Jenny Downham - You Against Me

He turned from his desk, frowning. ‘What is this?’

‘What would you have done if she kept saying no?’

He sighed. ‘I’ve got things to do, Eleanor. Please shut the door on your way out.’

After underwear, Mum rolled on her tights, rolling them so slowly that Ellie knew she was distracted. After tights, she pulled on her skirt, then her new blouse from Boden, carefully doing up the buttons, as if care and tidiness would get them all through. After shoes, a chain for her neck. It had been a week since Easter and Ellie had something to say, had been trying to say it for days, but her courage was waning.

‘I went to look at you and Tom in your beds this morning,’ Mum said. ‘I haven’t done that since you were babies.’ She turned to Ellie. ‘Your bed was empty.’

‘I went for a walk.’

A pause, then, ‘You’re becoming a stranger to me, Ellie.’

Mum, I have something to tell you – you better sit down.

Ellie swilled the words around her mouth. How would it feel to say them out loud?

Dad kissed one of Mum’s shoulders – lovely and surprising on the stairs. ‘I popped into town and got your mother an egg,’ he told her, ‘hand-crafted and half price from that sweet shop, look.’ He showed her the box. Gold foil dazzled their faces.

‘That’s kind of you, Simon,’ she said.

‘A bit after the event, but she won’t mind, will she?’ He smiled. ‘Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be off to see her, eh?’

Ellie, in the hallway looking up at them, thought, I am wrong, I am wrong, I am wrong.

The dog could barely flap her tail. Ellie carried her outside in the basket and set her on the lawn so she could feel the sun. She sat next to her to keep her company, gave her new names – Beauty, Poor Lamb, Sweet Girl – stroked her grey nose, told her she remembered her being a puppy when Gran first got her, all those summers running together on the beach.

The dog looked at her as if she too remembered these things – such a sweetly puzzled look that Ellie leaned in to kiss her.

‘That dog’s beginning to smell,’ Tom said, coming up silently behind her.

Go away, Ellie thought. I don’t want you near me.

A perfectly ordinary room – no padlock, no police tape, the door open wide. Tom was downstairs watching TV, but here was his desk and new laptop, his chair, his laundry spilling from its basket. His wallpaper was blue. So were his curtains and duvet and pillows.

Blue for a boy.

Ellie took five steps inside and touched the edge of the bed with one finger. She closed her eyes and let memories leak in.

‘She’s drunk!’

Dad’s jaw clicked with fury and Ellie laughed. Mum and Tom looked on in horror, which made her laugh even harder.

Dad said, ‘Breathe on me, Eleanor.’

She huffed right in his face.

He frowned. ‘Apples? I don’t even have any cider.’

‘Punch.’ Ellie demonstrated with her hands – the apples she’d chopped, the little oranges she’d peeled, the vodka she’d poured, glug, glug, from his best bottle, the juice from the fridge. ‘Lots of juice,’ she slurred, pointing a finger at Tom, ‘hides the taste.’

‘She should go to bed,’ Tom said. ‘Shouldn’t she? Sleep it off.’

Ellie laughed again, arms open wide. ‘Gonna carry me up?’

The room spun, like it’d got caught in the wind, as Mum unbuckled Ellie’s belt, pulled down her zip and yanked off her jeans.

‘Silly girl,’ Mum said.

Ellie clutched at her. ‘I have to tell you-’

‘No talking.’ Mum pulled the duvet over her. ‘Try and sleep. I’ll check on you in a while.’

Lights smeared the ceiling as the door shut behind her and the room whirled faster and faster.

Ellie sat at the kitchen table and watched her mother whisk eggs and milk into a bowl of flour. She looked furious with it. Her hips, her waist, the wings of her shoulders through her cotton dress were all twisting and pounding at it.

‘What are you making, Mum?’

‘Batter for Yorkshire puddings.’

‘Why are you always making stuff?’

‘We’ve got to eat, haven’t we?’

‘But only like once a day or something. Does it have to be three times? Don’t you get sick of it?’

Her mum stopped whisking and looked down at her with a frown. ‘When you get married and have a family of your own, you can hire yourself a cook, but until then, can you keep your criticisms to yourself?’

‘I wasn’t saying anything bad.’

Her mum ground salt and pepper into the mix, covered the bowl with a tea towel and slid it to the back of the counter. She stood hands on hips for a minute, as if wondering what to do next, then took a bottle of wine from the rack above her head, opened it up and poured herself a very large glass.

She’s scared… and I’m about to make everything worse…

‘Would you like a drink before lunch?’ Mum said. ‘There’s some Diet Coke in the fridge, unless of course you’d prefer a double vodka?’

Ellie pulled a face and Mum half smiled at her. It had been days since the drinking incident and no one was letting her forget it.

‘What about a cup of tea then?’ Mum said.

‘No thanks.’

Ellie didn’t want anything to interrupt them, though she would actually have liked a drink.

The windows were steamed up and Mum opened the back door and stood on the step with her wine glass. Cold air shivered its way into the kitchen, bringing the smell of bacon and onions from somewhere. The dog snuffled in her basket, deep in a dream. Ellie wondered when Dad and Tom were going to get home.

‘I love this garden,’ Mum said, and she stepped right outside. Ellie followed her and they stood on the edge of the lawn together.

Mum said, ‘Sometimes I think it was a mistake moving here from London. Dad kept going on about what an opportunity it was, and being close to Gran made sense at the time. But it was this’ – she gestured with her hand at the lawn, the trees, the river – ‘this seduced me.’

She smiled at Ellie, and her face was so warm and open. Say it, say it, go on. Give it to her. She’ll know what to do.

Ellie bit her lip, words stuck on her tongue.

Her mum suddenly looked up, shielding her eyes with a hand. ‘Look at that. Isn’t it beautiful?’

Three geese flew across the sky in a straight line. Around them the clouds were swelling and darkening. There was a smell of electricity in the air. Even the birds rushing through the sky seemed aware of it.

‘See what I mean about being seduced?’ Mum said. She sighed then checked her watch. ‘Now, do you think Barry’s expecting food? I haven’t a clue. Dad’s invited him round to steady our nerves, but maybe he’s only expecting a glass of wine or a cup of tea. I don’t want to embarrass the man by offering him lunch. What do you reckon the etiquette is?’

‘I don’t know, Mum. I didn’t even know he was coming and I don’t know anything about etiquette when it comes to lawyers.’

Her mum smiled wearily. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’ She leaned against the door frame, the wine glass to her cheek, cooling her down.

‘Mum, there’s something I need to tell you.’

Her mother nodded, but she looked so tired. ‘You can talk to me about anything.’

Standard response.

One, two, three drops of rain, heavy and fat, splashing on the path. Ellie fiddled with a button on her dress – buttoning, unbuttoning it.

‘Karyn McKenzie is telling the truth.’

She could tell by the stillness and the sudden clench of her jaw that her mother had heard.

‘I suggest you think very carefully before you go any further, Ellie.’