It’s your fault.
‘You must blame me too,’ her mum says, pulling at her skirt now.
‘I don’t …’ But Lissa trails off.Know what you meanwas how she was going to finish the sentence. But she does know, of course she does. Because there have been times over the years, haven’t there, when she’s hated her mum. Hated that she’d left Lissa in charge. Because if she hadn’t done that, it wouldn’t have happened. Social services deemed it an accident, after the investigation. But it was an accident that could have been avoided.
And worse than that, darker than that, are the thoughts she has tried to repress about Chloe. Because in her desperation not to blame herself, a part of her sometimes blames her sister. For climbing over the fence, getting into the pond. She hates that part of her. But no matter how much she hates it, she can’t stop it creeping in when she is at her most vulnerable.
‘But you never said it,’ her mum continues. ‘You never told me it was my fault. And that made it easier to convince myself it wasn’t. I’ve been so horrible,’ she whispers, and there are tears in her eyes. ‘I know that, Lissa. I don’t know why you stuck around.’ Lissa watches her mum’s throat bob. ‘But I wanted to tell you – I’m grateful that you did.’
There is quiet between them. Lissa’s hands are clammy on the cutlery she’s holding. She blows out a breath, tries to relieve the pressure in her chest. ‘Therapy going well, then?’ she asks, because it is literally all she can think to say.
Her mum, thankfully, laughs. ‘Well, I’m trying.’
‘I suppose that’s all any of us can do,’ Lissa says. ‘Try.’ But is it really enough? She wonders if her mum is expecting her to accept the apology – she wonders if shewantsto accept it. But you can’t just change years and years of blame and guilt in one conversation, can you? And she wonders, too, if her mum will turn, the next time it all gets too much.
Thankfully, her mum claps her hands, abruptly ending the conversation. ‘Let’s eat, shall we?’ It’s a good attempt at a bright tone, though Lissa can still see the tears shimmering there.
‘Yeah,’ Lissa says. ‘Yeah, okay.’
‘I’ll join you outside in a min. I just need the loo.’ Esme turns then, walking from the kitchen, and Lissa hears the creak of the stairs. She suspects her mum is going to pull herself together, and is glad of the breathing space.
She heads to the garden, where Mia is sitting on one of the chairs, table partially laid.
‘All okay?’ Mia asks, a little cautiously. ‘I sensed a moment and thought it best to keep my distance.’
Lissa snorts her agreement at that. In a nearby lavender bush, left to its own devices over the years, honeybees go about their work. ‘Yeah,’ she says. She rakes her hand through her hair. ‘I mean …’ she glances over her shoulder to check they’re still alone, ‘she sort of … apologised. For Chloe, I mean. Or notforit, but for, well, blaming me.’ She chews on her lip as she says it, not totally sure how to process that conversation.
‘About time.’ It’s muttered, almost under Mia’s breath, and the words sound a little bitter. More bitter than Lissa herself feels. She scans her cousin’s face, noticing the purpling circles under her eyes. Tired. Mia has brushed it off before, saying it’s a result of too many transatlantic phone calls with Lottie, but …
‘Mia, areyouokay?’
She taps her fingers on the plastic table. ‘I’m just pissed off that it took her so long.’
‘Well,’ Lissa says, in her best diplomatic voice, ‘she had—’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Lissa,’ Mia snaps. ‘You don’t need to keep defending her.’
Lissa’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘I’m not defending her, I’m—’
‘You are. You’re defending her and you’re punishing yourself, the way you always do.’
‘Mia, I was the one who—’
‘It was an accident!’ Mia gets to her feet at this, like she can’t stay still. She crosses to Lissa, takes her hands. ‘An accident, Bissa. And Esme … she’s put all this weight on you, blamed you because she couldn’t stand to blame herself – and you havelether.’ She practically spits the last few words.
Lissa pulls her hands away, feeling it like a gut punch, because Mia is supposed to be the one who understands. She shakes her head, not really a denial, but enough of one that Mia says, ‘You have. You’ve let it define you. You don’t let yourself be happy because you don’t think you deserve to be. You’ve done it your whole life – and you’re doing it again, with Ash.’
His name is like a spear to the heart. ‘How do you know what—’
‘I don’t need to. I don’t need you to explain, because Iknowyou, Lissa. Because it’s so fucking predictable. It’s what you do, again and again.’ A pattern, Lissa thinks, despite herself. A different sort of cycle she’s stuck in.
‘You said this with Mark.’ She is trying, so hard, to keep her voice level.
‘Okay, fine, I was wrong about Mark. He wasn’t for you. But maybe Ash is. Maybe he’s your bloody soulmate or whatever, but even if he is, you won’t open yourself up to it.’
The wordsoulmatereverberates through her. Mia has no idea just how right she is.
‘You don’t believe in all that,’ she says instead. Which is part of the reason she can’t explain. ‘Do you?’
