Blood Sisters: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?. Julie Shaw

Fishing around briefly, she then pulled on the white lace of the expensive French knickers. ‘I’ll only be wearing these until ten o’clock, Paddy Allen, so if you want to make use of them, you best not be home late.’

      Paddy grinned as he pushed the door open, and stepped aside to let her in. ‘Very nice, but love, I couldn’t give two fucks really. I’ll have ’em off you in about ten seconds anyway.’ He kissed her. ‘And, no, I promise I won’t be back late. Two hours tops, okay? Keep it warm for me.’

      Vicky knew full well that Paddy hadn’t been referring to the dinner, which was apparently going to be pizza. But as he’d taken a couple of frozen ones out of the freezer, she spent some time getting everything ready, enjoying the freedom of his parents’ posh fitted kitchen and pushing guilty thoughts – ever present – about her mother away.

      She could see herself here, she decided. Somewhere like this, at any rate. A better life. A fuller life. A life Paddy could provide for her. She sliced a couple of tomatoes to put on top of the pizzas, added some extra cheese, spread some oven chips on a pristine baking sheet and lit the oven, and finally laid the little table for their romantic dinner for two.

      But one hour very quickly became two, and then more, and, bored with the usual dire Saturday-night television offerings, Vicky decided, on a whim, to phone Lucy.

      It had been two weeks to the day now since the fight at Vikram’s party, two weeks in which she’d several times considered phoning her friend to make things up. But the memory of their call before kept staying her hand. Surely it was Lucy who should be doing the apologising? After all, she’d been the one to start it, lashing out at Paddy the way she had.

      But the later it got – two hours tops he’d said, hadn’t he? So where the hell was he? – the more Vicky wondered at the validity of her stubbornness. And perhaps Lucy was thinking the same. That it was Vicky who ought to be doing the apologising. After all, she’d been the one who’d slapped Lucy round the face.

      Feeling increasingly agitated – not to mention slightly adrift now, in Paddy’s empty house, and thinking still of her bloody mother, which her friend would understand – Vicky picked up the receiver and punched the familiar numbers. Not that she was that hopeful that Lucy would be home. It was Saturday night, after all.

      But it turned out she was. ‘Oh, yes, she’s in,’ said Lucy’s dad, sounding genuinely pleased that she’d called. ‘So nice to hear from you, love. I’ll go call her now for you.’

      And then, not long later, came Lucy herself, sounding puffed-out, having hobbled down from her bedroom to take the call. She’d been in the middle of giving herself a pedicure, she explained breathlessly, then began chattering away, for the best part of a minute, about anything and everything but the one thing that mattered, almost as if she didn’t dare leave any silence in case Vicky used it to leap in and slap her again.

      Which wasn’t like Lucy at all.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Vicky said, seizing on a pause in her friend’s ramblings. What was the point of them speaking if they didn’t talk about why they hadn’t been? ‘That’s why I called you. To apologise. Luce, I really am sorry … I should have called you before. I just couldn’t …’ She hesitated, struggling to find the words now to finish. ‘I just … well, I was just being pig-headed and stupid. I’m really sorry. Can we let this all go?’

      There was definitely a silence now, albeit a small one.

      ‘God, of course,’ Lucy gushed at her, brightly. Too brightly. ‘And me too. Honest, Vic, I’ve nearly called you that many times. You know what I’m like. Much too stubborn for my own good.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s history. Stupid blokes. Bloody boyfriends. We shouldn’t let them come between us, should we? It’s not like we don’t both have minds of our own, is it? Anyway, what you up to? Look at the pair of us, in of a Saturday, all on our lonesome …’

      And it felt like that, suddenly. Despite talking to Lucy – no, no, in fact, almost because of – Vicky felt exactly that. Lonely. She glanced at the clock on the living-room wall. ‘Oh, Pad’s home soon,’ she said. ‘He’s just out—’ She faltered again. ‘Just out, for a bit, with a couple of his mates. And I’m knackered. Been on my feet all day. I need an office job like you’ve got …’ She chuckled too, politely, still confused by the exchange. ‘Anyway, what about your Jimmy?’ Christ, this was becoming such a weird conversation. ‘He out too?’

      ‘With some of his workmates,’ Lucy confirmed. ‘Someone’s stag night, so goodness only knows what time he’ll get home … so …’

      ‘So look,’ Vicky said, increasingly anxious to make some kind of proper connection, ‘how about you and I going out one night after work, in the week? You know …’

      ‘Oh, I’d love that,’ Lucy answered. And quickly. Too quickly. ‘Shall we talk tomorrow, maybe? Sort out which day works best for us both? You do a couple of lates in the week down there, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes, but—’ Vicky paused again, hearing the sound of a key in the front door. ‘Look, that’ll be Paddy,’ she said, anxious now. He was the last person who needed to hear her on the phone to Lucy. ‘I’d better go. Speak tomorrow then, mate, yes?’

      ‘Course,’ Lucy said.

      It was only when she’d hung up that Vicky realised that Lucy hadn’t just said ‘course’. She’d actually said ‘course you had’, and her meaning was clear. Course you had, as in ‘course you had better go’.

      Because of Paddy.

      But it hadn’t been Paddy. It had been Paddy’s parents, home from the bakery. Home from the bakery a good hour or two earlier than Paddy had led her to believe they would be, sending her into a flat spin of embarrassment and self-consciousness, and cursing him inwardly for leaving her in such a way.

      ‘Oh, don’t you mind us,’ Paddy’s mum gushed as she came in, smelling of recently applied perfume and pastry. She smiled indulgently at the preparations that had been laid out in her kitchen. ‘We’ll be off in the living room, out of the way, don’t you worry, love. You know,’ she then told Vicky, as she stood at the sink, filling the kettle, ‘it never ceases to amaze me how that lad of ours has managed to hang on to a girl like you.’ She laughed then. ‘Or deserves one, for that matter. One of life’s enduring mysteries, eh?!’

      Vicky knew full well that Mrs Allen thought no such thing. Quite the opposite. They might not be around much, but one thing was still true. They thought the sun shone out of Paddy’s backside. They positively doted on him, especially his mam. Still, she was grateful for her sweetness in saying so.

      Though she was still quick to excuse herself and go and wait for him upstairs – there to sit up disconsolately in bed in her new underwear, variously wondering where the fuck Paddy had got to and chewing over her strange call to Lucy.

      Vicky knew she must have dozed off but when Paddy flumped down onto the bed, she was shocked to see, by the light of his digital alarm clock, that it was 3.00 in the morning. He was pissed. Or, at least half-pissed. He was at least making a stab at extricating himself from his clothing.

      ‘What the fuck, Paddy?’ she hissed angrily as she tried to budge him across the bed. ‘Have you seen the fucking time? Where’ve you been?’

      He said nothing. Too busy growling in exasperation at his belt buckle. Vicky lay and watched him, growing increasingly irritated. Where the hell had he been? She then felt anxiety begin to crowd her mind. It was so late. Way beyond chucking-out time. And he’d not gone out dressed for clubbing. So more to the point, who had he been with?

      She sat up straight. ‘Come on! Where’ve you been, and who’ve you been with? You’ve been hours!’

      She’d been prepared for some narky response to this – he’d been drinking, so that was always a possibility – but not for the way he twisted round on the bed and grabbed her. Grabbed her none too gently, by the wrist, and yanked