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“Maybe,” she hedges. “It will be a lot to deal with. But we’re here for the good times and the bad,” she soothes. “In many ways, I’m sure this is harder. The not knowing is holding you back. It’s why you struggle to sleep. But you’ll get there,” she murmurs, her voice threaded with emotion. “Stop putting yourself down.”
My gaze finds Isla who’s covered in parsnip and pea. As sleep likes to evade me, I’ve become a night owl. It means I give Isla a bottle when she wakes about 1.00 AM, which means Tilly can sleep until 5.30 AM.
I’m not fooling anyone by how much I like thoselate? early?moments with my adorable niece. I whisper all sorts of things to her; things to watch out for when she’s older, things to love, places to visit, and the sort of life she needs to live. The sort of man she needs to find and love. When your own life is on pause it’s good to remember that it doesn’t have to be that way forever, and that opportunities are out there.
My sister and her small family are my entire family. From a young age, Tilly and I learnt to live with an absent mother. Like me, Tilly has dark brown hair, but it’s long whereas mine is just below my shoulders. Her eyes are a warm, heartening brown, while mine are multiple shades of grey. Unlike me, her features are in proportion and pleasingly shaped. I have a wide mouth, a pointy nose, and almond-shaped eyes that seem to be put in my head at a different angle to everybody else’s. Tooalmond-yI tell Tilly, to which she just laughs. But they’re weird; over the years I’ve been stopped in the street by strangers asking me if I want to model, but I’ve also been told I look like an alien freak.
Clearly, my face is either one you love or hate. I’ve heard all manner ofcompliments:unusually beautiful; strangely pretty; quirky looks, oddly striking.
I sip my tea, examining my newly-manicured nails. It was a treat to myself when I finished with Dave, the polish a beautiful dark pink to cheer me up.
“I like talking to Dave,” I tell them. “It’s been easier than with the others. And it’s not as if I don’t want to open up my mind; I mean I know it will be painful, but bringing justice to whoever did this to me is important. And finding other girls out there, who might still be there . . .” I pause, catching my breath, trying not to dwell too much on what they’re going through. If I can’t remember, maybe they won’t remember either. Maybe they will be saved from the horrors of knowing, of reliving. “Well, obviously I need to be quick about this, and I haven’t been. I’m letting a lot of people down.”
“Don’t put yourself under more pressure,” Tilly says concerned, fully aware of my battle with survivor’s guilt. “But I realise that you will anyway because you’re you.” She inhales, looking at Nate. “Anyway,” she begins, “Nate heard back on his transfer to New York.”
“And?” I ask excitedly, also ready to ditch this depressing conversation.
“January the thirtieth is the first day at work,” Nate tells me. “We fly over on the twenty-sixth to get settled.”
We high-five across the kitchen table, and then I hold up a hand for my sister. “That’s great news, guys! I know you wanted this.”
“And you’re coming too, don’t forget. We’re not leaving you behind.”
The idea of living and working in New York was thrilling and exciting when first discussed a year ago, but too much has changed since then. The idea of New York, a huge metropolis that would be easy to get lost in, doesn’t appeal nearly as much as it did, so I’m unsure if I’m ready for it yet.
Maybe I never will be.
However, derailing Tilly and Nate’s plans is something I want to avoid. Only this morning I was considering my options like new medical research or another postgraduate qualification.
“Just think, maybe you’ll actually see Mum more than once a year.”
Nate pulls a face.
Tilly rolls her eyes. “We. Wemight actually see Mum,” she insists, pulling me up on my choice of pronoun. “But let’s hope not. We’ve managed without her this long. I don’t want her inserting herself in our lives now.”
“But she loves New York!” I tease. “It’s where she met your father, and mine. It’s where she left her heart.”
“Stop, you’re making me reconsider going!”
Having wiped down Isla’s disaster-hit tray, face and hands, Nate comes up behind Tilly and wraps her up in his arms. “Maybe it’ll be a chance to track down your father,” he suggests carefully.
The question is meant for me. “No.” I state clearly. “Also not needed in our lives.”
At five years older than me, Tilly was Maria Rivas’s first child. She was the product of a backroom romp with an up-and-coming American fashion designer. Word is that his career didn’t take off as expected, and he killed himself in a spiral of A-class drugs and expensive booze as his debts mounted around him.
Prior to his death, Mum returned to the UK to have Tilly before jetting around the world for more runway shows and Hollywood film shoots. You’d have thought she might have learnt her lesson about unprotected sex, but roughly four years later I arrived, the result of a week-long fling with a Venezuelan model during London fashion week. According to Mum, they’d already met each other in New York, unable to keep their hands off each other no matter the continent.
Santiago Pérez, he was called, and he appears to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Even if I were inclined to track him down, I doubt I’d be successful. He disappeared shortly after my birth, my mother unable to find him. He’s presumed dead, leaving even more of a hole in our lives. It’s why we’re so independent, yet reliant on each other. We prop each other up.
In the interest of being honest, I say, “As much as the idea of New York was hugely appealing twelve months ago, I’ve got to say that I’m less keen now.”
Slowly, Tilly nods. Nate comes to sit next to me. He’s one of those acutely perceptive individuals, sensitive and insightful to every emotion and nuance. No wonder he has the intellectual capacity of five geniuses rolled into one.
“I understand,” Tilly says, tucking some of that long hair behind an ear. “Nate and I have discussed the possibility that you might not want to come—yet,” she stresses. “But we hope you will. After all, we’re only supposed to be there for two years.”
“You can live here as long as you want to,” Nate confirms. “We’ll only rent the house out if you come with us or decide you want to be somewhere else.”
“Thanks,” I reply, feeling awkward. After The Incident, I moved in with my sister so that she could look after me, even though she has enough to do with a new baby. “I appreciate the offer. I guess I need to come to a decision soon.”
