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Amanda doesn’t do well with kids.
She doesn’t think she was ever a kid, not properly. She went from being a screaming baby to an adult, self-sufficient in the worst kind of way. She learnt to take care of herself, how to dumpster dive, how to wrap a tourniquet around her arm, how to flirt with a dealer to get a discount.
She struggles, therefore, with the idea of Diana Gordon.
Even the sight of her bedroom makes her skin crawl, a perfectly designed room for a little girl. There’s artwork stuck on the walls, fancy dress outfits strewn across the floor, lamp on her bedside table so she’s not scared of the dark. Amanda stands in the doorway and stares at it with the kind of hunger she’s only met before in dark alleys and behind metal masks.
“Diana will be home soon,” Adam says, chewing a granola bar. “Want to meet her?”
“Like I want to hang out with some prissy spoilt kid,” Amanda says. "No fucking way."
Adam shrugs and splits his granola bar in half, offering it to her. He spills crumbs all over the floor, and Amanda kicks them underneath the bed before taking her share. It’s the good expensive kind of snack, with real blueberries, and Amanda chews angrily.
She thinks of Diana trailing her parents around a grocery store, jelly sandals slapping against the tiles. Does she beg her Dad for the sugary sweets, or does she know that Lawrence is set in his ways, and won’t even let Adam eat Froot Loops? Does she ever pick up a box of Pop-Tarts and throw a tantrum until Alison gives up, and shoves it in the cart?
Amanda finishes the granola bar and wipes her hands on her vest, before wandering back into the living room. Adam trails after her, saying something about a TV show he’s obsessed with, and how reporters keep calling him for interviews. Apparently, Oprah wants to do a segment on Jigsaw survivors, but Adam had said no.
The show hadn’t called her. Amanda is the wrong kind of survivor, a cunt in army boots and a haircut she did herself in a McDonalds bathroom. She hasn’t used in almost a year, but there are still track marks up and down her arms, and self-harm scars on her thighs. Of course Oprah would want to talk to someone like Adam, who laughs and jokes like he never needed to be reminded he had a life worth saving.
Amanda drops down on the sofa and stretches out her legs. She’s wearing fishnets underneath her jeans, and they show through the rips. It looks like someone tried to eat through her legs, but she got there first.
“Are you okay?” Adam asks, just as the front door swings open.
“It’s not fair,” A voice whines, kicking off a pair of shoes. “All my other friends have – Adam!”
A whirlwind of a child launches into the room and throws themselves at Adam. He catches her mid-jump and spins her around in the air, the both of them laughing. Amanda shrinks back into the sofa cushions, determinedly not catching Lawrence’s eye. He’s carrying a bookbag and a paper mache frog with a smiley face.
“Oh!” The girl says, staring at Amanda. “Hello!”
“This is Amanda,” Adam says, placing her on the ground. “Amanda, this is Diana.”
“I’m on school holidays,” Diana tells her. “We broke up today from school, and that means Adam gets to come and babysit. You have such short hair!”
She sits down beside Amanda with the carelessness of being a small child, and not knowing the appropriate body language. Her little body is vibrating with excitement and she runs her hand over the chunky bracelets on Amanda’s arm.
“Where did you get these?” She asks.
“I stole them,” Amanda says because if Lawrence is making her interact with a child, she’s not going to sugarcoat things.
Diana’s mouth falls open in glee. “Really?”
“She’s joking,” Lawrence says, setting the frog down on the living room table and then frowning at it. “Diana, did we really have to bring this home?”
“He’s called Humphrey,” Diana says. “I made him in class.”
“He’s awesome.” Adam sits down beside her and ruffles Diana’s hair. She leans into him, and Amanda feels that awful anger again. Why did she never have an adult like Adam looking out for her, someone cool and queer, who would have made sure she was okay?
“Do you want to take the frog home?” Lawrence asks dryly.
“No!” Diana whines. “He has to live here with me, in my bedroom.”
Diana turns back to Amanda, studying her with big wide eyes. Amanda doesn’t know what to do, so stares back at her.
“They showed us the life cycle of the frog in science,” Diana says. “We got to meet some frogspawn.”
She holds out her hands, cupping her palms. “We held them like this, and then we put them in the pond, and then they grew into real frogs and hopped away.”
Amanda had found frogspawn once, in an upturned bucket in the yard. She’d scooped out a handful, watching it glisten in the light, the squirming black dots. Then she’d squeezed it up into her fist, until the jelly splattered onto the concrete floor.
“Was it gross?” Adam asks Diana, leaning forward. “Frogs skeeve me out. I don’t trust their tongues.”
“You’re so silly,” Diana says. “Frogs are friends.”
Amanda snorts, and Diana turns to look at her. She looks so much like Lawrence, with long dirty blonde hair that’s escaping from a plait. The end of it is wet, obviously having been chewed for most of the school day.
“Why are you in my house?” Diana asks bluntly.
“Diana!” Lawrence says, as Adam laughs. “Please, be nicer to our guests.”
“Adam invited me over,” Amanda says and folds her arms. “Why are you in this house?”
“I live here,” Diana says. “And sometimes Adam lives here too. He stays in my Dad’s room.”
“Does he now?” Amanda says.
Diana nods. "They cuddle in the mornings when I go in to see them."
Lawrence claps his hands together, trying to distract the room. Adam is grinning wildly, in the horrible fashion of someone in love. Amanda wants to punch the expression off his face.
“Diana, you were going to help me with dinner.” Lawrence reminds her.
“Oh!” Diana says excitedly, and tugs at Amanda’s arm. “We’re making our own pizzas because takeout is a waste of money. You can help me with mine.”
“Aw man, I wanted your help,” Adam whines, and Diana laughs.
“I can help both of you.” She says, tugging them both to their feet. “C’mon, I want to show you that I’m really good at cutting up tomatoes.”
Amanda allows herself to be dragged, accidentally catching the fond expression that Lawrence is giving his family. He looks faintly embarrassed at being caught, and Amanda offers him a tight-lipped smile in return.
Maybe as a gesture of goodwill, she won’t sabotage his pizza. She thinks that’s a pretty good deal.