Pieces of Us

Day Thirteen

Sara

Two cats greet me as I blink open my eyes in the morning. This is a pleasant surprise. Fifi is a gentle and curious cat who has slipped into our home easily. I’m also surprised how generous Goose has been towards her; I knew she was a laid-back creature, but she has practically ignored this home invader and carried on as normal. It’s made my decision feel less crazy and more rational.

‘ You love cats really ,’ I hear Lottie say. ‘ They make you happy. You need to let more things into your life. ’

I shake this off and keep myself busy, feeding my housemates and preparing myself for the day ahead. I have no plans as such, but I have a feeling that Lottie’s jar will direct me somewhere interesting today. There are only three messages left and this includes the one that is sellotaped to the bottom. I’m not sure what Lottie can say in these limited words to make me feel better. At the moment, I can’t say the jar has done much for me except leave me a little sad about the events of the past.

‘How does this help,’ I mutter, as I step over the puddle of cat that is Fifi sprawled out on the floor. ‘I don’t know how reminiscing and remembering the good or even sad times is a positive thing. It’s like wallowing in the juices of the past.’

I pick up Lottie’s diary and skim through it, recognising the large loopy style of her handwriting.

This diary starts with her time in sixth form, when she first met us all. It had been Jay who had persuaded me to give her a chance. Jay always did tend to see the best in everyone.

I am tempted, for a moment or two, to sit down with the diary and start to read like Lottie requested. I’m curious as to what she wants me to see, but I’m not sure I’m ready for it. What if I don’t come off well here? What if I read something I don’t want to?

I’m still dithering when my phone rings. I put the diary back down and pull my phone out of my pocket. It’s Jay. Again. I sigh, wishing he’d just get the hint and leave me in peace for a bit. I chuck the phone back on the sofa and turn my attention back to the Jar of Joy. Jay calling was a sign, I’m sure of it. I’m not ready to read Lottie’s words, not yet anyway.

Instead, I open the jar and extract one of the last folded pieces of paper.

Go to London, like we did after I first got diagnosed and you wanted to treat me. Do you remember what we did? I want you to relive the day.

I also want you to visit your brother Kyle. I know he lives there now. You need to talk to him.

Kyle. Fuck. I puff out a breath.

Out of all the things I expected Lottie to ask me to do, this was not one of them.

I didn’t want to go, I admit it, but as always, I felt honour-bound to follow Lottie’s instructions. It’s almost like I could feel her watching over me and I didn’t want to upset her. Deep down, I knew I hadn’t been the best friend to her, not really, and if I could do one small thing like this to appease her memory, it seemed right.

But Kyle – that really was pushing it.

On the train, travelling up to London, I brought up his number on my mobile. I couldn’t just turn up unannounced, but it was hard bringing myself to actually make the call.

It’s fair to say that I’ve never been close to Kyle. There are seven years between us and the age gap made a difference. Kyle was always my big, angry, slightly scary older brother. Some of my earliest memories are of him kicking off, shouting, smashing the place up – making my mum cry. He was excluded from school, he would fight with his mates and most of the time he would fight with himself, punching walls or hitting his own body in an attempt to calm his own inner rage.

Mum never said it was linked to Dad’s death, but I could put two and two together. I was too young to remember Dad – only three when he died, while Kyle was ten and already big for his age. Kyle said he remembered Dad a lot, and I know he missed him.

Kyle got worse after Dad’s death; he was a big ball of rage of resentment and the only person who could make any sense of him was Mum. She home-schooled him, trying to educate him between her cleaning shifts. She took him to different doctors and therapists. She stayed calm all of the time while he shouted abuse or kicked another hole in the wall.

There was no room for me in this set up. I couldn’t get close to Mum – if I tried, Kyle would turn nasty. It was easier to stay away. I played outside a lot, even from a young age, and met up with the other estate kids. By the age of five I became good friends with Jay. His dad used to look after him while his mum worked and sometimes I would be invited around for tea.

I liked it at Jay’s house. It was calm and peaceful. I liked Jay’s dad – he was sweet and funny. I didn’t often meet his mum. Jay said she worked long hours as a teacher.

I think Jay and his dad knew that I was avoiding being at home, but they never questioned me about it. My mum would pick me up and sometimes she would stay for a cup of tea. She and Jay’s dad would sit together in the kitchen laughing. It was the first time I heard her do that for ages.

The year passed quickly. Kyle was thirteen. I was six. My best friend was Jay.

And my mum made the huge mistake of falling in love with his dad.

Kyle picks up on the third ring.

‘Hey.’ His voice is gruff as always, but there is a softness there that I wasn’t expecting. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Hey,’ I say back, the word dry in my mouth.

I never call Kyle. Never. On the occasions that he visits Mum, I’m rarely there. When he was released from prison, he moved into a flat in London and I didn’t bother to see him.

Sometimes I feel guilty about that. Mum keeps on at me, telling me about the rehabilitation Kyle has gone through. How he has had intense therapy and is now on medication to help with his mental health. According to Mum, his girlfriend Jenny is nice – she helps to keep him on track. I understand why Mum is desperate for us to be back in touch again – our family is so small and fragile now – but there is always something holding me back.

It was Kyle’s temper that nearly destroyed me and Jay and it got in the way of our chances of being together. It was Kyle’s reckless act that drove a huge wedge between our two families.

And what nobody knows is that I saw it all.

Mum and Jay’s dad had been outside the flat, talking. Well, arguing is probably the best word for it. They had been seeing each other for over a year. They tried to keep it hidden from us all, but we all knew, no one was stupid. Mum spent more and more time at Jay’s and I guess Kyle started to feel a bit rejected. As a result, he stayed out more. He started hanging around with older kids on the estate that my mum hated – the ones that were rumoured to carry knives and drugs. I may have only been small, but I knew the risks that were involved. The rows at home were explosive and it only led to Mum falling into Jay’s dad’s arms even more.

Jay hated it. He wouldn’t talk about much to me, but he didn’t like what his dad was doing to his mum.

‘This is what he’s like,’ he told me once. ‘He always has other women. He acts like it’s no big deal, but I heard Mum crying last night. She hates him doing this to her.’

‘Does she know about my mum?’ I asked.

Jay shrugged. ‘She knows Dad messes around. They always argue about it.’

I couldn’t understand why Jay’s mum put up with it. Every time I met her she had come across as strong and even a bit scary. She rarely smiled and wasn’t as friendly and welcoming as Jay’s dad. I could see why lots of people liked him.

That night, outside the flat, I was watching out of my window. I was meant to be in bed, but the raised voices had drawn me to look like a moth attracted to a flame. I wasn’t used to seeing Jay’s dad looking angry or my mum crying. The scene unsettled me.

Mum was begging him. She was pulling on his arm, telling him not to end it. Jay’s dad didn’t seem the same person at all. He was cold and stiff. He pushed Mum away. I couldn’t hear all his words, but what I did carved through me. Words like ‘pathetic’ and ‘needy’ and ‘deluded’. My brave strong mother seemed to crumble in front of him. I touched the glass as if I could reach her. She went to grab him again, tugging on his arm, telling him that he couldn’t stay with his wife, he didn’t love her.

That’s when he delivered the killer blow. He laughed as he did it.

‘I’m not going back to her, you daft bitch. I’ve met someone new. Someone better. You were just a stopgap. That was all. A good shag.’

My mum slapped him.

Jay’s dad stood there, stunned, I think, and then he slapped her back. Hard. Mum fell to the floor. I cried out.

Kyle was there in an instant. He’d heard the shouting and run out to find our mum on the ground clutching her face. When he looked towards Jay’s dad’s face, I saw something in his eyes I’d never seen before. He actually roared, like a tiger, and launched himself forward.

I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. Watching as my brother kicked, hauled and punched a grown man to the ground. I saw my mum screaming, trying to drag him off and I heard Jay’s dad crying out as the blows landed one after another.

And then I watched as Kyle righted himself, rubbing his bloody fists against his chest. His eyes seemed to catch mine and they still glinted with ice and rage.

I’d never been so terrified in my life.

I crawled back into my bed, crying soft tears. I didn’t tell mum what I saw. I didn’t tell the police when they called, I didn’t tell anyone. I just tucked myself away in the safe place in my mind. But the truth was, I was terrified of my own brother. And I still was. I’d seen what he could do, I knew what he was capable of, and I never wanted to be near that again.

And yet here I am, on the phone to him.

‘I’m coming up to London. I thought maybe… I could pop by,’ I say now, trying to sound casual.

There’s a pause. ‘OK. That’ll be nice, but, Sara – why now?’

‘I just thought…’ I shake my head, staring out at the flashes of countryside passing by the window. ‘It’s been so long. Maybe we finally need to talk. We are family after all.’

‘Yes.’ His voice is soft. ‘Yes, we are that.’

He gives me his address and some instructions. I tell him I’ll be there around four. My head feels dizzy with indecision, my skin prickles with worry.

‘Sara,’ he says, before I end the call.

‘What?’

‘I’m really glad you called. It will be good to see you.’

I walk around central London in a bit of daze, but I’m determined to honour Lottie’s instructions. I start off browsing our favourite bookshops on Booksellers Row in Cecil Court, which is a seventeenth-century lane lined with second-hand and antique bookshops. Me and Lottie used to joke that we would love to own one of them and spend our days behind the dusty shelves, gossiping and giggling.

When we were here before, Lottie ended up buying an old edition of her favourite Grimm’s Fairy Tales .

‘It reminds me of when I was really little and things still felt normal,’ she told me. ‘Dad used to read these stories to me before bed, putting on the voices and everything. It felt like a really special time.’

I browse the shelves a bit but nothing catches my eye, or perhaps I’m not in the right frame of mind. I head instead to the little pancake place a few streets away which was where Lottie dragged me, telling me we had to forget about calories and healthy living for the day. At the time, I was trying to keep fit by running and watching my sugar levels, but I couldn’t resist being naughty with her.

The cafe is just as I remembered, small and cheery with bright painted signs and an immediate scent of sugar and maple syrup that hits you as soon as you walk in. It’s pretty quiet, so I order a tea and a lemon and sugar crepe and take my seat by the window.

It’s hard not to think of when I was here with Lottie. She had been in such a lovely, chatty mood despite it only being a few months after we had first got back in touch after her diagnosis. I had thought she was so brave, sitting there delicately eating her food and not seeming stressed about the news that had hit her.

‘I will beat it,’ she told me finally. ‘I have so much I still want to do; I’m not going to let something like cancer stop me.’

I think I’d smiled then, unsure as to how to respond. I didn’t want her to know how sorry I was and how guilty I felt that our friendship had restarted at such a bad time and only due to the circumstances.

‘And if I don’t beat it…’ She shrugged, wiping the sugar off her lips. ‘Well, it just means it’s my time. It happens to us all eventually.’

‘Don’t say that, Lottie,’ I’d begged.

‘I will say, because I’m done with being scared.’ Her eyes had shone as she spoke. ‘I’ve spent my entire life being too scared to be who I wanted to be, or even try to be happy – well, no more. This life is mine and mine alone and for as long as I have it I’m going to bloody try and enjoy it.’

I stared back at her, admiring her strength and determination. Would I be the same in a similar situation? Possibly not.

Lottie slid her hand across the table to meet mine. ‘It’s making me appreciate that I have to be grateful for the things I have. I spent so long trying to do that, with my Jars of Joy and journals – trying to focus on the good things in my life, but I think I never quite succeeded. I was always distracted by envy, or fear.’

‘Envy?’ I blinked at her. ‘Who were you envious of?’

Lottie sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I don’t want to even think about that now.’

‘OK, fair enough.’ I nodded, not wanting to stress her out by pushing the point.

‘At least Mum is being sweet now. She is making a fuss of me and doing loads of research, insisting that we find the best consultants, investigate the newest treatments.’ Lottie scoffed. ‘It’s like she’s finally realised I exist. Even Dad visits more now and they don’t argue any more – instead it’s all whispered conversations when they think I can’t hear them.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘I’m getting used to it. It’s always been difficult being the only child. I feel like all the pressure is on me to either impress or disappoint them.’ Her gaze fixed on mine. ‘Don’t you miss your brother at all, Sara? Do you still not see him?’

I pulled my hand away from her grip, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. ‘No, I don’t. We lead completely different lives.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. ‘I’d imagine having a sibling would be a special thing. They are an extension of you really, aren’t they. I would love to have that connection.’

‘There is no connection,’ I said, bringing an end to the conversation.

Lottie had nodded like she understood but I knew she didn’t. How could she? No one else knew what it had been like to live with Kyle. No one else knew what I had been through, seen.

Why on earth would I want that back in my life?

The waitress brings over my pancake, the sugar on it sparkling in the light. I take it, thanking her politely, and hope she didn’t see the tears in my eyes.

I cried the first time I came here with Lottie and I’m crying again now, but I’ve realised one important thing: Lottie could easily have been talking about me when she said she was too scared to face things. After all, it was me who always ran away, me who pushed people away, me who hid from reality.

Maybe I have to learn to live my life properly too.