A giggle bursts through the speaker. ‘Harringtons don’t do easy. We win! Daddy is being silly.’
She handles Dad’s mood swings better than I ever could. Makes him laugh when I’d just argue.
‘Damn right, Button. Now send me the track.’
Through the phone speakers, Hannah’s voice wobbles on the first verse but gainsstrength by the chorus. A sting lodges just below my collarbone, so sharp it makes me swallow twice.She’s improved since January, vowels rounding, pitch steadier than my heartbeat.
Theo mouths ‘holy shit’behind her napkin.
‘You’re smashing it, Han. Just ease off the vibrato a little.’
‘The what?’
‘The wobbly bits.’
‘Oh! The shaky-shakes. Miss Lorna says that’s my style.’
‘Your style’s brilliant.’
She hums, considering. ‘Okay. But Charlie?’
‘Yeah, Button?’
‘Will you come? Even if I’m not perfect.’
Rain blurs the café windows. I still see Dad’s face when the doctor placed Hannah in his arms.She’ll need extra help. She’s never going to live her own life. Best to adjust expectations early.
I was ten when she was born, but I remember it so vividly. And I remember how it hurt me hearing him speak about his own daughter like that. My beautiful little sister with so much fire and sass, a great sense of humour, ambition, kindness, and also an extra chromosome.
There’s so, so much more to her than that.
Maybe he thought he was being pragmatic, attempting to shield himself from disappointment. Maybe he thought if he braced himself for the worst, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Or maybe it was just his way of taking charge, like everything else in his life – putting plans in place, risk management. He’s still like that, talks about ‘sensible options’ for Hannah’s future. By which he means care homes and residential support. And I know it comes from a place of love – but of fear, too. He wants her to be safe. To have someone to look after her when he’s gone. But his love is a cage, built from good intentions and low expectations for her. And far too high ones for me.
Pillock, as I said.
‘Button. Look at me.’
A beat. ‘I’m looking.’
‘You’re already perfect to me. Everything else is just…sparkles.’
‘I love sparkles!’ Hannah’s breath hitches. ‘So, you’re coming?’
‘Yes! Of course. Front row.’
‘And when I sing it on TV one day, you’ll be watching, right?’
‘Every damn minute. Now go drill that bridge. You’re a star, baby sis. Love you so much.’
‘Love you infinity-squillion.’
The line dies. I stare at my reflection in the dark screen – smudged mascara, cheeks blotchy.
Theo clears her throat. ‘She’s quite good.’
‘Of course. She’s a Harrington.’ I check myself in my phone camera, swiping under my eyes. ‘We’re made to excel.’
Theo’s smile falters. ‘Your dad really said that to her? About the song?’
