‘Hi, Mum,’ she says, as calmly as she can. ‘Let’s get you upstairs, shall we? I can make you some—’
‘Get away from me,’ her mum spits as Lissa approaches the sofa. ‘I don’t want you here.’
Lissa takes a slow breath of stale air. ‘You called me, Mum,’ she says quietly. ‘Remember?’
‘I didn’tcallyou.’ She snatches her hand away when Lissa reaches down to take it. And Lissa sees now what the pieces of paper are – shredded photos. There is an album on Esme’s lap, with one photo pulled out on top. She shoves it in front of Lissa’s face.
Chloe smiles out at her, missing a front tooth. Her hair, a darker blonde than Lissa’s at that age, is plaited down her back, tufts of it sticking out. She’s wearing dungarees with grass stains on both knees, and holding a chocolate ice cream that is melting in the sun. Lissa doesn’t even know when this was taken. Chloe looks around five, so it can’t have been long before she died. It’s not in their back garden, but the background is generic, some park or other. She hates that she doesn’t remember it. She hates that she can’t tell which day of Chloe’s too-short life this was taken.
‘When was the last time you went to see your sister, hmm?’ Her mum’s voice is scathing, her hand shaking as she reaches for the empty glass on the coffee table. ‘I bet you never even visit her any more. I bet you’ve forgotten all about her, haven’t you?’
‘No, Mum.’ Lissa keeps her voice quiet, a familiar dread wrapping around her.
‘She was six years old, Alyssa,’ her mum says, her tone awful and biting.
‘I know that,’ Lissa murmurs, her voice still calm even as her throat tightens. She has to stay calm. One of them needs to be calm.
‘Six years old,’ her mum repeats. ‘And you left her.’
‘I know,’ Lissa says again.
‘You left her alone. You were supposed to be watching her, and you left her alone.’
Lissa looks back down at Chloe’s face, her bright eyes, that toothy grin. So little. So innocent. Let down by the people who were supposed to take care of her – her mother out at the shops, her sister upstairs, talking to a friend. The lump in her throat presses on her airway, constricting it.
‘You should have been there!’ her mum screams now, snatching the photo from her. She throws it aside like she can’t bear to look at it and takes her head in her hands. The sound of her sobs rakes through Lissa. ‘Why are you here now when you weren’t there then?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lissa whispers. It’s all she can think to say – all she’s ever been able to say. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
Her mum drops her hands, looks up at her with red eyes. ‘Get out.’
‘Mum, let’s just get you—’
‘Get out!’ she screeches again. ‘I don’t want you! You’re the reason she’s gone!Get out, get out, get out!’ The words tear from her, high, frantic.
‘Okay,’ Lissa says, her voice hitching.Calm, she tells herself again. She has to stay calm. ‘Okay, Mum.’ And she turns on her heel, turns her back to the broken woman behind her.
‘No, wait.’ Esme’s voice is different now, a small, weak plea. ‘Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have.’ Lissa turns back, hesitating in the doorway. Her mum’s eyes meet hers and the anger, the loathing is gone. She shakes her head, the tears slowing. ‘You’re all I have, Lissa.’
Lissa closes her eyes, counts a single beat of her heart. Then steps back into the room, bends down by the sofa. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I’m here.’ She strokes her mum’s hair carefully back from her face.
‘You’re here,’ her mum repeats, letting her breath out on a slow exhale.
‘That’s right,’ Lissa murmurs. ‘I’ll always be here. I won’t leave.’
Esme presses Lissa’s hand against her own cheek, holding it there. ‘You promise?’
Lissa smiles as best she can, banishes her tears for later, when there is no one around to see. ‘I promise.’
Chapter Twelve
When Lissa wakes in her bed, she is not alone. Mia is next to her, curled in on herself, seeming even smaller than usual in one of Lissa’s nightshirts. Lissa listens to the sound of her cousin’s deep breathing, scrunching her own eyes closed at the memory of last night.
Of calling Mia when she left her mum’s house, gone 2 a.m. Calling in tears because she didn’t know what else to do – because she was tired and wrung out and neglected to remember that it was a stupid idea to call her cousin in the middle of the night, a cousin who had a job and a life of her own, and who didn’t need to drive over from Bristol past witching hour.
She tries to make as little noise as possible as she pushes off the duvet. She can at least make Mia breakfast as a thank you. But Mia is a light sleeper – always has been – and blinks heavy eyelids as Lissa moves.
‘Hey.’ Her voice is croaky. ‘How are you feeling?’
