"The Beginning After the End" Part 5
Duke clapped Cook gruffly on the shoulder once the meeting had ended, and Cook regarded him with a rueful glance.
“You were right,” he said.
Duke nodded, not looking pleased with himself. “Noon tomorrow, coffee at mine. Seems a good time to go over the sixth and seventh steps, eh lad?”
“Character defects,” Cook muttered. “Yeah.”
“Taken care of it yet?”
“About to, I reckon. I’ll ring her on my way home.”
“Good boy.”
Cook left the meeting feeling a new sense of resolve, though it was more sullen than cheerful. He was mildly surprised, however, to discover he had a sense of gratitude for having received a conscience through sobriety.
Miracle of miracles.
He wandered over towards the pier, clicking through his mobile slowly to find Katie’s number. As he caught sight of a streak of blonde and looked up, he saw it wasn’t necessary. Naomi and Katie were standing before him, with strange looks on their faces. Naomi’s seemed more amused than anything--Katie’s was only awkward.
“Look at this, Katie,” Naomi said, jabbing her twice in the side with an elbow. She jutted her chin out towards Cook. “We were just chatting about you.”
Cook felt as awkward as Katie looked, and nonchalantly slid his phone back into his pocket. “Were you?”
“Among other things,” Naomi said cryptically, then immediately decided to take her leave. “Cheers.”
Cook and Katie watched Naomi for a bit as she walked down the street. Cook could have sworn he heard her chuckling to herself.
“I was just about to ring you,” Cook said quietly, looking back to Katie.
“That’s funny,” Katie said, looking as if she didn’t think it was funny at all.
“Want to take a walk for a bit?”
“Do I have a choice?” Cook laughed until he realized Katie was being serious. Before he could respond, she shook her head and sighed. “Let’s go, then.”
He searched his pockets for a fag while she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d packed a jacket. She hadn’t realized how long she and Naomi had spent sitting on the pier until they had gotten up to leave. It had been dark for a while, and chillier than she had expected.
Cook didn’t notice. He lit a fag and looked down at his feet as he walked, clearing his throat slightly.
“Katie, I--”
“Look, this isn’t going to work,” she interrupted, halting her pace. For a moment he thought she was referring to their walk, but she continued, “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’m sure I’d say I had a lovely time last night, if I could remember most of it. Actually, I’m lying. I’m not sure I’d say that.”
Cook stood, blinking at her. “Oh.”
“The fact is...well, first of all, you’re quite nice now that you’ve quit drinking and everything. I just want to say that. You’ve really changed. But I don’t fancy you.”
Cook realized he was moving his mouth without knowing what he was going to say. He swallowed as his throat started drying up. “You don’t?”
“No. I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s not me either, frankly. It’s someone else. I’m in love with someone else. You were sort of...well, no offense, but you were sort of a cover up.”
“A cover up?” Cook echoed, confused. He blinked again, tilting his head to the side in disbelief. “Are you--”
“Kicking you to the curb?” Katie offered. “Chucking you out the door? Splitting up with you? Dropping you on your ass? Yes.” She sighed sympathetically, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “If it makes you feel any better, I feel sort of bad about all this.”
“Sort of?”
“Yeah. Which is more than I can say for any other time I’ve dumped someone.”
Cook briefly considered whether or not his ego should be bruised, then shrugged. “S’all right. No hard feelin’s, yeah?”
“‘Course not.” It was only when Katie grinned that Cook realized she hadn’t seemed that genuine since they’d shagged. “Still friends.”
They parted with a hug and began walking in opposite directions. Cook paused, then turned and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“I was gonna chuck you too, so you know,” he called.
She didn’t turn her head. “Sod off, liar.”
“It’s true,” he insisted. “What makes you think I’m lyin’?”
She spun on her heel and strode up to him. He marveled at the sway of her hips, the way her face tilted up against the streetlights when she looked him fiercely in the eye.
“‘Cos I’m Katie fucking Fitch,” she said triumphantly. “I don’t get chucked.” When she was farther down the street, she chewed her lower lip and added, “Not yet, anyway.”
Cook was nodding his head faintly long after she had left, weighing her words. A chilly breeze blew up against him and he grinned, beginning to head towards his flat. He looked down at the forgotten cigarette in his hands, and lit it again.
“Somethin’ else, ain’t she, Freddie,” he said, taking a drag.
~ ~ ~
Emily had rung her parents’ doorbell exactly twenty-three minutes after her mother had cleared dinner off the table. Unbeknownst to her, her mother had been in the middle of deepening her worry lines as she fretted unceasingly to her father.
“I don’t understand why she hasn’t called,” her mother was saying. “I know we haven’t got on lately, but I hope she--”
The high-pitched ding dong of the bell cut through her mother’s sentence like lightning. Her father jumped at the opportunity to end the conversation, which had been making digestion fairly difficult.
“Emsy!” he said after opening the door. His voice was loud enough for the neighborhood to hear.
“Hi Dad,” Emily said, crossing her arms awkwardly. She gave him a warm smile. “It’s nice to see you.”
Emily could not remember the last time she’d said that and meant it. There had been a pull in her heart since Naomi left that had tugged her all the way to her parents’ condominium. Now that she was looking into her father’s face, it only felt stronger.
Her mother was over her father’s shoulder in an instant. “Emily! Where have you been? I thought you’d phone when--”
“I know. I’m sorry if I worried you. Been a bit tired since we got back, is all.”
Her mother’s relief was astonishing. It was as if the last year was entirely forgotten. She pushed her father aside and grabbed Emily’s elbow, leading her into the house. “Come in, come in. Oh, I wish I’d known you were stopping by. I would have saved you some dinner.”
“That’s all right,” Emily said, gently shaking her mother off. “I’m not hungry. I just wanted to come by...maybe spend the night.” She added the last part hesitantly.
“Spend the night?” her mother repeated quizzically. Emily caught her father not-so-subtly peering through the open door, presumably looking for Naomi.
“We’ve had a row,” Emily clarified, then added firmly, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Her father’s gaze snapped towards her face and he grinned, looking a little guilty. Her mother nodded, her eyes appearing surprisingly sympathetic. “That’s all right, love. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“How was Goa?” her father asked stupidly. Her mother elbowed him in the stomach, making no move to cover it up.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” her mother repeated. She gingerly pushed a lock of Emily’s hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s nice to see you home again. Are you sure I can’t fix you something?”
“I’m sure,” Emily insisted, then awkwardly moved forward and closed the door behind her. She didn’t like these formalities.
“We’ve some leftovers--”
“Mum,” she said, turning to face her parents. She felt her face screwing up and tried desperately to relax it. She blinked a few times to keep the tears back. “I’d like to...can I just sit with you for a minute?”
Her parents stared at her, dumbfounded.
“Is James here? Is Katie?”
“Katie’s having dinner at her boyfriend’s,” her mother explained quietly. “James is in his room.”
“Can you call him down? I just…” Emily began to feel stupid, and wiped a tear off her cheek. “I just want to sit with you.”
Initially, Emily had wanted James present because she realized she hadn’t seen him in ages. Her sudden homesickness was so strong that she missed even him, the little twat who used to watch her shower and then steal her clean knickers off her bed. But once he’d come down, she realized he also served the purpose of dispelling the awkward tension she felt with her parents.
“Look who’s arrived,” her father said, gesturing towards Emily as James walked into the living room.
Upon first glance, she’d almost failed to recognize him. He’d grown at least four inches, and had lost nearly all of his baby fat. His hair hung down in his eyes, and he walked with the sort of swagger Katie’s old footballer boyfriends had. Emily didn’t know what she had been expecting--perhaps a black Vera Wang gown with dangly diamond earrings and a luscious blonde wig that reached his shoulders--but this certainly was not it. He greeted her nonchalantly, as though he’d seen her during breakfast that morning.
“Is that your voice?” she asked, blinking at him.
“What?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Whose else would it be?”
His voice had dropped. Probably not yet to the level it would eventually reach, but it had definitely dropped. She noticed it cracked occasionally. Not a comical amount, but enough to say she hadn’t missed all of her little brother’s quest through puberty.
Emily pushed the wave of tears back down and sipped her tea to keep herself from emitting a sob. Looking at James, she wondered why she had never felt sorry for leaving before.
“You grew out of your cross dressing phase,” Emily noted, lowering the mug back down to her lap. “That’s...nice.”
James flopped down on a vacant armchair and blew some hair out of his face. “It was only ‘cos your knickers were always better than Katie’s, and you took ‘em all with you when you moved out.”
“Well, the sarong I got for you in Goa will suit you nicely then,” Emily said, grinning in the direction of her father’s pale face. “But you can’t have my knickers. They’re still mine.”
The four of them discussed menial things. Emily’s eyes would dart occasionally towards the front door, waiting for Katie to walk in. She couldn’t decide if her sister’s reaction would be one of self-righteous indignation or sullen acceptance. She couldn’t imagine it would be good either way, but at least if it was the former Emily could pointedly ask how dinner at Cook’s went.
Emily had given up looking at the door and started gazing out the window at the sunset. The sky was a dark purple, the residual streaks of pink and orange having faded some time ago, when Katie walked in. Emily’s stomach went straight into her throat.
“Oh Katie, you’re home!” their mother exclaimed. “Come sit with us. Emily’s here.”
“I can see that,” Katie said evenly, walking into the room. She gave Emily a smirk without a hint of malice. Emily felt her shoulders relax immediately. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Emily replied, as cooly as her sister.
Katie crossed the floor to sit beside Emily on the couch, while her father asked eagerly, “How did dinner with the new lad go?”
“I dropped him,” Katie replied, glancing at Emily. “Wasn’t working out.”
Their mother looked surprised, but their father was enthused. “That’s my girl! Breaking names and taking hearts!”
“Breaking hearts and taking names, Dad,” James drawled lazily. He lifted his leg and hung it over the arm of the chair.
“James, don’t sit like that,” their mother insisted, then turned back to Katie. “But you’ve only started dating him. Did you even give him a chance?”
“‘Course I did,” Katie replied. “He overcooked the broccoli. Can’t have that, you know. It’s the twenty-first century--if a man can’t make proper broccoli, what good is he?”
“Broccoli?” their mother echoed, blinking. “I thought he was making you spinach?”
“What?” Katie asked, looking confused.
“On the phone, he asked if you wanted spinach and you said--”
“Oh,” Katie cut in quickly, rubbing her nose and looking out the window. “We had spinach and broccoli. He quite likes his veggies.”
Emily stifled a laugh into her tea. Katie shot her a look, but grinned despite herself as she awkwardly lowered her hand from her nose.
“You broke up with him over broccoli?” their mother repeated. She couldn’t seem to let it go, though Katie had chucked boys over more ridiculous reasons in the past. “Doesn’t that seem a bit...rash, dear?”
“Bet he was a shit shag,” James grinned.
“James,” their mother snapped, glaring at him briefly before turning back to her daughter. “Katie, did you really--”
“Was it really the broccoli?” their father asked. “Because I could give him a few pointers, you know. I happen to make excellent broccoli.”
“Dad, when have you ever made broccoli?” Emily asked curiously.
“Oh,” he said, thinking very hard about it. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I should look up a recipe.”
“Do that,” Katie said, rising. “Well, I’m knackered. Spending the night, Ems?”
“I think so, yeah,” Emily replied, then raised an eyebrow. “How did you--”
“It’s early, yet,” their mother protested, looking at Katie. “You’re going to bed now?”
“Mum, I know you’re real excited about having the family together again, but we can have more chit-chat time over breakfast tomorrow,” Katie said swiftly, going and kissing their mother on her forehead. “Maybe Dad’ll make broccoli.”
“But--”
“Oh, let them go,” their father said, patting their mother’s shoulder affectionately. “They probably want to do girly sister things.”
As Emily and Katie left the room and began retreating up the stairs, James called, “If you’re trying on each other’s knickers, can I join?”
“He’s too big to kick the shit out of these days, I reckon,” Emily sighed. Katie laughed, taking her by the elbow and leading her into her room.
It felt strange to be in a bedroom that belonged solely to Katie. Emily found herself continuously wondering, mostly out of habit, where her half was. Katie tossed her a pair of cotton knickers and a clean t-shirt, then began to undress herself. Emily stood there a moment longer, staring at the pictures of boys Katie had hanging all over the walls.
Katie seemed to read her mind. “If it makes you feel any better, they got a second bed.”
“They did?” Emily asked with a dubious glance.
“Yeah. I made them get rid of it. I think they kept expecting you to come home, and I wasn’t going to share my room with a person who doesn’t even live here. It was time for them to let it go.” She sat on the bed, looking about the room. “Although now that you’re here, I guess they should have hung onto it.”
“I guess so,” Emily said, proceeding to change. “Reckon I’ll be here a while.”
“Was the row that bad?” Katie asked, sounding more annoyed than necessary.
“Was Cook’s broccoli that bad?” Emily shot back, joining her on the bed. She sat and faced her, crossing her legs Indian style.
“Cook’s what? Oh.” Katie rolled her eyes, picking absently at the duvet. “I wasn’t with him. Well, I was. But not for dinner. I was at the pier having a sandwich and sulking about.”
Emily looked at her suspiciously. “Sulking?”
“They gave me tomatoes when I specifically asked them not to. I fucking hate tomatoes.”
“I like tomatoes,” Emily said quietly.
“Yeah,” Katie nodded, looking at her. “I know.”
There was a long period of silence. They weighed their own words carefully and tried not to look at each other. Emily yearned for the moment to pass so they could giggle and gossip like they used to. But she had a feeling too much had changed.
“Lay down with me,” Katie said. It was more a request than a command, and Emily obliged. They lay on their sides over the duvet, facing each other. “I’m sorry about earlier. Haven’t done something like that in a while.”
“I know,” Emily said. “It felt like we were sixteen. But I should be sorry too. Sort of treated you and Cook like the world treated me and...well, you know.”
“I don’t love Cook,” Katie whispered, meeting Emily’s gaze.
Emily breathed in the tension that hung in the air, the smell that comes before a person says something she’s been trying so hard not to say for so many reasons. “I know.”
“It’s--”
“I know who it is,” Emily said, trying to spare her. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes I do,” Katie insisted. “I do have to.”
Emily paused, searching her sister’s face. “Okay.”
“It’s Effy,” Katie said, keeping her eyes level with Emily’s. She laughed self-consciously, shifting her position so her head rested on her arm. “I’m mad about her, Ems. Sort of pathetic, really.”
“I don’t think it’s pathetic,” Emily offered, touching Katie’s hand gently. “I was just...well, at the club last night--”
“Yeah,” Katie cut in. “Naomi told me.”
“When did you see Naomi?” Emily asked, dumbfounded.
“She interrupted my sulking time.”
“Yeah,” Emily said, sighing very softly. “She’s good at things like that.”
Katie licked her lips, then gave Emily’s hand a quick squeeze. Just as Emily realized it was happening, it was over. Her sister’s eyes shone in the moonlight that began to stream in through the window.
“Emsy,” Katie said quietly.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Emily cut in, snatching her hand back defensively. “You’re going to say something about how it doesn’t need to be this complicated, and if Naomi and I love each other we should be able to let it go and move on and I ought to forgive her, but she…”
Katie waited patiently for Emily to continue, but she couldn’t. There didn’t seem to be any words left for her to use.
“I had a run-in with Mandy when Naomi and I were in Goa,” Emily said after a moment. She sighed heavily.
“Mandeh?” Katie sneered uncontrollably.
In tones that varied from quiet to hoarse whispers, Emily recounted the night. She had wanted to keep the details sparse, but found she couldn’t. The words came easier this time, and gave something inside of her a form. She couldn’t understand what it was--a feeling that seemed to drift about in her chest, nameless and shifting.
“If she’s done it once, what stops her from doing it again?” Emily asked, near tears. “I don’t think I could do this again. I don’t think I can come back from it again. Mandy...Mandy felt perfect. I thought I made the right choice, and then I saw her again, and she...I remembered how I always felt she’d never do what Naomi did. That things with Mandy might have been perfect, like they were with Naomi once.”
She expected Katie to tell her it was stupid. She expected Katie to insist that it was easy to suss the whole thing out, and that Emily ought to march herself right back to Naomi’s and get it sorted as soon as possible. But when she finished, all Katie could do was stare for a moment. Emily watched the way her sister’s eyes glittered and widened slightly, as if something was beginning to dawn on her.
She squeezed Emily’s hand again, and pressed her lips together. It wasn’t quite a grimace, but it wasn’t reassuring. She sighed and said, “Nothing’s ever perfect.”
~ ~ ~
Naomi sat by her bedroom window, blowing cigarette smoke out towards the sky and shivering against the cold air. She drew her knees up to her chest, staring out to the street and trying not to look for Emily. She knew she wasn’t coming home.
She turned towards their disheveled luggage and thought about how convenient it was that they’d both been too lazy to unpack completely yet. It was only a matter of time now.
She turned back to the window and took another drag. She caught sight of a figure skipping around the glow of the streetlights. It looked to be a boy, but she wasn’t sure from where she was sitting. Being a lesbian had taught her that baggy clothing is no indication of sex.
The figure turned abruptly and approached her front door. She squinted and leaned her head out of the window a bit, trying to make out a face without making it obvious that she was there. It kept its head bent, as though it already knew she was watching it. It paused at the door suddenly, glancing about. It fiddled with something in its hands and shifted its weight from one foot to the other indecisively. Naomi raised an eyebrow, wondering if she should call to it.
It seemed to lift its head slightly, looking over the front of her house. Naomi could make out the tip of a chin in the moonlight, but its eyes were shadowed. Was it looking at her?
Just as she’d had the thought, it spun on its heel and darted away, running straight down the middle of the road. Naomi leaned her entire torso out of the window, supporting herself with her hands. She stayed squinting into darkness until she could no longer make out the retreating form.
Pulling herself back into her room, she took a final drag and flicked the butt out into her driveway. She closed her window, then went through the house and made sure every door and window was locked.
“Fuckin’ Bristol,” she muttered, closing her bedroom door behind her. “Creeps moving in every day.”
~ ~ ~
After her impromptu therapy session, Effy had gone home and taken a long nap. She didn’t dream at all. When she woke, she got up and took a shower, left a note for her mother, and walked out of her front door with intentions to stop at an offie for a bottle. She hesitated halfway there, then turned and doubled back. The wind had grown stronger, pushing against her back as she walked, rushing her along. It was already dark out.
She saw Cook through the glass door of his building, staring curiously at an envelope. She tapped on the glass, startling him, and smiled. He opened the door for her, grinning as well but looking a bit haggard.
“Long day?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Weird day,” he corrected, looking back down at the envelope. “Found this taped to the door.”
He turned his hand so she could look properly at it, but she kept his eyes on his face. She wasn’t interested in letters to Cook. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you the past few days.”
“Yeah,” he replied, looking back down at the envelope. “Been busy with meetings and stuff.”
“And how are those meetings, Sober Cook?” Effy asked cheekily, smiling at him.
He looked at her with his full attention, and grinned. “A few bumps in the road, but still Sober Cook nonetheless. Got into a bit o’ trouble with Katie.”
Effy cocked her head to the side. The implication was written all over his face. “Trouble?”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking pleased or proud. “But it’s sorted now. Moment of insanity, I reckon. She was drunk and upset. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Done it?” Effy echoed. “Done what?”
“Oh,” Cook grimaced, scratching his ear. “We shagged last night. It was stupid. She phoned me from the club all upset and shit, then sort of jumped on me and we went to it.” He scoffed at himself a bit. “We talked about it not even a half hour ago, actually. I was going to chuck her ‘cos I thought she was in love with me, but then she chucked me ‘cos she’s in love with someone else or somethin’.”
Effy’s mouth went dry.
“Girls,” Cook grinned, shaking his head. “I don’t get any of you.”
He leaned in and kissed Effy on the forehead, then waved with his free hand and said goodnight. Then Effy was walking down the street with her hands in her pockets and her head bent low. The wind picked up again, fierce against her face, so she turned and walked in the other direction.
Why in the bathroom, why did I do that?
That flash of red hair pushing through a sea of bodies to get to the door, the smell of vanilla on a neck, dance with me, stubble against her face, endless endless endless movement, no air no wind
Why did I do that in the bathroom?
dance with me, vanilla on a neck, dance with me
Why did I do that?
vanilla dance with me, no air, no air no wind, movement, that flash of vanilla on a, no wind, no air no wind
Why?
no air no wind no air no wind no vanilla flash of vanilla red hair on a neck stubble on her face smooth vanilla on her face no wind movement not Emily no air not Emily no Katie no Katie no wind no wind not Emily Katie not Emily Freddie no wind no Freddie Katie not Freddie not
Effy looked up in time to see a figure approaching her. It had its hands in its pockets, but she knew. She could tell by the walk, that slightly self-conscious gait of a boy approaching manhood with too much naivete to make it through alive.
“Freddie,” she whispered.
The figure looked up at her, and stopped beneath a streetlight. He lowered his hood and stood blinking at her. His face was calm, serene. He pulled one hand out of his pocket. He was holding a notebook.
“Evening Effy,” JJ said. “Wind’s a bit weird tonight, isn’t it?”
As if to emphasize his point, a gust of wind blew against Effy’s back. It seemed to aid in propelling her towards JJ, and she gripped his elbow in both of her hands. He blinked down at her. His expression was one of faint curiosity, with no trace of surprise, as though he knew what she was about to say and merely wondered how she would word it. And that expression, that look, told Effy everything.
“It was you,” she whispered. “You wrote it.”
He didn’t respond at first. Then, finally, he said, “I had help.”
“From who?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Why? How did you--”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, pulling his arm away from her. When she tried to tighten her grip, he grabbed her shoulders firmly, but without malice. She released him. “You already know everything.”
“I thought you hated me. I thought--”
“I did. But I forgive you. I told you that.”
“I’m sorry, JJ,” she said hoarsely.
He smiled. “I already said I forgive you. Forgive yourself.”
A breeze came through and ruffled his curls. A piece of Effy’s hair fell into her eyes. As she pushed it away impatiently and looked up to him again, he was already walking past her. He chuckled as his arm brushed her shoulder.
“Yeah,” he said, and she couldn’t figure out if he said it to himself or to her or to someone else. “Wind’s a bit weird tonight.”
“But…,” she began, staring at the spot on the sidewalk where he had stood a few seconds ago. “But I don’t know how.”
~ ~ ~
Don’t make him your Christ. Sometimes people just die. Forgive yourself for finding in his death a reason to live. He wanted it that way. He didn’t do it for her or for you or for me. He did it because he believed in something. You believe in something. Finally, you believe in something.
I believe in you. Finally, I believe in you. Don’t give up. He is with you. Don’t give up.
He had read it fifteen times through his tears, read it in the elevator, read it outside his door, read it in his flat, then, once he had calmed down, laid down in bed and read it a sixteenth time. And after that sixteenth time, Cook clenched the letter in his fist and wept again, covering his eyes with his free hand.