Did I mention there is little joy in this story? I wrote this section years ago and I still feel beaten up by it every time I read over it.

Tuesday, July 18th 1994

'Our new stepfather,' Zach spoke between breaths, 'is super-thrifty. Nothing like some free labour to improve the landscaping.'

Madison took the opportunity for her own break from digging, sticking her shovel into the ground and leaning on it. 'It's not like either of us were doing anything else. And don't call him "our new stepfather". You make it sound like he's the next in a very long line.'

'I'm making Mom sound dramatic, like Elizabeth Taylor. Who doesn't want to be Elizabeth Taylor?' Zach moved on without even giving Madison a chance to list the many many people she'd rather be than Elizabeth Taylor. 'So you're saying you're enjoying this?'

Madison lifted her shovel again, in lieu of actually answering, because 'this' was quite far from her list of enjoyable things – perhaps as far as being Elizabeth Taylor. 'This' was digging a fire pit in the summer-baked yard of her mom's house. It was something Mike had been intending to do for, apparently, years, but which had become increasingly urgent as the wedding approached. Laura had some wedding-day-desires, one of which involved toasting marshmallows in the evening. It sounded cute, if a little twee, but it sounded a lot less cute as soon as Madison realised that the fire-pit hadn't even half-existed this morning. Manual labour in a Chicago summer was quite something.

'I'm just saying,' Zach continued, 'he could have pitched in.'

'He's getting bricks.' They both jumped at Laura's voice. 'But I'll pass on your feedback. And that he's apparently marrying the new Elizabeth Taylor.' Quirking on eyebrow at Zach, she offered them both a glass of water. 'Here, my troupers: a reward for your stellar work ethic.'

Madison gulped down the water, thankful for it in itself and because it gave her something to do other than try to justify the grumblings; whilst it may have been Zach speaking, it wasn't as if she'd done much to defend Mike.

Laura looked down at the dent they'd made in the earth now. 'It's slow going, isn't it?' For the first time, she seemed to realise quite what a job this was; it was the only time Madison had so far seen her look less than relaxed about this whole wedding. There was a sense she was only half-joking when she said, 'Is it going to be finished by Sunday?'

'Yeah.' Madison nodded. 'Of course. Zach just needs to quit being a whiny baby.' Her brother feigned an arrowshot to the heart at her words. 'Thanks for the drink, Mom.'

Truthfully, this was exactly what Madison needed today. The discomfort and the heat and the sweat took her mind off what had happened the previous day and felt a whole lot more productive than rehashing everything that she'd learned, said and heard. Throwing herself headlong into something so ridiculous as digging a pit in the midday sun was a good way to pretend she hadn't pursued something equally as ridiculous last night.

It also gave her a chance to hang out with Zach some more. For an instant, she remembered what she'd said all those years ago, when her string of detentions had kept her away from her kid brother for weeks on end: he's cool. She'd meant it then and she meant it even more now: Zach really was cool, infinitely more so than she was, and she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him over the next few days. Besides which, there were the small issues of yesterday's unfinished conversations.

'So what are you going to do after LA?' she asked casually when Laura had gone back indoors.

Zach frowned. 'How do you mean?'

'After you've dropped the car off, what are you going to do?'

'Oh, I don't know.' Zach shrugged.

'You could come stay with Mom and Mike for a bit,' Madison suggested, trying not to sound as tentative as she felt in bringing up the other thing: Zach's clear reluctance to be here. His vehemence in referring to that place yesterday had surprised her far more than his current employment status. It had never occurred to her that her brother might dislike their childhood home just as much as she did.

'Yeah, sure, the newlyweds would love that, I'm sure.'

'They're hardly on their honeymoon.' Madison rolled her eyes. 'And you know Mom would love to see you more.'

Zach fell silent for a few shovelfuls of dirt. 'Yeah, well, she knows where I am.'

It was Madison's turn to frown. 'Does she? I mean, it's not like you've ever told us an address, is it? And what about rent?'

'What about minding your own business?' Even Zach seemed surprised at the barbs in his words. He played with the handle of his shovel somewhat awkwardly. 'I just... I don't get why it's such an issue.'

'What, knowing where my brother lives?' Madison raised her eyebrows. 'Seriously, Zach, why wouldn't that be an issue?'

'I've never thought about it.'

Bullshit, but Madison bit the word back, at least partially because it sounded more John than her. It was also the first time she could ever remember addressing any of the oddities around her brother's existence post-Chicago: the disappearances, the serial unemployments, the lack of any sense of his life there. It struck her suddenly that he never mentioned anybody from New York, and that was possibly the oddest thing of all. Even as a kid, even when hospital-bound with cancer, Zach had had more friends than she could count, and certainly more than she had. His social life had outstripped hers even from isolation wards. She wondered when she'd stopped paying any attention to him.

Zach had gone back to digging before she found the words she wanted to use. 'What's keeping you in New York?'

'What's keeping you in LA?'

'My job? My apartment? My friends?' Madison fired back. 'All things I'm not sure you actually have right now.'

'I've got friends! Fuck, Mads, you're hardly one to talk! Which one of us went chasing round town last night because they felt shitty about how they treated their "friends"?'

'That wasn't what happened.'

'No?'

'No!' Madison glowered at him. 'Look, forget I said anything, forget I even wanted to help.' She drove her shovel into the ground, leaving it sticking up perpendicularly. 'I'm getting another water.'

The cool of the house hit her as she stepped inside, only making her feel more sweaty and dirty than before. Kicking her sneakers off, she headed for the kitchen, taking several large gulps of water. Thirsty as she was, she found it was doing more for her temper than her hydration. By the time she emptied the glass, she found herself feeling angrier with herself than Zach for being so easily wound up. That conversation was supposed to have been supportive and helpful; instead, it had all come back to her. To John. She could punch something.

Like that goddamn invitation, she thought, looking at where it still was, a boomerang. She slipped it out from underneath the magnet, reading the words again as she tried not to laugh bitterly. It truly was a work of astonishing art: it almost sounded attractive, even to her. That was some achievement. Even so, it belonged in the bin far more than on the refrigerator, and she moved towards it.

The doorbell rang. Madison waited. Nobody moved in the house. Too late, just as the bell rang again, she saw the scribbled note on the worktop: Picking up a parcel. Back soon.

With a sigh, she headed down the hallway to the mostly-unused front door, invitation still in hand. She wasn't sure who called round here; for all she knew, Laura and Mike had a thriving social life where people dropped round for coffee unexpectedly all the time. She suspected she'd be a disappointment to whoever was on the other side of the door.

'Madison. Hi.'

Madison blinked. She should perhaps have been less surprised by Allison's appearance. After all, she knew that Andy-and-Allison were in Chicago this week. But this wasn't how their friendship had ever been, they'd never been sorority sisters calling round each other's houses. Madison realised now that she'd never even known where Allison lived.

In the silence that Madison was supposed to fill, Allison said, 'Is it okay that I've called round?'

There was nothing else a reasonable person could do than nod, so Madison did that. Then, remembering some of the manners she'd been taught, she said, 'Oh. Come in.'

They headed in silence back to the living area, and for a few moments, Madison was able to be a decent enough host to offer Allison a seat and a drink. Then she hovered, conscious both of the bizarre nature of this call and her own appearance.

'We're making a fire pit,' she said eventually, gesturing outside to where she assumed Zach was still digging. When Allison looked at her quizzically (and being looked at like that by someone whose high school nickname was 'basketcase' felt utterly humiliating), she added, 'Hence the dirt.'

Allison nodded. There was another moment of awkward silence. Then, 'Is now a bad time?'

'No!' Madison blurted out the expected response, despite the evidence to the contrary. Then, more honestly, just like she'd always been able to be with Allison, 'Well... it's no worse than any other time.'

That earned her a smile and then Allison rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. 'My God! I can't actually believe we're here, can you? Back in Chicago. I mean, we've been back, obviously. But... I don't know. This feels different somehow.' She glanced at the invitation Madison was still holding. 'That reunion, huh?'

Madison almost dropped it, as if it had burned her. 'I'm not going.' As if that line wasn't getting boring.

'That's what I said.'

Madison frowned. 'But... then why...?'

'Andy. You know, sometimes I forget he actually liked high school. Most of the time, anyway.' Allison shrugged. 'And it might be fun, seeing whether absence does make the heart grow fonder.'

Madison gave a small snort and scuffed the floor with her toes.

'Are you going to sit down?' Allison gestured at the half-empty sofa and chairs.

Madison looked at her dusty shorts and considered using them as an excuse. Then she perched on the arm of a chair, finding that infinitely less awkward.

'Look, I wanted to apologise. For how I was at Brian's.' Allison looked up at Madison through her hair, and looked undeniably like her old self. 'I was rude and it was unnecessary. It's... it's nice to see you, Madison.'

Unable to say much else than, 'It's okay,' Madison said that and fell silent again.

Allison studied her (bitten and paint-stained) nails, suddenly just as awkward as her host. 'It's just... it's been a long time, and... well, I can't say I wasn't angry with you when you left.'

'We... we all left?' Madison shook her head, hearing this argument for the second time in as many days. 'You and Andy and Brian and...' she swallowed Claire's name, before concluding with, 'we all left.'

'But we came back. And we didn't just go, just...' Allison shrugged and looked Madison in the eye properly. 'You just went, like, straight away. You barely even said goodbye.'

And Madison let her eyes slide down to the floor, aware that that was what was the problem here. Everybody was supposed to be leaving that summer, but there were rituals she'd left unfulfilled, conversations she'd left unfinished. There had been another month before they were all going their separate ways and there were plans and ideas. And then, there'd been Nancy, and John, and the baby, and Madison had turned her back on all of that without thinking. She'd packed up, booked tickets and headed for the west coast as fast as a jet plane could get her out of there. She'd stolen their last summer and never given anybody a chance to say so.

Ten years was a long time, but she still struggled to find the words to make it up to Allison now. So instead, she said, 'I couldn't stay.'

'Why?'

Madison blinked. 'Excuse me?'

'Why couldn't you stay?' Allison quickly went on to say, 'Yeah, I know, the whole John and Nancy thing. But... seriously, you let that drive you away? What about your mom and Zach and... well, us? We were friends and you left.' Then, before Madison could even begin to defend herself, Allison pressed on, that same almost manic determination which had characterised her as a teenager. 'And if you'd even spent five minutes thinking about it, you'd have known it was dumb. John cheating, I mean.'

At that, Madison could barely contain a snort. 'Yeah, sure. Because it's so unlike John to do something wrong and lie about it.'

'Not about this, though. Not about you.' As Madison shook her head, Allison's eyes shone triumphantly as she said, 'And anyway, it's not even up for debate, is it? What with Cory being born when he was.'

'What?'

Allison's eyes widened. 'You... you didn't know?'

'What, the birthday of my ex-boyfriend's lovechild?' It sounded so much more bitter than Madison felt, a cover up of the assault upon the foundations of her truth. 'Funny that.'

Allison ignored her. 'But... he was born in November.'

Madison hesitated. 'That doesn't mean anything. He could have been premature or...'

'Madison. He was, like, nine pounds or something. He was not premature.' Shaking her head, Allison rushed on. 'Nancy lied. She was way far gone when she told John. It's like he always said. Yeah, he slept with her but before you.'

The room became still. Outside, there was the regular thud-scrape of Zach's digging. Inside, there was the grind of the a/c, struggling on in this heat. Madison looked down at her hands, surprised to find them still when it felt like every cell in her body was vibrating from Allison's words. Everything around her seemed so normal when she felt anything but.

Abruptly, she stood up. 'Thanks for coming over.'

Allison frowned. 'What? That's all you're going to say.'

'It doesn't change anything.' Madison fought to keep her voice and breathing steady. 'It's... all so long ago, anyway, what difference does it make now? I'm only here for my mom's wedding and then I'm back to LA and...' She was babbling and she forced herself to stop. 'It was nice to see you.'

It seemed as if Allison was going to say more. Then she too stood up, shaking her head. 'I can show myself out.' Turning to go, she hesitated, and once again looked Madison in the eye. 'Seriously, Madison, it is nice to see you. But maybe Claire wasn't the only princess.'

Madison registered the door closing as if it were a long way away. She stayed where she was for a long time. It must have been a very long time, as the first she knew of the world again was Zach saying, seemingly not for the first time, 'Mads!'

She flinched. 'What?'

'What's happened?' Zach studied her face. 'You've been gone ages and... you look terrible.'

'Thanks!'

'Seriously. Did I hear the doorbell? Who was it?' Zach bombarded her with questions, and she realised how annoying that was. 'It wasn't John, was it?'

'No. It was...' Madison shook her head. 'It was nobody important. Come on, we've got digging to do.' Zach continued staring at her. 'What?'

'Nothing.' Still, he seemed about to say something, when he shook his head. 'I'm getting a drink. I'll see you outside.'

Zach turned in early that night, exhausted from the digging and the lugging which finally resulted in something akin to Laura's grand plans. The fire pit was more oval than round, with an erroneous straight edge thrown in, and the bricks didn't quite meet each other properly. Madison also suspected it was that tad too near to the house to make it quite the perfect spot for marshmallow toasting. But Laura actually clapped her hands like a five-year-old when she saw it, so that seemed like a win of sorts. Madison herself felt as tired as Zach looked, but after lying awake in her too-warm bedroom for over two hours, listening to her mom and Mike both brushing their teeth and heading to bed, she gave up and got up.

Padding through the living room to the kitchen, she got a glass of water, swallowing it in one go, before refilling and taking it with her as she slipped out onto the porch. The night air was cooler but no less humid than it had been all day. Yet again, Madison wished for the Pacific breeze of LA. It had been less than four days, and she felt like she was being smothered, by heat and memories and the never-ending anxiety she would always associate with this zip-code.

The trailer park was never quiet. She remembered that from when she was part of it, in the thick of the fights and the squabbles and the sheer noise of that many people living their lives in tin boxes. Even now, long after her own family had fallen silent (and, with Zach, that was somewhat of a miracle), there were the sounds of voices and pans being clattered. If New York was the city that never slept, this place had been the perfect training ground for her brother.

But for all of that, this was the closest Madison could ever remember feeling like home. Her old home, the house next to Claire's, where her parents had raised them, had been picture-book perfection. Until her father left, after which it became the House of Horrors. There were so many bad memories tied up with the place that they obliterated the good. Madison felt no nostalgia for it.

Yet she was suddenly filled with a need to go 'home' and climb inside her old trailer. It was surprising how protective she'd always found its metal shell, more than any walls or doors on a regular house. Now she was only metres away from it, she was surprised how much she'd craved its security.

Embarrassed by what she was doing, she covered the space between house and trailer in double quick time. The less time she was in the open, the less likely she'd be spotted. There was a brief moment when she wondered how she'd get inside, before she took a chance and felt underneath the erroneous plant pot beside the door. Rolling her eyes, she slipped the key she found there into the lock, turned it and stepped into the past.

This whole visit had felt like setting foot into a strange world. A museum seen through the lens of a Hall of Mirrors, everything the same but slightly distorted. At college, she'd been introduced to the Gothic concept of the Uncanny; she suspected none of her professors would have imagined it existing in this innocuous part of Chicago. Even so, it was the closest she could come to explaining how the whole experience had felt, and it only intensified as she closed the door of the trailer behind her and reached for a light. Of course it was still hooked up to the generator. Of course her mom – or, maybe, Mike – was paying bills on a place which was little more than a bolthole for somebody Madison used to know. She'd have rolled her eyes a little harder if it weren't for how much she welcomed the light now.

Just like everything on this trip, the trailer was the same but different. Same Formica worktop, same institutional beige colour scheme, different feeling. Without her mom's kitchenware and her own scattered belongings, Madison found it surprisingly alien. It was only now she was here, strolling through the place, that she realised how much it had lurked in her peripheral vision for the past few days. If anything was a symbol of the past, this was. And she found herself breathing a sigh of relief that it was just a trailer, a place she used to live. It had no power.

Something thudded against the door. Madison let out a squeak, before slapping her hand over her mouth, unsure if she was embarrassed at her unease or genuinely fearful for her life. This was a classic set-up for a horror film. But, she reminded herself, this isn't a horror film. She hoped. Surely people didn't get murdered in what amounted to their backyards?

There was another crash outside. She glanced around, looking for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Unbidden, a different night in the same place flashed through her mind. A rolling pin had been her weapon of choice back then. Now, that same rolling pin was likely languishing in a drawer in her mom's new kitchen, utterly useless as a defence against whoever – or whatever – was outside. True, she hadn't needed it then, but now-

Her reverie was interrupted by the assailant finally finding the door handle. It twisted and jiggled and then finally burst open and Madison couldn't help it, she let out a scream, small but very much a scream, and then the axe murderer stepped into the trailer and Madison found herself shrieking something about a gun and then, from the doorway, came:

'Now come on, Twinkie, we both know you couldn't fire a gun, even at me.'

Shock then relief then anger surged through Madison's body. Eventually she managed to say 'John?' and then 'What the-? What are you doing?'

'Hopefully not getting shot by Miss Rambo.' With a bad-natured gesture, he added, 'Please, make yourself at home.'

'It is actually my trailer!'

'Oh really? Cause you've been hanging out here so regularly recently.' He flashed her a dark look before slouching past her. He had a beer bottle clutched in one hand, and it didn't seem like it was his first. As he crashed down onto the couch, Madison revised that opinion: definitely not his first.

As if he knew what was going through her mind, John took another gulp before waving the bottle in her direction. 'You know, I'd share, but I don't want to, so.' Another swig.

'Do you think that's such a good idea?'

'When have I been known for good ideas?' John held her gaze in a way which felt like something of an attack as he took another long pull on the drink. Madison couldn't help it; she had to look away.

For several seconds they faced off against each other. All the times they'd spent here had always been charged with a kind of electricity which crackled. Now it was there again, but Madison felt unsafe, like the air itself might sting her or shock her. John had always felt a little on the edge, a little out of control. But back then he'd been a kid – she could see that now. When eighteen-year-olds stood outside bars or served her coffee, she was always struck by how young they looked, how little they understood. We thought we knew it all, she thought, looking at a ten-years-aged John, and finding it was only now she was frightened of and for him. This wasn't what he was supposed to be like.

Still, she hovered in the kitchen area, viewing him from a distance, keeping close to the door, telling herself that she could leave whenever she wanted, knowing she was lying to herself. The decisions hadn't been hers to make from the moment he'd crashed through the door.

'How much have you had to drink?' she asked finally, dropping her voice, hoping she sounded concerned, not angry.

John shrugged wildly and nearly hit himself in the face with his beer, which rather answered her question.

Madison took a deep breath. She could still turn away. She could still go back to the house. She could still leave the past firmly in the past.

She turned to the sink and filled a cup with water, only now realising quite how ready this place had been kept for these occasional disturbances. Her mom's kitchenware may have vacated the premises, but there was a kettle, a pot of coffee, a scattered collection of hotel creams and sugars. The perfect way to sober John up. She flicked the kettle on.

'You trying to domesticate me?' He gave her one of his trademark leers, the kind she'd always loathed. 'Shit, Twinkie. After all these years.'

'Shut up.' She rolled her eyes. 'It's just coffee.'

'You'll keep me up all night.' He leered again, leaving the rest unsaid. Then it changed it into something else, something much more familiar. Something she was almost able to return.

For a time, the only sound was the kettle and Madison unnecessarily bashing cups and spoons around. It bought her some time to think up a strategy. It was too late to regret coming here, so she stowed that away for a later date. The important thing now was the cup, the coffee, delivering it safely.

That John was drunk, she was in no doubt. The fact was, though, that he carried it off very well, as if it was his default state. From the way Brian had spoken of him, she supposed this was pretty normal behaviour. He had, at least, managed to get himself here without relying upon anybody else. He certainly looked better than he had on Sunday night, actually able to support his own body weight and accept the cup she offered him.

'It's hot,' she said warningly.

'No shit.' Then, with a momentary meeting of her gaze, he mumbled, 'Thanks.' And then, as she sat down beside him with her own cup, 'You don't have to stay.'

'There's gratitude,' she quipped, drinking her own cup. 'I'm not very good at coffee.'

'I thought everybody in Hollywood knew about making coffee. I thought you all worked in coffee shops.'

'That's actors. Writers just drink in them.'

A silence fell again, but a different one, an easier one. They'd said nothing at all, empty words batted around the trailer, insubstantial as air, but they'd helped. They filled spaces. Madison had written whole scenes like this for films and TV, sometimes on demand and sometimes in lieu of anything meaningful to say. It was one of her great strengths, inconsequential banter. It was only now she realised where she'd honed that, whose voice she always had running through her head when she wrote those scenes.

'So, you are a writer then?'

She nodded.

'That's cool. You liked books and shit.'

Smiling, Madison said, 'Yeah. I did. I do. It is cool.' Then, because it was what you did, and she really did want to know, she said, 'How about you?'

'I don't like books and shit.'

She rolled her eyes. 'No. But... what do you do?'

There was a long pause. Whilst he hadn't reacted angrily like the last time she'd probed into his life, she didn't expect a reply. If he didn't respond with noise, he responded with silence, and she'd never known which was worse. Now, she forced herself to think that it didn't matter anyway. This wasn't her life.

'I fuck things up.'

'I'm sure that's not true.' Again, she forced herself not to care, to keep her voice light and conversational. Small talk: she could do small talk until the sun came up or he fell asleep or however long she needed to. This was not her life.

'Twinkie, you of all people know that's completely true.'

Madison gritted her teeth. 'I don't know what you want me to say about that.'

'Well, I didn't ask you to ask.'

'I was just...' She scrabbled for the words, realising there were none. She should have walked away from here as soon as he collapsed onto the sofa. She should have stayed in bed. She should have stayed in LA and let her mom just get on with the damn wedding herself. 'John, I was only-'

'I don't have a job.' It had the feelings of a Bender-rant but little of the energy. He spoke to the floor, his shoulders hunched over, and he just seemed tired and old and utterly weary of this needing to be said. 'I can't see my son. I don't have anywhere to live except a house belonging to my abusive asshole of a father. And that abusive asshole of a father? He's got fucking cancer and he's dying and for some reason I give a shit about that. So tell me which part of all of that I haven't fucked up?'

For a moment, Madison was unable to speak. There was so much to process there. She expected the unemployment. She'd been forewarned about the son – and she still wasn't sure she wanted to explore that particular area of his life anyway, she still couldn't reconcile everything that that three-letter word meant. It was the last part which blindsided her.

'He's...? God, John, I had no idea.' She swallowed hard, a thousand questions flying at her, probing, invasive questions which she had no right to ask about a man she'd never even met. Mr John Bender Senior. She had a lot of opinions about him, none of which she could quite shove aside in light of this news. But John Bender Junior? She could shove aside quite a lot in order to say, 'You're allowed to give a shit about that, you know?'

Face contorted in an ugly grimace, he virtually spat, 'Thanks so much for your permission.'

'I didn't mean- I mean, of course you can feel – sad or... whatever – about that, he's your dad.'

'He broke my ribs,' John reminded her. 'He used me as an ashtray. The man's done everything he can to try to kill me and now he's dying, you think it's okay that I'm just... okay with all of that?' He slumped forward suddenly, burying his face in his hands. Madison didn't know if it was the drink or something else – something worse like actual tears.

She picked her next words very carefully.

'I think it's... okay... that you feel... something... about your dad being sick.' She hesitated before adding, 'Don't you?'

'I think it's fucking insane.' The words were muffled and choked and pretty much confirmed the worst for her. Then, as abruptly as before, he sat up, sniffed a couple of times, and sat back on the sofa. Gaze fixed on the middle distance, he said with a tight jaw and shiny eyes, 'I think I'm fucking insane.'

'I don't think insane people tend to know they're insane.'

Slowly, his eyes drifted round to hers. They were still too shiny, still a world away from the hardened picture he'd presented as he'd bounced in here today. But, as his mouth twisted into a rueful smile, Madison felt her own heart rate slowing down. This felt safer. This felt okay.

'You're going with that as your words of comfort? What kind of films are you writing, Twinks?'

'Award-winning ones,' she returned, not feeling even slightly guilty at stretching the truth. She'd worked on the scripts, after all. And he was finally smiling. That was worth it.

Silence again. There was a lot to talk about, but Madison wasn't sure where to start. She didn't even know if this was her job, if she was supposed to be the one John told all of this to. This time next week, she'd be gone. All of that collided in her head and came up with nothing but white noise.

'Tell me about LA.'

She blinked through the static in her mind. 'What?'

'LA. I want to know about it.'

'Don't you think you should concentrate on...?' She tailed off.

'I've spent twenty-eight years on that. Give me one night off.' He handed the cup to her. 'But make another coffee first.'