Amanda Brittany - Traces of Her

Moments later she drops her phone into her lap. ‘So, what’s up, Mother?’

‘It’s just, well … Willow called,’ I say, deciding to come straight to the point.

‘Oh my God. Is she OK?’

‘I think so, but—’

‘That’s amazing,’ she cuts in. ‘Is she coming home? Can we see her? Oh, please say we can see her.’ She presses her palms together as though praying. She adores Willow. ‘Please.’

I note how accepting she is. No questions about why Willow hasn’t been in touch for a month. But then she’s like the rest of us. We all know Willow.

‘She’s staying in Cornwall. I’m going down to see her at the weekend.’

‘O-M-G! That’s the best news ever. I can’t wait to see her. It will make the time go quicker until America.’

I still have doubts about her going to the US alone in a few weeks’ time. Her dad is directing a film out there and has invited her over. At first my motherly instincts kicked in. I wanted her to stay at home where she’s safe, and I know Aaron has doubts too. But then he can be a bit overprotective at times. Eventually I agreed she could go, knowing how much she adores her dad. And he’s a good man. He’ll take care of her.

‘The thing is, Becky,’ I say as we make our way down the motorway, ‘I thought I’d go and see Willow alone. Maybe you could stay with Grandpa and Eleanor.’

‘What? Why?’ She folds her arms across her chest, and her glare burns my cheek.

‘Because it will be easier, that’s all.’

‘How? How will it be easier? I can’t believe you would just dump me.’

‘I’m not dumping you.’ I glance at her, but she’s flicked her gaze to the front window, her face set in a scowl.

‘Then let me come,’ she says. ‘Or give me one good reason why not.’

I can’t. My head spins as I indicate and turn left.

‘ Stop !’ Becky yells, and I slam my foot on the brake, almost hitting the car in front.

‘Jeez, Mother, it looks as if you pretty much need me to come to keep an eye on you.’

I’m losing the battle. And the truth is I want to spend time with her. ‘OK,’ I say.

‘OK?’

‘You can come.’

‘Fab!’

‘Hang on though, there’s something you need to know first.’ I think out my next words carefully. ‘The thing is, Willow sounded worried about something. I don’t know how she’ll be when we get there.’

Her phone pings, and she picks it up, and reads the screen. ‘For God’s sake, has Tamsyn any idea how many calories there are in three tubs of ice cream?’

I’ve lost her once more.

It had become a habit, following Gail and her friends to the arcade. Watching them flirt with boys – laugh – have fun. Although Ava only ever stayed long enough for the thump of the music to get under her skin, for the games machines – clunking and whizzing and flashing coloured lights – to heighten her senses.

Despite Maxen’s advice, she was still hiding – too self-conscious, her self-esteem low, getting her thrills from watching Gail enjoy life. Wishing she was like her.

It was September, and the holiday season had dialled down a notch ready for winter – the arcade seemed empty compared to previous months, and there weren’t so many places to hide. Gail had left school after her final exams in May, but, so far, she’d made no attempt to get a job. ‘She worked so hard on her exams,’ Mum had said. ‘She needs some time out.’

Ava had left school too, with no qualifications. ‘You need to get a job, Ava,’ Mum had said. ‘Pay your way.’

Today she watched from behind a slot machine, ‘Candle in the Wind’ playing loud through the speakers as she sipped cola from a plastic cup. Suddenly Gail looked in her direction and she stepped backwards, bashing into someone. She spun round to see a handsome lad of around eighteen, with cold blue eyes and tousled dark hair.

‘Christ!’ he said, brushing cola from his black leather jacket. He had a confident air about him, his jaw set tight. ‘Watch where you’re fucking going next time! Idiot!’

‘Sorry,’ she said, as he pushed past her, almost knocking her over as he headed towards her sister.

‘Hey, beautiful,’ he said as he flung an arm around Gail’s shoulders, and she planted a kiss on his cheek.

‘His name’s Rory Thompson.’ It was Maxen, appearing beside her. She’d seen him about, but he hadn’t spoken to her since that day in the café two years ago. ‘He’s going out with your sister,’ he said. ‘Did you know?’

Ava shook her head. Gail hadn’t mentioned him, but then she never told her anything anymore.

Maxen’s eyes were fixed on the couple, who were now kissing as though they were in a blockbuster movie. ‘He gets his looks from his Italian mother,’ he said. ‘He’s rich too, just inherited three international IT companies and several properties from his father who kicked it a couple of months back.’

She stared up at Maxen – at the splattering of acne across his pale cheeks, the way he was huddled into his khaki jacket, various badges pinned to the pockets.

‘And now he’s going out with your sister,’ he said.

She clenched her fists. Why did everything good happen to Gail?

‘Why are you telling me all this?’ she said. But she didn’t wait for an answer – she turned and rushed from the arcade and out into the dull grey day.

She hurried along Cliff Road, eventually turning a corner towards the sea, and shuffled a packet of cigarettes from her denim jacket pocket.

The cliff edge was deserted, apart from a teenager with his back to her looking out to sea, his hands in black trouser pockets. She dropped down on a bench and stared at him as she lit a cigarette. He turned as though sensing her there. She vaguely recognised him from school – although he hadn’t been in any of her classes. He looked somehow wrong in a creased white shirt that had clearly been taken straight from the packet, and a black tie.

‘Hey,’ he said, raking his fingers through white-blonde hair. ‘Couldn’t spare one of those, could you?’

She threw him the packet, and he took one and threw it back. ‘Got a light?’ he said, approaching. She handed him her lighter as he sat down beside her. He smelt of cheap aftershave.

He dragged on the cigarette and blew smoke circles upwards. ‘My mum died,’ he said after some moments. ‘I’ve just been to her funeral. Carried the coffin. Life’s shit, don’t you think?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ was all she could think to say.

‘Me too.’ He sniffed, looking up and into her eyes. ‘You look a bit like one of those china dolls,’ he said. ‘My mum used to have one. It freaked the life out of me when I was little.’

‘Oh …’ She touched her face.

He laughed. ‘You’re all right. I didn’t mean you’re freaky or nothing. Just pale and fragile, and your hair’s all curly and that.’ He smiled. ‘Do I know you?’

She shrugged. ‘I think we went to the same school.’

‘Yeah, that’s it. And you live in Bostagel, don’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Ocean View Cottage.’

‘Yeah, I thought I’d seen you about. I live in Cranberry Close.’ Another sniff.

‘How did your mum die? If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘Fucking cancer,’ he said. ‘She’d been ill for ages. We all knew it was terminal, but it was still a shock, you know.’

She met his blue, watery eyes. Her family was useless, but at least they were alive. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Cheers for that.’ He turned from her gaze. Kicked a stone. ‘Dad’s taken it bad. She was his rock – mine too.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again. She felt an urge to lean over and hug him, but beat it down.