Mumma's name once was Emma Bixby, and she was born on the 2nd January 1921.
She was a beauty, Papa used to say, I look a lot like 'er. When she was young 'er 'air was long and jet black, 'er eyes an ocean of exploration that could convey 'er mood with just a look. They met just before the war waiting in line for the shop. Last day of August when everyone knew that a war was bound to 'appen, they exchanged addresses and Mumma wrote to 'im whilst 'e was at the front fighting for the country. When 'e came back 'e was injured and Mumma nursed 'im back to 'ealth before they married in '47 and that was that. The future of our family set in stone.
I've been told many times that I wasn't meant to come into this world. They were 'appy with their 3 children, there wasn't much room for another in the 'ouse so when Mumma got pregnant again just before Christmas of 1957 there was much panic between the two of them, whether I should be adopted out or given to another member of family to raise. But Mumma wanted to keep me and Papa couldn't argue with 'er, besides, he was 'oping for another son to raise.
I was a disappointment to all of my family. Not a son, another daughter when they already 'ad two. I didn't 'ave anything special about me, like Grandma thought I would 'ave because I was such a surprise and that's what she's like. They 'ad many names they wanted to give to me but they got thrown out the window immediately because I was a girl, so they named me after my mother and the neighbour who 'elped deliver me.
I'm the shadow, the girl who wasn't meant to exist. Easily forgotten. Easily missed.
Bethan links 'er 'arm around mine as we stroll down the street towards the record shop. I don't shy away from the unexpected contact, surprisingly. I can't stop watching 'er smile as she looks around the red-brick street, eyes lighting the world around 'er with their passion and beauty.
"When was the last time you came here?" She asks innocently.
"Before my brother died. I used to come 'ere all the time when I was younger." I say. "My older sister's the one who buys most of the music in our 'ouse, she buys me things occasionally."
It's been so long since I came 'ere that the owners almost certainly still know me as Rosy. I don't tell 'er that though.
The record shop is as welcoming as I remember, records piled high in the window and neatly arranged inside the shop, blue banner announcing "Vinyl Heaven" in huge letters inside. Waves of memories flood over me for a second and I hang onto the feeling I 'ad when I bought Revolver with Patty, only a few weeks before my world fell apart. I feel that innocent child for just one moment and a thought passes by me of what it could 'ave been like if my brother 'ad lived that day.
Before I know it Bethan's pulled me into the shop. I almost trip over the stairs on the way in, my 'air flying loose from the grips as I stumble. I recover them from the floor and stuff them into my blazer pockets, keeping them in as I take a look around. It's just the same as I remember, the records more updated but still as dark and mysterious as I remember. It seemed so large when I was young but now it's small, a relic of a time long since disappeared inside me.
"Sammy, we only 'ave enough money for one record, so choose wisely." The voice stops be'ind me and sighs. "Excuse me, please."
A pretty young woman with a satchel slung around 'er patterned dress is standing behind me, hand holding one of a boy aged around 5. I'm blocking the way, I've only just noticed.
"Oh, sorry." I say loudly
I move aside and let the two of them go past. The boy catches my eye as 'e walks, like 'e knows there's something different around me. A cold shiver laced with dread goes down my spine.
"Emma, come over here!" Bethan calls me over.
I look around for anyone else and carefully make my way across the room towards 'er. She stands next to where they keep David Bowie, holding up a copy of Diamond Dogs. I've 'eard it already, Patty brought a copy 'ome over the summer.
"I've been looking for this for ages!" She exclaims. "You don't mind if I buy it, do you?" She tucks it under 'er arm.
"Not at all." I tell 'er.
In the next-door section to where they keep Bowie is where they keep the Beatles albums. Patty's teenage smile lights up my vision for a moment and I feel a little more loved than I 'ave done in years. That feeling soon goes, though.
I follow Bethan to the counter. The owner, much older than I remember, keeps giving me looks as she counts out money. A lightbulb goes off in 'is eyes after a couple of seconds.
"It can't be… Little Rosy Skelton, isn't it?"
Bethan stares at me. I go tomato-red.
"Yes, that's me." I say quickly. "I go by Emma now."
"Blimey, you've grown." 'e remarks, in shock. "And isn't Emma your mother's name?"
"I'm 15, now." I say simply. "It's my 16th on Tuesday. Emma's actually my first name, they called me Rosy as to not confuse people."
Bethan, spooked, takes 'er records and backs away from the counter. I turn away and follow 'er.
"Rosy?" She says once we're outside and she's putting away 'er record.
"Short for Rosemary. It's my middle name." I tell 'er.
She looks up at me from 'er satchel. "Rosemary really doesn't suit you."
I laugh. "Thanks, I'll tell my parents that next time they decide to name me!"
She links 'er arm in mine and I can't stop meeting myself meeting 'er eyes. They are like a cloudy sky, sometimes beautiful and streaked with blue and sometimes bringing rain and thunder. I find myself getting lost in them before she tips 'er ead to the side.
"Emma? Are you alright?"
I blink a couple of times, lost in thought, before returning to my 'ead. She looks concerned, an underlying sadness deep inside.
"I'd better be getting 'ome. I can't leave my sisters for too long." I say, suddenly desperate to get away.
"Okay, see you tomorrow?"
I nod as I hold onto my satchel, flashing 'er a smile as I turn away from 'er, striding down the road.
As soon as turn the corner I look around and begin running, running away from the moment of almost-happiness I 'ad this afternoon towards the empty shell of a house and family that I belong to.
August 1970
Ruth 'olds my 'and as we walk down the street towards the shop, nattering and chewing on the quarter of strawberry laces we bought in the sweetshop up the road.
It's strange 'aving a friend again. Ruth moved 'ere only a few months ago and finished off her junior school at Green Lane. She's got short red 'air and a button nose and 'er smile is absolutely beautiful. She's wearing it now and squeezing my 'and.
It only takes a couple of moments for it to all come crashing down. A man, a lot taller than the two of us with sleek dark 'air steps out onto the concrete street and barges past us. We meet eyes for just moment and I seize up.
'is eyes are exactly like Chris'.
Splash
Chris!
No, no, no…
I fall off the edge I didn't even know I was on. I can feel the grass underneath my 'ands, the bark on my back, the tears dripping down my face. The stark colours of my brother's eyes disappearing into darkness.
I thought this 'ad stopped. I thought, I thought…
I double over, gasping for some kind of air. Ruth's 'ands are like fire on my back.
"Where is 'e?"
"'e's in there, Sophia. M-my son's in there."
"What about Rosy, Patricia said she was there, where is she?"
"I-I don't know."
I struggle violently against Ruth, against 'er 'ands, against the world. I wrench them off and stagger over to the nearest building, sweat running down my for'ead as I grip onto the wall. The world tips to the side, I feel like I'm going to be sick.
"Rosy, darling, it's going to be okay. Auntie Sophia is 'ere and she's not going to leave you."
When I finally feel more grounded, when the sky isn't swimming and the images and sounds have left my 'ead, I look back at the street and the people walking along without a care.
Ruth 'as disappeared into thin air.
The 'ouse is empty when I return. A note is stuck up on the fridge saying that Mary's taken Mum to visit Aunt Sophia. She's the only member of the family who bothers to 'ave any contact with us now. Patty thinks it's because they don't want to see Mum, who's grief leaches into everything in the 'ouse.
"Chris?" I call around the 'ouse to no response.
I dump my bag on one of the kitchen chairs and hang my blazer on the back of it. Not a sound from the rest of the house.
"Hello?" I call again as I reach the stairs.
I creep up them and listen out of any sign of 'im. The floorboards creak beneath me and echo around the 'ouse.
On the landing the most glaringly obvious thing that's wrong is that Chris' bedroom door is open for the first time in 8 years. It feels familiar, in a way, it was always open when I was young. But it feels out of place now, still a relic of a time long past that we're all clinging onto by a thread.
"Chris?"
A flicker of movement comes from within the room, catching the dusty light of the long-untouched room. I take a step forward to reach the threshold. A wave of musty room and old glue hits me square on.
The inside is exactly as I remember, right to the last detail. Crumpled bedclothes, covered in dust with dents still in the pillow. Bookshelves covered in books that I 'aven't seen in years but vaguely remember Chris reading that long wet summer. Models, clothes, knitted objects that Grandma made for 'im when 'e was only a baby. Even Pop, the toy cat 'e fell in love with as a very little boy and never slept without, is strewn on the floor from where it was thrown out of the bed when 'e arose that morning. Forgotten and unloved for 8 years.
Looking out the window in this forgotten mess of an outdated bedroom stands Chris. 'is eyes flickered over to me for a moment when I got to the door but now they're back focusing on the landscape the looks over the entire city of Manchester. I don't want to step into the room. I really don't want to step into the room, no matter if I 'ave to talk to 'im. It still feels wrong to be in 'ere, rules from before and after 'e died only line up around 'ere.
Damn the bloody rules, I think to myself, and step into the room. The window's open and a cloud of dust blows around the room, gently lifting my 'air. I take another step forward and bend down to pick up Pop, feeling the soft fur on my skin as I carefully lift 'im up and examine 'im. 'e's not in bad shape for 'ow long 'e's been left along for. I move forward and stand next to 'im.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah."
I sniff.
"Bollocks, what's wrong?"
He almost jumps at my swearing and turns to look at me. I keep looking at the view out the window.
"Everything's the same. But it's not." 'e mutters.
I grab 'is 'and.
"Do you…" I 'ave to stop myself for a moment. "Do you remember anything of that day?"
'e joins me in looking out the window.
"The water were dark. And freezing." 'e says. "I could 'ere someone calling me name but it were far away. Then it went dark."
A tear drips from my eye onto the white painted windowsill.
"The only person I thought couldn't 'ave changed, no matter 'ow much time 'as passed, 'as."
"Who?" I whisper like a thread about to snap.
"You." 'e says after a pause.
I don't 'ave anything to say to that, so I don't. I just press Pop into 'is 'ands and lean my 'ead against 'im. 'e's right, it 'as changed. So much. It's a wonder 'e even knows who I am now, let alone the rest of the world and people 'e knew before.
At some point we leave, lock the door though we know that no one will open it again for a good long while. Lie on my bed with 'im and music, laughing and talking like we're old friends just reunited. No topic off the table.
I can't 'elp but savour the moment and smile when 'e's not looking.
I suspect we won't 'ave many chances to do this again.
English again. Me and Bethan spend the time before outside talking, laughing like I 'aven't done in a very long time. People look at me like I've gone stark raving mad, giving me the side eye from the line. They're not much better to be honest.
Miss Granger opens the door and steps out. She knows we all see 'er Deer-In-The-'eadlights look when she sees the class but doesn't seem to care, just nods for us to come through the door.
"Take out your copies of Lord Of The Flies." She says quietly. I suspect I'm the only one who hears her.
"Emma, can you start from the beginning?" She asks once we're in our seats.
I start reading aloud, clear and presise, but I can barely 'ear myself speak over the noise from the boys behind me. Miss yells 'erself red trying to calm them down, but in the end she gives up and writes things on the blackboard for the ones who actually want to do well in our O-Levels whilst she goes to find someone who knows 'ow to settle them. Bethan turns round from where she sits in front of me.
"There's something strange about 'er."
I place my pen on the table and tip my 'ead to the side.
"Who?"
She nods towards the desk and the blackboard.
"Miss Granger."
"'ow'd yer mean?"
She looks around to see if anyone's listening. No one is.
"I've never- I just…" She sighs. "There's something wrong about 'er. Like she doesn't belong."
Miss Granger steps into the room with Mr Tett and the room immediately shuts up. 'e glares at all of us and leaves. To complete silence she sits back down and begins talking about Lord of The Flies and symbolism.
When she looks up to observe the class I meet 'er eyes for a moment. They're hazel but speckled with sparkling stars, an image flashes across my eyes of 'er under a night sky in a blue coat and beret. A shiver goes down my spine like it did when I saw the young boy in the record shop.
Bethan's right. There's something very, very strange about 'er.