Page 91 of Vying Girls
In the hallway, I kick off my shoes, a habit still ingrained in me. Tilda follows suit, her eager eyes lapping up everything she can see. Which is fuck all. Don’t even have a side table. No shoe rack. Just an old hook where I hang the keys.
She looks around gingerly, with peeks back to me like I’m about to tell her off. I give a permissive gesture and she enters the lounge, the large room shadowed by the thick border shrubs in the front garden.
‘There’s no furniture.’
‘There’s some.’ I kick the lonely armchair. ‘Like I said, I’m never really here.’
‘So why keep it?’
‘Dunno.’ I run a hand through my hair as I cast my eyes around. ‘First thing I bought with the money. When…they died, I lost the house. Obviously. I was a kid. I didn’t really think about it back then, didn’t care. Then I saw it was on the market. Stumbled across it when I was looking for a gaff to rent for me and Nic. She thought I was being a dumb fucking idiot—her exact words—but, I dunno, it wasmine.Not lived in it for years but the thought of some other fuck living here…’
‘Understandable,’ Tilda says, in a tone that says she doesn’t understand at all. Makes two of us. ‘I’m sure it holds lots of memories.’
‘Yeah. Shite ones.’
‘Wanna tell me them?’
I glance at the time on my phone. ‘Can’t. I’ve got an appointment.’
‘What kind?’
‘Lawyer. Something to do with a charity my parents’ money goes to. You can stay here. I won’t be long. It’s just in the village.’
‘Okay.’
Yeah, didn’t think she’d protest to that. With me out the way, she can snoop to her heart’s content. Won’t find anything though. Nothing but ghosts, and even they’re quiet these days.
Tilda
I hold in a flinch as the front door slams. The hallway hums with quiet, that heaviness that comes with lonely, empty houses. I step back into the lounge. There really isn’t anything in here but that chair and a TV mounted on the wall. A single box in thecorner by the Wi-Fi router. I lift the flaps, spotting a bunch of dusty DVDs.
I try not to think of Damien as I explore the downstairs rooms. Should have checked if Haz locked the door, but of course she would have. He won’t come here anyway. I can feel in my bones that he’s far away. Everything feels like it is, like I’m in some universe separate from my usual. I need to get off that island more, even if for just a spin around the port city’s shops. I’m sure Elly would come with. She’s usually up for anything.
It’s a nice house. Spacious. Made to look modern, with a huge extension to the kitchen with skylights and expansive windows looking out over a pretty, shrub-bordered lawn. I figured Haz came from money. The way she was able to rent a flat, sans job, with Nic at college. She’s part of Hazelhurst’s inner set, despite rejecting them. Though how much of that is Nic’s influence? Haz certainly doesn’t actrich.Far from. Even this place doesn’t feel like her. Judging by how empty it is, she feels the same.
I pad up the stairs. The cream carpet is flat under my feet, but I’m imagining how soft it used to be, the high pile of it. The landing wraps around, each door coming off it closed and painted black. There’s a large potted plant in one corner, surprisingly alive considering she’s never here to water it.
I open all the doors and peek inside. It’s justbarren.One room holds a bed, the duvet free of its cover and bunched into a pile. Guess that’s where we’ll be sleeping tonight. A thrill goes through me as I wonder if tonight will be the night. This feels like progress,majorprogress. She’s letting me see a part of her she’s kept hidden all this time. She says it’s a protection thing, but I know better. It’s there in her gruff manner, the way she won’t meet my eyes for long. She’s opening up and she’s uncomfortable.
I eye the hatch that leads to the attic. If there’s going to be any clue to her past, it’ll be up there, but I’m not about to attempt it.Creepy attics and this pervasive Damien paranoia don’t mix. I’ll just be asking for it.
I enter the bedroom instead, sliding open the built-in wardrobe. There’re some clothes, mostly formal, the stuff she doesn’t need at Hazelhurst. There’s a box of documents at the bottom—her GCSE and A-level certificates, other legal documents surrounding her parents’ deaths. Clara and David. I eye the innocuous names, wondering what the hell they did to make Haz this way. Hopefully the most they did was die. I can’t bear to think they did anything worse when they were alive. With everything I’ve learned about me and Nic and the adults who were supposed to protect us, I’ve about reached my limit.
I explore some more, grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen tap, flicking through the TV channels. I’m too restless and out of place to settle. I walk back upstairs, where the landing’s warm from the setting sun.
There’s a tennis court in the garden behind hers. I shake my head. So fucking pretentious. Most I had was a tiny trampoline that got hurled into the neighbouring field during a gale. It’s probably still there; Mum never tried to retrieve it.
Eventually I spot movement: Haz on the rope swing hanging from an ancient tree bough. She must have come through a gate; I didn’t hear her downstairs. I give her a moment since it’s clear she’s wanting one. Then I head down, more than ready for some company in this empty place.
‘Hey.’ I come round to Haz’s front. She eyes me blankly, like she’s wondering what I’m doing here, like I look as out of place as I feel. ‘Did you play on this when you were a kid?’
She shrugs. I take it as a yes.
‘Will it snap if I climb up too?’
Now she smiles. ‘Nope. Climb away.’
I straddle her lap, enjoying the feel of her firm thighs.
