Authors: Helen FitzGerald
If this was a film, Will thought, it would be a legal drama. He would be the logical, no-nonsense
solicitor
. He would gather evidence methodically and list his findings succinctly. Like most films, it would also be fiction, of course. He wasn’t doing this for real. He was just drunk. Oh, and stoned. ‘Photographs!’ he said out loud. I’ll start with those.
The dope was stale, but it had added a little
something
to the two bottles of wine he had now finished. He walked as a lawyer might towards the glass-fronted cabinet in the living room and ran his finger along the album spines as a lawyer might search for the
correct
legal journal in a law library. ‘Ah, that’s the one! Georgie … Aged One to Five. Kay, Aged One to Five.’
He returned to his desk, moved the table on his notebook to one side and opened the first page of Georgie’s first photo album.
She didn’t smile much. As a newborn, she screamed non-stop. Of the ten photos of her aged nought to one, she smiled in only one photograph. Will didn’t
remember
the moment – she was around twelve months old, sitting on the green sofa in the back room, pointing at something and grinning. What had made her smile? The outside world? The television? Her mother?
Things looked even worse from two to five. Not
crying
, but serious to the point of angry. A downturned mouth, yes, a scowl, in every shot (even the one on the beach in Largs!), and watery eyes, as if she’d just stopped crying or was just about to start.
Hmm, what an unhappy kid. Was she born like this? Are some children born miserable?
He needed another bottle of wine before he could write the words. In the slim kitchen unit beside the cooker, there was one bottle left. He’d been drinking red, and this was white, but what the heck. He opened it, filled his large red-wine glass and returned to his desk with a weak-looking ‘rosé’.
He also needed the kind of pen a solicitor in a legal drama might use. Not a bog standard biro, or the one with a fluffy green feather thing on top that Kay had given him aged seven, but a serious pen. There it was, the Kingsley Cosmopolitan Teal Green-Chrome Ballpen which Georgie had given him last Christmas (to ‘Write an Oscar winning thriller!’). She hadn’t noticed that he never wrote longhand. Who did
nowadays
? He’d never taken the pen out of its black case.
‘My first note in the case against Georgie Marion,’ Will garbled, ‘is …’
In the GEORGIE/CONS column he wrote
Born unhappy and stayed that way.
He should have written a pro first, he realised, guilt making its way through his drunken lawyerlyness. He quickly added
Cute
under her PROS.
‘Now, let’s look at exhibit two, Kay Marion, aged zero.’ There she was, page one of her first photo album, smiling in the hospital just moments after she exited that woman’s body. People say newborn babies don’t smile, but look at that. No two ways about it.
Page three: laughing aged two as Rudolph the
hamster
crawls up her arm. Four: Giggling aged three on the swing in Rouken Glen Park.
Five: Grinning aged five at the dance rehearsal.
Will refilled his glass and added under KAY/PROS:
Born loving life and stayed that way.
He knew he should write some cons and he did think very hard about this – as a lawyer would – but from the evidence on offer, there was nothing negative to say about Kay aged nought to five.
*
It was around three in the morning when he moved onto the next section. Had he ever been so off his head? Perhaps with Si in his late teens, when he rode his bicycle into an obnoxious man outside the pub and pedalled home to vomit into the laundry basket. What was he doing? Ah yes. New evidence was necessary for the five to ten section. It took him an hour of singing to Blondie’s ‘Denis Denis’ to work out what.
School reports, in the filing cabinet, under S.
Georgie’s comments were similar throughout her early school years:
Disruptive. Distracted. Poor attention span. Seems uninterested. Enjoys more creative work. Should work harder. Trouble socialising with other girls.
Kay’s were also consistent:
Excellent work. Progressing well. Works hard. Always interested and motivated. Gets on well with classmates
.
It was becoming difficult to write legibly, but Will reminded himself that court cases are difficult and
perseverance
is the key to success:
GEORGIE/CON:
Finds it difficult to conform
KAY/PRO:
Wants to fit in and does
GEORGIE/PRO:
Creative
He had written
Creative
last, once more a reaction to the guilt which was now niggling at him a little less than before. Why did Georgie find it so hard to fit in? School was always awful, uniforms were always stupid, organised activities were always a waste of her time, her friends were always talking about her behind her back and dumb bitches anyways.
Oh God, he was so pissed.
‘Exhibits E and F for the girls aged ten to sixteen?’ He knew what he needed straight away. He ran up the stairs, tripping twice along the way, and went into Georgie’s room. He had to rummage through the
two-foot
pile of paperwork and make-up on her desk (not there), under her bed which was crammed with dirty clothes and presents he’d given her and she’d never used (not there), through her bookshelves which were lined with depressing literary fiction and books about the film industry (not there) and through her underwear drawer which housed inappropriately skimpy, lacy pants and bras and – oh God – is that what I think it is? Does she have one of those already? I thought it was only housewives who had those … Aha! There it is!
… Her diary.
Kay’s journal was sitting neatly on her desk. Will grabbed it and returned to his office with both books.
He knew he shouldn’t. He never had. But this was life or death. Oh no it wasn’t. This was nonsense. Drink some water. You can’t even stand up.
Will staggered to the bathroom and put his mouth under the tap. He glugged at the water for several
minutes
. He splashed his face. He looked in the mirror. ‘This is life or death. They could both die. Or one of them might die.’ His drunkenness had now reached the crying point. They could both die. Or one of them could die. What would he do without them? Who would he be without them?
Who would I be?
Will fell to the floor and sobbed into the cold tiles. What would I do? Oh God, what would I do?
What was he thinking? Why wasn’t he exhausting the other options before even thinking about drawing that stupid table in that stupid office? He lifted himself from the bathroom floor, wobbled back to the office – the water had sobered him only marginally – and fell into his chair.
Oh look, Kay’s diary was on the desk. And it was open.
11 years old
Dear Monty,
When I grow up I’m going to get rich and give dad the money to make a movie. He’d make a great movie. Maybe a musical! Maybe I could be in it. I’m going to practise my acting and singing so I’m as good at it as Georgie. I’m going to save 10p out of my pocket money every week. I’ll put it in a special ‘movie’ tin.
12 years old
Dear Monty,
Today I went to Loudoun Castle with Dad and Georgie. It was SO fun! I went on thirteen rides including the Black Pearl. Graham from second year was there and said hi to me. He is very good on the trombone. I wish Georgie had brought her jacket like I did. Then she might have been warm enough to enjoy it.
13 years old
Dear Monty,
I suppose it’s normal for a teenager to be tired all the time. I don’t like being a teenager. I want my energy back.
Graham from orchestra asked me out today. I said no. I like him but I’m too young for a boyfriend. Anyway, he’s a mate and I don’t want to ruin that.
I am so lucky! My Dad is the best Dad in the world. And my sister! Last night she slept on the floor in my room and held my hand all night because I felt nervous about exams. All night! Sometimes I have to pinch myself. I have the perfect family.
14 years old
Dear Monty,
I feel a bit drained today. Dad says I’m just doing too much as usual. I wonder if I should quit dancing. Or netball. Or flute. Or athletics. I don’t want to quit anything.
I thought about her today. I tried my usual trick of stamping her out like a cigarette but it didn’t work. I wish I could ask her about what to do.
All the other girls have done at least that and I feel left out. But I still don’t want to go out with Graham. It doesn’t make any sense to go out with him now.
Georgie says if I don’t want to go out with Graham then I shouldn’t. But she doesn’t understand why I don’t want to. She’s so much cooler than me!
I wish I could be more like her.
I’m just going to go and talk to Georgie.
15 years old
Dear Monty,
School is more fun than it used to be. The girls are much friendlier to me. I feel okay about being (reasonably!) clever. I think I’ll be a physiotherapist when I grow up. I like working with people. And I’m good at biology.
I’ve stopped thinking about her. It’s all too tiring. Graham has given up on me. I think he likes Sarah. Makes me feel really sad when I think of them getting together. Maybe I should’ve just gone for it. Y’know, I think I might be in love with him. Bethanay and Archie’s mum from round the corner fancies dad. It’s so obvious. She’s a bit mad in the
eye (screams at her kids like all the time), but I kind of wish he’d just go for it. He needs someone.
16 years old
Dear Monty,
I’m feeling pretty bad at the moment to be honest but a girl from the other unit got the call yesterday. She waited five years and now she’s got it. So it can’t be so bad can it? It’ll all be okay, won’t it?
Let it all be okay.
Will smiled as he wrote. She was a darling, this girl. An uncomplicated, kind darling. And what about Georgie? What a lovely sister she’d been. Had he not noticed this? She was always looking out for Kay,
always
there for her – she held her hand all night! Oh!
GEORGIE/PRO:
A wonderful sister
KAY/PRO:
Uncomplicated, kind darling
KAY/PRO:
Has loads of interests – dancing, netball, flute etc.
KAY/PRO:
Loves a boy called Graham (first I knew of it!)
KAY/PRO:
Ambitious and hopeful – wants to be a physiotherapist
KAY/PRO:
Loves me
Kay loves me, Will thought. And Georgie is a
wonderful
, kind, sister. He was a lucky man to know them both.
He touched Georgie’s diary. He had no idea what he might find inside. It made him a little scared. His hand was shaking. The diary opened somewhere in the middle, the first of several pages which had separate sheets stapled to it. He unfolded the first stapled sheet of paper and read:
Aged 12
Dear Mum,
I love you. I hope what I’m doing won’t hurt you because it’s not your fault that I can’t take it any more. Life is something I’m not interested in. Apparently this will not hurt me. I’ll just fall asleep. When I do, I’ll be thinking of you.
G
Will gasped and flicked forward – there was another piece of paper stapled to a page two-thirds of the way though the diary.
Aged 13
Dear Dad and Kay,
Goodbye. Please don’t blame yourselves. It’s me. I’m
just not into being around.
G
And another, near the end …
Aged 15
Dad,
I’m going to kill myself. You’d be surprised how easy it is to get a gun. Sometimes you’ve gone on and on at me so much I swear I could use one on you. I want this to hurt you. You deserve it.
G
Will banged the diary shut. Before he could change his mind, he had written the following:
GEORGIE/CON:
Mean selfish horrible
GEORGIE/CON:
Has no hope, no ambition, no kindness
GEORGIE/CON:
Loves no one bar a woman who does not exist
GEORGIE/CON:
Hates me
GEORGIE/CON:
Hates everything
GEORGIE/CON:
Has she bought a fucking gun? Jesus
GEORGIE/CON:
Wants to die
GEORGIE/CON:
Thought about killing me!
He had never been so angry. Or so pissed. He threw his pen at the window. He bashed his fist at the desk. He growled, stood, punched the door of his office once, then again, again, until there was a hole in the door like the one he had punctured in the kitchen. And blood all over his hand.
‘I see you’ve calmed down,’ Georgie yelled from the hall.
*
God, God, God. Will raced to his desk, grabbed his notebook, tore the table from his book, ripped it in half, scrunched it into a tight ball, and shoved it in the top drawer of his desk. ‘Georgie?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry! Georgie! Where are you, baby? I’m SO sorry! Where are you?’ He walked out into the hall, looked in the kitchen, walked up the stairs and into her bedroom. She was sitting on the bed.
‘Please forgive me!’ Will said. ‘I shouldn’t have slapped you.’
‘Assaulted me. I could call the police, you know. I could call ChildLine.’
‘I shouldn’t have assaulted you. Are you okay? Where have you been?’
‘Around.’
‘You’re drunk,’ Will said.
‘So are you,’ she replied. ‘You should fix up that hand. Come …’ She walked her father to the bathroom and retrieved Savlon spray and plasters from the medicine cabinet.
They were silent for a moment, Will sitting on the edge of the bath, Georgie standing over him, washing, disinfecting, bandaging.
‘I’m going to make everything all right,’ Will said, the cut now tended to. ‘I’m going to sort this out, my lovely girl.’
‘Oh yeah?’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bath next to him.
‘Yeah.’ Will touched Georgie on the cheek, not knowing if she would jerk to remove him the way she usually did, fobbing him off with a
Fuck off, Dad.
She didn’t. She moved her face into his touch and smiled sadly at him. He smiled back, but neither lasted long. Within a second, both were crying.
‘Please don’t let me die!’ she embraced him, sobbing. ‘Dad! Daddy! Please don’t let us die.’