It Sounded Better in My Head - Nina Kenwood Page 0,79

of voice I would use when introducing myself to a toddler.

‘I’m not going to be a lawyer,’ Lucy says in response to this introduction, and then she turns her head and retches a little.

I can’t look at Vanessa in case she says that Lucy can’t be put in her car.

‘Lucy, can you stand up?’ Vanessa asks, now using a firm, no-nonsense voice.

‘No, no, no, no,’ Lucy says in response, rolling her head from side to side.

I lean down, take hold of her arms and try to haul her up, but she yelps and flops back onto the ground.

‘Let’s carry her,’ Vanessa says. ‘She’s pretty small. You take her shoulders, I’ll grab her legs.’

‘No, no, no, no,’ Lucy moans again, as we attempt to lift her. I cradle her head and shoulders as best I can, but her bum drags along the ground as we start moving.

‘She’s dragging,’ I pant.

‘She’ll be fine,’ Vanessa says, trying to get a better grip on Lucy’s legs.

This must be what it feels like to move a dead body. Vanessa would be a pretty good partner-in-crime. Maybe she has moved a dead body before. Maybe she and Alex accidentally killed someone and they had to hide the evidence and now—

We hit the gutter and Lucy yelps as her bum whacks on the concrete.

‘Lift, lift, lift,’ Vanessa says, hauling Lucy’s legs higher. I grit my teeth and hold her shoulders up as high as I can as we stagger-walk her to the car.

Vanessa puts Lucy’s legs on the ground, opens the back door, picks them up again and we haul her up and stuff her in as gently as we can. Vanessa goes to her boot, grabs a bucket and shoves it into my hands. (Who has a bucket in their car? Vanessa must really be experienced with transporting drunk friends.)

‘Sit with her in the back and if she pukes, make sure she pukes in that.’

I really, really don’t want to, but I recognise this as my Best Friend Duty.

Vanessa gets in the driver’s seat and turns around to Lucy. ‘You’ll be home soon, you poor thing.’ The compassion in Vanessa’s eyes shames me, because I’m sitting as far from Lucy as I can and leaning over to hold the bucket in her vicinity. I shuffle across into the middle, and let Lucy snuggle up against me. I stroke her hair and she leans her head over the bucket, muttering to herself and weeping. ‘I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid.’

‘Shhhhhh,’ I say. Her hair is damp at the sides from all the tears.

‘Teachers aren’t supposed to get drunk like this,’ she cries.

‘You’re not a teacher yet, and I’m sure teachers get drunk all the time,’ I say.

‘I want to be an inspiration,’ Lucy says, and then she throws up into the bucket.

31

Show Me Your Wounds

‘Look who’s here,’ Vanessa says, as she pulls up to my house.

Lucy has fallen asleep in my lap, and I shift her head a little to turn and look out the window.

Zach and Alex are sitting on the porch steps, side by side. On any other night, the sight of the two of them waiting for me would warm my heart. Tonight, it makes me tired. I don’t have the energy for either of them.

‘Oh god,’ I say.

‘Well, you can’t hide. They’ve seen us,’ says Vanessa.

They are looking at us, their faces upturned at the same angle. In the shine of Vanessa’s headlights, they look so similar: that hair, those eyebrows, Zach’s face a softer, clean-shaven mirror of Alex’s.

‘Is your mum home?’ Vanessa asks.

‘She’s out.’ I suspect she’s on a date with Eric and not telling me. My mother might be on a date. Those words will never not sound weird to me.

Zach stands up and walks towards the car, leaving Alex on the porch steps. Vanessa gets out and folds her arms like a security guard.

‘Wait,’ she says, as Zach gets closer. She holds up a hand.

‘Where’s Lucy?’ he says.

‘In the car. But wait. Are you here to help, or to upset her further?’ Vanessa asks.

Vanessa is like a superhero. It’s the three of us against the world.

Zach shakes his head.

‘I’m not going to upset anyone. I just want to see her.’

He pokes his head in the car window. Lucy nestles her head further into my lap.

‘Natalie.’

‘Zachary.’

We stare at each other for a moment. I lean down and pick up the vomit bucket, and I hand it to him.

‘Gross,’ he says.

‘Can you empty it and rinse it out with the hose so