A Flash of Blue Page 2

  It wasn’t fair. I wanted a lucky stone too.

  “Finders keepers, losers weepers,” he chanted and chanted until he made me cry.

  Then he took pity on me and found me a lucky shell instead, but it wasn’t the same. I lost it before we got home from holiday. Not Liam – he never lost that stone. It became somehow a part of him and I really believed it brought him luck. He passed every exam with an A, won every race, made Mum and Dad proud. I lost count of the times I asked to borrow it. His reply was always the same: a small shrug and those words, “finders keepers”.

  I cup the stone in my hands. If I’d hoped that some of the luck would rub off on me, then I’ve been disappointed so far. I haven’t told anyone that I’ve got it. Imagine what they’d say if they knew I’d taken it on the day he died? No one can ever know – not ever. I should’ve buried it with him, but I couldn’t bring myself to let it go. I kiss it and return it to its hiding place. I raise my towel to my face, pressing hard on my eyes, pushing back the memories.

  My phone pings, a welcome diversion. It’s Simon. I’m supposed to have decided what film we’re going to see this afternoon.

  Will pick you up around 2.

  Dad calls, “Amber. What are you doing up there?”

  I throw on some clothes and walk gingerly down the stairs to the kitchen. My knee is hurting and the idea of breakfast turns my stomach.

  Dad’s got a saucepan in one hand and a print-out of my running times in the other. “Where do you think you lost time this morning, Amber? Was it the hills? I knew we should’ve done more hill work. How do you want your eggs today? Fried?”

  “I don’t feel like eggs.”

  “You have to have eggs today. It’s Saturday. ‘Eggs any way’,” he reads off the diet chart pinned to the fridge door.

  “I’m having cereal. I’ll have eggs tomorrow.” I reach for the cornflakes.

  “What is the point in me doing all this for you if you don’t follow it?” He waves his hand at the chart. “Your brother always—”

  “OK, Dad.” I press my fingers into my temples. “I’ll have eggs. Scrambled.”

  “Good. Go and ask your mum if she wants breakfast. Here, you can take her some coffee.”

  I hesitate. Their bedroom is not a good place to be in the morning, but Dad nods impatiently in the direction of the stairs, a clear order for me to go. I drag myself up and knock quietly on the door. There’s no answer. I open the door little by little, trying not to make a noise. The curtains are still closed and the air smells stale – a toxic mix of alcohol and other things I’d rather not think about. The rain hasn’t let up and it spatters on the windowpanes.

  I go round to Mum’s side of the bed and put the mug of coffee on her side table. I think of all the Sunday mornings when I used to take her coffee and sit with her in bed while Liam was training with Dad. We’d giggle about nothing in particular and make fun of Liam’s obsessive running regime. Now it’s me doing the running and Mum’s days and nights pass in an alcoholic haze. I lean down towards her, trying not to inhale the fumes from her breath. She won’t want scrambled eggs.

  “Mum?” I stroke her shoulder gently and she grunts.

  “What time is it?” she mumbles. “It’s still dark.”

  “Only because the curtains are closed. Dad says do you want breakfast?”

  She frowns and wrinkles her nose then rolls away from me, shaking my hand from her shoulder and pulling the duvet tightly around her.

  “I’ve brought you coffee.”

  She doesn’t move or make a sound.

  “Mum?”

  Nothing.

  “Suit yourself,” I mumble to the lump under the duvet. I creep towards the door and start pulling it closed as quietly as I can. I’d rather she stayed asleep when she’s like this. Dad likes to pretend there’s nothing wrong. Gran says he’s put Mum’s drinking problems in the too-hard basket. Most stuff belongs in the too-hard basket these days.

  “Amber?” The door is nearly shut when she calls my name in a pathetic kind of wail. I sigh and step back into the room. Mum is struggling to hold her head off the pillow.

  “You’ll have to go over to Gran’s this afternoon. I promised I’d help her with cakes for the lifeboats but I think I’ve got flu or something.” Her head drops back on to her pillow.

  Flu? Does she think I’m stupid?

  “I’m going out with Simon this afternoon.”

  “What day is it?” She sounds tearful, confused.

  “It’s Saturday, Mum. You know it is. You’ve just told me about going to Gran’s to bake cakes.”

  “Simon can cope on his own in the café.”

  “He’s not working today, we’re going to…” I give up. It’s not worth it.

  “You must go to Gran’s. I promised.” She sounds like a frightened child.

  I’d like to tell her that it’s her problem and if she hadn’t drunk herself senseless last night then she wouldn’t have “flu” this morning and then she could keep her promise. I’d like to tell her I’ve promised Simon I’d go to the cinema. I can’t let him down again. Then I think of poor Gran, who’s always here helping out and I know I should go and help her in return.

  I walk back into the kitchen. “No eggs for Mum,” I say.

  Dad presses his lips together and carefully puts two eggs back in the box.

  I pick up my phone to text Simon. What can I say? I’ve stood him up so many times already and it’s getting worse than embarrassing.

  Can’t make it today. REALLY sorry. Have to help Gran.

  I press send. Dammit.

  Dad and I eat breakfast in silence, then I take the plates to the dishwasher.

  “Why are you limping?” he asks.

  “Nothing. Just my knee. It’s stiffened up a bit.”

  “Didn’t you ice it when you got back?”

  I shake my head.

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” He strides to the freezer, flings open the door and grabs an ice pack. “Now sit down and get this on your leg.” I go through to the living room and put myself on the sofa. Dad wraps the ice pack in a dishcloth then tapes it round my leg. “You’ve got to be fit for tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. The running club half marathon – the final long-distance race of the season. It’s not such a big deal – more for fun than anything else – but it was the last race that Liam won and it’s the last trophy left in the cabinet. All the others have been handed back, the silver gleaming after Dad’s cleaned them for hours, polishing and polishing over Liam’s name until it was a wonder he didn’t rub it out altogether. I’m not old enough to run the half marathon, but there’s a 10k race for my age-group and I’m hoping to win the girls’ category. If I don’t, the cabinet will be empty. A trophy in the cabinet means a lot to Dad.

  The blackness rolls in and there’s nothing I can do to hold it back.

  Why can’t Dad see that I can’t be Liam? Why can’t he see how hard it is for me even to turn up at these events? I don’t know how Dad can stand it. All the old familiar crowd: people who a year ago would have loved to have seen the back of my brother so that their own precious sons would have a chance of winning. They’re all respectful of Dad. Liam will always be a winner; no one can ever beat him now. That’s what they tell him. Why can’t Dad be content to bask in Liam’s eternal triumph instead of forcing me to let him down time after time? I’m not bad at running, but I’m not a champion either. Each time I lose it hurts a little more. My friends from the club tread on eggshells around me, as if they don’t know what to say or how to act. It’s easier for people not to spend time with me, easier for them not to try. I’m on the fringe of every circle: standing there but invisible. Perhaps they only ever liked me because of Liam. Perhaps I’m not worth knowing any more.

  I shift my leg. The ice has turned it numb. I can hear Dad clatteri
ng around in the kitchen, clearing up with barely disguised aggression. I remove the ice, drop it on the floor and let my eyes close.

  The sound of the doorbell drags me back to consciousness. Dad grunts as he gets up off his chair. I hear him open the door.

  “It’s for you,” he says, with total lack of interest as he follows Simon into the living room.

  “I was passing,” Simon says. “Thought I’d pop in to see if you were OK. Sorry – did I wake you up?”

  I smile, self-conscious. “Passing on your way to…”

  “Nowhere,” he laughs. “And don’t worry, I’d be asleep too if I had to get up at crack of dawn to run.” He looks at the ice pack on the floor. “I’m guessing you were out on this beautiful morning?”

  I nod and glance at Dad. Dad gives me a stare, picks up the ice and takes it away, leaving us alone.

  Sometimes I think Simon knows me better than I know myself. We’ve been friends since primary, though we’re not at the same school any more. I move my legs off the sofa so he can sit down.

  He doesn’t. “It’s stopped raining,” he says. “Fancy a walk?”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Yes,” he says. He takes off his jacket and plonks himself down beside me. Our knees just touch. “It’s the big race tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “You shouldn’t let it get you down,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

  I put my finger to my lips, sliding my eyes towards the door in case Dad can hear. Simon knows how much I hate racing. “I’ll be OK.”

  “You’ll be better if you come to the movies this afternoon.”

  “I can’t. Gran needs help with making cakes for the lifeboats.”

  Simon sighs and looks down at his hands. “You don’t have to make excuses. If you don’t want to come you can just tell me.”

  “I’m not making excuses. Mum was going to help Gran but she’s not well.”

  “Again?” he says and I think I see him roll his eyes.

  I’ve lost count of the times I’ve blamed things on Mum being unwell. I’m not surprised it’s wearing a bit thin.

  “You’re allowed a life too,” he says.

  Am I? I wonder.

  Simon puts his hand on my arm and shakes it gently. “Hey, come on. How about we go to the cinema later then? In the evening? It’ll be fun and it’ll help take your mind off things.”

  He holds my eyes for a bit longer than feels comfortable. A blush creeps into my cheeks.

  “OK,” I say. “I’ll meet you in town.”

  “No ducking out at the last minute?” He stands up and heads for the door. “And you can bring me some cake.”

  “To prove I’m not lying?”

  “No – because I like cake.”

  I can’t help smiling.

  “That’s better,” he says.

  I don’t want Simon to go. Sometimes it feels like he’s the only person, apart from Gran, who won’t give up on me.

  The sight of Gran’s door is always comforting. I take extra care not to step on the grass in-between the eight paving slabs leading up to it. When we were young, Granddad told us a bear would eat us if we stepped on the grass. I always made Liam give me a piggyback.

  I ring the doorbell and wait. It takes her a while to answer.

  Her face breaks into a huge smile when she sees me. “This is a nice surprise. I won’t hug you or I’ll cover you in flour.”

  She’s wearing her favourite apron, dusted in white. On the front, it says: “Women are like wine, they improve with age.” Granddad gave it to her for their fortieth anniversary.

  She lets me in, peering towards the road – looking for Mum, I assume.

  “I got the bus,” I say. “Mum’s having a bad day. She said you needed help…”

  “She said I needed help?” Gran interrupts, makes a funny what’s that all about face, but her eyes darken for a moment – just long enough for me to notice – before she snaps back to her cheerful self.

  “…with the cakes,” I say, to make sure there’s no misunderstanding.

  “That’s very kind, sweetheart, but I’m sure you’ve got things you’d rather be doing?”

  I limp through to the kitchen where Gran’s cat weaves itself in and out of my legs.

  “That knee of yours is getting worse. I hope you didn’t run this morning?”

  “Yes. Worse luck. 15k.”

  “In all that rain? Shouldn’t you be resting it instead of training so hard?”

  I should be resting before a race day whatever, I think to myself. Dad should know that, but he’s too obsessed by his training schedules.

  I shrug. “Dad says it’s what I have to do if I want to win.”

  Gran sighs a loud sigh. “And do you,” she asks carefully, “want to win?”

  She hands me an apron and I put it over my head and tie it around my waist. She shoos the cat out of the kitchen.

  “I would like to win. Just once. For Dad. Maybe it would help him and Mum – you know, with next weekend and everything.”

  Gran stops what she’s doing and looks at me. I’ve said it now.

  “Has your dad talked to you about next weekend?” she asks.

  “No one talks about it.” My body suddenly feels heavy and I have to lean against the side. “It’s as if talking about it will make it too real. But June the 27th is always going to be the day Liam died, isn’t it? We can’t hide from it.”

  “No we can’t.” Gran puffs out air through her nose and her mouth is set in a grim line. She gives a quick shake of the head. “And I suppose Dad hasn’t told you that he and Mum are going away?”

  “Are they?” I try to process this information. “What about me?”

  The words hang in the air.

  “I think the plan is for you to stay here with me.” Gran tries to make it sound jolly.

  Tears melt into my eyes. I concentrate on opening a new bag of sugar. I’ve been trying so hard. How could Mum and Dad think it was OK to go away and leave me next weekend? Surely we should all be together on the day Liam died? It’s not that I don’t want to stay with Gran. In fact I’d rather stay with her. It’s just the fact that they are doing it – that they didn’t even ask me or talk to me or anything.

  “We’ll plan something nice,” says Gran. “What would you like to do?”

  But the tears are streaming down my face. Gran forgets about the flour and wraps her arms around me. “I know,” she says, rocking me back and forth. “I know.”

  But she doesn’t know. No one knows.

  And now I have to face the day alone.

  By the time I get home, it’s four o’clock.

  Dad’s still at the kitchen table and I wonder if he’s moved since I left.

  Mum’s made it downstairs and is curled up on the sofa with a magazine in her hand. My anger hovers dangerously close to the surface.

  “Where have you been?” Mum says, looking up with a small smile when I come in.

  “Helping Gran – like you told me.” I try to smile back.

  “Oh, yes.” She goes back to her magazine.

  “Thank you, Amber, for doing that for me,” I supply on her behalf. She looks up at me, frowning, and I turn and run upstairs before I say something I might regret.

  I don’t bother to change. It’s only Simon. I check my bag for money and grab my phone. I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on.

  I trot back down, glad that my knee has eased.

  “Where are you going?” asks Dad.

  “To the cinema.”

  “What about the race tomorrow?”

  “I had to cancel Simon this afternoon, so I thought it would be OK to go this evening instead.”

  “Well, it is not OK,” he says.

 
“I’m only going to the movies!”

  Dad gets out of his chair. This is a bad sign. “It’s time you got your priorities sorted. You can go to the cinema any time. You need an early night.”

  “It’s not going to be late.”

  “It is not going to be. Full stop.”

  I rub my eyes, hoping I might wake up from this stupid scene. “I can’t let Simon down again,” I beg.

  “Surely it won’t hurt her to…” Mum’s come through to the kitchen and I guess she’s feeling guilty about earlier.

  “You’d never have seen Liam going out and messing around with girls the night before a race.” Dad directs this comment at both of us and it has the desired effect on Mum. She retreats back to the living room.

  “I’m not messing around with anyone. I’m going to watch a film.” I grab my coat.

  Dad puts himself between me and the door.

  “You will do as you are told. You didn’t ask our permission to go out this evening and we are not giving it.”

  “Well, you haven’t asked my permission to go away next weekend.”

  That shuts him up for a second or two and I wait for the explosion. It doesn’t come.

  “Oh – so Gran told you, did she?” says Dad. “I might have guessed, the interfering old busybody. I was going to talk to you about it this evening.”

  “Were you?”

  He seems confused, as if he knows he’s been caught out. He puts his hands on his hips. “Anyway, it makes no difference, you are not going out tonight and that’s that.”

  “Fine!” I know I’ve lost, but I can’t stop. “If you don’t want me to have a life, if you don’t want me to have any friends, fine. But don’t expect me to do all your dirty work for you from now on.”

  Dad knows what I mean. He’s been going away more and more on business trips – each trip getting a little longer. I’m left to sort out Mum. She’s always worse when he’s away and it’s a vicious circle – the worse she gets, the more he’s away. And now I can hear her crying and Dad has his hands behind his head and half over his ears. I turn my back on him, stomp back up to my room, slam my door and put my ear against it to see if he’s following. He isn’t. I take a deep breath, kick the door and ring Simon.