New Year’s Eve 2021
Chrissy
Chrissy had had anxiety attacks before, so she knew the signs of one coming on. She sat on the edge of a barrel and took deep, slow breaths, inflating and deflating an imaginary paper bag. What was so triggering about this evening? Why couldn’t she look forward to a new year, sparkly and full of promise, like everyone else?
Just for one night, why couldn’t she forget?
‘Need some help?’ came Alice’s cheerful voice, as the cellar door creaked and high heels clip-clopped down the steps.
Alice stopped when she caught sight of Chrissy – not changing the barrel but sitting on top of one, empty hands cupped around her mouth. ‘Chris, you okay? Shall I get you a bag?’ She knew the signs, too. She’d rubbed the small of Chrissy’s back through what felt like a hundred attacks, during her marriage and after. She’d even started carrying a paper bag in her handbag after a while, folded up neatly, in case Chrissy needed it.
Always there. Looking after her. Like a mum with spare clothes in a rucksack – like they both used to do for their mucky, muddy boys. Sometimes Chrissy wished the dynamic was different. Wished she wasn’t the one always making the call. Can you help me patch this window up? Can you help me cover this bruise with your good foundation?
He’s dead, please help me, he’s dead.
The breathlessness was ebbing now, though, so she stood up and tossed back her hair. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
‘Peter’s looking after the bar for a minute,’ Alice said. ‘So take your time.’
‘Is he?’ Chrissy flashed back to the night, that night, when he’d helped her tidy up after closing. The way he’d set the glass washer going without needing to ask which buttons to press. She glanced to the left and pictured two figures messily entwined against the wall of the cellar. Sometimes she was able to think of it as a happy memory. The night two friends made a baby. But that kind of romanticism seemed ridiculous right now. The memory had jagged edges and a painful core and she had nobody to blame except herself.
She was the one who’d wanted to pretend Leo was Ethan’s. She’d regretted it, oh how she’d regretted it, once Leo was older and Ethan’s attentive husband act had dropped away yet again. But she couldn’t retract all the things she’d forced Peter to promise. Couldn’t break their vow of silence, even when she’d wanted to run screaming to his door.
Plus, he had Marianne. Chrissy kept waiting for them to announce they were having a child of their own, kept preparing herself for it. But they never had.
Was that what was haunting her tonight? The things that might’ve been different if she’d left Ethan, all those times she’d come heart-thumpingly close.
‘It will get easier,’ Alice said, as if reading her thoughts.
‘Why should it?’ Chrissy said, too tired to go along with the new-year-new-start relentlessness, even for the sake of her best friend’s obsession.
Alice smiled, undeterred. ‘Because it’ll have me to answer to if it doesn’t.’ She flexed her skinny bicep and Chrissy saw the shimmer of some kind of body cream or powder on her skin. Alice was shiny and sweet-smelling. Chrissy felt grubby and ugly and scarred.
And angry. She felt the anger swelling, even as she knew that it wasn’t fair, really, wasn’t aimed at Alice. But, as so often, Alice was the person in front of her.
‘Why did you get me this locket?’ she asked.
Alice looked startled. ‘What?’
‘Why did you give me a locket identical to yours? Tell me we should wear them all the time? This isn’t primary school.’
Alice flinched like she’d been slapped. ‘Because … because …’
Chrissy felt as awful as if she had hit her. But with the guilt came the defensive urge to dig her heels in, to double down.
‘You think I like wearing this round my neck as a constant reminder?’ she flung out.
‘Reminder? Of us being friends?’
‘Of us having this … thing …’ Chrissy couldn’t even say it because they never talked about it, except in a weird code that had nothing to do with Ethan’s death and everything to do with friendship and lockets and looking out for each other. ‘This shared … thing.’
‘Matching lockets,’ Alice said. ‘Matching fucking lockets. That’s all they are.’
‘No, they’re not!’ Chrissy raised her voice. Her hair tumbled into her face and she pushed it back but it fell forward again, with an infuriating will of its own. Alice had not a hair out of place, never did. Even that night, the Ethan night, she had only looked a little paler than usual, her pupils bigger and darker. She had been the calm one, as usual, but wasn’t that what Chrissy had needed?
Wasn’t Alice always what she needed? And didn’t she know, deep down, that this would be the case forever, and that Alice would be on her side forever, no matter what she hurled at her on bad days like this?
‘Chris …’ Alice reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear for her. But a thud overhead made them both stall. The ceiling tremored and they frowned, glancing at the closed cellar door.
‘Sounds like things are getting rowdy,’ Alice said. ‘Is it twelve already?’
‘I don’t know.’ Chrissy wasn’t ready for ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and kisses on each cheek. There was more she wanted to say.
She watched Alice turn back to face her, locket winking from her flushed throat, and she blurted again: ‘Sometimes I think you like having something over me.’
Alice’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’
‘I don’t mean … I just mean, I think you like being the … the keeper of my guilt. My secrets. It’s like …’ Her mouth seemed to be moving without instruction. ‘It’s like you’ve put them inside these lockets and now we carry them round and …’
‘Fucking hell, Chris!’ Alice yelled. ‘They’re just necklaces! With pictures of our sons inside. Our sons who grew up together, who we—’
This time, the thud was much, much louder. And there were shouts that seemed to roll across the ceiling like a giant bowling ball. The two of them froze, eyes locking, chests moving up and down.
Then the cellar door flew open.
‘Alice! Chrissy! You need to come! You need to come now.’