ONE #3
My twin was talking about our father’s hasty decision to start dating after our mother’s dead body had only been in the ground for a matter of weeks.
Now, if that wasn’t a good enough reason to hate the ground he fucking walked on, what was?
Yes, it was years ago now, but I was a grudge-bearer, so sue me.
The fact that Jessa had accepted Vanessa so quickly felt like the ultimate betrayal.
And they did shit together, like going for lunch and shopping.
Stuff that my sister used to do with our mother.
I get that our mother died five years ago, but that shit still stung, and I couldn’t let it go.
That rotating thought that my father was cheating on my dying mother darkened my thoughts daily.
Especially close to the date, she passed away.
Tension in the house always doubled during that time.
For the last two years, my father had taken Vanessa away for a few nights so he didn’t have to face me.
I usually stayed at home and lost myself in a bottle of his most expensive Scotch.
Drawing my gaze towards the corkboard on the wall, I checked my class timetable for the following week. Our father demanded that we keep a copy there so he could be sure we were doing what we were supposed to.
I was only three weeks into my final year at high school in Y13, and I already wanted to drop out.
Maybe I should have bailed for college instead of the same place I’d been institutionalised in since I was three.
My father believed that private education was still better than what they offered elsewhere.
Cameron Rook thought that the fancy colleges in the area were no better than state schools.
That was another reason to remain at Northridge Academy: to save myself the headache.
He truly believed that once my time there was up, I’d join the family firm.
Yep, that wasn’t happening. I loved creating shit and had grown up on Minecraft and similar project-designing building games.
I knew I had talent, but if I went in that direction, I’d do it on my own.
At Northridge, I was studying Maths, Physics and Design Technology.
And it wasn’t so bad: my friends were still there, as was Jessa, and we didn’t have to wear the shit-brown uniform anymore.
The teachers also gave you loads more freedom, and so the place felt more like college than a high school.
My crew still ruled the campus, always had, always would until the day we left.
Speaking of my crew, I slid my phone out of my sweats to check for messages. There were none. Just Weston's last text about Tanner’s ‘dead’ comment.
ME: You guys good?
I had to collect Tanner from the police station twice in the last six months for antisocial behaviour in public. I sure hoped it wasn’t one of those nights. I’d sunk close to two bevvies, and never took my car out when I had been drinking. The dots appeared to show someone was typing.
WEST: Yeah, man, managed to get dickless into a cab, eventually.
TANNER: Still smells like pidd
TANNER: Puss
TANNER: Possible
TANNER: Piss! FUCK THIS PHONE!!!!
I rolled my eyes and pocketed my phone with a grin.
It was going to be messy in the morning.
Attempting to finish my beer, the bitterness matched my mood, so I tossed the rest of the can, killed the lights, and jogged towards the stairs.
The house was dead quiet; everyone else, apart from Jessa and me, had gone to bed at least an hour ago.
At the top of the stairs, I snapped the baby gate back in place. Maisy occasionally sleepwalked. As I got to the landing, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
“Kierwan?” Maisy’s voice drifted across the space, small and thick with sleep.
My heart rolled in my chest. That loving, affectionate way she mispronounced my name always improved my mood.
In all truth, everything about the girl lifted my spirits.
She was the only light left in a house drowning in shadows.
“What are you doing out of bed, Jellybean?” I kept my voice low, masking the tension that had been radiating from my body only moments before.
She was framed in her doorway in a pair of mismatched Tigger pyjamas, clutching Ronnie the bear like a shield.
Moving swiftly towards her, I crouched down and scooped her up, Maisy’s spindly arms locking around my neck.
Even just shy of four, she still had that delicate talcum powder scent.
Everything about her called to my protective side.
I kissed one soft, rosy cheek. “Well, baby girl?”
Maisy sniffed. “Couldn’t sweep.” She then shot a wary glance towards her wardrobe. “I think he’s back,” she whispered, peering up at me through that mop of brown, curly hair as I carried her towards her bed. The glow from her nightlight sent unicorns galloping around her walls in endless circles.
Casting a glance around her room, I checked for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing. My half-sister had an imaginary monster called Sprout who lived under her bed. She’d named him that as he was big, green, and smelly, so she said.
“Did you tell him that if he doesn’t let you sleep, the big bad wolf is going to eat him up?” The big bad wolf was, of course, yours truly.
Maisy nodded as I lowered her onto her bed and tucked the quilt around her, pinning her safely to the mattress. The surface was cluttered with stuffed animals.
“He doesn’t listen,” Maisy whispered behind one hand, just in case Sprout was eavesdropping. I perched on the edge of her bed.
“Well, he should know,” I said, raising my voice slightly and glancing around her room, my words clearly intended for Maisy’s monster. “The wolf is hungry tonight, and Sprout sounds like a tasty snack to me.” I applauded my bravery, bearing in mind I fucking hated sprouts.
Maisy giggled against her pillow. “You’re silly, Kierwan, but I wuv you, lots and lots,” she said.
My chest swelled with pride. “And I love you, Jellybean,” I returned, tapping her nose gently with my fingertip.
The girl was so adorable, and I had loved her since I’d first held her in my arms as a newborn. “Will you stay wiv me until I’m snoozy?” Maisy asked, rubbing her eyes with one small, pale fist.
“Of course, squirt. Budge up.” She shuffled over, taking the covers and Ronnie with her. I attempted to balance my six-foot-two body on the sliver of mattress that she had given me.
“Night, night, Kierwan.”
“Night, night, Jellybean.”
I remained in that position, like a giant in a land of unicorns, until her breathing steadied into a rhythm of sleep. And then, with a silent warning look for Sprout, wherever he may be, I left, keeping the door open a crack.
That brief moment of calm I’d experienced in her room died the second I hit the landing.
Maisy was the only thing that made sense to me. She was the living proof that the best things in life come in small packages.
I retreated to my room, feeling a chill in my bones even though the heating was on full blast: part of Vanessa’s tendency to feel the cold, bullshit.
My mother’s sweet face flooded my thoughts.
She had been so very different to the woman who was now a permanent fixture in our household.
As I said, it had been that way for years, but I still hadn’t got used to it.
How could I? Cameron Rook was a randy fucker who couldn’t keep it in his pants.
He had hooked up with Vanessa way too soon after his wife’s death.
Jessa and Lincoln believed the shit he peddled—that he hadn’t been sneaking out to see another woman whilst our mother was wasting into nothingness.
But I knew the truth; the guilt on his face when I’d brought it up told me everything I needed to know.
Isobelle Rook had been diagnosed with low-grade breast cancer when Jessa and I were in primary school.
Lincoln had been a senior at Northridge Academy, and the news hit him much harder.
Due to my sister and me being so young, we didn’t really get the severity of that diagnosis back then.
But Linc got it in spades: going off the rails didn’t even begin to describe how our older brother reacted when Mum got sick.
Isobelle gradually got worse over the following years, no matter how many treatments she went through.
The whole thing was a massive, drawn-out mess.
We had all been forced to watch our mother slowly decaying as the illness ate away at her physically and mentally, leaving devastation in its wake.
It got so bad that her doctor had to make house calls regularly, to the point where we were all on a first-name basis with him.
Dr Michael Astor had been her white fucking knight.
I’d always thought it strange that my father seemed to resent a man who was there to care for his wife.
But that’s dad, he could never cope with shit he wasn’t in control of. The man put the F in freak.