Sweet Damage (26 page)

‘I couldn't think of anything more awesome,' I say, pulling her close. And for the first time, I wonder if I might be starting to love her.

66

T
HE NEXT DAY, WHEN
T
IM HAS GONE TO WORK, SHE GOES UP TO THE ATTIC
again. For a while she considers not going up at all, as a way of making some kind of point to Lilla, proving that she has other ways of keeping herself occupied. But then she feels ashamed of herself for caring what Lilla thinks. She refuses to alter things for her, to bow beneath the pressure of Lilla's scorn
.

She doesn't sit in the armchair as usual but spends the time cleaning. She carefully dusts the photo frames, picking each one up, tenderly polishing the glass over Ben's face until it is smudge-free. She dusts the chest of drawers, the windowsills and cot-sides. She remakes Ben's cot with fresh sheets. She cleans until the room is perfect and fresh. Fit for a prince.

As if it matters. As if anybody cares.

When the room is immaculate she goes downstairs, locking the attic door behind her. She turns around and is startled to find Lilla watching her from the other end of the hall.

‘Anna, hey,' Lilla says as she approaches. ‘Up there again? What on earth do you do up there?'

Anna considers lying for a moment, making something up, but nothing feasible comes to mind, and she can feel her face turning red even at the thought of it. Lilla's so whip-smart she'd know the second Anna lied.

‘Nothing much,' she says abruptly, hoping Lilla will drop it. ‘Just sitting.'

‘Sitting?' Lilla's eyes go wide. ‘Wow. You really do have a life of leisure.'

Anna tries to change the subject. ‘I'm just going downstairs to get something to eat. Do you want something?'

‘Not really. I just ate.' Lilla stares behind Anna, towards the attic door. ‘Can I go up? Have a look? You must have the most fantastic view up there.'

‘I'd rather not.'

‘Oh come on, Anna,' Lilla pleads. ‘Don't be so secretive. The longer you keep me out of there the more curious I'll get. You must know that.' She stamps her foot, then smiles as if trying to disguise her impatience. ‘You must know I can't stand being left out of things.'

Anna sighs. Lilla is unbelievably persistent. Annoyingly so. But then maybe telling Lilla about Benjamin would be a good thing. Knowing the truth might help Lilla understand Anna a little more. It's not that Anna wants sympathy, and she definitely doesn't want Lilla's pity, but she hates being thought of as lazy or ridiculous. She doubts that Lilla will ever be able to understand her grief, but maybe she'll respect it, acknowledge it as something other than weakness.

And so, standing there in the hall, in a quiet voice, she tells Lilla about Benjamin. His birth, his short life.

Lilla stares, her hand moving up to cover her mouth as Anna speaks.

‘He died when he was eight weeks old,' Anna finishes.

‘I can't believe it. I can't believe you actually had a baby.' She looks Anna up and down, as if there should be some evidence of motherhood on her clothes, her person.

‘I keep his things up there,' Anna explains. ‘That's all. I go up there to think about him.'

‘Will you show me?'

Anna nods.

Lilla takes the lead. She holds Anna's arm, walks her to the attic door. ‘Here,' she says, holding out her hand. ‘Give me the key.' She unlocks the door and steps inside. She closes the door behind them and together they climb the stairs.

Lilla doesn't say anything when she first sees the cot. She glances at Anna, then walks slowly towards it, puts her hands on the side rails, stares down at the bed linen.

‘This is Benjamin's?'

‘Yes.'

Lilla turns away from the cot and lifts one of the framed pictures of Benjamin. She looks surprised by the image of his face, shocked even, as if she didn't really believe Anna until then. She even blinks several times as if she might actually cry and Anna feels a small rush of warmth for her. Lilla shudders and puts the photo down. She wraps her arms around herself as if she's cold. ‘He was quite cute. You must miss him a lot.'

‘Of course. Yes. Horribly.'

‘What happened? I mean, how did he . . .'

‘Die? It was an accident,' Anna says. ‘He drowned.'

‘Oh my God. Anna, that's so . . . My God. But how?'

‘It doesn't matter.'

‘You must feel so terrible. You must want to . . .'

‘Kill myself?' Anna says. ‘Yes. Sometimes I do.'

‘I wasn't going to say that, but, well, yes, I guess you must feel a bit . . .' Lilla shrugs, tilts her head to the side sympathetically.

‘You poor, poor thing. So. You come up here and, well, do what exactly?'

‘I just sit here,' she says. ‘That's all. I come up here and sit in that chair.'

‘But you come up here for hours at a time.' Lilla looks baffled.

Anna shrugs. ‘It helps.'

‘It helps? How?'

‘I don't know. It just does.'

She's not going to go into detail. She doesn't owe Lilla an explanation. And she can tell now that bringing Lilla up here with the hope of garnering any genuine empathy was futile. Lilla would never understand the comfort she gets from being around Ben's things, the transitory moments of pure happiness she gets when she successfully manages to forget that he's gone. A second or two of that feeling is enough reward. Worth sitting there for hours and hours and hours.

‘I can't really imagine it. The way you must feel, I mean. I don't understand why you'd want to sit up here. With all this stuff. I don't actually understand how that could help.'

‘I don't understand it either. I only know it soothes me.'

‘I guess,' Lilla shrugs. ‘If you say so.'

‘What?' Anna laughs. ‘You don't believe me?'

‘Oh, I believe you. I just don't think it's healthy. I mean, personally I think it's a bit, well, maybe a bit morbid or something? But then I wouldn't really know because I . . .' She stops, smiles, puts her hand on Anna's arm. ‘But I have no right to say anything, really. I'm not you, am I? I'm not depressed. Suicidal. And really the whole thing is beyond my comprehension. I've never even wanted children. I don't even particularly like them. So I really can't imagine what you're going through.'

‘Of course you can't,' Anna says. ‘Nobody can.'

67

O
N
S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON
P
ATRICK TURNS UP AT THE HOUSE
.

There were no bookings at the restaurant and Dad was anticipating a dead night, so he gave me the night off. It's been a wet day, and Anna and I have spent most of it in the living room watching movies, eating popcorn, fooling around. Lilla emerged sometime mid-morning, nursing a massive hangover. She took some painkillers, made coffee, and took it straight back upstairs.

We're in the middle of our third movie when there's a sharp knock on the door. Anna and I look at each other like a pair of guilty kids.

‘Shit.' Anna giggles, sits up, straightens her clothes. ‘Who's that?'

‘Dunno. My psychic powers don't work on weekends.'

There's another loud rap on the door. Anna raises her eyebrows.

‘Go and answer it.' She elbows me.

I sigh melodramatically and stand up, tossing the blanket over Anna's head as I leave the room.

I open the door and find Patrick standing there. He's scowling and angry-looking, his arms folded over his chest.

‘Where's Lilla?' he demands, and I can smell booze on his breath. He sways.

‘What do you want, Patrick?' I say. ‘Did Lilla invite you here?'

‘Invite me?' He laughs. ‘I need an invitation to see my own girlfriend? Since when?'

Anna comes to the door, stands behind me. I urge her away with my hand.

‘Listen, mate,' I say. ‘You're drunk and that's probably not the best way to try and see Lilla. You're only going to piss her off. Why don't you come back some other day, when you're sober, and give her a call first?'

For all I know I'm talking out of my arse. Lilla could be sitting upstairs waiting for him, she might have called him, asked him over, but somehow I don't think so. Patrick has the defensive air of a bloke who knows he's not wanted. He looks down for a moment, staring at his feet, and I can see that this could go either way. He could be cooperative and leave, or try something stupid. When he looks up, his face red and his lips curled in a snarl, I know he's taking the second option.

‘Listen, you dumb prick,' he spits. ‘Don't fucking tell me what to do, and don't bother giving me your bullshit advice. Just go and tell Lilla I'm here.'

He steps closer, pushing his face aggressively towards mine. My heart rate picks up; my fingertips tingle with adrenaline. And even though he's more than twice my size, puffed up with all that muscle, I would have loved to fight Patrick a few weeks ago, back when I thought he was the major cause of all my troubles. I would have hurt him, too. Desperation can make you stupidly fearless. I used to imagine the satisfaction I'd get from hitting him: my clenched fist smacking into his ugly face. But right now, I'd have no chance. I just want to go back inside and watch TV. I don't care. I don't hate Patrick anymore – if anything, I feel a bit sorry for him. And my lack of passion would definitely be a disadvantage in a fight.

‘Patrick. Stop with the insults, okay?' I sound more confident than I feel. ‘And step back a bit. You're starting to come across as aggressive. Lilla wouldn't like it. You know that.'

I'm bluffing a bit, but it seems to work. He steps back, puts his hands up in an appeasing gesture.

‘Just go and get her for me. I need to speak to her. Just tell her I'm here.' He looks at me then. His eyes are bloodshot, desperate, and I feel even sorrier for him. I can see how unappealing this kind of desperation is, and I know that Lilla won't respond to it, or respect him. He's only wasting his time, making things worse for himself.

‘Wait,' I say. ‘I'll go and tell her you're here.'

I leave Patrick on the porch and close the door. I lock it, not caring that he'll hear the deadlock click through. Anna's standing in the living-room doorway and I explain to her quietly what's going on, then I go upstairs to Lilla's room.

She doesn't exactly look thrilled to hear that Patrick has come to visit.

‘Fuck,' she says, rolling her eyes. ‘You didn't tell him I was home, did you?'

‘I didn't tell him you weren't, and he's not going to believe me if I say you're not here now.'

‘Goddamn it to hell and back,' she says, and gets out of bed, clomps noisily over to the full-length mirror. She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. ‘I look like total shit.' She's wearing a big, loose T-shirt and her hair is messy. She starts trying to fix it with a brush and clips.

‘Lilla, why the hell do you care what you look like? I thought you didn't even like the guy anymore.'

‘It's a matter of pride,' she says, and she takes her loose top off, puts a tiny black T-shirt on.

I watch her rummage through her clothes. I'm curious, puzzled. ‘What's the point? What do you care what he thinks? Don't you want to get rid of him?'

‘What?' She turns to me, exasperated. ‘What are you on about?'

‘If you go down there looking hot you're only going to make things worse.'

‘God, Tim, just shut up would you? This has nothing to do with you.'

‘You're right,' I say. ‘I will shut up. Mainly because I don't actually care.'

Lilla stops what she's doing and comes closer until she's standing directly in front of me. She puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘Don't say that,' she says, pouting. ‘You do care. I know you do.'

*

I don't hurry down after her, and I fully intend to return to the living room and Anna, but when I get back downstairs the front door is open and I see Patrick standing drunkenly over Lilla, his hand gripping her arm.

I watch, make sure Lilla's okay.

‘That's enough,' Lilla says, pulling away from him. ‘You should go now. We'll talk some other time, when you're sober.'

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?' he says. ‘Too good for me now, huh, now that you live in Fairlight? Too good to talk to your own boyfriend?'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Patrick. And you're not my boyfriend. We broke up, remember? I know you're thick, but I'm sure you can work out what that means all by yourself.'

Lilla flinches as he pulls her roughly towards him, his grip on her arm tightening.

‘Hey,' I say, stepping towards them.

‘Getting too big for your boots, eh, Lils? Think you're something special now, do ya, living here? Big house given you a big head or something, eh? Well, I wouldn't get too smart. Do your new flatmates know you haven't even got a job anymore? Do they know you got fired? Bet you haven't told them that little detail.'

‘Oh piss off, Patrick. Just go away.' Her words are brave but I can hear the embarrassment in her voice, the trace of alarm.

‘Mate. Come on, let her go.' I put my hand on his shoulder, try to make my voice sound reasonable, non-confrontational. ‘Don't do anything you'll regret.'

He ignores me. He holds tight to Lilla's arm and drags her down the porch steps and onto the front lawn.

‘Fuck, Patrick,' she cries out. ‘What the hell—'

‘I just want to talk to you,' he says, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘I just want to talk and you're being a stuck-up bitch.'