I ask her if she needs anything else, she replies, ‘Will you stay with me, just in case?’
I nod. Her words are slurred, bloodstream full of who knows what.
‘I bet he tells everyone I’m a cock-tease.’
‘There’s a towel over there, dry your face.’
‘Oh god, what a mess. I hope he doesn’t come back, you don’t think he will, do you?’
‘No.’
‘How can you be so fucking calm?’
Practice. I’ve had plenty.
I shrug.
‘I didn’t know Phoebe had a boyfriend.’
‘Shit, did I tell you that? Don’t tell her I told you, she doesn’t want Mike to know.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘It’s just some dude she met over the summer, he lives in Italy I think, they email each other all the time. I can’t get my hands to stop shaking.’
‘It’s shock, it’ll stop soon.’
‘How do you know all this? You knew what to do when Georgie fell as well.’
‘I read a lot.’
She leans into the mirror, uses a corner of the facecloth to wipe away the smudged mascara from around her eyes.
‘Ugh. My mouth tastes disgusting.’
‘Gargle with some mouthwash.’
‘Why are you being nice to me, why did you come and help? We haven’t exactly been nice to you.’
‘You sounded scared.’
‘I was. So stupid. Oh god, I hope he doesn’t tell anyone, I’ll get such a rough time at school.’
‘I know what that feels like.’
She turns to face me, pupils large one minute, pinpricks the next, as she struggles to focus.
‘Look, Milly, I guess I owe you a thank you about what just happened.’
‘Well at least you remember my name, as in not dog-face.’
Decency to blush, a little, even when wasted.
‘I guess I owe you an apology as well. I’m sorry we’ve been total bitches to you, it was supposed to be a laugh but it’s got a bit out of hand.’
‘Why me?’
‘I’m not saying it was all Phoebe’s fault, but most of it was her idea.’
‘I don’t think she likes me very much.’
‘She doesn’t like anybody who Mike fosters. He’d promised not to take anyone else for ages then you turn up, she’s hardly going to welcome you with open arms, is she? Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick.’
She kneels on the floor, wraps her arms round the toilet, dry heaving like Clara when Georgie fell. When she stops I ask her if she needs anything.
‘A new life,’ she replies and laughs, swivelling her body round to face me.
If only it was as simple as that.
‘Don’t tell Phoebe I said this, but you know she’s jealous of you, right?’
‘Jealous? Of what?’
‘All the time you spend with Mike.’
‘It’s not like that, there’s just some stuff going on at the moment.’
Some pretty big stuff.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not like she’s got her mum, is it?’
No, but let your drunken, wasted, disloyal lips tell me why. Please.
‘I’d kind of noticed they weren’t very close.’
‘How can you be close to someone you hardly know? God, I still feel like chucking up.’
She leans her head on the toilet seat. I remove the toothbrushes from the glass by the sink, fill it with water and hand it to her.
She nods, says thanks.
‘What did you mean about Phoebe hardly knowing Saskia?’
‘No way, she’d kill me if she thought I’d said anything.’
I call her bluff. I watched you do it so well with the women you looked after, how you made them think you knew more than you did. It worked every time and it works with Clondine.
‘Do you mean when Saskia wasn’t well?’
Clondine lifts her head, squints up at me.
‘How the hell do you know?’ she asks. ‘Did Mike tell you?’
‘Sort of, yeah.’
‘Fuck. I suppose it’s kind of obvious something’s not right if you’re living with them. She hasn’t been in the mental hospital for years but probably still should be, totally lost the plot when Phoebe was born.’
I nod, as if I know what she means, and say how hard it must have been for Phoebe.
‘Yeah, I think she thinks it was her fault.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Anyway.’
‘How long was she in hospital for?’
‘I thought you said you knew.’
I distract her by saying her hands have stopped shaking. She looks down at them, says, thank god, it would be the first thing her mum would’ve noticed, then announces she needs to pee. She hauls herself up on the toilet, pulls her jeans down. A gush of urine, a fart halfway through. Intimacy I’m only used to with you. I leave the bathroom, straighten up the bed, replace the pillow, cover the pile of sick with a magazine from the bedside table. She talks over the flush.
‘I’ll try and speak to Phoebs, persuade her you’re not that much of a freak after all.’
She walks out of the en suite, a bit wobbly on her feet still but mainly in one piece. The ability of humans, together again on the outside, the inside, a different story. A much bigger mess.
‘Can you see my other shoe?’
‘It’s over there by the chest of drawers.’
‘Thanks. How do I look?’
‘Fine.’
‘Like nothing happened, hey.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Actually, would you mind if we don’t mention to Phoebe that I was with Toby, she can be a bit possessive over the boys and I can’t really be arsed with the grief.’
‘Of course, but would you –’
‘Lay off you at school? I’ll try, sure.’
She walks to the door. I check my phone, half past eleven, thirty minutes till curfew. I make my way down shortly after her. I look for Joe, but can’t see him, I find Phoebe though. A crowd around her in the kitchen, a drinking vessel in her hand. A funnel, a tube. Bong, they chant, as she drinks. Bong. Bong. Bong. I walk to the tap, fill a glass of water, happy for once their cheering and jeering isn’t at me.
Wrong.
‘Not so fast,’ Phoebe says. ‘Your turn.’
The room quietens, I ignore her. A block of knives to my left. Easy. Paint the town red, or the kitchen.
‘Did you not hear me, I said it was your go.’
I turn round. She’s both beautiful and wasted, pupils large and intense. Sucks on a Marlboro Light, forms an O with her lips, releases a perfect grey smoke ring. Her cheeks florid, rampant, a state of arousal. She’d have been the better candidate to go to bed with Toby.
‘No thanks,’ I reply.
Heckles and murmurs rise out of the crowd, we are not, but we are, in the Middle Ages still, a blood bath people would happily pay to watch. She blows a second smoke ring, so perfect I want to stick my tongue in it. The air in the room heavy, not just the smoke, but heady, her adoring fans, impatient. Oh come on, leave her be, she’s not worth it. Freak. Weirdo. The usual. Then Clondine, quiet so far, says, leave her alone, she’s all right. Phoebe takes a drag on her cigarette, the longest yet, turns towards her friend, exhales in her face and stubs her cigarette out on the back of Clondine’s hand.
‘Fuck.’ She withdraws it, holds it to her chest. ‘What the hell was that for?’