Page 4 of The Absence of You
Dee’s right, I should focus on spending some time with her. But if I’m being honest, I’m trying to avoid the third degree from Dee about my mum. It’s been bad enough living through the past few years and the last thing I feel like doing is revisiting it all, or seeing the pity in Dee’s eyes when she looks at me, but I can’t avoid it forever. And anyway, I’ve been waiting a long time to see Grayson again, so another couple of days isn’t going to make any difference.
Sitting down at the round, wooden table in the centre of the kitchen, I watch Dee fill a kettle and put it on top of the stove. It might have been years since I’d been here, but in a lot of ways, it feels like yesterday. As far as I can see, not much has changed. Everything is a little more worn, the wallpaper a little more faded, but other than that, it’s just how I remember. A vast room with shaker style units on one side with a cast iron Aga in the centre. It’s clean and well equipped in a traditional country style. Large windows run along one side of the room, the view is of the expansive circular driveway, and across it, Grayson’s house. I can just about see into his kitchen from here.
The Banks’ house is a similar style outside to Dee’s, but inside it’s very different. Before they moved in, they’d gutted the place, making it open plan and modernising it throughout. They’d even had an annex built with a small, heated pool installed. It was opulent and modern. I push thoughts of Grayson and the Banks family home out of my mind and focus on Dee as she places a cup of tea down in front of me and a plate of Florentines between us.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks as she sits down opposite me. When I don’t answer, she carries on, “I know it’s not the best of circumstances, but I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart. I just wish I’d known earlier what was going on. I could have helped. I know Rosie tries her best. When you were younger, she was such a wonderful mother to you, but it seems she was struggling on her own.” Dee passes me the milk before continuing, an unmistakable crack in her voice. “I didn’t know she was drinking, or how bad it had gotten over the last few years. I’m so angry at myself for not seeing the signs. When you stopped visiting, she told me you were busy with your friends and studying, and I just took her word for it. Over the years, I offered many times for you both to move in here so you could attend Heathley Academy and give her a break, but she was independent. She said she loved her nursing job up in Liverpool, and she insisted you were both fine.”
I put my hand over Dee’s, stopping her as she chokes back a sob.
“Dee, it’s okay. How could you have known how bad it was? I know you reached out to help, and I know how stubborn Mum is. You don’t have to explain.” I let go of her hand and take a sip of my tea. “She thought she was doing the right thing, I guess. You know how she is. Mum hates relying on anyone for help. She probably thought if I came down to stay here, I would have never wanted to leave.” I smile fondly at the memories. “But more likely it was just that she wants us to be independent. And I think she believed she was coping on her own. We both did.” In my heart of hearts, I know the last bit isn’t true. I’d hoped she was coping, but I knew she wasn’t, not really. This time it’s Dee who puts her hand over mine.
“I am so proud of you for the way you’ve been supporting her, Dahlia.” She pauses. “And I’m truly sorry I didn’t insist that she accept some help earlier so it didn’t get to this stage, but I am going to make it up to you. Starting on Monday, with an excellent education at Heathley Academy.” Her face lights up as she says the words.
I wish I could feel as optimistic as her about it. Part of the reason I wanted to see Grayson before I started at the school was so, at least, I’d know someone, and maybe he could help me settle in. But we’d lost touch after I stopped visiting, and I know I owe him some sort of explanation for my absence.
As a child, I can remember dreading the holidays ending, because it meant going back to my school. I used to fantasise about going to the same school as him, I’d have loved to live next door to him all year round. Grayson used to say he hated Heathley Academy, that it was full of stuck-up rich kids, but I often wondered if he was just saying that to make me feel better, knowing my mum would never agree to me staying in Sussex with them. Dee had tried on multiple occasions to convince Mum to let us move in with her, but she wouldn’t have it. She just shut down the idea any time Dee brought it up.
Over the years I tried not to think about how different our lives would have been if she’d have accepted that offer.
Chapter Four
DAHLIA
Iopen the wardrobe and frown at the outfit hanging in front of me. Seriously? This is what I have to wear? In my old school, one perk of being in sixth form was that you could wear whatever you liked, and while I’d been expecting the dress code at Heathley Academy to be stricter than it had been at Mallaby High, I wasn’t expecting a full uniform. I’m eighteen, old enough to get married, yet apparently not old enough to be trusted to dress appropriately.
I run my fingers over the short navy and green tartan pleated skirt and the fitted white blouse. The whole ensemble screams private prep school. So the girls are all walking around the school looking like a teenage boy’s wet dream. What a cliché. I roll my eyes and yank the clothes off their hangers before going into my bathroom to change. On the plus side, at least I don’t have to worry about finding something suitable to wear each day.
It had taken me less than an hour to pack up all my belongings for the move down here, and all of them fit into the single holdall I’d brought with me yesterday. For the last couple of years my wardrobe has basically been a couple of pairs of jeans, a few band t-shirts, my battered Converse, and the Doc Martens I’d found in the local charity shop. Dee had mentioned taking me shopping over the weekend to get some new things once she’d seen how little I’d brought, but I hated the thought of her spending money on me. After I’d got this first week at school done, I’d start looking for a part-time job.
Once I’m dressed, I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom and take in my appearance. The hem of the skirt hits my legs mid-thigh, so I tug it down, hoping somehow that it will magically give me a bit more coverage. I study my reflection. Knee high navy socks and a tight navy V-neck sweater complete the outfit. My light brown hair rests just below my shoulders. The expensive shampoo Dee left in my bathroom had made it shinier than usual, and it falls in natural waves instead of its usual frizzy mess. I didn’t sleep well last night, and the obvious dark circles under my eyes make them appear even greyer than usual.
Despite the comfortable bed, I tossed and turned most of the night. The earlier conversation with Dee, played in a loop in my head. Once she’d brought it up, I couldn’t stop thinking about the last few years. Why wasn’t having me to look after a motivation for my mum to stay sober? Was looking after me on her own so hard that she had to drink to cope? I couldn’t help questioning how different our lives might have been if she’d accepted Dee’s help earlier. I’d been over this enough times in my head to know that what ifs are pointless. I need to find a distraction. Back home, I was busy juggling work, school, and looking after my mum, I didn’t have time to worry about what might have been.
Smoothing my skirt, I sit down on the edge of my bed. Last night I tried on the shiny black brogues I’d found in the wardrobe, but they were too tight on my toes, so I tug on my Doc Martens instead. They definitely aren’t on the permitted uniform list, but the familiarity of my favourite boots goes some way to making me feel more comfortable. I sigh. No doubt I’ll be told to change them, but I can’t find it in me to care.
An hour later, I walk across the student car park and try not to let my jaw drop when I take in the surroundings. Heathley Academy’s campus is vast. Straight after the tall, regal looking gates, the road forks into three, with tall pine trees separating the routes. To the left is a signpost for the main school building. Straight on leads to the Sixth Form part of the Academy which just houses the students in the final two years of study, and to the right there is a sign for Heathley University.
Following the middle road, I carry on walking straight down until, eventually, I reach a large car park which is split into staff and student areas. It’s pretty obvious which side belongs to which. The student half looks like a posh car showroom. It appears shiny, expensive looking sports cars and SUVs are the clear choice for spoilt teenagers these days. You could buy a house with the money some of these cars cost. The wealth on display here is disturbing.
According to the campus map Dee gave me that morning, the Sixth Form comprises two large buildings. One building houses the classrooms, and the other is made up of dorms for students who board here. I glance over the map again and there’s a path behind the two buildings that leads to a state-of-the-art sports facility, complete with swimming pool, track and rugby pitches. I’d be quite happy if I didn’t have to see any of that part of the school this year. Competitive sport is definitely not my thing. There is also an enormous library and a village area where all the catering can be found. That puts a smile back on my face. Books and snacks? Yes, please. Apparently there is also a small boating lake for water sports and a chapel on site. Something for everyone it seems. According to the map, the sixth formers share some of the facilities with the university campus.
From reading the brochure, I was expecting the Academy to be impressive, but this is something else. I know virtually nothing about architecture, but the buildings must be centuries old. They are imposing, and well, super fucking fancy; a far cry from what I’m used to.
As well as having all these amazing facilities, the grounds themselves are beautiful. Everything is green and well-tended. There’s even a gardener raking the leaves off the pathways beside me. I’m getting a little queasy wondering what the fees for this place are. Dee is wealthy; you don’t have a property in the Sussex countryside unless you’re well off, but Heathley Academy is dripping in luxury.
Other teenagers pass me, heading up the steps to the main entrance, unfazed by their surroundings. While on the surface, this school is vastly different to my old one, there’s a familiar buzz in the air that you only get on the first day of term when everyone is keen to catch up after the summer break. Girls gather in clusters, arms linked, giggling among themselves while the boys greet each other, with friendly punches to the shoulders and bro hugs. They’re all dressed in similar colours, but whereas the girls are wearing skirts and blouses, the boys are in grey trousers, navy blazers, and dark navy ties.
These kids are my age, but they seem so much older. Years of privilege and good breeding have turned these teenagers into confident adults, with their sparkling white teeth, perfect skin and designer hairstyles. Despite wearing our matching uniforms, I feel sure I must stick out like a sore thumb. I scan the crowd, hoping to see the familiar face I’d missed so much, but Grayson is nowhere to be seen.
Begrudgingly, I climb the steps to the main entrance and follow the signs to the administration office. The young receptionist gives me some paperwork to fill in and then hands over my schedule and school issued tablet.
“That should be everything you need. I know you have a map, but are you sure you don’t want me to organise a student guide for a couple of days?” I assure her I’ll be okay. The sixth form here isn’t as big as the one at my old school, and as the classrooms appear to be arranged by subject, I’m pretty sure it won’t take long to orient myself.
Not wanting to be late for my first lesson, I thank her and turn to head out of the office when a door opens to my left.
“Miss Winters?” I spin back around at the sound of my name. The man addressing me is tall, with dark hair swept back. “Welcome to Heathley Academy. I’m the sixth form principal, Mr. Canning. Can you come into my office so we can have a little chat before you head to class, please?” He waves me into his office, and as I pass the receptionist, I see her blush as he addresses her. “Can you let Miss Winters’ teacher know she will be late to her lesson, please?” I suppress a smirk at her obvious crush. He must be in his mid-forties, but he’s handsome if you like an older guy, I guess.
Mr. Canning’s office is modern but as luxurious as the rest of the academy. I take a seat in one of the several comfortable chairs, and he rounds his large glass desk to sit down opposite me. The only thing personal on display is a framed photograph of what looks like his family on his wall. He has his arms around a pretty blond woman and two teenage girls stand in front of them.
