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Chapter 7

Erica

Erica stared at the coils of Molly’s hair for another moment. Frustration churned in Erica’s stomach and flamed in her cheeks.

So much for Molly needing her. So much for expecting Molly to show a little gratitude to Erica for organizing the challenge. But would it kill Molly to make a smidgen of effort? Yes, apparently.

Erica blew out a puff of air and pulled off her hat. She wasn’t sure who she was most annoyed with – Molly for the fight she’d picked, or herself for allowing Molly to wrangle her so easily.

‘Go team B,’ Erica said, turning to Noah with a shrug. ‘This is going to be a fun trip.’

Noah raised his eyebrows and flashed a sympathetic smile.

Erica wanted to say more. She wanted to explain to Noah what she couldn’t say to Molly: of course she wanted Molly here. The whole point of this challenge was for Molly and Erica to bond and be sisters again. Erica pulled in a deep breath and forced her frustration away. Molly might not realize it yet, but she needed her – Erica was sure of it. Erica had to put her own feelings aside and ignore Molly’s antagonizing, or the entire trip would be for nothing.

A minute later Rachel appeared from the bathroom, her face shining wet in the torchlight. Rachel’s eyes darted towards Molly’s bunk. A flash of relief crossed Rachel’s face.

‘Night,’ Rachel said, glancing at Erica before climbing up to her bunk.

‘Goodnight,’ Erica replied, digging out her wash bag and heading for the bathroom.

‘Just don’t pretend that we’re anything more than strangers.’ Molly’s voice taunted Erica’s thoughts as she closed the door to the washroom and searched for a mirror to peer into. The room was small with barely enough standing room between the sink and the toilet. The walls were the same horizontal wood as the cabin and there was no sign of a mirror, or a hot tap, Erica realized with a pang of longing for the heated floor tiles in her en suite.

How could Molly even suggest they were strangers?

The memories of school holidays spent in Sheffield were vivid in Erica’s mind as she climbed into her sleeping bag and she switched off her torch, plunging the cabin in total darkness.

Erica felt the floaty excitement she’d had in her stomach when her dad had come to collect her from the apartment. She hadn’t even cared about the snarling argument between her mum and dad in the doorway or how she knew her mum, Veronica, would be mean to her when she got back, because Erica had chosen to spend the holidays with her dad instead of Veronica.

Except it wasn’t really her dad that she was choosing. In their flat in Kensington, it was just Erica and her mum. She was an only child. Polite and courteous, Erica sat straight-backed in nice dresses through lunches with Veronica and Veronica’s friends. Erica hadn’t been permitted to do colouring at the table, never mind the tablets and phones so many children had to play with these days.

Erica’s emotions about her mother had swung from feeling like an inconvenience – a thorn in Veronica’s social life, to a pet. ‘My darling, Erica,’ Veronica had cooed in the company of her friends, dropping the endearment the moment they were home.

It was something Veronica didn’t understand. Erica wasn’t choosing to spend the holidays with her dad; she was choosing to spend it with Joyce, Billy, and Molly. She was choosing tree climbing in the park with Billy, paddling pools and tea parties with Molly. She was choosing den building in the living room with all the cushions off the sofa, and Joyce’s gregarious laughter, and big plates full of home-cooked shepherd’s pie followed by Neapolitan ice cream.

It had never mattered to Erica that she was seven years older than Billy and almost ten years older than Molly. If anything the age gap had given Erica the chance to catch up on the childhood she’d never had at home.

When Erica had turned eighteen she’d chosen to study Film and Television Production at Bradford over London so she could visit Joyce, Molly, and Billy at weekends. Her dad and Joyce had separated by this point, but to Erica it was Joyce, Billy, and Molly that were family.

Veronica still lived in her Kensington apartment, playing Bridge and dining with her friends. Erica saw her once every few months for dinner, but Veronica was no grandmother to Isla, just as she’d been no mother to Erica.

No. Molly was wrong. They were more than strangers. They shared more than DNA, freckles, and a useless dad; they shared memories. Good memories. Erica might not have been around as much as she should have, for Molly or Joyce, but that was going to change, starting now, whether Molly liked it or not.

‘… just like you were there for Billy?’

Molly had cut Erica off before she’d had a chance to respond. Although what was there to say?

Memories of Billy chasing Erica around the garden with the hose in the summer holidays filled Erica’s head. Of summer evenings sleeping together on the floor – Billy on one side and Molly on the other, whilst Erica had read Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton aloud until her eyes had refused to stay open and Billy and Molly had long since fallen asleep.

Erica shuffled in her sleeping bag, turning towards the wall as a single tear escaped her eye.