Page 191 of Vying Girls

I swallow, the memories coming thick and fast now. These are the things I’d forgotten—tried my best to.

Tilda’s voice is very close to my ear when she asks, ‘Do you remember?’

‘Yeah,’ I whisper. ‘I remember.’

‘What do you remember? What you did or how you felt?’

I open my mouth, then close it again. I know what she wants, what she’s trying to do. With a sigh, I let myself slip back to that night.

We’d been in the new house by then, my bed a big, high one that I’d had to help Tilda onto. She’d been pallid by the time we got back. I don’t remember where her mum was either, but I’ve no doubt she was around, shirking her motherly duties.

Didn’t bother me. I preferred it when it was just us. It felt less performative, more natural. We had no need for anyone but each other.

I remember sneaking the medicine from the kitchen, shaking it upside down for ten whole seconds like I’d seen Dad do. Thendrawing it up into the syringe and feeding it to Tilda. Two times, like I’d seen Dad do too.

Then I’d putThe Secret Gardenon, climbed on the bed after her and watched over as she slept. I don’t remember the humming or the massages. Just that all-engulfing, bone-deep protectiveness.

It’s that she wants me to remember.

I bring up her sleeping face, my shadow cast over it. Looming, looking after. There were monsters all around us. I must have been aware of them. The strange lovelessness of her mother, the unknowable threat of my dad. Too young to understand but aware, nevertheless. No wonder we never let each other out of our sights. We were survivors.

Until I became just another monster to her, one I couldn’t save her from.

God.

Tears sting at my eyes. I keep them screwed shut, not letting them fall, not letting her see.

‘We’re still those kids, Nic,’ Tilda whispers. ‘We just got a bit hurt.’

I swallow, capturing her hand with mine. Holding it there.

‘Open your eyes, Nic.’

I shake my head, the tears burning, burning.

‘Please. Open your eyes.’

At first, I see nothing through the veil of tears. I blink them away, ashamed when they trickle to my temples. And Tilda’s face, full of compassion.

I’m still trapped in that half place, her face staring back at me ten years old, full of an innocence soon to be shattered.

All at once, I can’t bear it.

‘Tilda,’I breathe.

She comes to me without hesitation, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and lifting me into her. I cradle her back,probably too hard, our legs tangling together. There’s no getting close enough.

Sniffing the tears back, I bury my head in her neck.

‘Shhh. It’s okay.’ She strokes my back with gentle hands. ‘It’s okay.’

‘I’m so,sosorry.’

‘I know.’ She kisses my damp temple. ‘I forgive you.’

I shake my head, finding that the most unbearable thing of all.

‘And one day,’ she goes on soothingly, not letting me pull back, ‘you’ll find it in you to forgive yourself. We both will.’