‘Cheers.’ Justin’s glass of bubbles does the rounds, clinking against our three. It takes all my restraint not to slosh the contents of mine into his face. How dare he invite this girl back here? On my birthday weekend, too. He places his glass on the kitchen counter and holds up his phone. ‘I need to make a quick call. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
I glare at him leaving the room as Connor explains how difficult his grandma has been this weekend. He’s a very personable soul, and before long, he and Immy find common ground centred around caring for sick relatives and strike up a conversation as if they’re old friends.
I pour myself a glass of Coke. It always settles my stomach. I busy myself, tidying the kitchen, listening to them. It’s not untidy. Far from it. Connor wouldn’t leave it in a mess. But I’ma control freak when it comes to the house. Everything has its place, and every place has its order. It’s the only control I have in my life.
‘So what are you studying at uni?’ Immy asks.
‘Psychology and Criminology,’ Connor replies, taking a sip of his drink.
‘That sounds interesting,’ she says.
‘Keeping it in the family. It’s what Dad studied, too. I’m working in a disabled kids’ day care place over the summer. And you?’
‘Social work,’ she replies. ‘I want to be a social worker.’
The doorbell rings. ‘That’ll be the takeaway,’ Connor says but doesn’t move to go and answer it.
Blue springs from his bed and leaves the room. Justin still hasn’t returned. He never does at this point. I know where he is. He’s in the annexe, going through her belongings, planning his approach.
9
SCARLETT
I open Daisy’s flat door with the key Layla gave me before I left the clinic. At least I’ll never have to see that landlord again.
I head to Daisy’s room and glance around, wondering where to start. George is due here at midday to help me. It will be good to get him on his own. I haven’t had the chance to speak to him in any detail. Initially, it was too raw in the immediate aftermath to speak to anyone. When the news hit, George fled to his parents’ house. He didn’t take my calls or answer my texts for days. It was highly frustrating. I know her death has affected him badly, but it has affected everyone. He doesn’t have a monopoly on grief. Then one day, he replied to my message agreeing to be a pallbearer and compile a playlist for the wake.
The unzipped suitcases on the bed call me to begin with them. I start packing what remains of my sister’s life – her clothes from the wardrobe, trainers and boots from the shoe rack, odds and ends from her bedside cabinet.
I check the time. It’s now a quarter past twelve. I grab a handful of underwear from the chest of drawers, when a gentleknock at the front door hums along the hallway, as if it’s hoping no one is inside. It must be George. I hurry to the door before he changes his mind.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ His hands are stuffed in his pockets. ‘The traffic was a nightmare.’
‘No worries. I’m glad you’re here now.’ He smells of deodorant and traffic fumes. We exchange polite chat about the weather – I’ve never known it so hot – as he removes his lightweight jacket and slings it over a hook by the door that holds my sister’s leather jacket and other items of clothing I don’t recognise.
‘Just tell me what you want me to do,’ he says.
‘I’ve made a start in the bedroom. Do you want to help me finish there, or start in the kitchen?’
He pulls down his T-shirt over the top of his jeans. ‘What about Layla’s room?’
‘I’ve agreed to box her stuff, and her mum is going to arrange for it to be transported back to Scotland.’
‘Let’s work through each room together.’ He picks up the flat-pack boxes leaning against the wall. ‘I’ll make these up.’ He tails me along the hallway to Daisy’s room, flat-pack boxes in tow. His voice intermittently cracks as he talks about Daisy and the good times they spent together as he assembles the boxes, and I fill the suitcases.
I wait for him to stop talking. Daisy once told me in the middle of an argument that I have an annoying habit of talking over people. Mum agreed. It was because I can’t bear pregnant pauses in conversation, waiting for the other to fill the gap. I was shocked when she said it, but I’ve worked hard to ditch the bad habit. I calculate how far I can push him. After all, it could be the last time we see each other – the last chance to get some answers. Layla offered little. But someone knows more than they are letting on. It sounded like she genuinely tried to convince thepolice something wasn’t right about the whole drug overdose. They just hadn’t wanted to listen.
‘George. I know this is painful for you. Hell, it’s painful for everyone. And I really appreciate you coming here today. It can’t be easy. But I need some answers.’
He pauses running the tape gun along the edge of a box. ‘What answers?’
I tell him about my visit to see Layla. ‘I just don’t understand what happened.’
‘How is she – Layla?’ he asks.
‘I’m not sure how to answer that. She’s lost an awful lot of weight. But she seems totally with it now.’ I sigh. ‘I can’t buy what the police have concluded.’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say that hasn’t already been said.’
