A sound halfway between a laugh and a yell came out of me. “Sweet Jesus! I can’t begin to tell you how sick I am of hearing that. You think you’re going to puke? How about me, getting this shit shoved down my throat every time I bloody turn around? You won’t take me to the Wax Museum, I think I’ll kill myself. You won’t help me move all my stuff out of my flat at four in the morning, I think I’ll kill myself. You won’t spend the evening listening to my problems instead of taking one last shot at saving your marriage, I think I’ll kill myself. I know it’s my own fault, I know I’ve always caved the second you whipped out this crap, but this time: no. You want to kill yourself? Do it. You don’t want to, then don’t. It’s up to you. Nothing I do will make any difference anyway. So don’t fucking dump it on my lap.”
Dina stared at me, openmouthed. My heart was ricocheting off my ribs; I could barely breathe. After a moment she threw her wineglass on the floor—it bounced on the rug, rolled away in an arc of red like flung blood—got up and headed for the door, scooping up her bag on the way. She deliberately passed so close to me that her hip barged into my shoulder; she was expecting me to grab her, fight her to make her stay. I didn’t move.
In the doorway, she said, “You’d better find a way to tell your work to fuck off. If you don’t come find me by tomorrow evening, you’re going to be sorry.”
I didn’t turn around. After a minute the door slammed behind her, and I heard her give it a kick before she ran off down the corridor. I sat very still for a long time, gripping the arms of my chair to stop my hands shaking. I listened to my heart banging in my ears and to the hiss of the speakers after the Debussy ran out, listened for Dina’s footsteps coming back.
My mother almost took Dina with her. It was sometime after one in the morning, on our last night at Broken Harbor, when she woke Dina, slipped out of the caravan and headed for the beach. I know because I came in at midnight, dazzled and breathless from lying in the dunes with Amelia under a sky like a great black bowl full of stars, and when I eased the caravan door open the bar of moonlight lit up all four of them, rolled up tight and warm in their bunks, Geri snoring delicately. Dina turned and murmured something as I slid into my bed with my clothes still on. I had bribed one of the older guys to buy us a flagon of cider, so I was half drunk, but it must have been an hour before that stunned delight stopped humming in my skin and I could fall asleep.