. but I’m trying not to.’
‘I keep remembering things that I haven’t thought about for years, like when we were little, she would make little cardboard houses for insects. She’d spend hours decorating them. Dad would get her ripped-off pieces of wallpaper when he went to the DIY shop. Ages she would spend, creating these homes for them.’
‘Maybe we could do that with the kids?’
‘She would have liked that.’ I flick the lid shut on the bottle as Nessa lies on the sunbed, tummy down, and undoes her strap. ‘Maybe I should do more things like that – things that Kerry would have liked – instead of thinking about all the things she can’t.’
An alarm plays on my phone, reminding me that I need to take another pill. Kerry drops the Lilo and sits next to Nessa’s feet. She watches as I reach into my bag and toss the bottle between my hands. Her chin lifts in defiance: go on then, I know you have to. Her gestures mimic the time Mum caught her sneaking back into the house at half-one in the morning.
‘Did you know about this?’ Mum had asked me: hands on hips, no-messing-about expression. I’d shaken my head: not me, I know nothing.
‘Then who let her in?’
I was beaten; Kerry gave me the look and we were both grounded for two weeks.
I close my eyes behind my sunglasses and Hailey’s face hangs on the inside of my eyelids, scared and upset. My eyes flash open and I avert my gaze from Kerry, instead glancing down to the pills in my hand, throwing them to the back of my throat, hitting it like flint, scraping down my insides, cutting away at me. Their capsules separate, the insides spilling out, firing off in different directions, I can feel it . . .
Kerry coughs, covering her mouth with a tissue and bending herself forward.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘What?’ Nessa asks. Her head is turned away from me and she’s humming along to the radio. I reach down and pick up my paperback and ignore the fireworks that are exploding in my veins. The sound of the gate creaking open is quickly followed by Oscar’s voice clambering towards me; it throws its arms around my neck before his body can follow it.
‘Muuuummmmy!’
I lean into him, my arms desperate to be filled with his skin, his hair, his smell. The ridiculous hat falls from my head; my daughter watches it land on the floor.
‘Hello, Mummy.’ Her voice saunters over to me, ambles and hovers awkwardly.
I reach out my arm towards her. I smile and can feel the red lipstick that I had applied cracking. I never wear this colour, but I wanted to make an effort; I wanted to look my best for him. He isn’t looking at my red lips though, he’s looking anywhere but at me. I, on the other hand, can’t take my eyes off him. His eyes are red-rimmed: he’s not sleeping.
‘I love your hair, Hales!’ My body is desperate to hold her, to inhale her smell, but hesitation sticks to her skin like insect repellent. Instead, I begin to stroke the peculiar plaits that are hanging parallel to her lopsided parting. My heart swells as I imagine her trying to plait her hair by herself.
‘Thanks! Daddy has YouTubed.’
‘Daddy YouTubes a LOT.’
The knowledge that Ed has tried to plait her hair is like a sparkler in my hands, something new and dazzling, but I know it will burn me if I get too close to it. Oscar runs over to the pool, his chubby legs are less chubby I notice, his shorts a little less snug.
‘Does he?’ I ask. My lips are smiling at Ed, trying to tell him how proud and how sorry I am all at the same time. I stretch out my hand towards him; he has the same hesitancy around him as my daughter but moves towards me regardless.
‘Yep. He YouTubed how to make a dippy egg runny.’ Hailey tiptoes across the lawn; she has always walked on her tiptoes, not like with the confidence of a ballerina, more like she’s afraid to make a noise, too scared to leave a mark on the ground.
Ed’s hand is warm in mine: it feels so familiar, but it doesn’t fit the same way as it used to; his fingers feel too long, my hand too small. His lips brush my cheek, his free hand resting at the back of my head. I wonder if he can feel