Chapter Three

Tea with the Millers was surprisingly pleasant. Gracie, normally a classic example of a misanthrope, asked the Millers about their week, how their son was doing at uni, who they thought was going to win the election, and so on. Her mother stared at Gracie across the table, partly out of shock, partly out of her wounded pride. Ellie, who was normally quite quick on the draw, stammered and stuttered, taking several seconds to respond every time Mr or Mrs Miller asked her a question. Comprehension wasn't a function her brain had available that evening, it seemed, as it was too busy trying to process Ellie's earlier interaction with Gracie. She had won that argument, hadn't she? Gracie had the last word, sure, but it was just an emotional outburst, nothing more. Ellie had been rational, had been sensible in her argument. Experience over youth, that was what her father had taught her. Experience always wins in the end.

Gracie's father, normally quite a dour, withdrawn man himself, came alive that evening at the dinner table, as if spurred on by the sudden change in his daughter's temperament. Between his long yet enthusiastically told stories, and Gracie's endless line of questioning, Gracie's mother barely got a word in, her main contribution being how she thought the Labour candidate had no chance of winning, simply because he was a communist, and even then, Gracie showed her up, reminding her mother that the Labour candidate was a socialist, not a communist.

"It's okay Mum," Gracie had said, her tone reminiscent of an amused parent correcting their child when they had pronounced a word properly. "It's a common mistake." The Millers chuckled along, and so Ellie had been faced with no other choice but to smile and play along with Gracie.

"Oh yes, he's socialist. It's been a long day; my brain must be tired. Claire, that top is lovely! Where did you get it?"

Gracie was a bit quieter for the rest of the meal, letting her mother save face, steering the conversation for the remaining ten minutes. The Millers would go home, thinking it had been a nice dinner, a warm, pleasant feeling lining their stomachs. They wouldn't even think twice about the socialist and communist mix-up. Gracie's mother would, though. She'd think about it all night, and all day at work tomorrow. The certainty of that was assuring to Gracie, comforting her as she went to bed that night. That was just like what Alex used to do. Just like when she came over that time.

It had been a year and a half ago, when Gracie and Alex were getting comfortable in their relationship. Their guards had come down, enough for them to start revealing personal details to each other. Alex had taken to twirling Gracie's hair around one of her fingers when she talked, and Gracie had started sneaking little notes into Alex's backpack, lyrics that reminded Gracie of Alex written on them. Alex's favourite so far, she had told Gracie, had been the one from a Fall Out Boy song. "I want to scream I love you from the top of my lungs, but I'm afraid that someone else will hear me." In a town that was always talking, and both of them being from prejudiced families, the sentiment was mutual.

Ellie, always the keen observer of what her daughter was doing, had noticed how close Alex and Gracie were getting, how Gracie had brightened up recently, telling her and Allen when asked that she had made a new "friend." She had told Gracie to invite Alex over, since they were getting so close. Ellie wanted to get to know Gracie's friend-what was wrong with that?

"Tell her you don't want to go. Tell her you're busy that night, that you have a ton of homework to do. Please, tell her anything. You don't know what she's like Alex, she'll pick you apart and act like she's just making conversation. I don't want this to happen, please, find a way out of it."

When Gracie had told Alex about her mother's offer, Alex had practically lit up. She had noticed before, from what Gracie had told her about her mother, that Mrs Williams wasn't exactly the life of the party, nor was she, it seemed, supportive of Gracie in any way that mattered. That had to be sorted.

"Grace, I'll be fine." Alex had used her pet name for Gracie, trying to calm her down. "I'll come to your place, meet your parents, and see what they're like, through first-hand experience. If it's terrible, I won't go again. I might as well give it a try." Alex twirled Gracie's hair, stopping only to look Gracie in the eyes and give her a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, I promise."

The night came, and Alex turned up, five minutes early, dressed in a woolly jumper and trousers, her brown hair worn down, make-up minimal. She had brought chocolates.

"Hello there, Mr and Mrs Williams! So nice to meet you." Alex acted the perfect, polite guest, asking the Williams parents how their day at work had been, commenting on the food. "This spaghetti is lovely, Mrs Williams!"

Gracie's mother returned that volley with a smile of her own, a game of politeness Gracie had never understood unfolding before her eyes, as she and her father remained silent, wolfing down the spaghetti. Say what you will about Ellie Williams-and people did-but she could cook, and she knew it.

"Why thank you Alex! You're so nice. The recipe was my mother's originally, I just added some peppers and some spices." Mrs Williams paused after that remark, and Gracie noticed her mother's lips moving slightly, her next sentence clearly being given a run-through before it was uttered.

"It's so nice that you and Gracie have become so close recently-it's made Gracie quite happy! She's so moody, down in the dumps normally. It stops her from making friends, most of the time."

Gracie felt herself tense, and the forkful of spaghetti she had been bringing up to her mouth was now suspended, as Gracie's eyes passed from her mother to Alex, and back again. This was what her mother always did, putting Gracie down in front of the guest, encouraging them to stick up for Gracie, and then making them seem unreasonable, as if they had been sharp in their reply. Mrs Williams hadn't been implying her daughter was unlikeable, of course not. Where did they get that idea?

"Well, Mrs Williams, I think there lies the question. Should we really be friends with people who won't stick around to see what we're like, under the surface level? Sure, Gracie is a bit stand-offish at first, but she's a good friend when it matters. I count myself lucky to have her as a friend." Gracie's hand was suddenly in Alex's hand, under the table, and Alex gave it a squeeze, as her gaze remained fixed at Gracie's mother.

Ellie has bristled slightly at Alex's reply, and tried to regain the high ground. "Yes, well-a lot of people do find Gracie hard to get on with, even once they've known her for a while. From what I've heard, people think Gracie is too sensitive about certain things."

Allen Williams, Gracie's father, flicked his eyes up momentarily, looking at his wife, the gaze knowingly brief. He'd seen her do this before. Like Gracie, he had been expecting it. Best to just let it happen. Alex, however, found herself startled at the malice behind the words of Mrs Williams. Alex's own mother wasn't exactly supportive of her, but whereas her disapproval was blunt and easy to detect, Gracie's mother was sneaky, just as Gracie had told her. How had Gracie lived with someone like this for a mother, and still be so kind?

"I'd argue that's a reflection on them, and not Gracie, Mrs Williams. There's no such thing, in my opinion, of being too sensitive about something. People just get mad when others don't perceive everything in the same way as them, as they're so certain their way of life, how they do things, is the right way. Honestly, anyone who thinks like that, in my opinion, is just ignorant. Nothing more." Alex took a breath, before turning to talk to Gracie's dad. "So, Mr Williams, do you follow the rugby? Saturday's game was certainly interesting.

Gracie remembered, lying in bed, thinking about that evening, how good she felt after that dinner, how loved. She wasn't alone, wasn't unlikeable. Someone liked her, no, someone loved her enough to stick up for her, all without landing the inevitable blame on Gracie. She wanted to feel like that again. Grief, Gracie had realised, is essentially a product of lacking. You lack all the love that person used to give you, and you lack a place to send all of the love you had for that person.

Alex didn't deserve to die the way she did.