding when Bridget holds up the coffee jar. She tells Bridget that she’s shaken – by the coals in her daughter’s eyes, by the way she ran from the house.
‘Biscuit?’ Bridget asks.
Toni shakes her head. ‘I know you think I’m being neurotic, but I know something is not right.’
‘You’re fretting about nothing. Honestly, she’ll be back here in two hours like the cat that got the cream. If you act casual, she’ll probably tell you everything. Maybe you should try telling her something about yourself, you know, from when you were young.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yeah.’ Bridget has no idea, but what else is there to say? ‘Edited, obviously. Maybe leave the crystal bongs out for now.’
After coffee, while Toni’s in the shower, Bridget texts Saph, who she was meant to be meeting later this morning.
Tones not in a good way. Gonna hang out here this morn. Soz, mate.
No prob. Love to u both. Drink later?
Maybe. I’ll text, but if u get a better offer, go for it.
No such thing as a better offer than u, babe.
Bridget smiles. Saph is straight as an arrow, but she’s the world’s biggest flirt.
The water is still running. Bridget decides to clean the top row of cupboards while she waits. It’s at least a year since she last did them. There are some jobs that have stayed hers, and this is one. After the accident, she did everything, pretty much. It was the only thing that made sense. There was no way she could have seen Rosie go to a childminder, not under those circumstances. It was easy enough to build freelance work around the 3.20 p.m. pick-up, and there were one or two mums in the playground who weren’t too bad. Some of them were fucking torture though, with their wooden heads swivelling on their wooden necks, their blonde hair, their smiles thick, as if they had something unsavoury stuck in their teeth.
‘I’m sorry, are you Rosie’s mummy?’
Mummy? What are we, ten? ‘No, I’m her aunt. I’m Toni’s sister.’
The slow nod, the step back. The mouth fighting to stay in shape. They all knew about the accident. But tragedy is in poor taste when there’s a summer fayre to organise, organic carrot batons to hand to their children. No, that’s not fair. Bridget was in a bad place then, she knows that. They were just people, people as fucked up and insecure as anyone else. They meant well. Maybe they didn’t. Who cares? That whole time was chaos. She meant to leave Helen cleanly, set her free, but she’s not even managed that, and now here they are, years later, and not a week has passed without them seeing one another. Bridget knows that if she ever met anyone else, she could never tell Helen, and if there was even one thing she couldn’t tell her, then everything between them would be lost.
And so, abstinence.
Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.
Forty-One
Rosie
I hate you. That’s the last thing I said to you.
I can’t move my mouth. But I’m telling you I don’t hate you. I love you, Mummy. Mum? Are you still there? I need to tell you…
I’m in my bedroom. I know when this is! It’s today, this morning. I’m going to meet Ollie in, like, an hour. I’m trying on outfits. My phone is ringing. Emily’s rosy apple face is on the screen.
Hi, Emily.
Hello there, dear. Lovely out, isn’t it? A real corker.
Dunno. I’ve not been out yet.
Quite right. What kind of teenager worth their salt is even out of bed at this ungodly hour, n’est-ce pas? She chuckles, and I laugh too because she is such a wally. I love her but she’s pretty batshit, to be honest, and I really want to look nice for Ollie so I’m like:
I’m going out in a minute, Emily.
Right you are! I hope he’s handsome! More chuckles. Batshit on speed, no word of a lie. Why do old people always assume you’re going to meet your boyfriend… sweetheart in old language. Well now, I’ll be brief. The reason I’m phoning is that I was wondering if you feel ready for another audition? I don’t want to rush you, but remember we talked about trying to get on top of this nasty nervous sicky business.
I’m not sure, I say. My mum’s been saying we should think about leaving it for a while, until I’m older.
Yes, yes, dear. Of course, it’s up to you. I’ll drop the notes over anyway and you can see how you feel. Are you in today?
I’ll be in this afternoon. I know you’ll make me be back by then. Because psycho Mum.
Jolly good. Now, off you go and I’ll catch up with you later, all right? Just have a think about it and let me know what you decide. Toodle-oo for now.
OK, I say. Bye, Emily.
* * *
You’re in the kitchen. Yeah, this is defo today. I’m wearing my black skinny jeans with rips and my Docs and my white crop top with a kiwi fruit on it. I’m coming to tell you that Emily’s going to bring some n
otes over later, even though I know you’ll tell me off for the top. I bought it online and you won’t like it ’cos it shows my belly, but all of my friends wear tops like this, literally all of them, and they haven’t even got sick abs like mine. I’m about to tell you but then you freak out on me. I’m trying to tell you something, I’m trying to talk to you – you know, communicate? And you start going on about Naomi even though we’ve already arranged all that and you’re not listening. As usual.
I hate you. I only say it because that’s how I feel in that moment. I love you even when I hate you. You’re my mum, for flip’s sake. But you’re doing my head in, and I’ve had enough. I just want to meet my boyfriend. I don’t care about you and your fussing and who’s a flake and who’s not.
I’m sorry for saying that now.
I’m so sorry, Mum.
And I’m sorry for telling you to F off, obvs – that was way harsh.
But… even that’s not the big thing. There’s something bigger and the shame of it is making me feel sick. What have I done, Mummy? Why can’t I remember? What have I done?
On the bus, I start to feel bad that I haven’t told you about Ollie. I’ve wanted to. But I want to meet him so badly, Mummy. I want to meet him more than I want to tell you. I want a bit of life that’s mine – do you get that? If I’d told you I was meeting an older boy, you so would have stopped me. I haven’t even told Auntie Bridge because I was worried she’d tell you. And Mum? If you’d seen him, you’d have seen that he’s so fun and so hot. I’m in love with him, Mummy. I’m in total, deep love with him.
But there’s something bad in my gut and it has to do with him, I can feel it. I’ve done something worse than all the lying. Something worse than telling you I hate you or even telling you to F off. But I can’t figure it out. It’s here on the edge of the soup; it’s down in the dark water, floating in the weeds. It’s got something to do with the back of the van. The smell in my nose and the tape on my mouth. And the smell of baking. And the van door opening and the light. And the figure… Auntie Bridge? But that doesn’t make sense with this fear that fills up my insides every time I remember it. It’s something, it’s someone, but it’s not Ollie. It can’t be Ollie. I can see Ollie, I can, but it’s not… it’s not… it’s only a photograph.
I’m getting near the bad thing. I’m coming up, Mummy. I can see light above the soup water. The weeds are clearing. My mouth opens but my heart blocks my throat. I can’t scream. There is no sound. I am covered in sweat. Sweat in my hair. It runs down the sides of my head, my body. I am in the café. I am at the counter. The girl is putting cups on the shelf behind the till. It is 11.25 a.m. There is a smell of coffee and bacon. It’s coming. The bad thing is coming towards me. My body fills with heat.
‘Decided to give him another chance, eh?’
I swing round. The bald man from last week is in the window seat. His newspaper is on the table and he is pouring his tea. He looks up as if it wasn’t him who spoke just now, but I know it was. I recognised his voice. The light bounces off his dirty glasses. Outside a red bus thunders past.
I glance away, willing the girl on the till to stop putting cups on the shelf and look at me. Look at me look at me look at me… The heat in my body gets hotter. A line of sweat runs down the side of my forehead.
The girl stops doing the cups and turns to me.
Hello, she says in her accent. Hot chocolate? She smiles; this means she remembers me from last week. I wish I knew her better. I wish she was my friend. If she was my friend I would say, Help me.
Yes, I say. Thank you.
Take seat. I bring.
OK.
It is OK. It is OK because it’s broad daylight. There are lots of people around and this time Ollie knows which café I’m in. Ollie knows where I am. He will save me. He knows me. He loves me.
I go and sit at the back of the café on the other side of the bar. It is as far away as possible from the baldy man. I know he’s just, like, some lonely old man who thinks he’s being friendly, but I don’t want him to talk to me. There are nice leather sofa seats here and a low coffee table. I can’t see the man from where I’m sitting. Even if he’s a total perv, it’s not like he can, like, pull me into a van and drive off with me from here, is it? But my heart is beating fast.
Hot chocolate. The Polish girl smiles at me as she puts my drink on the table.
Thank you, I say.
She walks away before I can say any more – before I can say, Help me.
The sweat dries on my face. I rub at the sides of my eyes and it flakes off, soft and salty. I lick it from my fingers. I go to check my phone. It’s not in my bomber-jacket pocket. I open my rucksack and root around. My purse, my iPod Shuffle, a packet of tissues, half a packet of cherry menthol chewing gum, my lip salve. Where is my iPhone? Where is it?
I was going to put it in my bag but then I saw it needed to go on charge, and after Emily called I left it there because it was only, like, sixty per cent. After our fight, I ran out of the house. I grabbed my bag from the hook and I ran because I knew you’d never catch me. I thought my phone was in my bag. But it wasn’t – it was still on charge.
Shit.
My phone is in my room.
It’s in my room on my desk. I left it there when I went to talk to you in the kitchen. I was going to go back. I wasn’t planning to run out. But you didn’t listen to me. You were going on about Naomi. And then I ran out. I grabbed my bag and I ran out. It’s your fault I don’t have my phone.
Where do you think he’s got to, eh?
The baldy man is standing at my table. His newspaper is folded under his arm. He is wearing pale jeans and his shoes are black leather and they look like those special comfortable shoes that old people wear. He still has little whitish dots of what looks like dried milk on his glasses.
He’s on his way, I reply. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t look at him. I just want him to go away.
You look hot, he says. It is awfully hot in here, isn’t it? We should go outside and wait for this fellow of yours. We could wait in the park.
We. Park. What?
It’s OK. I’m OK, thanks. My hot chocolate is a weird shade of brown, almost purple. I blow on it and it ripples like old skin.
Are you sure you don’t want to take the air? I could wait with you until lover boy gets here.
Lover boy. Gross. Where is the girl? I can hear the steamer heating up the milk. Where is the other girl? The one with the blue hair? I can’t speak.
I’ll join you here if you don’t mind. No fun being lonely, is it? He sits next to me on the sofa. I can feel the heat from his body. I can smell the grease on the thin strands of his hair, the oil on his skin. His leg is almost touching my leg. He pats my thigh and says, Ollie won’t be long.
My heart is in my throat. There is a buzz in my ears. How does he…
Hello, Sexy Lady. His voice is lighter, higher, younger. It is a voice I recognise.
Who are you?
He laughs, leans in close to me. Don’t you know? I’m Ollie.
Forty-Two
Bridget
It’s 11.30 a.m. when Toni comes out of the shower. Bridget hopes the warm water has relaxed her, returned her to herself. Standing there on the chair, soapy cloth in hand, she stops cleaning and listens. Hears her sister in the hallway – hears that she doesn’t go into her own room, which is next to the bathroom, but further on, to Rosie’s room. Bridget can hear this because the door hinges squeak. She has been meaning to fix this for weeks and makes a mental note to fetch the WD40 from the shed later and get it sorted today. There’s no reason for Toni to go into Rosie’s room, no laundry to deliver; the washing machine’s still churning the week’s dirt out of Rosie’s school uniform, and, at fifteen, she is expected to hoover her own room and keep it tidy. In theory.
But Bridget doesn’t wonder even for a moment why her sister has gone into Rosie’s room. She knows why.
Resisting the urge to call out, to save To
ni from herself, Bridget carries on with her spring clean, singing one of The Promise’s songs to block out the noise of drawers opening and shutting, the sound of her niece’s privacy being invaded.
You and me, you and me, in deep water, baby
You and me, you and me, two in the pack
You and me, you and me, to the slaughter, baby
Like lambs to the wolf, there’s no going—
‘Bridge.’ Toni is at the kitchen door. She’s dressed, but her hair is wet, combed back from her face. She hasn’t put on any make-up yet and her face is still a little puffy. She looks exhausted. In her hands she holds a yellow iPhone 5C.
‘Is that Squirt’s phone?’ Funny how, in these moments, we ask questions we already know the answer to.
Toni nods. ‘She left it on charge. I know you’re going to say no, but I think we should check it.’
From the cupboard top, a thick clump of grey fluff, made entirely from dust, floats down to the floor. Bridget climbs down from the chair, crosses over to where Toni is sitting and takes the phone from her. ‘But I thought you checked it regularly?’
‘I do, but…’
‘You’re going to find something you don’t like,’ Bridget says quietly. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because that’s what happens when you snoop around in other people’s affairs, Tones. Come on. How would you feel if I checked through your phone? Or your diary?’
‘You could check through my phone any time. There’s nothing exciting on it anyway. Messages from you, mostly. I should imagine checking through my phone would be the most boring thing anyone could do, to be honest. Not like I have much of a life, is it? I haven’t even been to the pub since…’ She looks up, finally. Her eyes are shining, rimmed as if in red eye pencil. When she blinks, they overflow.
