I climb into my little car and reverse out of his drive. He watches me like he’s about to jump in the way of anything that could make me crash.
It’s only when I turn a corner, and he disappears out of sight, that I sigh. He’s home. For now, at least. I’ll make the most of the time we have together. I also need to speak to my lecturer about getting the work I will miss Wednesday to Friday.
I’m going to a premiere in LA! My savings are going to take a battering, but Spencer is worth it. The only person I would spend more time at home for is him.
I pull up outside my house a few minutes later, and I take a breath. My stomach turns to lead. I get out and grip my keys in my hand so tightly, it hurts. The house is dark but that doesn’t mean no one is up.
Opening the front door, I hear my dad’s heavy cough.
He’s in the living room. Mum will, no doubt, be with him.
I walk past the open door, sinking inside myself.
She’s in there, as I thought, passed out on the sofa, clutching an empty bottle of vodka. Dad has one, too, but he’s not finished yet. The five empty beer cans on the floor are definitely done, though.
“Indie,” he slurs. “Bring me the other vodka, would you?”
I know better than to ask if he’s serious.
My stomach clenches. “You’ve had enough.”
“I’ll tell you if I’ve had enough, girl! I’m forty-nine fucking years old.”
He’s fifty-three. He coughs again, holding his stomach as he almost doubles over. His skin is yellowing and dry—eyes sunken and dark. He’s a shadow of the man he once was in every way.
I barely remember when we were happy, and they were sober. They began drinking heavily after a bad car accident that left Dad unable to work. He started hitting the bottle first, soon taking Mum down with him. Or rather, she jumped. Either way, I haven’t had fully functional parents since I was around the age of six.
“Get the fucking thing,” he orders.
I shake my head, swallow bile, and I head upstairs.
In the background, I hear him grumble, probably swearing about his ‘useless daughter’. He’ll be asleep soon. When he trips over his words that much, I know he’s almost out of it. They’ll both wake somewhere around noon tomorrow and start drinking before they’ve even been to the toilet. I’ll be up around seven to check their pulse before I leave for the day.
I climb the stairs two at a time, my keys digging into the palm of my hand. I’m burning all over. My scalp prickles.
Get out of here!
I hate them so much.
Slamming my bedroom door shut, I bend in half and scream into my fist.
Why can’t I matter more than the fucking alcohol? I’m twenty. Shouldn’t this stop hurting soon?
I take ragged breaths until I’ve calmed down and am no longer shaking with anger.
I straighten and look up to the ceiling. No crying. Today is the day that Spencer came home. I got to see my best friend. My parents will not ruin that.
I’m changing into pyjamas when my phone dings.
Spencer: Are you home?
Indie: Yes, Mum.
Spencer: Pack your shit and sleep here.
The guest room at their place has only ever been used by me.
Indie: I’m already in my pjs.
Spencer: No one will see you.
Indie: Goodnight, Spencer.
Spencer: Breakfast.
Indie. I’ll be there. Now sleep, Hollywood.
I can see his smile at my last text, and my heart skips at the thought of it. I leave my room to pee and brush my teeth. Dad’s snoring rings out through the house.
He’s probably dropped and spilt the vodka all over the floor, and it’ll be my fault.
I don’t spend much time in the living room. It smells like a pub, and they’re always drunk in it. It takes me about ten seconds in the morning to stealthily check they’re both breathing. I’ve had a lot of practice.
Spencer doesn’t reply again, so I put my phone on charge and curl up in bed. My parents can be arseholes all they like this week because I’ve got Spencer.
Suddenly, my shitty life doesn’t seem so bleak.
Six
Spencer
By eight forty-nine a.m., I’m watching the door.
It’s pathetic really but, Jesus, I’ve missed being around her.
I have so much making up to do. She didn’t say she was pissed that I’ve been so awful at keeping in touch, but she must be. I know I am.
Mum and Dad are in the kitchen cooking a full English breakfast. I don’t think they’ve stopped smiling since I arrived home. All of us being together again feels like the old times.
I hear her car before I see it. The thing sounds like it’s holding on by a thread. She’s had it for three years, since she passed her test, and it was ancient even then. I wish she would let me buy her a new one.
“Indie’s here!” I announce.
“Oh, good. I’ll put the kettle on,” Mum calls.
I take a breath and run my hands through the dark, unruly curls of my hair.
Indie parks in the drive, and I hear her car door open and close.
Fuck it. I tug the front door open and my eyes land on the most beautiful thing on this planet. Shiny chocolate hair, the darkest eyes, and those toned curves in all the right places. She is perfection.
“Morning.”
She smiles, her shoulders losing tension. “Morning, Hollywood. I need coffee.”
“Mum has the kettle on.” I step aside, and she walks past. This time there is no hug.
I itch to pull her against my chest and hold her tight. I get to spend a whole week with my best friend again.
She kicks off her shoes and rolls her head.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Didn’t sleep well.”
“You should have stayed here.” She never looks tired after sleeping here.
Her eyes narrow. “Your ‘I
