LITMIR.BIZ

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SHOOT ME NOW. Neve smiles weakly.

      Lou is watching her with a similar expression to the one she keeps flicking towards her eldest daughter. Neve knows that her sister is wondering, constantly, about whether she is in communication with Daniel. Neve decides to put her out of her misery.

      ‘Miri says hi,’ she says.

      Bill seems to wake up at this. ‘Miri. Now that’s an unusual name. English girl, is she?’

      ‘Yes,’ says Neve as she heads towards the kitchen. ‘Her full name is Amira Sharma-Kapoor.’ She looks back over her shoulder and adds, ‘She was born in Croydon.’

      At the sink she can’t stop the grin at the silence in her wake. She can picture Bill and Celia exchanging glances. She attacks the washing up with fast efficiency, hoping that no one will offer to help her.

      Bill and Celia retire to the sofa now and Celia is tasked with trying to put batteries into one of the few plastic toys Lottie has been allowed to have. Everything else has a wooden, utilitarian air about it and screams ‘educational’. Neve had played it safe and stuck to the present she was instructed to buy; a stacking game with colourful wooden balls which Lottie hasn’t looked at since opening.

      Maisie starts to grizzle and Lou takes her off into another room. She still occasionally breastfeeds her and knows she will get a frosty reception from Celia, who once declared that there was ‘no need for letting everything hang out’. Neve, having seen what having two children has done to Lou’s breasts, guiltily half agrees with this sentiment.

      As she washes up, Neve thinks back to the Christmas before. She and Daniel, who didn’t speak to his parents any more and was without familial ties, had holed up with wine, beer and a range of deli food from Marks and Spencer. They watched Breaking Bad in one long marathon, stopping only for sex and food breaks. There was no tree and they sent no cards.

      It had been her best adult Christmas.

      Her heart feels sand-bag heavy inside her chest as she remembers them emerging, blinking into the daylight for a walk on Boxing Day. They’d walked hand in hand on Hampstead Heath and stopped for hot chocolates in the funny old café that never seemed to change.

      It’s hard to think about what they talked of now.

      So much of their time together – almost four years – had revolved around going out, getting stoned, getting drunk. Laughter. Music. Sex.

      Fun.

      During his ‘up’ times anyway. There were other periods when Daniel turned his face to the wall for whole mornings or afternoons and was monosyllabic. She used to tell herself it was all part of his arty personality and that his up and down moods were somehow fuelled by creativity.

      Daniel was a musician, who played in a couple of bands and also did the occasional bit of session work, mainly classical guitar. He was a few years older than Neve – thirty-six on his last birthday. When, shortly after, he had quit both the bands on the same weekend, she’d told him he was having an early mid-life crisis. Then he took off, to Ireland, to visit a friend, so he said.

      And while he was away, she was so angry with him that she got drunk and slept with his friend and band mate Ash. When he came back it turned out he had been ‘trying to get his head together’ and had decided it was time they got married. Neve didn’t want to get married. But she didn’t want him to know about Ash either and she had ended up blurting that out within two hours of him getting home.

      She’d moved out a few days later. There’s no prospect of being forgiven. Daniel was ‘betrayed’, as he put it, by his first love and had sunk into a deep depression after this. Now, he says Neve has opened up old wounds, and inflicted new ones.

      She still doesn’t want to marry him. But she wishes they could slip back into their old life and just carry on as they were. Why did things have to change?

      Taking a tray of teas and coffees into the living room, Neve sees that Lottie has built a teetering tower out of her building blocks and is concentrating with a scrunched brow and chewed lower lip on getting the final piece on top. Steve is helping and Celia is sitting close by and handing over marbles.

      But as the final one is put into place, the whole thing collapses and scatters coloured glass in a surprisingly wide arc.

      Lottie gives a frustrated squeal and says in a clear, bright voice, ‘Buggering cunty bollocks,’ just as Lou walks back into the room.

      Celia sucks in her breath. Steve glares at Neve. Lou looks as though she is going to burst into tears.

      ‘Where on earth has she learned language like that?’ says Celia.

      ‘That’s what Aunty Neve said when she stubbed her toe on Daddy’s bike,’ says Lottie, eyes bright, picking up on the charged atmosphere. Neve forces a laugh and reaches for a cup of coffee. She takes a sip and scalds her mouth.

      ‘Oops!’ she says and glances around the room at the looks of disapproval and disappointment. ‘Sorry. I promise to rein it in.’

      ‘Yes, why don’t you?’ says Steve, furiously snatching up bricks. ‘Why don’t you just do that?’

      Neve suddenly feels an overwhelming exhaustion wash over her. She would happily lay her head down on the carpet and sleep right now.

      ‘I said I’m sorry,’ she says in a small voice.

      ‘But are you?’ Steve’s face is rigid and Neve experiences a jolt at how much dislike she sees there.

      ‘Er. Yes, I am?’

      ‘Because,’ says Steve, ‘I don’t know.’ He gets to his feet. It is actually possible to see his internal temperature rising. ‘It seems to me as though you get a bit of a kick out of disrupting things.’

      Injustice flashes bright inside her chest. ‘That’s not fair.’

      Lou says, ‘Steve,’ warningly.

      But Steve is only just starting. Lottie creeps towards her grandmother’s legs and leans against her, thumb in mouth and eyes wide.

      ‘No, Lou, you know that you feel the same way. You said it would be for a week or so and how long have you been here now, Neve?’

      ‘I’m not sure, maybe a month, but I’m trying—’

      ‘Six weeks,’ he cuts across her. ‘And not only do you leave a trail of destruction everywhere you go, you come in at all hours after doing God knows what. It’s like you think you live in a student squat, rather than a family house.’

      ‘Steve, please!’ snaps Lou. ‘It’s Christmas Day! This isn’t the time for that conversation.’

      ‘It never is the time!’ Steve’s roar shocks everyone, including, it seems, himself. He snaps his jaw shut and blinks furiously.

      Neve gets up from the seat. She can feel it building inside her, and she knows she should just leave now. Say nothing else.

      She also knows she won’t do that.

      ‘But you’re not so perfect, are you?’ she says, with a half-smile.

      Steve laughs. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Well,’ says Neve, ‘I’ve noticed that it’s always Lou who does the donkey work with the girls. You somehow manage to go out with your mates and do all your wanky sports, don’t you? While my sister looks like one of the walking dead most of the time.’

      ‘Neve!’

      ‘Sorry, but it’s true.’

      ‘If you care so much about your sister, you could help out a bit, couldn’t you?’ barks Steve.

      ‘Really,’ says Celia now, her face pink with outrage. ‘I must say that you are being very ungrateful after everything my son … and daughter-in-law have done for you.’

      Neve can’t

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