Seaweed is Always Greener

Sunlight burned Tilly’s eyes. Stretching, she wearily rubbed them. As the fog of sleep began to dissolve she realised how much her body ached. Her bones throbbed and her muscles burned. She felt like a spring that had been left too long in its box and desperately needed to extend. Straightening, Tilly sat up and stretched her arms high above her head, which alleviated some of her discomfort. But no matter how much she massaged her neck there was no removing the stiffness from it.

Glancing around, she saw more of the carousel in the tentative new light of day. Dark circles of rust chewed away at the still-standing horses, small pools of rain water gathered in crevices on the floor. Luckily, the sky exposed in the break in the roof looked to be clear and blue.

Rubbing her eyes and yawning, Tilly wondered what time it was. The chill in the air told her it was still early. Dew clung to some of the weeds scattered throughout the carousel. Were her family even up? Did they know that she was missing?

Tilly imagined the bedlam that would ensue in the household when it was discovered that she was gone. There would be raised voices and tense questions. Would her father feel guilty?

Tilly sagged against the hard side of the carriage, suddenly weighed down with guilt. Her family would be beside themselves with worry. They’d call the police. Tilly strained to listen for the tell-tale screech of a siren patrolling the streets of Dullerton to find her. Glancing up, Tilly half expected to see a helicopter pass across the open patch of sky. But instead the morning was still and peaceful.

‘Maybe they won’t care,’ Tilly mumbled as she stood up to stretch her legs. She didn’t even know if she wanted to be found. If she went back, her parents would be mad. She already feared having to face her father again. Besides, he wouldn’t want her to come home. One night spent sleeping beneath the stars hadn’t made Tilly grow up. And that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? –For her to grow up.

Tilly blinked back tears as she thought of what would be happening in her home on a typical Sunday morning. The house would smell like cooked bacon. Monica and Maria would sit with their fried sandwiches on their laps watching television, chatting about the night before. Tilly would prop herself up on a nearby chair, eagerly dipping soldiers into a runny egg. Everything always felt peaceful on Sunday mornings, with the whole family settling into a temporary sense of harmony.

By the afternoon the bacon scent would be replaced by the smell of roasted meat, either beef or chicken. Pans would be bubbling as they boiled vegetables and in the oven Yorkshire puddings would be rising. Tilly’s stomach growled at the thought.

‘Oww.’ Tilly placed a hand to her tummy. She was starving.

Reaching round, she grabbed and unzipped her backpack. After a quick rummage, she found the packet of crisps she’d been searching for. It was hardly a bacon sandwich or boiled egg but it was all she had. As Tilly crunched on the salted crisps she wondered what the day held for her. Would she stay in the park or would she dare to venture further away from Dullerton? She wasn’t even sure she knew the way out of town.

The carousel creaked wearily as the morning sunlight warmed its rusted frame. Tilly ran a hand along the side of the carriage. She wanted to stay in it forever. It felt safe despite its level of dilapidation. Beyond the carousel the world was vast and unfamiliar. Tilly didn’t want to spend the rest of her life aimlessly wandering around but what choice did she have?

Still the morning was quiet and tranquil. Where were the helicopters? The sirens? Why was no one searching for Tilly? Her breath caught in her throat, causing her to almost choke on a crisp. What if they weren’t looking for her? What if upon finding her empty bed and open window her family had just shrugged and accepted that she was gone? What if they didn’t want her back?

Tilly pushed her empty crisp packet into her backpack and drew her knees up to her chest. She felt completely alone. She didn’t even have a mobile so she could call Josephine. Even though her best friend had changed, she was still Tilly’s best friend. Just to hear her voice would be a comfort. Instead, Tilly had the fractured carousel horses for company. Their empty black eyes gazed at her with indifference, their chipped ears and rusted sides a painful reminder of how easily something loved and cherished could be forgotten.

‘They’re not coming,’ Tilly deduced to herself. She re-opened her backpack and pulled out a small stuffed unicorn which she clutched fiercely to her chest. As she nuzzled against it she realised it smelt of home. She hadn’t even realised her home had a smell but it did. It smelt of vanilla, cooked meats, and polish. A lifetime of memories condensed in to one unmistakeable odour. Salty tears fell against her unicorn. Why was no one coming for her? Was she destined to forever be alone?

‘There you are!’

Tilly jolted as she heard footsteps. The uneven floor was cracking angrily in protest as someone picked their way towards her. Tentatively, Tilly turned in the direction of the sound.

‘Jeez, what are you doing?’ Monica was carefully picking her way through the debris, followed closely by Maria. Tilly felt her heart squeeze. Why were they there? Had they happened upon her by chance?

‘Ugh, God, this thing is a death trap,’ Monica exclaimed as she pushed back a strand of hair. She was wearing tight jeans and a grey bomber jacket. Behind her, Maria was also in jeans but in a thick green sweater. Both girls were without their usual mask of makeup.

‘What are you–’ Tilly clung tightly to her unicorn for protection. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Out for a morning stroll,’ Maria scoffed angrily. ‘What do you think?’

‘We came to get you,’ Monica said more softly. She had reached the carriage. She carefully rested her long frame against a fallen horse.

‘What?’ Tilly squinted at her sister in confusion. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’

‘You’re more than a little bit predictable,’ Maria noted as she dared to hoist herself onto one of the horses. The pole which attached it to the roof groaned in warning but Maria ignored it as she straddled the horse. If it wasn’t for the rust and missing ears it appeared in an almost fit enough condition to ride.

‘Predictable?’ Tilly repeated.

‘We knew you’d be here,’ Monica explained coolly, her voice surprisingly level. Tilly had expected her sisters to shout at her, the way they did at one another when they were in the heat of an argument.

‘How?’

‘You used to love this place,’ Maria said as she mockingly kicked the sides of her horse. The carousel gave a disapproving groan.

‘Yeah, you always felt safe here. We figured it was where you’d go,’ Monica added.

‘What happened?’ Tilly asked, looking between her sisters. ‘This morning when I wasn’t there, what happened?’

‘Well, Dad was the one who found you gone,’ Monica explained, sending a concerned glance in Maria’s direction.

‘He told us he’d shouted at you,’ Maria noted sadly. ‘He’s sorry.’

‘We figured you were upset and gone somewhere to hide. And here you are.’ Monica gestured towards Tilly and gave her a pitying smile.

‘Why aren’t you mad at me?’ Tilly inquired. ‘Shouldn’t you be screaming at me, telling me I should be more responsible? Aren’t Mum and Dad mad at me? How come you’re being OK about this?’

Monica took a deep breath and looked towards Maria.

‘Dad sent us to talk to you,’ Maria noted.

Tilly realised how her sisters had comfortably placed themselves within the carousel. They weren’t fiercely forcing Tilly from her carriage and marching her home. They were expecting to be there a while. They had come there with more in mind than just bringing Tilly back.

‘Talk about what?’

‘We know school has been tough on you,’ Monica said apologetically. ‘And maybe we’ve not done a great job of helping you out.’

Tilly felt her lips quiver. But she wouldn’t cry. She thought of her encounter with Maria, of how mean her sisters had been to her at school. But that was just how sisters were, wasn’t it?

‘Yeah, squirt, we should have been nicer to you.’ Maria admitted.

‘What?’ Tilly’s gaze darted between the pair of them. They were so rarely kind that when they were it instantly made her suspicious.

‘Tilly, come on. We’re trying to say we’re sorry.’ Monica stood and came over to the carriage. Tilly braced herself to be hoisted out, but instead Monica elegantly perched upon its edge. She was so close that Tilly could smell her sweet cherry perfume.

Bare-faced and bathed in morning sunlight, Monica looked beautiful. Her sculpted cheekbones and deep-set eyes made her look every inch a princess. Tilly shrivelled beside her.

‘But why are you sorry?’ Tilly wondered meekly. ‘You guys do horrible stuff to me all the time and you’ve never apologised before.’

‘Tilly, there’s things you don’t know.’ Maria said, her voice pained.

‘Like what?’ Tilly gazed up at Monica, who reached for her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

‘Tilly, we need to talk to you.’

‘What’s going on?’ Tilly demanded. Nothing was making sense. Lack of sleep was making her more irritable than usual. She just wanted to get the shouting part over with so she could go home, take a bath, and go back to bed.

‘Tills.’ Monica’s hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘You’ve no idea what’s going on at home, do you?’

‘Did you leave because Dad shouted at you?’ Maria piped up.

‘Yes,’ Tilly admitted with a brisk nod. ‘He … he wasn’t himself. I just went to check in on him because he was crying in the bathroom and he …’ Till pressed herself against her unicorn. She didn’t want to relieve the unpleasant encounter.

‘He lashed out,’ Monica said sympathetically. ‘He’s been doing that a lot lately.’

‘He has?’

‘You really do live in your own little world, don’t you?’ Maria declared.

‘That’s not helping,’ Monica snapped.

‘Sorry.’

‘Monica, what’s going on?’ Tilly pleaded.

‘OK.’ Monica lifted a hand to stroke Tilly’s head. ‘I need you to brave and remember that everything is going to be OK. No matter what, Maria and I are here for you. OK?’

‘What’s going on?’ Tilly repeated, her heart conducting a maddening dance of desperation. Though the sky was clear, Tilly felt storm clouds gathering over her world. She sensed that whatever her sister was about to tell her would change everything.

‘Tilly.’ Monica inhaled and levelled her gaze upon her little sister. ‘Mum is sick.’

‘Sick?’ Tilly frowned. ‘Like she has a cold?’

Behind them, Maria leaned against her carousel horse and titled her head towards the cracked mirrors as though she could no longer face her sisters.

‘No,’ Monica released a tense breath. ‘Not like a cold.’

‘Like a stomach bug?’

‘No.’

‘The flu?’

‘No,’ Monica pulled her lips into a tight line and shook her head.

‘She’s the kind of sick where you don’t get better,’ Maria snapped, still turned away.

‘What?’ Tilly looked desperately at Monica. ‘What does she mean?’

‘Oh, jeez.’ Monica slid down inside the carriage so she was sat beside Tilly. She drew an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to her.

‘Tilly, have you heard people talk about cancer before?’

Tilly nodded. Cancer was a word people whispered in hushed tones. It was the sort of tragedy that happened to people on TV.

‘Well, Mum has that. And it’s the bad kind, the kind where she can’t get better.’

Tilly heard the words but they refused to sink in. What Monica was saying was impossible. Of course Mum would get better. She had to.

‘But Mum will get better though, right?’

‘Urgh.’ Maria groaned and climbed off her horse. ‘I told you she wouldn’t get it.’ She began wandering towards the back, picking her way across the ride. Her head bowed as she walked away and Tilly thought she heard the whimper of a stifled cry.

‘Tilly, I know you like to think the world is like a fairy tale, that we get our happy endings.’ Monica rubbed her shoulder as she hugged her tightly. ‘But we need you to grow up so you can face this. Mum needs you to be strong and we’re worried that you won’t be able to handle what she’s going through.’

‘Mum will get better,’ Tilly cried.

‘No, Tilly, she won’t.’ Monica’s voice was firm yet still soft, but there was also a roughness to it, as though it were about to break.

‘What does that mean?’

Monica leaned against her little sister, glancing longingly in the direction Maria had disappeared to.

‘Monica, what does that mean?’ Tilly’s voice was fragile.

‘It means Mum is going to die.’ There was no way Monica could sugar coat the truth, no matter how much she might want to.

‘What?’ Tilly started to shake.

‘Tilly, I know this is hard to accept but me and –’

‘When?’ Tilly pushed away from her sister and clamoured out of the carriage even though her legs felt unsteady.

‘Soon.’ Monica lowered her head as her tears fell and splashed against Tilly’s shoulders

Tilly wanted to run. She wanted to sprint out of the park and in whichever direction the wind blew her in. She didn’t want to stay there as the enormity of what her sister said exploded inside her like a grenade.

First her knees buckled as she dropped to the ground. Then the tears came. Monica was swiftly by her side, clutching her tightly and pressing her against her chest as she wept.

‘No!’ Tilly wailed. It was the only sound she seemed capable of making. ‘No!’

‘Shhh,’ Monica whispered, her own cheeks streaked with tears. ‘It’ll all be all right. We will all be okay’ but she no longer sounded convinced of her own words. She sounded scared.

Tilly barely remembered the journey home. It was a fog of tears and hysterics. She could vaguely recall being passed between her sisters as they struggled to carry her home. Tilly was unable to walk. Each time they placed her on her own two feet she crumpled like a used tissue.

Eventually they made it back to their house. Thomas was washing himself on the kitchen roof and paused from licking his paw to glance up at Tilly. She stopped crying long enough to look at him. Perhaps it was a trick of her imagination but she could have sworn he looked relieved to see her.

‘You found her?’ Monica carefully placed Tilly on the stairs as their father entered the hallway.

‘Yeah,’ Maria stepped in after her sisters and dropped down Tilly’s pink backpack. ‘She was on the carousel.’

In her despair, Tilly had almost forgotten about her argument with her father. But now she was near him, the memory burned bright and fearful in her mind. Whimpering she turned to climb up the stairs.

‘Tilly.’ His deep voice stopped her in her tracks. Monica and Maria were beside him, lingering like they weren’t sure what to do.

‘Tilly, I’m sorry about last night.’ He manoeuvred his lean frame so that he was sat beside her on the stairs. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a relatively clean handkerchief which he passed to her. Tilly gratefully swept it across her damp eyes. ‘Your sisters explained about what’s going on with your mum?’

Tilly nodded numbly.

‘It’s taken its toll on us all and I’m sorry. OK?’ Clive leaned down and kissed Tilly’s forehead.

It was a small gesture but suddenly he was her dad again, not some fire-breathing dragon. He was back to being the guy who could fix any broken toy or catch any unwanted spider.

‘I can’t believe you slept outside all night.’ He almost laughed in admiration. ‘You’ve certainly inherited your mother’s stubborn streak.’

Tilly dared to glance upstairs.

‘She’s sleeping,’ her dad explained gently. ‘But she’ll be up in a bit and you can see her then.’

‘OK,’ Tilly mumbled as she pressed the handkerchief to her eyes to catch more tears. ‘You must be frozen.’ Her dad pressed the palm of his hand against her head. It was comfortingly warm to the touch. ‘Can one of you make sure Tilly has a bath and gets to bed?’

‘Sure,’ Monica nodded. ‘I’ll sort her out.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart.’

There was no battle at sea, only the vast, endless waves which rolled against the rocks. Tilly wanted a storm. She wanted to splash and send her ships sinking to their watery graves. But a storm required power and energy and she felt drained. Her eyes felt raw and her throat was sore from sobbing but the warm water felt good against her sore limbs. Tilly tried to focus on how everything felt – how her head throbbed, how her muscles ached. It was easier to think of those pains than the one developing in her heart.

Inside, she felt as battered and broken as the carousel. A crack had formed on her heart as deep and wide as any canyon. Tilly could feel it each time she took a breath.

‘Tilly.’ Monica was knocking against the door. ‘You almost done?’

It was the third time she’d asked.

‘Five more minutes,’ Tilly shouted back. She knew she’d been a while; her skin was already starting to resemble a pack of prunes. But she didn’t want to get out. If she got out she’d have to face everyone, including her mother. Tilly had no idea what she was going to say. How do you get someone to stay when they’re already in the process of leaving?

Tilly pulled out the plug and sat and watched the bubble-filled water swirl as it departed from the tub. She sat crossed legged, gazing at the end until all of the water had been drained away. Without the warmth, her skin started to prickle. Reluctantly, she stepped out and wrapped herself in a giant, fluffy towel, biting back tears.

That used to be her mother’s job – to be standing by the side of a bath with a towel that Tilly could dissolve into.

‘Right, I’m coming in, you’d better be decent,’ Monica declared before opening the door. She stepped in as the last of the steam filtered out through the half open window. She was clutching Tilly’s nightdress, which she tossed over to her.

‘Put this on. You’ll probably need to go back to bed for a bit.’

Tilly caught the garment and looked at it blankly. How was she supposed to sleep again? Sleeping was part of normality and Tilly knew her life would never be normal again.

‘Put it on,’ Monica urged.

Tilly pulled it over her head and let the towel gathered around her drop to the floor.

‘How long have you known?’ she asked as her head popped out of the top, her cheeks slightly flushed from her bath.

‘Since before school started,’ Monica replied, folding her arms and leaning against the door frame.

Tilly managed to suppress a sob, making a spluttering sound instead.

‘It’s a lot to take in.’ Monica came over and hugged her. It was such a rare thing for her to do that Tilly almost didn’t know how to react. Then her hands connected behind her sister and they were embracing and it felt good. For one brief, blissful moment Tilly felt safe.

‘We wanted to tell you sooner.’ Monica stepped back, the sadness on her face making her look considerably older. ‘Mum and Dad were worried how you’d take it. They … I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘They think you might struggle to cope. You’re going to have to grow up a lot in a very short amount of time. Can you do that, squirt?’

Tilly was almost glad to hear her sister use the nickname they’d enforced on her. It made the conversation feel more normal.

‘I don’t know.’ Tilly was picking at her fingernails. ‘I mean, how am I supposed to do this? How is the world able to keep going?’

Monica reached forward and squeezed Tilly’s shoulders. ‘I know. It’s like our world has been set on fire but everyone else is carrying on like it’s a beautiful summer’s day. It’s pretty messed up.’

Tilly swallowed hard. ‘Is she … in pain?’

‘All the time,’ Monica replied grimly. ‘I guess it’s why she sleeps so much. But you’d never know. She’s the strongest person in the world. That’s why we need to be strong too, to make her proud.’

Tilly didn’t think she could be strong. She’d never felt so weak in her entire life. Even breathing was an effort – she felt like she had to remind her body how to do it.

‘I’m here for you, OK?’ Monica lifted her hands to ruffle Tilly’s hair. ‘Me and Maria are here for you. We’re going through this together. Don’t forget that.’

Tilly nodded, squeezing her eyes closed to force back fresh tears.

On the landing, a door creaked. Monica instantly spun around, her eyes wide and alert.

‘Looks like Mum is getting up,’ she whispered, lowering a protective hand to Tilly’s shoulder. ‘Do you feel up to talking to her?’

‘Yes.’ Tilly wanted to run to her mother, wrap herself around her, and never let go. That way she couldn’t die, not if Tilly was in the way of death itself.

‘Remember, be strong.’ Monica squeezed her shoulder once more and let go. Wiping a hand across her eyes, Tilly left the bathroom and wandered towards her parents’ bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. She lifted her chin and pushed back her shoulders so even if she didn’t feel it, she at least looked strong.