Closer (12 page)

“Okay, she'll need to know something's happening, but she won't know what.” 

“But how do we cook it?” 

“It's not rocket science. We can do it. And George can help. Any more buts?” 

She looks so sad suddenly I want to hug her. 

“But Dad…” 

“We'll get along without Dad this time. Hannah, we can't let this ruin everything, we can't.” 

I go over and kneel down beside her, my big sister, the sister I hated for as long as I can remember, and I reach out and touch her arm and she looks at my hand as if I'm an alien from outer space. 

“Come on, let's do it. It'll be fine.” 

“She hates me, I've spoiled everything.” 

“No, Han, it's not you who's spoiled everything, it's Dad. You were brave and strong.” 

I stand up and pull her up and she grumbles but she's with me and we go down in the kitchen and make a list of all the things we'll need. 

“And presents,” says Hannah. “We haven't thought about presents.” 

She's getting into it now. 

“Yeah, presents. Let's go.”

“You okay?” Chloe. 

“Yeah.” I'm sitting on my bed, trying to work out if I want to go back to sleep, or go downstairs, or go for a shower, or kill myself. I can't say all that, can I? 

“I'm worried about you – I'm missing you at school. Everyone's missing you.” 

She's just trying to make me feel bad. Or feel better. What's the difference? The words, the warmth in her voice, like she really means it, slide off me. They can't touch me inside. 

“Mel?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“I'm getting ready for Mum's birthday.” 

That sounds believable at least. I can hear her relief down the phone. 

“What you doing?” 

“Making her a meal and everything. Just like before.” 

“Before what? What's happening? I don't want to pry, but…” 

“You okay? You found out yet?” 

Silence. “No.” 

Neither of us knows what to say.

I get up and go to the door, open it, then shut it firmly. 

“Got to go. Mum wants me.” 

I put the phone down before she can say anything. I am such a crap friend.

“Come on George, give us a hand.” Hannah's calling out from the kitchen and I'm carrying all the bags in. We've bought loads. We went round Morrisons with the list ticking things off. Hannah found a top she liked too. 

George comes into the kitchen sucking his thumb. He's taken to doing that since Dad went. He picks up a bag of new potatoes and looks at them as if they'll poison him. 

“When's Dad coming back?” 

“Don't know. He'll come and see you again tomorrow. Could you put them in the veg tray in the cupboard? 

“Why should I?” 

“This is for Mum, George. You don't want her to have a bad time on her birthday, do you?” 

“Suppose.” He takes his time putting the potatoes in the veg tray then looks round for something else to do. 

“Can I go now?” 

“Tell you what, can you put the table and chairs out in the garden? Then we'll help string up the lights.” Hannah is getting back to her bossy self. But we're both being careful around George. He kicks the table on his way out. 

“Hannah?” I've been waiting for a moment with Hannah and I can't wait any longer. 

Hannah looks up from the bags. 

“Do you think Mum knew?” I didn't mean to splurge it out like that and Hannah looks like I did a fart in her face. 

“Don't know.” 

“Have you asked her?” 

“No. How much of this do you think we'll need?” 

My question hangs in the air like the bad smell, and we both get busy with the preparations. Mum's gone out to see a friend for the afternoon, and we've got till six to get ready. Somehow the question has spoilt everything again. By six the table's laid, the lights are up though we'd forgotten it will be light till after ten. The salads are in the fridge and everything's ready to go. 

I hear Mum's key in the lock and at the same time there's a text coming through. It's from Raj, wanting to see me, asking where I've been these last two weeks. I go in the back room and text him. 

Sorry. It's over. Mel. 

I look at it for a while. I try not to think about him and the kiss in the park. It seems like years ago. I take a deep breath. 

Then I press send. I throw the phone on the sofa and head back to the kitchen.

The evening's a disaster. The meal's fine, though the fish is overcooked and the potatoes are a bit burnt. It's difficult to mess up strawberries and cream, so pudding's great. Mum drinks the whole bottle of wine, and after she's finished eating she starts crying. 

“I miss him. I so miss him,” she cries, and we all sit there horrified, not knowing what to say. Like it's our fault he's gone. George starts crying too, George who never cries except that time Dad trod on his playstation by accident and broke it. What's worse, I miss Dad too, and I look down at my plate, trying not to run. 

I don't mean to get so mad. It just blows up inside me. 

“Why didn't you make sure Hannah was safe?” I look up at her, crying, and I'm cold inside, cold and burning hot at the same time. “You should have seen. You should have looked after her, and me. You cared about your job more than you did about us.” 

She's snivelling now, looking at me, holding the table. 

“Stop it,” shouts George, spilling his drink, “It's Mum's birthday.” 

I go on. I can't stop now. “Anybody'd think you were the one with the problems. What about Hannah and me,” I say, my voice trailing now, “and what about George?” 

“You shut up about it,” yells George, getting up and coming over and shoving me hard in the chest. “You shut up, you hear? It was you sent Dad away, my dad. He's not your dad, he's mine, but you got him sent away. It's all your fault.” 

Mum gets up and we all stop and look at her. She's holding onto the table, and her knuckles are white. 

“I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry all this has happened. It's none of your fault, it's mine, do you hear? I'll never forget this, the rest of my life, how I didn't realise. There's nothing, nothing I can do to make it better, I know that. But I was stupid, I didn't see. I'd never have let it happen if I'd known. I thought if the house was nice, if we had enough money, if we were all together, that was important. I didn't see.” 

We're listening to her. Tears are racing down her cheeks through her makeup. 

“Thank you so much for all this, but I don't deserve it. I'm going to bed.” 

She steadies herself and then leaves. We hear her going up to her room, the room she shared with Dad, and she shuts the door and the curtains, even though it's only eight o'clock and the sun's still streaming down. 

It's like a competition for who got hurt most. 

Hannah and George and I sit there, not looking at each other. Then Hannah slowly starts to clear the dishes, still not looking, not speaking. I join in, and then George takes the salt and pepper and sauce and carries them into the kitchen. Nobody says anything as we stack the dishwasher and wipe out everything to do with this birthday, the first birthday after it happened, wash all the muck and leftovers off so the plates are clean and shiny again. 

That can never happen for us.

It's today. The case conference. Sabina came round yesterday and explained it all. It's going to happen at school, and I freaked. 

“Nobody will know. I promise you, to everybody else it will be just another meeting.” Sabina isn't thrown when people freak at her, I've found that out. She just looks at you and speaks slowly and firmly then listens. 

But I'm not happy. Mum's wearing her grey work suit and done her hair and she's put some makeup on. George is sleeping over at a friend's house. 

“Where's your letter?” says Mum. 

I've been working on this letter ever since Sabina talked about it. This is my chance to have a say. Don't suppose they'll listen, but I have to try. 

I've printed it out and put it in an envelope. Mum looked at it as I stuck the envelope down and wrote ‘For Sabina' on the front. I knew Mum wanted to read it, but I can't let her, not yet. 

Hannah and I watch her go out. George has gone back to school these last few days. I don't think he understands what's going on, he was kicking off this morning about his sports kit like it was any day. 

We wave at her from the front door, like she's going on a long holiday or something, and then we don't know what to say, and I go and read the letter again. I'm shivering, like it's cold but the heat is going on and on. The air feels heavy and thick and hot. 

To the case conference of Mel and Hannah Williams: 

I'm Mel and I'm fifteen. Seems like that gives me no rights in all this, even though it's me it happened to, and Hannah my sister of course. But Sabina says she'll read this out to you and it's the only chance I have. 

When things went wrong and I was a kid Dad used to say ‘Shit happens.' You might think that's a bad thing to say, but it really helped. You get this feeling everything's supposed to be great all the time, and people ought to be how they're supposed to be, like some kind of fairy tale. Like some stupid storybook where everyone's going to live happily ever after. 

That's rubbish. Life's not like that. People die, like Granma. People do bad things, like Granpa did to Dad only I don't know what. Because Dad told me ‘shit happens' and hugged me and said I was strong and could get over it when it did, I know I can get through this. Or I think I can. 

It's Dad who helped me see that, even though it's him who's wrecked everything now. 

If you break us all up, if you send us away, we'll never have a chance to get through it. You might think you'll be protecting us, but there'll just be more stuff to get over. 

I've seen Dad since it happened and I know he's sorry. He looks older somehow, and like he's lost something, but he's always cared about us in his own way and I care about him. It's difficult with Mum because she thinks she should have known, and in a way she should but like I said shit happens and she took her eye off us and I think she should have known but shit just happens and you get over it. You have to. 

Thank you for listening to this, and thank you for trying to protect us. It's a bit late, but I know you're doing your best. 

Please help us to get through it. Together. 

Yours sincerely 

Mel Williams.

There's a storm. It's like the air's so full it's got to burst into something, like it knows what's happening to us. Of course that's bonkers, how could it? But the rain comes down in shed-loads and Hannah and I count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder and the storm's close but not overhead and we end up on the sofa in the living room huddled up watching some old film on the box and I think we're both in our safe places and the time drags on but we get through it and we don't even hear Mum's key in the lock and her coming in with Sabina until they look round the door and see us. 

“Hey, you two.” Mum's voice is strange and she's been crying. 

“It's okay.” Sabina's behind her, and you can tell she doesn't want us to think the worst. 

I get up and Hannah does too and we're all standing there like it's some kind of stupid party and Mum comes in and puts her arms round us both and we stand there swaying a bit and I can hear Hannah breathing fast or perhaps it's me. 

After a while Sabina does a stage cough, to remind us she's there and not to go into some tragic movie scene thing like when somebody's got cancer and they're going to die really soon. 

“Can we talk about this? I mean, Mel and Hannah must have been going crazy wondering what's been happening.” 

Mum lets us go and we all sit down. My legs are feeling wobbly, it must be all that hugging. I'm not used to it. 

“Right, here's what came out of the conference. Hannah, you'll be leaving in a couple of months to go to university, right?” 

Hannah nods. She's looking tense. 

“That's great. We can put you in touch with somebody in London you can go and talk to – a therapist who'll help you go through all this and sort some of it out. In the meantime you'll have supervised visits with your dad if you want them – not unless.” 

Hannah listens, her face doesn't react but I know she's taking her time to let the news settle. 

“Mel. You're in a different situation. You know, your letter made all the difference. When I read it, there wasn't a sound in the room.” 

This is not some kind of English lesson. Get on with it. But I sit there. It's like I'm waiting for the sentence in a trial or something. 

“Everybody heard what you said, what you wanted. We can't turn the clock back. Your dad will need to go through the courts, and we'll have to wait and see what happens there. He can stay where he is for now, and you can see him if your mum's there. She says that's okay with her.” 

Sabina looks at Mum and she nods. 

“We'll have another conference after the courts have sorted out that side of things. To see where we go next.”