Page 118 of Tricky Girls

‘Why’s that?’

‘Dunno. Tradition. No one wants a hangover Christmas Day, so Christmas Eve Eve is our drinking day.’

‘Drinking and baking.’ Tilda eyes the array on the table.

‘That’s more for Maisie.’

‘Aw, what? I don’t get to make Christmas cupcakes?’

I put my hands on her hips with a chuckle. ‘You can do whatever you like, babe.’

‘Think she’ll talk to me if I help her bake?’

‘She might. But first I want to talk to you.’

I hunt around in the cupboards for the rest of the ingredients. When I return to Tilda, she’s watching me expectantly.

‘Your family—what’s the deal? Why aren’t you home with them?’

‘Ugh.’ She grimaces. ‘Do we have to?’

I return my hands to her hips, heart jolting when her body bumps up against the table. I ease off, not wanting to corner her. ‘Please? I’m feeling a bit of an unbalance with you knowing all my shit.’

She sighs, glancing away. ‘When do you think they’ll be back from the park?’

I bump her. ‘There’s time to talk, Tilda. Please let me feel better about my life by hearing how shitty yours is.’

She chuckles. ‘Alright. Since you asked so nicely.’ She squeezes out from in front of me, rearranging all the tubs of sprinkles and frosting. ‘Basically, I caused my mum and her boyfriend to break up. This was like, ten years ago-ish. He was the love of her life’—she sends me a look—‘meaning he was stinking rich which meant we were too. For a couple of years anyway.’

Leaning my hip on the table, I fold my arms. ‘How did you make them break up?’

‘I told Mum something he did. And because it was so bad, she had no choice but to break up with him. She didn’t want to, but she did, and she’s blamed me for it ever since.’

‘What was the bad thing?’

Tilda remains silent, shaking her head.

‘Not gonna tell me?’

‘Maybe. Just not now. I don’t even like thinking about it. Like, it wasbadbad.’

‘Fair enough.’ I purse my lips, thinking. ‘So basically what you’re saying is that your mum’s a piece of shit.’

Tilda laughs. ‘Yeah, basically. Though in her eyes it’s me who is.’

‘You were a kid, babe. I’m assuming the something he did bad was to you. She just sounds like a shit parent, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘No, say away. It’s a nice departure from the usual narrative. I probably need to hear it more.’

‘Alright.’ I touch her back, fingering her silky strands of hair. ‘I’ll take it upon myself to tell you how awesome you are.’

Tilda

Elly wasn’t kidding. By the time evening rolls around, I’ve drunk more than I ever do pregaming for Vipers. So has Elly judging by her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. But she deserves it, and frankly so do I. It’s nice to see her smile and interact with her siblings. Despite them squabbling all day, they clearly adore her. There’s just so much life in this house. It makes me mourn for those magical two years, the ones I destroyed.

Elly’s grandparents are a pair. Where her nan’s loud and brash, her grandad’s quiet, more thoughtful. He dozes off a lot, camped on the armchair in the living room with a black cat on either side like Giza’s sphinx.

Just being here for a day I can see why they’re struggling. They’re not young and Elly’s nan’s clearly not at peak physical health. She slept for two hours upon returning from the park and Elly had to help her down the stairs afterwards.

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