‘It said maybe I should be a journalist, or a psychiatrist, or join the police force, or become a private detective. Basically it said I’m really nosy and should try and give that a go.’
‘You are really nosy. I’ve noticed that. So … I can’t imagine you in the police force. Maybe you could be a private dick?’
She tries to stop herself, but she can’t help grinning – she’s seventeen after all. The word ‘dick’ is still amusing.
‘Well, better than being a public dick, I suppose … what have you been up to anyway? You look like shit.’
‘Why thank you. I’m fine … just stuff. You know.’
‘Just stuff? What are you, twelve? What stuff? Why do you look like you’re going to vom? Why are you sitting in here listening to Christmas toys? What’s going on with you?’
Her eyes flicker to my laptop, and she makes one of those intuitive leaps that mean she would probably be a fantastic detective.
‘Was it that woman again? The documentary woman? Em Hoyle?’
‘Yep. She sent me some clips. I watched them. It … freaked me out a bit.’
Olivia nods, and chews her lip.
‘I looked her up,’ she says quietly. ‘After you mentioned her. She looks really cool. I think you should say yes.’
‘Why?’ I ask. ‘So you can get tips on how to be even more nosy?’
‘Maybe, yeah. And maybe it’d be good for you. She seems decent. And you … well, come on, sis, you never talk about it, do you? I was a kid when it happened but I still remember it. Us not knowing if you were dead or alive. Mum trying to get flights to Mexico, jumping out of her skin every time the phone rang. And then when you did come back … you weren’t the same.’
‘You make it sound like something from a science-fiction story, Olivia. Like I was body-swapped or something.’
‘Well, it felt a bit like that. And it’s been years now, and you still never talk about it. It’s like you’ve just … boxed it all away. It’s not healthy.’
There isn’t a trace of irony in her voice, and I realise that I am quite seriously being given mental-health advice by a teenager – a girl who not so long ago was crying when Zayn left One Direction.
‘Well … I live in the present. Isn’t that supposed to be good; mindfulness and all that?’
‘Yes, but living in the present while completely denying the past? Not so sure about that. I’m just saying – this could be a good opportunity for you. To, you know, sort out some shit.’
‘It’s not that straightforward, Olivia.’
‘Why not? You’re the one making it complicated. It was a bad thing that happened to you, yonks ago. It shouldn’t affect the rest of your life.’
‘But it does,’ I respond, trying to stay calm. It’s not her fault that she doesn’t understand, that I can’t explain properly. ‘It does affect the rest of my life. It happened, and it changed me. It changed everything. And I have to be grateful – some people didn’t survive to be changed at all. They never got the chance to make any more choices.’
She stands up, faces me with her hands on her hips.
‘You don’thaveto be grateful,’ she replies. ‘Or at least not all the time. Sometimes, you can just be pissed off – it’s allowed. And that face you’re pulling right now? The one that says ‘but the world can’t possibly understand my pain’? That’s exactly why you should agree to doing the documentary. Because then you’d be explaining your pain, and maybe talking to people who share it, and then perhaps – though I know it’s a long shot – you’d be out in the world again, living properly, instead of sitting in here abusing singing penguins.’
She flounces out of the room in a cloud of Russian princess hair, just as my phone rings. I glance at the screen, see that it is Harry.
‘How do you feel?’ he says straight away. The new and improved Harry is a lot more empathetic than the old one. ‘Are you okay? I just watched some of those clips, and … well. Not easy, is it?’
‘No. Olivia thinks I should say yes. To the documentary.’
‘Well, Olivia and I don’t often agree on anything, but … maybe it’s worth thinking about? I had therapy afterwards. You never did. You still don’t like to talk about it all, do you?’
He’s right, of course. I don’t – even to him. It’s not just what happened that night that upsets me – it’s the choices that followed. The way things were left. My memories are comprised of so many sore spots, so many things I need to avoid thinking about to stay calm and happy.
‘Perhaps,’ I reply.
‘Well, it’s your decision. I’ll support whatever you want to do. As you know, I won’t object to the screen time – with a face like this, I was born to be in front of the cameras …’
