Page 14 of The Likelihood Of You

Being carried back there in my mind is the most bittersweet thing I've had the pleasure of experiencing.

But besides those moments, today is the only time I want to hibernate in my bed and cry until all the water in my body evaporates, leaving a wrinkled prune under an embarrassing amount of blankets.

It was just a typical day when they left for their weekly date day. Our routine was so finite that I could have done it blindfolded. I’d come home from school, get started on making dessert, and we’d watch a film while eating it, until my eyes eventually fluttered shut and sleep captured me. But when I returned home, and Sydney got back from her part-time job on the high street, the two police officers standing outside our home made it clear that our night-time routine wouldn’t go ahead as planned.

It never would again.

After that, I can’t remember a thing. Or maybe I do, but choose not to.

I remember little snippets here and there, Sydney comforting me, me comforting her, and every relative in our family tree walking through the door at unexpected times to offer their sympathies and politely discuss funeral plans.

It was a whirlwind, and not the fun kind Syd and I would want to gawk at for hours. It was the kind where I knew my life would be different from that point onwards. Nothing would ever really be the same. And the debris it would leave wouldn’t be from houses or our garden furniture; it would be from my memories, my heart.

After those first few months were over, and I started learning how to live in a world without them, the tears appeared less and less often. I began to enjoy looking at old disposable pictures of them at my and Sydney’s birthday parties. I was brave enough to attempt making dessert again, with some of Mum’s recipes, and cracked a smile or two when they tasted like hers.

I laughed until I couldn’t breathe from listening to some of the stories Nanna Dorothy would tell me about them, mainly the wedding they had before we were born, where Mum fell into the three-tier cake, and Dad woke up in the private gardens of the stately home they had the reception in. In Mum’s dress.

The funeral came and passed, and soon enough, I moved in with Nanna Dorothy and Grandad Peter for a while, being my legal guardians and all. But it wasn't long until Grandad’s health started to deteriorate again, and Nanna couldn’t find it in herself to look after the both of us. So, it was decided that I should move in with Sydney instead.

Syd handled our parents’ deaths well.

That was what I thought in the beginning. But when I moved in with her, it became clear she was putting on a brave face, purely for me. She thought that seeing her distraught and completely shutting down would cause me to do the same. I knew she hid her emotions from me. I knew she felt that, as my older sister, she needed to set an example and be a role model.

It only took three minutes of her lugging my suitcase to her spare room and me clocking the backlog of tears waiting to spill out in my absence, for me to remind her to quit being so strong. I didn't even finish my speech before she sank into my chest, her signature Dayes chestnut waves nearly choking me. Letting out everything she thought she had to hide from me.

Living with her would give us a chance to keep an eye on each other, and be honest with each other about how we were coping. Just be sisters.

We had a good relationship growing up, for sisters. We liked one another. And our connection had only gotten stronger over the years, which living together certainly helped.

But now… it was as if I’d never known her.

“You know, Nanna, if flights were cheap, I’d be with you but—”

“Oh, don’t start with that, Flo; you need to be out there, doing what’s right for you. Although, I would appreciate a postcard or a fridge magnet to go along with my collection on my mini fridge. Better yet, why don’t you post me a bunch of Red Twizzlers? I remember when your Dad brought them back for me when he had his stag in Vegas, utterly scrumptious.”

“I could probably arrange something like that, Ma’am,” I say, in the worst American accent possible, but it earned me a sweet chuckle from Nanna. “I’ll put it on my reminders for the week.”

“You’re a sweetheart.” She says, before three distant rings chime on her end. “Okay, lovey, the lunch call just went, so I’ll call you again at the same time tomorrow. Love you, Candy Floss.”

“Love you more.”

“Oh, and good luck today!”

Silence engulfed the apartment again, leaving me with the sound of distant traffic from outside my window and the rapid beating of my heart, that I could somehow feel in my ears. It was probably the reaction to hearing Nanna say good luck because, during our conversation, my twitchy hands and consistent knawing of my bottom lip that had kept me up all night had disappeared, only for them to make a comeback when the calming sound of her voice had gone.

Two days after bumping into Jacob outside Pin’s, him proposing a potential job offer for me, and me giving him my number, he messaged me. I was sat on the couch pretty much all of last night, tucking into the first chapter of the sequel to ‘Wicker Manor’ (after the jaw-dropping twist of the first book, I felt like I would combust if I didn’t read the sequel) when I was torn away from the gripping writing by the text tone of my phone.

Jacob

Today 20:24PM

Hey, it’s Jacob. Are you still wanting that job? I spoke to the production team and they could do with some new assassins.

ASSISTANTS** Imeant assistants!

If this is the wrong number then I promise nothing illegal is happening here. Scouts honour.

It’s Florence, don’t worry.

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