Читать книгу Nice Day For A White Wedding - A. L. Michael - Страница 12

Chapter One

‘All right, babe?’

Chelsea shook her head, feeling foolish as the words escaped into the empty cemetery. Ruby’s grave wasn’t as bedazzling as it should have been, even as the sunflowers she’d brought brightly clashed with the black marble of her headstone. Time had passed – the flowers and teddy bears and cards from little girls who wanted to grow up to be Ruby Tuesday had gone. Rain-soaked and stinking, they had disintegrated in the summer storms, until eventually someone had cleared them all away.

Ruby would never have wanted such a drab headstone, plain and…appropriate. It should have been carved from a lump of garnet, showered with sparkle. Chelsea’s fingers itched with the need to improve it, to make it real in some way. She wanted to grab a glue gun and affix diamonds around the edges, but that would be wrong, disrespectful. At least to anyone who didn’t really know Ruby.

She could hear her friend’s voice in her head: ‘Go on, you’re not going soft on me, are you babe? You never cared about right or wrong before.’

And she was right, that imaginary voice. Chelsea had done whatever the hell she wanted when she knew Ruby. But things had changed.

The ground was damp beneath her feet, but the summer sun was bright and glaring, like Badgeley was punishing her for never coming home often enough. The whole town felt muggy, like there was no air, and the little that was left was stale. It seemed weird that Ruby should have been buried here, instead of in London, near her penthouse flat where people still left notes and flowers. No one in this little town gave a crap about Ruby Tuesday any more.

Chelsea wanted to sit cross-legged on the ground and put her head against the cool stone, conjuring memories of those teenage days resting her forehead against Ruby’s, pretending they could read each other’s minds, and freaking out the little year sevens. But the ground was wet, the air was dry, and things were different now.

She patted the cool headstone in a silent apology.

‘See ya later, babe.’

Chelsea pulled her handbag over her shoulder, clutching at the handle as she strode down the road, head held high. Confidence was everything on the road down to the estate. The hazy heat of summer had the kids of Badgeley looking for fun, evidenced by the beer cans placed on the wall of the cemetery, and piled up by the bus stop, fag ends on the floor. Summers growing up here had seemed endless, and not in a good way. Day after day of the same shit, the same life, over and over. They’d spent their time hanging around in the park, working on their tans and talking about their escape plans. One day they’d make it out, make it to London. Every sixteen-year-old in Badgeley probably had the same dream, even now.

Chelsea visualised London now, where Kit would be getting in from work, rolling his shirt sleeves up and making lasagne, singing along to some classic rock album she’d never heard of. Further across the city, Evie and Esme would be sitting at their kitchen table, whilst Mollie tried to show Killian how to make a basic meal for the hundredth time that summer. That said, Chelsea mostly subsisted on avocado on toast these days. Further down in London, there was her office, her lovely big office with a view of the river, only granted her days before, along with a raise and a new title that she had worked for the last three years to get.

And here she was, in fucking Badgeley.

Okay, so she was doing her sisterly duty, and bringing birthday presents for her little brother wasn’t such a chore. Neither was stopping by to visit a dead friend. It was just that these visits made her chest contract a little more every time, and there was a reason they became more sparse as the years passed.

Chelsea adjusted her handbag, grabbed tighter at the plastic bag of presents as she turned off of the high street, shaking her head as she looked through the window of the funeral director’s little shop. She’d dated a boy who worked there, a lifetime ago. She liked to look through the window whenever she was back, see if the names on those sample tombstones ever changed. They never did.

Chelsea adopted a strut as she turned right onto the estate she’d grown up on. She couldn’t decide if it looked smaller and harmless, or scarier and sprawling. Nothing had changed, she realised, recalling the multiples times she’d narrowly escaped trouble. She had a knack for attracting it then. You felt invincible when you were a kid. There was the time Leah Thomas decided Chelsea had flirted with her man. That’d been a big one. Chelsea had managed to head-butt her and knock Leah’s two front teeth clean out. She was called Gap Tooth from then on, and it got shorted to GT as the years went by. She probably still lived here.

She walked across the centre of the grassy verge, remembering the time one of her mum’s boyfriends tried to knock their front door down, because he was convinced Tyler had nicked his stash. He probably had too, but all Chelsea could remember was laughing and taunting him whilst he went mad outside, and they pushed a cupboard up against the front door until he went away.

So many years of screaming and squaring up and desperately being a smartarse, because if you were just funny enough, someone might give you a break.

Chelsea took it in, the light sky of summer reflecting off the concrete. A couple of boys were standing around, topless in the fading light, jeans low on their hips as they stood smoking, staring at her. She instantly recognised Ty, his pimply teenage skin and shaved head atop a skinny body. His eyes widened in warning: ‘Don’t you dare come over here in front of them.’

She hated to admit it, but Tyler was pretty much a lost cause. It might have been her fault. She got out, got a job and forgot about him. She left him with her mum and Jez and the little ones. Chelsea had convinced herself that maybe she’d inspire him, show him that he could do it too, go to college, uni, do whatever he wanted. Those first few trips home had been full of impassioned speeches about following your dreams and all that bollocks. Ty wasn’t buying it. Which was fair enough, because the person who had washed his clothes, helped with his homework and made sure there was dinner every night had up and abandoned him without a backwards glance.

Chelsea frowned, nodded at her brother and shook her head as she marched over to her mum’s front door. She heard the whistles and catcalls from behind her as Tyler’s friends realised she was going to his house.

‘Ty, your stepdad send over a posh prozzie?’ one asked.

‘Yeah, present for your little brother’s birthday yeah?’ another cackled.

She turned and Tyler just stared at her, chin raised defiantly as their eyes met.

‘Nah, it’s just my hoity toity bitch sister.’

The ‘oohs’ of the teenage boys were low as they watched Chelsea for her reaction. She had purposefully softened her look, her blonde bob clipped back at the sides, her jeans and plain T-shirt. The bag didn’t have a designer label, and her shoes were cheap. But they could see it as well as she could – she didn’t belong here any more.

She stared at Tyler, a dead blank stare until he shrugged and turned away. The old Chelsea would have marched over and punched him, grabbed his ear and dragged him inside the flat. But it was too late for that now. She had lost that right a long time ago. She turned back to the black door with a sigh. The peeling paint, the crap dumped out the front, it seemed to look worse every time she came back. She knocked, hard, the sound of the tinny TV booming in the background.

The door opened and Jermaine threw himself at her. At least one of her brothers was happy to see her. Chelsea grabbed him, lifting him up in a tight hug as she walked through the door and kicked it shut behind her. Jermaine’s soft bushy hair tickled her chin and she gave him a final squeeze before releasing him.

‘Look at you, birthday boy! You’re so big!’

Jermaine held up his arms as if he was bodybuilding. ‘I’m doing judo at school! My teacher says I’m well good!’

Chelsea grinned at him, ruffling his hair. ‘That’s so cool! You’ll have to show me some moves!’

She breathed a sigh of relief that the money had gone through for Jay’s lessons. She’d started dealing directly with the school last term, after she realised the money she gave her mum wasn’t being used for the kids in the way that she’d planned. And she could see why.

She walked into the living room, the paint still peeling, that damp patch still on the ceiling. The TV on the wall was new, obnoxiously huge, and blaring.

Her mother looked up, bleary-eyed, a mug of weak tea in her one hand and a fag in the other.

‘Ah, the prodigal daughter returns, eh?’ She snorted, taking in Chelsea’s outfit. ‘What happened, the stock markets crash so now it’s okay to see your scumbag family?’

Chelsea took a breath. ‘It’s Jay’s birthday.’

‘I know when my own son’s birthday is, thank you very fucking much.’

Yeah, but the father’s name is still a mystery, isn’t it? Chelsea thought spitefully, rolling her eyes and staying silent. Jermaine’s dark skin and green eyes set him apart from them as a family, but once her mum and stepdad had got back together, Jez took Jay on as his own, just like the rest of them. Besides, Jay was the sweetest of them all. He was naturally kinder, slow to anger, easily pleased. Whoever Jay’s dad was, he was probably a nice guy, Chelsea had often reasoned. For some reason, Jay hadn’t been inflicted with that poisonous spitefulness that Chelsea and Tyler both had. And it was easy to see where they got it from.

‘So did you get him a big expensive present, or what? Don’t know what else you’re good for if you’re not even going to provide for your family with that big fancy city job.’

‘Well, I’m clearly providing for your B and H, and your White Lightning, aren’t I, Mum?’ Chelsea spat the words, holding Jay close to her. ‘Nice TV by the way, seems like you’re doing all right to me.’

She could feel how her voice had changed the minute she stepped into the flat. It became rougher, more guttural. She spat words instead of saying them, missed words out to get to the point quicker.

‘No thanks to you.’ Carly Donnolly wearily moved from the chair to refill her tea.

‘Might wanna change your approach, Mum, if you’re gonna ask me for money before I leave tonight.’

Her mother was noticeably silent, and she counted eight seconds before her voice called from the kitchen in a cheerier tone, ‘Want a cuppa?’

Chelsea sighed, feeling her stomach ache. ‘Yes please. No sugar.’

She turned to her little brother. ‘Want your present now?’ she grinned at him, shaking the plastic bag.

She admitted some of it wasn’t fun stuff, a new school bag, colouring pens, books. But Jermaine looked at everything with joy, wonder and gratitude. The last thing he opened was the pair of trainers, Air Nikes that had cost her more than she wanted to think about. But she remembered how horrible it had felt all those years ago, before she’d realised that fitting in wasn’t an option. All she wanted was what everyone else was wearing, instead of raggedy second-hand crap. She wanted Jay to have something new and shiny.

His face lit up and he flung his arms around her neck. ‘Thank you, thank you! Mum! Look what Chels got me!’

Carly’s face turned from piqued interest to disdain as she put a mug next to Chelsea and returned to her seat. ‘He’ll grow out of them quick as anything. Woulda been better to give him the money.’

Yeah, and I know exactly where it would go, Chelsea thought, sipping at her tea and wincing. Two sugars. Every fucking time.

‘I bought a birthday cake. I wasn’t sure if you got one –’ Chelsea started.

‘We were gonna do our birthday special, weren’t we, babe?’ Carly grinned at Jermaine, who smiled back and shrugged, open and grateful as usual. Chelsea remembered the ‘birthday special’, on the occasions that her mum had remembered her birthday at all. A pile of chocolate spread and jam sandwiches, with a candle on the top. She recalled being excited about this as a kid, that moment of her ninth birthday where she had to try to cut the mould off the bread before she could cover it in jam. Her mum would jolly her along, make her laugh about it. ‘The green stuff’s good for you!’ she always used to say. ‘You’ve got to eat your greens, haven’t you?’

Carly was better with the younger kids. Maybe it was because Chelsea was the only girl, or because Tyler had always been a handful, but she was better with Jermaine and the baby. Back when they were growing up, her mother had been too busy being in love with her dad to even see them. Mostly they got rat-arsed and threw parties every night, whilst Chelsea would try and get Tyler to sleep, telling him stories about dragons and kids who went off on adventures where there weren’t any parents.

‘Well, we can have both, can’t we?’ Chelsea smiled tightly, daring her mum to call her on it. Carly just shrugged.

‘Where’s Kai?’

‘Sleeping,’ Carly shrugged, ‘he’ll probably be up soon if you want to bring him downstairs.’ She turned her attention back to the television, and Chelsea thought, not for the first time, that if you didn’t really like children, you should be brave enough not to have them.

The door burst open, and in came Jez, shouting out, ‘Where’s my Petal? Is she home yet?’

Chelsea got up to give her stepdad a hug, which was difficult as he was laden down with plastic bags.

‘Give us a hand, birthday boy,’ he said, handing the bags to Jermaine, ‘chicken and chips for everyone!’

Jay punched the air in success, ‘Yes!’ and took them into the kitchen.

Jez was in his late fifties, and still insisted on wearing a flat cap and polo shirts. He had the air of Del Boy about him, but Chelsea knew he could be menacing when he needed to be.

Jez was king of the estate. He kept the order. He was fair, and looked after the little guy, but you lied to him and he’d break your legs. Or rather, he’d get one of the goons he employed to break your legs.

‘Look at you, lovely lady! All grown up!’ His watery blue eyes took her in. ‘You look sophisticated! Carly, doesn’t she look smart?’

Her mother looked at him, and softened. Her mother always looked prettier in love. That permanent scowl that left sharp little lines on her young face melted, and she smiled at him like he was her saviour. Which, Chelsea supposed, he was. Sometimes watching her mum look at Jez was the only time she liked her, or could remember what she looked like without the weight of a surly anger, of a sense of unfairness. They’d never figured out how to speak to each other. Chelsea had done everything a kid could to make her family proud, and each time she achieved something, it was like Carly took it as a knife in the back, a two-fingers ‘fuck you’ to her way of life.

‘She’s looking good,’ Carly nodded at her partner, smiling at him, but not meeting Chelsea’s eyes. It was times like those, she thought, she could live to a hundred and never understand her mum. She focused on her stepdad instead, a much more straightforward specimen.

‘Looking good yourself, Jez. Keeping off the red meat?’

He held up a hand. ‘Nothing but bacon on Sundays, and a steak on my birthday. I’m feeling ten years younger, darlin’!’

They sat down with their food on trays in front of EastEnders, and as long as her mum was quiet and Jermaine smiled, everything was fine. Kai was cuddled into her side, constantly reaching for her food, and she nuzzled his head. It was like home on a good day.

Tyler stormed in through the front door.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Carly yelled as he thundered up the stairs.

‘Out!’

‘Come down and see your sister.’

Jez made it sound like a request, but even Tyler knew an order when he heard one. She heard the slow steady clump back down the stairs.

‘All right, your highness?’ Tyler threw himself onto a chair in the corner, stuffing a few chips into his mouth.

‘Look what Chelsea got me!’ Jay lifted his feet in the air, and Tyler looked, turned to his sister, and then looked back at the trainers.

‘You gonna get me some for my birthday, sis? Or do I not matter any more?’

‘I got you a games console last year, you selfish git.’

‘He doesn’t have it any more,’ Jay supplied helpfully.

‘Let me guess.’ She looked at him. ‘You were bragging and one of your mates decided they wanted it.’

‘You can talk about bragging,’ Ty said uncomfortably, ‘fuck this for a laugh.’

He bounced upstairs, and Chelsea shook her head as Jez went to follow him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He paused, then sat back down. ‘So, Chelsea. Tell us all about life in London! You still seeing that fella, Chris?’

‘Kit, yeah,’ she smiled softly, ‘he’s really nice.’

‘And he can look after you?’ Jez assumed a fatherly pose, arms crossed, head tilted to the side. Chelsea watched with interest as her mum shuffled in her seat, pretending to be watching the TV. The sad thing was, Jez was actually asking out of concern for her. She knew that was not her mum’s intention.

‘I can look after myself,’ Chelsea shrugged.

‘But he’s loaded,’ Carly said, a question in her tone, eyes not moving from the screen.

‘He does all right. He works hard.’

Jez nodded magnanimously. ‘He sounds like a good lad.’

‘He popped the question?’ Carly was focused on her fully this time, her dull grey eyes small and mean. Chelsea didn’t like the feeling in her stomach when her mother paid attention to her. It was like she’d suddenly woken up covered in gold and her mum was wondering how much she could get if she chopped off an arm.

‘Nope. We’re not in that place,’ Chelsea shrugged.

‘It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?’ Jez said gently. ‘You don’t think he’s the one?’

‘It’s not –’

‘She’s too good for marriage,’ Carly shrugged, ‘she wouldn’t do something so bloody normal, would she?’

Chelsea frowned at her mum. ‘You’re so into the idea, you two get on and get married.’

Jez chuckled. ‘We’re common law married at this point, love.’ He looked across at Carly, that light grin playing around his mouth. ‘Once you reach your twenty-fifth fight about the laundry basket being too full, it’s the same as being married five years, so they say!’

He wheezed a little and Carly looked at him in concern before allowing her square gaze to settle on her daughter, goading her. ‘Get knocked up. Or tell him you’re knocked up. That’ll hurry him along.’

‘Never worked for you,’ Chelsea said, her lips a thin line.

Carly said nothing, lit up a cigarette and exhaled loudly. Jez paused briefly, then laughed, shaking his head.

‘How about it, love, then? Shall we get hitched to make Chelsea here happy?’

Carly rolled her eyes, but quirked a lip. ‘Quiet, you, the telly’s on.’

Chelsea looked down at Kai sitting on her lap, burbling away, and she stared at her mother, the ash from her cigarette tapped onto a small dish resting on the arm of the chair. Chelsea cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. Getting no response, she heaved her youngest brother onto her hip, and stood to open the window.

‘It’s cold, don’t open that!’

Chelsea felt herself regress instantly. ‘He’s got fucking asthma, Mum! You call yourself a parent?’

Carly glared at her, hackles raised. ‘Only out of necessity.’ She turned back to the screen, and Chelsea stood frozen, her baby brother in her arms.

‘When can we meet your boyfriend?’ Jermaine sang the word, teasing her. He’d always aimed to lighten the mood, even as a little kid he’d run around and dance and sing to stop them fighting. Chelsea smiled at him, wanting to say he could come to London, that he could stay with her and meet Kit then. Maybe he could stay over the summer and –

‘You’re not.’

Carly’s voice was cruel with laughter as she looked at Jermaine, explaining loudly and simply, ‘You see, baby, your sister’s ashamed of us. She don’t want her posh boyfriend seeing her chavvy family. She’s too good for us now.’

Jermaine frowned, looking to Chelsea for confirmation. She shook her head and twirled her fingertips at her temple, mouthing ‘crazy’. He half-smiled, but she felt like he was looking at her with new eyes.

‘How about some birthday cake?’ Chelsea stood, handing Kai over to Jez. ‘I’ll see if Ty wants some.’

She pounded up the stairs, knocking three times on the door, then pausing before another two quick taps. Their secret code as kids. She heard a brief grumble in response and slowly opened the door. The site was a tip as usual, but she focused on Tyler, leaning out of the window with a cigarette.

‘Gimme one of them, will you?’ She waded through the room to jostle beside him at the windowsill. He produced the pack wordlessly, lighter inside the packet.

‘So…how’s things?’ Chelsea breathed out a smoke circle, a skill she’d perfected at sixteen and never lost. She only smoked at home now.

‘Same as always, fucking shit.’

‘I know.’

He pursed his lips, breathing out against the cool air and she simply looked at her brother. He was seventeen. There’d been a big enough age gap between them as kids but she’d always been his confidante. And then she left.

He’d been a good-looking kid, Tyler, never really smiled but he had that cheeky way about him. Now his skin was bad, his fingernails were yellow and he seemed to glare from hollow eye sockets.

‘How’s work? Thought any more about college?’

He gave her a blank look. ‘Don’t start that bullshit again. I know your life is so fucking wonderful, but I’m not going to study.’

‘Okay,’ she shrugged, ‘but what about an apprenticeship or something?’

He was weakening a little, she could tell, that same way of shifting his weight from side to side when he wanted a hug or a word of encouragement, but didn’t want to explain himself or seem weak. Some things didn’t change. She nudged his shoulder gently.

‘There’s a ’pprenticeship goin’ at the garage. My old teacher, McKinnon, he always liked me, it’s his brother’s place. Said he’d put in a good word for me but I gotta pass a maths test.’

‘Can you do it?’

Tyler huffed, shrugging half-heartedly.

‘Is it that it’s too difficult, or you’re letting your dickhead mates fuck with your future?’

Tyler scowled at her. ‘They’re my mates! We spent years in school. It’s crap and pointless.’

‘As pointless as working in the chippy for the rest of your life?’

‘You’re a broken fucking record, Jesus!’

Chelsea took a deep breath to give herself the patience to proceed. She knew she’d have to go carefully.

‘Babe, it’s the only way. What else you gonna do? Sell a bit of weed on the side and get nicked, like everyone else?’ She tried to stop herself rambling. ‘An apprenticeship could set you up! You’d be qualified, you could always learn more and specialise – work on Ferraris one day or something! Can you imagine?’

Tyler looked at her with a strange mixture of exasperation and affection. ‘You’re such a bloody dreamer. I think it’d be nice to work down at the garage and you start going on about Ferraris. Have you ever seen a fucking Ferrari drive into Mike’s garage?’

‘If it did, it’d come out in parts,’ she laughed, and watched as his lips tilted up briefly.

‘So pass the test, what’s the problem?’

‘Mum says it don’t pay enough. Starting salary’s less than the chippy.’

Chelsea growled a little, stubbing out the fag on the windowsill and turning to her little brother. ‘Tell her you spoke to a careers person at the youth centre and he’s found a way to get you more money for working there, a subsidy or a grant or something,’ she exhaled. ‘I’ll pay the difference into your account.’

Tyler looked at her, surprised and wary.

‘That’s not money for you to go boozing. It’s so you can get ahead and Mum can’t stop you. And don’t you fucking breathe a word to her.’

‘But Chels—’

‘You pass the test, you get on the programme, and I’ll even out the money. But you drop out and you don’t bother, I’m not helping you with shit. Got it?’

He nodded sombrely and she caught his eye, holding out her hand.

‘Deal?’

Tyler nodded and shook her hand. She took the chance to pull him in for a hug.

‘Good choice, dickhead. Now come downstairs for some birthday cake before I kill Mum.’

Tyler went to follow her, then paused. ‘Chels, you know Dad’s been asking about you. They think he’ll be out soon.’

‘And then he’ll do something stupid and be back in again,’ Chelsea shrugged, ‘what’s the point?’

‘I dunno, he’s family?’

She looked at her younger brother. ‘Is it important to you that I see him?’

Ty shrugged, looking outraged at the question. ‘I don’t care, do what you want.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

The rest of the afternoon passed easily enough into the evening with Jermaine chattering away about his birthday wishes, and Kai playing with Chelsea on the floor. When the time came to go, Tyler offered to walk her to the train station. Carly didn’t do much beyond what she normally did, which was hand Chelsea any post with her name on, mostly pointless advertising that she would bin when she got home, and stand stonily, like she’d been called to attention, part of a parade that Jez had ordered. The only thing that comforted Chelsea about it all was that she imagined her mother did exactly the same thing she did as soon as she left, take a long, deep breath, close her eyes, and be relieved it was over for another few months.

She walked in step with Tyler, her strut softening to match his slow, lazy strides.

They didn’t talk – it seemed pointless trying to catch up on lives that barely made sense to the other. They just walked next to each other, happy enough in the silence. Every now and then she noticed that Tyler looked at her like she was from a different world, one that didn’t know anything about who he really was, or how they lived. She was an impostor. But the truth was, Chelsea had always existed in a different world, even when she was stuck on that estate in Badgeley.