My connections with Frankie and Tommy have altered beyond all recognition. Both have held my hands as I coughed, thrown away my dirty tissues, steadied cups of cold water as I drink with trembling hands, and rubbed antibacterial creams into my charred skin. They’ve parented me more than I have ever parented them. It’s not even as if we’re rebuilding our relationship, because you can’t rebuild what didn’t exist in the first place. But you can create something new. And I’m enjoying the process much more than I could have ever imagined. We’re not exactly the Von Trapps – neitherchild could carry a tune if I gave them a suitcase to put it in – but I’m enjoying their company. Who knew?
I did a live interview this morning with the TV showBBC Breakfast Newsabout my recovery. I might as well capitalise on the goodwill being thrown in my direction by being who they want me to be. So I coughed when I didn’t need to and sipped water with the grace of a chapped-beaked hummingbird sucking nectar from a flower. I even told the presenter that I forgave whoever had tried to kill me and that I hoped they would get the help they needed. I tell a better fable than Aesop.
Before letting me go, they asked me to respond to news that the Party Hard Posse had cancelled their forthcoming tour after secret backstage video recordings leaked of three band members mocking disabled fans with foul words and gestures. The band tried to apologise, pointing out the footage was recorded years earlier and that they had since ‘grown as people’. But it was too late, social media had cancelled them. I told the presenter it was a pity the band’s legacy had been tarnished and that I wished them well with their spiritual growth. And once we were off air, I might have smiled to myself. Negative energy has never felt so positive.
The house is my own until early afternoon, when Nicu brings the kids back from hockey and football matches. So I’ve invited Anna over for a long overdue tête-à-tête. About twenty-five years in the making, by my reckoning.
At a minute before 11 a.m., there’s a knock on the door.
‘Hello,’ I say as I open it.
She responds with a simple ‘Hi’, and the ghost of a smile.
I turn my back to her, leaving the door ajar but without inviting her in. It closes behind me as she follows me into the kitchen. She hovers at first, scanning the room and the adjoining lounge as if it’s a trap.
‘We’re alone,’ I confirm. ‘Tea or coffee?’
She hesitates. ‘Tea. Please.’
Even with my back turned, I can feel her eyes drilling holes into me, keen to register what’s different. Most of my scars are mental, but physically, there is debris. My hair is a little shorter thanks to a stylist friend of Nicu’s who cut away the singed bits. I’ve filled in the gaps in my eyebrows with a pencil but I can’t hide my lack of eyelashes with false ones as the glue will irritate my eyelids. My wrists bear scabs, the remains of burst blisters, and my face and arms are still a crimson colour from the heat. I look like someone from a council estate who’s just returned from their first week abroad during a Benidorm heatwave.
I use the hot water tap to fill the teapot, flinching momentarily as the steam passes close to my skin. I wonder if she’s noticed. When I sit down at the kitchen table, she finds a spot opposite me.
We lock eyes.
‘Well.’ I smile firmly. ‘Where shall we begin?’
Chapter 71
Anna
The teapot and mugs act as barriers between me and Margot. I clear my throat, trying not to give away how anxious I am. I don’t want her thinking she has the advantage in this long-overdue confrontation.
Her text message – a curtSee you at mine at 11 on Sunday– wasn’t an invitation or a request, but an expectation. Drew told me to ignore it and not to go. But I’m done with being controlled by him or anyone else.
‘What did Drew tell you before he tried to kill you?’ I begin.
‘What, no “How are you?” or “I’m sorry for what happened”?’ Margot asks with mock offence.
‘I think we’re beyond pleasantries, don’t you?’
‘Your brother,’ she says pointedly, ‘told me who you both really were the morning of the bonfire.’
‘How? Where were you?’
‘We were in his flat.’
‘His flat?’ I repeat. I think the smoke inhalation must have fogged her brain. ‘Drew doesn’t have a flat.’
‘He rents a bedsit above a Turkish restaurant on the Wellingborough Road. Liv wasn’t mistaken a few months back when she thought she’d spotted me leaving the restaurant. If she’d passed me a few seconds later, she’d have seen Drew was behind me.’
This catches me off guard.
‘But why would you go to his ...’ The penny drops, along with my jaw. ‘My brother was the man you were cheating on Nicu with?’ She nods, although there’s no pride in her expression. ‘But he hates you.’
‘I see that now,’ she says with a cold laugh. ‘Drew was conflicted. I think he hated himself more for falling in love with me.’
I shake my head. ‘No, he would never have fallen in love with you.’
