Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(19)

‘He must really love music.’ I said. What I meant was, He must really love you.

‘Oh yeah.’ She considered this, then smiled. ‘I really love music. We get it from our dad.’ She said this casually, as if her father wasn’t a loaded topic.

‘I haven’t even heard of loads of these songs,’ I said. This was probably because I considered music one of life’s background essentials, and so had never really played close attention to it. It was there, and that was nice, but in an added-extra kind of way.

Suzanne laughed. ‘Don’t give him too much credit. I think he Googles his themes and then picks the tracks he likes.’

I looked closer at the pictures on the mirror, realizing that a good half of them were of her and Brian at various ages. They looked nothing like each other: her, blonde and wispy; him, dark-haired and stocky.

‘You guys were so cute,’ Rosie said, taking one of the photos for a closer look. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Suzanne flinch, as if stopping herself from reaching out to take it back.

There were no photos that I could see of anyone else who looked like a family member. The photos on the walls contained people around our age, strangers to me but unmistakably friend-shaped. I wondered, for the first time, what it must have been like to leave them all behind and start over. To trust the strangers you met with the weight of the second chance you’d been given. I felt the responsibility, suddenly, surrounded by the blueprints of her rebuilt life.

‘Excuse me,’ Suzanne said, her voice light. ‘We’re still cute.’

Rosie grinned at her. ‘Obviously.’ She reattached the photo to the mirror. ‘He looks cool. Is he a good brother?’

‘The best,’ Suzanne said. ‘He’s the only one who loves me.’ She said this lightly, in the same matter-of-fact way I’d say I was five foot three. Like there wasn’t even a question.

‘Well, that’s not true,’ Rosie said, in the same tone.

Suzanne leaned back fully so she was almost lying on her bed, her head on her pillow, eyes on the ceiling. ‘Do you think a dog knows it’s a dog if it lives with people?’

Rosie and I looked at each other.

‘Like, what if it had never seen another dog,’ Suzanne continued, as if this was normal. ‘How would it know?’

‘Walking on all fours would probably be a clue,’ Rosie said.

‘Would it though? They’re not that smart.’

Rosie blinked at her, then raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged. She turned back to Suzanne. ‘Do you think Brian’d make a playlist for me? I want one.’

‘I’ll make you one,’ Suzanne offered. ‘And I’ll put loads of ABBA songs on it.’

Rosie laughed. This was clearly an in-joke I had no hope of getting. ‘No playlist is worth listening to if ABBA aren’t on it.’

Suzanne was grinning. She looked at me. ‘Want one, Cads?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Go light on the ABBA though.’

They both cracked up as if I’d said something funny on purpose, when I’d actually been completely serious.

‘You just wait,’ Suzanne teased. ‘I’ll convert you.’

‘You can try,’ I hedged. ‘So – Some Like It Hot?’

Suzanne bounced up off the bed, looking thrilled. ‘Yes! See, Roz? Two against one. Now you can’t argue.’ She gave my arm a spontaneous squeeze. ‘Caddy’s on my side. Right, Caddy?’

‘Right,’ I said. I couldn’t help grinning at Rosie’s sour expression. ‘Sorry, Roz. You’re outvoted.’

‘You’re not supposed to gang up on me,’ Rosie said sulkily. ‘That’s not how this works.’

‘Except it is,’ Suzanne replied. She went over to her shelf of DVDs and began searching through them. ‘You just wait. You’ll love it. I promise.’





The following week was parents’ evening, a rare evening with both my parents. On the short drive to Esther’s, Dad attempted to cram in the six weeks’ worth of information he’d missed while being Superstar Doctor of the Year, which I found irritating but Mum seemed to think was endearing. She kept making eye contact with me in the rear-view mirror and rolling her eyes in a misguidedly chummy way.

The evening went as I’d expected. I worked hard. I was pleasant. My grades were satisfactory. I should speak up more during lessons. I should get involved more in extra-curricular activities. These were the kinds of things Esther’s teachers said to the filler students like me. Credit where it was due to those of us who kept the boat steady while others created waves. I’d never really minded being one of those. It only ever bothered me when I knew it bothered Dad.

I could see the vaguely frustrated look on his face while he sipped coffee and made small talk with other parents, introducing himself as Dr Oliver in a way that made me wonder if he was expecting applause. My mother kept putting her hand to my shoulder and squeezing gently.

‘Your English teacher seemed impressed,’ was all she could muster when we were finally back in the car and heading home.

‘Mmm,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t hurt to stick your head above the parapet occasionally,’ Dad said. ‘There’s no shame in being noticed.’