Page 17 of Vying Girls
Against her lips, so close to mine, I gust the words, ‘Do you remember me now?’
I don’t even need to see her face to know she does. It’s there in the hitch of her breath, the way her body’s stopped shivering, the hushed, incredulous way she whispers, ‘Oh my God…Nicole.’
CHAPTER 3
Nic
I fisted my hands as Dad slammed the car door. I heard the beep of it locking, more times than it usually does. No need to ask why. I looked up and down the empty street, unsure which house is theirs. They were all stuck together, with lots of doors and windows, each house a mere sliver. Like that lady who lived in a shoe. Except, these houses weren’t as remotely appealing. None had gardens, just weeds growing up through the concrete.
Dad joined me on the pavement, flashing me a smile I didn’t return.
He held out an arm. ‘This way.’
I didn’t go that way. I waited for him. I didn’t want to be here at all; I wasn’t going to go infirst.
Turned out, it wasn’t any of the houses on this road. We had to go down an alley, that’s why we couldn’t park the car down there. It had cobbles, lots of uneven ones. This was where they kept their bins; cardboard was everywhere. Wind sent empty beer cans clattering over the cobblestones.
Red brick walls flanked us on both sides, green with lichen and leafless vines. Dad stopped at a recess in one, using his weight to shoulder open the gate.
My skin prickled as soon as we entered the garden. It was wild, overgrown. A cat jumped out of a bramble bush, shooting over the wall.
‘They’ve got blackberries,’ Dad said cheerfully.
I stared at him balefully. Was he really lowering himself tothis?
Then I stopped thinking about him, because in the doorway to that sliver of a house stood a woman.
Dad walked past me, straight towards her. She leaned up her face to his, but Dad took her hand instead, squeezing it as he turned to me.
‘This is Nicole.’
The woman smiled at me, a little thinly.
Good.
She didn’t want me here either. That was better.
We went into the tiny kitchen that smelled of hob gas and old tea bags. The wallpaper was horrible—textured and cream and peeling at the edges. A proper granny house.
Dad didn’t seem to care. Suppose he’d been here before. Instead, he was peering round like he was looking for something.
‘In the garden,’ the woman supplied. To me, she said, ‘Go find her if you want.’
I looked at Dad, too polite to refuse but hoping he would see how much I didn’t want togo and find her.
But Dad had no time to reply before the woman—I knew her name, just didn’t want to think it—stormed past us to throw open the door.
‘Tilda!’she bellowed.
She turned to gesture me through. I backed up a step, but there was Dad, hands on my shoulders to encourage me on. I wouldn’t make a scene. This was this lady’s house. Dad was counting on me to behave.
On the back step, the door shut behind me. I heard the woman’s low laugh and knew they’d be kissing now. I thudded down the narrow steps, in that slouchy, shuffling way Dad hated. Didn’t matter then; he wasn’t watching.
A tree in the garden next door hissed in the wind, little brown leaves hurtling over the wall. The blackberry bush moved. I waited for another cat to jump out, maybe a rat, but nothing did.
There was definitely something in that bush though.
It wasn’t a big garden, took about four steps to get there. A slight opening, crisscrossed with two rotting planks. Nope, definitely wasn’t a cat or a rat. It was a girl. Small, dark-haired. A bin bag cape wrapped around her neck. Like a stray animal, she stared up at me from the bramble thicket.
