Keeping it Together Read online

  "Come on," Alisha said, laughter in her voice as she stood up and hauled Sian up by her arm.

  The rain grew worse as they walked up the path, light drops turning heavy, pounding at the pavement and splashing back up, small puddles forming where the ground dipped. In minutes, they were soaked. Sian's hair was heavy, plastered to her face, water dripping under the collar of her coat and down her neck.

  The two of them broke into a run, laughing as the rain beat at their backs. Sian didn't know where they were running to, only that they were running. Alisha turned, making sure Sian was following her, before rounding a corner, Sian on her heels. Her hand closed around Sian's as they lurched up a couple of steps and into a doorway. At first, Sian wasn't sure why they were standing on someone's doorstep in the pouring rain, and then Alisha pulled a key from her pocket and jabbed it into the lock.

  Door open, she pulled Sian over the threshold, brushing wet hair back from her face and kissing her before starting up a flight of stairs.

  Sian followed, curious as to what Alisha's home might look like.

  At the top of the stairs there was a door, much like the front door they'd come through, but the paint looked fresher, darker. Alisha unlocked and pushed it open, showing Sian into a dim, narrow hallway. There were paintings on the wall, but they were floral, and she thought they'd probably come with the flat; they didn't look like Alisha's choice at all.

  They passed three closed doors before entering through the one at the far end of the hall. It led into an open plan living room and kitchen. Alisha flicked on the light and immediately they were bombarded by a large tabby cat, mewing loudly and winding its way around Alisha's ankles.

  "This is Bolan," Alisha told Sian, and then she turned to the cat, scratching him behind the ears. "Hey Bolan, this is Sian. You be nice to her, okay?"

  "Is he normally not nice?" Sian asked, dying to reach out and touch the cat, but wary nonetheless.

  "He's a big softie," she said, pushing him aside and making her way over into the kitchen part of the room, where she began pulling mugs out of the cupboard and filling the kettle.

  The flat was small, and it was messy. A pile of washing was balanced on one arm of the sofa, paper and magazines were strewn over the coffee table and the desk, and the carpet was thick with cat hair, looking as though it hadn't been hoovered in weeks. The whole place smelt of stale cigarette smoke, cat, and coffee, with a layer of smoky incense spread over it. It was a far cry from Sian's house, where the hoovering and dusting were done twice a week and everything had its place. Still, it felt like a home, cosy and warm, and Sian loved it.

  She bent down and stroked a hand over the cat's head. He meowed and butted against her, rubbing himself up and down her leg.

  "Tea or coffee?" Alisha called over the sound of the kettle boiling.

  "Do you have hot chocolate?" Sian asked, scratching Bolan under the chin.

  "Err... Might have somewhere," came the reply, followed by the banging of cupboard doors opening and closing. "Low calorie okay?"

  Sian nodded as she stood up and began to take off her coat. She hung it on the back of the chair with Alisha's jacket and squeezed past her to the sink, where she began squeezing the water out of her hair.

  "Oh, right. Do you want a towel? One sec…" Alisha disappeared through the door, and Sian hesitated, wondering if she should follow or not.

  When Alisha came back, she was holding out a yellow towel that looked like it had seen better days. Gratefully, Sian took it and bundled her wet hair into it, using a corner to dry her neck and face.

  "These might fit you," Alisha said, pressing a small pile of clothes into her hands and gesturing through to the hallway. "Bathroom's through there."

  The bathroom wasn't technically a bathroom. Too small to house an actual bath, it just had a shower, toilet and sink. There was just enough space to manoeuvre, though, and Sian changed out of her damp clothes into a pair of leggings and a green top with a dead badger printed on the back, the word 'RoadKill' emblazoned on the front in bright green letters.

  She felt strange, wearing somebody else's clothes. They fit okay, although the leggings were tight, revealing the shape of her skinny legs, and the t-shirt was less than flattering. She looked like a twelve year old in hand-me-downs.

  Sighing, she towel-dried her hair and scraped it back into a ponytail. She grimaced and pulled it loose again before heading back into the living room, feeling more self-conscious than she had in years.

  The smirk on Alisha's face as she walked in didn't help either. She had also changed, into a pair of faded blue jeans that were thinning at the right knee and a maroon, long-sleeved top. "Well, don't you look a peach?" She grinned, taking her wet clothes and bundling them into the tumble dryer.

  Sian scowled and plucked at the hem of the t-shirt. "What's 'RoadKill,' anyway?"

  "Oh, that used to be the name of our band before we changed it to Falling Towers."

  "Oh." Sian wrinkled her nose. "I think I like the new name much better."

  "Yeah." Alisha chuckled, bringing the mugs over and setting them on the table. "We all did, except Hugo. But that's just because his last name is Rhodes, so you know. It made him feel more important. I think he's come around to it now, though. We certainly do better with Falling Towers. I think RoadKill made it sound like more of a metal band, so people were disappointed with what they actually heard." She settled herself on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. "No need to stand on ceremony."

  Sian took the seat and reached for her hot chocolate. Despite its low calorie content, it was thick and creamy, with a slight cinnamon tang.

  Despite the hot drink and fresh, dry clothes, Sian shivered. She still felt damp and cold, and she pressed her hands tighter around the mug, clutching it close to herself as if it could warm her completely.

  "Cold?" Alisha asked her.

  Not wanting to seem ungrateful, Sian told her she was fine.

  "Psh," Alisha said, sliding across the cushions and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're supposed to say you're freezing, and then I can make some pretence about warming you up."

  "Oh," Sian said, feeling a little stupid.

  Already she did feel warmer, Alisha radiating heat against her side. A hand pushed lightly against her chin, and she moved with it, turning her head to face Alisha. This close, she could see a small, faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her dark green eyes were flecked with tiny shards of brown.

  Sian felt her breath quicken, her pulse kicking up a low heat settled in her stomach. Alisha leaned in close, and Sian could smell cigarette smoke and coffee. Alisha gave a soft, rich chuckle and closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Sian opened her mouth under the insistent press of Alisha's tongue, one hand coming up to hold onto Alisha's shoulder as she was tipped backwards, only just in time setting her drink on the table.

  She couldn't ever remember feeling like this before, all heat and want and need, but she felt it now with Alisha's knee pressing against her crotch, sliding over her bare waist under the borrowed t-shirt. Alisha's hands were warm, searing imprints everywhere she touched.

  Alisha pressed Sian back into the cushions as they kissed, touching and exploring soft, smooth skin and the heat of their bodies. When Alisha's hands dipped below Sian's waist, she gasped, fingers pressing against her, almost into her through the fabric of her leggings. She canted her hips, allowing Alisha to pull away the inconvenient clothing. Sian clung tightly to her, only letting go when Alisha took hold of her hand and gently pulled it downwards, into the waistband of her unbuttoned jeans.

  Sian came with a soft cry, Alisha's name on her lips, still clinging tight to her with one hand as though she might fall if she let go. It wasn't long before Alisha followed, trembling, letting out a moan as the tension flowed from her body. Together, they curled up on the sofa, regaining their breath, heartbeats slowing, their hands intertwined.

  Eight

  "Do you r
eally have to go?" Alisha pulled her closer, snuggling against her side, and Sian wanted so badly to relax into it, to just close her eyes, breathe in the warm, spicy, smoky scent of her and just sleep, but she had to get back to college. She'd already missed half her lesson; she couldn't miss the bus, too.

  Reluctantly, she sat up, pulling her top down where it had ridden—or rather, been pushed—up. "Are my clothes dry yet?" She could hardly go home wearing Alisha's t-shirt and leggings. That was something her parents would definitely notice.

  Sighing, Alisha sat up and stretched. "Should be." She got up, padding over to the kitchen and opening the dryer. Sian sat back and watched, admiring the way Alisha moved, all smooth, supple limbs that seemed to flow rather than stretch or bend. "Yeah, they're dry," she said.

  Sian took her clothes and headed into the bathroom, ignoring Alisha's chuckling behind her.

  They walked back in a companionable silence, their hands entwined, shoulders bumping gently every step or so. Alisha smoked, soft, grey curls floating up around her and drifting over Sian. Sian didn't care that her hair would smell of cigarette smoke; she could explain that away easily.

  This time Alisha walked with her onto the college grounds. Already there were a couple of buses waiting at their stops, although most of the students were still in class. There were a couple of people waiting twenty or so feet away, but Sian wasn't bothered about them seeing; she didn't know them, and they wouldn't tell her parents. It was quiet, almost empty, and safe as Alisha leaned down to kiss her, soft and slow. They wrapped their arms around one another, and Sian smiled against the curve of Alisha's shoulder.

  "I'll see you on Monday," she murmured, thinking just how long and lonely the weekend would seem, stuck in her room without Alisha by her side.

  "Yeah." Alisha smiled, and planted another kiss to her lips. "See you Monday."

  She watched as Alisha walked away, throwing one quick glance, a smile and a wink, over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Sian sighed, feeling content and happy, and, at the same time, sad that Alisha had left. Four hours hardly felt like any time at all. She wanted to curl up in Alisha's arms and stay there forever, only moving to kiss and to talk.

  *~*~*

  Sian was helping her mother peel carrots in the kitchen when she heard the front door open. Without needing to be asked, she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. There was nothing her dad liked better when he got home than a nice, hot cup of tea.

  She was pouring the milk into the mug when he entered the kitchen, his face a thunderous storm.

  "Oh dear," her mother said from behind her. "Bad day at the office?"

  "Sian," he barked, making her jump and spill milk all over the counter. "Go to your room."

  "Sorry?" she said, turning to look at him and wondering what she'd done to make him angry this time. As far as she knew, she hadn't done anything.

  "Go to your room," he repeated, stressing each syllable. "Now."

  Without talking back, she went, sliding past him into the dining room and taking the stairs two at a time. What had happened? What was wrong? He couldn't know about Alisha; he just couldn't. The only other person who knew anything was Tilly, and she'd never tell, not in a million years.

  She was called downstairs an hour later. She was halfway through a sketch that she wanted to finish. When her mother called a second time, she knew she wouldn't be given the peace to draw the rest of it.

  She pushed open the door to the living room. Her mother was sitting on the sofa, mouth pinched, her father standing by the window, staring out towards the apple trees in the garden.

  "Dad?" she asked tentatively. "What's wrong?"

  He sniffed, and for a little while he didn't say anything at all. Sian waited, and finally he spoke, his voice rougher than usual.

  "A letter from the college came today," he began, and Sian felt a cold shiver run through her. So it was about something she'd done. "It said you didn't attend your lesson the other day."

  "I was—" Sian started, but he cut her off.

  "I don't want to hear your lies. I came to pick you up today, and I know, Sian. I saw you. With that… that woman."

  It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice down her throat.

  "How could you, Sian? Haven't we been good parents to you? Why do you need to hurt us like this?"

  "It's not about you," she murmured, staring down at the carpet. "I didn't do this to hurt you. It was—"

  "I don't care why you did it. I'm sure it was more her fault than yours. But the fact remains, you did do it. Everything that's been going on lately... I can't believe I didn't— But that doesn't matter. What matters is that you end things with this woman. You will cut her out of your life. You'll focus on your studies."

  She didn't realise she was biting her lip until the skin split and she tasted the harsh metallic tang of her own blood. "I can't," she whispered, still staring down at the floor.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "I can't. I love her."

  "Love? You think that's love, do you?"

  "Yes, I do! I love her, Dad, and for the first time in my life, I'm actually happy!"

  "It's not love, Sian. It's lust. It's natural, I understand that, but the only way to avoid being destroyed by it is to rise above it. You'd realise that if you hadn't been so taken in by this woman. It's abuse, is what it is. She's a grown woman. She shouldn't be messing around with young girls. What is she, thirty?"

  "She's twenty-six. And I'm nineteen, Dad. You do know that makes me an adult, right? I can vote, I can buy my own house, I can even get married, but I can't fall in love?"

  "Yes, well done. We all know you're legally an adult, but that doesn't mean that you are mentally."

  "Excuse me?" Sian bit back a surge of anger. She wasn't a child anymore, she wasn't.

  "What I mean is that you're very young for your age. You're naïve, and the world will take advantage of that. This woman has taken advantage of that. We're just trying to keep you safe. I will not lose another daughter."

  "This is about Bethan? You can't be—she died eighteen years ago, Dad! It was sad, but it has nothing to do with me and Alisha. You can't punish me for what happened to her!"

  "We're not punishing you, Sian," her mum interjected, voice soft but firm. "We're just trying to keep you safe."

  "By making me miserable?"

  "By keeping you alive!" Her dad's voice had risen gradually, and he was almost shouting now. "I will not stand by and watch this woman lead you so far down the path of drink and drugs that you—" He paused. "Those things kill, Sian. Not straight away, but eventually. They'll eat away at your soul, and you'll become someone so unrecognisable that—"

  "I don't even take drugs! Alisha doesn't take drugs!"

  "Doesn't she? That might be what she told you, but I saw her. I know her type. A woman like that, drugs will come into it at one point or another."

  "You're being ridiculous." She knew as soon as she said it that it was the wrong thing to say, but she couldn't take it back—wouldn't take it back. It was the truth.

  "Ridiculous?" her mother echoed. She looked close to tears and wavered on the spot before sitting heavily on the arm of the sofa. "You think it's ridiculous to grieve over the loss of a child, do you? To want to protect the one we have left? Believe it or not, Sian, we know what's best here. We're not the bad guys."

  "So I am?" Sian said weakly, afraid of what the answer might be.

  "No, sweetheart, you're not the bad guy. We won't let that happen." Her mother held out a hand, and Sian, tentatively, took it, falling into her mother's arms and sitting herself down on the space left on the sofa arm. "I know you don't remember Bethan," she said softly.

  Sian opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. As much as she wished she remembered her sister, she didn't. Instead there was only the idea of her, and the idea of who she might have become.

  "Perhaps if you did, you'd understand. You two girls…" A faint smile passed
across her lips. "You were alike in almost every detail. We had to keep you in different clothes so we didn't get you mixed up. One of you would cry, and the other would start at it too. You wouldn't sleep in separate cots; you had to be in the same one. And you both had your first words on the same day.

  "Of course, Bethan never got a second word. And you... You cried for months, wouldn't settle, would hardly eat. It was like you couldn't do anything without her to do it with you. You grew out of it, settled down eventually, but maybe that's why..." She trailed off. "Never mind. The point is, all we have left is each other, and this... this woman, she'll break all that apart. Please, Sian, don't throw away your future for something that won't last two months. You've got exams coming up, university, your whole life ahead of you. Just... think about this."

  "I have thought about this," Sian said, hating the words coming out of her mouth, hating herself for the expression on her mother's face, an expression like she'd just been slapped. "I love her, Mum, and I know you don't approve, but if you just got to know her..."

  There was a loud thud, and Sian turned to see her father shaking his hand. There was a crack in the wall, and it took Sian a moment to realised he'd just punched it. "Damn it, Sian. You really want to do this to us? You really want to hurt your mother like this? After everything we've done for you, you ungrateful—" He paused, a grimace spreading across his face. "You—" He shook his left arm, clutching at his shoulder, and Sian wondered if he hadn't broken something whacking his hand against the wall like that.

  "Are you—?" Sian was going to ask if he was okay but was cut off by a loud groan as her father sank to his knees.

  Her mother leapt up from her seat and knelt beside him, one hand on his back. "Ethan?" she said, her voice wavering. "Ethan, what's—"

  He groaned again, the veins in his forehead sticking out. He was panting, his face screwed up in pain. He looked as though he were about to pass out.

  "Sian. Ring for an ambulance," her mother ordered, all the fear and uncertainty in her voice draining away.