Jo stiffens. “What?”
“After the first bar, I said I should go home.” I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I can’t bear the weight of this guilt I’m feeling, it’s as if I might drown under it. I tried to do the right thing, to come home. And for a brief moment, it’s not my fault anymore. “I didn’t even want to go out last night. If I’d stayed home, I’d have spent the night baking, gone to bed on time and woken up early with a clear head. Jo, if it wasn’t for you, I’d have seen my dad today, before he died.”
“Maddie.” She breathes slowly, eyes locked on mine—and they’re suddenly no longer the blue of cornflowers, but the blue of a storm at sea. “I’m really sorry you lost your dad, but I didn’t make you do anything. You decide what you do, and you decided to stay out with us.”
“That’s not true!” I shout because the guilt is on a round-trip, returning to its rightful place and somehow the tea slips from my hand or I throw it, because the mug ends up shattering against the wall. When I blink, Jo is backed up against the sink and Cam is using half her body to shield her. I don’t remember walking from the table to stand in the middle of the kitchen. I must look inches away from the edge. “Don’t worry about your nonrefundable tickets,” I say quietly. “I’d rather you were both gone. I won’t be in the flat much anyway, will I? Not with a funeral to plan.”
I run upstairs, sit in the corner of my room and wait for them to leave. I listen to Jo trudging around the house. “Still going … can’t be here with her like this … We need distance … she said it was my fault … really shit of her to put something like that on me … don’t even know her dad.”
I block my ears until the front door slams shut. I return to the kitchen to clean up my mess, but it’s already been done. Probably Cam. What am I supposed to do now? Go home … but if I stay away for a little longer, I won’t have to deal with any of it. The “process” won’t start until I step foot into that house. Then I spot the undecorated sponge cakes and the icing sugar and treacle and butter and my chest fills again. I punch the cakes until they burst and splatter. I throw huge chunks into the bin. Then the sugar, the vanilla, the butter. I throw them into the bin one by one with such force the bin rattles each time.
“What are you doing?”
I turn and Jo is standing in the doorway. “Not decorating a cake,” I answer. “Why are you here?”
Jo’s head jerks back and I know I should apologize now before it’s too late, because it’s not her fault my dad’s dead and it’s not her fault I missed his final hours. The all-consuming anger starts to dissolve and makes me unsteady on my feet.
“Jo…，” I start.
“I just forgot my purse.” She unhooks her shoulder bag from the back of the door. “I’m sorry for what happened to your dad, obviously,” and her lips twitch before she says, “but it’s really harsh of you to blame me. I didn’t force you to go out. Nobody did, and if you really wanted to spend your Friday night decorating a cake, you would have stayed and done that. Right?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer but spins on her heels and slams the front door behind her. I just stand there, ignoring the tears streaming down my face and the sticky mess pouring from my nose.
* * *
Mum calls me again, and I answer from the floor. She tells me how it happened in between breathless sobs. She’d been out and Dawoud found him in his chair with vomit all down his front. They tried to call her, but she didn’t pick up. She walked in the door ten minutes later. “I swear only ten minutes later; I didn’t hear my phone ringing. My bag is so deep.” The ambulance arrived, and he was pronounced dead. Just like that. “Don’t be heartbroken, Maame,” Mum says. “He is with God now.”
“He was alone on his birthday?” I ask quietly. “He was alone when he died?”
Mum begins to cry again. I end the call.
I get off the floor, slowly walk to the freezer, and pull out a tub of ice cream. I sit and eat it in one go. The lower right of my stomach begins to sting and cramp. I have a chocolate bar next, biting through layers of biscuit and caramel.
Sometimes, in my secondary-school days, Dad would bring home a chocolate bar for me. It was always so arbitrary, but I’d be so excited when that day came. I used to wonder if he walked into the shop for something else and just suddenly thought of me. Once, he got me a fruit and nut bar, even though I have an intolerance to nuts. I told him he was the best, and upstairs in my room, I ate around them.
My teeth ache from all the sugar and I lie on the living room floor to stretch the pain in my stomach out.
James calls next and his voice is deeper than usual. “I’m so sorry, Mads.”
My cheek is flat against the floor when I say, “I’m sorry, too.”
“I know Dad loved you very much.”
“Thank you” seems the most appropriate response.
“Are you okay?” he asks. I tell him I’m fine because there’s no other answer to give.
“Are your flatmates gone?”
I try to keep my eyes from closing. “Yes.”
“You don’t wanna come home?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I get that, but you shouldn’t be alone,” he says. “Do you have a friend who can stay with you?”
I immediately think of Nia. “Yes, but she might be busy.”
“Call her and see if she can stay with you. Please. For me, yeah?”
“Okay.”
“Cool. I’ll see you maybe tomorrow then.”
“Love you,” I say.
He pauses. “Love you, too, sis.”
* * *
A few hours go by and the cramps subside, but the ache is still there. I’m staring at Nia’s number when a message comes through.
Ben
I know we said we’d see each other tomorrow but can I come over? Work was rough
Maddie
Yes
I get off the floor, clean the bathroom, wash my face, and wait. I think about how to tell Ben, whether I even should tell him, or if I can pretend for a little while longer that my dad is still alive.
When Ben knocks on the door, I still haven’t decided, but I’ve barely got the latch off when he bursts through, loosening his tie.
“They had to call me in on a Sunday—can you imagine? Incompetence will be that company’s ruin, mark my words,” he says.
I immediately want to shrink his presence. To package him up and send him home.
“I’m so glad to see you.” He kisses me, slamming the door shut, and presses me up against the wall. He’s heavy, and I can’t feel enough of myself to pull away. He’s had a rough day, and he’s glad to see me. Just like on our cinema date. He’s always glad to see me.
I close my eyes and try to sink into his attention, and although rough and hard, there’s a bite to him that I enjoy, or at least need.
It’s painful and Ben is sharp and quick with his pleasure. There’s a thin crack in the hallway ceiling that I never noticed before. I briefly wonder if it will suddenly stretch open and bury us both in rubble.