The Family

‘Oh. My. God.’ Katie stopped in her tracks. ‘Tilly!’ She paused for effect, to make sure everyone was looking. ‘Has Mummy cut your sandwiches into hearts? How sweet!’

My body burned with embarrassment. What had Mum been thinking?

‘It’s like you’re seven, not seventeen. No wonder Kieron dumped you.’

Kieron studied his shoes. He used to tell me my eyes were beautiful, but now he couldn’t meet them.

Katie began to sing that old song, ‘Don’t go breaking my heart…’ but trailed off when she realised no one was joining in. Rhianon was staring at the floor, an odd expression on her face, and I wondered if she was remembering the same memory as me. The way her mum and mine used to belt out that song whenever they made dinner together, when everyone got along.

‘Go and take a running jump, Katie,’ I said.

‘Like your dad did?’

All the breath left my body in one sharp release. I tried to not picture Dad broken and bleeding on the floor, but the image had snuck into my mind and was scorched there for evermore.

‘Katie, don’t,’ Rhianon said quietly.

‘You’re sticking up for her?’ Katie raised her perfectly drawn eyebrows.

‘He was my uncle.’

I screwed the sandwich up so tightly in my fist that tuna mayo splattered all over the sleeve of my black top.

‘Aww, never mind.’ Katie said. ‘I’m sure Mummy will wash it for you.’ She sashayed away while I rubbed at the stain with my fingers, but that only made it worse. I watched as Rhianon and Kieron trailed after her, cramming themselves onto an almost-full table on the other side of the hall.

We had learned about a leper colony in Greece in history once, and as I sat alone, surrounded by empty seats, I realised that I wasn’t just a social leper, I was that entire island.

Angrily, I flicked a piece of sweetcorn onto the floor and then felt guilty. Mum tried so hard. I’d been such a bitch to her lately. I wished I could tell her everything. How lonely I was. How afraid. Sometimes I heard her crying in the night. I’d bury my head underneath my pillow. Each day I tried to avoid her. I was frightened that as soon as I started talking to her the truth would just come out. I didn’t want to do or say anything that might ruin Mum’s memory of Dad; she had enough to deal with. I didn’t want her to think badly of me, but I wondered if she did know, would she hate him and miss him less? It was impossible to know what the right thing to do was.

As I thought of the way I’d ignored her goodbye and slammed the car door that morning, I began to panic. She was literally all I had left and I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she turned her back on me too. I balled my hands as I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself crying. I was shrinking the way Alice did when she drank the potion in Wonderland. The rain hammered down on the corrugated roof and the noise of that, and of the chatter and laughter and the clattering of trays, was unbearable.

‘We’re off to see the wizard.’ I filled my head with Mum’s soft voice singing one of our favourite songs.

The pressure released from my lungs, leaving a desire to make up with Mum. I pulled my mobile out of my bag. Straight away it beeped with a message notification from Rhianon.

Take it from the cute sandwiches you STILL haven’t told your mum the truth about your dad?

Dread filled my empty stomach. How much longer would it remain a secret?

Dad’s hands cupping my face.

Promise you won’t tell, Tilly.

Chapter Six (#ulink_6dcf6971-4428-501d-a760-88904de71b63)

LAURA

I hugged the pillow tighter, the feathers moulding against the curves of my body. The curves Gavan would kiss on a Saturday morning while I wriggled further under the covers, protesting that it was too bright with the sun glaring through the thin curtains, shining its fiery spotlight on every lump and bump.

‘Laura, I’ve eaten marshmallows off your belly, licked chocolate body paint off your thighs, sucked whipped cream from everywhere.’ He’d pin my wrists above my head. ‘You’re beautiful. Don’t hide.’

If he were still with me I’d stand in all my naked glory, cellulite and stretch marks on display, and let him love me the way he wanted to. The way I needed him to. I pressed my face against the pillowcase and inhaled, long and slow. Each night I sprayed Boss aftershave on Gavan’s side of the bed. The sheets smelled of him, and yet somehow, they didn’t. The cologne came from his bottle, the bottle I bought him last Christmas, but it wasn’t quite the same. The underlying muskiness of him. His own unique Gavan smell had gone and I just couldn’t recreate it.

Music blasted. A thumping bass shaking the wall between Tilly’s bedroom and mine, but I didn’t shout at her to turn it down. It reminded me that despite the hollow in my chest, I was not alone. She was up early for a Saturday. Her door crashed open, and seconds later the bathroom door slammed. Seventeen and destined for uni and she still couldn’t operate a door handle. Tearing myself away from my too-big-for-one bed I slipped my feet into slippers and shrugged on my dressing gown. It was chilly.

‘Morning,’ I called from the landing. ‘I’m making toast. Do you want some?’

‘Not going to cut it into a heart, are you?’ she fired through the plasterboard separating us. I hesitated. There was so much I wanted to say but I didn’t know where to start, so I jammed my words and my hands into my pockets and traipsed downstairs to put the heating on.

By the time my breakfast was ready the ancient boiler was chugging into life. I ate at the table, the syrupy thick coffee and the sticky tang of marmalade chasing away the last traces of sleep. Once again I read the letter from the insurance company:

Dear Mrs Evans, After careful consideration we regret to inform you that in the absence of…

The words skipped and hopped behind the blur of tears covering my eyes until they rearranged themselves into something different. Something better. A future. I peered into the envelope in case I could find some hope. A second sheet of cheap white paper telling me it was a mistake. Of course they would be paying out. Fulfilling the promises of their slick advertising campaign, featuring impossibly beautiful actors with just the right amount of tension etched into their too-perfect skin. Their smiles chasing away their frowns as Ironstone Insurance reassured, ‘We worry, so you don’t have to.’

Fucking, fucking liars.

I couldn’t wait weeks or even months until the inquest, and what if the coroner didn’t think it was an accident?

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I had almost been shattered before. I couldn’t be again. I had Tilly to look after.

‘Mum?’

I dragged my sleeve across my cheeks, mopping my tears, and attempted a smile. Tilly looked young and uncertain without the thick, black lines she normally drew under her eyes, clad in her polar bear pyjamas and penguin slippers.

‘I’m fine. I’m popping over to Aunt Anwyn and Uncle Iwan’s this morning. Do you want to come?’

Emotions flickered across her face – she had always been so easy to read. Surprise, trepidation, a longing that perhaps everything would be okay. It would go back to the way it was before – sleepovers with Rhianon and family lunches. It worried me that the girls had drifted apart. I could understand Rhianon’s loyalty to Anwyn and Iwan, while they unfairly blamed Gavan for the whole sorry mess, but I’d hoped after Gavan died that she’d be there for Tilly. Kieron had dumped her before we’d even had the funeral. I was glad they’d only been together for a few weeks, and I don’t think she cared with everything else that was going on, but I was angry with him for letting her down. I knew from experience how uncomfortable death can make adults – avoiding eye contact, avoiding speaking Gavan’s name – perhaps it was unfair to expect a seventeen-year-old to be able to offer support. But now that Tilly was back at school I was sure Rhianon would do the right thing. She was a good girl really.

‘It would be nice if you came.’ I swept the crumbs that littered the table onto my empty plate. If Tilly was by my side, surely there couldn’t be a repeat of last time me and Anwyn were in a room together. The lightning-sharp insults, thundering rage, accusations flung like hail against a windowpane. To my surprise and relief, Tilly said yes.

I had showered, dressed, squeaked the worktops clean with lemon cleaner and clattered too-many-for-one empty wine bottles into the recycling bin, and Tilly still wasn’t ready. Upstairs, I tapped on her door and urged her to hurry up before I lost my nerve. It took another half an hour before she stomped down the stairs in a fug of overpowering perfume, wearing a top and trousers that didn’t match. She looked like she’d slung on the first things she found on the floor – what had she been doing up there?

My Volvo always smelled of flowers, even when the backseat was empty. I pulled out of our road, opposite the park with the baby swings I used to push Tilly on – higher, higher, higher – as her pudgy hands gripped the metal bar, her head thrown back in laughter. The route to Anwyn’s was familiar. I drove on autopilot, oblivious to it all; the traffic lights we must have passed, the rain pattering against the car roof, the swish of the windscreen wipers. I wasn’t even conscious of Tilly in the passenger seat as I rehearsed what I’d say over and over, choosing my words carefully, rearranging them into some semblance of order. The last thing I wanted to do was offend them, cause another scene. It wasn’t until I parked and yanked the handbrake on that I became aware of the awful heavy metal music Tilly was playing. Some band wanting someone to pour some sugar on them, whatever that meant. Still, as long as she was happy.

It felt odd to be walking up the driveway without holding a bottle of wine for dinner, a homemade trifle for dessert. Without wearing a smile. Rather than heading around the back and walking straight in with an ‘it’s only us!’ I rapped on the front door.

From inside, the muffled sound of shouting. I exchanged a glance with Tilly. We’d arrived at a bad time but I couldn’t afford to give up. I knocked again.

It seemed an age before the door opened. Usually well-groomed, I was shocked by Anwyn’s appearance. Her hair greasy and unbrushed, the whites of her eyes tinged pink. Around her hung the pungent tang of stale alcohol.

‘Laura.’ Confused, her gaze flickered between Tilly and I. Before she could react I stepped forward.

‘Can we come in? Please.’

‘It’s not a good time.’ The door began to swing towards me and I wedged my foot inside before it fully closed.