Raff shrugs. “I was bored while Bobbio was putting the engine back together. Figured you’d find it easier to pay off a head gasket replacement if the whole world knew your number.”
“Raff, I can’t afford?—”
“Shh.” Raff slaps my back. “Just talk French to me and give me a hug.”
I scan the green and black graphics plastered to a van that’s now devoid of all rust. The carpentry logo Tam doodled on a napkin last Christmas when we were brainstorming business names. Back then, with Esme so young and my account so far in the red, it didn’t feel like something that could ever happen. And yet Raff’s pulled it together for me just to be nice.
Maison Dubois.
“You have no idea what this means to me.” I say it in French, but I get the feeling Raff knows what I’m saying all the same.
We embrace. And I like it because he’s my friend. Hate it because he’s not Galen, a state of mind I need to get over if I’m going to survive the rest of my life.
Despite the wrapping, I still owe Raff enough money to make my eyes water as I swipe my debit card. He gives me another hug as the payment goes through.
“Could’ve been worse.” He tries to comfort me. “If it had blown on the road you could’ve lost the whole engine.”
I reclaim my card and consider crushing it in my fist and dropping it down the drain. Then, for the first time in what feels like forever, I climb behind the wheel of the first thing I ever bought for myself after I got clean.
This van—it used to be Tam’s. Sometimes I think I can still smell the cigs he doesn’t smoke anymore. Or the chocolate he’s rarely without. Tonight, I smell spiced apple pie, and I know it’s all in my head, unless there’s an old box of Mr Kipling stashed in here somewhere.
I should probably look; I’ve eaten fuck-all today. But despite pushing Bhodi’s concern aside, it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t feel like shit warmed up. My head pounds and my eyes hurt. I haven’t wanted to be in my house since Galen walked out of it and I deleted my FlingIt account, but as I put the van in gear and drive away, my bed calls to me.
Esme’s asleep when I get back to Tam’s place.
“You’re nearly out of Calpol.” Bhodi packs the bottle into Esme’s bag. “You want Tam to drop some off on his way home?”
“Nah, we’ll be all right.”
“You have two doses left.”
“I’ll get some from the petrol station.”
Bhodi doesn’t like it. But he’s too sweet to bully me. He tucks leftover croissants into Esme’s bag and hooks it over my shoulder. “Call me if you’re worried. I don’t start my shift run until the morning.”
Another reason I needed to disentangle myself from the sanctuary of my brother’s cosy home. Bhodi’s working most of Christmas—like Galen. I don’t want to be the reason Tam and Bhodi don’t get the best out of the limited time they have together.
So I make myself leave. Drive to the petrol station at the end of Cosmic Avenue and of course it doesn’t have any Calpol on the shelf. Shithole barely has fuel.
Quelle vie de merde.
This close to Christmas, the supermarket is the last place on earth I want to be. Even this late in the day, it’s still packed enough that Esme wakes up before we get past the towering stacks of festive vegetables.
She’s unimpressed, and I don’t blame her.
“Just a few minutes, mon petit cœur. Then we’ll go home, I swear.”
Her bottom lip wobbles. I know she’s getting ready to wail and the supermarket feels smaller with every passing second, but I have to keep going. She needs a good night’s sleep as much as I do.
The pharmacy aisle is right at the back by the booze and frozen meat. It’s busy there too. I’mthis closeto thumping the next idiot with a badly parked trolley when we finally reach the Calpol.
There’s one bottle left. I grab it as Esme squirms in my arms. Head for the self-service checkouts, thankful there’s enough of them that the queue isn’t as traumatic as I imagined when we got here. That Esme hasn’t completely lost her shit by the time we get to the front.
I scan the Calpol, a weird sensation creeping over my skin. Nausea rising. It feels so similar to a craving I almost write it off. Then my skin prickles again and I glance up from the till in time for Esme to take a raspy breath and bellow the name on my mind at the top of her tiny lungs.
“Galen!”
Merde,no.
