Chapter 20
ALICE
By the time I pull up outside Spence’s house, it’s almost five.
I glance up. Georgia’s bedroom curtains are drawn, and the flicker of light from the TV screen is edging the window.
I knock but there is no reply. I knock again; this time Spence opens the door.
His tie already discarded, sleeves rolled up, like he’s ready for a fight.
‘Hey,’ I say, lifting a plastic bag and letting it swing. ‘Delivery!’ I add overly brightly. He smiles but his usual spark is dimmed.
‘Hi.’ He turns his back. ‘I’m just through here!’ He points to the kitchen over dramatically.
‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ I continue, closing the door behind me and following him through to the kitchen with a frown.
On the table are the remains of breakfast, and next to the cereal box and toast-crumbed plates is a bottle of wine, already almost finished.
He picks up the dirty dishes and loads them into the dishwasher.
‘You OK?’
He turns the dial and leans against the dishwasher, dragging his hands through his hair. I put the bag down on the counter, my earlier excitement, the census, the initials on the mural, all of it falls away.
‘You brought more wine, right?’ he asks, reaching into a cupboard and getting out a glass.
‘That bad?’ I nod to the bottle. ‘Here, let me…’ I go to take the glass from his hand but we both lose our grip and it smashes against the floor.
‘Fuck!’ he says, crouching down.
‘I can do it.’
‘No, I…’
‘Spence,’ I say firmly. ‘I can do it. You just—’ I nod towards the table ‘—sit down.’ His eyes meet mine for a second, before he nods and stands.
I clear up the broken glass with a dustpan and brush and tip it into the bin. Spence leans back in his chair, topping up his glass and taking a long sip as I join him. I take out a bowl and tip a couple of packets of crisps in, sliding it onto the table.
I reach across, taking his hand in mine. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Bad day, that’s all.’ He sits still for a moment, eyes on our hands. His thumb strokes mine briefly before he pulls it away, reaching for the glass again.
‘Eat,’ I instruct. He meets my eyes, then reluctantly takes a few crisps, jaw working as though he can take his anger out on a few handfuls of Walkers cheese and onion. His eyes are somewhere off in the distance. ‘Why did the school call? Is she OK?’
He swallows, tips his glass forwards then circles the liquid.
‘Yeah. No. Christ… I don’t know, Al.’ He glances over to the kitchen door, gets up and closes it.
‘She got into it with one of the girls at school.’ He takes in my concerned expression.
‘Nothing that bad,’ he rushes on. ‘From what I can gather, she just stuck up for herself.’
‘Well, that’s a good thing, right?’
‘Yeah, but apparently, she was very emotional after. Hence the phone call and early pick up.’
He rubs the crease between his eyebrows, the same gesture that he’s always done when he’s trying to keep it together. We sit quietly, only the whir of the dishwasher breaking the silence.
‘So,’ he changes the subject, pouring some wine into my glass. ‘Found your old man yet?’
I tilt my head, assessing him. A look passes between us, a look that says he doesn’t want to talk about his own problems for a while.
‘No, not yet. I’ve posted on a few nostalgia websites to see if I can track him down, but nothing yet. But I think I’ve found his surname.’
He crooks a questioning eyebrow.
‘Jones.’
Spence snorts.
‘I know,’ I say with a groan, but a smile pulls at my mouth. ‘He’s not making it easy.’
He swills his glass again, eyes on the blood red liquid. ‘So you’re still determined to find him then? Your dream man?’
I don’t miss the sarcasm there. Spence is quiet, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He looks up to the ceiling as Georgia’s feet stride across the landing and into the bathroom.
‘Do you want me to go and talk to her?’ I ask. He leans back and lets out a long breath. ‘No, not yet. She needs some space.’
The room feels too warm. The rain is heavy outside, streaming down the windows. I pull off my jacket, my T-shirt still damp. Spence’s eyes glance fleetingly at my action. I cross my arms and lean an elbow on the table, reaching for a crisp.
We’re quiet again, his knuckles white around the stem of his glass.
‘Talk to me. What else is going on, and don’t say nothing, I know you too well.’
The rain hammers against the windows. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to say, but it’s definitely not—
‘Heather.’ The word falls from his mouth but it’s like he’s just taken a pin out of a grenade.
‘Heather?’
‘We’ve… been in touch. She wants to see Georgia.’
Old anger floods through my system at the girl who left my best friend, seventeen and alone, taking care of a newborn while she pissed off to the other side of the world.
‘Why? Why after all this time? I mean, it’s kind of out of the blue…’
Spence’s jaw ticks.
‘Oh.’ I lean back, reaching for my own glass. ‘It’s not out of the blue?’
He shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘How long have you been in touch with her again?’
He takes off his glasses, index finger rubbing the line between his eyebrows.
‘A year.’
‘A year?’ I say, my voice rising. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Because you had your own life. And then…’
‘It imploded?’
My mind flashes back over the last year, the messages I hadn’t got round to replying to when I was close to a deadline, the night he came to stay.
How, rather than the quiet night in to catch up that Spence had asked for, I’d taken him to a red-carpet event, determined to show him the glamorous life I was leading.
I knew he never got on with Ryan, but I’d tried so hard to show Spence how…
My shoulders sink. I should have paid more attention.
‘Last summer, when you came to London?’
He presses his tongue to his cheek; gives me a short nod.
‘Oh God. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Wasn’t the right time.’
‘Have you seen her?’
His eyes lift slowly.
My stomach sinks. ‘Please tell me she’s not… She’s not the woman you’ve been seeing?’
The look he gives me has my skin breaking out in a rush of heat.
‘It’s comp—’
‘Oh no. This is way past complicated. So are you, like… together?’
‘No.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Really, because when you went out the other night, I got the distinct impression that you were preparing for a date, not – Jesus! – Heather.’
‘We’ve been taking things slowly.’ He takes in my expression. ‘Very slowly. We’re just, not friends exactly, but not anything more.’
I let out a snort. Eyes not meeting his. ‘You missed off the yet.’
‘I don’t know if there will be a yet. But… she’s her mum, Al.’
‘Is she? Because I don’t remember her being here when her daughter had colic for months, or when she had an allergic reaction to—’
‘Don’t you think I know all of this? That’s why I’m only telling you now. I needed to make sure that she’s changed.’
‘And has she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does Georgia know?’
He nods.
Realisation hits. That’s why she’s been so emotional lately, why she’s been struggling.
‘She… she’s not taken it well. She’s angry right now. At me. At her…’
He drains his glass again, twists off the top of the bottle I bought, topping up his glass. I’ve not seen him like this for a long time. Spence isn’t a big drinker, he’s a few glasses with dinner kind of guy, maybe a few pints on a night out.
I fold my arms and lean back as I try to imagine the two of them together. Now. As adults. But then I think of my friend, a crying baby in his arms.
Spence’s voice is quiet as he continues. ‘What… if I let her in, let her get to know Georgia and she bolts again?’ He looks up at me, my anger dissipating as I see the look of fear in his eyes, and despite my anger and hurt, I want to console him.
‘When Ryan left, I was scared of…’
‘Not everything is about you, Al!’
I blink, sitting back sharply. He shakes his head, pushing the glass away. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s OK. You’re upset.’
‘I’m not upset. I’m fucking terrified.’ His voice shakes with the words.
Georgia’s feet stomp on the floor above, her door slamming against its frame.
I look at Spence, at his glassy eyes and the way he looks hollowed out.
‘I’ll go. You order us some food. I’ll ask her if she wants something to eat.’
I stand and rest a hand on his shoulder, warm and strong beneath my cold palm. He leans his head against my hand. Reaching down tentatively, my hand drops to his soft curls. An image flashes behind my eyes of the last time I had his hair in my hands.
I step back.
My phone buzzes with a notification, the screen flickering into action.
He looks down at the photo of Michael that I have as my wallpaper, tension fixed in his shoulders as he pulls away, nodding to the screen.
When he finally speaks his voice is calm again.
‘Hadn’t you better get that?’ he asks. ‘It might be from your dream man.’
I don’t look at my phone, instead, I leave the room and tentatively knock on Georgia’s door.
‘Yeah?’ She’s sitting propped up against her grey headboard, curls untamed around her shoulders.
The room is so different to the one where I had patted her back, her warm body arched against my chest as I sat in the second-hand rocking chair Spence had got from the charity shop not far from here.
That space holds a large wardrobe instead.
Her school blazer is hanging off the handle, tie and school shoes discarded on the floor.
This room held our first attempts at decorating, pale lilac walls, skirting boards where some of the gloss leaked above onto the paint.
Now, those lilac walls are a pristine white, the space where her cot sat now has a large flatscreen on the wall, an Xbox sitting beneath.
The teddy bear banner that ran around the middle of the room replaced by posters of bands I don’t recognise.
‘Hi, button, how you doing?’
She puts her phone face down on the duvet, and shifts, eyes focused back on the TV where someone is talking to the screen rapidly, contouring their face with a small sponge.
‘Fine,’ she says, eyes fixed on the screen. ‘Hungry. Did he send you to talk to me?’
I don’t miss the way she’s referring to Spence. As though he’s no longer the person who she followed around, giggling Daddy, Daddy, look at me! I clamp down the urge to defend the man who has tried so hard to be the best father, and mother, he could be.
Give her space.
I don’t bite.
‘We’re about to order some food…’
‘About time,’ she snaps, hand reaching for the controller, the Fortnite loading screen appearing in place of the make-up tutorial she was just watching.
She lifts her headset and slides it on. ‘Yeah,’ she speaks to someone inside her headset.
‘I’m just…’ She sighs loudly. ‘Because my Wi-Fi is shit.’
She glances at me again, almost daring me to correct her language. When she doesn’t see a flicker of a reaction, she pulls an ear free. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘No… I—’
She doesn’t respond, her body primed to show that she’s engrossed in her game even though I can feel the desperation for some kind of reaction from me.
I close the door, but not before I hear her saying, ‘Thank God for that. Nothing. Just my dad’s friend who only comes round when she wants something.’
Her words almost floor me. Is that really what she thinks? For a fleeting moment I wonder if this is something she’s overheard Spence saying. I push the thought away. She’s going through a tough time. It’s natural she’s starting to push the boundaries.
Spence has his back to me as I tread into the kitchen. He’s made a pot of coffee and is staring out of the window, the mug in his hand.
‘She’s playing Fortnite,’ I say. He turns, eyes a little more settled than they were. ‘Her language is a bit more colourful than I’m used to.’
He nods. ‘I know.’
Over the years we’d talked about the mistakes our parents had made with us; Spence’s mum had literally washed his mouth out with soap once. ‘Did it work?’ I’d asked.
‘No, of course it fucking didn’t. The way I see it, the bigger a deal they make of it, the more of a temptation it is.’
He sits back down at the table. ‘Food’s on its way. Domino’s OK?’
I smile, our takeaway of choice back in the day.
‘Perfect.’
My phone sits between us, the unread message just sitting there.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he says with a roll of his eyes, but it’s not taunting or sarcastic… it’s more defeated. ‘Just read it.’
My hands move quickly.
But it’s not a notification from one of the nostalgia groups. Instead, it’s a message.
‘It’s from Josie.’ I glance up briefly, then back at the screen. ‘She has free tickets to some TikTokers event… Perri Kilado? Never heard of her, you?’ There is a look of recognition from him.
‘Sounds familiar, actually…’
‘It’s tomorrow night, in London… open bar,’ I say then shake my head immediately. No. I’m done with that world.
‘I think she’s one of Georgia’s favourites,’ Spence replies, and I can already see his mind ticking away.
‘She’s on TikTok?’
He pulls a face that reads who isn’t?
‘Maybe this is what she needs…’ His jaw works, then he shakes his head. ‘We won’t have time to get there by the time I’ve finished work and…’
Even though the last place I want to be is at an event in my old life, I think of the girl upstairs, the hurt she must be going through.
‘You could take a sicky?’
‘I can’t. I’ve got classes all day. And—’
‘You can. And maybe…’ I look up at the ceiling. ‘Maybe you should?’
I can see him warring with his responsibilities.
‘It’ll be good for you both, just the two of you.’
‘Three of us,’ he interjects. ‘She might… open up to you.’
My stomach dips. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want London and being reminded of who I used to be. But they need me.
‘Should you invite Ruby, too?’ Georgia and Ruby have been friends since reception. ‘Maybe what she needs is a proper friend around her. Not just us?’
‘I don’t know… It’ll mean her taking an unauthorised day off…’
‘Always the teacher. Just ask Ruby’s mum, it’s up to her if she wants to risk it.’
‘OK. You’re coming too though, right?’
I take a breath and nod. ‘Yes. But you owe me.’
‘I know.’