I sit stiffly on the couch. I don’t think he should do this, but he’s in charge so it must be okay. He rubs my head, but it’s the way you’d pat a dog. Heavy-handed, open-palmed. Eventually he moves down to my back. It’s been so long since anyone touched me that my body betrays me. It starts to tingle a little bit, just at the base of my spine. I realize that I don’t entirely want him to stop. Well, I don’t want the touch to stop, but I wish it wasn’t coming from him.
He’s still touching my back, moving up and down from the top of my knickers to the clasp on my bra, when he asks me about boyfriends. When I tell Drew that I don’t have a boyfriend, he’s pleased. “Good,” he says. “You save yourself for someone who appreciates you. Knows how special you are.”
He moves his hand back into his own lap. I hear him swallow. My skin feels the absence of his fingers. “You really are special,” he says as I turn back to face him. He strokes my cheek, so I close my eyes. When I open them, he’s looking at me with sad eyes. I feel foggy, a little dizzy, but I appreciate the intensity of the gaze—when, really, he should have better things to think about than me, after today’s news.
Right now he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world. When he holds my chin in his right hand and moves my face toward his, I don’t stop him.
I know his smell so well. Sandalwood aftershave and whiskey rush at me.
The room sways and swoops, the ceiling seems to ripple as I look up at it and I feel Drew’s big hand teasing my ponytail loose and fanning my hair out under me. I wait for him to ask, “Are you okay?” or “Do you want me to stop?” I wait for permission to say, “I’m not okay” and “I do want to stop,” but it doesn’t come. The sofa sags under us as he climbs onto me, and I feel an increased sense of panic. Not only do I not want to be lying under him like this, I’m petrified that I have to go through with something I absolutely do not want to do. And I’m terrified that I won’t know what to do in the moment. I’ve done things like this with only one boy before, and our mutual inexperience had set the pace. Will Drew laugh at my efforts? Will he stop, disappointed, shake his head and walk out of the den? Will I get in trouble?
I feel him grappling with the button on my jeans. So far there’s very little expected of me except to just be here, this body, loose-limbed with liquor. I feel him tug my jeans down over my legs. Moving seems like a hell of an effort now. I haven’t had a sip of drink for a while but somehow I feel drunker.
He hoists himself up again, frees one hand to run it along my side, over my hip. He parts my legs, burrows into me with his heavy hips. I gasp. Maybe he mistakes my panic for excitement, because he shoves into me roughly and his whole body lands on me, the weight making it hard to breathe beyond shallow gasps. He licks my ear, something I thought was an urban myth. I don’t know what response is expected so I say nothing, do nothing. Grimace. I can hear how slimy it is. I focus on that. I’m too pinned down to do anything, and in a way I’m glad to be anchored in this spinning room. His mouth is still close to my ear, his hot breath running through my hair. It’s like he’s in a horrible trance. “Oh God,” he murmurs, and he thrusts harder still until he stops, goes rigid, shakes a moment and then flops down again.
I lay in the spinning dark. Hot tears curl out from the corners of my eyes and fall heavily onto the sofa cushions under me. The blackness of the room makes my skin cold, like I’m lying outside on the soil. I feel heavier than I’ve ever felt.
I lay on the sofa long after Drew has eased himself off my body and staggered up the stairs, falling half clothed onto the empty bed that he shares with my mum.
THIRTY-ONE
SARAH|PRESENT DAY
When I get back to my room I look again at the map of Chorlton with its streets marked. Each pen scratch showing the places I’ve peered up at windows, imagining my sister looking back at me. The proverbial needle in a haystack.
And then before I realize what I’m doing I’m crying and ripping, ripping and crying, until my hands are riddled with paper cuts and Chorlton lies in pieces on the floor.
Just then, the phone rings. Only one person has the number, but I still answer cautiously.
“Hello?” I can’t believe it’s actually ringing.
“All right?” the voice says.
“Who is this?” I answer, although I know.
“It’s Ryan,” he says, “from the Spice Lounge. Listen, I think I know where your sister is.”
Apparently Ryan had mentioned me and my visit to everyone who worked for the curry house and all the regular customers. “I just felt bad for you,” he said, and I could picture him shrugging his shoulders when he said it.
“Well, I told Dev, one of our drivers. I showed him the picture you left. He reckons he recognized her.”
“Really?” I ask, breathless.
“Yeah,” he says. “He thinks so. I mean, it’s not definite or anything, but—”
“Where did he recognize her from, did he know where she was? Where she lives?” I’m panting and I don’t mean to and I’m scared that I’m scaring him, but when he speaks, he sounds excited more than anything.
“He’d had a run-in with her. I mean, y’know, a full-on row, by his account. Dev does exaggerate though—but, nah, don’t get the wrong idea. He’s not lying, he does think he’s seen her, but his idea of a big fight is probably more like snapping at each other.”
“Where did he see her?”
“Apparently he’d taken her order around for delivery, a while back, months and months ago. It’s all one-way around there, ’cos she lives near the green…”
He drops it in so casually that I almost miss it. She lives near the green. I can find my sister near the green.
“…and ’cos it’s all one-way around there, he couldn’t stop right outside, so he says he called the number he had from the order and told her he was round the corner and could someone come and grab it, as there was a copper watching so he couldn’t park up properly.”
“She lives by the green?” I ask, scared I’d misheard.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, like this is a really small point getting in the way of the story, “and she flipped her lid apparently. Wouldn’t come and get it, wanted her money back if he wouldn’t bring it to the door, all this.”
“Really? So what happened, did he see her?”
“Well, he didn’t have a choice. He parked a few more streets away and walked it around. Said he thought maybe she was in a wheelchair or something and couldn’t leave the house, but when he got there, she opened the door and looked fine. Had another go at him and sent him on his way.”
“That does sound like my sister,” I say.
“I dunno, this is just what Dev says, but he recognized her from the picture and said she was a right mouthy…well, whatever, but I think we might have found her for you anyway.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, still not fully believing it could be true. “I’m so grateful,” I add. Robin or not, I really am touched that he’d bothered.
I’m about to put the phone down and head to the green, start knocking on doors, when he says, “Do you not want her address, then?”
ROBIN|PRESENT DAY