‘Can I see you again? The band is playing tomorrow – I could give you the address?’
Lissa bites a lip that is fuller than the one she’s used to. She promised her mum she’d be at home tomorrow, spend the day with her. And even if she’s slightly dreading it, a promise is a promise.
‘I can’t, I’m sorry.’ She watches the disappointment flickering over his face before he hides it with a small understanding smile. He lets go of her wrist. ‘But I would really like to see you again,’ she says quietly.
‘Then you will,’ he replies simply.
And it is said with such confidence that it’s impossible not to believe him.
She can feel his gaze on her back as she climbs the steps to her front door – waiting to see her inside safely. She can remember a time when there used to be flower boxes bursting with geraniums either side of these steps, but now those same pots hold nothing but dirt.
Inside is quiet and dark, as she’d hoped it would be. She slips off her heels and tries to move through the house without switching a light on, holds her breath when the wooden floorboards of the staircase creak under her bare feet. But the house sleeps on, her parents in separate rooms, no doubt, her father in the sewing room, just so they don’t have to share a bed.
She passes her sister’s room on the landing. A perfectly good bedroom – small, but certainly more comfortable than the sewing room. But this room has been untouched for years, dust gathering on the shelves, a bed that will never be slept in again. Lissa trails her fingers over the brass door handle but doesn’t turn it. She never does.
She can still feel the texture of the brass when she wakes in her own bed, along with the tightness in her heart. In the dark, she curls into a ball under her duvet, wondering if it can be true – if she lived that life. And if so, why a part of it feels so achingly similar to her own.
Mia is waiting for her outside the black gate that leads to her mum’s overgrown front garden. It’s the first Sunday in November, and although it’s still the middle of the day, Lissa swears it already feels darker, the way it always does after the clocks go back.
‘I’ve got the chicken,’ she says, patting her shopping bag.
‘I’ve got the broccoli,’ Mia chirps.
‘I’ve got the wine.’
‘I’ve got the sedatives.’ Mia glances at Lissa as they both step through the gate. ‘Kidding. Mostly.’
Lissa snorts but says nothing as she rings the doorbell. Mia looks tired, as she has done the last few times Lissa has seen her, though she insisted when they spoke on the phone earlier this week that it was nothing out of the ordinary – only work stress.
Lissa’s mum opens the door, and to Lissa’s surprise, her hair is damp, like she’s just showered, and she looks fresh. Lissa lets out a silent sigh of relief. ‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Lissa.’ Her mother smiles. ‘And Mia.’ She pulls Mia into a hug. ‘Lovely to see you both. Mia, you look well. You’re like me – do better in the cooler months.’
‘Well, thanks,’ Mia says. ‘I think?’ she mouths to Lissa behind Esme’s back.
‘How are your parents, Mia?’ Esme continues, leading them into the kitchen. Mia’s dad is Esme’s brother, but Esme tends to avoid speaking his name out loud as much as possible. ‘Still living in Denver?’ The house has the same musty smell as always, but it does look like Esme has hoovered since last time Lissa was here. So far, so positive.
‘Yep,’ Mia says. ‘They love it there, for the most part.’
‘For the most part?’
Mia puts her bag of shopping down on the kitchen counter, which is wiped clean, washing-up all neatly put away. ‘Well, there are things everywhere that are stressful, aren’t there? They don’t love the political situation there, for instance.’
‘Well, here’s not too good either, is it?’ Esme says lightly, surprising Lissa again, because usually her mum always seems so insular, like she has no idea what is going on in the outside world. ‘In any case, I’m glad they’re happy.’ And it sounds almost believable.
‘I’ll tell Dad you say hi when we speak next, if you like?’
The hesitation is so brief, you’d only notice it if you were really paying attention. ‘Yes. Please do.’ It’s a little stiff, but Lissa has to give her mum credit for trying. Sometimes, when she’s really low, Esme can be hostile towards Mia, like she blames her for the fact her parents moved away, even though Mia stayed when they did not.
Her mum had a delicate relationship with her brother even before they lived on opposite sides of the Atlantic. They tried to make sure that their children got to know each other, spent time together as cousins, but Lissa’s uncle was exasperated by Esme.
She remembers him coming over, a year after her dad had left, two years after Chloe died. Mia and Lissa were downstairs, curled up under an old grey blanket on the sofa, watching some film or other. Her mum hadn’t even come down to greet him, and her uncle headed upstairs, Mia and Lissa exchanging nervous looks as he did.
The shouting came while the opening credits to the film were still rolling.
You’re going to have to pull yourself out of this, Esme. David has gone. He’s moved on, he’s not coming back.
I don’t need you to tell me that! That traitor, he left me even after everything that happened.
