Keeping it Together Read online

  "Sian?" her mother called, bags rustling from the hallway. "Sian, are you home?"

  Sian ducked out of her parents' bedroom, closing the door behind her, and quietly back-stepped down the landing towards her own room. "I'm here," she called, and headed back toward the staircase.

  "Oh good. Would you mind putting the kettle on while I get changed?"

  In the kitchen, Sian filled the kettle with water and placed it on the hob to boil. Pulling the biscuit tin down from the cupboard, she hoped she'd left everything as it was upstairs, and that her mother wouldn't find anything out of place.

  She was pouring the milk into her mother's favourite mug—the blue one with little red and green fish on it—when the kettle started whistling. She turned the gas off and poured out the water. She slid a placemat under the biscuits and tea before setting them down and went to get herself a diet Coke from the fridge. Snapping the ring pull reminded her of the way Alisha had popped the cap off the beer bottle with her teeth the first night they'd met. It was just over a week ago now, but somehow it felt like much longer.

  Her mother was just sitting down when Sian returned to the dining room, sighing at the first sip of tea. "Thank you, love," she said, offering out the plate of biscuits.

  Sian took one, warily. It seemed too much like a peace offering, and Sian wasn't sure she was ready to be friends with her parents again just yet.

  "I know you think we're being too harsh on you," her mother said, sweeping a lock of dark blonde hair back from her face, "but it's only because we love you. You see so many horror stories on TV these days. We don't want you to be one of them."

  Sian nodded, biting her lip slightly. "I know, Mum," she said, and she did. Her parents only had her best interests at heart, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

  "We just want you to be safe," she said. Sian could have been imagining it, but it sounded like she was close to tears.

  "I am safe, Mum. I can take care of myself, and I have friends who'll take care of me, too. You don't have to worry about me all the time. I'm a grown up now."

  Her mother smiled. It was a sad, fond smile. "I know you think that, darling, but you're still so young."

  "I'm old enough."

  A sigh. "You'll never be so old that we stop worrying."

  "I know," Sian said, a weird, sinking feeling in her chest. "That's the problem."

  "Sian…"

  But Sian was already walking away from her. She needed to be alone, and her bedroom was just the quiet haven she needed right now.

  She began to pull out some of the boxes from under her bed, setting the plastic container full of odd fabrics on her bed and pulling out her sewing machine. She could throw herself into the work, the soothing clatter of the machine, the slow motion of her hand on the fabric, inching it under the needle, the pressure of her foot on the pedal.

  Sewing was something she understood. It was a slow process that required attention and dedication more than anything else, and if it was going wrong then she could just go back over it, unpick the stitches and start again. It took time to make something beautiful, but if she persisted, it would all be worth it.

  *~*~*

  Tuesday, and Tilly was sitting on the wooden picnic table, cross-legged, arms folded, making Sian feel like a small child sitting on the bench below. Sian tried to ignore her and focus on the soliloquy on the page in front of her.

  Finally, Sian sighed and closed the book. "Can I borrow your phone?"

  A small smile twitched at the edges of Tilly's lips. "You can," she said, pulling it out of her pocket and handing it over.

  It was an expensive phone, the newest Apple model, something that Sian knew she'd probably never own herself, but she had no real burning desire to. Her own phone might be pretty basic, but as a phone it worked just fine… when she actually had it.

  "Thank you," she said, and just like that, she felt they were friends again. She still needed to say sorry for real, but that could wait 'til later. She'd been too harsh on Tilly, but she wasn't quite ready to admit that just yet.

  She stepped away from the table, leaving her book and bag behind, and pulled the scrap piece of paper out of her pocket. She took a deep breath before she dialled the number, unsure of what she was going to say. She could probably start with 'Sorry.'

  Twisting a blonde curl around her index finger, she waited as the phone rang. One. Two. Three. She bit her lip. Four rings. Five. What if she didn't answer? She wasn't prepared to leave a message, and she might not get another chance at this until tomorrow. She didn't think Tilly would want to lend her the phone for the rest of the day on the off chance Alisha might pick up later.

  "Hello?" Alisha's voice crackled through the receiver, sounding rough and smoky, as if she'd just woken up.

  "Hey, it's Sian. Did I wake you?"

  A chuckle. "No, no. I was awake. Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine. I'm just—I'm really sorry about the other night. I didn't mean to—"

  "Hey, don't worry about it. You just need more practice."

  Sian laughed, a nervous, girlish sound that she immediately regretted. "I'm not sure that's what I need."

  "Yeah? Then what do you need?" Alisha's tone was suggestive, and it sent little shivers sparking beneath Sian's skin.

  "A lifetime of abstinence?" she suggested.

  Alisha tutted. "That would be a shame."

  Sian felt her face heat, glad her back was to Tilly. Tilly had a tendency to tease when Sian blushed.

  "Listen." Alisha's tone was suddenly serious. "I spoke to your mum the other day."

  "You did?" Sian couldn't control the horror in her voice, feeling like someone had just dumped a bucket of cold water over her. "What did you say? What did she say?"

  "Nothing much. She said you couldn't talk to me. That you were grounded."

  Sian squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back. She wanted, very badly, to lie. But she couldn't do that, not to Alisha, no matter how much she wanted to save face. "I am." She sighed.

  "That's fucking ridiculous," Alisha said, and Sian could hear the edge of anger in her voice, her words sharp as knives.

  "My parents are pretty strict," she explained. "They're kind of... they worry a lot."

  "Yeah, and I'd get that if you were fourteen, even sixteen. But you're not."

  "I know, but they still see me as their baby, you know?" She didn't know when she'd turned from being angry with her parents to needing to defend and make excuses for them, but she had. She was still annoyed, but that didn't mean she didn't understand their motivation. Sian couldn't remember her sister, but her parents did, and she knew it had affected them in ways she couldn't imagine. They feared the worst for her because the worst had already happened once.

  "You know it's weird, though, right?"

  "I know." Sian sighed. "But it's not like they're the worst parents in the world. They love me."

  Another tutting sound. "Yeah, locking you up and cutting off the outside world. Real loving."

  "They haven't cut off the world," she snapped. She shoved a hand through her curls and tried to rein in her irritation. It wasn't like Alisha was trying to insult her family—like them, she was just worried. "I'm at college right now. I'm phoning you, aren't I?"

  Alisha let out a huff of air. All Sian could make out of her next sentence was "College?"

  "Sorry?"

  "Which college? Where do you go? I mean, you can't come to me if you're grounded, but I could come to you."

  Sian's heart leapt. "St. Mark's."

  "I'm not doing anything on Thursday. I could swing by then."

  "Yeah." Sian nodded eagerly, unable to keep the grin off her face. "I've got lunch from one fifteen 'til two forty-five."

  "Nice one. I'll see you then."

  They ended the call, and Sian tried to smooth out her expression before turning and walking back to the table. Tilly's raised eyebrows told her she hadn't succeeded, and she cracked into a grin as she handed back the phone.
>
  "Someone's happy," Tilly commented, and Sian just nodded.

  Six

  Thursday morning, Sian was a bundle of nerves. She got up an hour earlier than she usually did, as the sky was just beginning to lighten. She spent longer than usual doing her make-up, using blusher and eye-shadow that she'd never used before—then wiping it all off and starting again. In the end, she went for her usual mascara, some natural eye-shadow, and a nude lipstick.

  She used her best perfume, and dressed in her favourite skirt—a cream, knee-length, floaty thing with a petticoat and a thin pattern of forget-me-nots around the hem, and a blue, short-sleeved shirt that was perfectly cut to her slim figure and the same shade as the forget-me-nots. She experimented with a blue ribbon in her hair, but decided it was too much and left it behind.

  "You look nice," her mother said at the breakfast table. It sounded more suspicious than complimentary.

  "Thanks," she said, tucking into her porridge, grimacing, and reaching for the honey. "I've got a music performance. Nothing big. Thought I'd make more of an effort than usual, you know?"

  "Oh, you never said anything about a performance. Your father and I—"

  Sian shook her head, cutting her mother off. "It's just a class thing. I'd tell you if I was doing a proper performance."

  Her mother smiled, and Sian felt her stomach twist. When had it become so easy to lie to her parents like this?

  "Well, good luck, sweetie."

  She wouldn't have to lie, she reminded herself, if her parents let her have just a little bit more rein. The thought didn't make her feel any better. She couldn't finish her porridge, and she pushed it away before she was even halfway through.

  For half the day, Sian sat through her lectures—English followed by double business—unable to take anything in. She did at least manage to jot down a few notes, but hardly anything substantial; she'd have to copy off a classmate or two later to catch up.

  When the bell signalling the end of the lesson and the start of lunch rang, Sian was first out the door, her heart beating like crazy.

  She quickly dashed into the girls' toilets to check herself in the mirror. Satisfied with what she saw—more or less—she took the stairs two at a time, her bag swinging and bumping against her hip as she raced out into the warm sunlight.

  Alisha was lounging against the old smoker's shelter, disused since the college faculty had stopped students from smoking on site. She wore a pair of dark denim jeans that clung to her figure and a dark green t-shirt. An unlit cigarette was tucked behind one ear, and her hands were shoved deep in her pockets.

  Sian paused, watching her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. Alisha was beautiful, with her cropped dark hair, pointed chin and well defined cheekbones. Her arms showed beneath the short sleeves of her top, muscle cording her upper arms like she lifted weights at the gym instead of dieting to keep herself slim. But, more than that, there was an art to everything she did—the way she stood, slouching against the shelter, the way she lifted her hand to brush her hair back from her face, the way she turned to look straight at Sian, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

  Alisha raised one hand in greeting, and Sian gave a small wave back, stepping off the kerb into the road, toward the patch of gravel and grass where Alisha waited.

  "Coffee?" Alisha asked, her tone hopeful. "I could do with some."

  "Why? Just crawled out of bed?" Sian teased as they began to walk towards the gates.

  "Yes, actually. Specially to see you, so some gratitude would be nice."

  Sian gave a slight curtsy. "I am most honoured, my lady."

  Alisha chuckled, and it made Sian's heart skip, a smile she couldn't hold back working onto her face. Sian wasn't used to being the one to make people laugh, but now that she was, she found she liked it, and she especially liked the way it lit up Alisha's face, made her eyes glitter like precious gems in the sunlight, her teeth showing as she smiled.

  There was really only one place to go for coffee within a half hour's distance. Nutmeg, a milkshake bar and café, was Sian's favourite. She'd only gone there with Tilly and a couple of other people from their classes before. It would be nice to have someone new to share it with, and she knew that Alisha would love it.

  The woman behind the counter smiled brightly at them as they entered the shop, the bell ringing above their heads in the doorway. "What can I get you?" she asked, her bracelets jangling as she put down the cloth she'd been wiping the counter with.

  Sian glanced at Alisha, who didn't even bother looking at the menu before ordering. "Black coffee, no sugar, and a Danish, please."

  "I'll have a strawberry milkshake," Sian added. "And, uhm..." She looked at the generous pastry selection on display, trying to choose between an almond croissant and a pain au chocolat.

  "You'd make a great CEO with those decision-making skills," Alisha murmured, chuckling and making Sian flush pink.

  She quickly straightened and asked the waitress for the almond croissant.

  "No problem." The waitress smiled at her. "I'll bring them over for you in two secs."

  They found a little table in the corner, right by the back window that faced outward onto the river bank. Sian watched as a rat scuttled through the grass and slipped down the bank out of sight. A few seconds later she saw it swimming across the river, dark little head poking out of the muddy water, before it reached the other side and disappeared into the reeds.

  "Do you have any pets?" Alisha asked, her gaze still fixed on the spot where the rat had disappeared.

  Sian shook her head. "No. I always wanted a hamster, but my mum doesn't think it's healthy having animals in the house and Dad was never all that keen on the idea either."

  Alisha clicked her tongue, making Sian wonder what she'd said to annoy her. "Every kid should get to have a pet."

  "I never really minded. Tilly had this puppy that I used to play with whenever I went round. Tinker, he was called. She always called him Stinker." Sian had to hold back a giggle at that. She didn't want Alisha to think she was immature, but it had always made her laugh when Tilly yelled 'Stinker' across the park at full volume.

  Alisha nodded, sweeping a falling strand of hair back behind her ear. As she did so, she knocked the cigarette loose and fumbled to catch it before it fell to the floor. She tucked it back behind her ear, a sheepish, slightly embarrassed grin on her face. It was the first ungraceful thing Sian had seen her do, and she felt a rush of affection for her.

  "I have this cat," Alisha said, almost cautiously. "Bolan. He's a cheeky bastard and eats pretty much everything."

  A cat. That just seemed to fit, somehow. Sian couldn't really imagine Alisha having a dog or anything else. A cat just seemed right. "Maybe I can come and see him some time."

  Alisha laughed loudly, startling an elderly woman reading the Daily Mail a few tables over. "Yeah, come round my place and stroke my pussy, right?" she said.

  The old woman looked scandalised and quickly turned back to her paper. Sian blushed furiously. She stumbled over her words, mouth opening and closing again.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off." Alisha sighed, her attention distracted as the waitress approached and set a tray down on their table.

  "Thank you," Sian said, and then to Alisha, "You haven't. I'm just not used to people making those sorts of jokes."

  Under the table, she felt the hard toe of a boot connect softly with her shin before falling away again. "Oh, you'll get used to it." Alisha grinned, and Sian had trouble not to blush again, a smile spreading over her face as she sipped her milkshake. It sounded like maybe Alisha wanted her to stick around as much as Sian wanted to.

  "Ugh, this coffee is perfect," Alisha moaned as she took a long sip and bit into her pastry.

  Sian picked a bit off her croissant and popped it into her mouth, nodding. "Good food too."

  "Yeah. Normally I don't bother shopping around, you know? I just go straight to the café at the end of my road. They're cheap, but the
ir Danish pastries tend to be a bit on the tough side, and I'm pretty sure their coffee's instant."

  "Convenient isn't always best," Sian said, quoting her mother.

  "Clearly."

  "So," Sian said, pausing as she chewed a small piece of croissant and took a sip of her milkshake. "What's it like playing in a band?"

  Alisha grinned. "It's pretty good. I mean, music, man. It's my true love, you know? Honestly, if I wasn't making music, I've no fucking clue what I'd do with my life. I mean, I just can't imagine sitting behind a desk for eight hours a day, doing data entry or some shit. Obviously it has its downsides, like no money and you're working with the same three people every day, and there are arguments and stuff, but really I just fucking love it." She was leaning back in her seat again, the plate that had held the Danish now empty except for a few last crumbs.

  "You get paid for gigs, though, right?" Sian asked. "And I've seen your posters around. Don't you get kind of a lot of gigs? Tilly said you were kind of the next big thing."

  Alisha sighed and sipped her coffee. "People say that, but to be honest, I'm not sure I believe it. I mean, I know we're good, but there's a shitload of good bands out there. 'Good' just doesn't cut it. You have to be fucking amazing to really make it. So, yeah. I don't think I'll really believe that until we actually are the big thing, which, you know, is pretty unlikely."

  "If it makes a difference, I think you guys sound amazing."

  "Thanks. I guess that's what it's about, really. We make music we love, and if other people like it, then that's fucking great. It's just art, you know. You don't really do it for money or fame or whatever. Although I wouldn't complain if those things happened to land in my lap."

  Sian nodded. She knew that when she started sewing or painting something, she only ever did it for herself. She wanted to make beautiful things, and she wanted people to like them, but because it meant she'd have achieved what she wanted to achieve, not because it meant money or prestige.