Mum didn’t show up all day – according to Auntie Sue, after her burst of energy in the morning she’d taken to her bed, asking to not be disturbed.
After helping Mike and Auntie Sue put the kids to bed, I walked back to the pub to find Adam. He’d sent me texts throughout the afternoon, telling me to stay strong and to cry when I needed to.
I was expecting to find him up in his room, but when I popped into the bar to get the key, there he was – cosying up in the corner with two women. He waved me over.
‘This is Izzy, everyone. So apparently, you already know Carrie,’ he said, giving me a look that told me to pretend if I had to, ‘and this is Gina, who runs the pub.’
Carrie jumped up and pulled me into a hug as I struggled to work out how we might have known each other. I hadn’t showered all day and didn’t feel like making new friends or pretending to remember old ones.
‘I am so, so devastated.’ She blew her nose into a tissue. ‘I just can’t believe it, and them poor bairns!’
‘Now, now,’ said Adam, patting her arm. ‘You girls promised me you would hold it together for Izzy. And this is not’ – he wagged a finger at her – ‘what I would call stoicism.’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day. My bed is calling.’
I left them to it and made my way upstairs.
There was a new message on my phone:
It’s nice having you here. Night night. Hannah xo
Smiling, I texted back: I’ll always be here for you. Love you all to the moon and back. Now get some zzz xo
My eldest niece had barely said two words to me since I’d arrived, and getting a text felt like a breakthrough. I turned the phone to silent before going to sit at the window.
Beyond the lights of the harbour, the sea was an immense stretch of black, with the moon clipping the tops of the waves as they broke against the sea wall. I rested my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.
When we were little, I would make up stories for Amy about sea monsters and mermaids, and all the fantastical creatures that lived under the waves. She was only eighteen months younger than me and a ready-made, always-on friend. Although Seahouses came alive with day-trippers on the weekends, there weren’t many other kids to play with most of the time. We were used to being our own entertainment. We had vast imaginations and a playground that stretched over miles of sand – we didn’t need anyone else.
I opened the window and lay back on the bed. When Dad had died, Amy and I had dragged her bed into my room so we could be closer. We would sleep with the window open so we could hear the sea. We used to lie opposite each other, sobbing into our pillows, holding hands across the gap between the beds.
The pillow was cold against my face and it was soothing. I slowed my breathing to match the rhythm of the waves and drifted off into a sleep punctuated by weird dreams. Amy was playing on the beach, wading into the sea, as a little girl – then she dived under the surface, and when she came up for air, she was a woman. She went under again, and on the next breath she was a mermaid, waving to me left behind on the shore. A cloud of briny white foam came crashing over her, and I saw a slip of a tail before she disappeared into the deep.
Chapter Three
I woke with a start: the wind was howling at the window and I was hot and sticky. It was still dark outside, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I picked up my phone and read Amy’s messages again.
When was the last time we had spoken properly? I couldn’t recall the last words we had said out loud to each other, and it suddenly felt very important to remember them. Why hadn’t we made more time for each other? How could I have been too busy to speak to my own sister? When had we last said ‘I love you’?
I sent her a message:
I love you. I always loved you. Sorry we were always so busy. xo
The text blurred as I blinked back tears. I opened Facebook on my laptop and scrolled through Amy’s profile. Photos of her with the kids, of Amy and Mike, Amy with Rachel, and of some other friends I didn’t recognise. Amy with Mum and Auntie Sue at Christmas. Amy in fancy dress at The Ship. Her entire life, here in posts and pictures, and I was nowhere to be seen.
I decided I was going to be better today, I was going to do better for the kids, for Mike, and I was going to be calm and patient with Mum. I was going to be the Izzy that Amy needed right now. I just had to figure out where to start.
Rachel was already at the house by the time I arrived. She had been grocery shopping after noticing yesterday that we were running low on a few things and had made sausage sandwiches for everyone’s breakfast. She had done one load of laundry and as I walked in, she was delicately suggesting to Lucas that he take a shower – something that hadn’t even crossed my mind. I added the kids’ personal hygiene to my growing list of things to worry about.
I watched Rachel move around the kitchen like it was her own, unpacking the dishwasher and knowing exactly where everything belonged. She was at ease with Mike and the kids, and I said a silent prayer of thanks for her. Trust Amy to have found an amazing friend.
On the upstairs
