Page 9 of The Flowers of Bay C
‘No, Barbara, I told you, no mice in here.’
‘There’s rats.’ Barbara’s voice is a low growl of anger.
‘No rats, either.’ Nicki casts a sideways glance back at Jodie.
‘I have to go to the sea to find her.’
‘Find who, petal?’
‘Do you not listen, woman? My MOUSE.’
Nicki scoops more yoghurt into Barbara’s wide gape of a mouth, and Barbara splutters.
‘Come on, get this down you. Stop worrying yourself about rodents, my lovely.’
Barbara is quiet and obedient for the remainder of the yoghurt.
When Nicki has left the bay, Barbara sits bolt upright and points over at me with a wizened, crooked finger, as if she is accusing me of something. Jodie follows her gesture and sits forward. ‘What you doing, Babs?’
‘You’ll take me there, won’t you?’ Barbara says, her watery eyes still on me, finger quivering.
I don’t know what to say.
‘You have to take me. You have to.’ Her voice is rising in volume.
Jodie throws off her blanket and goes to Barbara. She takes her hand. ‘It’s okay, chicken. It’s okay.’
‘You take me,’ Barbara shouts in Jodie’s face, droplets of yoghurt spraying over her hair. ‘You get me to the sea. You will, won't you?’
‘Shh,’ Jodie says. ‘We will. I promise we will.’
Barbara grips Jodie’s hand tightly between hers. Even from here I can see the translucency of her skin, mottled and veiny andstretched so taut I wonder if it might rip to shreds any moment and the bones all spill out. She leans in closer to Jodie and says something in a raspy croak. I think it might be something like, ‘It’s the only thing I’ve got left in the world now.’
Chapter 4
Early evening Jake is visiting me again. ‘Grandad dropped me off,’ he says around mouthfuls of Twix. He sees my eyes on it. ‘Want some? I was hungry. Nan makes rubbish food.’
This is true.
‘No thanks.’
‘Still can’t breathe too well?’
I shake my head. Wish I could ask for a drink. Some squash, maybe, something cold, something that’s not hospital tea or tepid water. But the words get stuck in my iron-clenched gullet.
Jake shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to his phone.
Jodie sits on the edge of her bed, watching us. ‘Oy,’ she says, kicking out at Jake, ‘you should talk to your mum more. She’s well poorly.’
Jake grunts. ‘Whatever.’
Jodie gets up, kicks him again, and he laughs. How does she get away with that? If I did that he’d cry child abuse. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, instead, and turns back to me, laying the phone down on my bed. ‘Sorry you’re feeling so crap.’
I try to smile.
‘You look like Helena Bonham-Carter,’ he saysrandomly.
‘What?’
