Good Me Bad Me(25)

‘That’s so typical, I’ve actually been working really hard on my lines, perhaps you’re just too fucking busy to notice.’

She drains the wine in her glass, the heat of the alcohol adding fuel to her rage.

‘Any more language like that and you’ll leave the table, okay? Especially when your mum has cooked such a nice dinner.’

‘I must be eating something else,’ she replies.

Saskia’s mouth opens, about to speak, but closes again, doesn’t feel, and isn’t, half as brave as her daughter. She excuses herself to the bathroom, her nose is hungry.

‘It was only a joke, for god’s sake.’

‘Last warning, Phoebe, I mean it,’ replies Mike.

She stabs her fork into a potato, looks at him, says, ‘Fine.’ He runs his hands through his hair, lets out a sigh, asks me if I’d like some more chicken.

‘No thanks, I’m almost full.’

‘Do I not get offered any?’

‘Would you like some?’

‘No, I’ll have some more wine though.’

‘Not tonight you won’t.’

Too late. She picks up the bottle, half pours, half spills herself another glass. Full this time. Her lips, stained purple.

‘I don’t think so, Phoebe.’

He stands up, removes the glass from her hand, tips the wine down the sink.

‘You never used to mind.’

‘You used to behave better.’

She stares at me and I know somehow she’s blaming me. When Mike sits back down he tries a different approach.

‘Why don’t you guys work together on the play, help each other out?’

‘I’d like that,’ I reply.

‘Me and Iz are working on it together.’

‘Perhaps you could include Milly?’

‘She’d only be left out.’

‘There’s no need to be rude.’

‘I’m not being rude, why are you taking her side?’

‘I’m not taking anybody’s side.’

‘Yeah you are, I might as well be invisible.’

He could tell her, defuse the bomb. Explain why he and I spend so much time together, where we went when I missed school. The lawyers. Our evening conversations, what they’re about. You. But he doesn’t, he tells her it’s important he helps me adjust to life as a member of the family, a little extra time and attention is needed. Phoebe’s about to respond but Saskia comes back, heavy-bottomed glass in her hand. Ice. Slice of lime. She sits down, plays with her necklace, the gold one that matches Phoebe’s, and mine. Phoebe doesn’t miss a trick, not where her mother is concerned.

‘Well, seeing as you’ve moved on to spirits, I might as well drink your wine.’

She reaches for Saskia’s glass, drinks what’s left of it. Lolita, a teenage temptress, knows all the buttons to push. Mike’s hands press into the table, he’ll be telling himself to calm down, employing tactics he uses in his work. He stands up, speaks.

‘I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Leave the table, Phoebe. If you’re still hungry, take whatever you want with you, but go straight to your room and I’d prefer not to see you again this evening.’

She does as she’s told. Steam runs low. What goes up, must come down.

And then there were three.

I can’t help but feel sorry for her, I’ve felt it too. The hunger of loneliness around the people, or person, you’re supposed to be protected by. Nurtured. Mike apologizes, asks me if I’ve had enough to eat.

‘Yes thank you, I think I’ll head up too if that’s okay.’

‘Of course, and I’m sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.’

I pause outside Phoebe’s room, imagine what she’s doing. Texting Izzy? Telling her how much she hates her family, how much she hates me?

No such thing as a shiny, new family.

‘Milly, it’s Mike, can you hear me?’

Please, stop crying.

‘Milly, who are you talking to?’

I’m going to help you, I promise.

‘Everything is okay, Milly.’

No, it’s too late for that.

Somebody places their hands on my shoulders, holds them there. Applies pressure. A voice says, Milly, you need to come out of there. I open my eyes and I see Mike in front of me.

‘Let me help you up.’

‘No, they need me, Mike. They’re frightened.’

‘Take my hand, Milly. That’s it, good girl.’

When Mike leads me out of the cellar, the light in the corridor blinds me. A spotlight. Exposed. This is who I am. I begin to cry, he holds me into his chest. His heart beats with something strong, I feel it through the thick material of his dressing gown. He’s not supposed to touch me, but I’m glad he does.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, deep into his chest.

‘You have no reason to be sorry, Milly.’

I do.

I have many reasons.





12


Mike told me everything was okay when he took me back to my room on Saturday night, said we’d talk about it in this week’s session, but how can I be sure he means it. That everything’s okay. The ground beneath my feet, less firm when night comes. What I do, say. What I reveal about myself in those moments. My biggest fear was you, still is most of the time, but now I have a new fear, that I’ll be shown the door, Mike recognizing he’s bitten off more than he can chew. More than he wants to.