Thea

Chapter 3

3

Ivy is dead.

My mind screams it over and over again, but the words can’t physically pass my lips.

Thea is asleep upstairs, all cried out. I’m past crying, too. All I feel is numb, broken—like a speeding train has hit me—and there’s nothing left but scattered organs and shattered bones. If it weren’t for Thea, getting hit by a train would seem a lot less traumatic.

The living room TV is on, but nothing’s sinking in. I know it’s some American cop show, but I can’t register the plot, who’s in it, what the name is. I just don’t care. Nothing seems important anymore.

Except Thea.

I went through the first bottle of red in a matter of minutes, and I’m already halfway done with the second. I want to stop—I need to stop. Thea’s got school in the morning—her first day back. The Head-teacher told her to take as much time as she needed, but Thea actually wants to go. She hasn’t seen her friends in weeks, and another day stuck in this house with me would probably be too much. At least school will be a distraction for her. This house is riddled, top to bottom, with reminders of Ivy. Her guitar in the corner of the room, her mass collection of beauty products in the bathroom. And, of course, her bedroom. It’s been two months, and I still haven’t been able to go in. Mum and Uncle Roy threw out the mattress while I was at the park with Thea. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing it again. Every time I pass her door, her room feels like a black hole of pain; one step inside and I’d be whisked off to Hell, to relive that day, over and over again, until I’m reduced to nothing but a shell. Thea will be alone—without a mother—and I will be lost, spiralling into darkness.

All the bedrooms can be locked from the outside with one skeleton key. It’s been in the vase on the landing table since we moved in. I never had any reason to use it before. Well, now I do. If I could afford to move out, I would—and staying in Mum’s isn’t an option—no matter how much she begs.

After what happened to Ivy, Mum was the last person I wanted to deal with the mattress. All those memories must have floated back to the surface.

But I suppose it was different with Ivy—she cut her wrists open, bled to death, had every intention of dying. But Mum couldn’t be that brave. She tried to take the easy route: an entire bottle of painkillers. Anyone can get drunk and swallow a bunch of pills. It’s nothing. It’s a piece of cake. Your classic cry for help.

It’s when your only daughter has to find you passed out on the bed—that’s when things get hard.

But Thea and I will be okay. We will get through it. Things will get better. As long as we have each other.

And as long as Ivy’s door stays locked.

I take a huge gulp of wine. I wince a little; it’s finally started to turn on me. Setting it down on the coffee table, I pick up the remote and switch the TV off. The last place I feel like going is to bed. It’s not that I can’t sleep—I sleep just fine. It’s as if my body just shuts down the moment my head hits the pillow. But sleeping only brings out the nightmares. In the day I can push away those feelings of dread by keeping busy, but when I’m sleeping, there’s no escape. And when I wake, for a moment I forget what happened to her, I forget about that bastard Callum.

But only for a moment.

I stare at the black screen of the TV, trying to build up the courage to go to bed. I’m not sleeping on the couch again. I take a few breaths and finally get up. Normally I’d stumble a little from a bottle and a half of red wine. Those days have long gone. Flicking off the light switch, I leave the room, heading for the stairs. In my head, I hear the back door open, and Ivy coming home, staggering across the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Too wasted even to tiptoe. I feel a lump in my throat, cutting through the numbness. I’d give anything to see her face again. Stoned or not.

I shake it off and return to a state of detachment. No good will come of this t*****e. I climb the stairs and reach the landing. The first door I pass is the bathroom. Even that whisks me back to that fateful night, watching Thea as she pleaded for her sister to watch a film with her.

What if she’d said yes? Would she still be alive today?

Stop it, Sarah. You’re doing it again.

I whiz past Ivy’s door, almost holding my breath, and head for Thea’s bedroom. Her door is ajar, a blue glow seeping out from its edges. I open it to find the TV on and the sound muted. She’s sleeping. I pray her dreams don’t torment her like mine do. Let her dream of a future—a happy one—even if it’s without her sister. I can’t see one, though. All I see is a long, dark country road that leads to nowhere.

I pick up Thea’s remote and switch the TV off. Her head and arm are dangling out of her bed. I carefully push them back in and readjust her quilt. She looks peaceful, almost content. Maybe sleep is an escape for her. It makes me smile—but only inside. My lips have forgotten how. I stroke her soft hair. For a moment it reminds me of Ivy’s.

But only for a moment.

I kiss her on the forehead, whisper that I love her, and then start to leave.

“Ivy?” I hear Thea say, croakily.

“No, sweetheart,” I whisper, walking back over to her bedside, “it’s Mum.”

“I thought you were Ivy,” she whispers, staring at me through bloodshot eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just turning the TV off.”

“I had another dream,” she says, quietly. “About Ivy.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and gently stroke her hair again. “Did you, sweetheart? What happened?”

“We were playing in the garden.”

“That sounds nice,” I say with a smile.

Thea shakes her head. “She was being mean to me. Telling me that it was my fault that she died.” She bursts into tears. “It was horrible.”

I hug her tightly. “Don’t cry. It was just a dream. It was no one’s fault.”

Except mine.

I shush her softly for a few minutes, but it does nothing to settle her.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer, but I feel her head nodding against my chest.

I somehow find the strength to pick her up out of bed and carry her to my room. I lay her on my bed, pull the quilt over her, and then climb in next to her. Thea closes her eyes and the crying soon stops. I think she’s sleeping. I need to sleep too, but the very notion makes me sick to my stomach. I have to at least try, though. I’m only half a mother when I’m walking around like a zombie, so I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.

What’s another night of t*****e?

Part II

Teenage Kicks