Chapter 25
JADE
I wallow in a funk of despair after Sebastian leaves but eventually get bored and go looking for my flatmates. I need the combo of Kiki’s fun energy and Rach’s caring, sweet nature to distract me. But they’re not at home.
According to the flowered notepad on the hallway table, which sits next to an ancient green dial telephone, Rach is at the hospital visiting her mum and Kiki is having after-work drinks with friends.
Rach left a PS saying she’d rustle something up when she gets back, but fuck that.
She cooks every night, and this is a good chance to pull my weight.
Not that I’m much of a chef, but I do make a mean poke bowl when I’m in the mood to eat healthily.
Plus it only involves marinating fish, cooking rice, chopping veggies, and a bit of artful assemblage.
As I push my trolley around, noticing familiar items that are still around in the present day, I start feeling that nostalgic urge for the future again.
Idly, I pick up a can of Heinz Baked Beans and drift off for a moment, a silly grin on my face, as I picture Sebastian in my little kitchen dressed in nothing but an apron.
His smooth butt cheeks flex, and his sexy fallen angel wings ripple as he chops and stirs.
Turning around, he catches me perving and gives me shit about it.
I chuckle to myself, imagining the conversation.
To shut him up, I go over and fondle him under his apron. My cheeks heat, and I swallow, imagining him saying huskily that we should work up an appetite before dinner ...
Hastily, I shove the baked beans back on the shelf. Stop thinking about him!
Yet as I’m chopping salmon, avocado (which was bloody expensive!), and carrots into cubes in the kitchen, my mind keeps drifting to him.
Things he’s said. Things he’s done. The Care Bear.
It’s starting to scare me how quickly he’s inserted himself into my psyche and how much I crave him now that he’s not here.
What if I am actually addicted to him? Like he’s my drug of choice, and I’ll do anything to get a fix?
I am my father’s daughter after all, and Tommy Rains is a bad influence.
Shit, being a drug user is probably in my DNA.
Now I’m going to have to wean myself off Sebastian!
Thankfully, Kiki and Rach arrive home and interrupt my line of thinking because I’m not entirely sure how to get rehab for being hooked on a devil.
Quickly, I assemble three poke bowls and place them on the table, along with three pairs of chopsticks and a small jug of sweet chilli sauce.
The fresh veggies, along with marinated salmon and pickled cabbage on a bed of sticky white rice, look colourful and appetising.
I’ve even added some chopped peanuts and sliced spring onions for texture and garnish.
My flatmates are taking a while in the hallway, and I can hear low voices murmuring, then silence. But eventually, they stroll into the kitchen. Immediately, I notice Rach’s eyes are red, and Kiki isn’t her usual bouncy self. Something’s going down, but I don’t know what.
‘Ta-da!’ I say with a big smile, hoping to inject some enthusiasm into the gloomy atmosphere that’s snuck in the door with them. ‘I made dinner. Hope you guys are hungry.’
Rach rubs at her nose, which is a delicate shade of pink, and gives me a wobbly smile. ‘Oh, that’s so nice of you, Jadey. You didn’t have to. I was going to—’
‘No,’ I say firmly, steering her to the table and gently pushing her into her seat. ‘I wanted to. You deserve a night off.’
Kiki sits at her usual place.
They both stare at their bowls. Their faces expressionless.
Then Rach picks up a chopstick, gripping it like a screwdriver, and stabs ineffectively at a cube of salmon. Trying to skewer it. ‘This is so kind of you, Jadey,’ she repeats faintly.
Kiki still hasn’t touched her meal and is eyeing it suspiciously. ‘Is that raw salmon?’ she asks.
‘Yes. But it’s been marinated in lemon, soy sauce, sesame oil, and mayo. Try it. I think you’ll like it,’ I say encouragingly. ‘It’s called a poke bowl, from Hawaii. I ... er ... found the recipe in a magazine and thought it looked interesting.’
Kiki’s eyebrows shoot into her crimped fringe. ‘Hawaii! Wow, exotic!’ She picks up her chopsticks and copies Rach, who is now gripping them in both hands and attempting to lever up a cube of avocado to her mouth but keeps dropping it.
I fight the urge to laugh at how ridiculous and cute they both look because that would be mean. They’ve obviously never used chopsticks before and are wondering what on earth I’ve served them but are giving it a go for politeness’ sake.
Without saying anything, I demonstrate gripping the chopsticks and show them how to scoop up the rice and veggies. I’ve never been to Japan, but I order a lot of Deliveroo donburi.
‘Gosh, Jadey,’ says Kiki, looking impressed. She watches me for a bit and then says, ‘Ah, OK.’ She attempts to manoeuvre her chopsticks like I do, and she doesn’t do too badly. Poor Rach is still having difficulties, so I go and get her a fork so she doesn’t starve.
When they’re almost done eating, I pull the envelope with the concert tickets out of my pocket and place it on the table. ‘Not sure what you guys are up to tomorrow night, but I’ve got free tickets to the Echo Ministry concert,’ I say casually.
Fuck it. I might as well have some fun. And when else am I going to get the chance to see my dad perform?
Rach’s brown eyes widen, and she gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. Kiki squeals and jumps up to hug me. She bounces around the kitchen like a kangaroo, singing, ‘I love you! I love you! I love you!’
I laugh. ‘So you want to go then?’
Kiki screeches, ‘Oh my god, yeeesss!’
Rach nods emphatically, then sobers. ‘Though I should really be at the hospital...’
Kiki stops bouncing and brushes a chunk of crimped blonde hair out of her eyes. ‘No way. You’re coming,’ she says firmly.
Rach looks grave. ‘But what if...’
‘It won’t. Not yet. And your mum would want you to have some fun. Besides, it’s Echo Ministry.’
I look at Rach, unsure if I should ask, but it seems uncaring not to. And I do care. ‘What’s going on?’
Rach stares at the remains of white rice in her bowl and doesn’t speak, so I turn to Kiki enquiringly. She slides back into her seat and puts an arm around Rach, who looks pale and drained.
‘Her mum has taken a turn for the worse,’ Kiki says quietly. ‘The doctors don’t think it will be long now. They thought they’d got it all, but this type of cancer is relentless.’
Tears spill down Rach’s cheeks.
My throat contracts. Fuck, poor Rach. This is awful. I wish I’d known sooner. I could have helped her more. Instead, I’ve been caught up in my own selfish problems.
Kiki rubs Rach’s arm briskly, and Rach takes a deep shuddering breath and pulls herself together.
‘Thanks,’ she says to Kiki. ‘I’m OK. It was just hard to hear that tonight.
Mum is being so brave...’ She reaches into the pocket of her denim jacket.
‘And she gave me this before I left. It’s nice to have it, but it made me feel more emotional than usual. Like she’s saying goodbye.’
Rach places the object on the tablecloth, and it’s a Kodak photo of a brown-haired woman. She looks like an older version of Rach and even has the same ponytail. Behind her is a white house with shutters and a large blooming red rose bush.
I freeze, my mind not believing what my eyes are seeing. With a shaking hand, I pull the photo closer for a better look. But it’s the same one—the same photo that’s on the bookshelf at my parents’ house. This woman is my grandmother. I never met her. She died before I was born. Of cancer.
‘What’s your last name, Rach?’ I ask with a thumping heart.
Rach frowns in confusion. ‘You know my last name, Jadey.’
‘Humour me.’
She hitches a shoulder and glances at Kiki, then says, ‘Nichols.’
The room tilts sideways, and I dig my fingernails into my palms. The pain helps, but not entirely.
Oh my god. This can’t be happening.
What. The. Fuck!
Kiki takes Rach into the lounge to watch a sitcom while I clean up.
Canned laughter floats into the kitchen as I fill the sink for the dishes and stand there in a daze.
I’m struggling to get my head around this: Rach is my mum!
Nichols was her maiden name. However, in the present timeline, she calls herself Racquel and looks very different.
She has bleached-blonde hair, her face is sunken and prematurely wrinkled; and she hardly ever smiles because she’s missing a few teeth.
Rach is so fresh-faced and joyful that it’s no wonder I didn’t recognise my mum in her.
Did Sebastian know about this? He must’ve. That snake. Was it supposed to be a fun surprise? A joke? Has he been secretly laughing at me the whole time? It’s tempting to go to my room and see if he’s there, lounging on my bed. So I can pummel him senseless.
But I force myself to wash the dishes, though I feel like smashing all the crockery.
I put it off for as long as possible. Finally, with my heart in my mouth, I slowly push open the door to my room.
He’s not there.
Disappointment is stronger than my wrath.
I clench my fists, trying to stave off a fierce need for him.
I can’t handle any of this; it’s too overwhelming.
First my dad. Now my mum. Walking to my bed, I collapse on it and bury my face in the pillow and scream his name, but it doesn’t help.
It smells like him: aftershave and brimstone.
And it doesn’t make him magically appear.
I try snapping my fingers, but that doesn’t work either.
Sebastian’s always just shown up. I’ve never contacted him. Apart from that one time I rang him to take him up on his offer. But I don’t have a mobile here.
My eyes flick to the door, thinking about the green phone in the hallway. What if I ring him on that? Would it even work?
Sebastian’s mobile number was pretty easy to memorise: 666-696969. It made me roll my eyes and think How cliché at the time. Now I’m grateful it is cliché.
The phone has a long curly cord, which reaches into my room.
Closing the door, after feeding it through the gap underneath, I sit on the bed with it resting in my lap.
It’s a clunky thing with a giant receiver and a see-through plastic wheel with numbered holes.
I guess I turn each number? I start dialling.
Oh my god, this is taking forever!
Too bad if you have to call 999 in a hurry!
Finally dialling the last number, I hold the receiver to my ear with a sweaty hand, my stomach in knots, like I’m a teenager calling my crush. The line connects, and it starts ringing. Then someone picks up.
‘Sebastian Burns. Devil at your service.’
I had a short angry speech planned. About how he needs to get his ass to the 1980s now and fucking give me an explanation. But at the sound of his familiar deep voice, all my staunchness flies out the window.
‘Hello,’ I whisper.
‘Who is this?’ he says. ‘Speak up.’
‘It’s me. Jade...’
‘What do you want?’ He doesn’t sound too pleased to hear from me, and I die a little inside.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Please, Sebastian. Don’t make me beg.’
‘I think a little begging is in order,’ he says stonily.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that begging does not make me any less of a feminist.
‘I need you. Please please please. Can you come?’
There’s a heavy silence, under which I hear a faint buzzing as the line stretches across time and space, and my poor heart aches as Sebastian considers my grovelling request.
I’m about to say, ‘Don’t bother’, and hang up.
But then he says abruptly, ‘Be there in two.’