I clench my fists, ready to punch her in the gob if she doesn’t shut up. ‘You weren’t there!’ I shout at her. ‘You weren’t listening to her phone call. I know what I fucking heard, OK?’

  There’s a quick knock at the door before Mum barges in. She’s carrying three cans of Coke and a multipack of those gross vegetable crisps she keeps buying. It looks like everything’s about to fall out of her hands. Olivia rushes over to help her. The suck-up.

  ‘Thanks, dear,’ Mum says, smiling down at Olivia, giving her a look like a mother should look at her daughter. When she looks at me, I can tell she sees me as broken. ‘I’ll make some sandwiches in a bit, but thought you might like some snacks first.’

  ‘Thank you, Diane,’ Olivia says, bringing over the drinks to the table in front of us. She looks up at me and I can’t tell whether she’s trying to say sorry or trying to tell me off for being rude. Either way I just ignore her.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ Mum says as she backs towards the door. But of course she can’t leave without asking, ‘Everything OK, Cara?’

  Sometimes I wonder what she’d do if I told her I could feel my legs again. Maybe I’ll try that next April Fool’s Day. I don’t look at her, don’t reply. I can sense her waiting by the door and I know the others probably think I’m being a bitch but I know, if I look up at her, I’ll just get pissed off and shout, and I’d rather have some hard evidence before I confront her.

  ‘We’re fine, Mrs Saunders,’ Mehreen says quickly after a few seconds’ pause. I like that she still calls her Mrs Saunders. If that’s the only link she has left to Dad, then I’ll savour the hell out of it.

  Even without looking at her, I know Mum’s not satisfied. She wants me to answer, to prove I’m still alive and able to speak. Well, fuck that – I’m not giving her shit. After what feels like an hour of her standing there just staring, she finally fucks off.

  ‘There’s really no need –’ Olivia starts.

  ‘Don’t,’ I say. ‘Just don’t.’ I close down Facebook and go looking for her on Twitter and Instagram.

  ‘You’re not going to find anything online,’ Olivia says, passing me a can of Coke. I take it without looking at her, not because I forgive her but because I’m thirsty. ‘We need to search the house.’

  ‘We can’t really do that while she’s here,’ Mehreen points out. ‘Unless you’ve got a good distraction in mind?’

  ‘She seems really intent on feeding us. Could we ask her to pop out to get something special?’ Olivia suggests.

  ‘Would that give us long enough?’ Mehreen asks, grabbing a packet of crisps.

  ‘We can make her go somewhere far,’ I say. ‘We’ll get some good food out of it too.’

  ‘And we’ll be quick,’ Olivia says. ‘We already know what she was looking for and where she was looking for it. Three of us, one room – we’ll find those letters in no time.’

  Mum’s humming away in the kitchen when we go in. I hate that she’s humming. I hate that she’s happy because of this bastard. She’s already got the bread out on the table and has her head stuck in the fridge.

  ‘Oh, hi, girls,’ she says when she turns around and sees us. ‘I’m just about to make those sandwiches.’

  Olivia nudges me, but I can’t get out any of the lines we rehearsed. All I can do is stare at Mum’s smile.

  ‘Um, Cara was just telling us about this great Chinese food you guys had last week,’ Mehreen says quickly, nervously.

  ‘From Green Garden?’ Mum asks. ‘Oh yeah, that chow mein was delish.’

  ‘Cara was making fun of the fact I’ve never actually had chow mein,’ Olivia says. She’s more casual than Mehreen, who’s basically wetting herself.

  ‘Never?’ Mum asks. ‘How can you have gone this long without trying chow mein?’ She laughs.

  ‘Can we get some?’ I ask quickly. ‘I mean, from Green Garden.’

  Mum frowns. ‘It’s collection only, Cara. And a bit of a trek. How about we go out to the Chinese buffet in town instead?’

  ‘No,’ I say forcefully. ‘It has to be Green Garden.’

  Olivia nudges me again, harder this time.

  ‘I mean, I’m really craving it. Please, Mum.’

  She stares at me for ages, and I wait for her to say no.

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ she says instead. ‘You’ve twisted my arm.’

  She doesn’t move though, and I’m scared she’s going to try and drag us all along, but thankfully Olivia pipes up again.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like us to do while you’re gone?’ she asks.

  Mum shakes her head slowly. ‘No, thank you, dear.’ Dear. She’s never called me dear. That’s a name people use for old people, adults. Sweetie, honey – those are words used on little kids. Kids like me.

  ‘Can you get some chocolate cake too?’ I ask. ‘Y’know, that one from Costco?’

  That’ll add some time to her journey. Plus, Costco is next to the graveyard Dad’s buried at. Hopefully she’ll realise and feel bad about being a cheating skank.

  She smirks at me. ‘Anything else, madam?’

  I just turn around to go back to my room.

  A few minutes later I hear the front door open and close.

  She’s gone.

  No lectures about not leaving the house or answering the door to strangers. Nothing about making sure I don’t fall down in the loo and piss myself again.

  She just leaves.

  Just like that.

  ‘Nothing in this cupboard either,’ Olivia says as she closes the drawer on the TV unit.

  ‘She’s going to be back soon,’ Mehreen says, looking anxiously at the front door. ‘We should just stop now. Maybe we can look when we know she’s out for real.’

  I roll my eyes, even though I’m worried too. ‘Even if she does come in, she’s not going to think anything of it. She’ll probably believe us if we say we’re looking for the remote.’

  ‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Olivia asks. ‘“Some letters” isn’t very specific. There are lots here: bills, doctors’ letters, but nothing romantic.’ She rifles through another drawer.

  ‘Oh!’ Mehreen says suddenly. ‘I think I found something!’ She pulls out a pile of white envelopes held together by an elastic band. The top one is addressed to Mum in fancy handwriting. The kind of fancy you’d use to write to your lover. I turn the stack over and see the return address belongs to someone called Owen Gentry.

  ‘So this is the bastard she’s fucking,’ I say, taking the elastic band off. Before I can get it off completely, the front door opens right in front of us.

  Mum walks in.

  Shit.

  ‘I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on,’ Mum says, looking down at the mat as she wipes her feet. ‘Can you believe I got halfway before realising I didn’t have –’ She stops talking when she looks up and sees the stack of letters in my hand. I don’t even try to hide them; it’s about time I exposed her.

  ‘Cara,’ she says slowly, ‘what are you doing with –’

  ‘With your love letters?’ I finish her sentence for her, waving the stack at her. There are about five or six envelopes, which means this has been going on for ages.

  ‘Love letters?’ She steps closer, putting down the purse she came back to fetch.

  ‘Just cut the shit, Mum,’ I say, moving towards her, into the middle of the room. ‘I know everything about Owen Gentry.’

  Her head jerks back a bit and her mouth opens slightly. I love that I’ve got to her, that I’ve surprised her.

  ‘How could you?!’ I say. ‘Dad hasn’t been gone five minutes and you’ve already moved on?’

  I feel Mehreen and Olivia shuffle slightly behind me. I know they’re both probably feeling awkward as hell, but if I don’t do this now, if I stop even to just let them leave, Mum will come up with more bullshit – more lies to feed me.

  ‘Cara . . .’

  ‘Were you cheating on Dad?’

  ‘What? No!’ She actually sounds sincere. ‘How could you even think that?’

  ‘What about these then?’ I’m shouting now, and it feels so fucking good. ‘If you loved him so much, how have you moved on enough to be getting fucking love letters from some other guy already? It’s only been ten months!’

  ‘Cara, what are you talking about? Those aren’t love letters.’

  ‘What are they then? Oh God, have you been sending each other dirty photos or something?’ I throw the envelopes to the floor, disgusted.

  She bends down, quick as a flash, to pick up her precious letters.

  ‘Cara, you’ve got the completely wrong end of the stick,’ she says, kneeling on the floor. She’s fucking crying now and I can’t stand it. Can’t stand how she’s playing the victim.

  ‘You’re a fucking disgrace,’ I say, shaking my head at the way she’s clutching the letters to her chest.

  ‘Cara!’ Olivia warns quietly from behind me. I ignore her.

  ‘Dad used to tell me how he knew as soon as he met you that you were his soulmate,’ I say. ‘I called bullshit, but he was so convinced that I ended up believing him.’ I laugh a little. ‘You two made me actually believe in that shit. And now here you are, throwing yourself at other men.’

  ‘Cara!’ It’s Mum warning me this time. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’ She stands up and glares at me with her angry red, tear-filled eyes. But I don’t give a shit. There’s a fire within me now, anger that I need to pour out.

  ‘How long has it been going on?’ I ask. ‘How long have you been sleeping with this guy?’

  ‘I’m not sleeping with him!’ Mum shouts. ‘I’m not sleeping with ANYONE!’

  ‘You’re lying! You’re a fucking liar. All you do is lie!’

  ‘Cara, stop!’ She’s sobbing so much she can barely breathe. ‘Please!’

  ‘Just tell me who he is! It’s not fucking hard!’

  ‘He’s no one!’

  ‘He’s obviously not no one if you’re keeping his letters. Did he break up with you or something? Wouldn’t blame him – you’re a fucking mess.’

  She raises her voice louder than I’ve ever heard it. ‘Cara! You CANNOT talk to me like that! I’m your mother!’

  I raise my voice even louder. ‘Then why don’t you fucking act like it, instead of a cheap slag!’

  ‘CARA!’ Her face is red, partly from tears, mostly from anger. I’m so close to breaking her.

  ‘Just fucking stop making excuses and tell me who this prick you’ve betrayed Dad for is. Tell me! Who the fuck is Owen Gentry?’

  ‘HE’S THE MAN WHO KILLED YOUR FATHER!’

  38. CARA

  Mum’s sitting on the arm of the sofa now, head down, with the letters in her lap. She’s crying harder than ever, and all I can do is stare. Olivia squeezes my shoulder and whispers, ‘We’ll be outside,’ before she and Mehreen slip out and I hear the front door click. I’d forgotten they were even here.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask Mum after a minute of silence. ‘That this guy . . . killed Dad?’

  She doesn’t answer. Just keeps weeping.

  ‘Mum!’ I say, hard and loud enough for her head to jolt up. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? What has this guy got to do with it? We were . . . The car crashed. It was my . . . I . . .’

  She shakes her head slowly, looking back at her lap. ‘He was the driver of the other car.’

  I think back to that night. Me and Dad driving down the dark, winding road, the rain lashing down on the windscreen, Dad’s laugh, the smell of popcorn, his last words – ‘You’re only saying that because you’re gay’ – my hand shoving his shoulder and then . . .

  ‘What other car?’ I ask. ‘It was just us. Dad swerved off the road . . . because . . . because of me. It’s . . . it’s my fault he’s dead. No one else’s.’

  Mum looks at me at last. She frowns and I turn away; I can’t bear to see the anger in her eyes. We’ve never really spoken about the accident; after it happened, I refused to talk to anyone about any of it, still too upset about Dad and my disability – but I know Mum’s been silently blaming me this whole time. Neither of us has had the courage to admit it out loud. There’s a whole long list of things we’ve never said to each other.

  She leans forward and takes my hand in hers, ducking her head and forcing me to make eye contact. ‘Cara, why on earth . . . why would you think it was your fault? The other car . . . it crashed right into the front of your dad’s. There’s nothing you could have done.’

  I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t even blink.

  Me and Dad driving down a dark, winding road. The rain lashing down on the windscreen. Some headlights appearing up ahead. Dad’s laugh, the smell of popcorn, his last words – ‘You’re only saying that because you’re gay’ – the headlights in front getting brighter and brighter, my hand shoving his shoulder and then . . .

  ‘Honey, why did you never tell me you were feeling like this?’ Mum asks, squeezing my hand. ‘That you were carrying all this guilt?’ She’s frowning harder now, her face a big wet mess, but she’s stopped crying.

  I snatch my hand away. ‘Because you never let me fucking talk about it!’ I shout. ‘You realise this is the first time we’ve had a proper conversation about any of this? You just kept pretending nothing had happened and I . . . I had to live with . . .’ I’m hiccupping, gulping air like there’s not enough oxygen in the room, in the world, but there’s still so much emotion inside me I need to get out. ‘You have no fucking clue, do you?’ I shout.

  ‘Cara . . .’ She reaches for me again but I move back.

  ‘No!’ I shout. ‘You . . . knew this the whole time? And there was me thinking . . . Do you have any fucking idea how it feels? How I feel? What I almost . . .’ I laugh a little. ‘This whole time, I’ve been blaming myself, wishing I was dead instead of him. And you’re keeping letters from the guy who actually killed him. Why? Why the hell is this bastard writing to you? None of this makes any sense!’

  Mum shakes her head a little. ‘Cara, sweetie, please, let’s just move on from this –’

  ‘Oh, you’d fucking love that, wouldn’t you? Let’s just sweep all this under the rug and pretend nothing bad is happening. What is wrong with you? Why are you so hell bent on lying to me about EVERY FUCKING THING?’

  ‘I’m protecting you!’

  ‘I DON’T NEED FUCKING PROTECTING!’

  ‘Cara . . .’

  ‘Mum, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t tell me the truth right now, I’m leaving this house forever.’

  That does it; she shuts up, not even breathing by the looks of it.

  ‘Tell. Me. Everything,’ I say, forcing my voice not to wobble.

  She sighs and sits up straight, still on the arm of the sofa. ‘Owen Gentry has been trying to make contact for months now. He keeps sending letters asking me to speak to him, to let him speak to you. He says . . . he says he wants to apologise.’ She practically spits the last word. ‘I’ve asked your aunt Colleen to try to find some legal way of stopping him. She’s sent me some forms to fill in, for an injunction. He’s . . . he’s relentless, Cara. I only kept these letters because Colleen says they’re evidence. She says he’s probably only doing it to try to reduce his sentence.’

  ‘Sentence? He’s in jail?’ My heart jumps.

  She shakes her head. ‘Community service order. They said it was a tragic accident, because of the bad weather.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  She frowns at me again. ‘Cara, your aunt was at the trial, she –’

  ‘I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time – why should I believe you now?’

  ‘Why would I lie to you about this?’

  I shrug and wipe my nose. ‘Because you’ve lied about everything else! You knew this all along and didn’t fucking tell me. And don’t give me that “protection” bullshit. The only person you’re protecting is yourself. You don’t give a shit about me. If you did, you would have told me about this; you wouldn’t have let me . . . go all these months thinking that it was my fault.’

  ‘Cara, honey, if I’d known –’

  ‘Give me the letters,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘I want to get the truth from the only other living person who was there that night. Or, was apparently there.’

  She doesn’t even argue, just hands over the stack of envelopes.

  I put the pile on my lap and start to leave.

  ‘Cara, please –’

  She continues crying, but doesn’t finish her sentence. I want to storm out of the front door and slam it in her face, but it takes an age to get my chair over the threshold. The bloody accident took away any chance of having a strop and it’s so fucking infuriating right now. When I finally get out, I just leave the door open and zoom down the path as my tears fall freely.

  39. MEHREEN

  The front door slams open and Cara hurtles out. Her shoulders are heaving and she’s sobbing so loud I don’t think she hears her mum calling after her. Instead, she speeds off down the street. Olivia and I share a look before rushing to follow.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ Cara shouts back at us. She continues pushing herself down the street, towards a little playground in the corner of the cul-de-sac.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask. When we left, it seemed like everything was going to be OK – that since Cara’s mum was ready to tell the truth, everything would get sorted. But Cara’s demeanour says the complete opposite.

  ‘I fucking mean it, just leave me alone,’ Cara shouts.

  I start to wonder whether maybe we should leave her alone, whether this is something she needs to sort out in her head by herself. I imagine being in her position and wonder what I’d prefer, and I realise that if I were alone at a time like this, it would completely break me.

  ‘We’re not leaving you,’ I assure her. ‘Just talk to us.’

  Cara has a bit of trouble trying to open the gate to the playground and wheel her chair through it, so Olivia rushes ahead and helps her. Cara speeds in, but the playground is too small to really go anywhere – it’s just a patch of tarmac, containing a set of swings, a seesaw and a roundabout. Cara stops in front of the swings and I can see she’s still crying. Olivia and I rush around to be in front of her. Seeing Cara’s face wet with tears and snot is shocking, sobering almost. She puts on such a tough persona, you almost forget she’s capable of being so upset.

 

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