‘Well, we still need to.’ Her voice is flat, because this is what she dreads. This, she feels sure, is why she can’t shake the nightmares, why this day never gets any easier. The blame she hears in her mother’s voice, no matter how much time passes. The blame, Lissa knows, that she deserves.
‘Come on.’ She turns back to the house, without looking to see if her mum is following. She will eventually. She always does.
She is exhausted when she leaves her mum’s house early evening, and the headache is much worse, despite the copious painkillers she’s taken.Stress and tiredness, she repeats to herself. It is not a sign of a brain tumour, it is not an aneurysm. It is normal.Sheis normal.
She checks her phone as she walks, late sunlight filtering through gaps in the trees that line the pavement, their leaves turning russet and gold. She could get the bus back to her flat on the opposite side of the city, but she needs to walk, to breathe.
There’s a message from Mia waiting for her.
I hope you’re doing okay. Thinking of you and here if you need me. Be safe. Xxx
Lissa feels irrational tears prick her eyes as she reads it – a fallout from having spent too long with her mum today. As her only cousin, Mia is probably the one person who understands how difficult this day is. Apart from her dad, of course, but either he’s forgotten or he’s determinedly refusing to acknowledge it, because she’s heard nothing from him.
Be safe.
Lissa bites her lip. It’s the only recognition that things don’t always go as planned on this date, that sometimes Lissa lets her emotions get the better of her. A reminder that what she should do is go home, shut the curtains, have a peppermint tea and a sleeping pill and fall asleep in front ofGossip Girlon Netflix.
But she comes to a stop at the end of her mum’s road. She is drained right now, yes, but she also can’t be sure that when she sleeps it will be dreamless. And for once, she doesn’t want to go back to her empty flat. She doesn’t think she can face the quiet, the tumble of anxiety that will fill the space.
Anyway, tonight is not a night for lying alone, hoping nightmares don’t plague her. Tonight is not a night for being pathetic and helpless. Her sister died on this day twenty years ago, yes. But Lissa is still here, isn’t she? She is still breathing, still living. So she might as well bloody do something with said life.
What she needs is a distraction, something to stop her spiralling. And there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Distractions don’t have to be a bad thing; they can behealthy.
She scrolls through her contacts, hesitating over his name. Fuck it. She sends a WhatsApp. He starts to type almost immediately – he must already be out. She smiles when she sees the reply come through, something akin to excitement spiking her system. This is perfect. This is exactly what she needs.
She sets off with purpose. It’s a thirty-minute walk to the city centre, but there are several e-scooter stations en route. She’s never ridden one before, always worried about the possibility of getting into an accident, but tonight seems like the moment to try it.
She scoots down the hill, passing a line of Georgian terraces. She hears the city centre before she sees it – laughter and chatter and the bell chiming in the abbey. The mood is vibrant, people spilling out from bars onto the cobbled streets, the sky a pink glow above the sandstone buildings. The rain from earlier has been whisked away, but a damp chill remains in the air, so that her fingers feel icy on the handlebars. Wasn’t everyone promising an Indian summer this year? Whatever happened to that?
It’s a Saturday night, she realises, as she passes a wine bar with al fresco seating, mimicking a European city. A Saturday on one of the few remaining warm evenings, no doubt, and here everyone is, making the most of it. Heresheis, making the most of it too.
She’s not concentrating when she turns the next corner, leaning in with her scooter. She has a moment to think how she’s really getting the hang of this scootering business before she hears the horn. She jumps, the scooter wobbling underneath her. She moves to glare over her shoulder, hears the horn again as she swerves unintentionally towards the middle of the road.
Then there are hands roughly grabbing her. One on her waist, the other taking control of the handlebars, pulling her off the road and towards the pavement. She yells, sees heads turn. The taxi blasts past her without slowing down, its wheels spraying up water.
She doesn’t get to see the face of the person who has abducted her, because she’s falling, straight onto the pavement. The scooter slides out from under her and she hears a male grunt, just as she flings her hands out, catching herself before her chin hits the concrete.
Pain reverberates through her arms, and she grits her teeth against it before shoving herself up, already scowling.
A man is holding her scooter, the other hand outstretched to help her up, blue eyes – ridiculously bright – creased in concern. Oh, great, so he’sconcernedthat he shoved her onto the tarmac now, is he? What a fucking gentleman. She swats his hand away as she scrabbles to her feet, her jeans now coated in dirt.
‘Shit,’ the man says, grimacing in what she assumes is supposed to be solidarity. ‘Are you okay?’
She pushes her hair back from her face. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
He raises his eyebrows, the same colour as his dark hair. ‘Er, saving you from getting hit by an angry taxi driver?’
‘Savingme?’ She lets out an incredulous laugh as she checks both palms. Grazes. Shallow, but they still might get infected if she’s not careful. ‘You could have killed me!’
‘I don’t think so,’ he says with a shrug. ‘If that was the plan, I would’ve just stood back and let the car do the job for me.’ She’s so surprised at that – is it supposed to be a joke? – that she can only stare at him for a second. He runs the hand not holding the scooter across the back of his neck. ‘Look, I just was trying to help,’ he says, his voice even. Calm in the face of her storm.
‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Because what I was really looking for was someone to help me onto the pavement face-first. It’s actually quite difficult to accomplish that on your own, so thank yousomuch.’
He blows out an annoyed breath. She can tell it’s annoyed from the way his lips tighten. ‘Look, I acted on instinct, okay? I didn’t mean for you to fall.’ He jiggles the handlebar of the scooter, like he wants her to take it. Well, screw him.
‘You acted oninstinct? Your instincts need some work in that case, hero.’ The last word drips with a sarcasm that she’s pretty impressed with, if she’s being honest.
A flash of something crosses his face, causing his jaw to spasm, before he smooths it out. ‘Well, given that you’re okay and not currently roadkill …’ It’s actually quite annoying, how unflappable he is. She sort of wants him to rise to it. Instead, he holds the scooter out to her again.
