Time to move on.
The day before Christmas Eve I was sure I’d seen her near my flat. I’d been out to buy some last-minute presents and wrapping paper, feeling glum, willing myself to forget about Charlie and embrace the Christmas spirit. As I turned into my street, a long road with a mixture of Victorian and Edwardian semis and converted houses not far from beautiful Brockwell Park, I saw a red-haired woman turn into the alleyway opposite my building. Weighed down by shopping bags, I broke into a slow run. The alleyway led through to a new development which bordered the park. There was no sign of her. I walked down the alley and over the fence into the park. Some kids were stomping in a pile of leaves and a man was talking enthusiastically to a cocker spaniel, but there was no red-headed women.
I shook my head. Great, now I’m hallucinating her, I thought.
‘You’re definitely not with it today, are you?’ Tilly said as I pushed her along the promenade.
The sky was battleship grey and the wind whipped in from the English Channel. There were some crazy people swimming in the foamy sea, their skin tinted blue as they emerged from the water onto the pebbles. The seafront was busy with children trying out their new bikes, families taking a post-lunch stroll and couples walking arm-in-arm, unwittingly making me envious.
‘I met someone,’ I said. ‘But I think she’s got away already.’
‘Ah,’ Tilly said. ‘She must have received my warning note.’
I told my sister about Charlie and about how she hadn’t called.
‘Her loss,’ Tilly said.
I sat on a damp bench beside Tilly and we looked out to sea, silence settling over us.
‘Do you miss them?’ she asked.
My eyes filled with tears and I clenched my teeth hard, swallowing the bruise in my throat. ‘I do on days like this. They’d be happy that we’re spending the day together, though.’
‘Undoubtedly. Pleased my big brother’s here to look after me.’
‘You do all right on your own, though, don’t you?’ I needed her to say yes.
‘Oh, of course. I’m an independent woman.’ She started humming the Destiny’s Child song.
‘You should audition for X Factor.’
‘Go for the big sob story vote, you mean? There’d be a shot of me talking about the car accident. They could show photo-montages of us when Mum and Dad were alive while I sang “Tears in Heaven” in my wheelchair. There wouldn’t be a dry eye in the country.’
‘You’d win for sure.’
‘Nah, I’d get voted out in disco week.’
A couple wearing matching purple fleeces walked by, giggling like they were heading straight back to bed for some mutually satisfying sex.
‘So this girl . . . Want to talk about it?’ she asked.
I sighed. ‘No. There’s no point.’
‘I always thought you and Sasha would get together. She’s lovely.’
‘Sasha? She’s my best friend. Neither of us would want to ruin that. Plus we don’t fancy each other.’
‘What?’ She expressed mock outrage. ‘How could anyone not fancy you? That’s crazy talk.’
‘Well, yes. How about you? Is everything all right?’
‘I thought you were going to ask about my love life for a moment there.’
‘Oh?’
She smiled. ‘There’s nothing to tell, unfortunately. Though there is a very cute guy in the apartment next to mine. Biceps like grapefruit. Plays basketball . . . I might have to go along and watch him. Also, there’s this guy at work who I’m pretty sure has got the hots for me.’
‘I’m sure he has.’ Tilly was gorgeous. Light brown hair, almond eyes, cute like a children’s TV presenter. She had a lot more success with the opposite sex than me. She worked as an editor for a children’s publisher who was based here on the south coast.
‘I just wish he’d do something about it. It’s been months and I’m horny as hell.’
‘Tilly!’
‘Sorry.’ She held her hands up. ‘Big brother leaves his comfort zone. Well, if you know anyone who wants some hot sex with a girl who can’t run away, send him my way. As long as he’s hung like . . .’
‘Oh God, please.’ I covered my ears.
‘I do miss them, though,’ she said, lurching back to the original subject.
‘Just you and me, kid,’ I said, and I took hold of the back of her chair and walked on before I had to start pretending to have something in my eye.
The accident had happened when I was sixteen. The four of us were heading home after a weekend away at Center Parcs. I hadn’t wanted to go, thinking it was for kids, but we’d had a great time swimming, playing badminton and riding around on bikes all week. Dad had even let me drink, though Tilly wasn’t allowed, to her disgust.
‘It’s not like I’m an alcohol virgin,’ she’d muttered to me when our parents were out of earshot. ‘In fact . . .’
‘Tilly, shut up.’
She had always embarrassed me and made me smile in equal measure.
Mum and Dad had been arguing a lot before the holiday; she seemed irritated with him all the time and I’d been worried they were heading for divorce. But, apart from a couple of episodes related to his forgetfulness, they seemed happy and relaxed together and had even, to my teenage horror, kissed and held hands. Yuk.
‘I hope you’re lucky like me, Andrew,’ Dad said out of nowhere while he barbecued sausages behind our cabin.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, fixated on the sizzle of the meat, my stomach gurgling.
‘I hope you find a woman like your mum. Someone who really loves you and is good to you.’
I grunted.
‘But make sure you sow some wild oats first, eh?’ He winked at me and I shuffled away in search of the ketchup.
On the way home, a huge thunderstorm cracked the sky open as we hit the M25. Rain bounced hard off the windscreen and all the cars put their lights on as the world darkened around us. Dad was driving, leaning forward in his seat like being a couple of inches closer to the windshield would help him see through the torrents running down the glass.
Despite leaning forward, he didn’t see the lorry that swerved in front of us out of the slow lane until it was too late. All I remember is Dad yelling, Mum trying to grab the wheel, Tilly screaming and a great jarring screech of metal and smash of glass as the car flipped over like a toy.
Dad was killed instantly.