‘I’ll get you a glass of water,’ he says as he plumps up the cushions behind my head.
‘No,’ I cry. ‘I don’t want water.’
He sits down next to me and holds my hand.
‘The first I knew about it was last night,’ he says. ‘I was driving home with the radio on and there was a report saying that a makeshift hospital had been bombed in Syria.’
‘Shut up,’ I whisper, but he carries on talking.
‘I took notice,’ he says. ‘Because it was in Aleppo and I knew she was going back there.’
‘Just shut up.’ I dig my nails into his hand but he doesn’t pull away. He just keeps talking.
‘I put the TV on this morning,’ he says, rubbing my hand. ‘And her photo came on the screen. The camp she was in was hit, Sal. There were no survivors.’
‘I said shut up,’ I yell, pushing his hands away. ‘You’re wrong, you bloody idiot. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
I pummel his chest with my fists and he just stands there and lets me hit him, again and again. I carry on pounding his chest until I have no energy left and I collapse in a heap at his feet.
‘Kate’s always been fine. She can look after herself. You’re wrong,’ I sob.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ he whispers as he puts his arm underneath my head and lifts me off the floor. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He kisses my cheek but I feel nothing. My body goes limp as he carries me through the room and back into the conservatory.
‘She’s not dead,’ I tell him as he puts me down in the chair. ‘If she was dead I would know.’
‘It’s a big shock,’ he says, putting his hand on my forehead. ‘A lot to take in . . .’
‘I said she’s not dead,’ I yell, pushing him away. ‘Now just piss off and leave me alone.’
‘Look, Sally,’ he says, ‘I think I should stay with you, at least for a bit. You’re in shock.’
‘Didn’t you hear me? I said I want to be alone.’
‘Okay,’ he says, stepping towards the door. ‘Whatever you wish.’
‘And close those bloody blinds,’ I say. ‘The sun’s giving me a headache.’
I hear his footsteps on the wooden floor as he goes to the window.
‘Is that better?’ he asks as the light disappears and I nod my head, glad of the darkness.
‘Shout if you need me,’ he says, and as he closes the door, I think of Kate, slamming her fists on the table when Dad was having a go at Mum. It’s just not right, I tell myself, as I sink back into the chair. How can she be dead and I still be here? She was the strong one, the fighter. It’s just not possible. He must be wrong.
I need a drink.
I put my hand down the side of the chair and feel about in the darkness for the bottle of wine I hid last night. My hand rests on it and I pull it up. I don’t have a glass but I don’t need one. Unscrewing the top, I take a long glug. It’s warm and slightly sour but it will do the trick. I just need to numb the pain in the pit of my stomach.
It’s dark outside now. I have no idea what time it is. I’ve finished the wine and I would kill for another bottle. Paul has come in a couple of times to ask me if I want a cup of tea. I’ve told him I need a proper drink but he won’t listen to me. Just keeps saying I’m in shock.
Is that what this is?
As I sit here in the dark, all I can think about is Kate. I see her with Mum, standing at the end of my bed the day Hannah was born. Mum was making a fuss about me getting the latch right and making sure I winded Hannah properly but Kate just stood there staring at the baby. It was like she was looking at some strange creature. I knew exactly how she felt because Hannah might as well have been an alien for all I knew about babies. I was just a child myself.
Eventually I told her to sit down and while Mum went to get some tea the two of us watched Hannah as she slept in the plastic crib. At one point I turned to Kate and said: ‘What do I do with it?’ And she looked at me for a moment, then shrugged and said, ‘Don’t ask me.’ And we both burst out laughing. When Mum came back in she asked what was so funny but we were too cracked up to answer her.
Three weeks later she left for university and never came back. That moment in the hospital was one of the few times we bonded. For as long as I can remember Kate had been the better sister, the clever one, the brave one, and I could never live up to her, but for a few moments as we sat looking at Hannah sleeping in her cot we were just a pair of giggly, clueless schoolgirls.
Then I remember something. She phoned me. It was just before she left for Syria. I try to piece together what was said but I can only recall snippets. I must’ve been drunk. I can remember she said she was at the station – or was it the airport? I vaguely remember being angry at her for leaving again. I should have just bloody listened. What was she trying to say to me? It’s no use. I can’t remember.