Perfect
Fourteen: Blood
My home life, growing up, had been a happy one...mostly. I loved my mother, and my father, but they divorced when I was younger. I had two sisters, the youngest being Giselle and the eldest being Francesca but both were younger than me. My brother is the youngest out of all of us and right now is only eighteen and he’s called Callum; when he was born, that was around when my parents split up, but not because of him, it had been from longer problems. They still get on whenever they meet, they just don’t love each other.
So there we were, Layla, Giselle, Francesca, and Callum Goss.
Giselle and Callum were best friends growing up, being the nearest in age, but me and Francesca never got on. I didn’t get on that well with any of them, really, but I could still have a laugh with Callum or Giselle if I needed to. But Francesca...she was just different. She didn’t want to do that with me.
But I’d never expect her to do an interview like that, where she paints me out to be cold and unloving.
Finally, the phone rings. It’s Tina, however.
“I’ve just seen the article, I’m on my way round.”
“No, Tina!” I say harshly. “Stay where you are, stay at home. I’m fine.”
There’s a silence, then nothing – she’s hung up, and I can’t guarantee she’s not coming over, but I don’t panic. I’ve just received an email from Gerard.
Sugar, don’t panic.
Calm down and tell me what happened.
Love, Gerard.
I breathe slowly and reply:
My eldest sister Francesca did an interview with an American magazine. She’s got this really warped idea of what’s happened with me; she seems to think I don’t care and that I don’t love them but, hell, Gerard, they didn’t contact me! What am I supposed to do? If I thought they wanted to hear from me I’d contact them but what if they...I don’t know, Gerard, I really don’t. I don’t want them to get this idea about me.
I just need to talk to them.
I sent that, and a few moments later the phone rang, so I answered it.
“Layla...”
“Gerard, thank –”
“Layla, do not worry too much, really, don’t. This isn’t as bad as you think it is,” he tells me. “Just – Ow, get off me Frank! This is important! – just call them.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Layla, god, you have been so brave recently, this isn’t so hard...”
“I’m not brave.”
“You could have fooled me, Layla.” Then there was silence, and he said softly, “If you really want to talk to them, which I know you do...just do it. You won’t regret it...”
“I...I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ve got to go now, but...ring me, let me know what you did,” Gerard said. “Talk to you later, Layla.” I whisper the same thing and hang up the phone.
I sit on my bed and bury my face in my hands. I look at the clock. It would be about four o’clock where they are now; in the afternoon...I’d get a reply.
I dial my home number and put the phone to my ear; after three or four rings, it picks up and an extremely annoyed female voice spits down the line: “Hello?”
It’s a higher voice, higher than my own or Francesca’s, so it must be Giselle.
“Giselle?”
“Yes?”
“It’s – It’s Layla.”
There is a shocked silence. In the background, I can hear my mother’s cigarette-deepened voice yelling over a higher voice belonging to Francesca, and a male voice that is obviously Callum trying to calm them all down.
“Mam! Mam, Layla’s on the phone!” Giselle suddenly yelled loudly, and there was a silence, then a lot of banging before a screech ran down the phone.
“YOU DON’T CALL US FOR THREE YEARS AND NOW YOU DO! JUST WHEN THE PUBLICITY IS GETTING BAD I SUPPOSE –” Francesca, of course. Then, there’s a shriek and Mum’s on the phone, sounding wonderfully gravelly and warm.
“Oh, Layla love...I suppose you’ve seen the article...”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know what she were thinking, love.”
“Neither do I.” Then there’s a silence.
“How are you? We heard...about...”
“I’m doing well, until this happened of course.”
“Yeah, I’m really, really sorry about that one, love. Frannie would apologise, but –”
“I ain’t apologising for nothing,” I here my delightful sister yell in the background before being told off by Giselle.
“Why didn’t you call?” Mum asks, slightly reproachful.
“I – I thought you didn’t want me to.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You didn’t contact me!”
“Of course we did, Layla, we tried lots of times. Your agent gave us all your numbers and email addresses, but none of them worked.”
So there we were, Layla, Giselle, Francesca, and Callum Goss.
Giselle and Callum were best friends growing up, being the nearest in age, but me and Francesca never got on. I didn’t get on that well with any of them, really, but I could still have a laugh with Callum or Giselle if I needed to. But Francesca...she was just different. She didn’t want to do that with me.
But I’d never expect her to do an interview like that, where she paints me out to be cold and unloving.
Finally, the phone rings. It’s Tina, however.
“I’ve just seen the article, I’m on my way round.”
“No, Tina!” I say harshly. “Stay where you are, stay at home. I’m fine.”
There’s a silence, then nothing – she’s hung up, and I can’t guarantee she’s not coming over, but I don’t panic. I’ve just received an email from Gerard.
Sugar, don’t panic.
Calm down and tell me what happened.
Love, Gerard.
I breathe slowly and reply:
My eldest sister Francesca did an interview with an American magazine. She’s got this really warped idea of what’s happened with me; she seems to think I don’t care and that I don’t love them but, hell, Gerard, they didn’t contact me! What am I supposed to do? If I thought they wanted to hear from me I’d contact them but what if they...I don’t know, Gerard, I really don’t. I don’t want them to get this idea about me.
I just need to talk to them.
I sent that, and a few moments later the phone rang, so I answered it.
“Layla...”
“Gerard, thank –”
“Layla, do not worry too much, really, don’t. This isn’t as bad as you think it is,” he tells me. “Just – Ow, get off me Frank! This is important! – just call them.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Layla, god, you have been so brave recently, this isn’t so hard...”
“I’m not brave.”
“You could have fooled me, Layla.” Then there was silence, and he said softly, “If you really want to talk to them, which I know you do...just do it. You won’t regret it...”
“I...I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ve got to go now, but...ring me, let me know what you did,” Gerard said. “Talk to you later, Layla.” I whisper the same thing and hang up the phone.
I sit on my bed and bury my face in my hands. I look at the clock. It would be about four o’clock where they are now; in the afternoon...I’d get a reply.
I dial my home number and put the phone to my ear; after three or four rings, it picks up and an extremely annoyed female voice spits down the line: “Hello?”
It’s a higher voice, higher than my own or Francesca’s, so it must be Giselle.
“Giselle?”
“Yes?”
“It’s – It’s Layla.”
There is a shocked silence. In the background, I can hear my mother’s cigarette-deepened voice yelling over a higher voice belonging to Francesca, and a male voice that is obviously Callum trying to calm them all down.
“Mam! Mam, Layla’s on the phone!” Giselle suddenly yelled loudly, and there was a silence, then a lot of banging before a screech ran down the phone.
“YOU DON’T CALL US FOR THREE YEARS AND NOW YOU DO! JUST WHEN THE PUBLICITY IS GETTING BAD I SUPPOSE –” Francesca, of course. Then, there’s a shriek and Mum’s on the phone, sounding wonderfully gravelly and warm.
“Oh, Layla love...I suppose you’ve seen the article...”
“Of course.”
“I don’t know what she were thinking, love.”
“Neither do I.” Then there’s a silence.
“How are you? We heard...about...”
“I’m doing well, until this happened of course.”
“Yeah, I’m really, really sorry about that one, love. Frannie would apologise, but –”
“I ain’t apologising for nothing,” I here my delightful sister yell in the background before being told off by Giselle.
“Why didn’t you call?” Mum asks, slightly reproachful.
“I – I thought you didn’t want me to.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You didn’t contact me!”
“Of course we did, Layla, we tried lots of times. Your agent gave us all your numbers and email addresses, but none of them worked.”