‘I don’t care. Fill it up,’ said Sinead. Elliot hesitated. ‘Please.’
He poured another shot and gave her the glass. He lifted the laptop from the sofa and placed it down on the coffee table. ‘Those two friends of yours, the ones getting engaged – they haven’t paid you a visit. Don’t they know about your accident?’
Sinead glared at him and shook her head.
‘Haven’t you told them?’
‘Imogen and Joel don’t give a shit about anyone except Imogen and Joel.’
‘I’d like to meet them.’
Sinead gulped down the alcohol. She leant back and felt the warm glow in her throat. ‘Why the fuck would you want to meet them?’
‘Curiosity. They’ve obviously upset you. Perhaps I could intervene on your behalf.’
‘Elliot, don’t take this the wrong way, but you come out with some weird shit sometimes.’
He said nothing – just retrieved his newspaper and sat in the armchair. Sinead lowered her head; she really should shut up before she offended him again. An uncomfortable silence enveloped the room. Elliot chewed the end of his pencil and scribbled crossword answers on the paper. Sinead kept on drinking. She looked up and accidentally caught Elliot’s eye.
‘There must be a reason why you don’t speak to them,’ he said.
‘They don’t speak to me! Okay? They haven’t spoken to me for weeks.’
Elliot pursed his lips and watched her closely. She averted her gaze, looking down at the carpet instead. Another minute went by. Why was he asking her? She couldn’t talk about this; he’d never understand. Saying this stuff out loud was scary; it made the feelings too real. Envy, lust, pride, resentment. Rage. No one would ever love her if they knew who she really was – it was better to suppress such nasty, ugly emotions. Instead of screaming, she raised the glass to her mouth and downed the vodka. An image of her mother flashed in her mind: through the bathroom keyhole, Caitlin sat quietly sobbing on the toilet, clutching a bottle of gin. The woman who drank herself to death because she couldn’t talk, couldn’t articulate her pain.
‘Because they all hate me,’ Sinead said. ‘Happy now? My so-called friends fucking hate me.’
‘I don’t believe that for a moment. Why would they hate you?’ Elliot coughed then said, ‘Did something happen between you and Joel?’
How the fuck did he know that? She shook her head, trying to answer him, but no words would come.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? Just a lucky guess,’ he said. ‘It might do you good to talk about it, though.’
She held up her empty glass. ‘Give me the bottle. Just give it to me.’
He got up, handed over the Smirnoff, and went back to his seat. Sinead filled her juice glass to the brim.
‘Trust me, you don’t want to know. It’s a long, boring story.’
‘Fine by me.’
Sinead put a hand over her face and rubbed under her eyes. What the hell. Maybe she should talk about this; it might do her good to unload. ‘Okay, I admit it. I was hard to live with. I accept that. We had some rows, sure. I mean, who doesn’t? But they don’t give a shit about me and what I went through. They thought I was a drama queen. My mum was dying in a hospice, but as far as my mates were concerned, I was just pissing on their parade.’
‘Right. What about Joel, though. Where does he fit into this?’
‘Ha! Yeah, Joel – that’s when things really turned to shit. Imogen just announced it one day: “Oh by the way, everyone, Joel’s moving in. It’s gonna be so cool.” Seeing them together all the time, it was a nightmare. I couldn’t handle it… because…’ She swallowed some more vodka. ‘He always had a thing for me. It was obvious. No way he’d have gone with her if I’d been around more. But I – fuck, I don’t know – it wasn’t the right time; I wasn’t in the right headspace. Imogen made her move and now they’re going to live happily ever after.’
‘Joel’s a good-looking boy. I bet he enjoyed two girls fighting over him. It must have made him feel powerful. I’ve met his sort before.’
Sinead scowled, drank more vodka, and stared into space. He kept watching, waiting patiently for her to continue.
Sinead said, ‘Do you ever fantasise about getting even with people who treat you like shit? Do you know what I mean?’
‘I do, yes.’ He leaned forward. ‘Have you ever acted out those fantasies?’
Sinead shook her head and looked away.
‘Never just… lashed out? After all, you’re only human.’
She looked back at him. His face was perfectly expressionless, but he was staring at her with such intensity, she felt compelled to tell him something she’d always been ashamed of.
‘One time, yeah. This girl in my class – a fucking bully. Spreading lies about me and posting all this disgusting stuff online. Chatting shit about my mum. You know how it is at a Catholic girls’ school – that’s how they get their kicks, right.’ Sinead sighed; the memory still pained her. ‘One time I just… lost it. I grabbed her by the hair, pulled her off the table. Slammed her head into the wall. Yeah. Gave her concussion.’ Sinead held up her hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. ‘I came that close to getting expelled.’
‘I’m not surprised. How did you get away with it?’
‘My mum was a teacher there. She spoke to the headmistress, pulled some strings.’
‘And how did it make you feel when you attacked this bully?’
‘Good. Yeah, it did. Made me feel great, actually. Bitch deserved it. I wasn’t the only one she bullied. The weird thing was I’d never been that popular. You don’t get much street cred when your mother’s a teacher. But the other girls gave me respect after that.’
‘But now you hide that anger. Pretending you’re a good girl, raising money for the poor starving orphans. It makes you weak.’
‘I’m not weak! Fuck you.’ Sinead glared at him resentfully as she took another swig.
‘Then prove it.’
‘Prove what?’ Sinead’s glass was empty again. Her head was spinning. She tried to focus. He was staring at her unblinkingly. ‘I don’t need to prove anything. Stop telling me what to do. You don’t know me.’ Her brain felt like it was stuck in a tumble dryer.
He stood up and moved towards her. Sinead saw two Elliots approaching, blurred images overlapping each other. ‘I do know you, Sinead. I’m your good friend. And friends always do what they can to help each other. But you will have to meet me halfway.’
Sinead’s stomach convulsed as the first wave of nausea arrived. ‘Oh shit, Elliot – I can’t get up. I’m gonna–’
Desperately searching for some kind of receptacle, she looked to him for help, but he wasn’t offering any. Sinead grabbed the armrest as she began heaving. Frantically, she pulled herself to the sofa edge. Vomit splattered across the carpet. Her fringe swung into her mouth. With her head hanging over the side of the sofa, she braced herself for the next round. Elliot stood back, saying nothing, while she retched again and again and again.
22
At the kitchen table, with a breakfast of overcooked scrambled eggs on toast and the Today programme murmuring quietly in the background, Miles sat contemplating the situation. He was playing a decidedly risky game by staying on at the bungalow. But he was enjoying himself far too much to leave now. He hadn’t felt so actively engaged, so thrillingly alive in a long time. Sinead, he felt certain, was a diamond in the rough. At present she was somewhat immature and too emotionally raw to be truly effective. Channelling and controlling her rage would take time and self-discipline. Yet the potential was undoubtedly there. With his expert guidance she could become a powerful and lethal young woman. For the first time in his life he had met someone who was broadcasting on the same wavelength as himself. All she needed now was an opportunity, a chance to prove she was worthy of his attention.