Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner (read book txt) 📗

in fairground colours, cans bent double. I close my eyes. There is a smell of gunpowder and rot. I can’t understand why the fire is producing quite so much black smoke.

My eyelids feel heavy, like I’m using all my strength to keep them open. After a while, I can’t even seem to see things properly – it’s as if I’m looking at everything through tinted glass. I wonder if it is the smoke from the fire affecting me – I keep rubbing my eyes on my jumper sleeve.

I go back inside, thinking my eyes might feel better. But it seems to be almost as foggy in here. Perhaps people are smoking indoors. Despite my begging, Charlie has brought two towering black speakers, plugged them in where Mummy’s floor lamp was. As I pass, bending to dab at a wine-splattered wall with damp kitchen roll, a shaven-headed guy at the decks looks up at me, one headphone on and one off, like I’ve seen Charlie doing. He just nods, then closes his eyes again.

Bass vibrates through the house, shaking the glasses in the cabinet. In the gaps between, the dehumidifier clicks and hums. Charlie dances into the room, eyes half closed, nodding to the music.

‘Who on earth are all these people?’ I hiss at Charlie.

He shrugs. ‘Mates.’

‘You could have come and spoken to Mathilde and Arthur.’

‘Who?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Our neighbours,’ I snap. ‘The ones who have lived here forever, who were friends with Daddy, who used to always throw your football back for you.’

He stares at me blankly.

‘They asked after you. It felt rude.’

Charlie still looks puzzled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t even know they were here.’

I rub my forehead. My head is throbbing. Charlie smiles, tries to catch my eye. ‘Honestly, don’t look so worried, Helen. Everything’s fine.’ I squint at him suspiciously. He’d better not be up to his old tricks again. I note that, as usual, he is looking faintly unwashed and in need of a haircut. I turn away. Sometimes it hurts even to look at Charlie. His face is all Mummy – her wide smile, her light brown eyes.

‘How’s Ruby?’

‘She’s fine. At her mum’s.’

‘Is Katie here yet?’

Charlie shrugs again, as if I’ve mentioned some passing acquaintance rather than his girlfriend. ‘Haven’t seen her,’ he says. ‘What about your new mate? Rachel? Is she here?’

‘I don’t know where she is,’ I say. ‘She went out for cigarettes this afternoon. She’s been ages.’ I narrow my eyes. ‘Why? What do you want with her?’

‘Nothing,’ Charlie says distractedly. He plucks a joint from behind his ear. ‘I just wondered. How about Rory, is he coming? And Serena?’ He taps his pockets for a lighter.

‘Charlie, you can’t smoke in here!’ I snap. ‘Tell your friends they can’t smoke in here.’

‘Relax, Helen!’ He laughs, putting the joint back. ‘I was just getting it ready!’

‘I don’t know if Rory and Serena are coming,’ I say crossly. ‘Rory has better taste in parties than you. Whatever his other faults might be.’

‘What does that mean? I didn’t think Rory and Serena had any faults, according to you.’

I shake my head, pawing at my eyes again. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Go and annoy someone else. I need to clean this wall. The one your friends have ruined.’

Charlie is barely listening. He puts his arm around me, kisses me drunkenly on the temple. His stubble is scratchy.

‘Look at you, sis! A thousand months pregnant and you’re hosting a cool party! People are having a good time!’

I wriggle free, push him away. Tell him to buzz off.

Later, as I bend to collect more beer cans from my herb garden, I feel a gathering sense of heaviness in my limbs, so much so that I doubt for a moment whether I’ll be able to haul myself up again. I’m tired. So tired. Too tired to protest. Too tired to make my stand. I decide I will just go with it. Let Charlie and Daniel have this one silly night, before the baby comes. Things will be different after that.

At least tonight I won’t have to think too much about Rachel. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon, actually. Maybe she’s done one of her disappearing acts.

I put my hand to my temple; it feels as if my head might be about to explode. Even if she does turn up, I tell myself, it’ll hardly make a difference. She’ll find someone else to talk to, one of Charlie’s strange friends, probably. I’ll just stay out of her way. For once, she’ll be the least of my worries.

I am wrong about that, as it turns out.

KATIE

I take another sip of Helen’s mulled wine, exhale deeply. Charlie and Rachel are talking by the bookcase, away from everyone else. She seems all right now, I think, slightly bitterly. Her neck seems to have cleared up. Just a few little blotches of yellowy green, almost nothing.

Rachel is holding a glass in one hand and a straw in the other, swirling the ice cubes around coquettishly. She is wearing a blue velvet dress, sort of old-fashioned, and shoes that tie in bows at the backs of her ankles. As she and Charlie talk, she tilts her head to one side. The music is loud, and she says something into his ear, leaning close so that her lips graze the edges of his skin. I hear him laugh his real laugh. And then as he brings his hand to his mouth, I swear he just brushes against the side of her body, his fingers against her waist. Maybe. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe not.

He does this, Charlie. He does something to women. He could be talking to you about anything – the weather, the wine, the carpet. It’s the way he looks at you when he does it. Makes you feel as if the rest of the world is spinning, and he is the only fixed point. I should know. He has been doing it to me since we were both at