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She was just mulling this over when her phone rang, surprising her, because she hadn’t had signal since they’d arrived on Orkney. Then she saw it was
a FaceTime call, coming through on the garden centre’s Wi-Fi.
“Soha?” She swiped for the call, surprised and pleased to hear from one of her closest friends back in York, as well as see her smiling face. She’d met Soha on a copyediting course ten years ago, and they’d been firm friends ever since. Soha was no-nonsense to Laurel’s dreaminess, cynical to her determined optimism. Somehow it worked.
“I thought I’d ring to see how you were coping. How’s your sister?”
“I have no actual idea.” Laurel grimaced as she looked around for a quiet place to have a chat without disturbing other customers. She ended up in an aisle with birdhouses and sacks of birdseed that was utterly empty.
“You don’t? Why not?”
“The rehab centre is very private, and they’ve said Abby can’t be disturbed.”
“I suppose I can see that. How’s London then? How’s your nephew?”
“I’m not actually in London,” Laurel answered, and then explained about her trip to Orkney.
“Orkney? Isn’t that, like, the edge of the world?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why did you decide to go there?” Soha sounded horrified. She was originally from Birmingham and thought York was as far north as anyone would ever want to go.
“I’ve always loved it here, and I wanted to be somewhere without distractions. Zac’s constantly on his phone… I feel like I can never get to know him. And I just wanted to get away from, well, everything, for a bit.”
“And is it working?”
“Not really.” Laurel sighed. “He’s so angry, and I don’t blame him. The situation is just so awkward and difficult. And he’s fourteen, which doesn’t seem to be the best age for anything.”
“Fourteen was horrible,” Soha said with a shudder. “Spots and hormones and everyone is so mean.”
“Yes.” Laurel tried to remember being fourteen.
Abby had left by then, off to uni, and it had just been her and her dad. Loads of takeaways in front of the telly, occasional games of Pinochle by the gas fire, empty evenings alone while her father worked. Tom West had never been a talkative or touchy-feeling man, but he’d been affectionate in his own way.
Why didn’t he fill your Christmas stocking, then?
The thought fell into Laurel’s head as if from the sky. She was amazed to realise she’d never thought to really wonder about that before. She’d accepted that her father just wasn’t like that. When she’d been little, Abby had done everything—Christmas, cooking, cleaning, the lot. That had just been the way it was, and Laurel had accepted it because it had started when she’d only been eight, and she’d liked Abby taking care of her.
But Abby had only been fourteen, the same age as Zac, yet Abby had been acting like her mother, sister, and best friend all wrapped up into one. Making sure she had a bath at night. Helping her with her homework. Plaiting her hair.
Of course, Laurel had appreciated it… later. At the time she’d simply expected it, because she’d been small and Abby had been there. And yet…
And yet what?
“Laurel?” Soha’s voice broke into her thoughts. “How long are you there for?”
“Sorry…I was miles away for a minute. We’ll stay through Christmas. After that, I don’t know.” She sighed as the realisations of her current problems tumbled through her yet again. “Zac’s been excluded from school, so…”
“What!”
“It’s a long story.”
“It sounds pretty awful,” Soha said in sympathy. “You’re amazing, for taking it all on.”
“I’m not, really. My sister did the same for me, and much more, when we were young.” And she’d never really had the chance to say thank you, after all these years. When Abby had left for university in Sheffield, Laurel had only been beginning to realise how much her sister had done for her, and by then Abby had already started to cut those family ties, staying away for holidays, working in Sheffield for the summer. Keeping her distance, which had hurt, and made Laurel not even want to say thank you any longer…so she hadn’t.
And as the years had passed and Abby had stayed distant, saying thank you had been just about the last thing Laurel had wanted to say to her sister. Why? Might have been top of the list, or what happened? Or even don’t you love me anymore? If she’d been feeling honest and vulnerable. But in truth she’d never really said anything at all.
