my head. ‘No. Not recently.’ I realise I’m rubbing my arm subconsciously. Since Darren’s death, Alfie has found it difficult to express his emotions and has taken to lashing out in his temper. Once or twice, I’ve found myself in the way.
‘What’s that mark on your back, then?’ asks Andrea.
‘On my back?’
‘Yeah, I noticed it just now when you changed your T-shirt. You’ve got a red mark, right between your shoulder blades.’
‘Oh, that. I did that this morning. Banged into the door by accident.’ It’s the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but it is what happened. I feel embarrassed and ashamed to talk about Alfie’s behaviour sometimes.
‘Can’t you speak to his counsellor?’ asks Andrea. She squeezes my hand in a gesture of support.
‘God, no. I suggested that once but Alfie was adamant I wasn’t to get involved. Besides, I’m not sure what the counsellor would say. They’re not supposed to divulge anything from the counselling sessions. Patient confidentiality.’
‘You could speak to him, though. The counsellor, I mean. You could tell him how Alfie has been at home. He might not be aware of that. Alfie might not tell him the truth.’
‘But then I feel I’m going behind Alfie’s back, and if he finds out …’ I leave the sentence unfinished as I gulp down an unexpected lump in my throat.
‘Have you thought about getting advice on how to deal with it all yourself? I don’t mean going to your counsellor, I mean strategies. A bit like they do parenting help for when you have a new baby. There must be some sort of support group for parents of bereaved children.’
‘It’s not my thing,’ I admit. ‘I did mention it once to my GP and she said to follow Alfie’s lead for now.’
‘Which is?’
‘Not to talk about Darren’s death unless Alfie wants to, and try to defuse the situation when he gets angry.’
‘But doesn’t that mean avoiding it so it becomes a taboo topic?’
‘It’s not just that,’ I say, surprising myself at how all my worries are tumbling out. I’m usually very controlled when it comes to Alfie and Darren. ‘Alfie spends so much time over at Joanne’s house, it’s starting to get to me. Like, really annoy me. I don’t know why he doesn’t want to spend time with me. It’s like he’s a visitor at home these days.’
‘Maybe it’s something to do with what happened with Darren.’ Andrea moves over to my bed and sits beside me.
‘Tell me about it! I can’t walk through the hallway without the image of Darren … you know … hanging there. It makes me feel sick. God knows what it’s doing to Alfie.’
‘No luck with the house sale then?’
‘No. I had someone view it the day before yesterday and they seemed keen. They were at the point of putting in an offer, but when they found out what happened, they changed their minds. It’s the third time that’s happened. No one wants to live in a house where the previous owner killed themselves.’
‘What about reducing the price?’
‘I think I’m going to have to, but that will mean I can’t afford somewhere quite so nice to move to. Look, please don’t say anything to the others. I don’t like talking about it, especially to Joanne.’
‘I won’t. But have you thought about asking Joanne to encourage Alfie and Ruby to spend time at your house for a change?’
‘That’s the thing. Ruby doesn’t want to come over because of Darren killing himself and Joanne is quite happy for Alfie to be there.’ I can feel the little blaze of irritation flare inside me. ‘I did actually speak to Joanne once about it and she told me that Alfie needed a safe place.’
‘A safe place? What the hell does that mean?’
‘According to Joanne, he needs somewhere he can go where he can relax and subconsciously know that nothing bad is going to happen. She said I should be grateful that he was there and not roaming the streets, getting into trouble.’
Andrea gives an indignant huff on my behalf. ‘She’s got a bloody cheek at times.’
The sound of Joanne calling from the bottom of the stairs punctuates the conversation. ‘Lunch is nearly ready!’ comes her sing-song voice.
‘Maybe things will be better after the weekend,’ says Andrea. ‘Like you said, this might be Joanne’s way of saying sorry.’
‘Yeah, I might be totally wrong about that,’ I say with a wry smile.
We spend a few minutes unpacking our things. ‘I’m all done,’ declares Andrea, pushing her rucksack under the bed. ‘You ready for lunch?’
‘You go ahead. I’ll be down soon,’ I say. ‘I want to freshen up first.’
After Andrea has gone downstairs, I sit on the bed and let out a long slow breath, as a sense of claustrophobia settles lightly around me. It’s not the house. It’s not the company. It’s the atmosphere. Joanne definitely seems spiky. Was I naïve to think this was a weekend of reconciliation? If I had my phone, I’d call Seb. To hear his reassuring voice and comforting words, in the way he can be both pragmatic and sympathetic at the same time, is what I really want right now.
I’m annoyed with myself for giving my phone over in the first place. It was a stupid idea and one I had gone along with too readily, hoping to appease Joanne. I decide to tackle her about it after lunch. It’s unreasonable of her to expect everyone to be out of contact.
Before I head down for lunch though, I take the little box of tablets from my rucksack and pop a white pill from the foil wrapper. I swallow it down, not needing any water. I feel better even before it has absorbed into my bloodstream. Just knowing I’ve taken it helps.
In the kitchen, I find Zoe stirring a big pot of soup and the sweet earthy smell of carrots and coriander wafts in the air.
‘I’ll set the table,’ I say, opening several cupboard doors before I find the bowls.
‘I was about to do that,’ says Andrea, entering the kitchen. ‘Joanne’s lighting a fire. Apparently, we’re in for some colder weather. Joy.’ She pulls a glum face.
‘Typical,’ I say, handing the bowls to Andrea and rummaging around in the cutlery drawer for spoons.
‘You OK?’ asks Andrea quietly, as Zoe nips through the dining room with a box of matches for Joanne.
‘Yeah. I could do with my phone though. I wouldn’t mind checking in with Alfie.’
‘Only Alfie?’ Andrea raises one eyebrow.
‘Maybe Seb as well,’ I confess.
Andrea gives a laugh as she goes into the kitchen. ‘Maybe?’ she questions. ‘Oh, I think, definitely.’
I look out of the dining-room window and gaze across the driveway to the riverbank beyond. The yellow gorse bushes sway
