he might be ten thousand years old. One moment he’s standing alone, the next he’s beside Ruby, his hands at her waist.
“No!” Esme screams. “Don’t touch her!”
But he lifts Ruby from the unicorn. Her legs kick out as she starts to cry.
As Esme stumbles forward the cobwebs soften, her feet sinking into sticky threads. She’s pulling against them when the spiders appear, long thin legs uncurling towards her ankles. The carousel spins, faster and faster, as Esme cries for her daughter. Ruby’s captor leaps into the air, rising into the clouds like a balloon, glancing back with a final, triumphant grin.
Esme wakes at 3:33 a.m. Every night the same, as if she’s been switched on, lit up, alarmed. There’s no return to sleep, not yet, not for a long while. Years ago, she fought it. Now she surrenders. Now she waits. She watches the ceiling as doors creak ajar and corridors of memory open.
Sometimes Esme sees her daughter as a baby, with wide brown eyes, wispy red curls, and tiny pink toes. Sometimes as a teenager, with braces, acne, and self-doubt. Sometimes she’s pregnant, or playing with her baby, or teaching Scarlet to ride a bike. Over the past decade, Esme must have recalled every moment—every day, month, year of Ruby’s life. The only way Esme never sees her daughter is old.
4:37 a.m.—Goldie
When I finally get back to the flat, Teddy is still asleep, just as I’d left him. I know I shouldn’t have left him, technically, but it felt safe. He rarely wakes before six. Seven, if I’m lucky. Anything after eight is, perhaps, a biannual miracle. Instead of slumping on the sofa, I curl up beside him. He’s so small, so thin, all bones. After being with Leo, lying next to Teddy is almost like being alone. He’s still only half of a human, almost a pet. I can’t find comfort in my little brother’s arms. And yet, I know he loves me more than anything else in the world. Even more than his new blue blazer that, I now notice, he’s wearing with his pyjamas.
4:37 p.m.—Bea
“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday,” Bea says.
Vali grins. “You’ve been thinking about me?”
“I didn’t say that. That’s not what I said.”
Vali’s grin only deepens. “Then what were you thinking about?”
They stroll along Trinity Street, side by side. Vali has brought coffee and croissants. Bea has let him.
“All your psychologizing. All that shit you were saying about my ego and other people’s expectations,” Bea says. “Mamá tells me I’m—it always comes back to the mother, doesn’t it? That’s what all you fucking shrinks think, isn’t it?”
Vali rips into his croissant. “Well, Bowlby and Freud certainly did skew things in that direction. But don’t forget the father—only fair he should shoulder half the blame.”
“I never had one.” Bea bites the lip of her coffee cup. “So does that make it solely Mamá’s fault or half mine?”
“Your father still had an effect.” Vali chews. “After all, absence is as affecting as presence, don’t you think?”
Bea shrugs. “I don’t remember missing him.”
Vali gulps his coffee. “So you say. But I think this tough act—as if you don’t need nothing or no one—is all pretence.”
“Piss off.”
“Psychologically speaking, those with the stoniest exteriors have the softest interiors,” Vali says through another mouthful of croissant. “And vice versa. No one realizes, of course, because everyone takes everyone else at face value—but it’s the violent ones who, deep down, are the most vulnerable. Though they’ll probably never know it themselves. Or, if they do”—he gives her a pointed look—“They’d rather kill or die than admit it.”
Bea scowls at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was paying for the privilege of this little drink with you.”
“You’re not,” Vali says. “I am.”
“Then stop fucking psychologizing me.”
Vali grins again. “Did I hit a nerve?”
Bea ignores him. At the corner of Trinity Lane, Vali doesn’t turn but keeps walking.
“Hey.” Bea stops. “Where are you going?”
He shrugs. “What’s the rush? Let’s take the scenic route.”
Bea frowns but follows him.
“You know, the reverse is true too,” Vali says, swallowing the last of his croissant. “It’s the nice ones you should watch out for. It’s the simpering, smiling ones who secretly want to slap everyone—”
“So I should watch out for you then.” Bea sips her coffee.
Vali laughs. “Touché.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” Bea says. “I’m stone inside and out. I never missed my father. And, frankly, I wish my mamá would fuck off too. I’ll tell you who I miss: my cat.”