---

I put Victoria into her cot and set the lamp going round. I find a tinkling version of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ on my phone and let it play out, and I sit with her for a while and watch her eyes try to follow the shapes, make sense of the patterns.

There’s a light tapping at the door downstairs, more of a scratching against the glass. As I approach, there’s a dark blue shape through the small pane. Then the letter box rattles and moves, fingertips poking through. The letter box rattles again.

‘Sylvie, are you in there?’

It’s Michelle.

I think of the Polaroid and the photo of Michelle at the party, and I suddenly feel wary of her now. ‘What do you want, Michelle?’

‘Sylv? Let me in, will you?’ She rattles at the door handle, shaking the glass. ‘I’m sorry about the other day. Really I am. Is Victoria OK?’ She slaps her hand against the glass like someone locked in a cell.

‘Did you put something through the door, Michelle?’

‘Like what? Sylvie, just open the door.’ Michelle’s voice is louder through the open letter box.

‘I’m sorry, you know, about everything.’

‘What do you mean, Sylvie? What’s going on?’ She withdraws her hand.

‘I’m sorry about the night at the pictures when we stayed on the bus. And the night at the lake when you fell in.’

Michelle didn’t turn up at school the next day. The teacher had asked if anyone had seen Michelle that night. Victoria said we shouldn’t say anything ‘just in case’ and I let myself be swept along with it. A few days later, I heard Michelle had twisted her ankle badly when she fell. It had taken her almost all night to hobble home alone.

‘Don’t be silly. It’s all kids’ stuff now.’

‘Don’t you think about it any more?’

Michelle doesn’t answer.

I slide down the door and sit on the mat, the bristles poking into my backside. Michelle has the letter box pushed open, cold air hitting the back of my neck.

A few years ago, I was on the other side of this door. I took the train from Glasgow and came here. We should talk, me and Mum, I thought. I felt ready, tricked by contentment. I called ahead but Mum never answered, of course. Left my number but she didn’t ring back. I think of all the calls I have ignored from Nathan.

Me and Mum; we’re not that different.

I’d travelled all that way; I’d assumed she’d open the door.

I knocked and heard her shuffling around. She got to the door and I made the mistake of speaking. ‘It’s me, Mum.’ Then nothing; silence.

But I knew she was there, just on the other side, within arm’s reach – standing still, like I’d think she wasn’t there. I had bent down and opened the letter box, just like Michelle. All I could see was the swathe of her floral skirt. At first she still didn’t move, then she suddenly just scuttled away and into the living room, door slammed behind her.

I sat there until it got dark, but she never came out, never put the light on. In a snap decision, a weak moment, I scribbled my phone number and address down and shoved it through the door, scraping my hand, drawing blood on the letter box. I regretted it the second the paper left my fingers. I already knew, deep down, but I decided then once and for all, we were done.

You never are, of course.

As far as I was concerned, she didn’t exist to me any more; I said that to Nathan and he knew not to argue, but I saw that flicker in his face too – what kind of person cuts out their mother? What kind of person do they have to be for their mother to reject them like that? Occasionally he’d pick at the edges of me and Mum, but he learned to know better than to sour the day or negate the evening ahead.

‘Did you come to the party that day, Michelle?’

There’s a long pause. I wonder if she has gone, but I can still feel that cold air turning into a headache at the back of my skull.

‘My dad’s party. The day Victoria died.’

There’s another long pause.

‘Yes,’ Michelle says, barely audible.

‘Why?’

‘You asked me,’ she says, her voice strained.

‘That’s not true. I didn’t invite you. You didn’t even know my dad.’

There’s another pause and she says, ‘I was walking past the house and I heard voices and the music. I just wondered what was going on.’

‘So you just let yourself in?’

A police siren whistles past in the distance.

‘Yeah,’ she says.

‘But I didn’t see you. At the party.’

‘I came later. No one noticed me really. Everyone was well smashed. You were upstairs,’ she says.

‘You came into the house?’

The wind is whipping up outside, the trees swishing.

‘I was looking for you, that’s all.’

‘How long did you stay?’

‘A while.’

‘Please just leave us alone, Michelle. I don’t want you to come round.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re being like this, Sylvie.’

After a while, the letter box clatters shut.

I stay sitting on the mat for I don’t know how long. My back is icy cold. I open the door to check and Michelle is gone.