REMEMBERING THE DEAD

I thought everything would change once Amelia had gone. I thought . . . I dunno. I thought Jim would realize I’d been right about Amelia and tell me he wanted me to come back and live with him again. I thought I’d stop being frightened of everything. I thought I’d be able to sleep at night without nightmares.

But nothing changed. I still lived with Andy and Chris. I started secondary school in Bristol, which was big and horrible and confusing and miserable. I’m sure secondary school in Tollford would have been big and horrible and confusing and miserable too, but at least Daniel would have been there, and I bet the boys would still have played football at lunchtime. Growing up made me tired and depressed. The bigger you are, the less people care about you. They stop thinking you’re cute, and start thinking you’re a lost cause.

Grace got her A Level results in August. She got into the London School of Economics, which was apparently a pretty big deal. She and Maisy were moving to London in September. She’d been given a little flat with a bedroom for Maisy to sleep in, and Maisy had a place in a crèche for when Grace was being a student. I found all this out at a church service for the dead babies in Tollford. Andy and Chris took me.

The church in Tollford was full of people. It made me angry. Nobody cared about all the live kids in care who didn’t have families, but they all came out for some babies who’d died years and years and years ago. I bet all those people would have said horrible things about the babies’ mothers if they’d been alive a hundred years ago.

Jim was there with Daniel and Harriet and Grace and Maisy. I got all jumpity-jittery when I saw them. I thought for sure Grace would hate me after what I tried to do to Maisy.

“Let’s go home,” I said to Andy, but he put his arm around my shoulder and said, “It’s OK, Olivia.” And then Harriet saw us and ran across to say hello, and Jim and everyone else followed. Even Grace came over, although she hung back behind Jim. I could see her tense up all over, and I could smell her nervousness. I wanted to run away, but Andy’s arm was round my shoulder, and everyone was looking at me.

In the month since I’d seen her, Maisy had learnt to walk. She toddled right up to us. I started back, afraid. I wasn’t supposed to be near her any more. Surely someone was going to yell at me if I touched her?

“It’s all right, Olivia,” said Chris. He picked up Maisy and lifted her into the air. “Hello, little girl! Hello, gorgeous!”

Then Jim was there, and there was a whole boring grown-up conversation about babies, and Maisy, and schools, and that’s when Jim told us about Grace and the LSE. Andy and Chris asked all these questions about Grace’s flat and the crèche. The flats were mostly for grown-up students with husbands and babies, which Andy seemed to think was awful.

“What a shame you aren’t with the other first years,” he said. “You’ll miss out on so much.”

I could see Grace getting pissed off with him.

“It is not a shame,” she said. “I’ve been given everything I ever wanted. And Maisy. Maisy is not a shame, are you, Maisy?”

“Oh. . .” said Andy. “I didn’t mean. . .”

Grace glared at him and I giggled. I liked Grace, I realized. I never thought I’d like so many people.

The service was dead boring. Hymns and prayers and readings out of the service book and the vicar boring on about evil. I spent it seeing how annoying I could be before Andy and Chris kicked me out. I wriggled. I poked Chris in the leg. I went, “I’m bored, I’m bored,” and asked stupid questions like, “What are those numbers for?” and “Why has that vicar got white in his collar?” and “Are we done yet?” until Chris got fed up and sent me outside.

Outside was quiet and nice. Grace was sitting on the bench playing with Maisy. Maisy ran over to me again, and Grace came after her and picked her up.

“Don’t you bloody touch her,” she said, all fierce.

“I won’t,” I said. “I won’t! Amelia’s gone now.”

“Huh.” Grace didn’t say anything for a while. Then she said, “Much good it does you, eh?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Maybe Jim will let me come back,” I said. “Now you and Maisy aren’t living there any more. He might.”

“Maybe,” said Grace. “I wouldn’t count on it, though. If you go around trusting people, you’ll always get hurt. Why should he care about you?”

When she said that, I just wanted to run away. Run far, far away and never come back. It’s all very well not trusting anyone when you’re eighteen and have your own flat in London. It’s exhausting when you’re eleven and a half, and don’t have a mum or a dad, or even a home. I thought Grace was probably right, though.

“I wouldn’t hurt Maisy now,” I said to Grace. “Really, I wouldn’t.”

Grace shrugged. She was still all tense.

“I don’t believe in promises,” she said. “Any more than I believe in people. You’ve got to look after yourself in this world. No one else will.”

 

Later, in the car home, I thought about what Grace had said. Was she right? I wasn’t sure. Once upon a time, I’d definitely have agreed with her. But now I thought about all the people I liked: Liz, and Hayley, and Daniel, and Harriet, and Maisy, and Grace, and Pork Scratchings, and the goats, and Jim. I still wasn’t sure I could trust any of these people. But I wanted to trust them and that had to be worth something. Hadn’t it?