The party is becoming raucous. Laura has sent Mark in twice to get them drinks, but this time he insists that she goes to get them. She leaves him lying on the picnic blanket on the floor of the shed. He’s got his eyes closed, an arm thrown back behind his head. Just snoozing, after their recent attempts to rekindle their romance. They haven’t had sex. Not this time. Just snuggled up in there with cushions and candles and spent the night chatting and drinking – trying to zone out the sounds of the party that are spilling from the house into the garden.
Someone keeps changing the music. A couple that she doesn’t recognise are laughing and rolling about on the grass. They’re drenched, after turning on the sprinkler. Smokers are huddled by the back door, downing beer from cans. She slips past them and into the kitchen. Marie is standing by the sink.
‘Hey, you! You OK? You seemed a bit rattled earlier.’
Marie glances at her before going back to what she’s doing. Mixing something up in a glass. Crushing ice cubes with the back of a heavy spoon.
‘What are you doing?’
Laura opens the fridge and takes out two cans of cider. There are jumbo packs of crisps on the worktop nearby and she picks up a bag of onion rings and shoves it under her arm. Pushes the fridge closed with her elbow.
‘Making cocktails?’ she tries.
‘Yeah. Something like that.’ Laura hears the sound of a spoon rattling off glass as Marie stirs her drink. ‘You back on with Mark, then?’ Marie says, turning round to face her.
‘I know, I know . . . don’t say it,’ Laura says. There is laughter in her voice. ‘He’s apologised. I got it wrong, anyway. He wasn’t with someone else. Hayley is just being an idiot.’
‘So’s Mark, messing around with those drugs and that arsehole from the shows.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s over now. He’s talking to Davie about it all tomorrow. He’s going to tell him where he got the drugs.’
‘What?’
‘He’s going to tell Davie about Gaz. Get it all sorted out. It’s not illegal anyway. But the police are looking into it all.’
‘That so?’ Marie takes a can of cider from the draining board and takes a drink. ‘You been in the living room yet?’
‘No . . . trying to stay outside. It’s all a bit mental in there.’
‘You’re telling me. Irish Tracy has commandeered the stereo. If I hear “Drops of Jupiter” one more time, I’m going to throw the thing out of the window.’
Laura laughs. ‘Good song, though.’ Irish Tracy is called that to distinguish her from the other Tracy that they all know. Tracy Bennett – unfortunately known as Tracy ‘Bent It’ after an encounter with someone who ended up having to go to casualty following a prolonged bout of what Tracy called ‘Drunken Carnal Monkey Sex’. Laura can only imagine.
‘Maybe the first five times . . . Everyone’s pissed, anyway. You’re not missing much. Better get back to your love nest, eh?’
Laura is about to leave when someone walks into the kitchen. Someone she doesn’t recognise. Yet there’s something oddly familiar about him. Laura wrinkles her nose. He seems to have brought a strange smell into the room with him too. It’s noticeable even above the sticky stench of spilled beer and burnt pizza. He looks grubby. He smells off.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Oh, er. Hi,’ Laura replies, smiles. Tries to be polite. She glances over at Marie, gives her a ‘who the fuck is this?’ look.
Marie puts an arm behind her and picks up a pint glass. Hands it to him. ‘I made you a cocktail,’ she says. ‘I think you’re going to like it.’ To Laura, she says, ‘Sorry, where are my manners? Laura, Graeme. Graeme, Laura.’ She takes a slurp from her can. ‘Laura, this is my brother, Graeme. He’s been, er . . . working away for a while. He’s just got back. Excuse his appearance.’
‘Hi,’ Graeme says again. He takes the glass from Marie.
‘I didn’t know you had a brother,’ Laura says. ‘How come you never said?’
‘How come you never asked?’
Marie and Graeme are both staring at her now.
‘I, uh . . .’ She feels uncomfortable. Doesn’t know what to say. ‘You’re very alike.’
Graeme takes a sip of his drink. Chuckles. ‘We’re twins,’ he says.
‘No way! Marie, I can’t believe you never told me this before. In fact, I’m sure you said you were an only child.’ She watches a glance pass between Graeme and Marie.
‘I don’t think so,’ Marie says. She tips back the can and drains the rest of her drink. ‘Pass us another, will you? In fact, is there anything stronger kicking around? This stuff’s making me feel sick.’
‘Maybe you should take it easy,’ Laura says.
Graeme laughs.
Marie crosses over to the other side of the kitchen, where she’s spotted a few bottles of spirits. She pulls a bottle of vodka from the middle of the collection. Inspects it. Tucks it under her arm. Lifts a bottle of cheap fizzy wine. A four-pack of Red Bull.
Laura is about to say something when a couple of girls come bundling into the kitchen. ‘Yay, ay, ay, ay, ayyyy,’ one of them is singing. Tracy Cavan, aka ‘Irish Tracy’. Laura knows her from coming into the Rowan Tree, where she is usually seen huddled in a corner having a deep and meaningful with someone or crying down her phone. While her friend Susan Pola, a quiet blonde girl who Laura has never seen taking a drink, sits and observes. Susan looks rosy-cheeked tonight. Having fun. Tracy starts opening cupboards, pulling stuff out. ‘Sangri-a-a-a,’ she chants. ‘Anne said there was some Martini Rosso somewhere. Her and Ian have fucked off out to the camper van. Her last words were: do what ever you like. So that is exactly what I intend to do.’
Laura puts her cans and her crisps down on the side and goes over to help. ‘I could go a sangria,’ she says. ‘Don’t make it too strong, though.’
Tracy laughs. ‘Oh, little one . . . You have much to learn.’
She finds a jug and starts pouring things into it. Laura finds some oranges and a knife, starts chopping them up. It takes her a few minutes before she realises that Marie and Graeme have disappeared.
25th July 2015
Marie,
Here’s something I’ve been working on:
The prettiest face I ever did see,
The loveliest girl, one half of me.
The widest smile, her biggest gift,
Touched my heart, gave me a lift.
The day I lost you, my heart broke in two,
When I became me and you became you.
I hope that one day I’ll see her again,
Not so much if, just a matter of when.
What do you think? Don’t take the piss. It’s my first attempt, but I’ll get better. Things always get better when you keep doing them. Don’t they, Marie? That’s why I never really understood why you wanted to start it all again with someone else.
I promised myself I would never ask you this, but what did I do wrong? I don’t know if you realise this, Marie, but I can’t remember a thing about the night I got taken away from you. They’ve told me stuff. They’ve told me what I did to you. But it can’t be true. Can it?
Love,
Graeme