Читать книгу Traces of Her - Amanda Brittany, Amanda Brittany - Страница 19

Peter stood at the foot of the stairs, his holdall at his feet, looking at Ava through round-rimmed glasses. The siblings weren’t close in age, and he’d taken off for Brisbane when he was eighteen, almost ten years ago. The void between them was that of strangers.

His dark, tangled hair rested on his shoulders, his colourful striped trousers were creased, the fur collar of his purple jacket matted. She felt sure he hadn’t looked so dishevelled when he left home. In fact, the photos of him on the dresser in the lounge, that Mum had put out just before he arrived, showed a cute kid, and a good-looking teenager.

Peter lifted his holdall and climbed the stairs, knocking pictures as he went. He was almost at the top when he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Grab my rucksack, will you, Ava, and bring it up?’ he said, disappearing from view. She looked about her, spotting a tatty rucksack covered in sewn-on badges, by the front door. She picked it up and headed up the stairs.

Peter stood in the doorway of his old room, which was rammed with junk – his old guitar, a music centre, massive speakers. In fact, it was just as he’d left it: posters of wrestlers pinned to the wall, and dust-covered models of horror movie villains lining the shelves.

He threw his holdall on the bed and Ava dropped his rucksack to the floor.

‘Ta,’ he said, looking about him. ‘It hasn’t changed at all, has it?’ he added, and she picked up his Aussie twang for the first time.

‘Mum keeps the door shut, mostly,’ she said, her eyes flicking over the dusty surfaces, vague memories of Peter spending most of his time alone here, floating in. There had been arguments too between her mum and her brother – lots of arguments.

He took off his jacket and threw it on the bed next to his holdall. He gave the room one last scan, and left. She followed, closing the door behind her.

‘So tell me, little sis,’ he said, lumbering down the stairs, knocking another picture with his shoulder. ‘What have you been up to since I’ve been away? Gail told me you got pregnant. Bit careless of you. Never heard of condoms?’

She followed him into the lounge. ‘Her name is Willow.’

‘You what?’ he said, dropping into the armchair.

‘My daughter – your niece – her name is Willow. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘Whatever you say,’ he said, tipping a cigarette from a box and lighting it. He dragged hard on it, and blew smoke towards her. ‘Want a ciggie?’ he said, offering the packet.

‘I don’t smoke anymore,’ she said. She’d given up when she found out she was pregnant with Willow. ‘And Mum doesn’t allow smoking in the house. You should stand on the doorstep, or in the back garden.’

‘Mum’s not here though, is she?’ He jokingly glanced under the chair. ‘Take it easy, Ava, you’re like a wound-up spring. It’s just the one. I need it after that bloody long flight.’

‘So what made you travel all this way for Gail’s wedding?’

‘Rory paid for the trip. Gail wants me to give her away. So I thought I’d make a long break of it. Nothing much keeping me in Australia.’ He took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Rory seems like a great bloke.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’

‘You don’t like him?’

She coiled her hair around her finger. Sometimes, in her darkest moments, she thought she might like him too much – hated that he could get inside her head like that. ‘He’s OK. Seems to make Gail happy.’

‘You don’t sound convinced.’ He took another long drag on the cigarette, eyeing Ava. ‘So, are you pleased to see me?’

‘I barely remember you,’ she said, her voice void of emotion. ‘You pissed off when I was a kid.’

‘Cheers for that,’ he said with a sarcastic tone. ‘I remember you. You were always bawling as a toddler.’

‘I was not.’

‘Yeah you were.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Christ, I’m knackered,’ he said, his cigarette burning between his fingers. ‘Bloody jet lag.’

‘So what have you been up to in Australia?’ she said, sitting down on the sofa.

His eyes sprung open. ‘This and that.’ He stubbed his cigarette out on one of Jeannette’s ornamental dishes, and Ava cringed. ‘I was married for a bit. Still am legally, I guess.’

‘What? You never let us know.’

‘It only lasted six months, Ava. I wanted kids. She wanted to wait a few years. That was that.’

‘Did you love her?’

‘Yeah. Still do. But we’re on different pages. Couldn’t make it work.’

‘Maybe you should have waited for her to catch up. Maybe she needed to know the time was right to have kids.’

‘You know nothing about it,’ he said. ‘You’re just a kid yourself, forced to be a grown-up.’

‘I’m nineteen, and I know marriages are give and take – any good Disney film tells you that much,’ she smiled.

‘Perhaps,’ he answered her smile. ‘I bet you’re a good mum, aren’t you, Ava?’ His tone had softened, his bravado falling away. ‘I remember you playing happy families with your dolls.’

‘And do you remember Gail stabbing them all with a kitchen knife?’ It had scarred Ava for months – perhaps longer. ‘She was never maternal even then.’

‘Yeah, I remember.’ He shook his head. ‘She was pretty feisty at times.’

‘I can think of better words to describe her.’ Ava looked down at the palms of her hands, remembering. ‘I only wanted to play with her – be part of her world. But she rarely let me. Always blamed me for Dad leaving.’ Tears burned behind her eyes. ‘Anyway, enough about the past,’ she said in a rush. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure I’m going back.’

‘You’re staying in Cornwall? Here? With us?’ She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

‘Yeah, for a bit anyway.’

‘What do you do? For a job, I mean? My wages won’t stretch to another person, Peter, and you know Mum hasn’t worked since Willow was born.’

Jeannette had been in a high-powered position in forensics before Ava was born, but when their father left, she never returned to it. Instead she took a part-time job in a factory office, working alone most of the time – which she said she preferred – and rarely socialised out of work. When Willow was born she insisted it was Ava’s turn to work – that she’d done her bit for this family. She would stay home and look after the baby. Ava had tried to argue, wanting desperately to be with Willow. But her mother was firm. ‘You work, or you leave.’

‘Well, I’ve been doing a bit of plumbing,’ Peter said. ‘A bloke over in Australia took me on as an apprentice. I’m pretty good, so once I get a bit of freelance work, it’ll take the pressure off you a bit.’ He broke off for a moment before saying, ‘So you’re going to be Gail’s bridesmaid?’

‘Mmm, only because Rory wants Willow to be their flower girl – apparently he loves kids. Not sure he’s twigged Gail doesn’t,’ she laughed.

‘So where is Willow?’

‘Upstairs asleep … in fact, I’d better check on her.’ She rose, studying her brother once more. As her eyes met his, another memory invaded. She could see herself huddled against the kitchen wall, gripping her knees, and Peter is yelling, his body shaking, his eyes bloodshot, face streaming with tears. ‘I hate you. I hate this house. I’m leaving,’ he spat. ‘And I’m never coming back.’