One Plus One

  "Probably stuck in traffic."

  "It was pretty bad."

  Nicky could picture Tanzie on the other side of the door, squinting at her papers, looking around for help that wouldn't come. Jess stared up at the ceiling, swore softly, then tied and retied her ponytail. He guessed she was picturing the same.

  And then there was the sound of a distant commotion and Mr. Nicholls appeared, running down the corridor like a crazy man and holding aloft a plastic bag that looked as if it might be entirely full of pairs of glasses. And as he launched himself at the desk and started arguing with the organizers--the kind of argument that comes from someone who knows there is no way in the world he is going to lose--the relief Nicky felt was so overwhelming that he had to go outside, slump against the wall, and drop his head to his knees until his breathing no longer threatened to turn into a huge, gulping sob.

  --

  It was weird saying good-bye to Mr. Nicholls. They stood by his car in the drizzle and Jess was acting all oh, I don't care, even though she obviously did. And Nicky really wanted to thank him for the whole hacking thing, driving them all that way and just being, you know, weirdly decent, but then Mr. Nicholls went and gave him his spare phone and all that came out was this strangulated "Thanks." And then that was it. And he and Jess were walking across the campus car park with Norman, pretending they couldn't hear Mr. Nicholls's car driving away.

  They stopped by the corridor, and Jess stashed their bags in the cloakroom. Then she turned to Nicky and brushed nonexistent fluff from his shoulder. "Well," she said, "let's go and walk this dog, shall we?"

  --

  It was true that Nicky didn't talk much. It wasn't that he didn't have stuff to say. It was just that there was nobody he really wanted to say it to. Ever since he had gone to live with Dad and Jess, when he was eight, people had been trying to get him to talk about his "feelings," like they were a big rucksack he could just drag around with him and open up for everyone to examine the contents. But half the time he didn't even know what he thought. He didn't have opinions about politics or the economy or what happened to him. He didn't even have an opinion about his real mum. She was an addict. She liked drugs more than she liked him. What else was there to say?

  Nicky went to counseling for a bit, like the social workers said he should. The woman seemed to want him to get mad about what had happened to him. Nicky had told her he wasn't angry because he understood that his mum couldn't look after him. It wasn't as if it was personal. If he had been any other kid, she would have dumped him just the same. She was just . . . sad. He had seen so little of her when he was small that he didn't even really feel like she had anything to do with him.

  But the counselor kept saying: "You must let it out, Nicholas. It's not good for you to internalize what happened to you." She gave him two little stuffed figures and wanted him to act out "how your mother's abandonment made you feel."

  Nicky didn't like to tell her that it was the thought of having to sit in her office playing with dolls and being called Nicholas that made him feel destructive. He just wasn't a particularly angry person. Not with his real mum, not even with Jason Fisher, although he didn't expect anyone to understand. Fisher was just an idiot who didn't have the brainpower to do anything but hit out. Fisher knew on some deep level that he had nothing, that he was never going to be anything. He was a phony, and nobody liked him, not really. So he turned it all outward, transferred his bad feelings to the nearest available person (see? The therapy had done something useful).

  So when Jess said they should go for a walk, a little bit of Nicky was wary. He didn't want to get into some big conversation about his feelings. He didn't want to discuss any of it. He was all braced to deflect, and then she scratched her head a bit, and said, "Is it just me, or does it feel a bit weird without Mr. Nicholls?"

  --

  This was what they talked about:

  The unexpected beauty of some of Aberdeen's buildings.

  The dog.

  Whether either of them had brought plastic bags for the dog.

  Which of them was going to kick that thing under the parked car so that nobody trod in it.

  The best way to clean the toes of your shoes on grass.

  Whether it was actually possible to clean the toes of your shoes on grass.

  Nicky's face, as in did it hurt? (Answer: no, not anymore.)

  Other bits of him, as in did they? (No, no, and a bit, but it was improving.)

  His jeans, as in why didn't he pull them up so that his underwear wasn't always showing?

  Why his underwear was actually his own business.

  Whether they should tell Dad about the Rolls. Nicky told her she should pretend it had been nicked. What would he know? And it would serve him right. But Jess said she couldn't lie to him because that wouldn't be fair. And then she went quiet for a while.

  Was he okay? Did he feel better being away from home? Was he worried about going home? This was where Nicky stopped talking and started shrugging. What was there to say?

  --

  This was what they didn't talk about:

  What it would be like if they actually went home with five thousand pounds.

  If Tanzie went to that school and he left school before sixth form, whether Jess would want him to pick her up from St. Anne's every day.

  The takeaway that they would definitely get tonight in celebration. Possibly not a kebab.

  That Jess was plainly freezing, even if she insisted she was fine. All the little hairs on her arms were standing bolt upright.

  Mr. Nicholls. Most notably, where Jess had actually slept the previous night. And why they had kept stealing looks at each other like a pair of teenagers all morning, even while they were grumping at each other. Nicky honestly thought she thought they were all stupid sometimes.

  But it was kind of okay, the talking thing. He thought he might even do it more often.

  --

  They were waiting outside the doors when they finally opened at two o'clock. Tanzie walked out in the first batch, her furry pencil case clutched in front of her, and Jess held out her arms wide, all braced for celebration.

  "So? How was it?"

  She looked at them steadily.

  "Did you ace it, Titch?" said Nicky, grinning.

  And then, abruptly, Tanzie's face crumpled. Everyone froze, then Jess stooped and pulled her close, maybe to hide the shock on her face, and Nicky put his arm around Tanzie's on the other side, and Norman sat on her feet. As the other kids filed past, she told them what had happened, through muffled sobs.

  "I lost the whole first half hour. And I didn't understand some of their accents. And I couldn't see properly. And I got really nervous, and I kept staring at my paper and then by the time I got the glasses, it took me ages to find a pair that fit me and then I couldn't even understand the first question."

  Jess scanned the corridor for the organizers. "I'll talk to them. I'll explain what happened. I mean, you couldn't see. That's got to count for something. Maybe we could get them to adjust the score to take it into account."

  "No. I don't want you talking to them. I didn't understand the first question, even when I got the right glasses. I couldn't make it work the way they said it should work."

  "But maybe--"

  "I messed it up," Tanzie wailed. "I don't want to go over it. I just want to go."

  "You didn't mess anything up, sweetheart. Really. You did your best. That's all that matters."

  "But it's not, is it? Because I can't go to St. Anne's without the money."

  "Well, there must be . . . Don't worry, Tanze. I'll work something out."

  It was her least convincing smile ever. And Tanzie wasn't stupid. She cried like someone heartbroken. Nicky had honestly never seen her like that. It actually made him want to cry a bit, too.

  "Let's go home," he said when it became unbearable.

  But that made Tanzie cry harder.

  Jess looked up at him, her face completely lost, and it was l
ike she was asking him, Nicky, what shall I do? And the fact that right now even Jess didn't know made him feel like something had gone really wrong with the world. And then he thought: I really, really wish Jess hadn't confiscated my stash. He didn't think he had ever needed a smoke more in his life.

  They waited in the hallway as the other competitors retreated into cars with their parents, and suddenly, unexpectedly, Nicky realized he did feel angry. He was angry with the stupid boys who had put his little sister off her stroke. He was angry with the stupid maths competition and its rules that wouldn't bend a tiny bit for a little girl who couldn't see. He was angry that they had come all this way across an entire country just to fail again. Like there was nothing this family could do that turned out right. Nothing at all.

  When the hallway had emptied finally, Jess reached into her back pocket and wrenched out a small rectangular card. She thrust it at him. "Call Mr. Nicholls."

  "But he's halfway home by now. And what can he do?"

  Jess bit her lip. She half turned away from him, then back again. "He can take us to Marty."

  Nicky stared at her.

  "Please. I know it's awkward, but I can't think what else to do. Tanzie needs something to help her up again, Nicky. She needs to see her dad."

  --

  He was back within half an hour. He had just been down the road, he said, having a bite to eat. Nicky thought afterward that if he had been thinking more clearly, he might have wondered why Ed hadn't gone very far, and why it had taken him so long to have a snack. But he was too busy arguing with Jess, a few feet from the car.

  "I know you don't want to see your dad, but--"

  "I'm not going."

  "Tanzie needs this." Her face had that determined set, where you knew she was making out that she was taking your feelings into account, but actually she was just going to make you do what she wanted you to do.

  "This is really not going to make anything better."

  "For you, maybe. Look, Nicky, I know you have very mixed feelings about your dad right now, and I don't blame you. I know it's been a very confusing time--"

  "I'm not confused."

  "Tanzie is at rock bottom. She needs something to give her a lift. And Marty is not that far away." She put out a hand and touched his arm. "Look, if you really don't want to see him when you get there, you can just stay in the car, okay? I'm sorry," she said when he didn't say anything. "I'm not exactly desperate to see him, either. But we do have to do this."

  What could he tell her? What could he tell her that she would believe? And he supposed there was 5 percent of him that still wondered whether he was the one who was wrong.

  Jess walked back to Mr. Nicholls, who had been leaning against his car watching. Tanzie sat silently inside. "Please. Will you give us a lift to Marty's? His mum's, I mean. I'm sorry. I know you've probably had enough of us and we've been a complete pain, but . . . but I haven't got anyone else to ask. Tanzie . . . she needs her dad. Whatever I--we--think of him, she needs to see her dad. It's only a couple of hours from here."

  He looked at her.

  "Okay, maybe more if we have to go slowly. But please--I need to turn this round. I really need to turn this round."

  Mr. Nicholls stepped to one side and opened the passenger door. He bent down a little so that he could smile at Tanzie. "Let's go."

  --

  They all looked relieved. But it was a bad idea. A really bad idea. If only they'd asked him about the wallpaper, Nicky could have told them why.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jess

  The last time Jess had seen Maria Costanza was the day she had delivered Marty to her in Liam's brother's van. Marty had spent the last hundred miles to Glasgow asleep under a duvet, and as Jess stood in her immaculate front room and tried to explain her son's breakdown, she had looked at her as if Jess had personally tried to kill him.

  Maria Costanza had never liked her. She'd thought her son deserved better than a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl with home-dyed hair and glittery nails, and nothing Jess had ever done since had changed Maria's fundamentally low opinion of her. She thought what Jess did with the house was peculiar. She thought the fact that Jess made most of the children's clothes herself was willfully eccentric. It never occurred to her to ask why she made their clothes, or why they couldn't afford to pay someone else to decorate. Or why when the kitchen sink overflowed, it was Jess who ended up under the sink wrestling with the U-bend.

  She had tried. She really had. She was polite, she didn't swear. She was faithful to Marty. She produced the world's most amazing baby, and kept her clean, fed, and cheerful. It took Jess about five years to grasp that she wasn't the problem. Maria Costanza was just one of life's lemon suckers. Jess wasn't sure she had ever seen her smile spontaneously unless it was to report some piece of news about one of her friends or neighbors--a slashed tire or a terminal illness, maybe.

  She had tried to ring her twice, on Mr. Nicholls's phone, but got no answer.

  "Granny's probably still at work," she told Tanzie, ringing off. "Or perhaps they've gone to see the new baby."

  "You still want me to head over there?" Mr. Nicholls glanced at her.

  "Please. I'm sure they'll be home by the time we get there. She never goes out in the evening."

  Nicky's eyes met hers in the mirror and slid away. Jess didn't blame him for being negative. If Maria Costanza's reaction to Tanzie had been lukewarm, her discovery that she had a grandson she hadn't even known about was met with the same enthusiasm she would have expressed had they announced a family case of scabies. Jess couldn't tell whether she was offended because he had existed for so long without her knowledge or whether her inability to explain him without referring to illegitimacy and her son's involvement with an addict meant that she just found it easier to ignore him altogether

  "You looking forward to seeing Daddy, Tanze?" Jess turned in her seat. Tanzie was leaning against Norman, her face solemn and exhausted. Her eyes slid to Jess's and she gave the smallest of nods.

  "It will be great to see him. And Granny," Jess said brightly. "I'm not sure why we didn't think of it sooner."

  They drove in silence. Tanzie dozed, resting against the dog. Nicky sat and watched the darkening sky. She didn't feel like putting music on. She didn't dare let the children see how she felt about what had happened in Aberdeen. She couldn't let herself think about it. One thing at a time, she told herself. Just get Tanzie back on track. And then I'll work out what to do next.

  "You okay?" Mr. Nicholls asked.

  "Fine." She could see he didn't believe her. "She'll feel better once she sees her dad. I know it."

  "She could always do another Olympiad, next year. She'll know what to expect then."

  Jess tried to smile. "Mr. Nicholls. That sounds suspiciously like optimism."

  He turned to her, and his eyes were full of sympathy.

  She was relieved to be back in his car. She had begun to feel oddly safe there, like nothing really bad could happen while they were all inside it. Jess pictured being in the front room of Costanza's little house, trying to explain the events that had led them there. She pictured Marty's face when she told him about the Rolls-Royce. She saw them all waiting at a bus stop tomorrow, the first stage in an interminable journey home. She wondered briefly whether she could ask Mr. Nicholls to mind Norman till they got back. Thinking about this made her remember how much this whole escapade had cost, and she pushed the thought away. One thing at a time.

  And then she must have nodded off, because someone had hold of her arm.

  "Jess?"

  "Nngh?"

  "Jess? I think we're here. That GPS says this is her address. Does this look right to you?"

  She pushed herself upright, uncricking her neck. The windows of the neat, white terraced house gazed unblinkingly back at her. Her stomach lurched reflexively.

  "What's the time?"

  "Just before seven." He waited while she rubbed her eyes. "Well, the lights are on," he sa
id. "I'm guessing they're home."

  He turned in his seat as she pushed herself upright. "Hey, kids, we're here. Time to see your dad."

  --

  Tanzie's hand gripped Jess's tightly as they walked up the path. Nicky had refused to get out of the car, saying he'd wait with Mr. Nicholls. Jess decided she'd let Tanzie go in before she went back and tried to reason with him.

  "Are you excited?"

  Tanzie nodded, her little face suddenly hopeful and, just briefly, Jess sensed that she had done the right thing. They would salvage something out of this trip, even if it killed her. Whatever issues she and Marty had could be sorted out later.

  Two new small barrels sat by the front steps, filled with a purple flower she didn't recognize. She straightened her jacket, smoothed the hair from Tanzie's face, leaned forward, and wiped a bit of something from the corner of her mouth, and then she rang the doorbell.

  Maria Costanza saw Tanzie first. She gazed at her, and then up at Jess, and several expressions, none quite identifiable, flickered rapidly across her face.

  Jess answered them with her cheeriest smile. "Hi, Maria. We, um, were in the area, and I just thought we couldn't pass without seeing Marty. And you."

  Maria Costanza stared at her.

  "We did try to call," Jess continued, her voice a singsong, and odd to her ears. "Quite a few times. I would have left a message, but--"

  "Hi, Granny." Tanzie ran forward and threw herself at her grandmother's waist. Maria Costanza's hand went down and she let it rest limply against Tanzie's back. She had dyed her hair a shade too dark, Jess noted absently. Maria Costanza stayed like that for a moment, then glanced at the car, where Nicky stared out impassively from the rear window.

  God, would it kill you to express some enthusiasm, just once? Jess thought. "Nicky will be over in a minute," she said, keeping the smile firmly on her face. "He's just woken up. I'm . . . giving him a moment."

  They stood and faced each other, waiting.

  "So . . . ," Jess said.

  "He--he's not here," Maria Costanza said.

  "Is he at work?" She had sounded more eager than she had intended. "I mean, it's lovely if he's feeling . . . well enough to work."

  "He's not here, Jessica."

  "Is he ill?" Oh, Christ, she thought. Something's happened. And then she saw it. An emotion she was not sure she'd ever seen on Maria Costanza's features. Embarrassment.