Chapter 26: Leftovers - The Night Market

Pepper ran until her legs gave out. Until the burn in her lungs clawed up her throat and left her staggering, clutching a stitch in her side. A smear of blood streaked beneath her nose. One eye was tender, and the palms of her hands were raw from where she’d tripped. But she kept going, kept moving, because that’s what she always did; she ran. She had run from shopkeepers with chocolate bars shoved up her jumper. She had run from the older kids who cornered her at the park and pushed her around until she bit one of them. She had run when she insulted the wrong person too quickly, too savagely. She had run from the haunting silence that lived in the quiet house she and her sister temporarily made a home out of.

She cut behind the Chinese takeaway on Sable Street, the rust-stiff door propped open like it always was. The fresh heat of the kitchen hit her full in the face – garlic, oil, soy, the metallic waft of gas burners. The noise of voices followed. Two kitchen staff darted sideways, mid-prep, as the scrappy child in a dirtied hoodie stumbled inside. Comments were exchanged, carrying this, dicing that, calling to one another on the status of the orders. But Pepper walked through, unconcerned. Someone cried out, loudly, when they almost tripped right into her.

Claire stood at the centre of the storm, brow slick with sweat, one hand on the wok tossing stir fry into the air, the other holding tongs like an extension of her arm, snapping lids on plastic containers. She spun at the noise, eyes locking on Pepper.

‘Peps? What are you doing here?’ Claire’s voice jumped above the clatter. ‘What happened to you?’

Pepper stood in the threshold, shoulders hunched, sleeves too long for her arms. Her hoodie was torn at the cuff, and she was flushed red from the cold and the running. She wiped at her face with the back of her wrist, smearing blood across her cheek like war paint, looking away with a petulant glare.

From the front counter, their boss shouted, accent thick and tone sharper than the cleaver he kept beneath the till.

‘Claire! Come on! I’m not running a nursery, we’ve got a queue!’

Claire scowled, but she didn’t argue. She turned back to her sister and lowered her voice. ‘Go wait out front, don’t go anywhere. Wait for me to finish my shift, alright? Please.’

Pepper nodded, silent, dragging her feet past plastic chairs and steamy windows into the empty front seating area. A barren fish tank bubbled quietly in the corner. She sat at a Formica-topped table and tried not to cry.

The clock ticked. Minutes dragged like hours, making the hours almost unbearable.

Menus had been read. Leaflets refolded and reread, then folded into paper animals, or the closest thing. Someone had brought her a bowl of chow mein she hadn’t asked for. She’d eaten it mostly out of boredom, though she was hungry. She was always hungry. Pepper had surgically separated the lengths of charred green onion into a sad pile on a flyer advertising salt and chilli ribs.

Claire finally dropped into the seat opposite, her apron damp and streaked, a plastic bag of boxed leftovers in hand. She blew a strand of hair from her face.

‘Sorry,’ she said, sliding into the seat across from her. ‘Boss let me off early. Mostly because he thought you’d scare off the customers. Gave us this.’

‘Nice of him,’ Pepper mumbled.

‘What’s wrong with those?’ Claire eyed the pile of vegetables next to the bowl.

Pepper shrugged. ‘Don’t like green onions.’

Claire gave her a sideways look. ‘Eat ’em. They’ll help you grow big and strong.’

‘Nan used to say that.’

‘And now I’m saying it. She was smart.’

Not smart enough to abandon her granddaughters, Pepper thought, yielding. She gave her a narrowed-eye glare but dutifully forced one into her mouth with chopsticks like it was poison. The look given when chewing was the same when doing maths homework.

‘Happy?’

‘Only when you eat the rest.’

Claire smiled, then leaned back. ‘So. Who were you running from this time? Sanjay catch you nicking crisps again?’

Pepper frowned, wiping at her nose again. ‘No. It was some boys. Said I didn’t have a mum. So, I told ’em, yeah, mine died. But their dads pissed off because they were stuck with you disappointments, and that went down about as well as you’d expect.’

Claire exhaled slowly. ‘Peps . . .’

Pepper bristled. ‘What?! I didn’t start it.’

‘No, you just set it off,’ Claire said, calm and tired all at once. A hand was dragged down her face. ‘People are gonna be pricks, you’ll see them all your life, you can’t just kick something off like that. You keep getting into trouble like this because you just don’t care what’ll happen, you just act, like, automatically. I keep saying, you need to stop and think before you open that mouth of yours. You need to slow it down. Stop reacting to everything like the world’s out to get you. Because one day, you’re gonna run when you should’ve stayed. Or worse – stay when you should’ve run. And you need to know the difference.’

‘All we’ve done is run an’ move. Mum said we were running. Nan said we were running. All we do.’

Pepper looked away, jaw set.

‘I’m serious,’ Claire added. ‘It just causes drama. We don’t need that right now. You showing up here like this, you could’ve got me fired. Again.’

A flicker of guilt ghosted over Pepper’s face. She stared at the pile of onions. Pushed it with her chopsticks.

‘You’re always working,’ she muttered. ‘You’re never around. I come home and it’s just me, and I wait and wait and half the time I’m asleep before you even—’

Her voice broke. She covered her face with her hands.

‘I’m sick of feeling like I’m by myself all the time.’

Claire looked at her, her lips quivering.

‘We need the money,’ she said. ‘You know that. We can’t have bailiffs turning up again. Not like last time. We’re barely making it as is.’

‘I don’t care,’ Pepper snapped suddenly, her voice high, cracked. ‘I don’t care about the money, I just want you. I hate it. I hate you not being there!’

Her voice hitched. She bit her lip hard, holding back tears, but they were already welling. Claire blinked, stricken, her hand halfway to the plastic bag.

She reached across the table instead and took her sister’s hand in hers.

‘Peps. It’s you and me, okay? I’m always thinking of you. Always. Even when I’m working. Especially then. You are never far from me.’

She reached beneath her collar and pulled something free from around her neck. A silver locket, precious, slightly tarnished, the hinge worn smooth from years of fiddling. She clicked it open. Inside were three tiny photos: their mother in sunglasses on the beach mid-laugh, their gran, stoic in a garden chair, and the two of them curled up on a sofa when Pepper was still in primary school.

‘Take it,’ Claire said. ‘So, the next time you feel alone, you open it, and you know I’m always with you. You and me. Always. You just gotta slow down for a second to see it.’

Pepper took it in her hands like it was holy, thumb brushing the image of their younger selves.

‘And remember,’ Claire said, taking one of Pepper’s hands into her own, ‘I do this for you. Everything. Even the hard stuff, because someone has to. But you’ve got to meet me halfway. Just slow down enough to see I haven’t gone anywhere. Stop starting fights. Stop all this running . . .’