Chapter 3
3
‘Thanks, Orla.’
Erin had said this through a mouthful of hot chips covered in vinegar that were currently making her eyes water on the walk from the bus stop to the family home on the outskirts of Ruislip. Orla had had no plans to visit her parents tonight, but what Erin had said about their dad had worried her. There was no way she could leave for France without attempting to address it. And trying to get more information out of her sister had already cost her a furry puffa jacket, fake eyelashes, a Kylie Jenner lip kit and the chips…
‘Call it an early Christmas gift as I might not be here,’ Orla said, watching her breath dance in the cold of the winter air. There was still a chance she could be in and out of France in no time. If the mute man really had nothing to say and the reindeer had a premature birth. She needed to know how long reindeer were usually pregnant for… But where were the real guts to this story? At the moment it just sounded so The One Show rather than Planet Earth . And it definitely didn’t sound like it was going to be the breakthrough story she wanted to put on her résumé and email off to Time magazine.
‘What, so, you haven’t got me any other presents?’
‘Erin!’
‘Just kidding. I know how disorganised you are. That and the fact you almost burst a kidney when I mentioned the turkey earlier.’ She laughed.
They arrived outside the house and it was in complete darkness, like no one was home. It wasn’t unusual. Both their parents were on the wear-three-jumpers-and-gloves-before-the-heating-gets-switched-on side of frugal and all unnecessary energy went off between May and October regardless of the layers concept. However, Christmas was different. That was when the lights were strung up outside and their mum did everything she could to make their home the festive showstopper of the street.
‘Where are all the lights?’ Orla asked Erin.
‘Oh,’ Erin said, biting into a chip. ‘She’ll be sat around some fragranced tealights that probably cost more than having the electric on. Helen has one of those parties every month and Mum feels compelled to buy something so no one thinks we’re poor.’
Were they poor? Were their parents struggling financially since their father took early retirement? The golden handshake was supposed to be weighty enough to see them to the grave even if they outdid the Queen’s ripe old age.
‘No, the Christmas lights,’ Orla clarified. ‘It’s December. They’re always up on the first of December no matter what day that falls on and no matter what the weather.’
‘Yeah, well, do you want Dad up a ladder when he’s pissed dangling from a winking snowman?’ Erin asked. She pushed open the gate. ‘Are you coming in?’
Orla didn’t really have time. There was still so much to do before her flight… like look into exactly what time the flight was and where she was actually going. But she stepped forward.
Erin stopped her. ‘A few things before we go in. Don’t mention Sky Sports . Do mention Mum’s hair, but you have to say it looks nice when really it looks like someone plugged her into the National Grid. And if Dad’s in there just… let him sleep.’
Now her sister’s fierce outer coating was cracking just a little, like an iPhone screen protector – signs of destruction but still holding it together. Before Orla could make any reply, Erin strode towards the front door, chips in the crook of her elbow, key in the lock and turning.
The very first thing Orla noticed when she stepped into the hallway – apart from the darkness – was it was actually colder inside the house than on the street. She put a hand to the radiator – lukewarm at best, but at least it was on.
‘OK, well, good luck,’ Erin said, back to munching her chips and beginning to mount the stairs.
‘What?’ Orla said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To my room. I’ve got people to speak to, to let them know I’m gonna be in Paris soon.’
Shit. She hadn’t actually clarified that she wasn’t going to Paris and that Erin was in no way able to come on this trip.
‘Erin, wait, listen?—’
‘I’ll message you later.’ The response was accompanied by Erin’s Nike Air Force trainers thumping up the stairs and then the door to her bedroom slamming shut.
‘Erin! What have I told you about slamming doors?’
Orla jumped as her mum, Dana, appeared in the hallway from the lounge. She wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to the shout or to the new hairstyle that did look like a poodle had been weaved with Russell Brand. Nice things, she had to say nice things…
‘Oh, Orla, what are you doing here?’ Her mum put a hand to her chest like Orla’s appearance was as crazy as someone turning up with a National Lottery winning cheque.
‘Your hair looks great,’ Orla said, a little too fast.
‘Your sister told you to say that, didn’t she? Where’s she gone? Because I want a word with her about your dad’s favourite beer glass.’
‘She’s… on the phone,’ Orla said, suddenly feeling the need to protect Erin as their mum looked like she was about to mount the stairs.
‘Of course she is,’ Dana answered. ‘It would take surgery to remove that thing from her hand; it’s like a second palm.’
Her mum retreated back through the living room door as if the conversation was over. Until… ‘Are you coming in here or not? Because I don’t want to leave this door open.’
Orla took a deep breath and then followed her mum’s path. But what lay beyond the door stole the air from her lungs. The living room was nothing like the last time she had visited only four weeks ago. It was practically bare. Gone was the large dresser that had housed her grandmother’s china, absent was a chaise longue Dana had bought from an antiques fair and re-covered, and where was the DVD player?
‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Orla. Sit yourself down,’ her mum ordered.
On the one chair remaining or squeezed up to her mum on a two-seater sofa she had never seen before? What was going on here?
‘Mum,’ Orla began, opting for the chair. ‘Where has all the furniture gone?’
‘You mean that old cabinet and those ancient plates of your grandma’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘It took up so much space! You get Bren in this room as well as all of us and you’re fighting for room like cats in a litter tray.’
‘But, Mum?—’
‘And that sofa thing I bought years ago was practically threadbare.’
‘You re-covered it.’
‘And what a waste of time that was. Now, tell me, do I need to get a fancy Waitrose trifle this year or will a Bird’s one do? I was thinking we could mix it up a bit and get raspberry.’
‘Mum,’ Orla said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dana said, hands in her new hairdo. ‘What’s wrong with raspberry? Or is that the latest mid-life crisis trigger word or something?’
She had no other choice but to get straight to the point. She knew her mum liked to do a word dance around difficult topics but now she’d seen with her own eyes that there were issues here, there wasn’t time to skirt around them.
‘Mum, Erin says Dad has a drink problem. And, I don’t care what you say, you loved that dresser and the chaise longue. So, I’m asking again, what’s going on?’
Dana opened her mouth to reply and Orla waited for the torrent of words about anything other than the big question she’d asked. Except that didn’t happen. Instead her mum sat very still, her mouth open, but nothing coming out. This was bad.