Heart-Shaped Bruise (19 page)

As soon as I said it, the air between us tightened. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean to. I guess it was true, but I didn’t know that it had upset me until I heard myself say it.

‘It’s okay. You weren’t even looking at me,’ I added with a small laugh, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘I don’t think you knew I was there.’

He didn’t say anything to that, just looked at me for a long moment.

I shrugged at him. It wasn’t his fault; it was just this thing, this force, that brought him and Juliet together the moment they met. He looked at her sometimes like he didn’t know how to stop. Walls fell, the ceiling peeled off, furniture blew away like dead leaves until all that was left was her, and he’d look at her like she was the only thing he could see for miles.

No one will ever look at me like that now.

I would look at him, looking at her, and I’d want to tell him that I understood, that I knew what it was like to have Juliet Shaw punch a hole right through your life. Yeah, Sid and I had entirely different motives, but the need was the same, the focus. If anyone knew what it was like to think of nothing but Juliet Shaw, it was me.

The silence curled around us like smoke and when I saw him look down at the can of beer in his hand, I laughed, trying to soften the moment.

‘It’s alright, Sid,’ I said with a shrug, then took another long sip of beer. ‘I’m not having a go. I’m just saying. I know if it wasn’t for Nancy, we wouldn’t be friends.’

I watched his cheeks go from pink to red and when he turned his face away, it hurt. Not because he didn’t insist that we were great mates, but because I didn’t know until that moment how deeply Sid felt things. Say something like that to him and it hooks in, takes root.

‘So where did you move to?’ he asked suddenly, turning to look at me again.

The shock of it almost made me say Godalming, but I managed to catch my breath and remember Rose’s back-story. I thought of all those afternoons in the park, all those gigs singing along until we’d lost our voices and I couldn’t believe we’d never talked about it.

‘Barnsbury.’

He nodded. ‘Very nice.’

‘We don’t live there any more. When Mum and Dad got divorced, they had to sell the house. Mum and I live in the flat near Angel tube now.’

‘Still, much nicer than the Scarbrook Estate. How’d you get out?’

I paused to swallow a mouthful of beer. I didn’t look at him again, I stared at the can. When I didn’t respond, I heard him
say, ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’

‘It’s not that,’ I told him with a shrug, stopping to trace the letters on the side of the beer can with my finger. ‘I was just thinking about how long we’ve known each other.’

He finished my thought. ‘And we’ve never talked about this stuff?’

I smiled to myself and took another swig of beer.

‘I don’t even know what your dad does, Ro.’

He’s a surgeon
. I’d said it so many times – to Juliet, to Mike and Eve, to Grace. It should have been on the tip of my tongue, but I said, ‘He’s a mechanic.’

As soon as I’d said it, I pressed my lips together, but it was too late.

It was out.

‘A mechanic?’

I began tracing the letters on the side of the beer can with my finger again. ‘Yeah. He and my uncle used to own a garage. It was doing well, but then Mum got pregnant with me. Dad says I was a surprise, but he was being nice, I was an accident.’ It wasn’t funny. I don’t know why I laughed. ‘They weren’t ready. They weren’t even nineteen. Dad wanted to be living in a house when they started a family, not in a one-bed flat on the Scarbrook Estate.’

I finished the beer and threw the empty can into the plastic bag. ‘So Dad started working his arse off to make some money,’ I continued. It was only then that I realised what I was doing, that I was telling him about Emily, not Rose. After months
of being so careful, I don’t know why. I should have stopped, but he was looking at me, waiting for me to go on, and I thought – just for a second – that if I said it in the right way, he would understand.

‘He started working on account,’ I said, my voice not as steady, as I opened another can of beer, ‘fixing cars for cab firms and stuff. Then the accounts got bigger and when he landed one with the police we moved off the estate.’

Sid looked impressed, but I had to stop. I don’t know what happened next. I mean, I’ve read stuff in the newspapers; I know Dad wasn’t just fixing cars. But I don’t know what happened to Mum, why she didn’t come with us. When I was old enough to ask, Dad told me she was too young, that she couldn’t cope with being a mother. I don’t know what he did to her. Maybe he didn’t do anything. Maybe she couldn’t cope. Wouldn’t it be funny if she was in a place like this, writing in a notebook of her own about all the things she’s done?

‘So your dad did it all for you?’ Sid said then.

I remember how the beer can crumpled under my fingers. ‘Did what?’

‘All of it; built up his business, moved off the Scarbrook Estate, bought a house in Barnsbury. He did it all because he wanted you to have a better life.’

He smiled at me as though it was a good thing, but I wanted to be sick. I’d always blamed myself for my parents breaking up. After all, if I’d arrived five years later, would they have been stronger? Would Mum have coped? But the rest of it? Did
he do that for me? That’s all he ever said to me, I want you to have everything, little one. Everything. You can have it all. Whatever you want. Just ask. But he meant take, didn’t he? That’s what he did.

What did he do?

‘You okay?’ Sid asked, and I caught myself, remembering to smile.

‘Just drunk, I think.’

He stared at me and when I looked at him again, he asked me if I was sure. But when I told him I was, he went from unconvinced to frustrated.

‘You always do this, Ro,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Do what?’

‘Talk. You talk, talk, talk, about everything. About books you’re reading and films you want to see and that mad bloke who hangs around outside the police station wearing a bin bag as a cape. But you never
say
anything. It’s like there’s this line.’ He drew one between us with his finger. ‘You get so far, then you stop.’

‘I do not.’

‘Yes, you do. Like just now; I obviously upset you with what I said about your dad, but when I ask if you’re okay, you lie about being drunk.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Nance does the same thing. She gets to a point and won’t go any further. She won’t let me in.’

I didn’t know what to say to that. I couldn’t find the words quickly enough. I was scrambling around trying to grab them but
I couldn’t. It was like I had greasy fingers. So I resorted to stroppiness. ‘My parents just got divorced. It’s hard to talk about it, okay?’

He pointed at me. ‘It’s more than that, Ro. I know it is. There’s something else.’

‘There isn’t!’

‘There
is
and you don’t have to tell me what it is, but I know there’s something because I do the same thing when I have to talk about my mum.’

‘Don’t talk about her, then.’ I reached for another beer, but there were none left.

‘I think she’s an alcoholic,’ he said in a rush.

I almost fell out of the tree. I mean, I knew, I
thought
, but I didn’t think he’d tell me.

‘What?’

‘I’ve been finding bottles around the flat.’

‘Where?’

‘At the back of wardrobes. In the cupboard under the kitchen sink.’

‘What sort of bottles?’

‘Wine, at first. Now vodka.’ He shook the can he was holding. I could hear the beer swilling around inside of it. ‘You know that really cheap vodka you get in supermarkets? A litre bottle for a tenner?’

‘How long has she been doing it?’

He shrugged. ‘She’s always liked a drink. Her and my Aunt Bridget used to sit in the kitchen on Friday nights, howling and
drinking Southern Comfort and lemonade. But it’s got worse since Dad died. She does it on her own now. I don’t know what to do.’

‘What does Nancy think?’

He looked at me, then licked his lips. ‘I ain’t told her.’

My heart started to throb again. ‘Why not?’

‘I can’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Things are so good between us. Easy. I just need to have that one good thing, you know?’ He frowned. ‘Does that make me a total dick?’

I thought about it for a moment, then looked at him. ‘My cousin Ian had a drinking problem.’ I hesitated. It was another Emily thing, but it was only a tiny piece and he really needed it, so I went on. ‘His wife stuck with him through the whole thing. Through the years of him starting arguments just so that he could leave the house, and nicking money from her purse. But as soon as he was better, he left her.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because he’d moved on. He wanted to put all of those things behind him but he said that he couldn’t because she remembered all of it. She remembered things he couldn’t. So he said that he’d always be an alcoholic to her.’

Sid looked at me for a moment or two, then nodded.

‘So you keep your one good thing, Sid,’ I told him with a smile. ‘But if you need someone to talk to, or climb a tree with, tell me. I have an awful memory.’

A group of schoolgirls passed under the tree then. They started to hold on to one another and laugh wildly as a Jack
Russell nipped at their heels. The owner tried to tug him away, but not before one girl screamed – Janet Leigh screamed – and ran away. It was so melodramatic that it made me giggle and when I looked up again, Sid was watching me.

‘Here,’ I said, reaching into the plastic bag. ‘Hold out your hand.’

‘Why?’

‘You know what we need?’ I pulled out a tube of Smarties and shook them at him. He grinned, offering me the palm of his hand. I tipped them out and picked one off the top of the pile. ‘I only eat the orange ones so you can have the rest.’

He frowned as he watched me push them around with my finger trying to find another orange one. ‘What? Why?’

‘’Cos they’re the odd ones out.’

‘How? They’re all the same.’

I shook my head. ‘No, they’re not. The orange ones aren’t like the rest.’

‘Are they fuck.’

I knew I was about to expose him to some of my crazy, but he needed to know.

‘They are! Here, I’ll show you.’ I picked out a pink one and held it up. ‘The pink ones are the mum. The blue ones are the dad. The purple ones are the kid—’

‘Why are the purple ones the kid?’

‘Because pink and blue make purple.’

‘No, red and blue make purple.’

‘No, Smarties pink and Smarties blue make Smarties purple.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t realise there was actual logic behind this.’

I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘There is.’

‘Okay. So what are the red ones?’

‘The dog.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘Why are the red ones the dog?’

‘Because when I was little we had a dog called Red.’

‘Of course. So what are the brown ones?’

‘The house.’

‘Naturally. And the green ones?’

‘The earth.’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘So are the yellow ones the sun?’

‘Yes! See, I told you.’ I tapped my temple with my finger. ‘Logic.’

‘I’m not sure logic is the right word, Rose.’

‘So that just leaves the orange ones.’ I popped one in my mouth. ‘They don’t belong. Plus, they taste different. They’re orange chocolate.’

‘Lies!’ he said, pointing his beer can at me. ‘That’s a total urban myth.’

‘Yeah. Okay. If by urban myth you mean fact.’

‘No.’ He shook his head, ‘I mean urban myth. That’s why I said
urban myth
.’

‘I’ll prove it to you. Close your eyes.’

He groaned but closed his eyes anyway and when he did, I picked out a blue one. He giggled when I touched his bottom lip with it, then let me feed it to him. He chewed on it for a second
then opened his eyes again, grinning smugly. ‘Told you. Doesn’t taste of orange.’

I feigned annoyance. ‘Fine. Let’s try it one more time.’ I fed him a brown one this time. He did the same thing.

‘Okay, okay,’ I said. ‘Best of three?’

This time I actually gave him an orange one. As soon as he tasted it, his eyelids flew open and he looked at me, horrified. ‘It’s orange chocolate!’

I slapped my leg with my hand. ‘I told you!’

‘Give me another one.’

‘No,’ I whined. ‘There’s only one left. You can have all the other colours.’

‘I climbed a tree for you, Rose Glass. Give me one.’

‘You climbed a tree for beer!’

‘Please.’ He fluttered his eyelashes and I gave in. He looked suitably smug.

‘Happy now?’ I pouted. ‘No more Smarties for me.’

‘Here,’ he said, holding up a pink one.

I almost fell out of the tree recoiling from it. ‘No!’

‘Come on, Ro. For me?’

‘No. I can’t eat the mum!’

‘I climbed a tree for you, Rose Glass!’

I pointed at him. ‘You only get to use that once!’

He chuckled to himself then picked out a blue one. ‘Okay,’ he said, holding them up. ‘If you have the pink one and I have the blue one we’ll be friends. Proper friends. Not just friends with Nancy, okay?’

‘Fine.’ I closed my eyes and when I felt his thumb touch my bottom lip I pretended to wince, but my heart sang. Sang like a bird in a cage.

It became a regular thing after that. Every Wednesday afternoon we’d go to the cemetery, get chips, then do something together. We’d bicker about books or fight over band T-shirts in the charity shop. Once we even went into a bookies on the high street and put a bet on the 3.55 at Wetherby. My horse won and I was insufferable for the rest of the day. I think Sid would have gone home and left me if I hadn’t bought us a curry with my winnings.

One Wednesday he turned to me as we were coming out of the chip shop with the most wicked grin. ‘I know what we can do. Come on.’

I frowned at him. ‘What?’

‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’

We got the tube to Camden and he led me down one of the narrow roads near Camden Lock market to a small shop. I didn’t
even get a chance to see what kind of shop it was before he pulled me in by the sleeve of my coat.

As soon as I stepped inside, I smelt it – wood and old paper – and my heart was hysterical, as though I’d just bumped into an old boyfriend.