Nick
Nick
When he wakes in the morning, the little light on the side of his phone is flickering.
He has a new message.
He snatches it up immediately, jabbing at the buttons.
But it’s not from Beth.
He frowns as he reads it.
Hey Parker, how are you doing? I can’t believe it’s been a year. I hope you’re doing OK down there and that you’re enjoying your new course. Sometimes I think you made the right choice leaving this fucking city. Anyway, just wanted to check in, make sure you were alright. I still miss her every day. Rosa x
He sinks back down onto his bed, staring at the message. Blinking in confusion. Did he send his message last night to Rosa by mistake? No, he can’t have done.
He double checks, to make sure he’s not losing his mind completely. But he’s right. He sent the message to Beth, not Rosa. And Beth hasn’t replied.
Maybe she’s changed her phone number. The thought is a dead weight, crushing him.
He reads Rosa’s message again, taps out a response, wanting to deal with it swiftly and move on.
I’m OK thanks. The course is good, and I’m living at home so saving money too. Can’t believe it’s been a year. Hope you have good people around you. N x
Rosa has no idea that he and Anna broke up a few hours before the fire. That he left her crying in her room while he took Beth for a walk, held her hand and kissed her.
Rosa knows nothing about this at all. Beth and Nick never explained that they were out together when the fire started. She never asked.
Rosa escaped the fire completely, only joining them later when they were all in the union, disorientated and exhausted. She had been out that evening, with the boy she was seeing.
Nick knows Anna wouldn’t have wanted to ruin Rosa’s date by calling to tell her that he had dumped her. That’s the only reason Rosa doesn’t hate him now.
But it doesn’t really matter that she doesn’t hate him, because he hates himself enough for the both of them.
He looks again at his unanswered message to Beth. If a number is no longer in service and you try to contact it, does it tell you? He’s not sure.
A devastating thought occurs. One that, for some reason, he hadn’t considered up until now.
She might never speak to him again.
*
He inches his way downstairs in search of breakfast and his mother, Jayne.
There’s barely a ten-centimetre gap in the centre of the worn carpet on each tread. Every step is full, requisitioned as another ineffective storage place for ephemera, knick-knacks, junk.
She has been like this for as long as he can remember.
When he was a child, he thought she was just messy. It was only in his teenage years that he realised it was more than that. And it was only when his grandad explained to him that she had a problem – an actual medical condition – that he realised she couldn’t help it.
Hoarding.
Pretty much incurable, according to all the research he’d done. And he’d tried everything. It was literally like trying to hold back the tide.
When he was a teenager, the bathroom was the last room to go under. He was thirteen when the incessant creep started again. Old enough to recognise that it was a problem.
First it was a collection of giant animal-shaped soaps that she’d found in a charity shop.
‘I thought you’d like them,’ she said, and he felt torn in two – the thirteen-year-old child in him was flattered she had thought of him, but the burgeoning adult knew that a gift like that from her wasn’t truly a gift. It was a signal.
And soon, of course, the soaps bred like Easter bunnies, and the ‘collection’ grew to include shower gel and shampoo bottles – most of which were, inexplicably empty, but which for some reason or another she decided she liked the design of.
After that, the dam was broken and the flood of random, useless objects filled the bathroom too.
It was while he went away for a week with school that the bath filled up. Not with water, but with junk. After that, he had to have showers at school.
The bathroom. It was the final straw – the thing that made him realise that this wasn’t normal. That his mother – his wonderful, kind, loving, funny mother – was not normal.
Since he moved back here, he’s been able to keep things in relative order. He keeps a careful eye on the kitchen, and the bathroom is now clear.
It makes him happy, knowing that he can look after her. Knowing that, even if the worst were to happen and there was a fire, he would be here to make sure she was safe. To make sure she got out.
It had been stupid to ever think he could leave her.
She’s in the kitchen, buttering some toast and humming tunelessly.
‘Hey Nicky,’ she says, smiling at him. She still talks to him as though he were a child, even though they are actually both failing as adults. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Fine, Mum,’ he says, kissing her on the cheek. He sets the kettle to boil and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl. While Jayne eats her toast, standing and looking out across the overgrown garden, he starts to clear away the things that have accumulated since he retired to his bedroom last night: a pair of rusted batteries, a pen missing its lid, and a leaflet about a new takeaway.
He puts them all in the bin liner that hangs permanently from the kitchen door handle. Then he takes some spray cleaner and wipes down the minuscule section of clear worktop.
When his mum turns back to the room, empty plate in hand, she frowns, her mind ticking over what has changed. But she doesn’t say anything.
‘I thought I might go out today,’ she says. ‘The weather looks dry.’
The alarm sounds in his brain.
‘Where?’ he asks, trying not to sound too interested.
‘Oh, you know. Thought I’d see if Charlene was about.’
Nick nods. Jayne won’t meet his eyes. She’s a shifty, terrible liar. Her benefit payment came last week, so she’ll spend the next few days scouring the local charity shops for precious ‘things’ she can’t resist.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’ he asks and she shakes her head.
‘Oh no, love, you have your university work to do.’
She pats him on the arm, leaving a plate full of crumbs on the small windowsill, and disappears into the living room.
He washes up her plate, putting it back into the cupboard, within which he inexplicably finds a family of toy trolls, and then he takes his mug of tea to his bedroom, switching on his computer.
He’s on an accelerated course, meaning he should still graduate next year. All he can think about is getting a job. Starting a new life.
Saving up enough to get himself out of this house. Because surely then everything will get better.
But he can’t focus. His eyes keep flicking towards his phone.
His thoughts are elsewhere. Not wandering like they usually are when he can’t concentrate, but endlessly circling one idea. Fixed in one place.
Fixed on the thought that Beth isn’t OK, and that’s why she hasn’t replied.
Had she not been able to cope after he left? Has she been in an accident? Or has she just changed numbers?
Or does she just not want to speak to him ever again?