‘Not then. Back then it was exciting and, as far as I was concerned, it was the Promised Land. Everywhere I looked there was something new. It was an inspiring place to be.’
Seph flicked through the rest of the album hoping for more stories, but there were only photographs of herself as a baby.
‘There’s none of you two together,’ she said when she got to the end.
Laurel shook her head.
‘Why?’
‘I only ever took one and he ripped it up, so I never took another.’
‘Was he violent?’
‘No, never. He was just unpredictable and changeable.’
Seph closed the album. ‘You haven’t asked me what he’s like now.’
‘I don’t need to. I already know him, remember.’
‘But it’s been years since you last saw him. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?’
‘No.’
‘Did George like him?’
The question came out before she’d even really thought about it. She’d always looked up to her uncle, but didn’t know why it should matter what his opinion of Nico had been.
‘No,’ Laurel replied eventually. ‘He didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’d never really got on. Nico didn’t like George’s lifestyle and George always thought I could do better. He was right in the end. I was much better off without him. We were much better off without him.’
Seph’s eyebrows pinched together. Why did that sound so familiar? She looked down at the album cover trying to follow the trail of unease uncurling in her mind. And then she remembered Nico’s email. Seph put the album down and picked her phone from her jeans.
‘That’s so weird, Nico said the same thing in his email. He said you were right about us being better off without him.’
Seph scrolled through her emails until she found the one she was looking for – the one she knew by heart, word for word.
‘…your mum was right. As hard as it is to admit it, you have been better off without me.’
Seph looked at her mum’s face and caught a flicker of trepidation.
‘When did you last speak to him?’ she asked.
Laurel got up from the floor, dusted her jeans down and tutted as if Seph were being silly. ‘What? What kind of question is that?’
Something about her mum’s voice told her that it was exactly the kind of question she should be asking. Seph picked up the album and scrambled up from the floor.
‘Mum?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘When did you last speak to him?’
Laurel didn’t answer and Seph quickly followed her down from the attic. She still waited for an answer as they tramped down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen. Despite Laurel’s silence, and maybe even because of it, Seph began to seriously question if her mum’s story of Nico never being heard of again after disappearing all those years ago, was really true. There was something about the way she was acting…it made Seph think that his surprise email hadn’t been such a surprise after all - at least not for her mum.
Seph watched her as she picked up a damp dishcloth and began wiping down the already clean surfaces. Frustration boiled inside her until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
‘Mum!’
‘What?’ Laurel snapped, throwing the cloth down on the side. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I just want the truth.’
Seph had never seen her mum’s eyes blaze so fiercely before. Her lips were thin, as if she were fighting to contain an explosion brewing inside. For a few seconds, they stood facing each other in charged silence until Laurel sighed so deeply, it was as if she’d pulled it up from the earth’s core with her bare hands. She leaned against the counter and scrubbed her hands over her eyes.
‘The truth…’ she said. ‘The truth is that he turned up a few months ago. He wanted to meet me. To ask about seeing you.’
Seph’s jaw dropped. ‘A few months ago?’ She screwed her eyebrows together, shaking her head. ‘You said you hadn’t heard from him since he left.’
Now she understood why her mum hadn’t asked for details about him. Why would she, when she already knew exactly how he’d turned out?
Laurel sighed. ‘I wanted to tell you, but you were so under pressure with your exhibition.’
‘Who gives a fuck about work compared to something like this, Mum? This is my life we’re talking about.’
It was the very same excuse her parents and George had used to explain why they’d kept his diagnosis a secret from her for weeks. They hadn’t wanted it to interfere with her coursework, as if turning in a project meant anything in comparison.
‘For God’s sake, Mum. Don’t you think I should’ve known the minute he got in touch?’
‘It’s not that easy, Seph. You’ve been so stressed out, you were a mess. You collapsed for heaven’s sake. I thought you were on the verge of a burnout. I didn’t want to add anything to it, especially when I didn’t even know for sure that he’d actually contact you.’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’
‘I’ve already told you, he’s unpredictable like that.’
‘Here we go with the bipolar thing again.’
‘Seph, people don’t just change overnight, no matter how much we wish they might.’
‘It’s not overnight, it’s been twenty-seven years.’
‘Oh, I suppose he tried to convince you that he’s a new man now, is that what you’re saying?’
Seph shook her head, flinching at the acidic edge in her mum’s voice. ‘He hasn’t tried to convince me of anything.’
Laurel laughed dryly. ‘Sounds about right. That was always his speciality. He never was one for trying. Putting things off when they got too heavy, turning his back when things got real, being unable to handle a family, that was more his style. He hasn’t even tried to convince you to give him a chance but you’re doing it anyway. Some things never change.’
She spat the words out before turning to pick up the cloth and scrubbed the worktop so hard it looked like she was trying to rub a hole in it. Maybe she was trying to wipe away the huge black splotches she seemed intent on inflicting on their family.
‘Maybe he didn’t tell you while you were having your little heart to heart behind my back, but he can handle a family. He has a wife now, and a daughter. I have a sister. So it looks like he doesn’t walk away from everything after all. Maybe it wasn’t him that was the problem. Maybe it was you.’
Laurel flinched and stopped wiping but she didn’t turn around. Seph’s entire body was flushed hot with rage and even though she was absolutely certain that she had every right to be furious, she knew she’d just crossed a line. She’d said something that could never be taken back.
Laurel looked up at the ceiling. ‘You’ll never know him how I did, Seph. But if you want to try then go ahead.’ She went back to scrubbing the worktop, her elbow jerking backwards and forwards. ‘Be my guest.’
She sounded so bitter. So wounded, still, even after all these years. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Why did her mum have to keep making things worse? Seph stalked out of the kitchen with the photo album under her arm. She had nothing else to say that her mum would want to hear and even if she did, anger was constricting her throat so much it was difficult to talk. She picked up her bag from the bottom of the stairs and left the house, letting the door slam behind her.
She hated this. She hated the fact they were fighting, that she was storming out again with anger multiplying like bacteria between them. Why couldn’t her mum have just been honest from the start, instead of making out like she was someone who couldn’t handle the truth?
Seph walked as quickly as she could. It was the weekend of the Oxley village fete and the street was lined with colourful bunting, fluttering in the summer breeze. The air smelled of barbecued sausages and candyfloss. Seph kept her eyes down to the ground as she approached the war memorial in the central square. It was packed with stalls selling rubbish that nobo
dy needed, and people wandering around eating ice cream with their faces tilted up to the sun as if they didn’t have a care in the world. She didn’t want to look at them. The sight of them all, so happy and content inexplicably made her even angrier than before. A man walking his cocker spaniel approached her and his smile made her want to punch him in the face, right between the eyes, because she was not relaxed, or happy, or even anywhere close. And then she felt sick for even thinking it, because she’d never do something like that. Seph clamped her jaws together to hold in the tears building with every step as the man and his dog walked past, her nerves jangling, as if someone were poking her with a stick over and over again, trying to find her breaking point.
She quickly hurried away from the square towards the train station. Maybe Ben could meet her at King’s Cross. She needed to talk this out, to make sure she wasn’t going crazy by expecting her mum to have told her about Nico making contact months ago. She needed to know that she wasn’t overreacting, that it was totally acceptable to feel this way. Seph took her phone from her pocket and her heart sank as she saw the WhatsApp message on her lock screen.
Ben: Got a last min stand in gig in Cannes, big bucks! Meeting up with Clara and co. to sort it all out, leave on Tues. See you later tonight xxx
Seph thought back to that night in Passing Clouds when Clara had caressed his neck in that intimate way. It had made her feel sick. And now she felt like disintegrating into a puddle of water on the pavement because, ever since then, the idea of Ben spending any time alone with Clara made her head spin. It had been bad enough knowing they’d shared a cramped camper van in Tangiers, her mind playing images of the two of them pressed up against each other in a tiny, intimate space. Now she had to handle the news that they’d be going away together again.
Seph threw her phone back in her bag. Her pulse thudded in her neck as she walked towards the station. This wasn’t news she could cope with right now. Her mind was already running on overtime as it was, whirring with a million and one thoughts about her mum, dad and Nico, not to mention her exhibition. And now she had to think about Ben and Clara too. Seph shook her head as she crossed the road. She had to calm down. She was being silly, she knew she was. Her mind just needed to slow so that she could collect and regroup her thoughts. She needed to breathe.
She laughed at herself, trying to trick her mind into feeling better, but it didn’t work. Panic pushed her heartbeat faster and faster, which made her breathing shallower and her thoughts more jumbled. Seph looked up at the station sign ahead. The urge to stop in the middle of the street and scream until she couldn’t scream anymore was so strong that it felt like vibrations welling up in her legs. She tucked her head down and walked faster. She would be fine. She just had to get home.
LAUREL
Fifteen
October 1987
Laurel looked away from her camera at Nico. ‘Can you stop jiggling the table?’
‘Sorr-y.’
Her eyes narrowed at the way he dragged the last syllable out. It was exactly how she’d have said it if she were being nagged at by her parents.
‘What are you doing, anyway?’ he asked.
‘Practicing for a project.’ Laurel held the camera back up to her face but when he picked up one of the three mugs lined up on the table, she took it away again.
‘With cups?’ he asked. ‘What for?’
‘It’s about depth of field.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The distance between objects,’ she replied through lightly clenched teeth. She really needed to get on with it and he was being so distracting. Laurel took a breath and relaxed her jaws. ‘I’ve got to take pictures of things that are close and far away and get a focused image for each.’
He held the cup right up to his face, examining it as if it were something he’d never come across before and pulled a face. ‘Sounds boring.’
Laurel’s eyes narrowed at his increasingly familiar words. Everything was boring lately, according to him. Football on the telly was boring, the people around them were boring, the music on the radio was boring. Nothing seemed to be good enough to hold his interest these days.
‘Nico, can you put it back? I really need to get on with this.’
‘I mean, can’t you use something more interesting?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘But I can guarantee almost everyone else will show up with the same photos. Cups and glasses all lined up like soldiers.’
Laurel put the camera down on the table and rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day sitting in class and trying to wrap her head around the depth of field concept - one she was really struggling with - and instead of being able to come home and get started on the project, she’d had to cook because, along with everything else, the food in the fridge was deemed to be “boring”. She wondered if Nico was secretly starting to use that word to describe her, too.
Was she boring? He seemed so uninterested in her lately. He didn’t seem to understand that she couldn’t just not do her homework, because she’d fall too far behind. The course moved so quickly that it would be near impossible to catch up. Then there was that time when they’d gone to the pub and he’d got completely wrecked. It had been karaoke night and he’d grabbed the microphone off someone and started drunkenly singing along to Michael Jackson’s back catalogue. He’d deliberately mispronounced words and even made up his own lyrics. He’d thought it was hilarious and it had been funny at first, until he’d refused to give the microphone back. Then he’d just got mean and he’d started screaming at them that they were lucky to have him drinking there because he was the next Alan Sugar. They’d ended up being thrown out. He’d laughed about it the whole way home but it hadn’t been funny. In fact, it had been terrifying. She hadn’t known what to say or what to do. Nico had told her she was a goody two shoes who needed to lighten up. He’d said she needed to learn not to take everything so seriously.
‘Why don’t you use your imagination?’ Nico said, putting the cup back down. ‘You’re a photographer. Remember when I asked what you wanted to do with your life at your friend’s party?’
Laurel nodded.
‘Remember the way you answered? How excited you were about photography?’
Of course she did. She remembered how she’d wished to be free to study the subject she loved, to feel free to do what she wanted instead of being condemned to an English degree. And here she was, doing exactly that. She looked at Nico. She remembered wishing for him too. How her heart had pounded in her chest whenever he’d look at her, the jolts of electricity that had lit her up when their knees had touched, how he’d made her feel special and interesting.
Nico leaned forward in the chair and held her face in his hands. And just like that night, his eyes burned with intensity. He looked at her in the way only he could, as if he was seeing something different to what everyone else did. She closed her eyes, basking in it, relishing the warmth of his hands on her cheeks and the rush of his breath on her lips.
He kissed her forehead. ‘You’re not like everyone else. So stop trying to be.’
In another life, he’d have been a priest or a soothsaying oracle. Or at the very least, a counsellor. It was amazing how he could go from being annoying, distracting her every move like a pesky fly buzzing around her ear, to someone who seemed so centred and wise, as if he was only trying to test her and tease the very best out of her.
Laurel opened her eyes as he took her hand and pulled her up to her feet.
‘Come on.’
She eyed him warily and picked up her camera, looping the strap around her neck. ‘Why? What are you up to?’
‘Giving you another perspective.’ He grabbed his keys from the table. ‘You’ll need your shoes.’
She frowned but made no objection as she pulled on her trainers before following him out onto the landing. She was slowly getting used to his sudden urges for action and had come to realise that he could rarely be talked out
of them. He was spontaneous and curious - that was just who he was. He was someone who liked to go out at the very last minute, with no planning ahead. He’d take her to the cinema on a whim and they’d watch whatever was starting, even if it sounded absolutely awful. Or, if they were walking down the street, they’d duck into a random pub, cafe or restaurant and try something new. Her sensible inner voice always came up with reasons not to go along with it - watching a film that sounded rubbish was a waste of money, that particular cafe looked disgusting and they’d probably get food poisoning. They had once. After a dinner of bangers and mash, they’d ended up taking it in turns to use the bathroom all night. Still, she loved him for it, for opening her eyes to things she hadn’t realised they’d been previously closed to.
Laurel frowned when Nico opened the door to the stairwell. She hated the stairs even more than she hated the lift. In fact, she hated them so much that even when the rickety lift was out of order, she’d walk all the way down to the other end of the block to use the other one. She’d rather be in the dank steel compartment than the stairwell, with its peeling yellow walls and undertone of urine. Something about it gave her the creeps, even with Nico by her side as their footsteps echoed around them while they took the stairs up to the roof. She looked at the heavy metal door in front of them with a fire exit sign screwed onto it.
‘Are we allowed up here?’ she asked, looking back down the stairs behind her.
Nico winked. ‘We’re not not allowed.’
He pressed down on the push bar and the door swung open. A gust of air blew into the stairwell, whipping her fringe back as they stepped out onto the flat roof. The ground was covered with dirt, grit and squashed, rusted beer cans. Television aerials jutted up towards the sky like metal claws and pigeon feathers swirled along the floor, pushed along by the wind. It was no glamorous roof terrace, but the view more than made up for it.
‘Wow.’ Laurel stared out at uninterrupted London skyline, spectacular under a cloudy sky.
What Goes Down: An emotional must-read of love, loss and second chances Page 16
