My Sister's Bones(66)

‘Oh, Sally,’ says Paul. He stands up and takes the cardigan from my hands. ‘It’s all right. Let it out.’

He puts the cardigan on to the bed and takes me in his arms. He smells of Paul, of fresh soap and cake mix, though he never makes bloody cakes. It’s just there in his skin. It’s such a comforting smell, and I bury my face into his chest and breathe him in.

‘It’s been a massive shock for you,’ he whispers. ‘But we’re going to get through this. I promise you.’

‘I can’t,’ I say, extricating myself from his arms. ‘I will never get over it. Knowing that she died all alone, with nobody to comfort her in her final moments. I should have been nicer to her when she came to see me but all I could think about was everything she’d done. It was eating me up inside and now it’s too late.’

‘Shhh,’ says Paul, picking up my cardigan. ‘It’s okay. You can’t change the past. What’s done is done. And I’m going to help you, baby. We’ll get through this together. Now come on, let’s go home.’

I am being held captive in my own house. Paul is determined that I won’t sneak out to buy more booze so he has taken the rest of the week off work so he can stay here and play nursemaid.

He has been up to see me several times throughout the day, bringing me tea and biscuits and a pile of crappy magazines, and telling me that whenever I’m ready we can talk about Kate.

The lack of booze is making me jittery and my stomach is aching terribly. I’m going to have to find a way to sneak out and get some drink. Still, right now I feel strangely calm, though I don’t know how long that will last.

Brushing the biscuit crumbs from the quilt, I turn over and lie on my side. Paul has suggested I have ‘a nice bath’ but I don’t want to move because if I do then this all becomes real. If I lie here and think hard enough about her then maybe I can bring her back.

I close my eyes and I’m back in that house. I must’ve been around eight. We’re sitting round the table waiting for him to come home from the pub. I’m chatting away to fill the silence but my mother and Kate are just looking at each other. I can see the fear in their eyes. I’m not stupid, despite what they think. Mum’s cooked a chicken pie from scratch. It was perfect when it came out of the oven but that was three hours ago and now it sits in the middle of the table getting cold and dry.

‘Oh, this is ridiculous, Mum,’ cries Kate, slamming her hands on the table. ‘We can’t just sit here all night. It’s almost nine o’clock and I have to do my history homework. Just slice the bloody thing and heat his up when he gets in.’

My mother folds her hands in her lap and bows her head. It looks like she’s praying.

‘You know he likes us to eat together, Kate,’ she says, her voice quivering. ‘Now please don’t make a scene, not tonight.’

‘Me make a scene?’ she exclaims. ‘Me? This is crazy, Mum. If he wants us all to eat together then why can’t he get himself back from the pub?’

‘We could watch the TV?’ I suggest, but my mother frowns at me. ‘There might be something nice on.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Sally,’ she snaps. ‘Don’t talk nonsense.’

The iciness of her voice rips into me and my eyes start to water. I put my head back and try to keep the tear that is balancing precariously on my eyelid from falling on to my plate. Then I feel a hand on mine. A gentle squeeze, telling me that everything is going to be all right. I turn my head and see her smiling at me. My big sister. She smiles and for that moment we all feel okay. She has the ability to convey such reassurance with her smile.

But then the front door slams and we all sit erect, silent soldiers on parade. The colour drains from my mother’s face and my heart begins to pound.

‘Now remember, Kate,’ whispers my mother. ‘No antagonizing him; okay?’

Kate goes to reply but before she can he is there in the doorway, filling the room with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and whisky.

‘Fuck me, it’s the three witches of Macbeth,’ he slurs as he stumbles towards the table.

He grabs hold of the corner and almost sends a plate flying.

Kate sighs dramatically and I glare at her, willing her not to provoke him.

‘What you sighing at, eh?’ he sneers as he slumps into the chair next to mine. ‘Something wrong with your lungs?’

‘Come on now, let’s all be nice,’ says my mother as she takes the knife and begins to slice at the pie. As always, she serves my father first. I watch as she spoons the vegetables on to his plate carefully, her hand shaking as she deposits a pile of carrots and peas next to the pie.

Kate is next, then me. Finally, she cuts a tiny sliver for herself.

‘Right, tuck in,’ she says. She nods at Kate as if to say ‘keep quiet’ but Kate is busy stuffing the food into her mouth as fast as she can. As soon as she’s finished she’ll be up the stairs.

I begin to eat but my throat has gone dry with the tension and as I try to swallow a piece of pastry it wedges and I start to choke. Kate thumps me on the back and I grab for my glass of water.

‘Jesus Christ,’ yells my father as the food finally goes down and I sit trying to get my breath back. ‘What you trying to do to us?’

I look up but he is not addressing me. Instead he has his hand on my mother’s wrist.