Good Girl, Bad Girl(108)

“Do you have any cigarettes?”

I offer him one of mine from the packet I keep in the laundry, on a shelf above the dryer. Poppy lifts her head from the oversized wicker basket that has become her bed.

“We’ll have to smoke in the garden,” I say. “Cyrus has a thing about secondhand smoke.”

“I’ll make an exception for tonight,” Cyrus says.

I give him a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe you should go to bed, Evie.”

“I’m fine.”

He jerks his head towards the door, but I reach for a cigarette and light up, positioning an ashtray between Aiden and me. Cyrus opens a window. Settles again.

“What was all that about—the fight with your uncle?”

Aiden shrugs. Eyes down. Faltering.

Cyrus tries again. “Jodie came to your house on the night she died. I think she knocked on the door of the caravan.”

Aiden doesn’t have to say anything. He’s an open book. He’s a whole library of open books.

“How long had you two been . . . ?”

“Five months,” says Aiden, filling his lungs with smoke.

“Who knew?”

“Nobody.”

“Are you sure?”

Aiden is staring at his reflection in the window.

“We couldn’t tell anyone. Aunt Maggie would have freaked out. She’s so Catholic, you know. Jodie and me have known each other since we were kids. Most of that time, I thought she was just another annoying brat like Tasmin, but then . . .” He stops and starts again. “Tasmin had a sleepover party for her sixteenth birthday. It was all girls, dressed in pajamas, playing games and dancing around the house to crappy pop songs. They were sneaking vodka into their lemonade. I was supposed to be the responsible adult, but I let it go, you know. I paid for the pizzas and then made myself scarce, hanging out in my van.

“Tasmin wanted to play hide-and-seek. I could hear the girls finding hiding places in the garden and upstairs. Next thing, Jodie burst into the caravan and pleaded with me to hide her. I told her to find somewhere else. I mean, you’ve seen my van—there are no hidey-holes or crawl spaces. She could hear Tasmin counting, calling out, ‘Ready or not!’ Jodie burrowed under the duvet next to me and lay still with her head on my chest and her arms and legs wrapped around me.”

Aiden looks up at Cyrus imploringly.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that. Up until that night, Jodie was just Jodie, you know. We grew up together. We splashed in wading pools and played Monopoly and wrestled for the TV remote. She was my cousin. Not even a girl. But now she was wrapped around me, her head on my chest. I could feel her warm breath and smell her shampoo. Tasmin came bursting through the door, asking if I’d seen Jodie. I told her no. She left. Jodie didn’t move. For minutes she lay there, holding me, her face invisible, her body warm. Eventually, she pushed back the duvet and looked up at me. Her eyes were shining. We’d never kissed before, not even on the cheek, but this was a proper kiss, an on-screen kiss, you know, like in the movies. She had a wad of chewing gum in her mouth. It finished in mine. It felt like we were trying to breathe for each other.”

“Did you have sex that night?”

“Not then. Later.”

“Was Jodie a virgin?”

He nods.

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“Uh-huh.”

Cyrus glances at me, wordlessly asking the question. I nod. Aiden is telling the truth.

He continues. “We took precautions most of the time. Jodie wanted to go on the pill, but we knew what Aunt Maggie would say if she found out.”

“Who did you tell?”

“Nobody, at first, but when Jodie got pregnant she told my dad because she didn’t want to keep practicing the difficult jumps. He wanted her to land the triple axel, but she knew that any fall could hurt the baby.”

“Did he know about you?”

“No. Jodie refused to say. Dad wanted her to get an abortion. He said nobody had to know if they did it quietly, and that Jodie could keep skating and stay at school.”

“But she wanted to keep the baby,” says Cyrus.

Aiden nods, stubbing out his cigarette. He reaches for another.

“It’s not illegal—you know. First cousins get married all the time—and have babies. I checked. Charles Darwin married his first cousin and so did Albert Einstein. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were cousins. It’s not taboo or anything like that. The baby would have been fine.”

“You planned to run away,” says Cyrus. “Where to?”

“We figured we’d go to London and rent a place.”

“What about your law degree—the scholarship?”

“I don’t want to be a lawyer. Never have. I only applied because of Mum. It was her dream—not mine.”

“What’s your dream?”

“I want to write songs and produce them. People think that’s pie-in-the-sky stuff, but I’m good. You should listen to my stuff.” He rummages in the bag at his feet and hands Cyrus a USB stick with the words “Bedroom Recordings” handwritten on the side.

“I should be able to try, right?” asks Aiden. “If it doesn’t work out, I can go to university.”