183 Times a Year (5 page)

‘He's still a pretentious knob,' she retorts. ‘God, he has so many selfies, it's like looking at Cassie or Maisy's profile for god sake. Scott standing by the pool. Scott standing by his car. Scott on his bike. Scott at the Eiffel Tower. Scott on the beach. Scott drinking at the bar. If you ever wanted a case study for narcissism he's your man.'

‘
Were there pictures of her, or their daughter?' I ask, slightly more sober than I was five minutes ago.

Ruby shrugs her shoulders. ‘A few.'

‘What about Cassie and Connor?'

She pauses. ‘I didn't see any, but then I didn't really look for too long. Look Lizzie the only person Scott will ever truly love is Scott and the only reason he stays with his second wife is for her money. Pure and simple. The problem wasn't – isn't – you or Cassie or Connor. It's him. Don't you get that? And bleeding for the world won't change things.'

‘What do you mean? I don't.'

‘You do,' she continues. ‘Take your job for instance, you're only supposed to check out books, but you can't leave it at that can you? You feel obliged to help the homeless, the jobless, the bereaved, and the uneducated. Christ if I didn't know better I'd have sworn you were a social worker, not a bloody librarian. It doesn't stop there though does it? You try to be the perfect Mum, perfect step-mum, perfect daughter, perfect friend and perfect partner.'

I look at Ruby in dismay. I was laughing five minutes ago and now I feel like shit. ‘Are you saying I'm wrong to care?' I try not to sound angry. Ruby smiles at me.

‘You sounded just like Cassie then. No, you are so right to care. I wish there were more people like you Lizzie but just look at you. Unlike me you're still as skinny as the day you left school but I swear that's because you run round after everyone and spend most of your life worrying. And you never stop trying to make up for Scott's shit. It's exhausting Lizzie – give yourself a bloody break will you? And besides,' she adds, ‘all it does is reinforce how flawed us mere mortals are.'

I look at my friend, confused.

‘I still don't understand, what are you saying?'

Ruby sighs and runs a hand through her long dark hair.

‘
I dunno. What am I saying? Maybe – just maybe – try and worry a little less about everyone else and take more care of you for once? Cassie, despite her prick of a father, will be okay you know? She has a tough time with him I'll grant you that but she's also just a teenager. It's normal to be filled with all that angst and anxiety. Christ don't you remember?'

I digest my friend's words – slowly. Part of me feels furious. I want to shout at her like Cassie shouts at me. How dare she knock me for caring?

‘It's easy to preach Ruby but you haven't got a bloody clue what it's like to live with two damaged teenage girls.' My words have barely finished tripping off the end of the tongue I now want to bite off. My response was instant but my regret is equally so. I look at the face of my lovely friend and see the pain I've caused.

I place the heel of my hand on my forehead and sigh heavily. ‘Shit. I'm – so – sorry,' is all I can manage to say. Three pathetic words, never more meant. Ruby lowers her head for a moment and the quiet is deafening.

Thankfully (for once) I'm relieved to hear that all too familiar voice. ‘Mum,' Cassie shouts, ‘Mu-um!'

‘Outside Cassie,' I shout back. Cassie emerges at the back door, Maisy behind her. Maisy's eyes are lined with thick black liner out of choice, Cassie's because her – I suspect – make-up has ran from crying again. Cassie spots Ruby and out of nowhere, in a sweet angelic voice totally alien to me, greets her. Cassie then turns to me again and her demonic intonation returns.

‘I'm going for a sleepover at Pheebs,' she states.

‘Cassie, please don't
tell
me where you are going, please ask me.'

Cassie rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. ‘
Please
can I go to Pheebs for a sleepover?'

‘What about your revision?' I ask, slightly anxious. Fully
aware
of Ruby's words only moments ago. Cassie's eyes begin to fill up, threatening to erupt into tears.

‘I knew you'd do this to me,' she replies. Cassie looks defeated, her voice tinged with anger but for once she seems resigned. She turns to go back to her room but I'm moved by her sadness.

‘Okay, you can go,' I call after her. Cassie turns back and looks at me in disbelief.

She smiles like the little girl she once was and still struggles not to be.

Her eyes are wide. ‘Really?'

‘Yes really, but make sure you're back bright and early to get on with your revision.' She sighs again but she has to, it's compulsory for teenagers. She's still smiling though. I smile back.

Maisy's giving her a lift. Having recently passed her driving test Maisy wants to drive everyone everywhere – except me of course – which is great except I can't extricate the driving instructor's comments to me just before her test. “Maisy, or should I say, er, ummmm …” He paused and coughed at this point, his face reddening a little. “Maisy or Mania” he eventually continued, “is err, well … ahem … a slightly overconfident driver, who talks very little except to call other drivers expletive words”. I can feel myself worrying already.

‘Please drive carefully Maisy,' I plead. She looks at me, the regular, rhythmic movements of her jaw viciously chomping on the gum in her mouth.

‘My name is
not
Maisy, its Mania' she states, ‘and yeah, whatevs.'

The girls, like a tumultuous cyclone, are gone as quickly as they came. I look across at Ruby. She is, thankfully, laughing.

‘I'm sorry,' I say again. ‘That was a shitty, thoughtless thing for me to say.'

‘No, no, it wasn't.' She sighs. ‘And you're right I don't understand, I sometimes wish I did though.'

Chapter 4

WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH

CASSIE

So bedroom, it's just you, me, my books for revision, my laptop, my phone and Mum doesn't know it but I've nabbed her iPad too. One more stupid exam to go then I'm free from this life of pain. I
was
nicely spread out across the kitchen table. I like it there coz the light's good, and I can see if anyone comes to the door. But Mum said I had to move my crap – can't believe she called my stuff crap – coz they are having friends round for a meal. It's only Ruby and Andy for god sake and having them round for a meal basically means they'll all eat too much, drink too much and laugh too loud.

Arrrrgh it's okay for them they don't have any real stress in their lives. I mean really, how hard can it be working in a library? I mean basically it's just,

‘Can you help me find this book please?' ‘Of course I can, here it is.'

And Simple Simon's job can't be much harder; he works in IT or consulting or something. Andy and some other idiot own the company, so he just gets to sit in front of a computer all day. Although he does travel a lot, so he isn't here much during the week thank god. Try doing eleven GCSE's I say. Then you lot would know what hard work really is. Of course Mum loves to remind me that she did do it, so she does know – but that was like a trillion years ago and it doesn't count coz it was easy for her.

I'm
only doing this for her anyway. She's the one that keeps saying “
education is the key Cassie
.” The key to what? She's got all the brains and no money and Dad is an idiot and has loads. Mum thinks she's a prophet and Dad's all about the profit. Ha that's quite funny – for me.

Dad's always saying he doesn't have any money though, says it's all the Step-Monster Sharon's money. Bell end. I know that's a big lie. It's just something you say Dad so you don't have to pay for me and Connor. Knob head.

I remember how excited I felt when you said you were moving to a new
bigger
house. You said there would be a bedroom each for me and Connor but as usual it was another lie. You got a huuuuggge bedroom with its very own walk-in shower, an office for Sharon, a playroom for Harriet (even though she also got her own bedroom too), a cinema room, two dining rooms, three living rooms and enough money left over to install some of those fancy bisexual, bi-folding stupid doors for your massive kitchen. But, once again, no bedroom for us. We have to make do with the stupid sofa bed in Sharon's office if we want to stay. Don't wanna stay at your stupid house anyway. It stinks of bullshit.

Arrggghh now I'm too angry to revise. Only one thing for it…

LIZZIE

I'm so tired tonight; I really could have done without Cassie's attitude. Asking her to kindly remove all her books from the kitchen table was not without the usual drama. For one delicious moment I did consider asking Andy to bring Terry the snake round to give Cassie a hug.

I tried to explain to Cassie that her idea of a carpet picnic was not really good etiquette for our dinner guests, even though
it
did work quite well for Richard Gere and Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
. She then asked what the hell petticoats had to do with anything and proceeded to storm upstairs, which she had to do three times in total, as she couldn't carry all her books at once.

I'd almost forgotten what the table looked like, so voluminous and spread out were her remnants of revision. Heavy text books sat amongst dog eared copies of Shakespeare's
Hamlet
, George Orwell's
Animal Farm
and John Steinbeck's
Of Mice and Men,
as well as numerous past papers of various subjects which lay scattered amongst page after page of intense handwritten notepaper. Boredom and indifference were clearly evident as scribbling's such as Shakespeare stinks, Chelsea is a bitch and I love Joe were threaded throughout correct and legitimately attempted answers. Heart topped letter I's and the black and white keys of a piano were also generously dispersed throughout. One particular question caught my eye, ‘describe in detail what hard water is,' and scrawled underneath the words,
ice you idiots
, made me smile.

Why Cassie chose to sit in the kitchen and revise I'm still none the wiser. Personally I think it was to persecute everyone else in the house. If she was miserable then goddamn it, we were going to be too. I caught poor Connor blue from holding his breath the other morning. He was afraid Cassie would hear him breathing and shout at him again.

Oh god, she's playing the piano. Simon looks at me and raises his eyes. Clearly something's rattled her because she's playing
Rolling in the Deep
by Adele. The performance is faultless but the keys are being hammered senseless.

Undoubtedly a great tragedy has befallen her that would dwarf even the likes of Shakespeare's
Macbeth
and Sophocles
Oedipus Rex
. Probably another text war with said friends or someone's disliked her Facebook profile. Whatever it is the poor
piano
is being played to within an inch of its life.

I'm suddenly aware of Maisy at my side. We stand, quietly listening to the dark and dramatic performance unfolding in the living room.

‘She's actually very good when she's angry isn't she?' I say. Maisy is silent for a moment, listening intently.

‘Yeah, she's like a tragic enigma.'

I turn to look at Maisy. Her hair is now as black as the thick make-up around her eyes and her bottom lip is newly pierced with a small silver hoop. She has just spoken three more words to me than she has all week. I seize the opportunity to communicate with my surly step-daughter but she senses it and is heading for the door.

‘Going out,' she says. ‘Where?'

‘Friends.'

‘Stay safe.'

‘Whatevs. Bye Dad.' And with an obligatory slam of the front door she is gone.

Simon, who has just witnessed my attempt to fraternise with the enemy smiles at me. It's a warm, safe smile without agenda. He shrugs his shoulders, lifting and holding his hands up in question.

‘Don't worry about them love,' he says. ‘Now, do us a favour and pour us both a glass of wine will you while I finish burning this lasagne?'

I smile at him and make a beeline for the fridge. As I bend to open the door I realise how much my back is aching. Despite what many may think, working in a library can be really heavy work, and I've been doing it now for more years than I care to remember. And I'm not getting any younger. Perhaps I should look for a new job, something less physical. What the hell else would I do after all these years though?

Ruby and Andy are at the door. I ask Cassie to stop playing
the
piano for a while, just so we can hear ourselves talk. She scowls at me.

‘Do you realise I have a Grade Eight piano exam in two months? You never support me in anything I do.'