‘No one will hire him.’

  ‘He’s barely tried.’

  ‘Shut. Your. Mouth.’

  ‘Ollie,’ I yell. ‘We’re having a conversation. You’re not some mob boss who gets to shout me down every time I open my mouth. So let me talk. I have been here. While you and Hugh were gone—’

  ‘Hugh chose to leave. I didn’t have a choice—’

  ‘Yes, you did. Yes, you had a choice. You chose to break into that house, you chose to beat those people up, Ollie, you chose to steal from them. That was your choice. Your choice. And you were punished for it. I’ve been here. Here!’ I slam my fist down on the table just as he did and feel the sting shooting up my arm. ‘Taking care of things. You don’t get to just come home and mould my world and my life around you. We talk about it like grown-ups in the real world, not like we’re in prison. Do you understand?’

  Silence.

  My throat is raw. I hate that he’s made me do that. I continue.

  ‘If I give Ollie the allowance then I can’t get another job. It’s on file – an employer will see this. I can’t be paid twice.’

  ‘You’re allowed to get another job as long as it’s no more than eighteen and a half hours a week, if you want to be so prim and proper about it. Not that you wanted to do any extra work before.’

  Oh, so she has suddenly done her research. This angers me. ‘But I don’t have eighteen free hours a week to work. I care for you full-time.’ I can’t believe I even have to tell her this; does she not see me here, doing everything, all the time? ‘All the hours are logged in the system with the benefit officer; the information needs to be up to date and accurate. It’s how we manage my allowance. And I tried to get a job at night, remember? You fell out of bed and shit yourself, remember?’

  Ollie looks at Lily and smirks.

  ‘Shut up, you. She left me. I had to try and get to the toilet myself, didn’t I? You could get a job that pays cash,’ Lily says. ‘A job that doesn’t log your hours.’

  ‘What kind of job will pay me cash? Dealing drugs?’

  Ollie angrily kicks the leg of the table. We give him a moment.

  ‘A cleaner,’ Lily says. ‘You can make a good few bob cleaning houses. Sam gets fifteen euro an hour and they need her twice a week. And that’s just one house. She does a few houses every day.’

  I look from one to the other. They’re deadly serious, they’ve discussed this, they’ve planned it.

  ‘But I could be prosecuted,’ I say. ‘Benefit fraud – it’s called defrauding the state.’

  ‘Oh come on, don’t be so dramatic! No one would know, and you’d hardly be the first one to do it. Why should we follow the rules when everyone else is breaking them?’

  I look at Ollie. ‘Do you know how much the allowance is?’ I ask. ‘Two hundred and nineteen euros a week. It comes in and it goes out on household bills.’

  ‘Hugh sends me money,’ Lily says, looking down and folding and unravelling the end of her blouse, before flicking an imaginary piece of fluff from her chest. ‘She takes it for herself,’ she mumbles, barely able to look me in the eye.

  ‘How much does he send?’ Ollie asks, euro symbols in his eyes.

  ‘Fifty a week,’ she says, looking at me accusingly.

  She never had the balls to say this to me when he wasn’t here, when she was all alone with only me to do everything for her. It’s all coming out now.

  ‘It’s no secret,’ I say. ‘I withdraw the money because I’m in charge of the household bills. We agreed it would be more convenient.’

  ‘I bet you did,’ says Ollie.

  ‘And there’s my disability allowance, you take that from me too,’ she says. ‘That’s almost one hundred a week.’

  Ollie looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘You’ve been nicking all her money?’

  ‘The money all goes out, Ollie, you can check the accounts. Most of it in direct debits for household bills, to you in prison—’

  ‘My allowance pays the gas and electricity,’ Lily says in a gotcha way.

  ‘You’ve been robbing her money,’ Ollie says again, not even listening to my reasoning, thinking I’m sitting on a golden throne here. ‘You’re getting hundreds a week.’

  I roll my eyes, giving up. ‘Why doesn’t Ollie take the cleaning job?’ I ask. ‘He’s the one with five years of cleaning experience.’

  The words are barely out of my mouth when I feel Ollie’s hand around my neck, crushing my throat.

  Lily is screaming at him to stop, hitting his arm, pushing him with all her might, a frantic squeal from her like a pig at slaughter. I pull at his hands around my neck but to no avail, I’m not strong enough. It feels like forever but it’s probably only a few seconds. And then just like that, he lets go.

  ‘Say that again,’ he warns.

  ‘Get out of there,’ Hugh says.

  ‘I am out of there,’ I say, pacing the rose garden of the Ormsby Estate and Private Gardens. I’d fled to the rose gardens as soon as Ollie released me from his grip. It was the first place I thought of. My membership card makes me feel like it’s home; the fact you have to pay to get in makes me feel safe from Ollie and her. It’s November though and there are no roses. It’s stark and grey and skeletal, more like a rose graveyard. It doesn’t give me the lift I need and I feel panicky again, a tightness in my chest. My throat is raw inside from the shouting and tender on the outside from being crushed.

  ‘I mean get out of the house for good. Pack your bags and get out of there.’

  ‘Then I’d be leaving her with him,’ I say. ‘Is he going to bathe her, dress her, cook for her? He has no idea, Hugh. She can’t even reach the kitchen sink, she can’t even make herself a cup of tea.’

  ‘If she wants him to get the care allowance, then she’ll get what she wants. How dare they?’

  He’s so angry I can feel the steam coming through the phone.

  ‘How dare he lay his hands on you. Pack your bags and get the hell out of there.’ I can hear Poh in the background asking what’s going on. ‘Ollie and Mum. What do you think?’ he growls in response. But he’s not being rude to her, his anger is directed at the thing that stresses him. I bet he wishes he was rid of us all. I bet his life would be so much easier. I imagine they lie in bed cursing us; the bane of his life. ‘You’ve done enough, Alice, you’ve done more than enough. It’s time to go. I’ll take care of the rest. Contact your benefits officer, tell them you’re no longer caring for her. Cancel that money. They’re not getting their hands on your money. You don’t owe them a damn thing. Just get out of there.’

  Hugh has tried to get me to visit him plenty of times before but I repeatedly refused. Lily wouldn’t travel and, even if I left her with her brother Ian, I refused to get on a plane, go through an airport. I avoid mass gatherings and closed environments like the plague, because that’s what being in them feels like. Too many bodies writhing around with their messed-up moods and mixed-up emotions, herded together in close quarters like cattle, with no windows or fresh air, no sense of kindness or compassion for others. It’s all about them getting where they need to go.

  But I also desperately need to get away.

  I wear sunglasses, a face mask and gloves. Hugh books two seats in the front row of economy so that there’s nobody in front of me and I can have my space. It’s a full flight. I manage to keep my distance from people as much as possible while passing through the airport, although I almost lose it with the woman in the queue at the security gate who’s standing so close to me I can feel her breath on the back of my neck. At the terminal I sit away on my own in an empty gate beside ours. I avoid contact. I don’t want to see people’s woes or hurt, I don’t want to get sucked into their pain and have to worry about why or how. On board I look out the window as the plane fills and the baggage is loaded. It’s my first time on a plane and I’ve been dreading the flight, but not the destination. In a plane for eight hours with recirculated air. Farts, fears and feelings.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  I don’t look up. I’m hoping the flight attendant isn’t speaking to me. My heart thuds as she tries to get my attention a second and third time. When I’m finally forced to look up by her changing tone, she has friendly eyes, nicely framed in black kohl. Her name tag reads Gail.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a mother here who is separated from her daughter. These are the only two available seats together. Would you mind swapping? You can choose 14C or 18F.’

  The mother’s face is crinkled in concern, looking at me with big brown hopeful eyes. Her child stands beside her on the verge of tears. They hold hands tight as if their grip alone won’t tear them apart.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘No,’ I repeat firmly, then look back out the window.

  Gail’s colours change. ‘I’m going to have to request that you swap seats,’ she says, tone immediately altered.

  ‘But you were asking me. You asked, and I said no.’

  ‘Yes, and now I’ll have to insist.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘My brother bought me two tickets, these two seats. I’m not moving.’

  The child, who is not such a child, looks around thirteen, starts to cry.

  It’s not my problem. They’ve made their problem, my problem. They’ve put it on me and I didn’t ask for this. I look away, away from her fears and sadness, back out the window again. The man in the aisle seat on my row buries his face in his magazine, wanting nothing to do with it. She didn’t ask him to move. Ignore the businessman, pick at the young woman because she’ll be easier, more understanding, softer to the needs of a mother and child. Well I’m not.

  ‘These seats are mine,’ I repeat.

  ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way,’ she says, more firmly now. ‘If nobody checks in then the seat is available, and it can be used by us for whatever means we wish.’

  ‘I’m not moving.’ I raise my voice. I shouldn’t. That’s a mistake. But I want them to understand that I would rather get off this plane than fly for eight hours beside someone else, their elbow bumping against mine, their personal space and my personal space intermingled. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t survive.

  Gail shuffles her way into the front row, crouches down closer to my level so that she’s not making a scene. She invades my space and I yell. Everything goes momentarily crazy and all the crew gather around. The pilot comes out to see what’s going on. The daughter is crying more now and the mother’s upset and I wonder at what point are they both going to realise that they caused all of this, that if it wasn’t for their own fears and insecurities, then the rest of us would be doing just fine. If they could just manage their own circle, their poison wouldn’t pervade mine.

  I think I’m going to be escorted off the plane, which is more than fine with me because the air is bad already and the door hasn’t even closed yet, when a man and woman seated behind me speak up.

  ‘We’ll swap,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to them both. I’m not a monster.

  But Gail has had it with me, she’s lost trust in me. She’s worried I’ll kick up again in the air and all hell will break loose. She stomps around, getting in huddles with her crew and discussing whether we should throw me off, how long it would take to get my bag off and if we’d make the take-off time. As the man leaves his seat behind me, he says, ‘She’s not doing any harm, she doesn’t want to move,’ and that’s it, I’ve been saved.

  Gail doesn’t look at me for the remainder of the flight as she stomps around, slamming overhead compartments closed. I keep my face mask on and try to breathe slowly, closing my eyes against the recirculated stale energies floating around the air.

  When we land in Doha, I’m asked to step into a room beside the passport office. I remove the mask and glasses for the passport queue but replace it in the bright stuffy room. I assume I’m to be given a stern warning about air travel, but after sitting there for an hour without anything happening, I begin to wonder if I’m going to be arrested. I’ve really messed up now and Hugh will never want me back.

  I hear shouting outside the door.

  ‘Did it look to any of you like she wanted to be touched?’ Hugh yells.

  The door bursts open and I see the flight attendant, and a few members of security.

  ‘Well? Does it?’

  There’s anger on his face, but it’s not at me.

  They all take me in. My mask, my gloves, my clothes covering every inch of skin on my body.

  ‘No,’ the security guard says, ‘it does not.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know …’ the flight attendant begins.

  ‘We’re very sorry,’ the security guard says, and opens the door wider. ‘You’re free to go now.’

  ‘What now?’ Poh asks gently.

  We’re sitting outside in November in twenty-eight-degree heat, she’s drinking red wine, Hugh is putting the kids to bed. Again I think of Lily and Ollie mashed in the house together, but with less feeling of panic this time, like I need to go back and check on her. The physical distance surprisingly removes the deep concern I had and the ball of worry that sat in the pit of my stomach loosens and lessens. The further away we flew, the further the problem became. I can understand why Hugh did it.

  ‘I’ve had five years to think about it, you’d think I’d know,’ I say, embarrassed.

  ‘I don’t think you’ve had time to think about anything at all,’ she says, understanding. ‘Maybe that’s just what you need. What do you want?’

  I pretend to think about it, but I know, I’ve always known. I want to learn to shut down the part of me that sees inside people without their permission. Until that happens, I can’t see a way through.

  Before I fly back Hugh makes a few arrangements with the airport for me to travel home with special assistance, a man who keeps his distance and respects my personal space, only speaking when he is directing me. He has a quiet word with the flight attendant when I take my seat, a polite nod and then he leaves. I’m left alone all the way home.

  I remember the punch of Lily’s words when she told me Hugh was leaving for college, how stupid and left behind I felt. I’d thought things would always be the same, that people would be static like me, but I was wrong. It had happened again when Gospel left for football, and Saloni left for greater things, when Hugh headed to Doha. I’ve never known where I’m supposed to be or what I want to do, but I knew there would come a day when I’d have to leap off my stepping stone.

  Ollie was right about my stealing. I’d been taking Hugh’s weekly household contributions, withdrawing the cash and putting it into a separate savings account in my name. Fifty euro every week for five years. I had never once, not even when we really needed it, dipped into that account, and I now have it all waiting for me, for the moment I’m ready to take my turn.

  The Cock Tavern. Liverpool. I order a still water and sit by the fire. A woman in her fifties with rippling muscles in her shoulders and arms has been flying around the bar collecting glasses and banging greasy bubbling buttery shepherd’s pie and chips down on round tables as if her feet have wheels. ‘Don’t touch the plates, they’re hot,’ she says to everyone, holding them herself with skin like leather. She pours my spring water into the ice-filled glass, then slides the glass along the polished wooden table to touch my hand. ‘There’s your water,’ she says. Her hand is hot as it brushes mine, nothing to recoil from: she’s kind, focused, hardworking. A grafter. I realise though, with that gesture, she thinks I’m blind. I’m wearing my sunglasses, perhaps an odd thing to do on a December night in rainy Liverpool, but I’m snug in the corner, beside the fire, being shown kindness.

  Three men are playing a card game. I know nothing about cards or how to read them, but I do know how to read people. I can’t see their hands, they keep them literally close to their chests, not that seeing them would help me in the slightest.

  The man with a large nose with such visible pores it looks more like a giant strawberry eventually sees me watching.

  ‘You want to play, love?’ He has an Irish accent, mixed in with Liverpool. He’s wearing a tweed cap even with the heat in here, and his moustache is so bushy you can’t see his mouth. It’s like an upside-down broom.

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘Same as these fellas.’

  They all laugh.

  ‘Oh don’t go near them, love,’ says the woman serving, ‘And don’t drag her into your dirty tricks, Seamus.’

  ‘Dirty tricks,’ Seamus says, in mock wide-eyed horror, which makes me laugh.

  I watch them some more, not feeling in the way, enjoying their camaraderie, their intensity, their highs and lows, until it’s finished.

  ‘You jammy bastard,’ the skinny lad says to Seamus, standing up to leave.

  Seamus chuckles. ‘Can’t be jammy if I win every time. Are ye scuttling away now? Too afraid, or will we go one round more?’

  They back away, grabbing their coats, hats and caps, and shuffle out, sharing good-humoured insults with each other. He’s left there alone, looking at the cards on the table. He studies them, serious now, analysing the game. It’s closing time, I should probably leave.

  ‘You lied,’ I say.

  He looks up at me.

  ‘About your hand,’ I say.

  ‘In poker it’s called bluffing. Will you have another drink? Nic?’ he calls over his shoulder to the woman.

  ‘Water, please,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll have another one,’ he calls.

  ‘You will not, you’ve had enough,’ Nic shouts back.

  He rolls his eyes at me, pulls out a chair opposite him and I take it as an invite. I sit down and look at the cards still laid out where they dropped them. Nic eyes us, figuring out I’m not blind, then probably wondering if I’m not blind, what’s with the glasses. Through narrowed eyes that have seen pretty much everything, she watches.

  ‘It’s called Texas Hold ’Em,’ he says gently, and without my even asking he takes me through the rules, and each move he has just played.

  ‘And this is where you lied,’ I say, as we reach the part, the turning point where he raised the bet.