‘Yep. I heard something somewhere about it being a killer…’ He shook his head and shrugged playfully.
‘Well, right now it’s helping me. I realised yesterday that quitting in the middle of painting a new series was not a good idea.’
It might be a weak excuse, but she’d been so stressed out lately and quitting hadn’t helped. It was no wonder that she felt so disconnected from her work when her ritual-like routine had changed so drastically. Before quitting, she’d get out of bed, make a nice cup of filtered coffee and take time to wake up. She’d flick through a magazine, read the paper and potter around in her studio, and all with a cigarette in hand. What she’d done since quitting was wake up, head straight into the studio with a cup of acidic instant coffee and pick up her paintbrush right away. It had felt like the easiest way to get the mounting frustration out of her head and it had made sense. She had a deadline, therefore she needed to hurry up and get on with it. But the downside was that without easing herself into the start of a working day, the love had gone out of it. There was no feeling left, resulting in work she wasn’t happy with.
Was it really possible that her jumbled feelings over the last weeks had all been caused from nicotine withdrawal? She rolled the cigarette between her fingertips. It would be pathetic if it were true, but it was the excuse she needed in order to feel less like a bitch about the fight with Ben. After all, it wasn’t just her life that had been turned inside out lately. His had, too. So had her mum and dad’s, and probably Nico’s too. She had the feeling that her life and everything she cared about had been carved up into a jigsaw puzzle, except it had been put together wrong. All she wanted was for it to all fit properly again.
‘I reckon quitting is a bit like having a kid. There’s never a right time,’ Nico said.
‘Maybe I’ll try again after my exhibition. It’s only three weeks away.’
‘I read that your other ones were sell-outs.’
‘They did alright,’ she replied, a little shy as always when it came to talking about her success. ‘You can come if you want?’
‘Thanks, but…’ Nico laughed and shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’d be such a good idea. Your family’ll be there and…’ He laughed again and shrugged.
‘You’re my family, too,’ Seph replied, and his laughter stopped. ‘It’d be a good way to sort things out with Mum and put everything to rest. She can’t hold a grudge forever.’
Seph took another pull on her cigarette just as the sun peeked out from behind a cloud. Her face was bathed with warmth and, just like the day she’d visited George’s grave, her anger and frustration started to subside. It was as if the sun had come out at that moment especially for her, as if it wanted to tell her that inviting Nico to the exhibition was exactly the right thing to do.
‘I don’t know, Seph. It might be a little early for that. Or late.’ He smiled weakly, but she swatted a hand in front of her face.
‘Look. She’s my mum, you’re my dad. If this is going to work, then everyone has to get on. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle.’ She took another drag of her cigarette and stopped him as he began to protest.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before? It was a genius idea – one that would put the jigsaw back together again. She smiled and tilted her face a little more towards the sun.
LAUREL
Nineteen
January 1988
Laurel looked at the packet of biscuits on the shelf before counting the change in her palm. She’d woken that morning with a taste for biscuits dunked in sweet tea, but she was two pence short. The light in the shop flickered above her as she checked her pockets again. They came up empty. She’d known they would.
Behind the counter, Rahul chatted to a customer buying a loaf of bread. Laurel looked at him, and then back at the biscuits. She’d become a regular over the last few months, and he was always friendly. Maybe he’d let her off the two pence, just until next time. She went to take the packet from the shelf but stopped, remembering the sign pinned behind the counter, written in fat, bold marker pen: Please don’t ask for credit as refusal often offends. She took her hand away, her face burning. She would never be in this situation again, she promised herself as she walked to the counter. Never. Ever. Again.
‘That everything for today?’ Rahul asked as she put a pint of milk on the counter.
His light brown eyes shone at her as he rubbed his hands together, blowing on his fingertips. He was wearing a seemingly impossible number of layers but his smile was so warm, it could have compensated for the dreary weather outside.
‘Just an electric top up, please. Three pounds,’ Laurel replied, handing him the plastic meter key.
Rahul always served her with a smile and seemed like a nice guy. It was only two pence. He probably wouldn’t miss it, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. She pushed away the anticipation of those sweet biscuits, softening in a strong cup of tea. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t like she wanted something expensive. It was just a packet of cheap biscuits. Tears stung the back of her eyes as she paid and said goodbye, leaving the shop and biscuits behind. Was it really only two months ago that she’d walked around with a thousand pounds in her purse to spend at her whim? It turned out she’d been reluctant to, because just as she’d feared, it had all gone. Whittled down to nothing. As of this moment, walking home with the charged electric key and a pint of milk, they were completely broke, and Laurel didn’t have a single penny to her name.
She hurried back to the flat with her head down against the biting wind. It wasn’t like there was anything interesting to see, anyway. London had felt so vibrant in the summer. The energy of it had buzzed in her veins. Now it just felt dead. Laurel quickly passed the bin store. All four of the gigantic metal bins were overflowing and she held her breath against the stench of rotting food and household rubbish. She yanked open the communal door and waited for the lift. What would she give to be in her parent’s warm living room with the cushy carpet under her feet? Or at Kim’s, flicking through magazines or watching Blind Date. She’d even settle for being back in her old bedroom, gazing at the posters pinned to the walls. Anywhere had to be better than here. She missed the quietness of the cul-de-sac and the house filled with people who loved her, even if they didn’t always get along. After Christmas, when she’d hugged her family goodbye she’d known that London would never really feel like home. It would never be home.
Laurel stepped out of the lift and walked along the landing with her eyes down. Even her neighbours seemed less friendly these days, bunkering themselves in against the cold. The requests to babysit and offers of leftover Sunday dinners had long gone and her social life seemed to consist only of her photography course - a course she’d probably end up failing now she had no money for the bus to get there.
‘There you are!’
Laurel stopped, looked up, frowned and gasped all at the same time.
‘George?’
‘Surprise!’
She blinked, almost tempted to rub her eyes to see if she were hallucinating. She had to be. Why else would she be seeing her brother standing in front of her door?
‘I thought I had the wrong address for a minute,’ he said, before tutting at her with a grin.
Laurel walked over to him and a stunned laugh fell from her mouth as he wrapped her up in a strong hug. It took everything she had not to let the tears fall. He smelled of home. Just as she’d wished for it, a little bit of family had turned up on her doorstep.
She swallowed the tears back down as they broke apart. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Guess who’s moving to London!’
‘What? When?’ Her eyebrows furrowed as she noticed the two bags by his feet for the first time. ‘Why? How?’
George laughed. ‘Can we at least go inside first? I’ve been freezing my nuts off out here. Where’s Nico?’
‘Oh, he’s sick.’ Laurel turned away from him to face the door. ‘He’s probably sleeping.’
‘
Nothing contagious, I hope. That puking virus is doing the rounds back home.’
Laurel hesitated for a second as she went to unlock the door. She couldn’t believe it - George was here. It was the best news ever because she’d missed him like hell. But it also meant she had to think of a way to explain everything, and fast. She stepped inside and George shut the door behind them. The small square hallway was dark, with the only source of light coming in from the landing through a tiny window above the front door.
‘Lights?’
‘One sec,’ Laurel called, feeling her way into the storage cupboard. She fumbled with the plastic key until it slid into the meter and seconds later, the lights came on. She smiled at George. ‘Electric ran out.’
He shrugged his coat off and dropped it onto one of his bags before glancing around.
‘Tea?’ Laurel asked, pulling him into the kitchen before he decided to go on a tour of the flat.
She closed the door behind them. Not that it mattered if they made noise anyway. It wasn’t as if Nico would be getting out of bed to complain. She switched on the kettle and took two cups from the cupboard. Thank God she’d had enough money to stretch to a pint of milk. She looked at George sitting in the chair in the corner as he stretched his arms out in front of him, interlacing his fingers and yawning. He would have no idea that he was sitting where the table used to be, or that there used to be a blender and a toaster on the side.
‘So, start again. Tell me everything.’ She leaned against the counter as the kettle started to rumble.
‘Well, the truth is that I was a bit miffed you’d moved away. I mean, I was the one who was supposed to escape first, set myself up, make my fortune and have all the adventures. And then you beat me to it.’
He smiled, but Laurel could’ve laughed at the irony. She had no fortune and she certainly wasn’t having any adventures. At least, not the good kind.
‘An opportunity came along to co-own a salon here in London and it seemed perfect. You’re here, Mum and Dad are doing fine and I realised if I stayed back home, I’d probably end up staying there till the day I die which would be tragic, to say the least. So, Mum and Dad offered to add to my savings and I went for it.’
‘Are you serious? George, that’s fantastic!’
‘I know,’ he replied, returning her grin. ‘It was supposed to be finalised before Christmas but I didn’t want to say anything until it was all sorted in case it fell through. You have no idea how hard it was to keep quiet.’
The kettle flicked off and Laurel turned around to make the tea. It was the best news she could’ve hoped to get right now. With her brother here, things might get better. It might start to feel like home. She unscrewed the milk and sniffed at it, just in case. Rahul was lovely, but it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d have bought a bottle of milk only to find it was sour.
‘Hope it’s alright to crash with my little sister for a few days? Just until I find something. I’ve got a few places lined up to see already.’
Laurel almost spilt the milk over the edge of the cup. His voice sounded so perky and excited that she couldn’t bring herself to say anything back. Instead, a non-committal noise gurgled from her throat as she put the dripping teabags in the bin. She turned and handed the steaming cup to George, not quite able to meet his eyes.
‘That alright?’ he prompted.
She managed a small nod before blowing onto her tea.
‘I saw Kim’s mum in town yesterday,’ George said. ‘She said Kim’s getting treatment now.’
‘I know. She’s on a supervised eating plan,’ Laurel said, playing with the handle of her cup. ‘She still won’t talk to me. I only know what’s going on from her mum.’ Laurel swallowed. ‘Kim hates me.’
‘Of course she doesn’t. She’s sick. You didn’t have a choice.’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself, but…’ She nodded and sighed.
Thinking back to Boxing Day still made her shudder. She’d gone round to Kim’s like she did every year and had been shocked into near silence. Despite the baggy clothes, Kim was even more gaunt and skeletal than she’d seemed in London just two weeks before.
They’d sat on her bed, flicking through magazines and listening to music like they always did. It had been almost normal. They’d chatted about everything other than how skinny Kim was, or the fact that she hadn’t so much as looked at the doorstop turkey and salad sandwiches Mrs Harold had made for their lunch. Laurel had watched as Kim sipped from a pint glass of water, avoiding the sandwiches as if they were poison.
‘Aren’t you going to eat anything?’ Laurel had asked.
It was a question she’d repeated multiple times over that day in the hope that it would prove her theory wrong. Instead, when Kim had finally relented, it had done the opposite. She’d torn off a piece of lettuce so small it wouldn’t have satisfied the smallest of insects, and looked at it with utter disdain. All it had taken was for her to put the lettuce on the tip of her tongue before she’d sprang from the bed and sprinted into the en-suite.
It wasn’t that Kim had thrown up that had been so shocking. It was realising just the thought of food, the tiniest touch of it in her mouth was enough to make her sick. That wasn’t normal, it couldn’t be. Laurel had known she couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore. She’d called her parents in straight away, and Kim had shouted and screamed at her, calling her a traitor. The word still rang in her ears, weeks later.
‘I just wish I’d seen it sooner, that’s all.’ Laurel sighed, looking at George. ‘I’d known something wasn’t right but…’
‘It’s not your fault, Lorie. None of her other friends realised either, or her boyfriend. Even her mum and dad had no idea.’
‘Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?’
‘Course she will. You’re best friends.’
Laurel looked down into her cup. It had been an awful end to 1987, and the start of 1988 was looking even worse.
George wriggled in the chair before straightening up. ‘Let’s go in the living room, I need to sit on the sofa. Those coach seats killed my back.’
‘Wait –’ she started, but it was too late.
Before she should stop him, he was up and in one and a half strides had crossed the kitchen and opened the door. Laurel swore under her breath and put her cup down on the side before following him into the living room.
‘Erm, Lorie. Where’s all your furniture?’
He looked at her as he stood in the centre of the empty room. Well, almost empty. Before Christmas, there’d been a sofa, table, television, stereo and a VHS player. A Christmas tree had stood in the corner and pictures and posters had hung on the walls. Now, all that remained was a solitary sofa cushion.
‘We’re redecorating,’ she said quickly.
‘And going for what look? Desolation?’ he joked.
But she didn’t have the strength to summon a smile. The fight left her so totally that she could almost see it whooshing from her body. She was fed up of trying to hold everything together, tired of scouring the flat from top to bottom and gathering up all the loose change she could find just to put the electric back on and buy a pint of milk. She was tired of trying to figure out why Nico had changed. Why he’d become so mean. Why he’d barely got out of bed for weeks, leaving her to deal with everything by herself. Why he’d screwed everything up in the first place.
Just as she’d known he would, George easily sniffed out her weak lie and raised that damned eyebrow of his. It was like a wrecking ball destroying the brittle shell she’d constructed around herself. And when tears threatened to spill from her eyes, she did absolutely nothing to stop them.
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ George asked, instantly putting an arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on, sit down.’
Sit where? She’d have laughed if it weren’t so tragic. Tears streamed down her face as she plopped herself down onto the floor. She’d spent so long holding them in that they it felt like an avalanche crushing down a mountain. The floor
was cold under her jeans and she hugged her knees to her chest.
‘Lorie, what’s going on? Where’s all your stuff?’
‘Gone,’ she hiccupped, shaking her head. ‘It’s all gone.’
‘Gone where?’
Laurel pulled the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands and scrubbed at her face. Her eyes stung and blurred as she looked at her brother. There was no point in pretending and if she couldn’t be honest with him, then who could she be honest with?
‘Loan sharks. They took everything.’
George’s jaw dropped as he looked around the room again, as if he were trying to picture the two burly men who’d pushed their way into the flat just over two weeks ago.
‘You’re in debt?’
Laurel shook her head. ‘Not me. Nico.’
It didn’t matter that she didn’t owe a penny to anyone – they’d taken her things too. She’d only managed to keep the camera her dad had given her by squirreling it away. The Canon Nico had bought her was gone.
‘He borrowed three thousand pounds to start his business and couldn’t pay it back.’
‘But I thought you said it was going well.’
‘It was.’ She nodded and sniffed. ‘He just didn’t put anything aside to repay it. Or the two thousand pounds in interest.’
George whistled. ‘Bloody hell.’
He owed five thousand pounds, to loan sharks. Nobody had said that was who they were, but it had been blindingly obvious that the two huge, barrel-chested men who’d pounded on the door didn’t work in any bank.
‘They took everything, George,’ she said quietly. ‘His car, every bit of furniture, they even took the toaster. All we’ve got left is the kettle and cooker, a mattress and this stupid sofa cushion.’
She whacked her hand on it, trying to push back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. Laurel swallowed, remembering how the men had gone through the drawers looking for any hidden cash and picked through her underwear with their fat, grubby fingers. She’d never felt so violated in her life.
What Goes Down: An emotional must-read of love, loss and second chances Page 20
