‘You can get to fuck, that’s what I mean.’
I try to hug her but she uses her arms to block me, pushes me back and leaves. I sit on the ground for a while, look up at the winter sky, only one star. I look away and when I look back it’s gone.
It doesn’t want me to see it.
I sing while I look for them.
Eight green bottles, hanging on the wall. No. Not bottles, something else, and not on the wall. I try the song again, your words instead.
There are eight little somethings hidden in the cellar, I thought there was nine, but the ninth didn’t make it down there. Remember?
Yes.
If I could just open the door I could check the little somethings are okay.
Can’t open. The door.
‘Milly, it’s Saskia. The door’s locked, Mike locked it, what are you singing?’
And if one little something should accidentally fall. Can’t open. The door.
‘I’m getting Mike.’
Can you hear me, little somethings? I’ve come to let you out. But they don’t reply, it’s too late. I’m too late.
They’ve already fallen.
Which means they’ll have to stay.
22
I’m woken by the sound of Phoebe leaving for the hockey tour to Cornwall, voices in the corridor, a door opening and closing. Monday. I should get up, we’re going away, but my body feels heavy, weighed down by the shame of what I did to Morgan.
By the volume of your voice.
When Saskia knocks on my door, asks if she can come in, I say yes and sit up in bed.
White jeans, skinny, tight. A baby blue and white striped shirt tucked in, the top half of her hair pushed forward in a bump, secured with a brown hair clip with teeth, the rest hanging long over her shoulders.
‘I hope I didn’t wake you, we wanted to let you sleep in after.’
After last night.
‘We’re going to leave soon. The drive should only take about an hour and a half, we’ll be there by lunch.’
She doesn’t say anything else about last night. Mike will have told her not to, explained to expect this in the run-up to the trial.
‘Milly.’
‘Sorry, I was –’
‘A million miles away?’
Further.
‘Something like that, yeah.’
She fiddles with her necklace, brings it up, presses the points of the letters to her lips. The flesh turns white where it’s pressed, turns pink again. She asks me if I need help packing.
‘No thank you, I’ll be down shortly.’
When she closes the door I reach for my phone to see if Morgan’s replied, but she hasn’t. I battle with anxiety as I wash my face, get dressed and pack an overnight bag. What I did to Morgan was wrong and I don’t want to lose her as a friend, but I’m also worried she might tell people about me. About who I am.
When I get downstairs, Rosie’s in the hallway next to Mike and Saskia’s holdalls. She wags her tail when she sees me. I put my bag down, rub between her ears.
‘I don’t think you’re coming,’ I tell her. ‘You’re staying here with Sevita. Next time maybe.’
She cocks her head, licks my hand and pads into the kitchen alongside me.
‘There’s freshly squeezed orange juice over there, would you like some?’ Saskia offers.
‘No thanks, I’m going to make some toast.’
Mike’s on his mobile facing away from us, leaning into the sink.
‘Of course, I’ll bring her Wednesday after we get back, does that work for you? Okay, sure. Thanks, June, see you then.’
He hangs up, turns round to face us.
‘That was June, we’ve arranged for you to go in and watch your video evidence this Wednesday, three o’clock. I’ll take you.’
I nod, appetite gone.
The traffic is slow leaving London but a long stretch of motorway follows, the roadsides greener as we get further away from the city. Mike asks me how my sketches are coming along for the art prize. Fine, I tell him. Saskia turns and says she’d love to see them some time. She and Mike exchange a smile and she places her hand on the back of his neck for a moment. It’s the first time I’ve seen her touch him.
After an hour or so we turn into a long gravel driveway, a fountain in the middle when we reach the end. A member of staff explains to Mike that the car park’s full, what with it being half-term and all.
‘Leave the key in the ignition, we’ll move it into an overspill in the field over there. Hang on to this ticket and whenever you need the car show it to reception and they’ll arrange for it to be brought round for you.’
Mike checks us in and we’re shown to our rooms, a family suite, separate bedrooms with an adjoining door. When we go down for lunch I’m struck by how many children there are. Crawling; running; crying; spilling. Everywhere. But it’s not just children, you’re here too. Your face, on the front of a newspaper, the headline ‘One Week to Go’. A man at a table by the window, he holds you. Reads you. Folds you. Places you in the inside pocket of the coat handed to him by one of the waitresses. He stands up and puts it on. How close your face lies to his heart. But truth be told, you love in a different way from most. Your love isn’t so gentle and kind to be a kiss from your lips to a person’s heart. It isn’t like that at all.
Mike asks if I’m okay. Yes, I’m fine, I tell him. I don’t want to ruin the trip by letting him know you came too.
After lunch we spend the afternoon walking in the grounds, stop and have a few conversations with other families. Mike bumps into somebody he works with. The man kisses Saskia and when I’m introduced, he says, ‘So this is Milly.’
Mike nods and smiles, yes. Yes it is. The man explains that Cassie, his wife, is here too but she’s gone to change the baby.
‘And these little scruff pots are also mine.’
Two small boys, no older than five or six, play chase in and out of his legs. It looks fun, I wouldn’t mind joining in. Simple game. No harm. Later on in the afternoon children’s activities are set up on the front lawn, a bit like a school sports day. Saskia and me sit in the armchairs by the window, watch them. Ring o’ roses, the egg and spoon, even a race for the dads, not for the mums though, if there was and you were here in flesh and blood, you’d have joined in, you’d probably have won. Mike arrives, yawns, suggests we all have an early night. He explained to me during our walk in the afternoon that he locked the door to the cellar last week, didn’t want me to hurt myself. I thanked him, wished I could tell him not being able to check what’s down there hurts me more.
After dinner we go to our separate rooms. A reply from Morgan, two words only.
Fuck you.
The next morning over breakfast we decide to take the car to the Arboretum. The sky is overcast, rain threatens. Mike says not to worry, Phoebe’s wellies and waterproof jacket are in the car, we brought them for you.
‘Won’t she mind?’ I ask.