entangled

CAT CLARKE
entangled
CAT CLARKE
entangled
First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Quercus
21 Bloomsbury Square
London
WC1A 2NS
Copyright © Cat Clarke, 2011
The moral right of Cat Clarke to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted in accordance with
the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording,
or any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available
from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 84916 394 1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, organizations, places and events are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Typeset by Nigel Hazle
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc
For Mum, for everything.
Elspeth Margaret Clarke
1947–2010
day 3
I met Ethan the night I was planning to kill myself. Pretty
inconvenient, when you think about it.
The same questions whirl round and round in my head:
What does he want from me?
How could I have let this happen?
AM I GOING TO DIE? (That one’s my particular
favourite.)
This isn’t quite how I planned it. And I do like things to go
to plan.
First things first: let’s just start writing and see where that
takes me. I presume that’s what all the paper is here for.
And the pens. Seems to me there are enough pens to last
a long time. This is very, very bad. Maybe I’ll just lie down
for a second.
Don’t know how long I was out for. Don’t have my watch. Or
my clothes. The thought of him undressing me when I was
unconscious is beyond embarrassing. And this gown thing
is not exactly the height of fashion. I feel like I’m waiting to
be operated on. God, I really hope that’s not the case. I’m
sort of attached to my internal organs. I must be losing it –
cracking jokes at a time like this. But humour at
inappropriate times always has been a speciality of mine.
I have to figure out a way to get out of here. Maybe I can
reason with him. I just need to find out what he wants. But
part of me doesn’t want to know the answer.
Shit … I think he’s coming.
Well, that was short and sweet. He just came in with my
food on a tray, saw me sitting at the table, pen in hand, and
nodded. He seemed pleased. I sat there like an idiot,
gawping at him. He didn’t try to read what I’ve written – just
looked at me in that way that makes me sure he knows
exactly what I’m thinking. And then he was gone. Door
bolted behind him, of course.
The food was delicious. That’s just one of the many,
many weird things about this. The food is great. And how
many kidnapping cases have you heard about where the
victim has her own en-suite bathroom? And possibly the
comfiest bed in the entire world. I just wish everything
wasn’t so white. It makes my head hurt. Sometimes I have
to close my eyes to remind myself that there are other
colours in the universe. At least these pens aren’t white.
That would have been pretty annoying, to say the least.
Because writing is definitely helping. Just the mechanics of
it: forming the letters which make up the words which
magically join up to make sentences. It’s sort of soothing.
But what does he want me to write? And why does he want
me to write? Weird weird weird. Still, maybe this is my big
chance to be the writer I’ve always wanted to be. My last
chance, probably.
Anyway, you’re supposed to write about what you know,
aren’t you? So let’s start with Ethan. Maybe someone will
be able to find him one day (probably years after my
skeleton is found at this bloody table with a biro still
clutched in my bony fingers). I reckon he’s about six feet tall.
I’m basing this guesstimate on Nat, who maintains he’s six
foot but is clearly no taller than five foot ten. Liar, liar, pants
on fire.
But back to Ethan. He is beautiful. I mean properly
beautiful. He has black hair. It’s somewhere between long
and short, and there’s this bit that’s always falling in front of
his eyes. His eyes … well, they’re grey. Gunmetal grey?
Slate grey? Sky-before-a-spectacular-summerthunderstorm
grey? Maybe just plain old grey grey. His face
is perfect. Honestly, it’s like he just fell out of a painting or
something. Cheekbones, eyebrows, nose, jaw. He’s got
them all and they’re all just right. And that mouth … he has
the lushest lips I’ve ever seen. I liked kissing them.
So what else, what else? He’s pale, really pale. Like
never-seen-the-daylight-cos-I’m-actually-a-vampire pale.
For a brief moment of madness yesterday (after an entirely
sleepless night), I did entertain the thought that maybe he is
a vampire. Until I remembered that my life isn’t actually
Twilight. Ethan’s skin is amazing. I would kill for skin that
clear. I can’t quite work out how old he is. At first I thought
he was maybe around twenty, but it’s really hard to tell.
Sometimes he looks older, and other times he looks like a
lost little boy.
He has a scar from the bottom of his nose to his top lip. I
remember tracing it with my fingertips. Some scars are
good.
It’s no big surprise that his body is beautiful too. Lean but
strong. Smooth. And he wraps it up in pretty decent clothes.
That night he was wearing a white vest, faded old jeans,
and battered black Converse All Stars. He’s clearly not
much of a colours person – greys, whites and blacks so far.
Which is fair enough, but I love love love colours. Purple is
good … and green. A green so bright it’s like it’s shouting. I
miss green.
So, you might be thinking that Ethan sounds pretty hot.
And it even sounds like I want him. I did want him, but the
whole abduction thing seems to have put a bit of a damper
on our relationship. And I think it’s too early for me to have
that syndrome … what’s it called? Where a hostage starts
to identify with her captor, falls in love with him, and then
joins him on his evil kidnapping/killing/whatever spree. All
I’m trying to say is that an impartial observer would think
he’s hot as – and I would have to agree.
I can’t work out where he’s from. I don’t think he’s a local
boy – he certainly doesn’t look like any of the boys round
here (or rather, there – back home, I mean … where AM
I?). On Monday night, I asked him where he was from and
he said ‘around’, which maybe should have aroused my
suspicions. At the time I probably thought he was just
appealingly mysterious. Idiot.
Ethan. Perfect boyfriend material. Apart from the
tendency to kidnap unstable girls who are too wasted to
even realize what’s happening. I can just imagine the lonelyhearts
ad:
Tall, dark and handsome man WLTM green-eyed girl.
Interests include films, long walks in the rain, Italian food
and a just a teensy bit of kidnapping every so often.
Sane girls need not apply.
Things I know about Ethan (not including the whole
looking-like-a-Greek-god thing)
1. He drives a newish-looking silver van.
Man in van = obviously dodgy.
2. He doesn’t seem to be your classic slashermovie
psychopath.
3. He’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to make
sure that I’m comfortable here. The bed, the
bathroom, the delicious food … All unnerving in
the extreme.
4. He didn’t choose me. I chose him. I chose to go
and sit next to him on the swings. Maybe he knew
what he was going to do but hadn’t got around to
picking his victim yet. It’s almost like he was the
bait – all alone and shining like a beacon of
hotness. He reeled me in good and proper.
5. He likes to listen. Not so much with the talking.
6. He hasn’t tried to hurt me. Yet.
7. I don’t actually have a seventh point, but seven
is my lucky number and I REALLY could do with
some luck right now.
Night night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the strangely alluring
psychopath/vampire bite.
day 4
Well, wasn’t I just the bizarrely upbeat little kidnappee
yesterday? I reckon that’s what someone who’s been
kidnapped should be called. Kidnapper, kidnappee. Makes
sense to me. That rhymes.
Not feeling quite so upbeat today.
Why is this happening to me?
Stop thinking. Keep writing. Keep the pen on the paper
and move your hand.
I needed a bit (OK, a lot) of Dutch courage before I went
through with it. While I was getting ready, I swigged from the
bottle of vodka that I keep under my bed. I chose my clothes
with care. Just cos you’re going to die, there’s no need to
look sloppy. I put on my new jeans, which make my legs
look super-long and skinny. I went through practically every
top I own, before settling on my trusty old green T-shirt (my
lucky green T-shirt – ha!). Shoes were tricky, but I
eventually went for comfort with my Adidas shell-toes. Not
exactly glamorous, but they added a certain old-school
chic. I put on more make-up than was strictly necessary, all
the while looking in the mirror thinking, No more eyeliner
for me. Last lipgloss I’ll ever wear. Last time I’ll look in this
mirror knowing I’ll never be good enough, and things to
that effect.
Knife in bag, then good to go.
I tripped down the stairs like a girl without a care in the
world. Shouted, ‘I’m off to meet Sal. Don’t wait up!’ to Mum,
who was watching telly in the living room. Maybe I should
have just popped my head round the door for a second,
instead of slamming the front door when I heard, ‘Grace,
wait a sec …’ But I didn’t. One more second in her
presence would be too much to bear.
So I didn’t say bye, and I didn’t leave a note. I just didn’t
see the point. Suicide notes are lame as, anyway. And if I
had left a note, then everyone would now be thinking I’m
dead. Which I’m most definitely not (yet).
I caught the bus into town. Sat right at the back – unusual
for me. My last ever bus journey, or so I thought. Come to
think of it, that may well still be the case. As bus journeys
go, it was pretty standard. A woman with loooong grey hair
sat in front of me. The lank locks hung over the back of her
seat, and the straggly ends brushed my jeans. It was
revolting. Long hair after a certain age is just not an
attractive feature. Thankfully Icky Hair Woman got off the
bus before I started gagging.
I felt kind of peaceful after she’d gone. I closed my eyes
and breathed deeply. I was going to do it – I was really
actually truly going to do it. This was it. Oh, they’ll be sorry
… The sing-song voice in my head made me smile.
I’m not sure how I feel about the yes-you-really-wereminutes-
away-from-topping-yourself thing now. But I’m not
ready to examine my feelings too closely. Not quite yet. It’s
like I have a bandage wrapped round me. I sort of know
why it’s there, but if I unravel it and actually see the festering
wound underneath, all yellow and oozy, I may just lose my
mind.
I got off the bus and skipped into an off-licence. I spent a
good few minutes choosing my tipple. Went for gin, which
is strange, cos I hate the stuff. It reminds me of Dad. So I
headed towards the counter and the guy had the worst
case of acne I have ever seen (apart from Scott Ames in
Year 9, but at least that cleared up and now he’s looking
pretty fine). Then the most ridiculous thing happened: I got
ID’d! Now you have to understand that this never happens
to me. I’ve been buying alcohol since I was fourteen, for
Christ’s sake. Maybe it was a sign from God: ‘Grace, you
can kill yourself if you really must, but I’m not going to make
things easy for you.’ I gave Acne Boy my best you-have-gotto-
be-kidding-me look and said, ‘You have got to be
kidding me. I’m twenty-two years old! Do I look like a kid?’
He just pointed to the sign that said, ‘If you look under 25
blah blah blah blah blah …’ I wasted a couple of minutes
spinning him a line about having left my ID in my jacket, and
having left my jacket at home cos of the unseasonably
warm weather we’ve been having. Still no sale. Irritating.
But I suppose you’ve got to get your kicks somehow when
you’ve got the most disgusting, pus-ridden excuse for a
face, and no hope of getting sex (ever). I flounced out of the
shop in an appropriately flouncy, indignant fashion, popped
into the shop next door and bought exactly the same bottle
two quid cheaper. So I guess God wasn’t sending me a
sign after all.
As I walked down the street with the bottle clutched under
my arm, I passed a couple about my age. They were
holding hands and laughing. Go away go away go away!
The guy pushed the girl up against a shop window and
kissed her. I missed being kissed like that. I walked on,
nearly bumping into a gang of townie boys with shiny shoes
and questionable hair. One of them turned and shouted to
me, ‘Cheer up, love. It might never happen!’ I grinned at
him. Oh, I think it will …
I came to the park gates. My dad used to take me there
when I was little. I’d feed the ducks, then run around like a
crazy person. Dad would chase me and pretend to be a
zombie. And then he’d push me on the swings – so hard
that I was sure that I’d go right over the top of the crossbar,
but I’d still shout for him to push harder. I never got bored of
that.
After Dad was gone, the park started to mean other
things to me. Things I’m glad he wasn’t here to see. It
meant smoking and drinking stupidly strong cider and
doing things with inappropriate boys. And other stuff too.
A lot of memories in that park. Good and bad. (Mostly
bad.) It seemed as good a place as any for my date with
death. I’d decided on the den at the top of the climbing
frame. I tried not to think about the possibility that some
random kid might find my body. Hopefully it’ll be the park
warden – the one that looks a bit like a paedophile. Urgh.
He’d better not touch me. Even if I am too dead to care.
I wandered past the duck pond. It had been drained
years ago. It looked sort of sad at not being able to fulfil its
one purpose in life. Christ – already getting sentimental
and I haven’t even started the serious drinking yet. Next
thing you know I’ll be on about melancholy trees or
despondent rubbish bins.
I went straight to the den, climbed up into it and sat down.
The floor wasn’t too filthy, and I was glad. Not that it really
mattered.
Took the knife out of my bag.
Stared at the blade and remembered.
Every detail of that night knifed my heart.
And every reason not to live twisted that knife – twisted it
hard.
I opened the bottle and drank.
Drank some more.
Closed my eyes.
Took a deep breath.
I was ready.
Cut.
And then I heard something. A creaking, squeaking sound.
Too loud. Shit. Someone’s out there.
I peeked out of the den’s window and saw him. On the
swings. Back and forth, back and forth, going as high as he
possibly could, just like I used to do.
Damn. Can’t very well do it now, can I? Got to make him
go away. Leave me in peace. So I put the knife back in the
bag, grabbed the bottle and clambered out of the den.
If only I’d just stayed put and waited till he went away.
He saw me coming and watched my somewhat unsteady
progress towards him. As soon as I got close enough for a
proper look … well, I don’t need to go into that again.
Reckon there are worse ways to spend your last few
minutes. Just talk to him for a bit. He’ll go away eventually.
As I approached, he slowed the swing to a stop. He
watched me and I watched him. I sat down on the swing
next to him and said hello. There was something about the
way he looked at me that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Now I think I know what it was – I think he recognized me.
And even more weirdly, I think I recognized him.
But that’s not possible.
day 6
Day 6? How did that happen? Yesterday I stayed in bed,
mostly alternating between crying and shouting (and
sometimes both at the same time). It was awful. The first
time Ethan came in I stayed under the duvet. I couldn’t bear
to look at him. And when he came to take away my food
tray, I tried pleading with him. It’s just too embarrassing –
what I said, how I tried to bargain with him, what I offered
him. Most of all though, I just kept asking him why. He stood
with his back against the door, saying nothing for the
longest time. I wanted to grab his stupid ears and smash
his stupid head against the door until his stupid brains
leaked out. Instead, I did nothing.
Oh, I’ve thought about attacking him. I’ve thought about it
plenty. Even hatched some half-arsed schemes: the classic
hiding-behind-the-door-with-a-vase trick being a particular
favourite. Only one problem though: I don’t have a vase.
And somehow I don’t think a pillow would be quite so
effective. Still, I could at least try. Kick him in the balls,
gouge out an eye, bust some Bruce Lee-style moves (not
that I know any Bruce Leestyle moves, but a girl could
improvise). I can’t quite work out why I’ve done nothing of
the sort. Maybe he’s put some kind of voodoo magic mindspell
on me. Yeah, that must be it.
Now where was I? Ah yes, the totally undignified pleading
and snivelling and asking him why. He listened and
watched me with those stormysexysmoky eyes. I seemed
to be troubling him. He looked like he actually felt sorry for
me. Like he genuinely cares. I don’t get it. How can he look
at me like that and yet STILL be putting me through this? If
he wants me to be less pleady/snivelly he should FUCKING
LET ME GO, SHOULDN’T HE?
Finally, when I was a crumpled, sobbing heap on the
floor, he said softly, ‘Grace, it’s got to be this way. There’s
nothing you can do about it. I’m sorry.’ He turned and
opened the door, and with one last, particularly annoying
‘I’m sorry’ he was gone. I banged on the door with my fists
until they were bruised and swollen, shouting, ‘IT DOESN’T
HAVE TO BE THIS WAY! IF YOU JUST LET ME GO, I
WON’T TELL ANYONE! I PROMISE! ETHAN? ETHAN?
COME BACK … PLEASE, ETHAN, COME BACK!’ Over
and over and over again. Eventually I slid down the door
and sat with my back against it – more hopeless than ever.
So yesterday sucked. Today’s better, but not much. For
one thing, my hands hurt like a bastard. Beating your fists to
a pulp is not such a great idea when the only thing you have
to occupy your time is WRITING. Stupid cow.
Before I get back to The Tragic Story of Grace Carlyle’s
Supposed Last Night on Earth, I thought it might be a good
idea to describe my room/cell/ whatever. It really is kind of
nice.
My room/cell/whatever – a list in seven points
1. It’s nearly double the size of my bedroom. The
walls, ceiling and floorboards are all white as
white can be. It smells newly painted too.
2. The bathroom. White again. Toilet, sink,
shower. Two white towels (which Ethan takes
away each day and brings back alpine fresh).
There’s even cleaning stuff under the sink, but
he’s got another think coming if he reckons I’m
going to use it. Surely this is the one time a girl
can skive off her chores without repercussions?
3. The window. Ah, the window – my least
favourite thing. Boarded up (with white boards, of
course). Unfortunately Ethan’s done a pretty good
job of that. Even if I press my body up against the
wall in a most attractive fashion, I can only see a
tiny chink of light in the bottom left-hand corner. It’s
easy to lose track of night and day, but I’m doing
the best I can.
4. The bed. White again (sensing a theme yet?
Maybe Ethan’s got some kind of complex or
something? Purity. Innocence. Virginity? Sorry,
you’ve got the wrong girl). Two white pillows, white
duvet cover, white sheets.
5. The table and chair (white and whiter). In the
middle of the room, facing the door. The paper
and pens were on top of the table when I woke up
that first day. There are forty-seven pens. They’re
Bics. I really would have preferred pencils, but I
suppose beggars can’t be choosers and all that.
And if beggars could be choosers, this beggar
would have chosen a slightly more comfortable
chair to sit on. Numb bum. Anyway, there’s also
three massive wodges (reams?) of paper.
6. The light. There’s a bare light bulb hanging from
the ceiling, right above the table. It really lets down
the rest of the decor, to be honest.
7. The door. Well, it’s the way you come into or go
out of the room, but I wouldn’t know much about
that. There’s no keyhole. Sounds like there are a
couple of deadbolts on the other side though. It
seems a sturdy sort of a door.
Nap time.
Just woke up. Thought I was at home in my own bed. And
then I crash-landed back to Earth with an almighty thump.
Worst feeling ever.
It’s the not knowing that’s really getting to me. I’m not
saying it would be better if Ethan had actually done
something to me by now, but at least then I’d have some
idea of what I’m up against. I could at least try and fight
some perverted rapist. I can’t fight Ethan …
So I sat down on the swing next to this guy and said hello.
And he looked at me in that weird way of his. I said hello
again. He whispered a hoarse hello, then cleared his throat
and said it again, louder. It reminded me of those mornings
after a night on the piss. The ones when I lounge around
watching kids’ telly in a kind of hazy post-alcoholic stupor,
and then the phone rings and I find that I can’t speak
properly cos I haven’t said a word for twelve hours or
something.
I introduced myself and reached out to shake his hand.
He looked at my hand like he wasn’t quite sure what to do,
and then just as I was about to take it back, he reached out
and shook it. His hand was soft and strong, and his grip
was firm. Forgot to mention before, but Ethan has perfect
hands too. Like he’d be awesome at playing the piano.
God, he has beautiful everything. It’s really quite sickening.
He told me his name and I was surprised. Mum once told
me that if I’d been a boy, I’d have been called Ethan. I’ve
never met an Ethan before.
I asked if he wanted a swig of my gin. He shook his head
slowly and looked at me strangely, cocking his head to the
side and looking kind of quizzical, as if to say, ‘Are you sure
you should be drinking that?’ Since he hadn’t actually said
the question out loud, I thought I was perfectly within my
rights to ignore it. I took a few gulps. It was starting to taste
pretty good.
So far the conversation wasn’t exactly flowing smoothly,
but I wasn’t going to let that put me off. I asked him where
he was from, which is when he said ‘around’ (the
suspicious-to-anyone-who’s-actually-paying-attention-andcares-
whether-they-live-or-die ‘around’). Anyway, I started
babbling about nothing: the park, the irritating guy in the offlicence,
the weather (yeah, the weather – can you even
believe it?). Then I moved on to other stuff. Proper stuff.
And somewhere along the line I forgot that I was supposed
to be getting him to leave. I drank more, and soon got that
oh-so-familiar feeling of the words that I wanted to say
being very slightly too big for my mouth, so that I had to be
careful to EN-UN-CI-ATE VE-RY CLEAR-LY.
Ethan didn’t seem to mind my onslaught of chat.
Occasionally he’d smile at me, or ask a question about
something I’d said.
Come to think of it, he asked a lot of questions. But
whenever I asked him a question he evaded it neatly, either
by being Master of Vagueness, or by chucking the same
question right back at me. That’s cheating.
I didn’t feel wary of him at all. In fact, I felt strangely safe. I
wasn’t happy exactly. I mean after all, I was still planning on
topping myself. How happy can a girl be in that situation?
It’s just that I felt that talking to Ethan really was the right way
to spend the time I had left. And I felt like we had some kind
of connection. Urgh. That looks even lamer written down
than it sounded in my head.
So, moving on to the Main Event, which I remember
surprisingly well. The time passed, the gin dwindled, and
my head became more than a little bit fuzzy. I realized that I
wanted to kiss Ethan; I wasn’t loving the idea of Nat being
the last boy I ever got to kiss. I knew I would go for it
eventually. It was just a matter of timing …
We’d been sitting in silence for a few minutes (a nice,
friendly silence, I thought) when I scooted my swing nearer
his. Ethan turned to me so our faces were really close. He
looked at me through the bits of hair that fell in front of his
eyes. I gently touched the scar above his lip, and asked him
how he’d got it. He shrugged. And that’s when I kissed him.
It seemed to take him by surprise – not that I’d hidden my
intentions at all. His lips were warm and soft and
comforting. But he didn’t exactly kiss me back.
I asked him what was wrong, and he shrugged. Again. ‘I
don’t think it’s such a good idea. Sorry.’ Ouch.
I did what any self-respecting girl would do in the face of
a knock-back like that: I started to cry. Pathetic. But how
was I supposed to know that I was trying to pull a boy who
was planning on kidnapping me?
Ethan put his arm around me and made comforting
‘shhh, don’t cry’ noises. I was confused as hell, and drunk,
and probably starting to remember that there’s-something-Ihave-
to-do-tonight-so-I’d-really-better-get-on-with-it-if-it’s-
OK-with-you.
And that’s when I puked down his vest.
Well, there’s not really much more to say about that night.
Post-puke, it gets even more hazy. What I do remember is
that Ethan didn’t react like I would have done if some
random had vommed on me. I was apologizing like crazy
(still crying, I think) when he just whipped off his vest and
chucked it in the bin behind the swings. He said something
like, ‘Time to go,’ and held out his hand to me. I must have
mumbled something about wanting to stay in the park, but I
was feeling so dog-rough that I let him haul me up from the
swing and lead me away. I remember seeing the van. I
remember him leaning over me to buckle my seat belt. And
then … not a lot. I think I remember that we were headed
towards my house. Damn that gin – such a bad move. All I
know after that is that I must have fallen asleep. And I woke
up here.
day 7
No change. Nothing.
day 8
Today is dark.
day 9
Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnine.
day 10
Ready to write’n’roll. The last few days have been pretty
crappy. Not much to tell; a lot of pacing back and forth. It’s
driving me insane, not being able to move around. I need
some space. Or at least a treadmill. Ethan has washed the
bed sheets, and he’s replaced my surgical gown with some
new clothes – I now have two pairs of bright white pyjamas
to choose from. Might be progress.
He’s hardly said a word to me for four days. Pretty much
every time he’s come in I’ve been lying in bed. He often
glances over to the table hopefully, and he seems
disappointed (deflated?) that I’m not there, scribbling away.
If he comes in and sees me now, it’ll probably make his
day. Don’t want that happening. Sometimes I glare at him,
just daring him to say something. And sometimes he looks
as if he’s about to speak, but then thinks better of it. What is
his deal?!
The longer this goes on without anything happening, the
more confused I get. I don’t exactly feel scared any more.
Maybe there’s only so long you can maintain that level of
fear, before it gets too exhausting.
I’ve been here ten days now. I wonder how Mum is doing.
Frantic, probably. Maybe engaging in a spot of retail
therapy to distract from her trauma. Or sitting on the sofa
next to a policewoman, like a character in a TV drama.
Acting like a good mother – one who cares. I wonder if the
police are still looking for me. Maybe they’ll have given up
by now. Maybe there’s only so long you can maintain that
level of hope too.
I keep thinking about Sal. Does she feel bad? Does she
feel anything? Are her insides writhing and twisting in guilt
and shame?
Sal. I don’t even know where to start. The beginning
seems like as good a place as any. She moved here from
Edinburgh with her parentals and annoying little brother just
over a year ago. Before Sal arrived, I was sort of good
friends with Those Girls at school – the ones who think
they’re better than everyone else. I was always on the fringe
though, never too close to anyone. I never thought I was
missing anything by not having a real proper best friend.
The first time I saw her, I knew we’d end up being mates.
I just knew it. She was sitting in the corner of the common
room, frantically scrawling in a notebook. None of that selfconscious
new-girl air about her. She had awesome hair
and good clothes. Not that I’m superficial, but these things
help when you’re trying to decide whether or not to make an
effort with someone. OK, so maybe I am superficial, but so
is everyone else.
I slumped down on the seat next to her, asked her what
she was writing. It was a story. Something we had in
common – we both liked to write. So that was how we got
talking. I’d never really talked to anyone about my writing
before. English teachers don’t count. From then on Sal and
I gradually started hanging out together at lunchtimes, break
times, free periods. It seemed like every day we spent a bit
more time with each other, until I barely bothered talking to
anyone else. I stopped hanging around with my usual crowd
and they barely even noticed.
After we’d known each other about a month, I felt ready to
take the Next Step. It’s a big deal when you make the leap
from seeing someone at school to hanging out with them in
your own time. But I was ready. I invited Sal round to my
house one Friday when Mum was in London visiting a
friend.
We ordered pizza and vegged out on the sofa. I found out
some more about her: pepperoni was her favourite; we
both thought social-networking sites were for losers; she
wanted to be a lawyer or a writer or a marine biologist or
star in a West End musical; she was totally in love with
Chris, a boy from her old school, but she’d never done
anything about it and he didn’t have a clue and now it was
too late cos he lived 200 miles away. Which was sort of
lame when I thought about it, but I let her off. Just cos.
All in all, I was more than a little bit excited (secretly, of
course) to have a New Best Friend. Not that there was an
old one for her to replace. Sal was good for me. She was
always so happy, and not in an annoying way. Just the right
level of shiny. She was so damn optimistic about
everything. Always sure that tomorrow would be better than
today. So sure that we’d both get exactly what we wanted.
Should have known that wasn’t possible.
Sal and I became pretty much inseparable. I practically
lived at her house at weekends. Mum didn’t seem
bothered. I think it suited us both: she got to pretend she
was childless and carefree and I got to pretend I had a
mum who actually liked me. And a dad too, just for good
measure.
One night just before Christmas, I was staying at Sal’s
house (Chinese takeaway, wine, Skins on DVD). We were
getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth in front of the
bathroom mirror. I reached across Sal to grab a hand
towel. She caught me by the wrist and said, ‘What’s this?’
My stomach did that horrible flip-flop motion, like a
washing machine at the start of its cycle. I made a big deal
of spitting out a mouthful of toothpastey foam while I thought
hard. I don’t know why I was surprised; it’s not like I thought
the scars were invisible or anything. I tried to play it down –
it’s nothing, just some scratches I got when I was a kid …
from my grandma’s cat?
It was hard to look at her. And even harder to look at
myself. She put her hand up to my face and moved my chin
so that I had to face her. ‘Grace, you know you can tell me
anything. You’re my best friend.’ I’d never been anyone’s
best friend before. No option but to tell the truth, the whole
truth and nothing but the bloody truth. I followed Sal into her
room, sat down on the bed and talked.
I’d just turned fifteen the first time I cut. I was in my room,
writing an essay. My music was blaring, as usual. It was a
pretty normal night. No more depressed than any other day.
That’s the thing: I was never happy, not really. Kind of just
existed from day to day, on a weird plateau of feeling
nothingness. That’s not to say I didn’t feel happy at times –
of course I did. But they were fleeting moments, gone
before I could even begin to appreciate them.
I was looking around for something to distract me from
my essay. I drew round my hand and coloured in the
fingernails with a red biro. Opened up my desk drawer and
rooted around a bit. I found Dad’s old Swiss Army knife. I
opened up all the blades, and found some tweezers that I
hadn’t realized were there. The last blade I opened was the
knife. Sharp and shiny and strangely appealing in a way I
couldn’t quite understand.
I pressed the blade against my thumb, applying just a
little pressure – not hard enough to draw blood. Huh.
Unsatisfactory.
I drew the blade across my forearm – hard. For a
millisecond it looked like I hadn’t really done anything.
There was just an indentation in the skin. But then the blood
welled up so fast. It was so red. And there was so much of
it. Better. Much better.
It was mesmerizing. I held up my arm and watched the
blood drip drip drip down into the crease of my elbow. One
or two drops splashed onto the desk. I felt slightly floaty and
weird – but mostly good.
A little pain. But it was a good pain, a clean pain.
That first night, I only cut myself once. No one noticed. I
don’t exactly go around holding my arms out for people to
inspect.
After that night, I cut more. Amassed a pretty serious
collection of scars.
I got better at choosing where to cut, finding ways to hide
the angry red slashes from the world. And later, hiding the
silvery scars. I hadn’t really thought there would be scars.
Hadn’t really thought.
To me, the scars are obvious. They stand out like they’re
screaming, ‘Look at her! Look at what this freak does to
herself!’
It’s more like a whisper though, to anyone who’s listening.
Sal was listening.
She sat opposite me, her legs crossed like a sevenyear-
old’s in school assembly. I knew she was looking at
me with a mixture of worry, pity and maybe something else
(horror?). I didn’t look at her to check though. Just
concentrated really really hard on the duvet. Red stripe,
white stripe, red stripe, white stripe. Red. White. Red.
When I’d finished my inadequate explanation and
answered Sal’s questions (also inadequately), she took my
arm in her hands and looked. Really looked. My forearm
was exposed in the harsh overhead light. The scars
seemed to stand out more than ever before. She touched
them with her fingertips, murmuring, ‘What have you done
to yourself?’
I had no words. Not even a smart-arsed joke. Just tears.
I cried more than I had ever cried in front of a real live
person. Sal hugged me and stroked my hair and told me
everything was going to be OK. I cried myself beyond red
blotchy puffy-facedness and into sleep.
When I woke up, the room was dark and Sal was lying
next to me wide awake. I apologized for making such a
scene, tried to make light of it. I was embarrassed, big
time. I’m not used to losing control like that.
Sal propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me
all serious. ‘I think you need to get help, Grace,’ she
whispered. I was horrified by the idea. We went back and
forth for a while, until she realized that she was getting
nowhere.
She made me promise that a) I wouldn’t do it again, and
b) whenever I felt I wanted to do it, I would pick up the phone
and call her. She said she would come to me any time, day
or night.
I actually believed that a) and b) were entirely possible.
I was sort of glad I’d told her. It was good to share the
secret. But I felt stupid and ashamed and pathetic at the
same time.
Sal and I were closer than ever after that night. Bound
together by my dirty little secret. That was just over nine
months ago.
Ethan’s just left.
He found me sitting at the table, sobbing. He brought my
tray over and gathered up all the paper and put it on the
floor. He put his hand on my shoulder ever so gently, and it
stayed there while I cried. When the tears ran out, I picked
up the fork and began to eat. I could only stomach a couple
of forkfuls. I had to swig down some Coke just so I didn’t
choke. Ethan sat on my bed and watched me.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘You should eat. You’ll feel stronger.’
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
‘Grace …’ He looked at me imploringly.
‘I don’t want you here. Please leave.’
He left.
day 11
Had a dream about Sal last night. Hardly surprising really.
She was here with me and we were sitting opposite each
other at the table. Ethan was leaning against the wall,
watching us. Sal and I were talking about something
important and Ethan was repeating every single word I
said. I got annoyed, and told him to leave us alone. And just
like that, Ethan was gone, replaced by Nat. A smug Nat
who smiled too much. Sal got annoyed and told him to
leave us. I smiled at Sal and reached across the table to
hold her hand, but she morphed into Ethan and said,
‘Maybe we’re getting somewhere, Grace.’ Then I woke up,
wishing that dream people would at least have the courtesy
to stay as the same dream people and not be so bloody
confusing.
I thought I’d pick up where I left off yesterday, chronicling
the complete life cycle of a friendship. After I told Sal about
the cutting, things were OK for a while. No one else would
have noticed a change, but I noticed a difference in the way
she looked at me. I felt like she was always trying to gauge
my mood. Like if I was in a mard for no particular reason
(not exactly a rare occurrence), she’d cock her head to one
side and look at me thoughtfully. I could practically hear her
wondering if I was going to cut. Sal probably thought she
was being subtle, but I often clocked her looking out for
fresh cuts (which she never saw). I didn’t mind all that much.
She was acting exactly like a best friend should. It was nice.
Occasionally she’d try to get me to talk about it – about
why I did it. I would listen to her theories and then try to
change the subject. Why does there have to be a reason for
everything? Some things just are.
So our friendship might have seemed a bit unbalanced:
me being all self-pitying, Sal looking after me most of the
time. She certainly took care of me enough times when I
was puking in the toilets of some cheesy club. And she had
a nice line in rescuing me when I was about to do
something I’d probably regret with someone I’d definitely
regret.
I didn’t exactly relish the role of Pathetic Needy Friend,
but Sal seemed to want to look after me. And maybe I
needed looking after.
Everything changed a few months ago.
I’d been to Glasgow to visit my grandma over Easter.
Had a fine old time: bit of shopping, lots of reading, nice
long chats over a lovely cup of tea. (It was always a lovely
cup of tea, never an average one.) I came back all cheery
and bearing gifts from Sal’s homeland: a cuddly Loch Ness
Monster and a Scottish bagpiper doll with super-scary
staring eyes.
The Sal I found was not the ever-optimistic-little-ray-ofsunshine
Sal that I left. Oh, it wasn’t obvious. She laughed
at the presents I’d brought her and listened in an interested
enough way to my enthralling holiday tales. But there was
something wrong – I knew it. It was subtle, like when you
mess with the brightness levels on your TV. She was duller
somehow, faded. She didn’t seem sad or depressed or
worried or anything you could put your finger on. She just
wasn’t quite Sal.
I asked her what was up almost as soon as I saw her, but
she was adamant that nothing was wrong. I knew she was
lying, so I pushed it a little, but backed off when she started
getting annoyed. I figured she’d tell me when she was
ready. I didn’t realize just how long I’d have to wait.
Things carried on more or less as normal for the next few
weeks. Sal was clearly doing her best to act her usual
upbeat self, but I wasn’t buying it. No one else seemed to
notice that anything was wrong. Her parents were too busy
dealing with Cam, who was being bullied at school. And
everyone at our school was too busy being wrapped up in
themselves, as usual.
About a month passed and I watched Sal closely, looking
for clues. She seemed to be getting worse. I noticed her
pushing her food around on her plate at lunchtime –
completely out of character. And she looked like she was
losing weight. But still she maintained that nothing was
wrong.
My daily ‘Hiya, how’s it going?’ now had a hidden
meaning, as in ‘Hiya, how are you, really?’ But Sal wouldn’t
take the bait. She seemed more and more distant. I felt like
she was backing away from our friendship. It was upsetting.
One Thursday afternoon just before our exams, Sal and I
meandered towards the park. We were headed to my
house for a bit of English revision. Not that we needed to
do any, but we had to at least look like we were making an
effort.
It had been a gorgeous morning, a kind of birds-singing,
break-into-song, 1950s-movie-type morning, but as soon
as we left school, top-heavy dark clouds seemed to fastforward
through the sky, finally letting loose a torrent of
stupidly heavy rain as we passed through the park gates.
We just stood there, looking at each other and giggling.
Within a minute or so, we both looked as if we’d taken a
shower in our clothes. I grabbed Sal’s arm and ran towards
a huge old oak tree near the swings. We sat with our backs
against the trunk, laughing and shivering and watching
mothers frantically trying to fasten up waterproof covers on
pushchairs. Soon, we were the only ones left in the park.
Still the rain drummed on.
We sat there for a while, hypnotized by the show the rain
was putting on just for us. Sal turned and looked at me like
she was trying to read my mind – or maybe trying to weigh
something up in her own mind. Uh oh, here it comes. I felt a
bit sick. Scared.
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ Did I know that
what she was going to say would change everything?
Maybe not. But I knew it was going to be big.
‘I think I’m pregnant.’ Four words, that’s all it took. All I
could manage to splutter out was ‘Jesus!’ Nice. Good work.
Very supportive.
Sal began to cry and it just about broke my heart. I put my
arms around her and held her tight. She kept saying the
same thing over and over again: ‘What am I going to do?’ I
said that it would be OK and that we’d figure it out and was
she really sure? But I wasn’t getting through to her, so I held
her face between my hands and made her look me in the
eyes. ‘Listen to me, Sal. Are you sure you’re pregnant?
Have you done a test?’ Sal shook her head and sobbed, ‘I
know I am. I know it, I know it. How could this happen?’
We must have sat there for a good twenty minutes before
I noticed that Sal was shivering really badly. She looked
terrible. We headed to the bus stop, me with my arm
around Sal’s shoulders, her stumbling along in a kind of
dazed stupor. I think she was all cried out.
We sat in silence all the way home. I could not have been
more shocked. How could this happen? I thought she was
supposed to be a virgin … Surely she’d have told me if …
When? Who with? And why hadn’t she told me before?
I led her into my house and straight up to my bedroom.
We changed out of our wet clothes. I even let her wear my
favourite jeans. She sat at the dressing table while I ran a
comb through her matted, damp hair. She was looking in
the mirror, but I could tell she wasn’t really seeing much of
anything.
I looked at Sal’s reflection. Would I call her beautiful?
Maybe. Definitely. Blonde hair that skims just above her
shoulders. She often gathers it up in some complicated
arrangement that always looks completely effortless. Brown
eyes and permanently honey-hued skin. Lucky cow.
When I was done with Sal’s hair and had quickly run the
comb through mine (boring brown beneath MANY layers of
red dye), I sat down on the edge of the bed. Sal turned
around on the stool to face me. We were practically kneeto-
knee, but somehow more distant from each other than
ever before. ‘So, are you going to tell me what happened?’
She shook her head. No eye contact.
‘Okaaay, how late are you?’ The words almost got stuck
in my throat. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
‘Two weeks,’ she said softly. Two weeks? Could she be
two weeks late just from stress or something? Or did it
definitely mean she was pregnant? Aargh. I haven’t got a
clue about this stuff.
‘OK, two weeks. You know, you can’t be sure till you’ve
done a test. You could just be late cos you’ve been
stressing so much. Let’s not jump to conclusions here.’ That
sounded all right in my head, but pathetically inadequate
when said out loud. Maybe you just know when you’re
pregnant. Maybe your body feels different? How the hell
was I supposed to know?
The supply of tears had been replenished and began to
spill out again. ‘I know I’m pregnant. I’ve known ever since
…’‘
Please tell me what happened, Sal. I’m your best friend
– if you can’t tell me, you’re screwed …’ I winced. ‘Sorry …
bad choice of words.’ She half laughed at my bad joke, but
then shook her head and looked at me sadly.
‘Please … you have to understand. I just can’t.’ I felt like
I’d failed some sort of test – probably the most important
test our friendship would ever face. If only I’d said the right
thing I could have got her to open up to me. Instead, I’d put
my foot in it as usual, making a joke of something that was
so not funny.
I practically begged her to tell me, but she wouldn’t
budge. And I couldn’t help but feel a seed of resentment
planting itself within me. I’d told her my deepest, darkest
secrets; shouldn’t it be a give-and-take sort of thing? I
looked away and gazed out the window. The rain had finally
stopped.
Sal took hold of my hand. ‘Don’t be angry with me,
Grace. I couldn’t bear it if you were angry with me.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say. How can I help you
if you won’t even talk to me about it?’ I was angry, but I
didn’t want her to know it.
‘It doesn’t matter what happened. I don’t want to think
about it. Please don’t make me think about it. I don’t want
you to hate me or think I’m any more stupid than you must
do already. I just need you to be here for me.’ She was
pleading with me now. Scared and vulnerable and sad. My
anger faded.
‘Why would I hate you? Why would I think you’re stupid?
Stuff like this happens. I mean, it’s a bit of a shock, but it’s
OK. I’d never think any less of you, you daft cow. You know
me better than that. But if you really don’t want to tell me,
then I suppose I’ll just have to get over it, won’t I?’ Tell me
tell me tell me NOW!
Sal seemed grateful that I didn’t push it any further. She
stood and yawned. ‘God, I’m so tired. Mind if I just have a
little sleep? Just for a few minutes.’ She curled up on the
bed, kitten-style.
‘Er … Sal, don’t you think there’s things we should be
talking about?’ How can she be thinking of sleep at a time
like this?
‘Later, Gracie. Later, I promise.’ She sounded so
exhausted that I decided to leave it – for now. Maybe she’ll
be more rational after a bit of shut-eye. I lay down next to
her and stared at the ceiling until I heard her breathing relax
into sleep.
So, my sweet and innocent best friend was pregnant. Or
at least she seemed pretty sure she was. There was a
baby growing inside her. An actual real, live baby/
foetus/whatever. This was bad bad bad. Couldn’t get much
worse in fact. First things first though. I had to make Sal get
a pregnancy test, just to be sure. It would be annoying to be
stressing this much over a false alarm.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine who she’d slept with. Sal
wouldn’t have sex with just anyone – she’s too damn
choosy for that. Oh God, maybe someone raped her. That
could explain her reluctance to tell me what happened. I
wanted to wake her up right that moment and ask her. But
she looked so serene and peaceful – I just couldn’t do it.
I decided that a cup of tea was probably in order. Nothing
like a cuppa in a crisis. So I went down to the kitchen and
put the kettle on. Leaned against the worktop and sipped
my tea. My mind was racing – it couldn’t seem to stay on
one topic for five seconds before flitting on to something
else. How could this have happened? And why the hell
hadn’t she taken the morning-after pill? And where was I
when this was all going on? Easter. It had to have been at
Easter. If I’d been here, maybe this wouldn’t have
happened. My fault?
Now there’s a coincidence. There I was talking about
having a cuppa, and guess who walks in? Ethan: Man of
Mystery, bearing a mug (white) of steaming hot tea. He set
it down in front of me, carefully placing it in the corner of the
table, far from the paper I’ve written on. Quite a pile now.
Looks like it could turn into a pretty hefty tome. It’s already
longer than any of the several false starts I’ve had at writing
The Novel. Maybe this should have happened to me
sooner. There are too many distractions in the real world,
always some reason not to write. If only that was the case
here.
The tea is good. Scalding hot, and not too strong. It’s the
first cup of tea I’ve had since I’ve been here. Maybe Ethan
was saving it as some kind of reward? I huddle over the
mug, with my fingers wrapped around it. It feels like a
crackling fire. Or a hug. I could do with a hug. Arms to wrap
around me and make all the bad go away.
Finished now. And I’ve just realized that I missed the
perfect opportunity to take Ethan by surprise. I should have
chucked it in his face and made a run for it.
Could I have done that?
Could I do it next time maybe?
I don’t know.
Why am I being so pathetic? Got to get out of here
somehow … don’t I?
Do I have to get out of here? Why would I want to go back
to the colossal pile of crap that is my life? Nothing will have
changed. I wonder how they’re feeling now. I bet they’re
glad I’m gone. Probably makes it a lot easier on them. They
might (pretend to) be upset for a bit, but I reckon they’ll get
over it before too long.
Ooh, I wonder if I’m in the newspapers? I must be, unless
they reckon I’m too old. ‘Missing seventeen-year-old’ just
doesn’t have the same ring to it as a missing toddler, or
even a twelve-year-old. I probably just made it into the local
rag on the first day or so. I hope it was the front page, but I
really really really hope they didn’t use my last school photo,
cos I’d forgotten the photographer was coming that day and
I’d slept in too late to wash my hair. Gross.
Mum probably had to ask Sal for a decent photo, given
that we haven’t used our camera for years. We haven’t
even got a digital one. Dad was the designated
photographer in the family. There are photos of me at
home. Eight albums full, in fact. All carefully dated and
labelled, hidden in the cupboard behind the TV, under a
battered Trivial Pursuit box. The (almost) complete
childhood of Grace Carlyle. Mum’ll be wishing she’d made
more of an effort to keep them up to date now.
Maybe Sal gave them the photo she took when I was
asleep on the way back from a gig. The paper wouldn’t
print that one though – I look like a corpse. If corpses drool,
that is. But she wouldn’t do that to me, would she?
Who am I trying to kid?
Fingers crossed it’s the one from Kirsty’s party. Sal
caught me by surprise, calling my name to make me turn
around and then snapping away. She thought it was the
funniest thing ever, cos she knows I hate having my picture
taken these days. I grabbed the camera and looked at the
little screen on the back, ready to DELETE DELETE
DELETE. But the truth is, I looked kind of OK. My hair
looked awesome (but only cos Sal had worked her magic
on it earlier) and my eyes looked all twinkly and amused
somehow. I looked like someone who good things were
going to happen to (someone to whom good things were
going to happen. Sorry). Plus, the top I was wearing actually
made my breasts look big, which is a feat in itself.
Yes. The newspaper will have used that one. Unless they
thought I looked a bit slutty. Dammit! I bet they went for the
school one. Urgh. That would be enough to put anyone off
their cornflakes in the morning. Let’s hope they printed it
really small.
I don’t reckon I’ll be in any of the national papers. People
my age go missing all the time, don’t they? Everyone
probably thinks I’ve run off with some guy I met on the
Internet. Maybe Mum’s done one of those appeals on local
telly, begging me to come home, and saying that I won’t be
in any trouble.
Nope. I bet she’s actually gone on holiday, or swanned
off to London to buy even more clothes she’ll never wear.
Seriously, how many pairs of shoes does a woman her age
really need? I mean, I like shoes as much as the next girl,
but there has to be something wrong with a woman who
buys three pairs the same and hoards them in the back of
the wardrobe.
No one is looking for me. That’s the truth.
day 12
Slept well. Ethan brought me fresh fruit for breakfast –
papaya and melon and mango and pineapple. He didn’t
speak to me, and I returned the favour. He came back when
I’d finished eating to take away the bowl. He always seems
to know when I’ve finished eating. I never have to deal with
congealing leftovers, which is good, because bad smells
make me gag. I’ve looked around for hidden cameras or
peepholes, but there’s nothing. Although I saw this TV
programme once where there was a camera hidden in the
end of a ballpoint pen. So maybe he’s watching after all, but
I DON’T CARE. It doesn’t make a difference. I don’t even
care if he reads this. Perhaps I should let him, and then
maybe he’d realize that I’m slightly unhinged and he really
ought to let me go.
Back to the saga of Sal, I think.
So who on earth had Sal had sex with? It’s a big world, and
Sal is gorgeous, so pretty much the entire male population
could be under suspicion. But Sal is fussy, like REALLY
fussy. I was always pointing out hot boys to her, and
sometimes she’d half-heartedly agree, but most of the time
she’d look at me sceptically. It was frustrating.
I knew she still pined over that boy Chris, so there was a
potential suspect. She definitely would have told me
though. We’d certainly talked about him often enough. I
knew so much about that boy he could’ve been my
specialist subject on Mastermind. He has his lip pierced
(gross times three, but Sal obsessed over it). He defied all
the usual school cliques … a little bit emo, a little bit skater
boy, a little bit Mr Popular, even little bit geek (he was into
physics). He wore glasses that were nerdy but cool.
Sounded to me like he was suffering from some kind of
identity crisis, but each to their own. Sal showed me a
picture of him at a school ball. He did look fit, I suppose.
Sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the tea stains, I
decided to rule out Chris. There was just no way on earth
she wouldn’t have told me. Even if she was embarrassed
about not using a condom. We’ve all been there. OK,
maybe we haven’t all been there. But I have. It’s not exactly
something I’m proud of, but at least I’d admitted it to Sal
(who’d gone on to give me a ten-minute lecture, bless her).
Next, and pretty much the only other suspect I had, was
Devon.
I’ve known Devon Scott for eight years, but before Sal
came along I’d only talked to him a handful of times. He just
didn’t really cross my radar. Sal sits next to him in History,
and it was obvious from the first day they met that he
worshipped the ground she walked on. Sal told me this, not
because she was making fun of him (in fact she thought he
was quite sweet), but because she thought he had
potential. She always said that in a couple of years he
would grow into his looks and be fighting off girls with a
stick. I wasn’t so sure. He’s sort of skinny and his clothes
aren’t great, but he’s got a nice, honest sort of face, I
suppose.
Sal sometimes talked about him – almost like she was
coming round to the idea. He never asked her out, and I
can’t blame him. Girls like Sal don’t usually go out with boys
like Devon. Plus, she still obsessed over Chris. She didn’t
listen when I told her to get over him. Surely even with her
shiny happy optimism she could see that nothing was ever
going to happen there. Long-distance relationships are for
idiots.
So … maybe Devon had finally worked up the courage to
say something to Sal. Or maybe he just got her really drunk
during a little literary get-together and made his move. She
might not have told me if it was Devon. He was a sort-ofpossibility.
The only other option was a complete stranger, but it just
didn’t seem like a very ‘Sal’ thing to do. She believed in
true love and romance and all that crap. She would NEVER
have sex with a stranger.
And the thought that she might have been raped … well,
that was just too much for me to deal with.
I gulped down the dregs of my tea and left the mug in the
sink. The lack of dishwasher is a constant bone of
contention between Mum and me. Washing dishes is not
character-building. We had a dishwasher in the old house.
We had a LOT of things in the old house.
I crept up the stairs and paused in the doorway of my
room. Sal was still fast asleep – now with one arm flung
above her head, bent at the wrist against the headboard,
the other arm hanging off the side of my bed. She was even
snoring – a tiny, snuffly, cute little snore. She was
completely out of it.
I knew what I was going to do. She’d probably kill me, but
it would be worth it.
I wrote a note and propped it up on the pillow next to Sal.
Didn’t want her waking up and thinking I’d abandoned her. I
grabbed my purse, crept out of the room, down the stairs
and out of the front door. It had stopped raining, and the air
was fresh.
I hardly ever go to the chemist’s down the road; the
make-up selection leaves a lot to be desired and they don’t
even have any decent nail-varnish colours. They definitely
cater to the somewhat more mature lady. A bell rang as I
opened the door, and the girl behind the counter looked up
from her book. NO NO NO NO NO!
I was expecting some kindly old dear who smelled like
lavender, with glasses hanging on a gold chain around her
neck.
Not Sophie Underwood.
Sophie Underwood. Seriously, it could have been almost
ANYONE but her. Sophie and I go way back. We used to
live on the same street – of course she still lives there, while
I’m stuck in suburban terraced-house hell. We were friends
in primary school, and in the first year of secondary too.
Until I started to realize that maybe she wasn’t the kind of
friend I wanted to be lumbered with for the rest of my school
days. Harsh, I know.
She’s always been perfectly lovely and friendly and funny,
but not too funny. But she’s just so good. Never has a bad
word to say about anyone, which is fine and makes her a
much better person than I am. But twelve-year-old me just
ran out of things to say to her. Sophie started hanging
round with a group of nice but not-so-popular girls, and
somehow I edged my way towards the popular lot. And so
we just drifted apart, the way lots of friends seemed to in
those first couple of years. You decide who you’re going to
throw your lot in with and just hope for the best.
Neither of us ever said anything about the gradual death
of our friendship. We’d still say a vague ‘hi’ when we
passed each other in the corridor.
It was just one of those things. One of those things that
makes you feel like a horrible human being.
And now she was standing in front of me, with a look of
mild surprise on her face. What the hell was she doing
working here? She lived on the other side of town, for
Christ’s sake. Hmm … awkward. I gave her a little wave –
nice and nonchalant – and headed straight for the shampoo
display. At least there I could have my back to Sophie while
I figured out how to play this.
There was no way I could get away with saying nothing.
No point in playing the old ‘It’s not for me, it’s for a friend’
card, because a) she probably wouldn’t believe me, and b)
if she did, she would know it was for Sal because who else
could it possibly be?
So I’d just have to say it was for me. Brilliant.
A few furtive glances around the shop confirmed my
suspicions: the pregnancy tests were behind the counter. I
took a deep breath and headed towards Sophie.
‘Hey, Soph, how’s it going?’ She looked at me with a
half-smile, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, ‘When was the
last time you called me Soph?’
‘Hi, Grace. Exams going OK?’
‘Yeah, y’know, the usual. How ’bout yours?’
Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Nightmare. I didn’t even finish
my chemistry exam yesterday.’ Yeah, right.
‘Er … Soph. This is really awkward, but I’m sure you get
stuff like this happening all the time, working here. The thing
is … I need a pregnancy test. This is really embarrassing
and I don’t want anyone to know, and I know I can trust you
not to say anything …’ Babble babble babble. If anything,
Sophie looked the more awkward and embarrassed of the
two of us. A flush of red came to her cheeks – more on the
left side than the right, I noticed.
‘Oh. Right. Of course. I would never … I would never say
anything. Are you OK?’ She looked genuinely concerned.
She reached across the counter as if to touch my arm, and
then pulled back at the last second. Obviously remembered
that we weren’t friends any more, and that touching me
would be a weird thing for her to do.
I shrugged. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. I just want to get this over with.
It’s probably nothing. I’m just being paranoid.’ I briefly
considered giving her some sob story, but reminded myself
that it’s always best to keep things simple when you’re
lying.
Sophie turned her back to me and scanned the shelves.
‘We’ve got this digital one, if you want to try that. It’s a bit
more expensive, but it says it’s ninety-nine per cent reliable.
Or you could just go with the old kind. I think that’s good too
…’‘
I suppose I’ll take the digital one. How much is it?’
Sophie picked a box from the shelf and put it on the
counter. Her face was still blotchy. She told me the price
and I handed over the cash. She tapped away at the till and
handed me back my change, avoiding eye contact. She
handed me the box and asked if I wanted a bag.
I just looked at her.
Sophie winced. ‘Of course you want a bag. Sorry. This is
just, well, it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Listen, if there’s anything
… well, you know …’ She trailed off into silence while she
fumbled to find a bag under the counter.
The bell on the shop door rang again, and we both
jumped. It was just a little old man, stooped and shuffling. I
knew a chance to escape when I saw one. I took the bag,
said a quick but sincere thanks to Sophie, and scarpered.
I hurried back up the road feeling weird and wistful and
sad. Pushed all that to the back of my mind to focus on the
task ahead.
I unlocked the front door and pushed it open. Sal was
standing right in front of me, eyes bleary, hair all over the
place.
‘And where do you think you’re going …?’
‘I …’ she faltered. Sheepish, big-time.
‘You think I’m just going to let you do a runner? Wearing
my jeans too – the cheek of it!’ I grinned at her, grabbed her
shoulders, turned her round and marched her back
upstairs. Once we were back in my room, I sat Sal down on
the bed and launched into my spiel:
‘Right. Here’s the deal. You think you’re pregnant. You
don’t know. You can’t possibly know till you’ve done a test.
Sooooo, I got you one.’ I could see Sal was about to
interrupt, so I carried on speaking as quickly as possible.
‘Now I know you’re scared, but you know as well as I do that
you have to be sure. Let’s just find out one way or the other
and then we can get on with things. I’m here now. You don’t
have to go through this by yourself. We can deal with
whatever happens – I promise you.’
The seconds seemed to stretch forever while I willed her
to give in. I started drumming my fingers on the dressing
table, partly because I was anxious, but mostly because I
knew it was the one thing that drove Sal mental. She
HATED it.
‘That’s not going to work, you know.’
‘What’s not going to work?’ I asked, the picture of
innocence.
‘You’re not going to irritate me into doing what you want.’
‘It’s hardly what I want, now, is it? You know you’ve got to
do this. C’mon, Sal, you’re the sensible one, remember?
That’s how it works: I do something stupid, and you tell me
how to put it right. If you carry on like this, it’s going to upset
the delicate balance of our friendship. The repercussions
could be serious!’
That managed to raise a teeny-tiny smile from Sal, which
seemed like progress. So I took the box out of the bag and
opened it. A quick scan of the instructions was enough to
tell me what I already knew. I handed Sal the
stick/wand/thingummyjig. She stared at it like it was going
to explode, or at the very least bite off her hand.
‘Now, off you go. You know what to do. There’s none of
that blue line malarkey to try and decipher. It’ll tell us in
words and everything – the marvels of technology, eh?’
Sal got up and took a deep breath. I hugged her hard,
and whispered, ‘It’s going to be OK. We can do this.’ She
left the room, and I heard the bathroom door shutting. I
flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The wait
was hellish.
I heard the toilet flush and before I knew it Sal was back
in the room. I bolted upright, making my head spin.
‘I can’t look, Grace. Will you …?’ She handed me the
test. Her thumb was over the little screen. I took it from her
without looking.
‘OK, so it says you could get a result within a minute, but
let’s just wait a little bit to be sure.’
We sat facing each other on the bed, my hand wrapped
tightly around the test. So this was it. In a few seconds we
were either going to be going crazy with relief (in which
case we were going to get seriously wasted – exams or no
exams), or …
I grabbed Sal’s hand and squeezed it, as much to
reassure myself as to reassure her. Then, when there was
really nothing else to say or do, I looked down at the screen.
day 13
So last night was weird. Yet another dream about Ethan.
He was my doctor and he was examining me as I lay on a
hospital bed. He listened to my heartbeat with a
stethoscope, looking worried. Then he shone a light in my
eyes and shook his head. And then I woke up. My leg must
have kicked out, and my foot touched something that was
definitely not bed.
Ethan was sitting at the end of the bed, watching me. I
freaked out.
‘What the hell are you doing?! You need to watch me
sleep now? Jesus! What is wrong with you?’ I grabbed the
duvet and cocooned myself in the corner of the bed, as far
away from him as I could get. Ethan just looked at me, cool
as you like. His face was half lit by the light streaming in
through the open door. The open door! Maybe this was my
chance to get out of here. I had to think fast. First of all, I
had to try not to look at the doorway. I didn’t want Ethan
realizing his mistake until it was too late. I had to calm
down. My heart was drum-drum-drumming loud as anything.
We sat in silence for a little while. I got a chance to look
at him properly, while doing my very best to ignore my
escape route. He looked different. Not only was he wearing
a proper colour for the first time, he was wearing my colour
– my favourite green. It was a fitted shirt with the sleeves
rolled up to the elbows. The top three buttons were undone,
and I could see his pale smooth chest. I wondered if he
knew it was my favourite colour. Of course not. How could
he? He was wearing his usual jeans – frayed and faded,
and his feet were bare. Aha! That could be a considerable
advantage, if there was going to be some kind of chase
scenario. Until I remembered I was in bed, and definitely
not wearing a pair of super-fast running shoes. Idiot.
‘Were you dreaming, Grace?’ he asked.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘You looked like you were dreaming.’
‘I don’t remember.’ I didn’t want him to know that I’d been
dreaming about him. And had been doing so A LOT over
the past few days.
He sighed. ‘I like dreaming. It’s my favourite part of the
day. Have you ever noticed that dreams can change the
way you feel?’
I just looked at him, saying nothing. If he wanted to go off
on one, he was welcome to. I was still trying to work out how
to make a run for it.
‘Well, you might think one way about something, or
someone, and then you dream about it. And it’s completely
different to the way you thought it would be. You wake up,
and everything has changed.’ I had no clue what he was
going on about.
His eyes were intense, darker than usual. ‘The door is
open, Grace. The door is always open.’ I turned my head
towards the door, but it was closed. And it was dark. And
Ethan wasn’t there. The old dream-within-a-dream
situation. Bastard. WAKE UP!
I got up and padded quietly towards the door. It was
locked. Of course it was locked. I started to cry.
I need to not be here.
I need to see the sky.
I need to run.
Ethan brought me an early breakfast. At least I think it was
an early breakfast. There’s really no way of knowing. All I
know is that I was still snivelling after that dream. It felt early
though, like no one else in the world was awake yet. Ethan
was not wearing green. He was wearing a black T-shirt and
grey jeans. He looks exhausted today. It’s the first time he’s
looked slightly less than perfect since I’ve been here.
Maybe his conscience is keeping him awake at night.
He asked me if I had slept well. Not particularly, I said. I
told him he looked tired and then mentally kicked myself – I
didn’t want him thinking that I cared.
He seemed a bit startled that I had noticed. He paused
and said, ‘It’s not easy, is it, Grace?’ I shook my head, not
quite understanding. He smiled a cute, sad little smile at
me and left the room.
I jumped in the shower straight after breakfast. I like the
water to be almost scalding – it clears the fuzz out of my
brain. I stood there for some time with the water streaming
down my shoulders. I held my arms out in front of me; the
scars stood out against the rest of my ruddy skin. I
scratched my fingernail down my left forearm. Again and
again. Harder and harder. I couldn’t make it bleed, but the
pain felt good. I felt more awake. More alive.
Now my arm is covered in ugly red scratches. Never
mind.
But I don’t want Ethan to see. I don’t think he’d like it.
Sal was pregnant. That was the turning point – when
everything turned to shit.
It didn’t happen straight away. Everything was kind of OK
(in an awful sort of way) for a while. Of course, Sal was
devastated. There were a lot of tears and late-night phone
calls, but somehow the two of us managed to stumble
through our exams without screwing up. Sal had to run out
of an English Lit. exam to be sick, but she’d already
finished the paper so it was no big deal. She blamed it on
food poisoning from Gino’s. Not exactly fair on Gino.
It was a bad time for Sal, but there was something about
it that made me feel sort of good. That sounds awful. But for
maybe the first time in my life, I felt useful and … I don’t
know … needed? My best friend was going through the
worst thing imaginable, and I was, in some strange,
perverse way, enjoying myself. How bad is that? I dunno,
maybe ‘enjoying’ is not quite the right word, but there was a
certain amount of excitement from the drama of it all. I felt
beyond awful for Sal, and I truly would have done anything in
my power to change the situation. But all I could do was
help her through it the best I could – be the sort of best
friend she deserved. And that’s what I tried to do.
I covered for her with her parents, as and when it was
called for. When Devon came sniffing around because he’d
‘sensed’ something was wrong, I put him off the scent. I
went with her to the doctor’s – it had taken weeks for me to
persuade her to go. Sal maintained that she wanted to get
her exams out of the way first. I pestered her and pestered
her, but she wouldn’t budge.
Of course there was no question what Sal was going to
do: there was no way she could keep the baby. We didn’t
even discuss it as an option. Nothing like those cheesy TV
programmes where there’s a lot of angsty decision-making,
and heart-to-hearts about how it might be OK for a
schoolgirl to raise a baby on her own. And how the baby
was a part of her now and blah blah blah blah. Nope. Sal
didn’t want the baby, and that was that.
I still wanted to know who she’d had sex with. As far as I
was concerned, she simply wasn’t playing fair. It should be
tit for tat (I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours). Still, I tried
my best to ignore the resentment that was starting to fester
inside me.
Sal didn’t actually want me to go with her to the doc’s, but
I insisted. It’s not that I didn’t trust her to go on her own – I
just felt I should be there. The doctor talked Sal through her
options, but I could tell she wasn’t listening. When the doc
had finished, Sal calmly explained that she’d already
considered all her options in great detail (lie), and that she
wasn’t stupid (truth) and knew that she wasn’t ready for the
responsibility (also truth). She was eerily composed. It was
almost like she wasn’t quite there, or like she was watching
the whole thing happen through a pane of glass. An opaque
pane of glass.
The bad news was that we shouldn’t have waited those
extra couple of weeks. If Sal had gone to the doctor’s
sooner, she would have been given some pills to take to
terminate the pregnancy. It wouldn’t have been pleasant,
but she wouldn’t have had to go through the trauma of going
to a clinic. I felt like I’d let Sal down. I should have made her
listen. Should have forced her to see a doctor sooner.
Maybe I’d been too busy relishing the drama of it all.
Maybe.
It was strange; we’d both accepted the idea of an
abortion until we found out that she shouldn’t have needed
one in the first place. I don’t know why, but having to have
an actual operation seemed way worse than taking some
pills, even if the end result was the same.
Something changed in Sal then, I think. We left the
surgery, having made an appointment for her to go to the
clinic the following week. I suggested we head to a greasy
spoon I knew for a cup of tea.
We sat opposite each other at the back of the cafe. The
table had more chips on it than the menu did. The tea was
bitter and strong. Sal was distracted, but that was hardly
surprising. I was yabbering on about how it was all going to
be OK, and that she’d soon be able to put it all behind her
and hadn’t the doctor been nice?
Sal interrupted. ‘Grace, can you just stop please?’
‘Stop what?’
Sal looked at me like I was being particularly dense.
‘Can we just …? I can’t do this right now. I have to go.’ She
pushed back her chair. It made a horrible scraping noise on
the lino.
‘Where are you going? What’s up?’ I was baffled. I knew
she was upset – but she was supposed to want to be upset
with me, not off by herself somewhere. This wasn’t the way
it was meant to go.
Sal had tears in her eyes and her voice was shaky when
she said, ‘Just … nothing. I have to go home.’ Then she
legged it out of the cafe before I even knew what was
happening. Leaving me to pick up the bill. Nice.
I paid and rushed outside to catch up with her. I figured
she’d be just around the corner, ready to apologize for
being such a drama queen. She wasn’t, so I called her. Her
phone went straight to voicemail. Odd. Sal never turned off
her phone. Never ever. We’d made a deal.
The scratches on my arm are fading.
A broken biro works better than fingernails.
Blood on my pyjamas.
Red. White.
Another visit from Ethan. The real one, not the dream one –
I think. He saw the blood straight away, probably because I
didn’t try to hide it. ‘Give me your hand,’ he said, so softly I
wasn’t even sure he’d said it out loud. He gently prised the
broken biro from my hand and put it in the pocket of his
jeans. ‘I’ll get you some clean clothes.’
A couple of minutes later he was back with another set of
pyjamas, identical to the ones I was wearing. ‘Do you want
me to help with that?’ He nodded towards my bloody arms.
I shook my head, which felt all woolly and slow.
‘Make sure you clean them up well. There’s antiseptic
under the sink.’ I nodded, took the clothes from the bed and
went into the bathroom. I felt like I was walking underwater.
When I came out about ten minutes later, Ethan was
sitting on the bed with the bloody biro in his hands. He
didn’t seem to mind that he was getting my blood all over
his fingers. ‘Should I take the pens away?’ His tone was
neutral.
‘No, please, don’t. I … I have to write. It’s all I can do.’
‘You can’t keep doing this, Grace. You know that, don’t
you?’
I was starting to panic now. If I couldn’t write, I really might
start losing it. ‘Please, Ethan. I won’t do it again, I promise.’
He looked up, and I felt like he was really seeing me. I held
his gaze for as long as I could bear before looking away.
He knew I was lying. I couldn’t make a promise like that.
I’ve tried and failed before.
Ethan stood and walked to the door, leaving me staring
into space. As he opened the door, he said, ‘Sometimes
it’s hard for us to understand why people do the things they
do, isn’t it?’ I waited for the familiar snick of the deadbolts.
When I heard that, I whispered a quiet ‘Tell me about it’ to
the empty room.
I sat down on the bed and rolled up my sleeves. Looking
at my arms, criss-crossed with scars, old and new, I was
struck for the very first time by the thought that it’s a strange
thing to do to yourself.
day 14
That makes it an even fortnight. Two whole weeks here and
nothing’s changed. Actually that’s not strictly true; today I
cleaned the bathroom. That was a bit of a surprise. It was
starting to look not so white any more. And for some reason
that bothered me. If by some miracle, a knight in shining
armour does rescue me (and I can’t exactly picture
volunteers lining up for the job), I don’t want him thinking I’m
a total pig.
Sometimes I catch myself in a lie. The truth is I don’t want
Ethan thinking I’m a total pig. There. That’s better. I don’t
know why I care, but I do. Mum would be proud. It’s only
taken two full weeks in captivity to finally get me to do some
chores.
There’s bleach under the sink.
I wonder what it would be like to drink it.
Ethan brought my lunch while I was on my cleaning
mission. He poked his head round the bathroom door and
grinned at me. Before I could stop myself, I grinned back.
Neither of us spoke. Lunch was a salad. I ate it all up in
about ten minutes. Scrubbing must have given me an
appetite. I didn’t write this afternoon; I exercised. Some situps,
a few stretches, nothing too hardcore. I paced from
wall to wall one hundred times.
I couldn’t get hold of Sal the evening after we went to the
doctor’s. Her mobile was still switched off, and no one was
home either. Or at least, no one was answering the phone. I
could just picture Sal hovering over the phone, rolling her
eyes at the fact that I just wouldn’t give up. I’ll admit it: I was
seriously worried. I had no idea what was going on.
The next few days were not much fun. I left countless
messages on Sal’s phone and a couple on her home
number. The one time I spoke to her dad, he said she was
out. I didn’t want to hound her too much at home though –
didn’t want to raise any suspicions. Maybe she just needed
some breathing space, a bit of time to think about next
week.
Eventually I decided that she’d get in touch when she was
good and ready. And when she was, I’d be there with all the
tea and sympathy she could ever wish for. I tried to ignore
that fact that I was annoyed about how she’d acted in the
cafe. And annoyed that she was ignoring my calls. And still
annoyed that she’d refused to tell me who she’d slept with.
Quite a lot of annoyance really, but I was willing to put it
aside. For now.
I was sure she would contact me before next week. And
there was no way I was going to let her go through that
nightmare by herself. So I waited, and waited some more.
Nothing.
The day before Sal’s appointment, I tried one last time. I
left a pleading message on her mobile, telling her she HAD
to call me, and that I knew things had been tough, but I was
going to be there for her tomorrow, no matter what she
said. A few hours later I got a text back: ‘Meet in the park at
9 – by the swings’. Short and not so sweet. No ‘sorry’, no
‘xxx’, no nothing. Still, at least she’d finally agreed to see
me.
I arrived at the park ten minutes early and meandered
towards the swings. Sal was already there, much to my
surprise. She was never on time. She had some kind of
mental block about it. I’ve seen her try to leave the house in
good time, only to realize she’d misplaced her keys or her
phone or her bag, or oh wait … these weren’t the jeans she
wanted to wear today cos it looks like it might rain later. So
seeing her there, swinging back and forth, was slightly
disconcerting.
Sal saw me coming. I waved. She didn’t. Okaaaaay. I
sort of wanted to turn around and head home, but that
wasn’t really an option. I approached cautiously and sat on
the swing next to her. She didn’t look at me.
‘Where have you been, Sal? I’ve been worried.’
‘I haven’t been anywhere. I just wanted some space.’ She
looked up at me. She looked, I don’t know, sort of haunted.
‘Fair enough, I can understand that. But you could have
just told me that.’
Sal shook her head. Her hand was at her belly, gently
rubbing.
‘Talk to me, Sal. Please?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Well, for starters, do you want me to come to yours
tomorrow, or shall I meet you at the clinic?’ I was perfectly
willing to forget about the way she’d acted – at least until
after the abortion.
‘I don’t want you to come.’ There was a quiet
determination in her voice that I didn’t like one little bit.
‘Don’t be stupid – of course I’m coming! There’s no way
you’d let me go through something like this by myself.
C’mon, Sal—’
‘You’re not listening to me. I don’t want you there.’
‘Why not? Is someone else going? Have you told your
mum?’ A fleeting smile from Sal – so fleeting I wasn’t even
sure I’d seen it.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘So who then? Wait … have you told him … the boy, I
mean?’ This could be progress. If Boy X was facing up to
his responsibilities, that could only be a good thing.
Sal shook her head, and tears welled up in her eyes. I
reached for her hand and she flinched. She actually
flinched! WTF?
‘Sal, what is wrong with you? Jesus!’ I got up from the
swing and knelt down in front of her, forcing her to look at
me.
‘You really have no idea, do you?’ She shook her head
slowly as she spoke.
‘I haven’t got a scooby! Tell me. C’mon, you can tell me
anything … you know that.’
She took a juddery deep breath, steeling herself for what
she was about to say.
‘This is all your fault.’
I couldn’t speak for a moment or two. And when I finally
managed, what came out wasn’t even a proper word –
more like an incredulous vowel sound.
‘This would never have happened if it hadn’t been for
you.’ Sal spoke quietly, but there was an underlying
bitterness that I had never heard from her before.
I felt the first flickers of anger, spiked and hot. ‘What the
fuck? You’re not serious, are you?’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ Now Sal was looking kind of
angry too. How can this be happening? I was watching a
bad play where the actors were getting the dialogue all
wrong.
‘How can this be my fault? As far as I can understand it,
which isn’t very far cos you haven’t told me anything, you
had sex with some random boy, didn’t use a condom and
… well, that’s pretty much all I know, isn’t it? Now explain to
me exactly which part of that is my fault? C’mon, tell me.
Sorry for being dense, if it’s so fucking obvious!’ I was
standing now, not quite shouting, but sort of spitting the
words. Dad always said I had a bit of a temper.
Sal said, ‘You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking
about – as usual.’
The conversation was spiralling out of control, but there
was nothing I could do to stop it. ‘I don’t know what’s got
into you. You’re not even making sense any more. Sal, I’ve
done nothing wrong and you know it!’
‘Why do you think I’m in this situation?’
I felt like I was walking into some kind of trap, but I
couldn’t quite see how. ‘Um … well … duh … let me see.
I’m guessing it went something like this: you met a boy,
there was probably a bit of kissing, he felt you up, you finally
realized you didn’t want to be the last virgin on the face of
the planet and that maybe waiting around for your one true
love was a complete waste of time after all so you let him
shag you. Probably lasted about two minutes, and then you
went boo hoo hoo all the way home.’ As soon as the words
were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a terrible mistake.
Sal looked like I’d just slapped her in the face. I tried to
backtrack. ‘Shit, Sal, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just got
all … well, you know how I get sometimes – mouth runs
away with me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.’ I
reached out to touch her arm and she looked at my hand as
if it was some kind of mutant insect.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘You
remember that Friday night we went out just before Easter?
You pulled like three or was it even four boys in that club,
leaving me sitting on my own in the corner?’
‘Yeah, I remember. I said I was sorry. Don’t see what
that’s got to do with anything though,’ I said sulkily.
‘You were completely off your face when we got back to
mine. No surprise there. Do you remember what you said
to me in the kitchen?’
I mentally rewound to the night in question, but it was no
good. I shook my head.
Sal mirrored my head-shaking, muttering, ‘Typical,’ under
her breath. ‘You said that if I didn’t lose my virginity soon,
you were either going to have me signed up to join a
convent, or you were going to choose a boy yourself to do
the honours.’
Ouch. That did sound like something I would say.
Sal continued, ‘You said that pining over Chris was a
waste of time, that I was “deluded” for thinking that
something could ever happen there, and that I was
“waaaaaaaaaaay too picky for my own good”. Sounding
familiar now? Ringing any bells?’
‘Is that what this is about? I say something stupid when
I’m pissed, and you go out and shag some boy because of
it. Now, tell me exactly how that works.’
‘You really have no idea what a bitch you can be
sometimes, do you?’
‘For Christ’s sake, I was joking, Sal. I was wasted! This
is ridiculous.’ I turned away from her.
‘It wasn’t just that night, Grace – there were constant little
digs about it, all the time. Maybe you don’t remember, but I
do! If your best friend says something to you enough times,
you start to believe it. I wouldn’t have slept with anyone if it
hadn’t been for you – I wasn’t ready! That might be difficult
for you to understand, Little Miss “Oh, I’ve only known you
for five minutes but of course I’ll have sex with you. It might
make me like myself a little bit more and finally prove I’m
actually worth something, instead of just being some freak
who cuts herself in a pathetic attempt to get sympathy from
people—”’
I slapped Sal square in the face, hard.
Sal was shocked, and so was I. I’d never hit anyone in my
life. I walked away, leaving her standing there gawping after
me.
I felt numb. How could this have happened? Our
friendship was over – that was for sure. There’d be no
coming back from this. All this time I’d thought Sal cared
about me … and then to hear her spouting that poison?
I started to run. As fast as I could. Far away from Sal. Far
away from everything.
But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t outrun my tears.
day 15
More dreams. Some that seemed to go on forever, and
some that were just snapshots. There’s only one that I can
remember clearly though; the others fade every time I try to
focus my mind. Maybe I’ll remember later. I’m not one of
those people who think that dreams necessarily mean
anything, but I suppose I’m open-minded about the whole
thing.
Last night I dreamed I was having sex with Nat.
Everything about it was just right. His smell, his touch on my
skin, the movement of his taut sinewy back muscles under
my hands. We weren’t in his bed or mine – we were in
Sal’s bed. The sex was good, maybe even better than it
ever was in real life.
And then the old dream-morphing trick happened again,
and suddenly it was Ethan on top of me. But it was still Nat
too. A kind of Ethan/Nat hybrid of gorgeousness.
Afterwards, I lay with my head on his chest. It was
definitely all Ethan now. His chest was so very pale.
I lay there for what seemed like hours. Until I noticed that I
couldn’t hear his heartbeat. His chest wasn’t moving up and
down the way it should – he wasn’t breathing. I bolted
upright to look at his face. And he just smiled a peaceful
smile at me and said, ‘What’s the matter, Gracie?’ I told
him I couldn’t hear his heartbeat and I’d thought he was
dead. He smiled again, shaking his head as if I was
overreacting. ‘Maybe you’re just not listening hard enough?
Listen carefully and you can hear the ocean.’ I pressed my
ear against his chest and there was a heartbeat, faint but
definitely there. And I could hear the ocean – the tide
flowing in and out, in and out. I smiled.
And then I woke up – half horny, half puzzled. Dreams are
tiring.
Something’s changed in me, I think. I can’t pinpoint
exactly when it changed, but it definitely has. I’ve stopped
questioning why I’m here. I just am. This is the way things
are. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but maybe it
doesn’t matter.
But I still want to know about Ethan. I need to know about
Ethan. What does he do all day? Where does he sleep?
Does he ever go outside? Is he happy?
I’m going to try to speak to him, properly. No more
petulance, no more tears.
I start today.
After lunch, Ethan brought me some grey trackie bottoms
and a couple of white vests. Some underwear too.
Everything fits. When he handed over the neatly folded pile,
I looked at him quizzically.
He blushed. ‘For when you exercise, I thought you’d …’ I
thanked him, noticing a couple of black hair bobbles
nestled on top of the pile. He’d obviously really thought
about this. It’s only now that I’m wondering how he knew I’d
started exercising. And how did he know that it wasn’t just a
one-off?
It felt good to be out of those pyjamas for a while. Felt a
bit like me again. It was good to get some exercise – to do
something else besides remembering. Even tried to do
some press-ups, before I realized that was a tad
overambitious after hardly having moved for two weeks. I’m
going to have to try to do a little bit more every day if I’m
going to stay healthy.
Ethan came back later this afternoon. I was lying on the
floor, my heart beating wildly. I’d been running on the spot
for ten minutes, which normally wouldn’t even make me
break a sweat. I was exhausted. I heard the door open
behind me. Ethan loomed over me, his face upside down.
‘Hi,’ I croaked.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Bloody knackered,’ I replied. I heard rather than saw him
move over to sit on the edge of the bed. I stayed where I
was, on the floor, one arm flung across my forehead. This
was my chance. ‘Is Ethan your real name?’
‘Do you think I would lie to you, Grace?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. It’s one of my favourite names, you
know.’
‘Is it? I’m glad.’ He smiled.
‘Do you have a last name?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘You’re very confusing, you know.’
‘Isn’t everyone?’
I laughed at this. ‘OK, what do you do all day then? You
can’t just spend all your time cooking and doing the
washing. How boring is that? Do you cook my meals?’ I
was determined to get something from him.
He paused. ‘It’s not important.’
I sighed. This wasn’t exactly going to plan. ‘You look
tired.’ It was true. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his
skin was sallow.
‘You shouldn’t worry about me, Grace. How is it going?’
He gestured to the desk.
I manoeuvred myself up onto one elbow, conscious that
he was getting a more than decent view of my breasts. ‘I’m
not sure. It’s hard. It hurts … to think about things.’
Ethan stared at me for a few seconds. ‘Maybe hurt isn’t
always a bad thing.’ He got up and stretched, stifling a
yawn. ‘I’ll leave you to it. It’s getting late.’ He closed the door
behind him and I was left wondering exactly what he meant.
It’s not getting late.
Is it?
After my fight with Sal, I ran all the way home. Three miles
went past in a blur. The tears had dried by the time I got to
the front door. I hardly slept that night. Instead I replayed the
conversation in my head, again and again – trying to make
sense of it. It was hopeless.
The next day was even worse. Knowing what Sal was
going through, alone. Every few minutes I looked at the
clock on my phone. An hour before Sal’s appointment, I
couldn’t take it any more, and called Sal’s number. Straight
to voicemail. ‘Sal, it’s me. I … I don’t really know what to
say. I hope it goes OK today. Last night was … I think we
need to talk about it. Ring me.’
I didn’t hear anything from Sal – that day, or the next. I
knew she must have gone ahead with the abortion. There
was no question about it. I felt awful that she’d had to go
through it by herself, but I was so angry about what she’d
said.
I couldn’t get over the fact that Sal had clearly harboured
these feelings about me for some time. What I had said to
her was stupid, no doubt. But to blame me for her getting
pregnant? That was a step too far. This was Sal – the most
sensible, intelligent, grounded person I knew. It made no
sense at all. Still, it didn’t stop me feeling like the lowest of
the low for what I’d said – in the park and that night after the
club. Idiotic in the extreme, but Sal knew me. I thought she
knew when to take me seriously and when to just ignore
me. Everything had been fine between us before the visit to
the doctor, hadn’t it?
Days and days went by – a blur of angry tears and
confusion. I cut. Even after what Sal had said.
I went a bit too deep with one of the cuts in my arm. The
blood oozed out so fast I thought it would never stop. I
tasted a drop. It was warm on my tongue.
Mum knew full well something was up. She even tried
talking to me. I ignored her. I was so lonely – absolutely
desperate to talk to someone. But not desperate enough to
talk to her.
I briefly considered calling Sophie. I was actually a little
bit annoyed with her. I thought she might have called to see
how I was. After all, as far as she was concerned I could
have been pregnant. I knew I was being ridiculous because
a) I had dropped that girl like a particularly heavy brick and
didn’t deserve her concern, and b) I’d lied to her about the
pregnancy test. So my indignation was hardly righteous.
I called no one, and no one called me. I was suffocating
with loneliness. The pain was almost physical. I felt like
tearing myself apart. I wanted to escape from my own skin.
And then one night everything changed. I’d spent the
evening in my room, drinking, trying to forget. Listening to
depressing music. Being such a teenager. It even struck
me at the time: I was a cliché, and not even a good one.
I decided to get up off my arse and do something. I
changed into my leggings and an old T-shirt, put on my
trusty trainers and bolted out of the house. Running while
inebriated: I can thoroughly recommend it. I flew through the
streets. Yeah, there was a bit of stumbling here and there,
but other than that I’d say the alcohol was more of a help
than a hindrance. It wasn’t long before I felt that same rush
that running always gives me. I could have run forever. It
didn’t even bother me when it started to rain. I just pounded
the pavement even harder.
I didn’t mean to end up at Sal’s house. Not consciously
I didn’t mean to end up at Sal’s house. Not consciously
anyway. But sure enough, that was where I found myself.
Leaning against a lamp post, looking up at her bedroom
window like some kind of crazed stalker. I stood there,
trying to catch my breath, wondering what to do. I didn’t feel
drunk any more, that was for sure. It wasn’t that late; Sal’s
light was on. The curtains were drawn. I was so close to
striding up to the front door and ringing the doorbell. I was
torn. Part of me wanted to grab Sal, give her the biggest
hug in the world and pray that everything could go back to
how it had been before. And part of me wanted to grab her
and shake her and shout and scream, ‘How could you say
those things to me?!’ I wanted to do both of those things
and neither of them. I did nothing.
I turned my back on Sal’s house and slouched off down
the street. Suddenly the idea of running all the way home
didn’t seem so appealing. I felt sick, and just … sad. I
headed for the nearest bus stop without a second thought.
There was a boy there, sitting in the bus shelter in the dark.
The light must have been broken. I sat at the other end of
the bench; I didn’t have the energy to stand. I leaned my
head back against the glass and closed my eyes. I
breathed – in and out, in and out, trying to empty my head
of everything. It was raining again. I could hear it pattering
against the roof of the shelter, and the slick sound of car
tyres on wet tarmac.
I knew the boy was watching me. You can feel it
sometimes, can’t you? With a sigh I opened my eyes and
turned towards him. He looked away quickly – guiltily. And
then back at me, to see if I was still looking. I was. He
looked away again. And then back again! I treated him to
my trademark eyebrow raise.
He stuttered, ‘Sorry. I … Sorry.’ I said nothing, just looked
at him. He was kind of hot. Scruffy, shortish blond hair, a bit
unshaven. Nice strong face with a good straight nose. I
couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were. Clothes-wise he was
going for the T-shirt over a long-sleeved T-shirt look – it
worked for me. Even in the darkness I could make out a
pair of bright white trainers peeking out from the bottom of
his jeans. I wasn’t looking him up and down, you
understand. I took in this information in a millisecond (or
maybe two).
‘Can I help you?’ I said, but not in a mean way.
He looked embarrassed. ‘Er, no. Sorry.’ Then he looked
away – again! He was a shy one all right. I closed my eyes
again, not really caring if he took the opportunity to look me
over. I wasn’t in the mood.
I opened my eyes when I heard a bus pull up. The bright
lights of the bus dazzled me as I approached the surlylooking
driver. And realized I didn’t have my purse. Idiot.
‘I … Sorry. I seem to have left my purse at home.’
The driver looked at me sceptically, even going so far as
to use my very own eyebrow trick against me.
I was indignant. ‘It’s true! Please. I need to get home. I’m
cold, I’m wet. Come on …’ The driver just shook his head.
He’d yet to utter a word.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Bus-stop boy stepped around
me and stood in front of the driver. ‘Two singles, please,’
and I heard the jangle of money dropping into the moneycollecting
tickety machine thing. Without even a look over
his shoulder, he hurried forward and up the stairs.
The driver smirked. ‘All right for some.’
I walked past him, saying nothing.
I was so relieved. My legs were leaden. Maybe drinking
and running hadn’t been such a stellar idea after all. I
trudged up the stairs. The bus was half full in that irritating
way – every double seat had a single person on it. I spotted
bus-stop boy towards the back. Normally I like to sit as near
to the front as I can. When Dad used to take me to the park
I would run up the stairs as fast as I could, praying that the
front seat would be empty. I liked to pretend I was driving
the bus. I was very good at pretending.
I slid onto the seat next to the boy and said thank you. He
looked up and smiled, and for the first time I got to see his
eyes. They were blue, and framed by the longest eyelashes
I have ever seen on a boy. He was quite pale, and looked
as tired as I felt. I suddenly realized what a sight I must look.
I pushed a stray bit of hair behind my ear and tried to
surreptitiously check out my reflection in the window. It was
no good – he was in the way. No make-up and sweaty
running clothes: there was no way he would be interested.
And I wasn’t interested either. Who am I kidding? I’m
always interested. It had been a crappy day, I was probably
still a bit worse for wear and I was sitting next to a (sort of)
fit boy.
‘That was really nice of you, paying my fare.’
‘No worries. I couldn’t just leave you stranded there, could
‘No worries. I couldn’t just leave you stranded there, could
I?’ He smiled again. Nice smile, good teeth (very
important). ‘Not the nicest night for a run,’ he said. The
raindrops streaked along the window next to him.
‘Yeah, it was a spur of the moment thing. Went out a bit
too hard, I suppose. Need to pace myself a bit better next
time.’ I shrugged.
‘Or bring your bus fare with you?’ We smiled at each
other. Hmm, I like.
‘I’m Grace, by the way.’
‘Nat. Nice to meet you.’
‘You too. So do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in
distress then, Nat?’
He smiled a quick smile, but it didn’t quite reach his
eyes. ‘I wish.’
I waited for him to explain, but he shook his head and
said, ‘Never mind.’ I let it go.
So we talked. That is, I asked a lot of questions. And he
answered them in a perfectly polite, friendly fashion. He
asked me stuff too, but I could tell that he wasn’t that
interested. I mean, he was kind of interested, but I wasn’t
getting the right signals. Something was slightly off, and my
radar was screaming GIRLFRIEND ALERT! GIRLFRIEND
ALERT! So I asked THE question.
Nat shook his head and said no. I believed him, but there
was something a bit weird about the way he said it. I
couldn’t put my finger on it, so I ignored it.
Things I learned about Nat on the bus
1. He was nineteen.
1. He was nineteen.
2. He’d just finished his first year at uni and was
home for the summer.
3. He was studying medicine (clever as well as
pretty – yay!).
4. He’d bought the trainers that day and was
embarrassed about their shiny white obvious
newness.
5. He was working part-time in some crappy pub
in town.
6. He’d spent three months last summer doing
some kind of charity work in Nepal. Obviously the
caring, sharing type.
7. He was yummy.
He also admitted – very reluctantly – that he still hadn’t
passed his driving test. Hence the need to get buses
everywhere. He was embarrassed about that; he was really
cute when he was embarrassed. His eyelashes made him
look all coy and sweet.
For the first time in ages I was enjoying myself. It just felt
so normal – talking to a boy, trying to work out if he liked
me or not. Not-so-subconsciously mirroring his body
language (trickier than it sounds on a cramped bus seat).
To be perfectly honest, I was so bloody lonely that I think I’d
have jumped at the chance to talk to anyone that night. But
lucky for me, it was Nat. Luscious, butter-wouldn’t-melt, toogood-
to-be-true Nat.
My stop was coming up a lot faster than I’d have liked. I
toyed with the idea of staying on the bus with Nat, but I was
knackered. Plus, it’s always better to play hard to get in
these situations. Assuming the boy actually wants to get
you, of course.
‘Listen, my stop’s coming up. Thanks again for coming to
my rescue. I’d like to pay you back somehow.’ I let that hang
in the air for a moment before pressing on, ‘Could I maybe
buy you a drink to say thanks?’
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease say yes.
Nat looked at me for a couple of seconds. I think he was
a bit taken aback, poor love. And just when I was sure he
was going to say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ he said, ‘That
would be nice’ instead! It seemed a bit of an effort for him
to get the words out, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that. I
gave him my number, since I didn’t have my mobile on me
(duh!). He promised to call, and I believed him. I practically
skipped down the aisle. A quick glance back at the top of
the stairs, but he was looking out of the window. Huh. Two
can play the hard-to-get game, I suppose.
That night I slept better than I had in ages. Of course I
hadn’t forgotten about Sal – not even close. But at least
now I had an alternative to think about. Whenever Sal
popped up inside my head, I re-routed my brain down the
path to Nat. It worked, sort of.
day 16
The exercise is definitely doing me good. I really went for it
today. I was running on the spot, sweating like a bastard,
when Ethan came in. I stood there, hands on hips,
breathing hard, waiting for him to speak first. ‘Don’t stop,’
he said. So I got down on the floor and started some situps,
watching Ethan as he took a seat at the table. He
made no effort to look at the stack of paper there. His eyes
never left mine. I counted thirty sit-ups, with us staring at
each other the whole time. It definitely wasn’t normal.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more staring,
Ethan’s head drooped down to his chest. He’d fallen
asleep. It was a moment or two before the realization fully
kicked in. Ethan was asleep. There was nothing to stop me
walking out the door. My heart thumped wildly. But then,
maybe he was faking – testing me to see what I would do.
I sat on the floor, straining to hear the sound of his
breathing above my own. A snore or two would have been
helpful. Maybe a little bit of drooling, just to be sure. I
scooted over to him so that I could a get a better look at his
face. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes, but I could see
that they were closed. This was my chance. I could just
make a run for it. Or rather, a creep for it. It could all be over
in a matter of minutes, assuming the building wasn’t some
kind of mad fortress.
So what was stopping me? I wish I knew. Instead of
scarpering, I sat back on the floor, with my legs tucked
underneath me. And then I don’t know what possessed me,
but I rested my head on Ethan’s thigh. I’d clearly lost my
mind, but it felt … right. Ethan moaned a little bit and shifted
his leg. I held my breath, certain that he would wake up. He
didn’t.
I don’t know how long I sat there – maybe twenty
minutes? I couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. It was
bizarre. I mean, I’ve fallen asleep on the night bus a couple
of times, but what kind of half-arsed kidnapper falls asleep,
allowing the perfect opportunity for escape? And what kind
of screwed-up girl has the perfect opportunity to escape but
just sits there like some kind of lapdog?
I came to my senses. Carefully, quietly, I stood up and
backed towards the door, keeping my eyes on Ethan with
every step. When I got to the door, I paused for a second,
readying myself. I reached for the door handle and turned it.
And then I was suddenly overwhelmed by a blast of pure
panic. My heart slammed in my chest, and I felt hot and cold
and shaky and weird. I couldn’t get enough air into my
lungs. There wasn’t enough air in the room. I thought I was
dying.
My stomach flipped. I ran to the bathroom and puked in
the toilet, coughing and spluttering and choking. And then I
lay down on the cold floor and cried. I didn’t know what was
happening to me. I didn’t know how I felt about anything any
more – why hadn’t I been able to leave? I didn’t want to be
here …
… did I?
Eventually I dragged myself out of the bathroom and onto
the bed. Crawled under the duvet and lay watching Ethan,
trying to ignore the bitter taste at the back of my throat.
After a while, Ethan stirred. He raised his head, put his
hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes. He turned
towards me and blinked.
‘You’re still here,’ he said. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased
or disappointed. Maybe both.
‘Where else would I be?’
He nodded towards the door.
‘What’s out there?’ I asked.
‘Everything.’
Christ! All this Man of Mystery crap is really starting to
grate.
‘Grace, why didn’t you leave? What are you afraid of?’
I thought for a moment. ‘Everything.’
It’s true.
Ethan sat a little while longer, saying nothing. I felt my
eyelids get heavier and heavier, until I couldn’t resist. Sleep
came. I don’t remember any dreams as such, just a few
random images that I can’t piece together. Dad’s funeral in
the rain. Sal sitting on a park bench, holding hands with a
shadowy someone. And Devon, looking like he hadn’t slept
in a week – sad and worried, slouched in an
uncomfortable-looking chair.
Nat called me two days after we met. I’d been kicking
myself for not getting his number, and starting to doubt that
he’d ever call. Maybe I’d been a bit full on? Not full on
enough? I’d spent most of my time staring at my phone,
willing it to ring. Picturing Nat taking a deep breath before
punching the numbers into his phone. I was desperate for a
distraction from my craptastic life – anything I could lay my
hands on. And I was definitely more than a little bit keen to
lay my hands on Nat. When he finally did ring, I was not
quite as cool as I wanted to be. We chatted for a bit, with
me saying things so stupid I had to physically restrain
myself from whacking the phone against my head. Still, I
managed to pin him down to go out for a drink that night.
That first night I thought I had no chance. He was friendly
and sweet and funny, but in a brotherly sort of way. But I
wasn’t after a brother, or a friend. I really wanted him.
Somehow, in just a few days, he’d transformed from ‘sort of
hot’ into ‘Hottie McHotterson, fittest boy in the history of the
world – EVER’ in my mind.
At one point in the evening, Nat even went so far as to
say he had a friend he thought would be perfect for me. And
here was me thinking that I couldn’t have made it any more
obvious how I felt. Well, not without jumping the poor boy in
the middle of the pub. And I don’t think the rest of the
clientele would have been best pleased about that. Looking
back, I’m not sure if I would have gone after him quite so
determinedly if it hadn’t been for all the crap I’d been going
through. I mean, I probably would have still been interested,
but I would have tried to maintain at least a nugget of
dignity. No boy is worth looking like a fool for.
We said goodbye at the bus stop. He really was my busstop
boy. We hugged, and I was just about to turn and leave
when I thought, ‘Fuck it,’ and decided to take the bull by the
horns/the boy by the balls.
‘Listen, Nat, I’ve been dropping hints all night, and I’m not
sure if you don’t get it, or you’re not interested – which is
fair enough, by the way – but I like you, and I’d like to see
you again. And not as a friend.’ There. Said it. Eek.
He looked awkward. ‘I like you too, Grace. But there’s
someone—’
I jumped in. ‘OK, I get it. I wish you’d told me before. I did
ask. That’s fine. I … I’ll see you around.’ And then suddenly I
was fighting back tears – beyond ridiculous! I’d only just
met the boy. It’s not like he meant anything to me. I think it
was just the idea of him that was so appealing. I was
desperate for someone to take care of me. To tell me
everything would be OK. To hold me and touch me and
make me feel better.
I turned away in embarrassment. Nat touched my
shoulder just as I was about to make a run for it.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Hey, come on now. I don’t have a
girlfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking. There was just
someone who I thought … I don’t know … I liked her. And I
thought that something could happen there. But it didn’t
work out like that and I’m trying to forget about it. And I don’t
want to use you to do that. I think you deserve better than
that.’ I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. He was
so sincere, and so completely and utterly desirable right at
that moment. I turned back to him. His face was inches from
mine. He smelled really, really good.
‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?’ I whispered.
Then I kissed him, just a little bit. He kissed me back. God,
that kiss …
And so began the one and only relationship in my life that
ever meant anything.
day 17
Aargh. More bloody dreams. And this time one of them was
actually rather bloody. Nat and I were at the park, sitting in
the den at the top of the climbing frame. For some reason
we couldn’t talk – it wasn’t allowed. We just looked at each
other. Nat wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had scars crisscrossing
his arms. I was surprised I hadn’t noticed them
before. I wanted to ask him about them, but I couldn’t.
As I watched, the scars turned from white to red, and
blood started to drip down his arms. It soaked into his
jeans. Blood splashed onto the floor. I tried to reach out to
him, but my arms wouldn’t move. I tried to scream, but no
sound came out of my mouth. Nat started to laugh, and the
laughter turned to tears, and he turned into Ethan. And
Ethan was sobbing and looking at me imploringly, and I
knew he was trying to tell me something but I couldn’t
understand.
I woke up sweating and shivering, all tangled up in the
duvet. I jumped in the shower and stood under the hot
spray, willing the pounding water to drum the images out of
my head. Afterwards, I wiped the steam from the mirror and
stood looking at myself. I ran my fingers down the inside of
my left arm, and the girl in the mirror did the same. The skin
was ridged where it should have been smooth. It will never
be smooth again.
I was nervous the first time I undressed in front of Nat. I’d
never really cared that much before. Boys were usually too
drunk to notice, and when they occasionally did, I’d find
some way or other to distract them (which never proved too
hard). But this was different. I didn’t want Nat to think I was
a weirdo. It felt like what Sal had said was now tattooed on
my brain … some freak who cuts herself in a pathetic
attempt to get sympathy from people. Each of those words
cut deeper than a blade ever could. If Nat felt the same way,
I didn’t know what I would do.
It was maybe the third or fourth time we’d been out. Up
until then, Nat had been the perfect gentleman. But I was
gagging to do more than just kiss him. I’d never met anyone
like him before. My mind was really starting to run away with
itself – already wondering if he could be THE ONE.
Ridiculous. But he was thoughtful, and clever and caring. I
felt a twinge of sadness that Sal wasn’t around to talk to
about him. Maybe it was just as well though – I’d probably
have bored her to tears with ‘Nat said this …’ and ‘Nat did
that …’ and ‘Oh, he’s just sooooo dreamy’. Well, maybe not
the last one. I would never actually say ‘dreamy’ … but I
might think it.
I met Nat at the pub where he was working a lunchtime
shift. I’d never normally be seen dead in a place like that,
but sometimes you’ve got to compromise. I sat at the bar
and chatted to him while he worked. He was brilliant with
the customers, even the crazy old muttering man at the
other end of the bar. Nat just has this kind of easy manner
that makes anyone who talks to him warm to him
immediately. He’s completely comfortable talking to
anyone. Not that he’s cocky or anything – that would be
gross. He just knows how people work and exactly what to
say to put them at ease. Back then I could picture him as a
doctor, maybe breaking the news to someone about the
death of a loved one. (And then coming home to tell me all
about it. Like I said: my mind was really starting to run away
with itself.)
Every so often, Nat would catch my eye and smile that
beautiful smile. Tonight was going to be the night. Mum was
away for the weekend (again), so the coast was clear. I’d
taken extra-special care shaving my legs that morning, put
on my hottest underwear (black, of course) and even
changed the sheets on my bed (maybe the second time I
had ever done that in my life). I was nervous and excited,
which made a nice change.
Nat got off work at six, and we went back to my house.
We cracked open a bottle of red wine and cooked a meal
together. I chopped the tomatoes while Nat set to work on
the onions. The onions made him cry a little. I laughed and
kissed him on the nose. It was so perfectly domestic and
comfortable. For a fleeting moment, I imagined that this
must be what it was like to be married. Get a grip.
There were candles on the table. The food tasted great.
The wine was luscious and warm. And Nat … well, he was
hot hot hot. I’d never wanted someone more. I liked
listening to him talk about the things that interested him.
He’d get so passionate and his eyes would twinkle and
He’d get so passionate and his eyes would twinkle and
shine. After dinner, we sat on the sofa. I was pleasantly
tipsy – just tipsy enough to ask him about that girl he’d been
interested in.
Nat shook his head. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it,
Grace. I’m here with you now.’ I wanted to know more, but
Nat used my old trick of distraction. He kissed me, with a
new kind of urgency. I soon forgot all about Mystery Girl and
sank back into the moment. Before long, Nat was on top of
me, and I was pulling him closer to me. One of his legs was
between mine, and I squirmed against it. I could feel the
heat of him through his jeans. He started to paw at my Tshirt,
and it took all the willpower I had to half whisper, half
pant, ‘Not here … upstairs.’
‘OK, I’ll give you a head start.’ He grinned a wicked grin.
I ran up the stairs two at a time, with Nat close on my
heels, swiping at my bum. Both of us laughing like idiots.
He caught me at my bedroom door and manhandled me
around to face him. Pushed me up against the door frame
and kissed me again. I pulled his T-shirt up, and it got stuck
going over his head. I kissed him through the white cotton
and then pulled the T-shirt the rest of the way off. His hair
was all mussed up, and he looked better than ever. Better
than anyone. I raked my fingers over his chest. It was just
hairy enough not to be too boyish, but nowhere near gorillahairy
(thank God). We stumbled over to the bed and I
pushed him down and straddled him, kissing his chest. He
lay back, and I pulled off my top.
This was it.
No more hiding. Nat was going to see.
No more hiding. Nat was going to see.
The only light in the room was streaming through the
open door. Still, it was enough to illuminate me. Of course,
Nat was a boy, and so his eyes (and hands) immediately
fixed on my breasts. It was only when he started to run his
hands over me that he noticed something wasn’t quite right.
His thumb was tracing a path down the inside of my arm.
‘What’s this?’ he murmured, in between kisses. ‘Nothing,’ I
said, and found his mouth with mine. But he pulled away
and I rolled off him, steeling myself for what was to come.
‘What happened to you?’ Genuine concern.
I lay back on the bed with a sigh, hardly able to look at
him. He sat up and took hold of my arm. ‘God …’ he
whispered. ‘This looks like … you did this, didn’t you?’ I
nodded, still looking away. I could feel his eyes roving over
me, taking in the most recent cuts, which had yet to heal.
Sal’s right. I am a freak. Shame, uncoiling and wrapping
itself around me.
‘Look at me, Grace.’ I did – reluctantly. ‘Do you want to
talk about this?’
I shook my head. He nodded, leaned down, and kissed
me perfectly. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. And I
believed him. He kissed me all over and ran his tongue
over the scars, which didn’t seem creepy or weird. It was as
if he was trying to kiss them better.
He didn’t have any condoms with him (clueless), but
didn’t mind that I had a small stash in my bedside drawer.
Some boys can be funny like that. Boys are stupid, mostly.
And so we had sex. It was OK, not mind-blowing. It was
sweet and tender, and (dare I say it?) something close to
loving. A new experience for me. Afterwards, we lay faceto-
face, our legs intertwined. I nuzzled against his neck, and
he stroked my back.
‘Now can we talk?’ Nat said after a while.
‘Mmm?’
‘About this?’ His roaming fingers had found some scars.
I tried to distract him, but he was having none of it.
‘Grace, talk to me.’
I sighed. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. It’s just something
I do sometimes. It’s embarrassing and stupid and I bet you
think I’m a freak and …’ He silenced me with a kiss.
‘I don’t think you’re a freak. I want to understand.’
I lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘I don’t really
understand it myself. All I know is that it makes me feel
better when things are bad.’
Nat pushed himself up onto one elbow so that his face
was above me. He rested his left hand on my stomach. It
felt warm and comforting.
‘Do you think you can stop … hurting yourself like this?’ I
said nothing. ‘Do you want to stop?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried.’
‘Would you try for me? Go on … let’s make a deal. You
stop hurting yourself and I’ll … er … I’ll give you plenty of red
hot lovin’ whenever you so desire.’ He wiggled his
eyebrows at me and I burst out laughing. His hand moved
lower and lower and my breath caught in my throat. Maybe
this deal could work after all.
Nat stayed with me that night. And the rest of the weekend.
There was a lot of talking and laughing and just being
together. The sex got better, which was a relief. The whole
weekend was practically perfect. We didn’t talk about the
cutting. I began to think that maybe I could forget about what
Sal had said, after all.
Nat dropped a bit of an interesting bombshell on Sunday
night. We were lying in bed, talking about our families. I
think we’d both realized that we didn’t actually know that
much about each other. I’d told Nat a bit about Dad, and
how things were with Mum, and he’d been unbelievably
great about it. And then he started telling me about his
brother.
‘He’s a good kid. I love him to bits, but he’s so highly
strung. Way too sensitive for his own good. It all gets too
much for him sometimes, you know?’ I nodded.
‘Dev gets so depressed. I worry about him a lot – that he
might do something stupid one day.’
‘Dev?’ I said.
‘Yeah, Devon. He got the short straw when our parents
were deciding on names. I mean, Nathaniel’s not so great,
but it beats Devon any day of the week.’ Nat noticed me
looking at him strangely. ‘What?’
‘Devon’s your brother?’
‘You don’t know him, do you? Seriously?’
‘He’s in my year at school.’
‘Shit, I should have thought. I forget we’re not the same
age. Dev seems so bloody young, and you … well …’ He
eyed me up approvingly.
‘How come you didn’t go to my school then? I’m sure I
would have remembered someone like you.’
‘Our parents split up about nine years ago. My dad
scarpered with one of Mum’s friends – what a gent, eh?
Mum had a complete breakdown. Couldn’t cope with me
and Dev. And I didn’t help matters much. I played up quite a
bit – just to get attention, really. Not something I’m
particularly proud of. Anyway, lucky old me got sent to
boarding school. Dev would have gone too, but Mum didn’t
think he could cope. I was well pissed off at being sent
away while “Mummy’s little prince” got to stay at home. But
looking back on it now, getting away from here was the
best thing that ever happened to me. No offence.’
‘God,’ I said. It was a lot to take in. I couldn’t believe I was
going out with Devon’s brother. Mental. How could I not
have known about him before? If I had, I’d have been a lot
more friendly to Devon, that’s for sure.
‘Listen, Grace. I never would have said anything about
Devon if I thought there was even a remote chance that you
knew him. Clearly I’m a complete retard. Promise you won’t
say anything about what I told you – about Dev.’
‘Of course I won’t say anything. I don’t really know Devon
that well, anyway. He’s more a friend of a friend. Don’t
worry your pretty little head about it.’ I kissed Nat on the
forehead and we lay in silence for a while. I was wondering
whether Sal had ever met Nat. I knew she’d been to
Devon’s house a couple of times, but surely she’d have told
me about him if she had? I was dying to ask if Nat had met
any of Devon’s friends, but I didn’t feel ready to get into the
whole Sal thing yet.
Over the next few days, I found myself thinking about
Devon quite a bit – about his depression. It just showed that
you can never tell what’s really going on with people.
Beneath the shiny surface they present to the world.
I wondered if Devon ever cut. Probably not. More of a
girl thing, I guess. It’s in all the magazines. I find it sort of
shameful to be part of such an obvious teenage statistic. I
like to be a bit more original if I can.
Those first few weeks with Nat were pretty great. For the
first time in my life I was perhaps eighty per cent happy.
And the missing twenty per cent was all Sal. Probably more
than that, if I’m honest. I thought about her a lot, and nearly
picked up the phone a hundred times. But as distractions
go, Nat was more than adequate.
We had been going out for about a month when I
decided to pay Sophie a visit. I’m not entirely sure why.
Anyway, I popped into the shop on the off-chance and, sure
enough, there she was behind the counter. The shop was
busy. A yummy mummy with a screaming baby in a bizarre
sling-type thing. Two old ladies gossiping and trading
stories of ailments. A shifty-looking boy wearing skinny grey
jeans and a black T-shirt emblazoned with the name of
some band I’d never heard of. He was lurking in the
condom section. Bless.
I waited until the old dears were the only ones left in the
shop. They were oblivious to everything, not to mention
slightly deaf. At least I assumed that’s why they were talking
so very loudly about haemorrhoids. Grim.
I headed up to the counter, and Sophie and I exchanged
cautious hellos.
‘How are you, Grace? Is everything …?’
‘Fine, thanks. Oh, yeah … it was a false alarm, by the
way.’
‘You must be relieved.’
‘Uh, yeah, just a little bit.’ I forced a laugh, but Sophie
didn’t laugh with me.
‘So listen, Soph …’ I began, trying not to be put off by the
guarded look on her face. ‘I’ve been thinking … I don’t
suppose you’d like to go out for a drink one night, would
you? Celebrate my lucky escape from the nightmare of
nappies and sleepless nights?’ I was kind of nervous, much
to my surprise.
‘Er … I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Steady! I’ve heard that too much enthusiasm can
seriously damage your health.’
‘Well, it’s just a bit weird, that’s all. We haven’t spoken in
God knows how long and suddenly you want to go for a
drink with me.’ Sophie was picking at the edge of the
counter with her thumbnail.
‘Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it is a bit weird.
‘Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it is a bit weird.
Still, I just thought it might be a laugh … but if you don’t want
to, that’s cool.’
‘What about your partner-in-crime?’ I hated when people
called Sal that. I’m not sure why it bothered me so much.
Looking back, it was actually sort of cool. Like Batman and
Robin or something. Except they’re partners-against-crime.
And Robin is so gay.
‘I do have other friends, you know. Sal and I aren’t joined
at the hip, believe it or not.’ Much to my surprise, Sophie
laughed. Sophie Underwood was laughing at ME!
‘Yeah, whatever. You’re like Tweedledum and
Tweedledee. Or maybe the Chuckle Brothers.’ She
definitely had a glint in her eye now. This was something I
hadn’t seen before.
‘Hey!’
‘Aw, come on, Grace. You know it’s true!’ She paused
and then said, ‘I suppose a drink would be nice. Tonight?’
Nat was working that evening, so that was good. Not that
I’m one of those pathetic girls who has to spend every
minute of every day with their boyfriend. Sophie and I
arranged to meet in Bar Code, a quietly cool bar in town –
with a seriously crap name.
As soon as I got home, I headed to the kitchen and
grabbed the penguin jar off the top shelf. I’m tall enough to
reach it without standing on a chair now. Just like always,
the jar had a few tenners in it. I took three – enough for a
semi-decent night out.
I can’t even remember when I first started taking money
from that jar. Mum MUST have known, but she never
mentioned it. Like some sort of unspoken agreement: I
wouldn’t call her on being a terrible mother, and she
wouldn’t call me on being a sneaky little thief. I always
looked on it as a sort of payment for babysitting myself, and
maybe she did too. That’s why she kept topping it up every
few weeks. I’ve never really thought about it before, but it
was kind of decent of her. She could have cut me off
completely, but she didn’t.
Mum cooked an early tea, which I could barely stomach. I
was weirdly nervous. We had a half-proper conversation for
the first time in ages. She even asked me what I was up to
that evening (like she cared). I twirled some spaghetti round
my fork, watching the orange globules of fat from the sauce
swirl round the plate.
‘I’m going for a drink with Sophie.’ I looked up in time to
see her perfectly plucked eyebrows rise in surprise.
‘Sophie?’
‘Yeah,’ I muttered like the moody little cow I am.
‘God, I haven’t seen her in … well, it’s been a long time. I
didn’t know you two were still friends.’
‘We’re not. I mean, I just ran into her and we decided to
catch up tonight.’ I shrugged, like it was no big deal. Which
it wasn’t.
‘Is Sal going too?’
‘No, why would she be?’
‘No reason. I just haven’t seen her around in a while.’
Mum was looking down at her plate now too. I got the
feeling she’d been waiting to ask about this for some time.
‘So?’
‘Have you two had a falling-out?’ I swear to God, the way
she said it made me want to hit her. A falling-out?! Like I’d
pulled Sal’s pigtails, or she wouldn’t share her toys with me.
I gave her my most withering look, which, I have to say, is
pretty withering. ‘No, we haven’t had a “falling-out”, but
thanks for asking.’
Mum pretended to ignore my tetchiness. ‘It’s just, well,
you know I’m here, if you want to talk about anything. You do
know that, don’t you, sweetie?’ I could have choked on my
garlic bread! First of all, saying that I could talk to her? And
second of all, calling me sweetie? Had she been watching
some kind of How To Be A Parent programme on TV?
I looked at her for a few moments. Her hair highlighted to
within an inch of its life. Her face strangely lacking in
wrinkles or emotion or love or anything. I was supposed to
believe that she suddenly cared? Yeah, right. Nice try.
‘Thanks, Mother,’ I said as sarcastically as was humanly
possible. ‘I’ll let you know when I feel the need to share.’ I
stood up, chucked my napkin on top of the congealing
spaghetti and left the table without another word. When I
turned to head up the stairs, I saw her framed by the kitchen
doorway, coolly sipping her glass of water and staring into
space.
The bus dropped me off just over the road from Bar
Code. There was a bouncer outside, but it was still early so
there was no queue. Inside, the bar was all retro chic –
shabby leather sofas and weird curvy chairs. I looked for
Sophie, not an easy task given all the nooks and crannies.
It’s like when you’re at school, scanning the canteen for your
friends – and trying to look as if that’s the last thing you’re
trying to do. I embarked on a quick circuit of the bar, as
nonchalantly as possible, and eventually spotted Sophie
secreted in a booth in one corner. She was tapping away
on her phone, playing with her hair at the same time. No
drink on the table in front of her.
‘Hi, sorry I’m late,’ I said, knowing full well that I was
exactly on time. Sophie was even worse (or better,
depending on how you feel about these things) than I was
when it came to punctuality.
Sophie put down her phone and said hi. I asked if she
wanted a drink, and she nodded. ‘Vodka and coke … a
double if that’s OK?’ I managed to hide my surprise. Little
Sophie Underwood … drinking doubles? My, my.
When I came back with the drinks I slid into the booth
opposite Sophie. A quick ‘Cheers’, a swig of vodka, and
my first chance to really check her out. She wasn’t wearing
her glasses, and was wearing (shock, horror!) make-up.
Actual, proper make-up. I hadn’t even bothered with any
(well, the bare minimum, but that hardly counts). I had to
admit, Sophie looked pretty good. I even recognized the
top she was wearing. A rather cool little red number from
Top Shop that showed off her breasts to full advantage. I
suddenly felt self-conscious in my somewhat scraggy blacktop-
and-jeans combo. It was unsettling. I needed to reestablish
the equilibrium, pronto. After a bit of small talk
about exams and whatever, I started telling her all about
Nat. Now, I really dislike girls who brag about their
boyfriends, as if they deserve a bloody medal for having
bagged a half-decent one. But I couldn’t help myself.
Sophie listened politely while I talked, nodding in all the
right places, saying all the right things. By the time I’d run
out of steam, we’d both finished our drinks. Sophie went to
the bar this time – probably grateful for a breather from me.
When she came back, I asked her the killer question. I am
a bad person.
‘Not … not at the moment.’ She opened her mouth as if
she had something else to say, and then promptly snapped
it shut again. I raised a quizzical eyebrow. She swirled her
drink round and round, clinking the ice.
‘Well, there is someone I sort of … well … kind of like.’
Sophie exhaled loudly, as if she’d just made some kind of
major confession, like she’d been shagging the whole
rugby team or something. This is more like it. I felt more
comfortable with Awkward Sophie
I pressed her to try to find out who the mystery boy was,
but she kept shtum. Maybe it was something to do with the
fact that I was being unbelievably patronizing … As if I was
her big sister, teasing her because she was finally getting
interested in boys. I apologized and changed the subject.
We talked about school for a bit, but there really wasn’t
much to say. We might as well have gone to different
schools entirely for all the common ground we shared. But
after a while and a couple more drinks, the conversation
flowed a lot more smoothly. Sophie had a surprisingly dry
flowed a lot more smoothly. Sophie had a surprisingly dry
sense of humour. She hadn’t had that when we’d been
friends, had she? She must have grown it or bought it off
the Internet or something.
As the evening progressed, the inevitable reminiscing
began. Like the time we’d scared ourselves shitless,
climbing in the window of the old deserted house at the top
of our road. I’d somehow become obsessed with the idea
that a creepy bald man with bloodshot eyes and no eyelids
lived there, lying in wait for the neighbourhood children. The
crack addicts who were hanging out in the attic actually
gave us a bigger scare than anything my overactive
imagination could ever have come up with.
Sophie was handling her drink a lot better than I would
have expected. I couldn’t help thinking that you don’t build
up that kind of tolerance by sitting in your room every night,
studying like a good little girl.
‘I have to say, Soph, you’re pretty hardcore. Most people
would be on the floor by now.’
‘Don’t look so surprised!’
‘Well, I kind of am,’ I admitted, a tad sheepishly. ‘I
suppose I didn’t think …’
‘What? You didn’t think that I was “that sort of girl”? More
an “in bed by ten, cuddling a teddy bear and reading a
book” sort of girl? Is that it?’
I shrugged. ‘Welllllllll …’ We both laughed.
‘Oh, Grace, you really have no idea, do you?’ I noticed a
slight edge to her voice, but we were both still smiling. ‘We
haven’t been friends for five years … Do you not think that
maybe, just maybe, I might have changed a little bit in all
maybe, just maybe, I might have changed a little bit in all
that time?’
‘Er … course. I was just …’ I stammered.
‘Just what?’ Sophie looked amused at my discomfort.
‘Nothing.’
‘You know, I bet I could tell you a thing or two that would
surprise you.’ Her words weren’t exactly slurred, but she
was definitely tipsy.
‘Oh yeah? Like what?’
‘You think I’m going to spill out all my deepest, darkest
secrets just like that? Not a chance.’
‘Well, maybe if we did this again some time? I think that
would be … cool.’
She looked at me, weighing up the truth of my words.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. I’ve had fun. Haven’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ She paused and then went on: ‘You’ve fallen out
with Sal, haven’t you?’
‘What makes you say that?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘You should sort it out.’ Now this was
all turning a bit strange. I had half a mind to tell her to fuck
off and mind her own business.
‘No offence, Soph, but I’d rather not talk about it.’
‘Fair enough, but don’t just give up on her. It’s easy to do
that when things get hard.’ She stood up, a little unsteady
on her feet. ‘Sometimes you need to dig a bit deeper and
find out who someone really is instead of walking away.’
‘Are we talking about you or Sal now?’
She shrugged again, and laughed. ‘Who can say? I’m
wasted … Don’t listen to me! Right, I’ve got to run or my
wasted … Don’t listen to me! Right, I’ve got to run or my
mum’s going to kill me. You’re OK to get the bus on your
own?’ I nodded dully. ‘OK. I’ll see you soon?’ Another nod
from me. And then she was gone. Bizarre. And what’s with
the not-so-cryptic words of wisdom?
When I got home I had a sudden drunken desire to look
at old photos. So I dug out my photo album from under my
bed. I’d put it together a few years ago, decorating the
cover with a collage of cat pictures for some unknown
reason.
The first few pages were filled with pictures of a little me.
Quite cute, bad hair and a gappy smile. Then there was
one of me and Sophie in the back garden, arms slung
around each other, mischief in our eyes. You could just
make out my dad in the background, tending to the
barbecue, can of beer in one hand, tongs in the other. He
loved that barbecue. Any opportunity to cook outside (and it
didn’t even have to be summer) and he’d be out there,
blowing on the white-hot coals, explaining to me the finer
points of marinating meat. I would ask question after
question, just happy to listen to his voice. Not really
understanding, not really even caring, just wanting to spend
time with him.
I wonder if it will ever get easier – thinking about him.
You’d have thought that I’d have got used to the idea of him
being gone. If only. My two favourite words when I’m feeling
sorry for myself.
If only he was still here.
If only Mum could understand.
If only I could stop hurting myself, punishing myself.
Useless words.
Anyway, looking at the photos made me feel sad and
happy at the same time. I slipped a picture of Dad out from
its plastic sleeve. It was a photo I had taken one Christmas.
There was wrapping paper strewn everywhere. Dad was
sitting in the middle of it with sparkly baubles dangling from
his ears. I remember directing him where to sit and oh-soartfully
hanging the baubles. In the photo he’s laughing hard
and his eyes are squeezed shut. My mum’s slippered foot
sneaks into the bottom left-hand corner of the frame.
I kissed the photo and put it under my pillow. Then I
phoned my perfect boyfriend and left a long, rambling
message that didn’t make a whole lot of sense (as he took
great pleasure in telling me the next day).
day 18
I feel good today. Slept well, no dreams to speak of. Mum
reckons she never dreams, but what would she even dream
about? Row upon row of shoes as far as the eye can see?
Ethan was sitting on the bed when I emerged from the
bathroom all ruddy and wrapped in a towel that just about
covered everything a good girl would want covered. There
was a chocolate croissant and a big mug of tea on the
table. I tore off a bit of croissant and popped it into my
mouth, licking the oozing chocolate from my finger.
‘Want some?’
Ethan quickly shook his head.
I shrugged and continued to eat, saying nothing. When I’d
finished, and sucked every last bit of chocolate from my
fingers, I sat down next to him on the bed. The towel just
about managed to hang on for dear life.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ I teased him.
‘Good morning, Grace. You look … different today,’ he
said.
‘Most people do without their clothes on.’ He looked
confused. His eyes frantically searched mine, as if he could
look deep enough and see the truth of me. I held his gaze.
The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.
‘Ethan, I …’
He brought his finger to my lips to silence me. He tucked
a few damp strands of hair behind my ear and whispered,
‘Drink your tea.’ And then he was gone. Just like that.
I flopped back on the bed and sighed. Confused and
frustrated.
Then I did as I was told.
I lay on the bed for most of the morning, not really thinking
about anything in particular. Not unhappy. Just sort of being.
Before I knew it, Ethan was here again with lunch. I was
strangely ravenous for someone who had done fuck-all.
When he came to take away my plate, I was licking the last
drops of gravy from my knife. Mum would be appalled.
Ethan seemed pleased. ‘Was that good?’
‘Mmm. Roast chicken is my favourite. You can’t beat a
proper Sunday lunch.’ A memory popped into my head of
Mum dishing up roast potatoes at the table. She always
gave me and Dad loads, and only took a couple for herself.
And every week, without fail, Dad would say, ‘These are the
best roast potatoes I have EVER had,’ and Mum would roll
her eyes and say, ‘But you say that every week, Jim!’ And
you could tell she was secretly pleased. And you could tell
that he really meant it. And you could tell they really loved
each other.
Ethan was saying my name, and I knew from his tone that
it wasn’t the first time. And just like that, the memory was
gone.
‘What?’ I said, annoyed. My brain wasn’t exactly
brimming over with happy memories like that one.
‘I was asking about your family.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m curious.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like to know why you are the way you are.’
‘And you think that’s the answer? My family? What about
your family? What’s made you the way you are?’
He looked at me with those stormy eyes and said softly,
‘We’re not talking about me.’
‘Why not? Why do we have to talk about me all the time?
I’m not that interesting, you know!’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Grace.’ He sounded as if he
hadn’t slept in a thousand years. And then he looked me
square in the eye and said, ‘Do you miss your father?’
‘Every day. I miss him every day.’ I swallowed,
determined not to start bawling. Ethan must have realized
that I wasn’t really in a sharing kind of mood. He said
nothing more, just cleared up my plate and left. But not
before he’d given my shoulder a reassuring (fatherly?)
squeeze.
It wasn’t until the door closed that I realized I haven’t told
Ethan about Dad. How did he know? How could he
possibly know?
Why am I the way I am? What a weird question. Why is
anyone the way they are? Nature or nurture? A bit of both?
Maybe for some people it’s neither. Maybe they were
supposed to turn out a certain way, but then something
terrible happened. And maybe nothing was ever the same
again. Maybe.
day 19
At least, I think it’s day 19. It must be by now. I can’t sleep. I
can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I CAN’T SLEEP. I’ve tried every
trick I know: reciting all the kings and queens of England
(but I always get a bit mixed up with the Henrys), trying to
remember the names of everyone in my class at junior
school (but I got stuck on the name of the boy with the
permanently snotencrusted nose). I’ve even stooped so low
as to try counting sheep. I don’t know who thought that one
up – it turns out I can count pretty high.
May as well get on with this as long as I’m up. It’s not as if
I can pop downstairs for a glass of hot milk. Hot milk?
Gross.
Things were good with Nat. But I was sort of waiting for
something to go wrong. Something had to go wrong. It was
surely only a matter of time. I could never fully shake the
feeling that I didn’t deserve him. He was too good for me.
And too good to me. He listened to me when I talked,
instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. He bought me a
little green monster finger puppet, which made me laugh.
He put his arms around me and I felt right.
I went round to his house for the first time one afternoon.
His mum was at work and we were messing around in his
bedroom. We still had most of our clothes on, and I was
trying to determine just how ticklish he was (very, as it turns
out). I had him pinned down on his bed, both hands above
his head, gripped by one of mine. We were both giggling
like maniacs, Nat begging for mercy. And the door flew
open and there was Devon – clearly not expecting to see
me there. He stuttered an apology, and Nat said something
like, ‘It’s OK, Dev. Wait a minute!’ But Devon legged it, his
face flushing bright red. I laughed and resumed my assault
on Nat. But he wasn’t laughing.
‘Grace, stop for a minute.’
‘What? Why? It’s no big deal!’
‘I know. It’s … I don’t know. It feels a bit weird.’ He sat up
and pulled on his shirt. ‘Let me go and talk to him.’
A suspicion suddenly dawned on me. ‘You have told him
about us … haven’t you?’
Nat’s silence said it all. ‘Shit! Why haven’t you told him?
No wonder his eyes nearly popped out of his head!’
Nat had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry. I just
… I wasn’t sure if he’d be OK with it. You know … cos you
two know each other.’
‘So what if we know each other?’ I said, with added sulk.
‘Well … I just didn’t want him worrying about us talking
about him. That’s all.’
I weighed this up while straightening my top. ‘So it’s not
cos you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?’ This came
out a little more poutingly than I’d intended.
‘As if! Just look at you!’ He pulled me towards him for a
deep, long kiss.
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Nathaniel. But not right
now. Come on. You’ve got some explaining to do. Go and
talk to him. I’ll wait here.’
‘Are we OK then?’
‘Yup. Now scoot!’ Nat jumped up from the bed and left
the room. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. There was a
crack in it. I tried to tell myself that it was OK. Nat’s reason
for not telling Devon was perfectly plausible. And anyway, I
hadn’t told my mum about us either. But that was different.
You need to be in the same room as someone for more
than five seconds to have a conversation. And I’d made
sure that hadn’t happened since her little attempted heartto-
heart the night I’d met up with Soph.
As I lay on Nat’s bed, surrounded by Nat’s things,
wrapped up in Nat’s world, I couldn’t help but think that this
might be it – the first tiny little crack I’d been waiting for. A
crack that would widen into a great big gaping fissure,
which I would tumble into – never to be seen again.
Nat came back after a few minutes and sat on the side of
the bed.
‘Well?’
‘He’s gone out. He’s pretty pissed off and I can’t really
blame him.’ Nat sighed and stared at the floor.
‘Hey, come on now. You haven’t done anything wrong. So
you didn’t tell your little brother about your new girlfriend?
It’s hardly the crime of the century.’ I reached out and
stroked the back of his neck, where his hair was short and
fuzzy. He twisted his head away.
‘Don’t, Grace.’
‘Don’t what? Come on … Devon’s gone out. Let’s just …’
My hand crept up his thigh as I spoke.
‘Stop it!’ Nat leaped up from the bed and paced away. I
was too surprised to say anything for a minute or two. He
stood against the wall, his fist at his forehead.
‘Okaaaay, I’m just gonna go.’ I hastily stood and started
to gather my stuff together, telling myself that I wasn’t going
to cry I wasn’t going to cry I wasn’t going to cry. I was
halfway to the door before Nat turned to face me.
‘Grace, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’ He took a step
towards me, put his hands over his face and exhaled loudly.
When his hands slid down, he looked at me sadly. ‘I’m sorry
for being such a twat. It’s just that things with Devon are
kind of … complicated. They always have been. I just need
to speak to him properly, and I’m sure it will all be fine.’ Nat
came closer, and reached out for my hand with his. His
fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed them gently. I
looked up into his eyes and searched for the truth in his
words. I wasn’t sure if it was there or not, but he looked so
sad and so hopeful that it didn’t seem to matter. I hugged
him.
‘Talk to Devon. Call me whenever. It’s fine.’ I was very
impressed with myself for being such a big person about it.
I felt terribly mature.
‘You sure?’
‘Yup.’ Breezy as breezy can be. I kissed Nat quickly on
the lips, said a cheery goodbye and left his room without
looking back.
I was at the bottom of the stairs when Nat called to me,
‘Grace!’ I looked up and saw his face peering over the
banisters.
‘Thanks for being so amazing. I mean it. You’re really … I
really care about you. I just wanted you to know that.’ I
wanted to run back up the stairs and show him just how
amazing I could be, but I was ever so taken with the ‘new
mature me’ (even if she was only temporary), so I rewarded
Nat with a winning smile and a quiet ‘I know’. And then I
was gone, out the front door and down the street. Trying my
hardest to remember Nat’s parting words, rather than the
weirdness that had gone before.
Managed to get back to sleep for a while after all. It must be
early though. Ethan hasn’t been in with my breakfast yet. I’m
starving. I hardly ever eat breakfast at home, much to
Mum’s annoyance. When I was fifteen I tried starting the
day with a cup of black coffee. I must have been going
through a ‘disaffected youth’ phase. I hated the taste; it was
all I could do not to grimace each time I took a sip. It was
worth it though, cos it annoyed Mum so much. She was all
‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day’ and ‘A girl
your age shouldn’t be drinking that’. Which was clearly the
wrong way to go about getting me to do what she wanted.
Mothers can be so dense. Just act like you approve of what
we’re doing. We’ll soon do the exact opposite, just to spite
you.
Anyway, I’m just going to have to ignore my gurgling
stomach and try not to think about crispy bacon on white
bread, splattered with ketchup and dripping with fat. Or a
boiled egg and soldiers …
The day after the Devon Debacle, something surprising
happened.
Sal texted me: ‘Need to talk to you. Please?’
I had no idea what to make of it. The message filled me
with hope and dread and everything in between. I had half a
mind to let Sal sweat for a couple of days, but since I was
being so very mature I texted her straight back, with a
simple ‘OK’. I certainly wasn’t going to give anything away if
she wasn’t. I only had to wait a couple of seconds for a
reply: ‘Thanks. At the swings? Nine?’ God knows why she
wanted to go back there again.
It had been almost two months since our fight. It was hard
to believe that I hadn’t even laid eyes on her since that
ridiculous night. I’d always kept an eye out for her when I
was out and about, especially when I was with Nat. Half
hoping that she would see how happy I could be without
her. And half hoping that just being face to face with her
again would magically fix what was broken.
It was only just starting to get dark by the time I went to
meet Sal. A few people lingered in the park, playing
Frisbee, drinking beer and pretending they weren’t getting
cold. A couple of fourteen-year-olds were on the swings,
ramming their tongues down each other’s throats. Nice. I
sat on a bench a little way away, looking at my watch every
couple of minutes. 9.09 and still no sign of Sal.
And then there was a tap on my shoulder and a quiet
‘Hey’. Sal rounded the bench and sat down next to me. I
returned her ‘Hey’ and studied her in the fading light. She
looked different. She’d had her hair cut, and it really suited
her. But she looked so thin. She wasn’t wearing any makeup
and the dark circles under her eyes stood out a mile. I
was shocked at the difference a couple of months could
make. I was pretty sure I just looked like the same old
Grace to her – apart from a mammoth spot that was
threatening to erupt on my chin any moment.
I was the first to speak. ‘So … how have you been?’ I
couldn’t help but laugh nervously at the absurdity of the
question. Sal even cracked a smile. ‘I mean, well, I suppose
I don’t really know what to say.’ I scuffed my trainers on the
gravel under the bench, waiting for Sal to say something.
‘Grace, I’m so, so sorry.’ Well, that was a start at least. I
waited for her to go on. ‘This has all been a complete
nightmare. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to
pick up the phone and ring you …’ She trailed off and I
could tell that she was fighting back the tears –
unsuccessfully, as it turned out. ‘I’ve missed you.’
And she looked at me with those Bambi eyes brimming
with tears and quietly said, ‘Do you think we can ever …?’
before trailing off again. She stared at the ground, not
bothering to wipe the tears from her face. I just wanted to
hug her and tell her everything would be OK. But I couldn’t
bring myself to do it.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Grace, you have to believe me. I was an idiot. I don’t
have any excuses, but I was scared and angry and I didn’t
know what to do.’
‘So you took it out on me?’ It had to be said.
Sal nodded. ‘I just wanted someone to blame, and
somehow that ended up being you. I don’t know why. You
were the one person who was there for me and I messed it
up completely.’
‘Why now?’ I found it hard to look at her.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s been two months. Why are you coming to me now?’
‘I just … I thought you wouldn’t talk to me before.
Especially after what I said. About the cutting.’ As if I
needed reminding. ‘Grace, I didn’t mean it. You know I don’t
think that. I just lashed out with the first thing I could think of.’
She reached out for my hand. I didn’t pull away. ‘It was a
terrible thing to say and I know how it must have made you
feel.’
‘I don’t think you do. When the person you love most in
the world says something like that …’
‘But it’s not true!’ Sal squeezed my hand.
I shrugged. ‘Maybe it is.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Grace. If you did it for attention, do you
not think that maybe you wouldn’t hide it quite so well?’
Another shrug from me. I wasn’t going to make this easy
for her. ‘And the boy stuff? You as good as called me a
slag.’
‘I didn’t mean it. Just because we feel differently about
the whole sex thing doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.’ She
paused. ‘You know, you said some pretty harsh things too.’
I pulled my hand away from hers. ‘Well, I was feeling
pretty fucking defensive, wasn’t I?! It’s not every day I get
blamed for someone getting pregnant, especially since I
seem to be lacking the right equipment for the job!’
We sat in silence for a while. Sal had stopped crying and
was picking at a hole in her jeans.
‘I had the abortion.’ Her voice was flat.
‘Was it awful?’
‘I don’t know. It was weird. It was a relief, I suppose. I
thought it would all be OK afterwards, and maybe it would
have been if I hadn’t pushed you away.’
‘Did you go by yourself?’
Sal nodded, and I felt some of the bad feeling between
us slip away into the night.
‘I wish you’d have let me be there.’
‘So do I.’
We looked at each other and I thought that maybe (just
maybe) it was going to be all right for us. Maybe things
could get back to normal. I wasn’t going to forget the things
she’d said. And she probably wasn’t going to forget what
I’d said – or the fact that I’d slapped her good and proper.
But maybe there was a chance to move beyond all that.
‘I’ve missed you loads as well, you know.’ We smiled shy
little smiles at each other. ‘Come here, you.’ I grabbed her
in a hug. Now it was time for me to start blubbing, and Sal
blubbed right along with me.
Eventually, I pulled away and looked at her. Tear-shiny,
puffy face. ‘Wow. I hope I don’t look as bad as you!’
Sal laughed. ‘Well, you do. Unless you think blotchy is a
particularly good look …?’
‘I’ve always been quite partial to it myself! Listen, do you
want to come back to mine. We can have a proper catchup.
It’s … It’s been too long.’
Back at home, I grabbed a bag of crisps and some salsa
and we headed up to my room. Within a few minutes we
were back in our all-too familiar positions – me propped up
against the headboard with some pillows, Sal sitting
opposite me cross-legged, food in the middle.
‘So … have you seen your favourite would-be stalker
recently?’
Sal looked up a little too quickly. ‘I take it you mean
Devon? Nah, haven’t seen him since … Haven’t seen him
for ages.’
I was sceptical. ‘Really? What kind of rubbish stalker is
he if he can’t even follow you around properly? He’ll have to
give his night-vision goggles back at stalker school.’ Sal
ignored my pathetic attempt at humour, and I felt a twinge of
guilt about taking the piss out of Devon.
Sal munched on a crisp before casually asking me if I’d
seen him. I thought for a split second that maybe Devon
had managed to do a bit more than stalk Sal after all. And
then my thoughts speedily bounced back to little old me, as
per usual. I’d kind of wanted to keep the stuff about me and
Nat to myself until I was feeling one hundred per cent about
Sal. But I was up to a good seventy-five, and the comforting
familiarity of the circumstances was hard to ignore.
I traced a finger over the pattern of the duvet cover,
suddenly all coy. Not like me at all. But somehow this was
different.
I cleared my throat and avoided eye contact. ‘Er … I have
seen him actually. I’m sort of … well, I’m seeing his brother.’
I looked up shyly to see Sal’s reaction. Not the one of
complete gleeful surprise I was hoping for. More like a
head-nodding ‘Huh, interesting’ sort of look. Disappointing.
‘Really?’ That was the best she could do. I tried not to
show that I cared.
‘Yeah. You didn’t tell me Devon had such a fit brother!
Wanted to keep him all to yourself, did you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I …’
‘Sal, I was joking!’ Neither of us was laughing.
Then Sal said, ‘I’m really happy for you. Tell me
EVERYTHING.’ I looked at her, trying to gauge her actual
interest level, but it was hard to fault her. Her eyes were
bright and her grin was firmly back in place.
‘Well,’ I started, with fake reluctance, ‘he’s just … great.
I’ve only been seeing him a few weeks, but it feels, I don’t
know, different. There’s something about him. I think I could
fall in love with him.’ I paused. ‘In fact, I think I already have.’
I could not believe I’d just said that. But the words sounded
right.
Sal looked at me disbelievingly. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
‘Er … no. Why is it so hard to believe?’
‘It’s not. I suppose it just doesn’t sound like you. Don’t get
me wrong, I think it’s great. I just thought you didn’t buy into
all that love stuff.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ve changed. He really is different,
you know. Those other boys were, well, they were losers,
weren’t they? Nat makes me feel like I’m worth something. I
didn’t think I’d meet someone like that. Part of me thinks
that he’s going to realize what I’m really like and run a mile.’
‘You deserve this, Grace – someone to treat you
properly.’
‘Whether I deserve him or not, I’m hanging on to him for
dear life!’ We both laughed. ‘I can’t wait for you to meet
him. You’re gonna love him – though not too much, I hope!
The three of us should go out one night. It’ll be great. God, I
hope you do like him. I’m sure you will. And he’ll definitely
like you. You’ve got loads in common. Jesus, I’m wittering,
aren’t I? Just tell me to shut up.’
Sal smiled, happy to indulge me. ‘You don’t have to shut
up! So what is it that makes this one so special?’
‘I suppose it would be too lame to say “EVERYTHING”?’
‘Yes, that is definitely too lame!’
I sat back and thought a little. ‘He makes me feel giddy.
He’s incredibly hot, but I don’t just want to have sex with him
– I want to be his friend. I want to talk to him and find out
what he thinks about things. And it feels like he sees
something different in me … Maybe I’m not explaining it
very well. He makes me feel good about myself. And I feel
safe when I’m with him.’ I looked up at Sal, certain she was
going to chuck a pillow at my head for being so cheesy, but
she had a faraway, wistful look in her eyes. I suddenly
realized that maybe this was the last thing she wanted to be
talking about right now.
‘Sorry, Sal. I’m going to shut up now. Enough Nat chat!
Let’s talk about something else.’
Sal refocused her eyes on mine and smiled. ‘I don’t have
much to say, I’m afraid.’
I saw the opportunity to say something I felt needed to be
said. ‘I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but I
just want you to know something. If you do want to tell me
what happened and who you slept with, I’m here to listen. I
won’t judge you, or think any less of you, no matter what you
say. You’re my best friend and I love you. You can tell me
anything.’
There was a bit of an awkward silence before Sal said,
‘Thank you. That means a lot. I just need you to understand
that I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Fair enough.’ I shrugged, hiding my frustration fairly well.
I’d sort of hoped that Sal would open up after I’d bared my
soul about Nat. Except it wasn’t really the same thing, was
it?
I wish I knew what time it is. I’m exhausted. Today has been
dullsville. Ethan eventually appeared with my breakfast. He
asked if I was hungry and seemed to be genuinely sorry
when I said that I was starving (slight exaggeration, but my
stomach was making some rather fetching gurgling noises).
After my breakfast had settled, I ramped up the exercise
a bit. Two hundred sit-ups, some random stretches and
running for (I guess) thirty minutes. It felt good. No wonder
I’m so knackered though.
There’s not much more to tell about the Great Sal and
Grace Reunion. After a couple more hours of inane chatter,
and A LOT more of me mooning about Nat (despite my
best intentions not to), Sal and I fell asleep. I woke up the
next morning sprawled diagonally across the bed, still in my
clothes. Sal was curled up at the bottom of the bed, her hair
covering her face.
I sat up and reached for the glass of water I always keep
by my bed, but my coordination was clearly a bit off and I
ended up side-swiping the glass onto the floor. I swore
loudly, and Sal woke up. She stretched, groaned a little and
turned to give me a sleepy smile. In that moment, I’d have
bet money that we were thinking the same thing. Something
along the lines of: ‘Maybe things can get back to normal
after all.’
Or perhaps that was just me.
day 20
Funny dream last night. I was in the bathroom, brushing my
teeth. I bent down to rinse out my mouth, and when I
straightened up and looked in the mirror, I saw Ethan
instead of me. I looked down at myself, to confirm that I was
in fact me. And I was. But when I looked at my reflection
again, there he was, looking back at me in puzzlement. I
reached out to touch the mirror, and the Ethan-in-the-mirror
did the same. I touched my finger to my lip, and he traced
his finger down his silvery scar. I wasn’t entirely freaked out.
Some part of my mind just accepted it, and I carried on
washing my face, brushing my hair, looking in the mirror
pretty much the whole time. Mirror Ethan was wearing jeans
and a green shirt that I felt I’d seen him in before. I was
sorely tempted to take off my pyjamas, just to see if Mirror
Ethan would do the same. But it didn’t seem the right thing
to do.
I turned to leave the bathroom, and then quickly spun
back round to face the mirror. I didn’t know what I was
expecting to see, but it was still Ethan, looking like I felt – a
little bit stupid and shifty. When I came back into the
bedroom, Ethan was asleep in the bed, wearing my
pyjamas. I leaned over him and listened to him breathe. His
breathing was laboured. Suddenly he opened his eyes,
scaring the life out of me. He whispered, ‘Wake up,
sleepyhead,’ and reached for my hand.
And then I woke up. I felt a bit strange. Almost peaceful.
Serene and accepting. The dream only came back to me
later, after Ethan had been here. Before then, I’d just felt like
I’d had a really good night’s sleep and I was somehow
ready to tackle the day ahead, whatever it might bring.
Even though I knew full well it would only bring three square
meals, an enigmatic kidnapper and not a whole lot else.
When Ethan came in after lunch I was sitting at the table
staring into space, trailing my fork back and forth across
the plate. He perched on the edge of the bed, which was
starting to become a regular occurrence. He said nothing,
merely tucked his hands under his thighs as if to keep them
warm, and then looked at me expectantly. I did have
something on my mind.
‘How do you know what foods I like?’
Ethan said nothing.
‘Seriously, how come everything you’ve cooked for me or
brought me is something I like?’
He shrugged.
‘I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful or
anything, cos I am. I just think it’s kind of weird. You’d think
that you’d have got it wrong once or twice. But there hasn’t
been any fish, or broccoli, or nuts, or Brussels sprouts for
that matter …’
‘Grace, no one likes Brussels sprouts.’
‘Huh. Good point, but still, you know what I mean.’
‘What do you want me to say? That I’ve been secretly
spying on you for months, carefully noting down all your food
preferences? Would that make you feel better?’ He was
mocking me and I didn’t like it.
‘No, I just want you to tell me the truth. And it would be
nice if you tried not to be too sarcastic while you’re doing
it.’
‘We like the same things, Grace. Haven’t you noticed?’
‘Er … no. I haven’t.’ I sighed. ‘Whatever. It doesn’t matter
anyway, does it? None of it matters.’
‘Don’t be like that. It all matters. All of it. When are you
going to see that?’
Now I was getting really quite annoyed. Yes, enigmatic
can be sexy, but it can also just be plain irritating.
‘Do you mind leaving? I’ve got stuff I want to do.’
‘If you say so, Grace.’ He didn’t seem to mind my
rudeness. Just gathered up my dishes and left without
another word.
After Ethan left, I thought about our conversation. There’s
something I’ve noticed about the way he talks. He says my
name A LOT. I think it’s a little strange. I mean, it’s normal
to say someone’s name a bit, but saying it over and over
again is kind of creepy. I wonder why he does it, or if he
even realizes he’s doing it. I have this vague idea that
maybe he’s trying to remind me who I am. In case I forget in
this weird room of whiteness.
Dad used to say my name a lot too. I think he liked the
way it sounded. Sometimes he called me Gracie-bear. It
made me cringe, but I let him get away with it, cos it was
just Dad being Dad. I think he stopped calling me that
just Dad being Dad. I think he stopped calling me that
about the same time I went to secondary school. I didn’t
notice or anything. I suppose he must have just phased it
out – a small concession to the fact that his little girl was
growing up. I’d give anything to hear him say it one more
time. Or to hear him say anything. Or just to see him, sitting
in his shabby old leather chair, frowning at the crossword.
I’d give anything.
day 21
Yesterday was pretty much a write-off once I got all maudlin.
I cried and cried and cried. Ethan came in at one point. At
least I think he did. It was all pretty blurry and hazy, but I
think he sat with his hand resting on my shoulder while I lay
sobbing on the bed. Or was that a dream? I can’t
remember. Hmm. Losing touch with reality = not good.
I saw Nat a couple of days after me and Sal made up. I’d
never even mentioned Sal to him before, which was a little
bit weird, granted. But it was too messy to explain, and it
didn’t exactly show me in the best light. And I definitely
wanted him to see me in the best light (all soft focus and
angelic … but not too angelic).
I hadn’t called or texted him after the thing with Devon.
The ball was well and truly in his court this time. The waiting
was agony. I’m not exactly the most patient person in the
world. I prefer to go out and get things, rather than waiting
for them to come to me. Plus, I’m never completely
convinced that things are going to come to me anyway, so I
like to make sure. But this time I was determined to wait. It
was such a relief when he texted. I guessed that he and
Devon must have sorted things out.
We agreed to meet in a pub in town after his shift. The
pub was quiet when I arrived. Nat was sitting in the far
corner, a pint in front of him, staring intently at the phone in
his hand. His right leg was jiggling up and down under the
table, and he was wearing the trainers he’d worn the night
we met. They’d lost their shiny white newness. He looked
good.
I walked over and touched his shoulder. He jumped a
little, before jamming the phone in his pocket and standing
to kiss me. His mouth tasted beery, but in a nice way. It had
only been a few days, but I had missed kissing him. He got
me a drink from the bar without me asking.
I took a sip. ‘Is this a double? Are you trying to get me
drunk, mister?’
He wiggled his eyebrows at me. ‘Why? Would that be a
problem?’
‘As long as you make sure to take advantage of me later,
I’m fine with it.’ I leaned across the table and kissed him
again. ‘So, what was so fascinating on your phone? It had
better not be naked pictures of some other girl. Or naked
pictures of some boy, for that matter.’ I mock-grimaced at
the thought.
‘Maybe it was naked pictures of you.’
‘You don’t have any! And don’t try and say you took one
while I was asleep, cos I know you’d do nothing of the sort.
You’re too much of a gentleman.’
‘That’s what you think … Nah, it was just a text. Nothing
important.’
I was curious about the mystery text, but I didn’t want to
come over all psychojealousgirlfriendy, so I let it go. Nat told
me what he’d been up to the last couple of days, while I
listened, intertwining my fingers with his and generally
gazing at him adoringly. Urgh. I HATE girls like that.
After a couple more drinks and a rather heated debate
about the merits of various universities compared to others,
I told him about Sal. I was so excited about them meeting
each other.
‘Oh yeah, Devon mentioned some girl you were mates
with.’ Nat didn’t seem all that interested, which kind of hurt a
little bit. But I suppose it was fair enough. He wasn’t to
know, was he?
‘She’s not “some girl”, she’s my best friend. We sort of
fell out for a bit. It was just before I met you actually. Anyway,
it was stupid, and everything’s totally cool now.’
‘Why didn’t you mention her before?’ Nat was looking at
his pint glass, slowly turning it in his hand.
‘I dunno. Didn’t see the point, I suppose. I didn’t think Sal
and I would ever be friends again and … I felt a bit stupid
and sad about it all. And I didn’t want it to put a downer on
how things were going with us.’
‘You could have talked to me about it, you know.’
‘I’m sorry. I should have, but let’s just forget about it. Sal’s
dying to meet you, so we’ll have to sort something out soon.
You’re going to love her!’
‘Sounds cool. I’m going to get more drinks in.’
While Nat was at the bar, I went through the conversation
in my mind. So, he was a bit annoyed with me for not telling
him. And he didn’t exactly seem wild about the prospect of
meeting Sal. But he was a boy, and boys just don’t get
excited about the same things we do. I was sure he’d be
fine about it soon.
A bit later, Nat asked me why I’d fallen out with Sal.
Maybe he was interested after all. I had no intention of
telling him the truth – Sal wouldn’t have thanked me for that.
I didn’t exactly feel happy about lying to him, but sometimes
honesty isn’t the best policy.
‘It was stupid really. Just some ridiculous argument that
snowballed out of control. And we were both too stubborn
to apologize.’
Nat looked sceptical. ‘So it wasn’t even serious?’
‘Nah, not really. It seemed that way at the time, but it’s all
in the past now.’
‘Man, girls are weird.’
I smiled. ‘Hey! Watch what you’re saying!’ I punched him
gently on the shoulder. ‘Haven’t you ever fallen out with any
of your mates?’
‘Yeah, I suppose. Sorry.’ He looked thoughtful.
‘Hey, it’s all right.’
‘Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking …’
‘What?’
He shook his head slightly and said, ‘Nah, it doesn’t
matter.’ He picked up his pint and took a few gulps, then
reached across the table and squeezed my hand. He gave
me that look. ‘Listen, let’s get out of here. There’s no one
home at mine.’
‘Thank God for that, cos my mum’s actually in for once.
And although I’m sure she’d LOVE to meet you, I don’t think
tonight is the night … considering what I’ve got in mind for
you.’ I leaned across the table and brushed my lips against
Nat’s ear, whispering the filthiest thing I could think of. It had
the desired effect. I barely had time to grab my bag before
he dragged me out of the pub.
Nat flagged down a taxi and we clambered into the back
seat. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Managed
to refrain from taking things too far, but it took more than a
little bit of willpower. Plus, I wasn’t keen on the looks I was
getting from the taxi driver in the rear-view mirror. The
thought that he was getting a free show was kind of
distracting. I pulled away from Nat and looked into his eyes.
Beautiful. And he wanted me. He really, really wanted me.
In that moment, I felt so lucky. And, in a weird way, sort of
powerful. He was lost in his lust. It felt like I could have got
him to do anything I wanted. Luckily for Nat, all I wanted him
to do was me.
The sex was unbelievable. Nat was different – he was
definitely the one in control this time. Made a nice change.
Afterwards I lay beside him, my body pressed against his
side, my left leg comfortably nestled between his legs.
I was happy.
This is getting harder. I want to put down the pen and tear
up all this paper into tiny little pieces, throw them in the air
and let them fall like snow. I could turn this room into one of
those tacky snow globe things. A snow globe for a giant.
Let the bath run and fill the room to the ceiling with water. I
would drown, but that might be nice.
day 22
Ethan’s here. Every time I look up, he’s there, staring into
space. He came in to take away my lunch stuff and then
returned a couple of minutes later, just as I sat down to
write. He seemed a little jumpy. I looked up at him
expectantly. ‘Hi, again.’
‘Hello, Grace.’
I waited for him to say something, but he seemed
reluctant to do so. I sat with pen poised, and he stood with
his back against the door.
‘Do you need anything?’ I wanted him to say something –
it was getting a little bit weird.
‘No. I … would you mind if I stayed for a while? I won’t
disturb you.’
I hesitated, and Ethan continued, ‘I just want to be here.’
Now this was interesting. I didn’t really know what to say,
so I just nodded dumbly. He said a barely audible ‘Thank
you’ and settled himself on the floor in the corner nearest
the door.
And so here we are, sitting in a sort of companionable
silence. Ethan has his back to the wall, with his legs drawn
up in front of him and his arms wrapped around them. His
chin is resting on his knees. He looks like a little boy – a
lost little boy. His feet are bare, his toes just peeking out
from the bottom of his frayed jeans. Every so often he
absentmindedly rubs his right wrist with his left hand, before
going back to hugging his knees to his chest.
I wonder if I should say something, or go to him.
I won’t.
I can’t.
Sal and I got our exam results. Even with all that craziness
going on, Sal had managed to blitz them. I did too. Neither
of us was surprised – maybe just a tiny bit relieved, but that
was all.
I saw Sophie in the school hall. She was talking to
Devon. I had no idea that those two knew each other, but it
was hardly surprising. Not to be mean or anything, but they
were both sort of geeks. And I mean that in the nicest
possible way. I tried to catch Sophie’s eye, but she was too
busy leaning close to Devon, looking at the piece of paper
in his hand. Those two certainly had nothing to worry about
when it came to exams.
Tanya was holding court in a corner with her usual
cronies. She saw me and waved me over. ‘Grace! You and
Sal fancy coming to mine tonight? My folks are in Barbados
and the house is practically begging me to have a party in
it!’ A couple of years ago I’d have jumped at the offer. But
not any more. It’s weird how things change.
‘Nah, can’t. Sorry, Tan. Got plans.’ Which don’t involve
shagging some stranger in your parents’ bedroom.
‘God, G. You’re so BORING! You never come out and
play these days.’ She pouted for a moment and then
laughed. ‘Whatever. Congrats on your results, anyway.
Hear you aced them.’ I stayed and chatted for a minute or
two before heading back to Sal. The idea of going to
Tanya’s party appealed to her about as much as it did to
me. When we got outside, I texted Nat to tell him my results. I
kind of wanted to impress him. He was studying medicine,
after all. The boy had probably never had so much as a B in
his entire educational career. Mind you, me neither (well, I’d
had two, but who’s counting?).
We went back to Sal’s for lunch. It was cool to see her
parents and little brother again. Sal’s family always seems
so normal. It was nice to be a part of that for a while. They
didn’t question the fact that they hadn’t seen me for a
couple of months, which was a relief. God knows what Sal
had told them. It must have been awful for her, trying to hide
what she was going through. I don’t know how she did it. It’s
easy enough for me, with a mother who’s nowhere to be
found more often than not. I could probably have given birth
to triplets and raised them at home without my mum
noticing. But with two parents who actually care? And a
nosey little brother too. That was seriously impressive.
Sal’s parents were dead pleased with her results, and
seemed almost as happy about mine, which was sweet of
them. They even cracked open a bottle of champagne in
our honour. I made a mental note to call home later and tell
our honour. I made a mental note to call home later and tell
Mum how I’d done. Of course, I’d probably have to remind
her that I’d taken some exams first. Sal and I went up to her
room to polish off the champagne and get ready. The plan
was to have a proper night out – our first since the Badness
had all kicked off. I was looking forward to it.
When Sal was finished getting ready I eyed her up
approvingly. She looked hot, no question. I felt a twinge of
jealousy, but no more than that. This was Sal’s night. I was
determined that she was going to forget about everything
that had happened. And not just cos I was intending on
getting her blind drunk. Don’t get me wrong – I was fully
intending to get her blind drunk, but the purpose of the
evening was to have a laugh. And if Sal happened to get a
cheeky snog from a fit boy or two, then all the better.
‘Jesus, Sal, you look amazing!’
She looked all coy. ‘You think?’
‘Oh yes. You’re going to be in trouble tonight.’
‘What do you mean?’
I laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried! I mean, you are going
to be getting A LOT of attention … particularly wearing that
top …’ She had major cleavage going on.
Sal hurried over to the mirror behind her bedroom door
and quickly examined herself from every possible angle.
‘Do you think it’s a bit much?’
‘If anything, I’d say it’s not enough!’
‘I’m going to change it.’ She started to pull the top up
over her head. I jumped up from the bed and pulled it right
down again.
‘Don’t you dare! You look wicked. Right, we’re going.
Come on, get your coat, love, you’ve pulled.’ I winked at
her, and she looked at me sceptically, before reluctantly
straightening her top and taking one last look in the mirror.
‘Grace, I’m not on the pull tonight, you know.’
‘Yeah, but you never know, Prince Charming might be
just around the corner, or more likely propping up the bar.
Never say never …’
‘It’s too soon, OK? I’m not ready for anything. You do
understand that, don’t you? Please tell me you do,
otherwise we might as well stay in.’
I sighed. ‘Yeah, I understand. That’s totally cool. You just
let me know when you are ready though, cos I am going to
find you an amazing boy. I can’t promise he’ll be as
amazing as my one, but I’ll see what I can do!’
Sal was looking too thoughtful so I dragged her out the
door, hoping to leave whatever bad thoughts she was
having far behind us. We said a hurried goodbye to Sal’s
family. Her dad wolf-whistled at us in that classic
embarrassing dad way. Sal rolled her eyes at me, and we
both laughed.
On the bus into town, I felt my phone vibrate in my bag. It
was a text from Nat: ‘Hey, you! Big congrats, clever girl.
Want to meet up and celebrate? x’
Sal was busy staring out the window as I considered how
to respond. Tonight was supposed to be a girls’ night. It
was about me and Sal. Hmm. But maybe later on we
could hook up with Nat … Sal won’t mind, will she? She
was dying to meet him. Well, I thought she was – I suppose
was dying to meet him. Well, I thought she was – I suppose
I’d kind of just assumed. I texted back: ‘Thanks! Am tied up
at the mo, but let’s meet at Bar Code at 9ish? xxx’
I felt a brief pang of worry before I hit send, but I did it
anyway. I checked my watch. It was coming up for six
o’clock now. Plenty of time for me and Sal to hang out
before he arrived. Seemed like the perfect opportunity for
them to meet. It was a much better idea than a proper, preplanned
thing. Spontaneity rules, right?
I decided not to tell Sal that Nat was coming later. I didn’t
want her to be pissed off that I was spoiling the whole ‘girls’
night’ thing. I’d probably tell her after we’d had a few drinks.
Or maybe I’d let it be a surprise. I wasn’t exactly sure why I
hadn’t told Nat I was out with Sal. Perhaps I didn’t want him
stressing about having to impress my best friend. And
maybe I was just curious to see their genuine reactions to
meeting the other. And what better way to get a genuine
reaction than to spring a surprise on them? I silently
congratulated myself on my cunning plan. What could
possibly go wrong?
I forgot Ethan was here, he’s been so quiet. But now he’s
humming softly to himself. I’ve heard that song somewhere
before, I’m sure of it. What the hell is it? It’s driving me
crazy.
I asked Ethan. He looked up me, sort of dazed, as if I’d
woken him from a dream. I had to repeat my question.
‘What song?’
‘Er … the one you’ve been humming for ages.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well? What is it? You must know.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I didn’t even realize I was
doing it. Sorry. Was it bothering you?’
‘No, not really. It just sounded really familiar.’
‘I wonder where you’ve heard it?’
‘Well, you’re the one who was humming it! It’d help if you
could remember.’ I was frustrated. I don’t know why; it was
just a stupid song. Why did it suddenly feel so important?
‘I’m sorry, Grace.’
I sighed. ‘Fuck it. Who cares anyway? It doesn’t matter.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ethan was suddenly looking all intense.
‘It’s only a song. How could it possibly be important?’
‘Everything’s important, even the little things. And
sometimes they’re the most important things of all.’
He got up and gave me one last meaningful look (well it
would have been meaningful if I’d had a clue what he’d
been on about) before he left the room.
That was about twenty minutes ago, and that stupid tune
is still whirling round my head.
I want it to stop.
Another dream.
I was lying on my bed in my old house, flicking through
the pages of a magazine. I vaguely heard Mum yelling that
dinner was on the table. I ignored her for a couple of
minutes, carried on reading. Then I heard Dad pipe up,
‘Dinner time, Grace!’ I knew I had to go downstairs, but I
didn’t want to. If only I could stay in my room, everything
would be OK. Another minute or so went by and Dad
popped his head round my bedroom door. ‘Gracie, if you’re
not at the table in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to start
eating your roast potatoes. And then I’m going to start on
the Yorkshire puds too …’ I looked up from my magazine,
smiled and said, ‘No way! I’ll race you downstairs!’ Dad
said, ‘You’re on!’ and disappeared from view.
Just as I was about to jump up from the bed, I took one
last glance at my magazine. Except it wasn’t a magazine
any more. It was a copy of the local newspaper. There was
a picture of Dad on the front page. I tried to read the
headline, but it didn’t make any sense. All the words on the
page were just wiggly lines. They writhed like worms. I
panicked. Why couldn’t I read it? I knew how to read.
Maybe if I put my glasses on? There was a pair of glasses
on the bedside table, but I didn’t wear glasses, so that was
weird. I picked them up. They were Dad’s reading glasses,
but I put them on anyway. One of the lenses was cracked. I
looked around my room, and everything was cracked and
broken and ruined. I was going to be sick.
I woke up curled into a little ball against the wall, my skin
slick with sweat. I only just made it into the bathroom before
the contents of my stomach rose up through my throat. I
coughed and spluttered and choked. Tears rolled down my
cheeks and I lay shivering on the bathroom floor. The
dream had seemed so, so real. Dad was there, alive and
laughing, his eyes all crinkly at the edges from smiling.
There was a dull ache in my chest. I swear my heart felt
bruised or something. I lay my head against the cool
ceramic tiles. I could hear the blood rushing round my brain,
feel my pulse racing like mad, feel my stomach convulse
again. I wondered if I was going to die. And then I must
have passed out.
Next thing I knew, I could hear Ethan’s voice calling my
name, faintly, as if he was at the other end of a long tunnel. I
couldn’t speak at first. Then his voice got closer and closer
and closer, and I opened my eyes to see him peering down
at me. There was a blinding light all around him. It hurt my
eyes, so I shut them tight again. I could feel Ethan’s hand
against my cheek. It felt soft and warm and comforting. I
tried opening my eyes again and this time it was better,
darker. He helped me prop myself up against the sink
cabinet. I looked down at myself. There was vomit down my
vest and all over the floor. I could feel it on my chin and taste
it in my mouth.
I was vaguely aware of Ethan wiping my mouth with a wet
towel, then pulling my vest over my head, all the while telling
me that I was going to be OK. He helped me over to the
bed and undressed me. I felt too dazed and sick and
strange to feel even a little bit embarrassed. I got under the
covers and Ethan pulled the chair over to the bed and sat
down. I stared at the ceiling and started to cry. The tears
trickled down the sides of my face, tickling my ears and
wetting my hair. He held my hand.
After a while, Ethan said, ‘Do you want to tell me about it,
Grace?’
‘I don’t know what’s happening to me. These dreams –
there’s something about them. I feel … I don’t know … I feel
as if I’m on the edge of something.’
‘What do you mean?’
I sat up, swiped at my teary face and cocooned myself in
the duvet, before continuing: ‘I wish I could explain it better. I
feel like I don’t know what’s real any more. All I have is this
room, and you. And that’s all that makes sense to me.
Being here seems right somehow, but how can it be? I
should be doing my homework or going out with friends –
that’s “normal”. But that all seems so far away that I almost
can’t believe my life used to be like that. And I sit here, day
after day, writing and writing and writing about it. But what’s
the point? Why am I even bothering?’ I laughed a short,
hollow laugh.
Ethan leaned forward in his chair. ‘Grace, what did you
mean just then, when you said you felt you were on the
edge of something?’ He spoke deliberately, as if he was
taking great care to choose the perfect words.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t mean anything.’
He looked disappointed.
‘You have to try harder, Grace. Just be honest with me.
That’s all I ask.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I am being honest. I don’t
know what you want me to say.’
‘You’re so close.’
‘OK, now you’re freaking me out a bit. Tell me what this is
all about. Why am I here?’
Ethan shook his head slowly. He got up from the chair
and pushed it back under the table. I felt like I’d failed in
some way.
As he headed to the door, I said, ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t
be angry with me.’ The words sounded pathetic and whiny,
and I wasn’t quite sure why I’d said them.
Ethan turned to me. ‘I’m not angry with you, Grace. But I
just wish you could be honest – if not with me, at least with
yourself. What is it that you feel you’re on the edge of?’
And before I’d even thought about it, the answer was out
of my mouth:
‘The truth.’
So that was a little bit weird. It was obviously the right thing
to say, because Ethan smiled and nodded before he left
the room. And even if he hadn’t, I knew it was the right
answer.
I hope he comes back later. I think I miss him a bit.
Talking to him makes me feel strange though – it’s not like
a normal conversation. Sometimes I feel it’s about as much
use as talking to myself.
One thought keeps bouncing off the edges of my brain
like a pinball: the truth about what?
THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT?!
I never was any good at pinball.
day 23
Ethan didn’t come back. And I’d been so sure he would. I
had a rubbish sleep: too many dreams and nightmares and
little snippets of things that didn’t make any sense. And
throughout it all, threading together the scenes of
weirdness, was that bloody song that Ethan was humming
yesterday.
I’ve tried humming it myself, but it doesn’t sound right.
Mum always said I was tone deaf. Of course she has a
beautiful voice. She used to sing to me when I was young.
Like if I’d just woken up from a nightmare, she’d come and
sit beside me on my bed, stroking my hair and singing
softly. Her voice was like honey, maybe mixed with a little
alcohol or something; it never failed to soothe me and
make me sleepy again.
And then one day the singing stopped.
When Sal and I arrived at Bar Code, it was already starting
to fill up. There didn’t seem to be anyone from our school
though. The popular lot would be at Tanya’s by now, and the
rest were probably at the lame pub round the corner from
school. We managed to snag a booth in a quiet corner –
the same one Sophie and I had sat in. Sal offered to get the
first round in, and I watched as she headed to the bar. Two
blokes standing there immediately started nudging each
other and glancing in her direction. She was utterly
oblivious, completely focused on the (admittedly very
important) task at hand. While the barman was getting our
drinks, one of the guys moved closer to Sal. His mate
gulped from his pint glass, trying his best not to look. I could
see Bloke Number One’s lips move as he spoke to Sal.
He was quite cute, in an obvious kind of way. A bit cocky,
and wearing one of those ridiculous ‘distressed’ T-shirts.
Fifty quid for a piece of crap covered in paint splatters and
tiny little holes? Bargain. His jeans were just as selfconsciously
worn and ragged, but the look didn’t extend to
the shoes. They were black and shiny and a bit pointy. All in
all, not the best look in the world. I knew Sal would feel the
same way. She didn’t even turn to face him when he spoke
to her. She must have said something though, cos the guy
kept talking to her, leaning further forward on the bar, trying
his best to get some eye contact. Sal glanced at him briefly,
before resuming her intense stare at the barman’s back.
When she eventually got the drinks, Sal left the bar without
a backwards glance, leaving the poor guy staring after her.
He shrugged his shoulders as casually as he could and
then turned back to his mate, who was shaking his head
and grinning widely.
‘So what did he say then?’ I smiled at Sal as she put the
drinks on the table, careful not to spill a single precious
drop.
Sal looked confused. ‘What did who say?’
‘Er … duh! Mr Smooth at the bar. I was watching.’
She sat down and took a big swig of her drink. ‘Him?
Nothing much – you know.’
‘He was trying it on though, wasn’t he? Did you check out
the shoes on him? Still, he was quite fit though.’
‘You think?’ She turned back to the bar, where the two
guys were laughing. Distressed Boy didn’t look too
distressed after his knock-back.
‘Yeah. Nice body, pretty decent face, shame about the
clothes, but I’m sure you could have had them off in a matter
of minutes …’
‘Grace!’ Sal pretended to be horrified.
‘I’m just saying! You could probably have any boy in here,
if you wanted. And I’m sure at least some of them have to
have decent taste in footwear.’
We both laughed.
‘So what do you say then? Want to try any of them on for
size?’
Sal shot me a look that said ‘Don’t go there’, but I
decided to go there anyway.
‘You’re allowed to have a bit of fun, you know? And I
know that you’ve been through a lot, but maybe this is just
what you need. A bit of fun with a nice, or even not-so-nice,
boy. It’s good for the ego. You don’t have to sleep with
anyone … just enjoy yourself.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got Nat.’ I couldn’t
read Sal’s expression. I wasn’t sure if she was getting
annoyed or if it was OK to carry on down this path.
‘I’d have said the same thing before he came along, and
you know it.’ I reached out and grasped Sal’s hand
between mine. ‘Look, all I’m trying to say is, you don’t have
to take this boy malarkey too seriously. You’ve had one
terrible experience, and I don’t know what happened there
… Did I mention that I’d quite like to know?’ I shot her a
cheeky glance to show I was only joking. ‘But things don’t
have to be like that. If you want to kiss a random stranger,
then just go and kiss a random stranger. He doesn’t have to
be The One, or even anything remotely close to The One.
Just do whatever you feel like doing. Don’t let what
happened ruin things for you. It’s in the past.’
Sal said nothing.
‘Er … lecture over. Sorry. I just want you to be happy. You
know that, don’t you?’
Sal sighed. ‘I know you do, and I appreciate it. I wish it
was that simple. We can’t always get what we want though
– life isn’t like that.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I dunno. Turning back time would be a good place to
start.’ Sal smirked.
‘I’ll drink to that!’ And so we did. I was relieved. I hadn’t
meant for things to get so serious – and on our first drink as
well!
A couple more drinks down the line and we were having
a grand old time, laughing and bitching and generally
reassuring ourselves that things were back to normal
between us. It was lovely to see Sal looking happy and
normal after everything that had happened. She was
halfway through telling me some story about a teacher at
her old school with a penchant for getting it on with sixthform
boys when I did something inexplicable. I suppose it
had been bugging me for a long time. Still, I don’t know why
it popped into my head right then, when everything was
going so well. But it did, and it went straight from brain to
mouth in less than a millisecond.
‘Sal, did someone … did someone rape you?’ And then
there was silence between us. The bar and everyone in it
disappeared. There was only Sal and me left. I wanted the
earth to open up and swallow me for my complete and utter
lack of anything approaching tact. I didn’t say anything.
Neither did Sal. She just looked at me, eyes slightly
narrowed. She didn’t look all that shocked, or even mildly
surprised. If anything, I was the shocked one – still shocked
after seventeen years at my capacity to ruin everything just
by opening my mouth.
Sal was the first to speak, after taking a tiny sip from her
drink. ‘Why?’
I shook my head.
‘Why would you ask me that? Why now?’ Her voice was
calm, unreadable.
‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’
‘Why would you think that … that had happened to me?’
She couldn’t even say the word that had spilled so readily
from my mouth.
‘I don’t think that.’ I paused, frantically trying to work out
exactly what it was that I wanted to say, and not wanting to
make a bad situation any worse. ‘I suppose I’ve just been
trying to understand what happened. I want to understand –
no, that’s not quite right – I feel like I need to understand.
Maybe it all boils down to the fact that I just can’t imagine
you going out and shagging some random.’
Sal shook her head.
A barmaid appeared out of nowhere, cleared our
empties and wiped the table. She seemed to take ages,
making sure every last inch was sparkly clean. When she
finally left, Sal said, ‘What does it mean anyway?’
I was confused. ‘What does what mean?’
‘Rape.’
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. ‘What?’
‘I just mean that sometimes things aren’t that simple. It’s
not all black and white.’
‘Er … yeah, it is! Why would you say something like that?
Just tell me what happened. I can help you. If someone did
… rape you, we can go to the police. It’s not too late. You
can get counselling or something.’
Sal was shaking her head and I was beginning to get
annoyed. ‘Stop that! Come on, Sal, tell me.’ She shook her
head even harder, like she was trying to shake thoughts
right out of her brain.
‘No, it was nothing like that. I don’t know why I even said
that. I was just being stupid. Right, my round.’ There was a
fake brightness in her voice and a slightly manic look in her
eyes.
‘Sal, wait …’
‘No. There’s nothing more to say. No one did … that to
me. You know, maybe we’re more similar than you think.’
Before I could reply, she’d scarpered off to the bar.
The lads from before were still there, and Sal went right
up and elbowed her way in between them, sandwiching
herself into the non-existent space. Not that the boys
seemed to mind, of course. I watched as she laughed and
joked with them, touching Distressed Boy on the arm to
emphasize what she was saying. He clearly couldn’t
believe his luck, raising his eyebrows at his mate behind
Sal’s back. His hand moved down to her bum and stayed
there. Sal didn’t even flinch. When the barman handed her
our drinks, Distressed Boy couldn’t get his wallet out fast
enough, brandishing a tenner with a flourish. Loser. Sal
made a move to leave the bar, and this time Distressed
Boy really did look distressed … well a bit put out at least.
Sal put the drinks back on the bar and grabbed him by his
T-shirt, pulling him towards her almost violently. And then
she proceeded to snog him as if her life depended on it.
She was properly going for it – it was quite a sight.
Distressed Boy’s mate looked over at me hopefully, but I
just shook my head and looked away.
It was so obvious that the whole show was for my benefit.
What is she playing at? Trying to prove she’s just like
me? We both know that’s not true. She could get off with
every bloke in the bar (and even the girls … why not?), but I
still wouldn’t believe it. What the fuck had happened to her?
I was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it.
Sal came and sat down, looking like the cat that got the
Sal came and sat down, looking like the cat that got the
cream. Not that the cat had even wanted the cream in the
first place; the cat had been trying to prove a point, in a
painfully obvious way.
‘Nice show you put on there.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sal replied airily,
with a look of mock innocence. That really pissed me off,
but I held my tongue. After all, she’d been doing exactly
what I’d advised, hadn’t she? So I should have no
complaints. Still, our previous conversation had left me with
a nasty, niggling feeling that I just had to bury. For now,
anyway.
‘So, you gonna get his number then?’
‘His? No chance. His technique needs a bit of work.’
I snorted into my drink. ‘Really? It didn’t look like you had
any complaints.’
‘Well, he did pay for our drinks, didn’t he? I thought he
deserved a little reward.’
‘Yeah, Sal, you’re all heart.’ We giggled and chinked our
glasses together, downing the contents. I wasn’t buying her
new attitude AT ALL, but it did no harm to play along.
Anything for a quiet life.
A little later, I noticed the bar had filled up considerably. I
checked the time – Nat was late. While Sal was in the toilet,
I texted him: ‘Babe, where R U? Getting busy here. In booth
behind bar – far right. x’. I thought I might as well make it
easy for the poor boy. He had no idea he was walking
straight into The Best Friend Test (fail it at your peril).
When Sal returned, I headed to the toilet. I wanted to be
back in the bar by the time Nat arrived. Hmm. What is it
they say about the best-laid plans? I took time to make sure
my make-up was OK, hair was passable, etc., and then
somehow got embroiled in conversation with a wasted girl
about whether she should break up with her boyfriend.
I eventually escaped the ladies’ with a sigh of relief, only
to reverse it into a sharp intake of breath when I saw a
distinctly Nat-shaped boy standing at our booth. Damn. I
could only see the back of him, and his body obscured Sal
from view, preventing me from spying on this unexpected
turn of events from afar. I snuck up behind Nat and put my
arms around him, encircling his chest. To say that I
surprised him would be something of an understatement.
He whirled around to face me, eyes wide.
‘Grace! You made me jump.’ I went to kiss him, but he
turned his head slightly so my lips met his cheek. Huh. I
grabbed his hand and scooted into the booth, pulling him in
next to me. Finally I faced Sal expectantly. ‘So … I suppose
you’ve met Nat?’
Sal nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose I have.’ She smiled at Nat,
and he smiled back awkwardly.
‘No need for lame introductions then – excellent!’ I turned
to Nat with a stern look on my face. ‘Haven’t you got
something to say to me?’ He looked back at me, and was it
my imagination or did he look just a teensy bit panicky? His
eyes flitted between me and Sal, as if he’d be able to find
the answer written on our faces.
‘Er … I don’t think so.’
‘Come on – I’m waiting!’ I thought I’d better help him out.
‘Come on – I’m waiting!’ I thought I’d better help him out.
‘Er … the reason we’re all here tonight …? Does that ring
any bells? Celebrating your girlfriend’s complete
geniusness? Or rather, her being a bit of a jammy cow at
exams.’
Nat slapped his forehead. ‘How could I have forgotten?!
You are indeed a genius!’ He gave me a swift hug, and I
raised my eyebrows at Sal over his shoulder. She looked
on in amusement, quietly taking it all in. Nat was quick to
ask Sal how she’d done too. Good boy. Obviously knows
how to make a decent first impression. I listened to the two
of them talk for a bit, congratulating myself that my plan was
back on track, despite the initial setback.
Suddenly Nat banged his hands down on the table.
‘Right, you two. This deserves a celebration. How about a
little champagne for the two geniuses … er … genii … er
… dead clever girls?’
‘Now you’re talking! Thanks, hon.’ Wow. He’s really
going for broke. And here I’d thought all students were
supposed to BE broke. Still, it was a lovely gesture – even
if it was just to show off in front of Sal.
Nat headed off to the bar (and ended up standing next to
Distressed Boy, I noticed) and I turned back to face Sal,
dying to quiz her on her first impressions of my beautiful
boy. But Sal did not look like a particularly happy bunny. Far
from it, in fact.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
I feigned innocence. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought this was supposed to be a girls’ night out. Just
the two of us … remember?’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. It was going to be, but then Nat
texted me to go out and celebrate, and I thought it might be
fun.’ I paused, checked to see that Sal was still looking
seriously unimpressed, before continuing, ‘Look, I’m sorry,
Sal. I totally should have checked with you first. I just really
wanted you to meet him. And this gets it out of the way for
both of you without any awkwardness.’
‘Yeah, cos this isn’t awkward at all, is it? God, this is just
so typical of you. Sometimes I wish you’d just think about
things a bit more. I was really looking forward to tonight.’
‘I know you were. I was too, but it’ll still be fun – I promise.
And we’ll go out next week, yeah? You and me – just like
the good old days … well, not exactly like the good old
days, but you know what I mean.’ I couldn’t wait any longer; I
just had to ask. ‘Sooooo … What do you think of him
anyway? Isn’t he just … no, OK, I’ll shut up now.’
Sal rolled her eyes, but she looked a little happier at
least. ‘He seems nice.’
‘He seems nice? Whoa, careful there, Sal – don’t go
overboard.’
‘Sorry, I mean, I like him. And buying champagne
certainly works for me.’ We both laughed.
I looked over in Nat’s direction. He was tapping his hand
against his thigh in time to the music while the barman
cracked open the champagne.
‘He is so hot, don’t you think?’ I was determined to get
more than faint enthusiasm out of Sal.
‘Er … yeah, I suppose. He’s your boyfriend, Grace – not
mine!’
‘Ha! Yeah, hands off! I guess he’s not really your type
though, is he? No bizarre piercings or anything like that.’
‘Very funny.’
‘And he doesn’t exactly look like Devon, does he? Hard
to believe they’re from the same gene pool.’
‘Maybe, although Devon’s …’
‘Devon’s what?’
‘I just … I dunno. I kind of wish you wouldn’t take the piss
out of him so much. He’s been good to me.’
‘Really? I thought you hadn’t seen him in ages?’
‘No, no, I haven’t. I meant before.’
Before I had time to mull this over, Nat was back,
plonking a bucket in front of us. As he was passing round
the glasses, I said, ‘Thanks, babe. I was just saying to Sal
how weird it is that you and Devon are brothers. Not much
family resemblance, is there?’
‘Oh, you know Dev? I didn’t realize.’ There was a forced
casualness in the way Nat spoke. Or maybe I was just
imagining it. ‘Anyway, let’s get stuck into this before it gets
warm.’ He raised his glass, gesturing for us to do the same.
‘Cheers, you two. May all your exams be this easy!’
We all clinked glasses and took a swig of fizz. I nudged
Nat, stage-whispering, ‘Not as easy as I’m gonna be
tonight if you play your cards right!’ He raised his eyebrows
at me and looked at Sal somewhat uncomfortably, before
taking another gulp of his drink. Some people are so easily
embarrassed.
And then silence – the strangest silence. Sal coughed,
and turned away to look at the bar. Nat twisted the stem of
his glass between his fingers. And I … well, I was looking at
the other two. The silence probably only lasted a few
seconds, but it seemed like close to forever to me. I
couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Luckily Sal jumped in
with, ‘So, Nat … Grace tells me you’re going to be a
doctor?’
‘Um, yes. That’s the idea anyway.’ And they were off,
talking about Nat’s course. But there was something not
quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I
realized that they were both using that fake voice that you
use when you’re talking to someone else’s parents – you
know, when you’re utterly polite and on your best behaviour.
Sal was suddenly talking like a sober person, and Nat was
looking oh-so-earnest. Neither of them seemed
comfortable AT ALL. I sat back, puzzled.
The rest of the evening passed – uneventfully, I suppose.
Things improved for me with each and every drink. I started
to think I had imagined the strangeness of earlier. Maybe
I’d just been a bit paranoid, because I was so anxious for
the two of them to like each other. I got pretty drunk.
Things I can remember about the rest of that night
1. Kissing Nat while Sal was at the bar. Once
again I told myself the weirdness was just my
imagination: he WAS as into it as I was. He did
NOT pull away from me like he’d just got an
electric shock from my lips.
2. Asking Nat if he had any fit friends for Sal. She
looked daggers at me, and Nat avoided
answering the question.
3. Coming back from the bar with a tray of shots
and thinking that Sal and Nat were getting on a lot
better.
4. Drinking shots until everything blurred.
Someone telling me to slow down. Nat or Sal? I
don’t remember.
5. Being sick in the toilets and then feeling much
better.
6. Nat putting me in the back of a taxi and handing
me a tenner. Did I beg him to come back with
me? I think I did, but he said something about
having to get up early next day.
7. Er … that’s pretty much it.
Ethan hasn’t had much to say for himself today. Maybe
yesterday was just a little bit intense for both of us. I feel
empty and hollow. My throat hurts too.
I’m tired of thinking so hard.
I’m tired of remembering.
day 24
Lunch was good today – a perfect sandwich can be a thing
of wonder. When Ethan came in to take away my plate, we
chatted for a couple of minutes. It was almost like a normal
conversation. And then I had to go and ruin it.
‘Ethan, can I ask you something? Something serious.
And I don’t want you to answer me with a question, or with
some weird cryptic answer. I just want you to be honest with
me. Please?’
He weighed that up for a moment or two. ‘I can try.’
I took a deep breath. I was finally ready to ask the
question I’d been too afraid (or stupid) to ask before now.
‘Are you ever going to let me go?’
He looked at me curiously. I managed to hold his gaze,
even though I wanted to cry. I was scared to hear the
answer.
‘That’s not the right question, Grace.’
I snapped. I launched myself towards him, my chair
clattering to the floor. I punched him in the mouth, then
shoved him back against the wall. He offered no
resistance; it was like he wasn’t even there. Or maybe my
rage gave me extra strength. I was screaming in his face,
my hands clenched into fists, grabbing the material on the
front of his shirt. My face was inches away from his, and as I
shouted and screamed and ranted and raved, my saliva
spotted his face. A trickle of blood emerged from where I’d
punched him, just under his nose. I must have caught him
with one of my rings – and on the exact same spot as his
scar too. The sight of the blood brought me to my senses. I
stopped shouting and watched as it trickled down to his top
lip, hanging there for a second before continuing its path
towards the crease of his closed mouth.
My grip on his shirt loosened, but I made no move to step
back. I looked up into Ethan’s eyes, afraid to see the shock
and anger that would surely be there. But of course this was
Ethan, and there was no such thing. His beautiful eyes were
untroubled and met my gaze as calm as you like. Neither of
us spoke, but something suddenly dawned on me,
something I knew with absolute certainty:
Ethan wasn’t in the least bit surprised about what had just
happened. He had known I was going to attack him.
What the fuck was going on here? Why had he said what
he did, if he knew how I was going to react? And more
importantly, how could he have possibly known how I’d
react?
For the first time in weeks, I was scared. I backed away
from Ethan, shaking my head. Stumbled towards the bed,
afraid to look away, even for a second. His eyes followed
me across the room. There was no escape. I felt like he
could see straight through me, as if I was fading away to
nothing. I curled up on the corner of the bed, as far away
from him as I could possibly get in this mad white room …
this prison.
I closed my eyes. But it was no good. I could still feel him
looking at me. I buried my head in my hands, pushing my
palms into my eyes so hard that I saw stars.
After a minute or two, I spoke softly, my voice muffled.
‘Who are you?’ There was no answer. Silence in the room,
except for my ragged breathing. I knew he’d heard me. He
had to have heard me. So I looked up cautiously. Ethan had
lifted up his vest, and was using the bottom of it to dab at
his bloody mouth. My gaze flickered down to his perfectly
toned stomach. I felt numb.
‘Answer me! For fuck’s sake, who are you?’
Ethan let his vest fall back into place. There was a lot of
blood on it now. I was surprised, and a little bit disgusted, at
the damage I’d done. He opened his mouth and started to
say something, before stopping himself. He started again.
‘You know who I am. You know me.’
I was too baffled to speak. A wave of exhaustion
suddenly hit me, and I had to stifle a yawn. I had so many
questions, but what was the point? I felt beaten.
Ethan said, ‘You’re tired, Grace. You should rest.’ I
nodded and buried myself under the covers. I heard the
door opening and closing, and muttered to myself, ‘I don’t
know who you are. I don’t know a fucking thing any more.’
And then … well, I know this is going to sound mental, but at
least there are mitigating circumstances here …
I heard Ethan’s voice inside my head. I didn’t imagine it –
I heard it. And he definitely wasn’t in the room any more – I
checked. I swear on my life that I heard him. And this is
what Ethan-in-my-head had to say for himself:
‘You know much more than you think. All you have to do
is remember.’
What the hell?!
I’m losing my mind. It’s the only explanation. I suppose
there’s only so much the mind can take before it starts to
fragment; the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle falling apart. I
should be grateful I’ve stayed sane for this long. Reckon it’s
only a matter of time before I’m sitting on the floor rocking
back and forth, banging my head against the wall and
drooling.
I can’t think about being crazy any more – it’s making me
crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about what I heard. So I know
much more than I think I know, do I? Just where is this
information supposed to be hiding? In some cobwebbed
corner of my addled brain? Maybe alongside that fucking
song I can’t remember.
All I have to do is remember. Remember, remember, the
fifth of November.
I could be dead by the fifth of November.
I slept all afternoon, I think. Feeling loads better now. I don’t
feel like a crazy person any more. Well, not a proper crazy
person – just a slightly eccentric one, maybe. Just because
I ‘heard’ Ethan inside my head, it doesn’t mean anything at
all. I’m so used to his stupid cryptic replies that I can fill
them in for myself. It’s kind of like with me and Sal, when we
used to say the same thing at the exact same time and then
both shout, ‘Jinx!’ You spend enough time with a person,
you start to think a bit like them, don’t you? Ethan’s become
so predictable to me that I know what he’s going to say. I
won’t need to speak to him any more; I’ll just hold the
conversations in my head. They’ll go something like this:
Me: How did you know I was going to attack you?
Ethan-in-my-head: How do you think I knew, Grace?
Me: Fuck off and die.
Yup, it’s that simple. I know Ethan. And he knows me.
We’ve bonded. We are one.
day 25
The morning after the big Sal/Nat meeting, I felt like death.
Hardly surprising. My head was thumping, and when I licked
my lips it felt like my tongue was twice its usual size and
that all the moisture had been sucked out of it. I was
sprawled across the bed starfish-style, fully dressed, makeup
clinging on for dear life. All in all, not the prettiest picture
– thank God Nat hadn’t come back with me.
I got up gingerly, testing my body to see if movement was
going to result in another bout of barfing. Luckily it didn’t, so
I headed towards the bathroom. The smell of frying bacon
wafted up the stairs. Now, food smells can go one of two
ways when you’re that hungover. Either it’s exactly what you
need OR it’ll have your head down the toilet again in no
time. That morning, a bacon sarnie seemed just the ticket.
But I was weirded out by the significance of the glorious
bacon smell: it meant that Mum was cooking breakfast. Not
so strange for normal human beings perhaps, but for my
mum? She hadn’t made breakfast in years. Why now?
And then I remembered – my results. Shit! Had I texted
her last night? It was all a bit hazy in my head. I hurried back
to my room and scrabbled through my bag to get my phone.
Four missed calls, all from Mum. I checked my sent items,
and sighed with relief when I saw that I had texted her after
all: ‘All As and Abs – piece of cake. Back late tonight. G’
Maybe not the nicest message in the world, but it did the
job. The missed calls had been made about every half-hour
after my text. Hmm. This is not good.
No time for a shower, so I gave my face a quick wash
and brushed my teeth. As I trudged downstairs I was trying
to figure out the best way to play this. It all depended on
her. I was going to have to wing it.
I paused at the kitchen door. And there she was,
standing in front of the hob, fish slice in hand. With an apron
on! She looked a bizarre parody of a domestic goddess.
The whole picture was wrong, and I realized why – she was
sort of smiling. Just a little hint of a smile, as she flipped the
bacon (as crisp as can be, just the way I like it) onto a plate.
I stood in the doorway, quietly surveying this scene of
strangeness. Mum turned to face me, and the sort-of-smile
even managed to stay in place. ‘Grace! You’re up at last.
Just in time for breakfast. Here, you sit down and I’ll get you
some orange juice.’ I did as I was told. Who was this
woman and what had she done with my mother? Whoever
she was, she poured me a glass of orange juice (freshly
squeezed!) before making up the sandwiches. I didn’t
speak, for fear of breaking whatever voodoo magic spell
was going on.
And then we were sitting opposite each other at the
table, eating our sandwiches in silence. The sandwich was
perfect.
I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone
last night. It was in my bag – I didn’t hear it.’
Mum looked me in the eye. I noticed that for once she
wasn’t caked in make-up. She looked better for it – lighter,
younger. ‘That’s all right. Did you have a nice time?’
‘Yeah, it was fun … from what I can remember.’
Her smile slipped a little. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much,
you know.’ I bristled, but didn’t take the bait. Just munched
on my sandwich.
‘Congratulations on your results. I’m … you’re so much
brighter than I was at your age.’ She laughed a dainty little
laugh. ‘I barely scraped through my O levels. No, you
certainly didn’t get your brains from me. That’s your dad’s
doing.’
The mention of Dad came as a shock. She NEVER
talked about him. And every time I tried to talk about him,
she changed the subject. I hated that.
Mum reached across the table and put her hand over
mine. ‘He’d have been so proud of you, Grace. You know
that, don’t you?’ I nodded. My throat felt suddenly tight. I
didn’t trust myself to speak. I would not let myself cry in front
of her. And then before I knew it, the moment had passed. It
was like Mum suddenly remembered who she was.
‘Anyway … I can’t sit around here all day. There’s so
much to do. You have remembered I’m away tonight,
haven’t you? I’ll be back Monday – no, maybe Tuesday,’
she babbled, clearly uncomfortable. She started rushing
around the kitchen, clearing away dishes and wiping the
table.
I got up to leave. ‘Thanks Mum. Breakfast was really
nice.’
‘Well, don’t get too used to it. I expect you to be pulling
your weight around here a bit more from now on. I don’t see
why I should spend all my time running after you …’ and on
and on and on and on. Oddly enough, I was sort of
comforted by this. Here was the mother I knew and loved.
Well … tolerated.
I spent the rest of the day in my room, feeling pretty crap
about the way things had gone last night. I was annoyed
with myself for getting so drunk in front of Nat. I justified it by
deciding that if I was willing to be a drunken fool in front of
him, maybe it showed I was feeling a bit more secure in the
relationship. Yeah, right.
I called him, but he didn’t pick up. This happened more
often than I would have liked, and it was starting to annoy
me a little. Still, I left a message which I thought was a nice
balance of apology for being a drunken idiot and lighthearted
flirtation.
Then I called Sal, which went better than expected. She
accepted my apologies for springing Nat on her AND for
being a drunken idiot with a minimum amount of grovelling
from me. She didn’t seem up for the usual post mortem of
the night’s events though. In fact, she seemed pretty
distracted. Not distant, exactly, but certainly not engaged in
her usual Sal-type way. I suggested another night out with
Nat – I was determined that they would get to know each
other properly. I got a vague ‘Yeah, maybe’ for my troubles.
And she reminded me that Nat was off back to uni in a few
weeks so it might not be easy to arrange. Like I needed
reminding. Nat and I hadn’t really talked about it. The future
is a very scary thing, especially when you can’t believe your
luck at how the here-and-now is going.
It wasn’t as if Nat was going to be at the other end of the
country or anything extreme like that. A fifty-minute train ride
is nothing, if you really think about it. And it would be cool
going to see him in his flat. No chance of certain little
brothers walking in on us. I saw no reason why anything
should change between us. I could see him every weekend,
and even during the week sometimes – I could just get the
train back early in the morning. No worries. I wished Sal
hadn’t mentioned it though. There were still a good few
weeks of maximum Nat time for me to enjoy, and I intended
to make the most of every second. Since Mum was going
away yet again (what’s so great about London anyway?), I
had the perfect chance for some quality time with him. It
almost made me grateful that Mum was so useless. Almost.
I texted Nat, seeing if he wanted to come over the next
day. I’d cook something special (or rather, something
vaguely edible) and then we’d spend the rest of the
weekend in bed. Nat could call in sick at the pub, and I’d
have him all to myself for three whole days. The thought of it
sent a shiver of anticipation through my body.
Nat didn’t reply to my text for aaaaages. Mum had
already departed in her usual whirlwind panic, leaving
nothing behind but a faint cloud of too-sweet perfume and a
list of the ready meals she had ever so thoughtfully stocked
up on. When it eventually did arrive, Nat’s text was short
and to the point – a simple ‘OK, see you then.’ Not quite
what I’d been after. Maybe he was annoyed at me for being
such an embarrassment last night. Or maybe he was just
being a boy. They’re just not all that communicative.
I got an early night and slept for a stupidly long time.
Woke up feeling groggy and slow, so I decided to go for a
run to kick-start the day. The first twenty minutes or so were
hideous. My lungs felt like they would burst, and my legs
didn’t seem to want to go on at the pace I was demanding. I
felt sure I would collapse in a sweaty heap on the
pavement. But of course I didn’t. I did what I always do – I
ran through it. I started to relish the pain, to enjoy it even.
And then it went away, and I was flying.
All I could think about was him. I loved him, I was sure of
it. Nothing had ever felt this right before. Nothing had ever
felt even close to right before. Being with Nat was so
different to what I was used to, in every single way. I hadn’t
cut myself for weeks. Was I changing? Had this glimpse of
what a normal relationship could be like actually altered me
in some fundamental way? Maybe I could be one of those
girls after all, living their shiny happy lives with their loving
and supportive boyfriends always there to back them up
and make everything right.
Before my default setting of cynicism could raise its ugly
head, I stomped all over it with thoughts of Nat and how
perfect he was. Of course, I knew full well, even then, that he
wasn’t actually perfect. There were tiny, little things that I
would maybe change if I had the chance. Sometimes he
could be a little too serious. And (a lot) more often than not
it seemed like I was the one who made plans for us to
spend time together. I was usually the first one to call. And
there was the whole not-answering-the-phone thing. But that
was OK – everyone has their strengths. I happened to be
good at organizing things, and Nat happened to excel at
being hot.
Should I tell him that I loved him? Or should I wait for him
to say it first? This was all new to me. The nearest I’d ever
got was having ‘I’d love to do xxxxxxx (insert whatever pure
filth you can think of here) to you’ whispered in my ear. Not
exactly Romeo and Juliet material. But this actual, real
‘love’ business was a whole different kettle of fish. It just …
seemed like something he might like to know. And then he
would say it back and we would kiss and have sex (even
though we’d just done it twice) and we would live happily
ever after in a cottage with a thatched roof and we’d have a
dog named Boy and no children because children are
annoying. The End.
But what if he didn’t say it back to me? What if there was
an awkward silence? What if my saying those three little
words was the beginning of the end for us?
By the time I threw myself down on the sofa, panting like
a dog (named Boy?), I was thoroughly confused. There was
only one thing left to do: ask Sal. She’d know what I should
do. She was nearly always right. It was something we’d
joke about: Sal was right eighty per cent of the time, which
meant that I was right a measly twenty per cent. You can’t
argue with numbers like those.
Sal answered after what seemed like a million rings.
Sal answered after what seemed like a million rings.
‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey, you, yourself. What are you up to today?’
‘Not much. Don’t suppose you want to do something
tonight? I’m so bored.’
‘Aw, Sal, I’d love to, but I’ve already made plans with Nat
… He’s coming over later. Little does he know I’m planning
to keep him as my own personal sex slave for the rest of
the weekend.’ I laughed, but didn’t hear anything at the
other end. ‘Sorry, sweetie, I really would like to hang out
with you. Let’s do something early next week?’ I thought for
a moment. ‘Or maybe you could come over on Sunday and
hang out with us? You two could get to know each other
better, and I promise to be less drunk.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know, Grace. I don’t want to be a third
wheel or whatever – watching you guys groping each other
isn’t exactly my idea of a fun evening.’
‘C’mon, it won’t be like that at all. I promise.
Pleeeeeeeeeease. Say you’ll come. For me? Go on, you
know you want to …’
‘Doesn’t sound like I have much choice, does it?’
‘Nope. That’s settled then. It’ll be awesome – you’ll see.’ I
took a deep breath. ‘Actually … there was something I
wanted to talk to you about … I think I might tell him that I
love him.’ I breathed out in relief. There. I’ve said it. Silence
down the line. ‘Sal? You still there?’
‘I’m still here.’ Her voice was quiet.
‘Well? What do you think? I need you to tell me what to
do.’
‘Do you love him? I mean, really.’
‘Yes, I do. Really. He’s … I dunno. He’s just right,
y’know?’
More silence from Sal. I wondered what she was
thinking. ‘Sal, should I tell him?’
She sighed. ‘It’s up to you. I can’t help you with this one.
You know that, right?’
‘But what would you do? You’re good at this stuff.’
‘What stuff? Love? Are you joking? Do you even
remember the last couple of months?’
‘I meant you’re good at knowing what’s right, and you
know me better than anyone does. What if he doesn’t feel
the same way? Do you think saying it could ruin
everything?’
‘I don’t know. Things get ruined for all sorts of reasons.’
‘Er … thanks for the positivity!’
‘Sorry. You just … you never know what’s going to
happen. Look, Grace, I’m going to have to go – that was
the doorbell. Good luck with whatever you decide.’
I barely had time to say goodbye and confirm our plans
for Sunday before she hung up. Now I was none the wiser
about the Nat situation. And confused about Sal. I hadn’t
heard the doorbell ring. And they had one of those stupidly
loud chiming ones too.
Later, I hopped on a bus to the supermarket to stock up
for the weekend. I roamed the aisles, waiting for inspiration
to strike. What can I cook for Nat that won’t be a complete
disaster? Eventually I decided on steak. Surely I couldn’t
fuck that up too badly? And red meat seemed like a proper
boy dish. I was baffled by the choice on offer: sirloin, rump,
rib-eye, fillet. It was all just meat to me. After much
pondering, I went for fillet.
‘I wouldn’t get that if I were you. Rump is better – much
tastier.’
I turned around to find myself face to face with Devon.
‘Hi! Um … thanks for the tip.’ I felt uneasy. I don’t like
bumping into people in random places. I like seeing people
in context: Devon in school, for example. It was weird to see
him standing there, a basket swinging awkwardly by his
side. I noticed that the basket was empty except for three
different types of cheese.
‘No worries. I suppose you’re cooking that for my
brother.’ I couldn’t quite read his tone, but I thought he might
be mocking me somehow.
‘Yeah, he’s coming over later. I thought that he might like
steak. Does he like steak? Or should I cook something
else? Maybe chicken? Or lamb? Lamb is good.’ I was
babbling like a fool.
Devon smiled. ‘Grace, I’m sure steak will be fine. Here,
get these two.’ He reached in front of me, brushing my bare
arm with his. His touch made me feel strange. I almost
forgot that he was my boyfriend’s loser little brother for a
second there. I shivered.
‘Thanks. So … how are you? Do OK in your exams? I
saw you at school the other day. Sorry I didn’t come over
and say hi.’
He looked confused. ‘What? Oh, no worries. Yeah, I did
OK. I hear you did really well.’
‘Did Sal tell you?’
‘Er … no. Nat did.’ This surprised me – the idea that Nat
talked about me to Devon. Maybe Devon was OK with me
seeing his brother after all.
‘It must be a bit weird for you. Y’know, me going out with
Nat.’
He shook his head and started to speak, but I
interrupted. ‘Yeah, it must be a little bit though. You being
friends with Sal, me being friends with her, and now me and
Nat. But we don’t really know each other – I mean you and
me.’ What am I on about?! Just leave it!
‘Well, maybe it took a bit of getting used to. It’s fine
though. Really.’ He looked like he wanted to disappear.
‘Maybe the four of us should hang out sometime?’ Even
as I said it, I knew it was the worst idea in the universe and
it looked like Devon felt the same way.
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I don’t think Nat
wouldn’t be up for it. Or Sal, for that matter.’ I noticed for the
first time that his eyes were remarkably like Nat’s. It was
just harder to see them behind those god-awful glasses.
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’ I mustered up my most
casual, disinterested tone of voice. ‘Have you seen much of
Sal recently?’
‘Not really, no. I saw her last week, but it was … I don’t
know.’ He paused and looked at his feet, scuffing them on
the shiny floor.
‘It was what?’
‘Nothing really. Look, I’d better get going. Enjoy the
steak.’ And then he was gone, rushing down the aisle
towards the checkout with his basket of cheese.
I wandered aimlessly around the shop, feeling decidedly
less contented than before. The encounter with Devon had
left me a bit flustered and confused. Why had he made me
so nervous? Why had I pushed the issue about me and
Nat? And why had I never noticed before that he really was
not bad-looking at all? All too weird for words.
Nat arrived twenty minutes late. This was getting to be a bit
of a habit, and not one I was particularly keen on. Still, he
smelled good and his just-washed hair was endearingly all
over the place. I kissed him like I hadn’t seen him in years.
He tasted minty fresh, good enough to eat. I pulled him
towards me and kissed him harder. I just wanted to get as
close as I possibly could, maybe to reassure myself that I
hadn’t been attracted to Devon for a few moments of
madness in the supermarket. Now that I had the real thing
in front of me, instead of a (quite literally) pale imitation, I
knew everything was OK after all.
I started to pull at Nat’s T-shirt, running my fingers up and
down his spine. He pinned me against the wall in the hall,
pressing hard against me, exactly like I wanted him to. Just
as things were getting interesting, he suddenly pulled back,
breathing hard.
He looked at me and laughed. ‘Er … don’t you think we
should maybe shut the door first?’
I looked over his shoulder through the open door, to see
the neighbour’s cat perched on the wall, quietly watching us
in that supercilious cat way. Then I looked at Nat, belt and
trousers undone.
‘Be my guest. Don’t want to give any of the neighbours a
heart attack.’
Nat fixed his clothes, then shut the door and turned to
face me. ‘I brought some wine.’ He nodded towards the
bag he’d dropped in the face of my onslaught. ‘And some
flowers.’ He reached into the bag and pulled out some
rumpled-looking tulips.
‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’ I put the flowers on the
coffee table and sat down on the sofa. ‘Now get over here.’
I patted the space beside me.
‘Don’t you want to put those in water first?’ Nat said as
he sat down.
‘I reckon they can wait a few minutes. I, on the other hand
…’ My fingers crept up his thigh.
‘Hey, hey, hold on a second. What’s the rush?’ He
grabbed my wandering hand. ‘Why don’t we just talk for a
bit?’
I laughed, and resumed my wandering with my other
hand. He grabbed that one too, so now he had both my
hands pinned on his thighs, achingly close to their intended
target. I tried to wrestle them free, but Nat was too strong
for me. He lifted my hands in the air and raised his
eyebrows at me, as if to say, ‘What are you going to do
now, huh?’ So I clambered on top of him, straddling his
thighs where my hands had been moments before. I
shuffled in really close and moved my pelvis against him.
There was no way he was winning this battle – I could feel it
working already.
‘Hey! That’s … cheating.’ His voice was hoarse and his
breath was hot on my neck. He let go of my hands and
moved his own to my waist.
‘That’s better,’ I whispered. ‘Now, I’ve been waiting for
this for days, so be a good boy, take off your clothes and
have sex with me. Right now.’
And so he did.
Later that night – much later – I cooked the steak. Nat
helped, making sure I didn’t burn it to a crisp. Devon had
been right; the meat was tender and delicious.
I woke in the middle of the night to find Nat curled up
facing away from me. I watched his back as he slept. God, I
loved his back. And his neck. And his hair. And the back of
his ear. And all the other bits of him that I couldn’t see right
that minute. I’d nearly said those three little words over
dinner, but the timing hadn’t been quite right. And I hadn’t
wanted to say it after we’d had sex on the sofa – that
seemed too crass for words. I was beginning to wonder if
I’d ever say it at all.
When I woke up in the morning, Nat was already dressed
and downstairs, leaning against the kitchen work surface
and munching on a piece of toast. I wandered over to him
and put my arms around him, kissing his neck.
‘What’s with the early morning?’
‘It’s hardly early! It’s eleven thirty and I’m going to be late
for work.’
Crap. Forgot about that. ‘Aww no … work? Really? I was
thinking … maybe … you could phone in sick. We could
spend the day in bed,’ I said in maximum-allure mode. I
went to kiss him, snaking a hand around his waist. Nat
moved his head at the last second, so I got a mouthful of
cold ear instead. He gave me the slip and ended up on the
other side of the kitchen, hands raised as if he was
surrendering. But he wasn’t.
‘No no no no no. That’s not going to work – not this time. I
really have to get to work. I’m sorry – I know it sucks.’
‘But, Nat …’ Even I didn’t like the whiny tone I could hear
in my own voice.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll be back at about seven.’
I knew when I was beaten. I sighed. ‘OK, but you’d better
make it up to me later.’ I was only half joking. I really was
pissed off that he’d rather go and work in some poxy pub
than spend the day with me.
‘I will. I’ll see you later.’ He gave me a quick kiss on the
forehead and was gone.
As I trudged upstairs, I caught a look at myself in the
mirror on the landing. Petulant expression and a serious
case of bed hair. No wonder he’d scarpered so quickly –
who could blame him?
The best-laid plans turn to shit.
The best-laid plans turn to shit.
My mood didn’t improve until I’d had a shower and dealt
with the hair situation. I decided it was a good thing that Nat
took his job seriously. It showed he was grown-up and
responsible and lots of other things that I’m not. It didn’t
mean that he was a boring goody two-shoes who wouldn’t
know rebellion if it came up and spat in his face. And he
wasn’t going to be gone that long anyway. I just had to find
something to fill my day – that was all. No big deal.
I wolfed down some cereal and spent a couple of hours
watching TV, surfing a gazillion channels, trying to stay
ahead of the adverts so that I never had to watch one. Then
I headed upstairs and sorted out my nail varnishes,
chucking out the ones that were too crusty for words. That
took all of five minutes, but I did line them up in order of
colour, which I found strangely satisfying. Then I
downloaded some songs onto my iPod. Then I listened to
them and wondered why I’d bothered.
Then there was nothing else to do.
That interminable Saturday afternoon, as the clock
stubbornly refused to fast-forward the way I wanted it to, I
did something inexplicable. I cut myself.
Ethan and I haven’t spoken today. Not surprising really.
He’s been in a few times, but it’s the same each time: he
looks at me; I look at him; he looks away. The cut above his
mouth looks bad, and the skin around it is swollen and
tinged with yellow. It’s hard to believe that I did that. I don’t
feel good about it, but every time I opened my mouth to
apologize, something stopped me. You can’t keep
someone locked up for this long and not expect them to go
a bit mental. He brought it on himself. Kind of.
After each Ethan visit I listened hard, in case I heard him
inside my head again. I didn’t. Then I realized what a fool I
was being and laughed out loud.
day 26
Another day dawns, or maybe it doesn’t. For all I know the
sun has stopped shining and the world has come to an end.
Maybe Ethan and I are the only ones left. Not a comforting
thought. But if we are the only ones left then I’m going to
have to talk to him at some point. Might as well start today if
I don’t want to die of loneliness. Besides, it might be down
to us to repopulate the planet. Or something.
It’s when I’m alone that the doubt sets in. It’s been that
way for years. As long as there are people around, I can
pretend that everything’s OK. But I need that audience to
pretend for, otherwise it doesn’t work. Alone, I’m not that
easy to fool.
It’s not that I mind being alone, not really. I can distract
myself with silly fantasies and daydreams for hours, but in
the end it always comes back to me. That’s what I’m left
with: just me. And that’s what scares me more than
anything. Me. The thoughts I try to purge by cutting. The
memories that seem to get louder and brighter the harder I
try to forget. The whys and what ifs. And always crouching
somewhere in the background, waiting to knock me down
whenever things seem OK for once, is the thought – the
knowledge – that breaks my heart: my father would be
ashamed of the person I have become.
Sometimes I used to feel glad he was dead, just so I
didn’t have to see the look on his face when I stumbled
home completely off my face, clothes a mess, mouth redraw
from kissing some random. She never cared. She
never waited up. Dad would have though, I’m sure of it. He
would have worried about me and shouted at me and
grounded me and told me I couldn’t see those boys any
more. And I would have cried and slammed my bedroom
door and begged to be allowed out. But inside it would be
different. Inside I would be secretly pleased, comforted by
the knowledge that someone cared. I wouldn’t go out every
weekend. Sometimes I would stay at home and watch telly
with him, even those crappy old sitcoms he loved so much.
She might be there too, but we wouldn’t care either way. It
would be different. Everything would be so different. I might
not have gone to the park that day, armed with a bottle of
cider. That’s where it all began – that’s where I began.
I was fourteen and clueless. It was all down to Tanya. She
sat next to me in English and we’d become almost-but-notquite
friends over the past few months. She was pretty (but
wore too much mascara), clever (but could never be
bothered to do any work) and bitchy as anything (but she
was nice to me, so that was OK). One Friday in May, Tanya
asked me what I was up to at the weekend. ‘This and that,
y’know’ was my particularly eloquent answer, not wanting to
admit that I was headed for another weekend in front of the
telly. It was around the time that Mum had started going
away and the TV was my constant companion – anything to
stop the silence from suffocating me. But Tanya was having
none of it. ‘Fuck “this and that”. Why don’t you come out
with us tonight?’ The thought of going out with Tanya and
her friends scared the crap out of me, but I found myself
saying yes in spite of myself. She told me about an offlicence
near the park that would sell to anyone, no matter
how young they looked, and said everyone was meeting at
the kids’ play area at eight. I had no idea who ‘everyone’
was.
I nearly chickened out when I was getting ready. It would
be so much easier to stay at home. I could take my duvet
downstairs, curl up on the sofa and order a pizza. But I
didn’t. I changed into a shortish skirt and a pretty black top
that I’d never worn before. I pulled on my boots and
checked that my make-up was OK. My face looked
different, maybe because I’d gone a little bit overboard on
the kohl. I felt different too. Maybe this was going to be the
start of something for me. These people didn’t know me,
not really. I could be different; I could be anyone.
Buying the booze was as easy as Tanya had said, and it
wasn’t hard to see why. The lady behind the counter was
about a hundred years old, with the thickest glasses I’d ever
seen. She asked if I was eighteen, and (surprise, surprise) I
said I was. I’d never drunk much of anything before, so
cider seemed like a safe choice: apple juice with a bit of a
kick.
I approached the play area with caution. I could hear
laughter coming from the den at the top of the climbing
frame. Suddenly a bottle came hurtling out of one of the
windows. It sailed over my head and smashed on the path
behind me. I nearly bolted, but Tanya’s head poked out
right at that second.
‘Grace! Hi! Come on up!’ So I did as I was told.
It was a tight squeeze inside the den. There were seven
people already in there: Tanya and two of her friends from
school, and four boys I’d never seen before. I sat near the
entrance and Tanya introduced me to everyone. I
recognized Zoë and Kirsty, but of course they had no clue
who I was. The boys had ridiculous nicknames that I found
hard to remember. But the one next to me was Kez and I
could remember that. His leg was pressed against mine in
the confined space.
It was awkward at first. I could feel the judgemental stares
of Zoë and Kirsty, but Tanya did her best to make me feel
comfortable, talking at a zillion miles an hour about how I
was one of the only cool people in her English class, and
that if it wasn’t for me she’d have died from boredom
already. She passed me the bottle she’d been swigging
from and I took a big gulp, which burned my throat as it
went down. But it felt good; it made me feel strong
somehow.
They’d all had a bit of a head start on the drinking, so I
did my best to catch up. I cracked open my cider and
passed it around. As the others joked and laughed, I mostly
listened. One of the boys was clearly a loudmouth joker,
and the others (Kirsty in particular) thought he was hilarious.
I wasn’t convinced. After a while it became clear that the
girls weren’t in the least bit bothered that I was there; they
were one hundred per cent focused on the boys. That
suited me just fine.
Later, it dawned on me why Tanya had invited me: I was
there to make up the numbers. I felt stupid for not realizing
straight away. Kirsty was with Loudmouth, Zoë was already
snogging the nondescript one in the corner, and Tanya was
clearly interested in the best-looking one of the bunch. I was
there for Kez. That was my purpose. But I was sort of drunk,
and I didn’t mind one little bit. I turned to Kez and tried to
look at him impartially, but things were already getting a
little blurry. His hair was bleached blond and styled with a
lot of gunk. The roots were starting to show through. He had
a nice enough face, but a nasty patch of acne on his chin.
Shiny white teeth that stood out in the darkness of the den.
He looked to be quite slight, but it was hard to tell with us all
squished together. Only now did I notice the way he’d been
looking at me – sort of wolfishly. I was a lamb to the
slaughter and I hadn’t even realized. The sacrificial virgin.
One by one, or rather two by two, the others gradually
disappeared. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they
were doing. And then there were two.
Kez put his hand on my thigh and said, ‘So, how come I
haven’t seen you round here before?’ I turned to face him
as his hand crept higher. Instead of answering his question,
I kissed him, because that was what he expected. I’d
kissed a few boys before – boys I’d been out with for a
week or two – but this was different. Kez tasted like beer
and oranges and something kind of musky and grown-up.
Kissing him was strange. I felt like he was trying to eat me
up, like he couldn’t get enough. Not exactly unpleasant, but
it took a bit of getting used to.
Before long I was lying on the floor with Kez on top of me.
How did that happen? I didn’t really care. Kez was kissing
and touching and rubbing me and it felt … well, nice. He
was breathing hard and starting to moan a little as he was
grinding against me. I knew full well what was about to
happen – unless I stopped him. I didn’t stop him. I think he
expected me to stop him.
I remember thinking something along the lines of … So
this is it? This is really it. I am actually having sex. Huh.
Yes, it felt odd to be so very close to someone I had barely
said two words to. But it was also weirdly comforting – this
strange, sweaty boy who wanted me so much. For those
few minutes I felt like he needed me. And I needed him. He
seemed so grateful too. It didn’t last long. At the time I
wondered if he’d been so fast just in case I changed my
mind. Of course, now I know better. And of course it had
hurt a bit, but it was a good hurt – a badge of honour.
Afterwards, we hardly spoke. I sorted out my clothes and
Kez rifled through a plastic bag for a can of beer. He drank
greedily and then swiped the back of his hand across his
mouth. He watched me in silence. I didn’t know what to say.
What could we talk about? We didn’t know each other. We
had nothing in common, and probably never would.
Suddenly I wanted to go home and snuggle up in my own
bed – all alone, the way it was supposed to be.
Before I could move, Kez shuffled closer to me. He put
his hand on my waist and kissed me, ever so gently. And
everything felt good again, until he whispered in my ear,
‘Tanya didn’t think you’d be up for it. But I knew you would
the minute I saw you.’ I pulled away and asked him what he
meant.
‘I knew you wanted it. I could just tell.’
I could feel my face redden. ‘How? How could you tell?’
‘I dunno. Just a feeling, innit? Some girls, you can just tell.
Don’t look at me like that! It’s a good thing, knowing what
you want. Not like those girls who lead you on and on till
you’re ready to explode and then they change their mind.
You wouldn’t do that, would you?’ He moved to kiss me
again and I didn’t stop him. I didn’t think he was trying to
hurt me with his words. In fact, the opposite seemed to be
true: I got the distinct impression that he was trying to
compliment me.
So I was one of those girls. It was official. And if I hadn’t
been one before, I certainly was now. There was no going
back for me.
I talked to Ethan. Asked him if his mouth hurt. He looked
confused for a moment, and then he touched his fingers to
the cut, as if to remind himself it was there.
‘No, it doesn’t hurt at all.’
‘Good. Look, Ethan, I’m sorry. It should never have
happened. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I mean,
clearly I wasn’t thinking. I don’t go round randomly hitting
people, you know. I just … it’s hard being here. There’s too
much time to think. Anyway, I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Grace.’
‘Of course it matters! I attacked you! I’m clearly losing my
mind in here.’
Ethan shook his head. ‘You’re wrong.’
Here we go again, I thought. I didn’t have the energy to
go round in circles with him. ‘I’m sick of thinking about stuff.
And I’m sick of writing it all down. Why am I even bothering?
No one’s going to read it.’
Ethan leaned against the door. ‘Have you read it,
Grace?’
‘Er … no. I don’t need to – I know what it says.’
Ethan shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.
The meaning was clear: That’s what you think.
I turned to the pile of scrawled pages beside me. It
couldn’t do any harm, could it? I started to read, and soon
forgot Ethan was even there. I don’t know how long it took,
but eventually I reached the last page, about that night in the
park with Kez. I sighed and looked up. Ethan wasn’t
standing by the door any more. He was sitting on the bed
with his legs crossed.
‘Well?’ He looked at me expectantly.
‘Well what?’
‘How do you feel?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Grace …’ He sounded like a teacher, disappointed
when his star pupil gets an answer wrong.
‘Sad. I feel sad, OK? My life’s a fucking mess and I
‘Sad. I feel sad, OK? My life’s a fucking mess and I
screwed everything up and I’m a terrible person. Happy
now?’
‘It doesn’t make me happy that you’re hurting. Why would
it?’
‘Why else are you doing this to me then? You must be
getting some kind of kick out of it.’
Ethan’s next words were unexpected. ‘You miss your
father, don’t you?’
‘Dad? What’s he got to do with this?’ I said cagily.
‘What was he like?’
I decided to play along. ‘He was … just Dad. A typical
dad, y’know?’
‘Tell me.’
I decided to play along; what harm could it do? ‘Well, he
used to embarrass me all the time. He’d do it on purpose.
Like in the supermarket, he’d start doing monkey
impressions for no reason. And the more embarrassed I
got, the louder and more embarrassing he’d be. He didn’t
care who was watching – he never cared what other people
thought. Not like me – I was always looking around,
worrying that someone from school would see me. It was all
right when I was younger. I used to join in and we’d have
such a laugh.
‘He was so good with people. Everybody loved him and
laughed at his stupid jokes. He was the only person who
could make Mum laugh. She never laughs at stuff on TV,
even when it’s really funny. But Dad could make her laugh
just by wiggling his eyebrows.’
I stopped talking, suddenly aware that this was the most
I’d said about Dad for years. Even with Sal I’d always been
vague, claiming that I couldn’t really remember what he was
like. She never questioned how blatantly ridiculous that
was, and I was grateful.
‘It sounds like you loved him very much.’
‘He was my dad – of course I loved him.’
‘That’s good, Grace. You’re doing really well.’
I shrugged, not really sure what he was getting at.
I told Ethan about Dad’s terrible cooking and how he
used to invent mad dishes by chucking a bunch of leftovers
in the pan and adding Worcestershire sauce. I told him
about going to the cinema with Dad and getting hotdogs
and nachos and the biggest box of popcorn you’ve ever
seen (and throwing up in the car on the way home). I told
him things I thought I’d forgotten. Things I hadn’t thought
about for years and years. Silly, inconsequential things. But
it felt good to say them out loud, to speak the words to
someone who listened and nodded and smiled in all the
right places. Ethan never looked bored or tried to change
the subject or talk about himself. He let me go on and on
and on, for God knows how long.
And then he stopped me in my tracks with one question.
His voice was ever so quiet, his face the very picture of
sympathy as he uttered six words:
‘Tell me about how he died.’
Wasn’t expecting that. No one ever asked me that. Nat
never asked me.
‘There was an accident. A terrible accident.’
‘What happened?’ Ethan spoke so softly it felt like he
was inside my head again.
Deep breath. ‘He was coming back from a business trip.
It was my birthday …’
‘Go on,’ he coaxed.
‘He … There was a level crossing. His car got hit by a
train.’
‘An accident,’ he said.
I nodded.
‘Grace, you can tell me the truth. You should tell the truth.’
He knelt in front of me and held my hand. His hand was
cold. ‘I know you can do it. You’re strong enough now.’
No point in lying now. ‘He drove onto the train tracks and
stopped his car. He did it on purpose. He killed himself.’
Ethan nodded. ‘That must have been very hard for you
and your mother.’
‘Hard for her? It was her fault!’
‘Why do you say that?’
That stopped me dead. Why did I say that? Why had I
always thought that?
‘It … She was a bitch to him.’
‘Was she?’ he said, and I was thinking the same
question.
I hesitated. ‘Yeah, she …’ The words disintegrated in my
mouth. She loved him. Completely. She did everything for
him. That’s the truth.
‘You’ve always blamed her, haven’t you? Why do you
think that is?’
Whywhywhywhywhy?
‘Because she was there.’
Ethan nodded. ‘And he wasn’t, was he?’ His voice was
hoarse.
Tears came. I was amazed that I’d fended them off for so
long. ‘He left me. On my birthday. On my fucking birthday!
Why would he do that? How could he do that to me?’ I was
sobbing now. I got up and threw myself onto the bed. Too
many thoughts and memories were crowding my head.
I felt Ethan sit on the edge of the mattress beside me. ‘I
don’t know. I don’t know how someone could do that.’
I spoke into the pillow, my voice muffled. ‘He never
thought about us. He left us with nothing. How could he be
so selfish?’
‘You’re right, Grace. It was a selfish thing to do.’
A thought popped into my head. A thought I’d never had
before. Not even when things were really, really bad.
The moment I thought it, Ethan said it out loud:
‘I hate him.’
day 27
Nat got back from work, exhausted from changing barrels
and being nice to people all day. I was feeling weird and
embarrassed about cutting myself. How was I going to
explain it to him? How could I have been so stupid?
We ordered a pizza and lounged in front of the TV,
neither of us saying much of anything. Nat ended up with his
head in my lap and I stroked his hair. It was comfortable.
Well, it would have been if I hadn’t been dreading him
seeing what I’d done to myself. It got later and later and I
could hardly keep my eyes open.
‘Come on, let’s get to bed, sleepyhead.’ Nat’s voice
seemed far away. I opened my eyes and saw him clearing
away the pizza box and our glasses. I rubbed my face and
looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was past two
o’clock.
Nat grabbed both my hands and hauled me off the sofa.
He kissed my forehead before steering me towards the
stairs. Each step was a mountain I reluctantly climbed. But
what else could I do? I couldn’t stay downstairs forever. And
I was so, so tired. When we got to my bedroom, I turned to
Nat and kissed him. My heart wasn’t really in it and he could
obviously tell.
‘Why don’t you change into your … er … pyjamas or
nightie or whatever, and I’ll go and brush my teeth?’
Pyjamas? Nat wasn’t supposed to know that I even
owned pyjamas, let alone be able to see them – ever. And
he was supposed to want to have sex with me at every
available opportunity. Surely we hadn’t gone past that stage
already? But I was falling asleep on my feet, and at least it
postponed the inevitable that little bit longer. Still, I
hesitated before pulling my PJs from their hiding place in
the bottom of the wardrobe.
When Nat came back, he laughed. ‘You never struck me
as a Winnie-the-Pooh sort of girl! Nice!’
I punched his arm, none too gently. ‘Shut up! And
anyway, they’re not Winnie-the-Pooh – they’re Eeyore.
Totally different thing. Eeyore rocks, and I won’t hear
anyone say any different. You have been warned.’
Nat kissed me right then. It was the best kiss and I don’t
know why.
‘You’re full of surprises, Grace Carlyle. I wonder what
other deep, dark secrets you’ve been hiding from me …
Eeyore … Who would have thought it? Don’t worry, your
secret’s safe with me. I think it’s adorable.’
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘Noooooo, I wouldn’t dream of it. I think it’s perfectly
normal that my girlfriend has a thing about depressed
donkeys …’
I flounced out of the room, pretending (and failing) to look
indignant. It’s hard to look indignant in pyjamas of any kind.
In the bathroom I examined the cuts on my legs. They
looked pretty bad. Rusty red raw and angry.
looked pretty bad. Rusty red raw and angry.
Nat was stripped down to his boxers when I returned. He
looked amazing. All manly, but sleepy and rumpled.
Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so tired after all. I kissed him. He
pulled back after a while and smiled that beautiful smile.
‘Right, into bed with you. And no funny business, OK?’
I frowned. ‘Why? Don’t you want to?’ I didn’t quite know
why I was pushing it. But I wanted it to be my decision not
to have sex, not his.
‘Of course I want to, but I’m knackered and so are you.
We don’t have to have sex all the time, you know? There’s
no law or anything.’
‘Well, maybe there should be a law. Or a commandment
or something … Thou shalt drop thy pants whenever I so
desire.’ I raised my eyebrow at him. He responded by
throwing a pillow at my head.
So we both got under the covers and I scooted up to him,
nestling in the crook of his arm. It felt weird and not quite
right at first. I blamed the pyjamas, but there was no way I
was taking them off now.
We talked about all kinds of things, half whispering in the
darkness. It’s always easier to say things in the dark. Our
words trailed off after a while, and I thought Nat had fallen
asleep. I snuggled closer to his chest and sighed a
contented sort of sigh. I drifted into that deliciously dreamy
halfway world, but was jolted out of it by the sound of Nat’s
voice, which was strangely loud. ‘Are you awake?’
I made a sound which meant yes but came out more of a
‘mmmhm’.
‘Tell me about Sal. What happened with her anyway?’
I made another sound, which roughly translated into
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why did you two fall out?’
I was fully awake now. I opened my eyes and shifted to
look at Nat’s face. ‘I told you: it was just something stupid.
Not worth talking about.’
He was quiet for a few moments. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘What?! Why?’ I sat up.
‘You two are so close. I don’t think you’d have fallen out
over something that wasn’t important. Why won’t you tell me
the truth? Don’t you trust me?’
This was just plain weird. Why wouldn’t he just leave it?
‘ O f course I trust you, but why does it matter?
Everything’s fine now.’
‘It matters to me, Grace.’ He sat up and took my hands in
his. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about you,
from your Eeyore pyjamas to the way you eat a Creme
Egg. I want to know if you had an imaginary friend when you
were little. I want to know when you learned to raise your
eyebrow in that sexy way you do. I want to know what you’re
thinking all those times you drift away from me. I want to
know about everything that matters to you. I love you.’
What?! I hadn’t expected him to say it. Yes, I’d hoped, but
I’d never actually believed it would happen. And certainly
not then. But he’d said it – he’d really, really said it. I thought
I might burst with happiness, or at the very least jump up
and down on the bed like an overexcited kid. I took a deep
breath to calm myself.
Everything was going to be OK.
Nat.
Loved.
Me.
His features were a little blurry in the darkness, but his
eyes were wide. I think he was almost as surprised as I
was. I leaned across and kissed him. Not much more than
a peck, very chaste.
‘I love you too.’
We sat in silence for a moment or two. I didn’t know what
to say or do. This was all new to me.
I was the first to speak. ‘No one’s ever said that to me
before, you know.’
Nat kissed me the same way I’d just kissed him. ‘I find
that very hard to believe. You are extremely lovable.’
‘It’s true. Not the me being lovable bit … but, you know
…’ I gulped hard, trying to swallow the emotions that
threatened to overwhelm me.
‘Well then … every other guy you’ve been out with must
have been an idiot.’
‘You don’t know how right you are.’
I lay back down and Nat followed suit. Side by side, hand
in hand, staring at the ceiling.
‘You never talk about other guys before me.’
This was dangerous territory. I had to be careful. ‘And
you don’t tell me about your ex-girlfriends, do you? It’s all in
the past. None of it matters now.’
‘Ex-girlfriend. Singular. There’s only one.’
‘Really?’ I tried (and failed miserably) to keep the
surprise from my voice.
‘Yes, really. Amy. I went out with her for three years. We
broke up before I went to Nepal. And that’s it – my entire
relationship history.’
I was surprised by how it made me feel, hearing about
this girl who must have known Nat so much better than I did.
Three years is a very long time. Jealousy bubbled up inside
me, turning everything sour.
‘Did you … love her?’ I had to ask.
‘Yes.’
I said nothing. Nat raised himself up on one elbow. ‘But it
doesn’t mean anything now. Like you said – it’s all in the
past.’ He brushed my cheek with his hand. ‘So … what
about you? You can tell me – I can take it.’ He smiled down
at me, expectant but relaxed.
I’d hoped that we’d managed to bypass this awkward
moment altogether. Surely we would have talked about it
sooner if we were ever going to? But no … It had to raise
its ugly, stupid head now, trying to ruin what should have
been the best moment of my life so far. I wouldn’t let it
happen. I wasn’t going to tell Nat about my past and see
that happy look on his face replaced by hurt and
disappointment and disgust. No way. Things were going
too well. But I didn’t want to lie to him by conjuring up some
kind of semi-innocent, rose-tinted version of my past. He
deserved better than that. So I did something despicable
instead …
‘Sal got pregnant.’
The ultimate diversionary tactic. Hardly a subtle, sleightof-
hand trick, but it did the job.
Something’s wrong with Ethan. I can’t wake him. I shake
him and shout at him but nothing happens. His breathing
seems normal, but he won’t wake up.
He lay down next to me last night. He didn’t say anything
after the mind-reading weirdness. I was freaked out and
confused and aching with sadness. So many questions in
my head. But I didn’t ask any of them – something stopped
me. And now it might be too late.
Got up this morning and left him lying on the bed. He
looked peaceful.
But now he won’t wake up.
What if he doesn’t wake up?
I’m scared.
I won’t leave him. Not now.
I have to finish this. I have to.
My despicable tactic with Nat certainly worked. A little too
well. There was a moment or two of silence before Nat
responded.
‘What?’ His voice was croaky.
I sighed. ‘Sal got pregnant. That’s why we fell out.’
Nat sat up and turned on the bedside light. I shielded my
eyes and shuffled myself into a sitting position. Then I
looked at Nat. His expression was hard to read.
‘Wha—When did this happen?’
I felt sick that I was doing this to my best friend in the
world. Betraying her trust, just to get myself out of a slightly
sticky situation. But there was no going back now.
‘I don’t even know. She won’t tell me what happened.’
‘Seriously? You must know something. Why on earth
wouldn’t she tell you?’
‘Nat, I don’t know. She completely shut me out. All I know
is it must have happened around Easter. She … um … she
had an abortion a couple of months ago. I would have gone
with her, but we fell out and …’ I didn’t know what else to
say without sounding pathetic.
Now Nat looked like he was the one who felt nauseous.
‘Jesus. I never thought it was anything like that. How … is
she? Now, I mean. It must have been awful for her.’
I was touched at his concern. ‘She’s doing OK, I think. It’ll
take her some time to get over it, I suppose. But I think
she’s doing better.’
‘And you really have no idea what happened? Who she
… slept with?’
‘No! I told you. Why won’t you believe me?’ I hated being
asked the same thing twice. It drove me crazy.
‘I’m just … surprised, I suppose. It seems like the kind of
thing best friends might talk about, that’s all.’
He was right and it made me angry. Angrier than it
He was right and it made me angry. Angrier than it
should have done. ‘Look! Will you just stop talking about it?
She didn’t tell me anything. I haven’t got a fucking clue what
happened, and I probably never will, so just … leave it.’ I
turned away, not wanting Nat to see the tears that were
beginning to blur the edges of my vision. I felt his hand on
my shoulder, but I shook it off.
‘Grace, I’m sorry. I just wish you’d told me about this
sooner.’
I jumped up from the bed and whirled round to face him.
‘WHY? What difference does it make? Why can’t you stop
going on about it? It’s none of your business anyway!’ I
made no effort to hide the tears now. And I didn’t bother to
wipe them away as I stood over Nat, breathing heavily. He
looked stunned. He’d never had to witness my temper
before.
After a moment, he spoke quietly and deliberately. ‘None
of my business? Is that how you really feel?’
‘Yes! I should never have even told you!’
‘Why did you, then?’
He had me there. ‘Look, Nat. Could you please … just
go? I can’t deal with this right now.’ I was surprised at my
own words, but part of me knew that if we continued this
conversation it was going to end really badly.
‘If that’s what you want.’ I’d more than half expected him
to try to reason with me. Or at least be angry that I was
kicking him out in the middle of the night. But he didn’t even
seem to care.
I nodded and watched as he pulled on his clothes. I
wanted to say sorry, to tell him to stop, to stay with me. But
the words wouldn’t come.
Nat turned to face me when he reached the door. We
looked at each other for the briefest of moments. Here was
a last chance for one of us to say something, anything, but
neither of us took it. His face was an emotionless mask;
tears were still trickling down mine. And then he was gone.
I waited to hear the front door close before slumping on
the bed and crying so hard I thought I might never stop. I
was angry and sad and confused. I’d made a terrible
mistake. I knew full well that I’d taken all my frustration and
resentment at Sal for not trusting me and dumped it on Nat.
All because he cared enough to ask about it. All because
he loved me.
But what was with all the questions? Asking over and
over again about what I knew and didn’t know and why I
hadn’t told him. I didn’t have the answers.
I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Instead, I took the
knife from my desk drawer and slowly and carefully reopened
the cuts I’d made on my legs that day. And then I
made some more.
I examined the damage the next morning. It was not a pretty
sight: like some kind of modern art gone badly wrong.
There was so much blood on the sheets – more than I’d
have thought possible. The blade of the knife looked rusty.
I couldn’t face it. I pulled the duvet back over my head
and fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I woke up, there were a few blissful seconds of not
remembering, before it all came crashing back. I replayed
things over and over in my head, and kept returning to the
image of Nat’s face just before he’d left. He’d looked at me
the way you’d look at a stranger on the street. How could
you go in a matter of minutes from telling someone you
loved them to looking at them like that? How was that even
possible?
I knew the whole thing was my fault. It would never have
happened if I hadn’t been trying to weasel out of telling him
about my past. I could have just lied, or been vague, or told
him he was my first. Or maybe not. Maybe I could have told
him the truth and maybe he would have understood and
maybe I would have felt as if a gigantic weight had been
lifted and I could finally breathe again.
I checked my phone, hoping to see the little envelope in
the corner of the screen. And there it was!
My heart hammered in my chest and I knew that
everything was going to be fine. Until I saw that it was a SIM
update from the bastard phone network.
Bastardbastardbastard.
I threw the phone on the floor and gave it my best evil
stare, considering what punishment to inflict on it next. Then
I thought better of it and texted Sal: ‘Come round?
PLEASE? Nat’s not here. x’. A few minutes later I got a
message back saying she was on her way.
I had a quick shower, trying my best to ignore the pain of
the hot water running down the cuts on my legs. I felt much
more positive about things as I got dressed and put my
damp hair in a ponytail. Sal would know how to fix things
with Nat. I couldn’t tell her exactly what we’d argued about,
but I felt sure I could come up with something plausible.
She’d kill me if she found out what I’d told him. And she’d
have every right to. Best friends didn’t do that to each other,
not ever. I was the worst best friend in the world.
The doorbell rang much sooner than I’d expected. I hadn’t
had a chance to put the sheets in the wash. I grimaced as I
looked at the state of them. It was OK though, Sal and I
would just stay downstairs. Still, I quickly stowed the knife
back in the desk drawer and chucked my dressing gown
over the bed, somewhat haphazardly. It was the best I could
do.
I bounded down the stairs and opened the door to let Sal
in, and then accidentally burst into tears before she could
sit down. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Sal manoeuvred me over to the sofa and let the tears run
their course. She hugged me and told me everything was
going to be OK, which was nice to hear even though I didn’t
believe it. When the crying died down to a mere sniffle, Sal
offered to make a cup of tea. I waited on the sofa.
She emerged from the kitchen with two gigantic mugs of
tea. ‘Get some of that down you.’ I took a scalding gulp,
relishing the pain.
‘Now, what did he do?’
‘What do you mean?’ My brain wasn’t functioning.
‘Nat – what did he do? He must have done something for
you to be in such a state. Tell me, and I’ll go and punch him
on the nose.’ Just the thought of that made me smile.
‘Nothing. He didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.’ I
launched into the story of the weekend so far. Sal listened
carefully, sipping her tea.
She interrupted only once. ‘He told you he loved you?’
‘Yeah, he did. And I was so happy. Then somehow it all
went wrong. We got into a stupid argument and I got really
angry and asked him to leave. He didn’t even try to change
my mind, even though it was like stupid o’clock and the
buses wouldn’t have been running. He just … left.’
‘You got into an argument when he’d just told you he
loved you? How on earth did you manage that?!’
My mind raced through the possible lies I’d concocted for
Sal’s benefit, before I made a decision.
‘OK, here’s the thing. Please don’t be angry with me …’
‘Why would I be angry with you? Don’t be daft!’ But I
could see the first flickers of worry in her eyes.
‘I’m really, really sorry, but I told him what happened with
you.’ I cringed, waiting for Sal’s reaction. I must have
looked pathetic – like a dog that had just peed on the
carpet.
‘You told him about …?’
I nodded. ‘He kept asking and asking about why we fell
out, and I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.’ I struggled
to meet her eyes.
Sal shook her head slowly. ‘You didn’t know what else to
say?! Come off it, Grace. You could have told him anything
– you’re the best liar I know. Jesus! I can’t believe this!’ She
put her face in her hands.
‘Hey, come on, it’s not that bad. He’s not going to tell
anyone. But I still shouldn’t have told him. I fucked up and
I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’
Sal didn’t look angry or upset – more resigned than
anything else. Resigned to the fact that her best friend
couldn’t be trusted.
‘So … do you think you can forgive me for being a Class
A idiot of the highest order? Honestly, I don’t know why you
put up with me!’ My weak attempt at humour drew a
scathing look from Sal.
‘I don’t know why I put up with you either.’
‘Because me being such a loser makes you look good?’
That managed to coax a small smile.
‘Yeah, that must be it. Let’s just forget about this, OK?
Obviously I wish you hadn’t told him, but it’s done now. As
long as you’re sure he won’t tell anyone? Especially
Devon.’
Christ, I hadn’t even thought about Devon. ‘He won’t tell
anyone, I promise. And you have to know that you can trust
me, even though it might not look that way right now.’
‘But you still haven’t told me why you argued. Why would
you telling him about me … why would that start an
argument? It doesn’t make any sense.’
There was no point in lying now. The worst was surely
over. ‘He asked who you’d slept with and then wouldn’t
believe that I didn’t know. And he kept asking, and I told him
it was none of his business, and I suppose it just spiralled
out of control from there.’ I paused, wondering how far to go
down this road. ‘He thought you would have told me. And I
think I got so angry with him because … well, I suppose I
thought so too.’
‘Oh, I get it. So somehow this is my fault now?’
‘No no no, that’s not what I meant at all. I was just trying to
be honest with you. The only one to blame here is me.’
‘But you’re still pissed off about it, aren’t you? About the
fact that I didn’t tell you.’
‘No, not at all!’ God, this telling-the-truth malarkey wasn’t
all it was cracked up to be. I continued, ‘Well, maybe I’m a
little bit hurt that you won’t tell me. I just can’t see what
difference it makes.’
‘Grace, you’re just going to have to get over this. I can’t
keep having this conversation with you. I’m trying to forget
about the whole thing, and do you know what would really,
really help me do that?’
I looked at her expectantly. She laughed. ‘Alcohol!’ I
laughed too, relieved that things were still fine between us –
at least on the surface. Maybe there was something to be
said for telling the truth after all.
I cracked open one of Mum’s best bottles of wine, and
over the next hour or so Sal listened to my Nat woes. She
tried to reassure me that everything was going to be OK
with him, that one little fight didn’t necessarily mean that we
were going to break up, that arguing was a perfectly normal
thing for couples to do. Eventually I started to believe that
maybe things weren’t so bad after all. She persuaded me
to text him an apology: ‘I’m SO sorry about last night. I was
an idiot – my fault completely. Ring me later? x’
I felt better as soon as I’d sent it, even though I didn’t
actually think it was my fault completely. Ninety per cent
maybe. The other ten per cent was down to Nat’s general
nosiness. But I was happy to take the blame if it meant he’d
stay with me. He’d said he loved me, for Christ’s sake. I
wasn’t just going to let him slip through my fingers.
He texted back about ten minutes later: ‘OK. Am
covering a shift at the pub tonight. Might not be able to call.
Talk tomorrow. x’
It wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for, but Sal seemed pretty
positive about it when I showed her. She managed to
convince me that he was probably distracted and busy at
work, and that the only thing I needed to take any notice of
was the kiss at the end of the message.
She poured me another glass of wine and stood up.
‘How about some food to soak up the vino?’
The fridge revealed a few rashers of bacon, the sight of
which was enough for Sal to convince me to create my
legendary bacon, pasta and peas. It was her favourite.
Soon the pasta was boiling and the bacon was sizzling in
the pan. Sal’s phone rang in the living room. She must have
got a new ringtone – some incredibly cheesy song from
before we were even born. She picked up the phone and
looked at the display to see if it was worth answering. She
was almost as obsessive as I was about screening her
calls. She didn’t look particularly thrilled at what she saw.
She turned and saw my quizzical look. ‘Er … I’ve got to get
this. OK if I take it upstairs?’ I vaguely wondered who could
be calling and why she didn’t want me listening in, but I was
distracted by the pasta, which was threatening to boil over.
Sal ran upstairs and I turned my attention back to the
cooker. A minute or so later I was getting the plates out of
the cupboard when I suddenly remembered. My room. I
completely panicked: Sal must not see the state of my
room. The plates clattered on to the work surface as I
rushed out of the kitchen and scrambled up the stairs.
Please let her be in the bathroom or in Mum’s room or in
the hall or …
She was standing just inside my room with her back to
me. The phone was clasped to her ear. I heard her say in a
quiet, weird voice, ‘I’m going to have to call you later.’ She
snapped the phone shut.
‘Sal, I …’ I couldn’t think of anything to say. I looked past
her and saw that I hadn’t done a very good job of covering
the bed after all.
She turned slowly towards me, a look of horror on her
face. Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘What have you
done?’
‘OK, listen, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just come
downstairs and we’ll talk about it.’ I reached out to try to
take hold of her arm, but she shook me off.
‘Jesus, Grace! Look at this!’ She picked up my dressing
gown and dropped it on the floor, revealing the worst of the
bloodstains. It did look bad – even worse than I’d
remembered.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, honestly. I just … I was in a bit
of a bad way last night.’
Sal shook her head slowly, surveying the scene.
‘Sal? Say something. Please?’
Instead of speaking, she grabbed my sleeve and tried to
pull it up my arm.
I pulled my arm away. ‘What are you doing?! Stop it!’
‘Show me.’ Her voice was eerily calm.
I shook my head. ‘Come on, let’s just go downstairs.’
‘I’m not going anywhere until you show me.’
‘I’m not going to show you anything, so can we just leave
it? Please.’
We stood in silence for a few moments, neither of us
willing to budge.
‘I want to see what you’ve done to yourself. Show me
your arms. Now.’ I’d never seen her like this before. It was
scary.
I did as I was told and rolled up my sleeves. Sal took
each arm in turn and examined it for scars. There was
nothing to see – nothing new at least. She looked confused.
I spoke quietly. ‘My legs … I cut my legs.’
A look of pure disgust flickered across her face. ‘What is
wrong with you?’
‘Look, it’s no big deal. I can’t help it – you know that.’
‘But this? It looks like someone died here or something.’
I sat down on the edge of the bed. Sal stood there,
unable to take her eyes off the scene before her. I was
desperately trying to think of something to say – anything
that would bring this conversation to an end.
‘I couldn’t stop myself. I just kept cutting.’ Sal was still
shaking her head; I was clearly going to have to do better
than that. ‘It made me feel better … I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?! Jesus, Grace, do you have any idea how wrong
that sounds? How can cutting into your own flesh, making
horrific scars all over your body … how can that possibly
make you feel better?’ Sal’s voice got louder as she
continued, ‘Do you ever think about how I feel? I worry
about you all the time.’
I was taken aback by her outburst. I thought we’d got over
the whole cutting thing. It was just something I did. As
normal to me as brushing my teeth or filing my nails.
‘There’s no need to worry. I’ve got it under control.’
Sal snorted with derision. ‘Yeah, course you have. Looks
that way to me. This is the very picture of control.’ She
picked up a blood-spotted pillow and brought it so close to
my face that I thought for a mad split second that she was
going to try to smother me.
Now I was getting annoyed – my mood slowly but surely
ratcheting up to meet hers. I grabbed the pillow out of her
hands. ‘Give it a rest, Sal. Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’ She
looked surprised. Clearly she hadn’t expected me to talk
back. She really should have known better.
She took a deep breath. ‘Right, that’s it. I have to go.’
‘What? Why? Aw, come on! Don’t be like that. I was only
messing – sarcasm really suits you.’ I attempted a smile.
‘This isn’t a joke, Grace. I’m going. I just don’t know what
to say to you right now.’ She turned her back on me.
I jumped up from the bed and put myself between Sal
and the door. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. Can’t we
talk about this?’
‘I’m sorry too.’ Sal shook her head as she neatly
sidestepped me. ‘But there’s nothing else to talk about. You
can’t go on like this. You know that, don’t you? If something
happened to you, I’d never be able to forgive myself. Try to
put yourself in my shoes … I’ve tried to understand … but
this? This is too much for me to deal with right now.’
‘Sal, I …’
‘Just think about it. Promise me that,’ she said, back to
her usual, gentle self all of a sudden. I nodded. ‘I’ll call you
tomorrow, OK?’ She gently touched my shoulder, before
leaving the room.
Another mute nod from me and then she was gone. The
second time I’d been abandoned in the past twenty-four
hours. I threw myself down on the bed and the tears came
all too easily. After a minute or so the smoke alarm began
to beep. The bacon. Fuck.
I lay in bed that night, under a fresh, over-starched duvet
cover, mulling over the colossal pile of crap that my life had
become. Trying to work out how (or if) I could make it all OK
again.
Eventually I grabbed my phone from the bedside table
and fired off two text messages in quick succession:
‘I’m sorry. Things are going to change from now on – I
promise. Love you.’
‘I’m sorry (again!). I want to fix this. I love you.’
Subtly different, but basically the same message to the
only two people I cared about.
I slept badly, my head a tangle of nightmares and dark
thoughts. Every time I woke up, I checked my phone for
messages, feeling more and more wretched. Finally, at
about 3 a.m., I had to accept that neither of them was going
to reply – at least not until morning. I tried not to think about
what that might mean.
day 28
Ethan’s skin feels cold and clammy. His skin looks paler
too, with an almost blueish tinge. That can’t be good. Last
night I lay down beside him, pulling the duvet over us both. I
lay my hand on his chest, so that I could feel it rise and fall,
rise and fall, trying to reassure myself that everything would
be OK as long as it kept doing just that.
This morning I woke up with my head resting where my
hand had been the night before. His breathing hadn’t
changed. I got up and stretched. I feel … well, I feel good.
Strong and vital. I haven’t eaten for two days, but I’m not
hungry. Not even a little bit. That can’t be normal.
I know what I have to do. I’ve never been so certain of
anything.
I have to finish what I started.
I just hope there’s time.
Sal was as good as her word. She called at lunchtime and
told me she hadn’t got my message until that morning –
something about turning her phone off cos she was so
knackered. Our voices stumbled over one another’s as we
both tried to apologize. I promised not to cut again. I sat
and watched myself in the mirror – watched myself lie to
her. Sal was upset, even crying at one point. She kept on
insisting that she was the one who should be apologizing. It
was weird, but I figured she was just hormonal.
Nat didn’t answer his phone the first couple of times I
tried him. I didn’t leave a message. I watched some crap on
MTV, trying my best to concentrate on the trials and
tribulations of some indistinguishable blonde chicks:
Heidi/Lauren/Blah/Whoever.
After an hour, I took a deep breath and tried Nat again.
One ring, two, three, four, five and then he answered. I
couldn’t tell much from his ‘hello’, apart from the fact that he
seemed a bit out of breath.
‘Hi, it’s me.’ Suddenly I had no idea what I wanted to say.
‘Hi, you.’
I took heart from the fact that he hadn’t hung up on me
straight away. ‘Can we meet up? I really need to talk to
you.’ Somehow I managed to refrain from begging.
‘Grace, I … OK. Where do you want to meet?’
YES! There was still a chance, however slim it might be.
We arranged to meet in a pub round the corner from the
one where he worked. I chose to meet him there for three
reasons: there was no danger of anyone we knew being
there; it would be practically deserted at this time of day;
and there would be alcohol.
I arrived early and ordered a vodka and Coke to settle
my nerves. I tried to sip my drink in a nonchalant yeah-I’mperfectly-
happy-drinking-by-myself-in-the-middle-of-theafternoon
way. The barman looked over from time to time. It
was sort of annoying. I crunched the ice cubes; the cold
made my teeth tingle. I checked the time on my phone,
again and again. Nat was late – nothing new there. It
suddenly occurred to me that maybe he wouldn’t show up.
What if he’d changed his mind?
No. He wouldn’t do that to me. He was different from all
the others. And that’s exactly why I loved him.
But there was something to be said for the simplicity of a
meaningless relationship. You’re far less likely to get hurt.
You move on to the next one, memories already beginning
to fade before you’ve even scrubbed away the smell of him
in the shower. Apathy is the key. And so what if that apathy
dooms the ‘relationship’ (if you can even call it that) to
failure from the very start? Shrug your shoulders because
you don’t know any better – it’s all you’ve ever known. It’s all
you’re good for anyway.
I shook myself and checked the time AGAIN. God, I
hoped Nat arrived soon. These thoughts were not helping. I
downed the rest of my drink and quickly headed to the bar
for another. I didn’t want Nat to see that I was already on my
second one. I settled myself back down and continued to
watch the door.
It had started raining outside, and people were rushing
past, shoulders hunched against the weather. A couple of
guys in suits hurried by, trying in vain to shield their
expensive haircuts with newspapers. The door opened and
an old man in a tweed suit trundled in with a scruffy little dog
at his feet. He left his huge rainbow-coloured golf umbrella
by the door. The dog shook himself vigorously and water
flew everywhere. It was cute, if you like that sort of thing.
I was so distracted by the dog that I didn’t even notice
Nat until he was halfway across the room. I gave him a little
wave that made me feel stupid the moment I’d done it. He
nodded, saw that I’d already got a drink, and detoured
towards the bar. I watched him as he ordered his pint,
smoothing back his damp hair, then nervously tapping his
fingers on the bar. He’d ordered a Guinness, which took
aaaaaaages. I just wanted to speak to him, to look in his
eyes and get some kind of clue as to how this was going to
go.And then he was sitting in front of me, looking incredible.
‘Hey.’ A solid start from me, I thought.
‘Hey.’ Right back at me. Eye contact. My heart hurts.
‘So …’ I wasn’t sure how to start. I really should have
practised what I was going to say, but then maybe I’d have
come across as being insincere. Nat said nothing and took
a sip from his pint.
I tried again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
He nodded, but still said nothing.
‘Nat, I hate myself for how I acted. There’s no excuse. I
get angry way too easily – always have. Just ask Sal.’ I
silently kicked myself for mentioning her. ‘Do you think …
maybe we could get past this?’
He looked at me for a few seconds. His eyes seemed
more blue than ever, and that made me want to cry. ‘Grace,
I don’t know—’
Something in his tone of voice scared me. It sounded
detached, and somehow final. So I interrupted. ‘I can’t lose
you. Not now.’ I could feel the tears getting ready to flow, so
I took a sip of vodka to try and distract them.
Nat shook his head. ‘I don’t know if this can work.’ He
gazed into his Guinness as if it held all the answers. A
liquid Magic 8-Ball.
‘It can work. It is working. Well, it was until the other night.
And I’ve said I’m sorry. I love you. You know that, don’t you?’
The desperation in my voice was painful.
He nodded, somewhat reluctantly. ‘But maybe it’d be
better for both of us if we just …’ He wouldn’t look at me.
‘Just what?’ Even though I knew full well what he was
trying to say.
‘If we … ended things.’ He looked up sheepishly to
gauge my reaction.
I took a deep breath and tried to concentrate extra hard
on the logo on Nat’s T-shirt – anything to stop the tears.
Silence stretched out between us. A tear escaped and
trickled down my face, tickling my cheek in an especially
irritating way, but I did nothing to halt its progress. It dripped
onto the table in front of me. Stupid, disobedient tear.
‘Grace, please don’t cry.’
‘I’m not crying!’ Yeah, right. ‘I don’t understand why
you’re saying this. I love you, and I thought … well, you said
you loved me. Did you even mean it?’
‘It’s not that simple.’ Again with the sheepish look.
‘I think it is. I don’t want to lose you over this. Things were
good. I mean, they were, weren’t they?’ He nodded, which
gave me the tiny bit of encouragement I needed to carry on.
‘Please give me another chance? Give us another chance.’
He was shaking his head again, so I let the full extent of
my desperation show. ‘I need you. I don’t know how I’d
cope …’ It was true, but it felt wrong saying it – like it was
cheating somehow.
Nat reached out for my hand. ‘Shh, don’t say that. You’d
be better off without me.’ His voice was soft and he looked
troubled.
‘How can I possibly be better off without you? I don’t just
go around telling random boys that I love them, you know.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and it scares me. But I
thought … I think we could have a future together. Don’t
you?’
‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ He looked so unhappy, but I
definitely detected the first hint of doubt in his voice. Maybe
this isn’t a lost cause after all.
‘You think this isn’t hurting me? I know this can work. Just
give it a chance – that’s all I’m asking for.’ I reached out to
hold his other hand. I wasn’t going to let go. If I could hold on
tight enough then maybe I wouldn’t drown.
He sighed and looked deep into my eyes. I blinked away
another round of tears and willed him to say the right thing. I
hoped and wished and willed with every fibre of my being,
praying that the positive vibes would flow through my
fingertips from my body to his.
This was it. Everything rested on his next few words.
Ethan’s getting colder, I think. I lay down next to him and
tried to warm his body with mine. It didn’t work. I fell asleep.
I dreamed we were back in the park, sitting on the
swings. There was an empty gin bottle on the ground next
to me. Ethan was swinging back and forth, back and forth.
He looked all blurry and I couldn’t work out why. Was I
drunk? Or was he moving so fast I couldn’t focus on him?
I heard his voice inside my head, but it sounded like my
voice too. ‘Keep going, Grace. You’re so close.’
I woke up feeling sort of good. Sort of right.
Nat said yes. He was willing to give it a go.
‘Really?’ I asked in a small voice. I didn’t want to make
any sudden movements or loud noises. Slow and quiet.
‘Yes, let’s do this.’ He didn’t look entirely convinced, but I
was sure that was only temporary. I was going to prove to
him that he’d made the right decision. I will be the best
girlfriend ever.
‘I do care about you, Grace. Never forget that.’
I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed it gently. ‘I
know you do.’ I paused, considering my words carefully.
‘Do you want to … do you want to come back to mine?
Mum’s not back till tomorrow.’ All of a sudden I felt shy.
Nat shook his head. ‘I can’t – I have to get back to work.
I’m only on my break.’ He lifted our entwined hands from the
table so he could look at his watch. ‘In fact … I’m late as it
is. I’m really sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it – it’s fine.’ Liar.
He let go of my hands and downed the rest of his drink. I
did the same, just to mask my disappointment. ‘Right, let’s
go. I’ll walk with you.’
We left the pub in silence. It was still raining outside, so
we ran round the corner to the pub where Nat worked. We
stood in the doorway, both of us slightly damp. I tried not to
think about how bad my hair must look.
‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Got some lame family thing
tonight.’ He leaned down to kiss me, all too swiftly. I wanted
more. I put my hand to the back of his neck and pulled him
closer, but I still couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to take
him home with me and make things all better in the only
way I knew how. But it looked like I was going to have to
wait.
Before I knew it I was standing alone in the doorway,
feeling relieved and unsure and happy all at once.
The next day, I couldn’t face waiting at home for Nat to call,
so I went round to Sal’s for lunch. The added bonus was
that I wouldn’t be home when Mum got back from London.
She always made a show of wanting to spend quality time
with me when she got back from one of her trips. It never
lasted. After about half an hour in my company, she’d
suddenly remember that she needed to call Alison or Suzy
or the hairdresser or anyone. I swear to God she’d rather
dial a random number and talk to a complete stranger than
have to spend time with me.
Everything was nice and normal at Sal’s house. Her mum
folding the washing, Cam wandering around playing on his
DS, getting in everyone’s way and shouting, ‘Die! Die!’
every few minutes. But Sal was being weird. She was
acting super-polite and kept making sure I had a drink and
did I want any more salad? Anything for pudding, perhaps?
It was disconcerting. It had always been a case of ‘get it
yourself’ when we went to each other’s houses, but she was
acting as if I’d never so much as set foot there before.
I put it down to the fact that she felt awkward about the
way she’d acted the other night. I thought we’d dealt with all
that nonsense on the phone yesterday. I was half tempted
to say something to put her at ease, but I was reluctant to
bring up the subject again. Instead I did my best to act
completely normal, hoping to reassure her that everything
was OK between us.
After lunch, we headed up to her room. I lounged on the
bed, while Sal connected her iPod to her stereo. We
listened to music and talked about nothing important. It was
nice just hanging out with her, and after a while she seemed
to relax – as if she’d suddenly remembered that we were
best friends and perhaps she could feel comfortable in my
presence after all.
My phone rang and it made me jump. How had I
managed to forget that I was expecting Nat to call? I’d
hardly slept the night before, trying to work out how best to
play things. I just wanted everything to get back to normal
as quickly as possible. I wanted this ‘hiccup’ (I’d decided
that’s all it was) to be a distant memory, something Nat and
I would maybe remember in years to come and laugh about
how silly we’d been. I wanted that more than anything. But it
couldn’t even begin to happen until I was able to at least
spend some time with him. I was so desperate to see him
that I nearly pressed the disconnect button on my phone in
my eagerness just to hear his voice.
But I was sorely disappointed. It was Mum, dammit. Why
the fuck was she calling me? Maybe she’d discovered that
I’d wrecked one of her best pans. Maybe she’d decided to
cook some big meal to celebrate her homecoming?
Unlikely. Then I realized that she was calling on her mobile.
‘Grace, darling, it’s me.’
‘Hi.’
‘Listen, I’m afraid I’m going to be staying down here a
few more days. You’ll never guess who I bumped into
yesterday! Uncle Mick …you remember him, don’t you? Of
course you do! Your father’s friend? Well, he’s got a flat
here – a penthouse, no less – and he said he’d love to have
me stay for a few days. That way we can have a proper
catch-up. I hope that’s OK? It’s so long since I’ve seen him
– we have so much to talk about! Anyway, there’s plenty of
food in the freezer, and if you need anything else, there’s
money in the penguin jar.’
I could hardly get a word in. My mother was babbling like
never before. It was painful. My end of the conversation
consisted of words like ‘yeah’ and ‘fine’. I did, however,
manage to squeeze in a question about Uncle Mick’s wife.
Strangely enough, Mum didn’t seem entirely comfortable
with that particular subject. Messy divorce apparently, all
very recent.
And then she couldn’t get off the phone fast enough,
which suited me just fine. I was pleased that I’d have the
house to myself for a bit longer, especially as it coincided
nicely with Operation: Making Things Normal with Nat.
Sal had pretty much got the gist of the conversation by
listening to my half, but I filled her in on the rest.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Your mum is ridiculous! I don’t
mean to be rude or anything, but I don’t know how you put
up with her sometimes.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, doesn’t it bother you that she’s away all the time?’
‘Are you kidding? I love it when she’s away. It’s the only
time I get a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘If you say so …’ She didn’t seem to be buying it, but she
really should have known better. I’d never exactly hidden my
feelings towards the woman who gave birth to me.
‘Trust me – you’d feel exactly the same if you had a
mother like mine. Your parents are so cool, you have no
idea. You’re so lucky.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. But I suppose I’m glad they’re
around – well, most of the time anyway. Don’t you get
lonely, being in the house on your own?’
I gave this some thought. ‘Not lonely, exactly. And
certainly not lonely for her … if that makes any sense. It’s
not like I’m sitting there pining away, wishing we could
make popcorn and watch Beaches or some such crap, or
have a heart-to-heart and talk about boys. Ha! Just the
thought of it …’ I stared into space, struggling to picture the
scene. It was no good. Even my overactive imagination
couldn’t pull that off.
‘What about this “Uncle Mick” then? Do you think …?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. I haven’t seen him
in years. Not since … not since the funeral.’
‘Oh.’ The mention of the funeral was Sal’s signal to back
off. Usually whenever the conversation strayed into ‘Dad’
territory, the subject would be changed as quickly as
possible. But today was different …
‘He was Dad’s best friend at uni. Dad said the two of
them were like peas in a pod – they did everything
together. A bit like us two, I suppose. Mick and his wife
used to come and stay with us for a week every summer.
Can’t think of her name. She was pretty and blonde and
didn’t smile much, that’s all I remember. Mick was cool. He
could always make me laugh, even when I was in the
middle of a tantrum. Him and Dad were like some sort of
comedy double act.’
‘And you haven’t seen him since …? That’s such a
shame.’
‘Yeah, it’s weird. I’d completely forgotten about him until
just then. I swear my memory’s faulty. It’s strange how
someone can be such a big part of your life and then just …
disappear.’
My phone rang and interrupted my thoughts. This time it
was Nat. I picked up and gestured to Sal that I’d take the
call out in the hall. Nat and I chatted about nothing for a bit,
then arranged for him to come over at eight.
I lowered my voice. ‘I’ve missed you …’
‘But you only just saw me yesterday.’
‘That’s not quite what I meant … I want you,’ I said as
quietly as possible.
‘Oh, riiiiight. I’m so dense – sorry. I’ve … er … missed
you too.’
‘Really?’ I could have kicked myself. Why did I have to
sound like a needy little girl?
‘Yes, really. I’ll see you later.’
‘See you.’ I disconnected the call, wondering if I should
have added an ‘I love you’ at the end, but perhaps that
would have been too much, too soon. I leaned against the
wall for a moment and closed my eyes.
A little voice piped up, ‘Who was that?’
I opened my eyes to find a pair of eyes peering up at me
from the stairs below, hands grasping the banisters as if he
was a prisoner down there.
‘None of your business!’
‘Was it your boyfriend? Do you luuuuuurve him? Have
you kissed him yet? With tongues?’ He stuck his tongue out
at me and wiggled it around.
I laughed. ‘That’s none of your business either! What do
you know about kissing anyway? Have you got a girlfriend?’
‘Urgh, no. Gross! I’m NEVER having a girlfriend! Never,
ever, ever in a million years! Girls are worse than cabbage.’
And with that made perfectly clear, he clattered back down
the stairs.
I returned to Sal’s room. ‘Your brother is hilarious! And
possibly gay.’
She was sending a text message at lightning speed. She
pressed send and then looked up at me. ‘I’ll have to take
your word for that. So … things are definitely back on with
Nat then?’
I hadn’t told her the whole story yet – I’d been sidetracked
by Sal acting weird and then Mum calling. I quickly filled her
in, recounting my conversation with Nat almost word for
word. I made sure that I sounded slightly less pathetic than
I’d actually been. There was no reason for Sal to know
about all the tears.
‘So … that’s good then, isn’t it?’ She didn’t sound sure.
‘Er, yeah it’s good! I really thought it was over.’
‘Sounds like you did a pretty good job convincing him
otherwise.’
Her words made me feel odd somehow. ‘Well, I didn’t
force him or anything! I just reminded him what we had.’
‘You really do love him, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Why? Didn’t you believe me before?’
‘I don’t know what I believed. I suppose … well, it’s all
quite new, isn’t it? You were always so scathing about love
and relationships.’
I shrugged. ‘What can I say? I was an idiot. I had no idea
what I was talking about. People do change, you know. Why
are you being weird about this? Aren’t you happy for me?’
That seemed to shake her up a bit. ‘Sorry, of course I’m
happy for you. I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.’
I softened somewhat. ‘I’d be hurting a whole lot more if
he’d dumped me.’
Sal merely nodded, still chewing at her fingertips. I
noticed she’d drawn blood.
‘Hey! Since when do you bite your nails? That’s
disgusting!’
She took her hand away from her mouth and looked at
me all shifty. ‘I don’t bite my nails …’
‘Yeah, right.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I’m going to have to
head off, if that’s OK? I need to sort the house out a bit
before Nat comes round. And sort myself out – I look like
shit.’
Sal sighed. ‘You never look like shit, Grace.’
‘Aw, thanks, honey, but you have to say that – you’re my
best friend.’ As I leaned over to give her a quick hug, her
phone beeped with an incoming text message. She
ignored it.
‘Right, I’ll call you tomorrow and give you all the gory
details.’ I winked at her.
Sal grimaced. ‘You can keep the gory details to yourself.
I’ll take the PG-rated version.’
I laughed and skipped out of the room, feeling buoyed
and positive about everything.
When I saw the state of the house, my positivity levelled out
somewhat. I changed into my trackie bottoms and an old Tshirt
and got to work, washing dishes, vacuuming, plumping
cushions. Well, I plumped two cushions before I realized
what I was doing. Mum plumps cushions; I do not. I took my
bedding out of the tumble dryer and checked it carefully. It
was as good as new, thank God, so I decided to change
the sheets on my bed for the second time in two days. My
spare set (tartan, if you can believe it) didn’t exactly conjure
up the mood I was aiming for.
By the time I was finished, the house was looking pretty
damn good – as good as it ever could, anyway. I was
exhausted, so I slumped down on the sofa and flicked on
the TV. It was just before six, so there was plenty of time to
get myself looking halfway decent – I just needed a little
break first. I surfed the channels and eventually found
Friends. I’d only seen that particular episode twice, so I
settled down to chill out for the next twenty minutes or so. I
told myself (and quite strictly too) that I was only allowed to
watch this one episode, and that was it.
Next thing I knew, the doorbell was ringing. Shit.
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit. One look at the clock on the
mantelpiece confirmed my worst fear: eight o’clock on the
dot. He wasn’t even late. Why isn’t he late? He’s always
late, dammit! I sprang from the sofa and presented myself
in front of the mirror. Eeeeesh. Not good at all. I wiped at
the corner of my mouth to get rid of a tiny bit of drool. I let
my hair down and flung my head forwards and backwards a
few times. The result wasn’t quite just-stepped-out-of-asalon,
more just-escaped-from-an-asylum. But it was going
to have to do. It was too late to do anything about the
clothes, but at least my trackie bottoms weren’t harbouring
any nasty stains. The T-shirt was way too small and my big
toe stuck out of one of my mismatched socks. Oh well. I
quickly sniffed my armpits, which didn’t send me reeling in
disgust. I smelled like nothing – no deodorant, no body
lotion, no perfume, no nothing.
I opened the door to find Nat standing there, looking (and
smelling) like it was our first date. He took one look at me
and laughed.
‘Wow! You look —’ I cringed, not wanting to hear how he
was going to finish that sentence – ‘different!’
‘I fell asleep after doing the housework and didn’t have
time to have a shower and get changed, and then you had
to pick this one time to be on time. Tell you what – you help
yourself to a drink while I run upstairs. I won’t be a minute …
just stop looking at me like that!’
He was still laughing. ‘Grace, shut up and kiss me.’ I had
no choice but to obey. God, he was good at the kissing.
After a few minutes, he led me over to the sofa. He sat
down and pulled me down next to him. ‘Can I get you a
drink, or something to eat?’ He shook his head and moved
his hand to tuck a bit of my unruly mane behind my ear. He
stroked my cheek ever so gently with the back of his hand.
stroked my cheek ever so gently with the back of his hand.
He was looking at me strangely and it made my heart feel
funny and jumpy. ‘Well, can I at least put on some decent
clothes? I feel all … icky. And you look all … not icky.’ He
shook his head, still saying nothing. ‘Nat! Say something!
You’re being weird.’
Instead, he kissed me again. I melted. Finally, when I’d
practically forgotten my own name and decided that I
wanted nothing more than to go on kissing him forever, he
pulled away. ‘You look amazing.’ His sarcasm earned him
a punch. ‘Ouch … that hurt!’
‘Liar!’
‘Well, it could have hurt.’ He pouted. ‘It hurt my feelings
anyway.’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you keep taking the piss out of
me, I’ll punch you harder next time …’
He kissed me again before I could say anything more: a
mightily effective shutting-up-Grace technique.
‘I’m not taking the piss – trust me. I’ve never seen you
look so beautiful. I mean it.’
‘You’re mental. Or is there something wrong with your
eyes?’ I waved my hand in front of him, inches from his
face. ‘Can you see this? How many fingers am I holding
up?’
He grabbed my hand and held it in both of his. ‘You look
fresh … and young … and cute … and really … really …
hot.’ Each pause was punctuated by a kiss. I melted more.
He actually seemed to mean it. And who was I to argue?
‘Young? Not too young, I hope?’
Another kiss. ‘Nah, don’t worry … I think you’re still legal.’
I sank back into the sofa. Nat followed, his lips never
leaving mine. I could barely form a coherent thought, such
was my blissed-out state. I was vaguely aware that this was
going a lot better than I could have ever hoped. This was
better than normal – better than anything, in fact.
And somewhere in my mind – my pink and fuzzy softfocus
mind – something clicked: the cuts. The fresh cuts.
He could hardly miss them, could he? There were so many,
and they looked so bad. Much, much worse than before. He
wouldn’t even want to look at me, let alone touch me. I
silently cursed my stupidity: this reunion was going to be
over before it began.
I don’t know how, but Nat realized that something was up.
He pulled away and looked at me intently. ‘Are you OK?’
I paused – I knew that my answer was crucial.
The choice, as I saw it, was a simple one:
Carry on as if nothing was wrong, and hope that he
wouldn’t freak out when he saw what I’d done to myself.
OR …
Tell the truth, and probably scare him off for good.
Why do I keep doing this to myself? Will I never learn?
I manoeuvred my way out from underneath Nat and
straightened out my T-shirt.
‘What’s the matter, Grace?’ The concern in his eyes
almost made me change my mind. Almost.
I covered my face with my hands, before whispering,
‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
‘What is it? You can tell me anything. I don’t want any
more secrets between us.’ He leaned forward and put his
arm around my shoulders. It felt heavy and comforting, but I
didn’t want to be comforted – not yet.
I stood and turned to face him. I watched his face as I
started to pull down my tracksuit bottoms. He raised his
eyebrows and smiled at first, having obviously
misunderstood my actions. And then his smile slipped
away, and was replaced with … with what? I couldn’t really
tell. It certainly wasn’t the full-on disgust I’d expected. I
resisted the urge to pull up my trousers straight away, and
tried not to think about the fact that I was wearing an old,
greying pair of pants.
‘Say something, Nat. Please say something.’
Nat’s expression was unreadable as he knelt on the
carpet in front of me and gently pulled my trackies back up.
He reached for my hand, and looked up into my eyes. ‘It’s
going to be OK.’
I blinked back tears and crumpled down to meet him on
the floor. He put his arms around me once again, and held
me as I cried and cried and cried.
Eventually I sniffed and took a deep breath. ‘Not looking
so fresh and cute now, am I?’
He laughed and wiped away my tears. ‘Hmm, perhaps
not … I still would though.’
‘Liar. But thanks anyway.’ I leaned my head back against
his chest.
‘I’m not lying! Do you want me to prove it?’ His hand
crept towards the drawstring of my trackie bottoms.
I caught his wrist and held it fast against my stomach.
‘Don’t. How can you even think about having sex with a
freak like me? I’m repulsive.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not? It’s true.’
‘It’s not, and I don’t want you thinking like that. So you cut
yourself sometimes? Big deal. I don’t care.’
‘What?’
‘Look, we all have our ways of dealing with stuff when it
gets too much for us. Your way just happens to be more …
extreme than most. I hate that you feel you have to do this to
yourself, and it makes me sad that you’re going to have
these scars long after you’ve realized that there are better
ways of dealing with your feelings, but I am not repulsed by
you. I thought you knew that.’
I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t know what to think.
‘Grace, look at me. If I thought I could do or say anything
to make you stop, then I would. But that’s not how it works.’
He paused, and said more quietly, ‘You did this after our
fight on Saturday, didn’t you?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just so upset and I
thought I’d lost you and I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Hey, hey … It’s OK. I was upset too.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t go home and start slicing yourself
up, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe not, but I did kick a wall
really, really hard … I think I might even have broken a toe.’
I smiled. ‘Really? That wasn’t very clever, was it?!’
‘I know. I felt like a right twat, hobbling home in the middle
of the night. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that we’re
going to have more arguments – I guarantee it.’ I frowned at
him. ‘Come on, you know it’s true. People argue, all the
time, about the stupidest things. And we will too. But let’s
not leave things like that again. OK?’ He acknowledged my
nod, before continuing. ‘Let’s talk things through properly.
And then maybe you won’t … feel the need to hurt yourself.’
‘You’re right. I don’t want that happening again. I can’t
promise anything though … about the cutting.’
‘I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying let’s both do our
best to minimize the situations where you feel you have to
do it. You have to talk to me when you’re feeling like that.
You can promise me that, can’t you?’
He looked so earnest and sensible and utterly adorable, I
had no option other than to agree. ‘I promise.’ We kissed.
‘You’re pretty amazing, you know? I can’t believe how cool
you’re being about this. I didn’t expect you to be so …
calm.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll make a half-decent doctor after all, eh?’
he said.
‘I think you’re going to be the best doctor in the whole
world.’ I kissed him again, harder, deeper. ‘Doctor Scott
has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’
‘Why, thank you, Miss Carlyle. Hmm, I think you’re running
a bit of a temperature. I’m afraid I’m going to have to
prescribe immediate bed rest,’ he said in a stupid posh
voice, accompanied by a wicked glint in his eye.
I burst out laughing and cuffed him round the head. ‘That
was the cheesiest thing I have ever heard!’
‘Hey! I thought that was some of my finest work!’
He clambered up off the floor and headed to the stairs,
pulling off his T-shirt and chucking it back towards me.
‘Well, I’m going to follow doctor’s orders, even if you’re not.
You can do what you want: watch TV, file your nails,
whatever.’ His nonchalance was pretty convincing. Well, it
would have been if he hadn’t ruined the effect by giving me
that look. The look that left me completely powerless and
just … aching.
I followed.
He undressed me.
The cuts melted away with his touch.
I was a priceless china doll in his hands.
That was it. The return to normality I’d been hoping for.
Except it was a new, better kind of normal. I vowed never to
come that close to losing him again. I wouldn’t allow it to
happen.
And if I came to rely on him and need him a little bit too
much, then where was the harm in that? The cuts on my
legs started to heal. Every time I looked at them, I was
reminded how lucky I was to still have Nat. I never got
complacent, not even for one second. Nat meant everything
to me.
Mum came back from London. I’d kind of hoped she might
stay there and just send me some money every month for
food and stuff. But my fantasy came crashing down when I
heard the click of the key in the door, and then, ‘Grace, be a
dear and help me with my bags.’ It was always the same
routine.
The bags were even more excessive than usual. The
damage to her credit card must have been serious. There
goes my inheritance.
‘Now, put the kettle on and we can sit down and have a
chat.’ Jesus, this was worse than ever. But I did as I was
told. It didn’t pay to argue with a woman who was that good
at shopping: she clearly always got what she wanted.
I hugged my mug to my chest, vaguely hoping that it
would provide some kind of protection against the
onslaught of chat.
‘So, what have you been up to these past couple of
days?’
‘It’s been over a week,’ I muttered.
‘Well, what have you been up to for the past week?’ Her
pretend patience scratched at my nerves.
I shrugged, getting into the role of moody little cow.
‘Nothing.’
‘Really, Grace?! You must have done something!’
Yeah, you’re right. My boyfriend told me that he loved
me and then we got into a massive fight. I cut myself so
badly I thought the bleeding was never going to stop, and
then I fell out with Sal cos she was so upset about it. Then
I made up with my boyfriend and we had quite a lot of sex.
Er … that’s the edited version anyway.
God, it so was tempting – just to see the look on her
face. This woman had no idea about my life. She didn’t
even care.
I sighed. ‘I watched a bit of telly, went into town a couple
of times. Sal came round.’
Mum nodded, already distracted, and clearly dying to tell
me about her trip. I obliged grudgingly. ‘How was London?’
I knew she wouldn’t even notice my entirely disinterested
tone.
‘Wonderful! I bought a fabulous pair of heels – you can
borrow them some time if you like.’ I said nothing. ‘Anyway,
Selfridges was amazing, as usual. I saw lots of things that
would be perfect for you, but I didn’t buy anything in case it
didn’t fit. Wouldn’t it be lovely if they opened a branch near
here and then we could go shopping together? Or …
maybe … you could come with me next time I go to London.
That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’ I couldn’t think of anything
worse, and I almost felt bad because she looked like she
really believed that it would be fun. ‘You know that dress I
saw on the Internet? Well, it fitted me perfectly and it was on
sale … and I couldn’t say no. Aren’t I naughty?!’
Dear God, what is she on about? I had to stop this
before I threw my tea in her face.
‘How was Mick?’
‘You’re so impatient, Grace! I was just getting to that.’
Things my mother told me about meeting up with
Mick even though I wasn’t in the slightest bit
interested (but it was my fault for asking)
1. She bumped into him on Oxford Street of all
places. (Her words, not mine.)
2. It was so lovely seeing him again after all these
years. (Again, her words.)
3. He hadn’t changed a bit.
4. He was doing very well for himself.
5. His penthouse had three bedrooms, each with
an en-suite bathroom. (Big fucking deal.)
6. He took her to the Ivy. He’s a regular there,
apparently. Blah blah blah.
7. They stayed up late and talked for hours.
Way too much information.
‘Why did you stay in his flat? Isn’t that a bit … weird?’
‘What an odd thing to say! Why would it be weird?’
‘Well … you know … he’s just got divorced, and you’re
…’‘
I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, Grace Carlyle,
but I can assure you, it was all completely above board.
Mick is one of my oldest friends.’ She pushed back her
chair, went over to the sink and rinsed out her mug. She’d
barely even touched her tea. It looked like our special
mother—daughter time was coming to an end.
I got up to leave the kitchen, taking my tea with me. I was
so close to making a clean getaway.
‘Mick was asking after you. He said he’d really like to
see you some time … if that’s OK with you?’ She sounded
nervous.
I turned round, reluctant to continue the conversation.
When it finally came, my answer surprised me almost as
much as it surprised her. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean, “no”?’
‘I don’t want to see him.’
‘Why ever not? Grace, you are acting very strangely. Are
you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Then why don’t you want to see Uncle Mick?’
‘He’s not my uncle. Don’t call him that. I haven’t seen him
in years. Why the hell would I want to see him now? I can
barely even remember him anyway,’ I lied.
‘But he was your dad’s best friend! Surely that means
something to you.’
‘Then why haven’t we seen him since the funeral? It’s
pretty obvious that he just wants to get in your pants now
that he’s divorced from what’s-her-name!’ I didn’t know why
I was acting like this. Maybe I just wanted to hurt her. I didn’t
need a particular reason for that.
‘Grace! How dare you say that to me?!’ She was
shocked, but she didn’t deny it, did she?
‘Oh, whatever, Mum. You know it’s true.’
‘You apologize right now.’ Her tone was threatening.
‘I’ve got nothing to apologize for,’ I said snottily. And I left
her sitting there, surrounded by her shopping.
Back in my room, I wondered whether I might have
overreacted ever so slightly. It was hard to tell. I was
unsettled by the Mick thing. Why did he have to turn up
now? Did they really just meet on the street, by accident? I
couldn’t escape from the awful, nagging feeling that Mum
might have slept with him already. That was just too gross
to think about, but I couldn’t help myself. It would certainly
help explain her overt niceness to me when she got back –
talk about over-compensating. But why him? There were
thousands of blokes out there that she could have gone for,
so why did it have to be Dad’s best friend? And why did it
bother me so much? Doesn’t she deserve to be happy
too?
I spent the next few days avoiding Mum. I stayed at Sal’s for
a couple of nights. I didn’t tell her what was up – there was
no need. I was able to push Mum and Mick right to the back
of my mind with all the cobwebs and other extraneous
matter.
Everything else was good, and that was all that mattered.
I concentrated on what was important: Nat. He was going
back to university in three weeks’ time. And I was going
back to school next week. I fully intended to spend every
possible minute with him before he left. I’d tried talking to
him about how things would work between us when he was
back at uni, but he’d just told me not to worry. Everything
was going to be fine, apparently.
I was running out of time to put my Nat and Sal plan into
action. I was determined that they were going to be friends.
Nat had bought a couple of tickets for a gig near his
university, and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity
to throw Sal into the mix. We were hanging out in Nat’s
room a couple of days before the gig when I made my
move.
‘Why don’t we invite Sal to the gig?’
Nat looked up sharply. ‘Why?’
‘She’s my best friend, that’s why! I thought it would be fun
for us three to hang out, that’s all. But if you don’t want to …’
I left the sentence hanging in the air.
‘I thought it was going to be the two of us.’
‘Aw, come on! It’s just one night.’ I scooted down onto the
floor to lie next to him and started to massage the back of
his neck. ‘And I think Sal would really enjoy it. It’d be good
for her to get out … She hasn’t exactly had the easiest time
of it this summer, has she?’ I knew that would do the trick.
‘Fine. Bring her along.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t have to.’ Disingenuous or what?
He rolled his eyes. ‘Are you always this good at getting
what you want?’
I laughed and shrugged. ‘Pretty much. I got you, didn’t I?’
He thought for a second before answering. ‘Yeah, I
suppose you did.’
One down, one to go.
‘Sal …?’ In between bites of my Big Mac.
‘Yeeeeeees?’ She stretched out the word as far as it
would go.
‘What are you up to on Monday?’
‘Hmm, let me think … Monday, you say? I’m going to
have to check my very busy schedule, but I think I might be
free. Well, as long as I get all my pencils sharpened for
school on Tuesday.’ She took a big slurp of her milkshake
and looked at me expectantly.
‘Good, cos you’re coming out with me and Nat.’
Another slurp of milkshake. ‘Now I’m pretty sure I’d
remember if I’d arranged to do something like that.’
Sal was a slightly tougher nut to crack. It was obvious that
she wasn’t up for it, but I wore her down, countering every
reason she gave for not coming with us. It was over in a
matter of minutes.
Eventually she sighed. ‘You’re impossible when you get
like this! You’re not going to take no for an answer, are
you?’
I laughed. ‘Ah, you know me so well! So that’s settled
then. You can come round to mine to get ready beforehand,
and then we can meet Nat at the station. Maybe we should
get a couple of cans to drink on the way? Shit … what am I
gonna wear? What are you gonna wear? We’ll have to
make sure we look completely awesome. I bet there will be
lots of fit boys there. Maybe you’ll—’
‘Grace …’ The warning in her voice was clear.
‘But—’
‘But nothing! You’d better promise right now, or I’m not
going.’
I sighed in melodramatic fashion. ‘I promise. But I can’t
say the same for Nat – he might have a lonely, unbelievably
gorgeous friend in mind for you.’
‘He won’t,’ she said quietly.
‘Nah, course he won’t! All the friends I’ve heard him talk
about are girls anyway, so the odds aren’t in your favour.’ I
laughed. Sal did not.
When Sal arrived on Monday, my bed was buried
underneath a mountain of clothes and I was standing there
in my jeans and bra, hands on hips.
‘What’s up?’
‘I have NOTHING to wear. Nothing! Not one thing! This is
hopeless.’
‘Calm down. You’ve got loads of clothes.’
‘Yeah, but nothing’s right!’
Sal started sorting through the pile I’d discarded,
carefully folding things and putting them back in the
wardrobe as she went. Before long she’d pulled out a black
top and held it up against me. ‘Yup, that’s the one.’
‘That? But it’s so old! And so boring. Don’t you think it’s a
bit too casual?’
‘Nope. We’re going to a proper studenty club,
remember? Dressing down is the only way to go.’ She
rummaged in the drawer of my dressing table and pulled
out the purple necklace she’d given me a few months ago.
‘Here. Try it with this.’
Of course she was right – as usual.
‘Thank God you’re here. You’re a lifesaver!’ I said, as I
struggled to fasten the necklace in the mirror.
‘Here, let me.’
I checked her out in the mirror as she concentrated on
the fastening. She was wearing a lot less make-up than I
was, and her hair was in a simple ponytail, which made her
look young and sort of innocent. I was slightly worried she
might get ID’d, but knew better than to say anything now.
She was wearing jeans and a black top too, but we could
not have looked more different.
Nat was leaning against the railings at the station when
we arrived. This ‘being on time’ thing was becoming a
habit. He watched our approach and made a big show of
checking his watch.
‘What time do you call this?!’
‘Yeah, yeah, you can blame Sal. She’s almost as
incapable of being on time as you are … well, were.’ I
kissed him.
Nat said hello to Sal and they shared an awkward hug. I
was pleased they didn’t shake hands or anything lame like
that. The train was just pulling into the station, so we legged
it over the footbridge and made it onto the train just in time.
Sal sat opposite me and Nat, and we cracked open the
beers Nat had brought. We chatted about this and that and
the conversation flowed easily without too much effort from
me. I was pleased that despite their initial lack of
enthusiasm for the evening, they seemed to be enjoying
each other’s company.
‘I like your necklace, Grace. Is it new?’
I beamed at Nat, and then at Sal. ‘Nah, I’ve had it for a
while. Sal bought it for me – she has impeccable taste,
doesn’t she?’
Nat nodded vaguely and was about to say something
when Sal piped up with a change of subject. ‘Grace told me
that one of your friends works behind the bar at this place
we’re going. Will she be there tonight?’
Nat nodded and swigged his beer. ‘Yeah, Anna will
probably be working. We might get a couple of free drinks
from her, if we’re lucky.’
‘So, what’s Anna like? Is she on your course’ I wanted to
know what I was up against.
Nat shrugged. ‘Yeah, she is. Unbelievably clever – she
helped me out a lot with anatomy last year.’
‘Anatomy?’ I couldn’t help but giggle.
‘Grace … how old are you?’ he chided.
‘Sorry. So … does she have a boyfriend?’
Nat shook his head. ‘Nah, she was seeing someone for
a bit just before the holidays, but I think she dumped him.
Anna isn’t really into relationships – she thinks they’re a
waste of time.’ Hmm, don’t like the sound of this one at all.
In fact, she sounded suspiciously like the Old Me.
‘Is she pretty?’ I just couldn’t help myself. I glanced over to
catch Sal’s eye, but she was staring out of the window.
‘Yeah, I suppose she is. My mates seem to think so
anyway.’ Nat clearly hadn’t been reading his How To Be A
Perfect Boyfriend handbook. Of course, the answer I was
looking for was something along the lines of: ‘I have no
idea. Everyone pales into insignificance now that I’m with
you.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting her.’
‘She’ll probably be too busy to talk to us much, so don’t
take it personally.’
The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. Nat told us a
bit about the bands that were playing. Sal feigned interest
even though they didn’t sound like her cup of tea at all. I
reminded myself that the quality of the music was irrelevant;
tonight was about much more than that.
On the walk from the station to the club I noticed that Nat
didn’t hold my hand like he usually did when we were out
and about. I thought it was sweet that he obviously didn’t
want Sal to feel left out. I resolved to remember not to act
too coupley. I was pretty sure I could manage that for a few
hours at least.
We had no problems getting into the club, and Nat
bought Sal’s ticket, ignoring her protests. He insisted that
this was his treat. I patted his bum to show my approval in
the most subtle way possible, a gesture he seemed not to
notice. The club was a sweaty little dive. The ceiling was
low and every visible surface was painted black. Old
posters and flyers peeled from the walls. I liked it
immediately. The tiny stage was empty for the time being,
but the bar was heaving. Sal and I stood behind Nat as he
but the bar was heaving. Sal and I stood behind Nat as he
gradually edged his way to the front of the queue. I took the
opportunity to check that Sal was fine and dandy. She said
that she’d feel a lot better when she’d got a drink in her
hand, so it sounded like she was up for getting wasted. I
approved wholeheartedly.
Nat waved at a girl behind the bar. As soon as she saw
him, she squealed excitedly (I hated her already) and
leaned right over the bar to hug him. OK, you can let go
now. But she held on for a good few seconds too long. She
called to another girl behind the bar to say she was taking
her break. The other girl looked pissed off and gestured to
the hordes of thirsty customers. Anna (at least I assumed
that’s who it was) skipped around the side of the bar
without a backwards glance. And then she hugged Nat
again, which I thought was entirely unnecessary.
Sal slipped into Nat’s place in the queue and I heard her
order three pints from pissed-off bar girl. So I was left
standing awkwardly sort of behind Nat while Anna fired
questions at him.
‘Dude! Where have you been all summer? Why didn’t
you call to let me know you were coming? I could have got
you in free. Is Si here too?’ Dude? Do real people actually
talk like that? And who on earth is Si? I was certain Nat
hadn’t mentioned him. I wasn’t liking this one little bit. I took
the opportunity to look Anna up and down. She was pretty,
and obviously too cool for school. She wore a ring through
her nose and another through her lip. Her features were
even, and might have been unremarkable had it not been
for her eyes, which were piercingly blue and twinkling at my
boyfriend in a way I didn’t feel completely comfortable with.
Her hair was sort of short and streaky, and messy in that
just-got-out-of-bed-but-not-really-this-has-taken-ages way.
She wore a black T-shirt with the club’s name on it and
she’d cut off the sleeves and knotted it just under her
breasts (which were bigger than mine). Her stomach was
toned and flat, and her baggy jeans hung carelessly off her
hips. A swirly bit of tattoo peeped above her waistband,
and I didn’t even want to think about where it might end.
‘Anna! Shut up for a minute! This is Grace …’ I abruptly
halted my appraisal and returned my gaze to those laser
eyes.
‘Hi, Grace, I’m Anna. Nice to meet you.’ she said, friendly
enough.
‘Hi, nice to meet you too.’ We shook hands, and Anna
looked at Nat with a question in her eyes.
‘Grace and I have been going out for a couple of months.’
‘Really? You mean this is your girlfriend? Well, well, well!
Then it’s doubly nice to meet you.’ Anna winked at me
conspiratorially. ‘Just between you and me, I thought he
was never going to get a girlfriend. Well, there was that one
chick he wouldn’t shut up about, but that was a good few
months ago now. God, I thought he was never going to get
over her …’
‘Sal! Over here.’ I’d spotted her trying to elbow her way
through the growing crowd, doing her best not to spill a
drop of beer.
Anna started to say something, but Nat talked right over
her to ask her whether she’d done the set reading for the
summer. He was sort of a geek, but by the sound of her
answer, Anna was too. He took one of the pints from Sal
and thanked her, before turning away from us to continue
his highly fascinating conversation with Anna. I appreciated
not being bored to death with medical terms I didn’t
understand. And it gave me the chance to give Sal the
lowdown on the situation, along with my thoughts on Anna.
After a couple of minutes I noticed Anna looking over Nat’s
shoulder, scoping out me and Sal. I guessed their topic of
conversation must have taken a turn towards more
interesting things – like me.
Sal turned my attention towards the stage, where the first
band was just about to start. A lot of people migrated
towards the front, but we agreed to stay put. When they
started playing, Sal and I looked at each other and burst out
laughing. They were beyond terrible, but pretty entertaining
to watch, if only because the lead singer was a shirtless
boy with a very nice body.
A little while later, Anna and Nat drifted back towards us.
‘Hi, you must be Sal.’ Anna smiled broadly, and stuck out
her hand for Sal to take.
Sal looked confused, but shook the proffered hand
anyway. ‘Yeah, er … hi.’
‘Nat was just telling me about you. You’re Grace’s best
friend?’
Sal nodded.
Anna sighed wistfully. ‘I’ve never had a best friend –
someone to share everything with. You two are so lucky.’
someone to share everything with. You two are so lucky.’
Man, this girl is a proper weirdo.
Nat pushed his wrist in front of Anna’s face and tapped
his watch. ‘Hadn’t you better be getting back to work?’
I was surprised at his rudeness, but glad that he wanted
to get rid of her just as much as I did.
Anna stuck her tongue out at him, then looked back at
me and Sal. ‘Well, it was lovely to meet both of you ladies. I
can see Nat’s got his hands full with you two! Laters!’ She
lavished us with one final impish grin before disappearing
into the crowd.
Sal shoved her drink into my hands, saying she was
desperate for the toilet. I was bursting too, but before I
could ask Nat to hold our drinks, Sal had bolted. I followed
a couple of minutes later, after quizzing Nat about his weird
friend. He’d merely shrugged and said, ‘That’s just Anna,’
as if that explained everything.
Sal was washing her hands when I found her, staring
vacantly into the mirror. ‘Feeling better?’ She flinched as if
I’d crept up on her.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that you were desperate for the loo, remember?’
‘Oh yeah. Much better.’
‘Wait for me, will you?’
My chosen cubicle was disgusting, but the graffiti did a
good job of distracting me. I was surprised people could be
so creative in such adverse conditions. When I came out, I
asked Sal what she thought of Anna, while I washed my
hands with extra thoroughness.
‘She’s pretty.’
‘Pretty weird, you mean?’ I paused. ‘Do you think she
fancies Nat?’
Sal shrugged. ‘How would I know?’
‘I dunno. I bet she does though – I saw the way she
looked at him.’
‘Why do you even care? You’re the one he’s going out
with.’
‘I know, I know. It’s just … she’s all cool and pierced and
… older than us.’
Sal looked at me like I was crazy. ‘What’s that got to do
with anything?’
‘I don’t know! She just makes me feel like a stupid little
schoolgirl. Like there’s some big joke I’m not quite in on …
you know?’
Sal shook her head. ‘I think you’re reading too much into
it. Don’t worry about it. Now let’s get your paranoid head
back out there. I don’t know about you, but I fancy getting
some shots in.’
I smiled. ‘Now that is the best idea I’ve heard in ages.’
We linked arms and headed back into the fray. The
number of people there seemed to have doubled in the
short time we’d been gone. It took us a couple of minutes to
find Nat, who’d managed to get a table in a reasonably
quiet corner. We downed the rest of our drinks, and Nat
headed off to the bar to get the shots. Sal and I had barely
settled into our old routine of making up bizarre life stories
for the people we were watching when Nat emerged from
the thronging crowd. He brandished a tray laden with
enough shots for a small army (well, a football team at
least), and was looking mighty pleased with himself.
He sat down and carefully placed the tray in front of us.
‘Check it out!’
‘I take it you didn’t pay for them?’
‘A tenner for the lot.’
‘Won’t Anna get in trouble?’ I hope so.
‘Nah, she was pretty sly about it. She wouldn’t care if she
got fired anyway.’ And then he sort of muttered, ‘Plus, she
owes me.’
‘For what?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m always buying her drinks when we’re
out.’ So he goes out with her a lot? We’ll have to see about
that.
I doled out the shots. ‘Right, let’s drink.’
And so we did. I began to think that maybe Anna wasn’t
so bad after all. Anyone who supplied free drinks was OK
with me … as long as she kept her hands off my boyfriend.
A few shots down the line, a new band started up. They
were loud and brash, and actually tuneful. I jumped up,
somewhat unsteadily. ‘I’m going to the front. Who’s with
me?’
Sal and Nat exchanged glances. Nat said, ‘Maybe later,’
at exactly the same time as Sal said, ‘Not right now.’
‘Man, how boring are you two? Fine, I’ll see you in a bit.’ I
turned and weaved my way towards the stage. I wasn’t in
the least bit bothered about being on my own. The alcohol
was flowing through my veins and I just wanted to jump up
was flowing through my veins and I just wanted to jump up
and down until I could jump no more. And it’d be good for
Sal and Nat to have a chance to chat without me watching
them like a hawk, willing them to like each other.
I managed to wheedle my way into the pack of people
dancing and jostling in front of the stage. Calling it ‘dancing’
was stretching it a little bit: people were bouncing off each
other, elbows flying everywhere. I threw myself into it with
complete abandon, jumping around and sweating a lot.
These guys were awesome. It felt as if the bass burrowed
into the very core of me until I became part of the music
itself. God, I was properly wasted.
After half an hour or so, I stopped jumping and dragged
my fingers through my sweaty hair. I was dizzy and thirsty
and elated. Time to head back to the others, after a quick
trip to the toilets to check myself in the mirror. Amazingly,
the eye make-up was still in place. Somehow it looked
better than it had before – nicely smudged, like I wasn’t
trying so hard. My reflection stared back at me, slightly
bedraggled, but alive and sparkly in a way I’d never noticed
before. I smiled at the girl in the mirror; a real smile just for
me and me alone. Is this what happiness feels like? I
laughed and threw a scrunched-up paper towel, which hit
my reflection on the nose.
As I approached our table, I saw Sal and Nat, their heads
close together. He was saying something in her ear, and
she was shaking her head vigorously. Her face had a
stubborn set to it. Whatever they were talking about looked
way too serious. I hoped he hadn’t said anything to upset
her.
‘Hey, guys,’ I had to almost shout.
Nat looked up guiltily, which made me sure he’d said
something stupid to Sal. ‘Hi.’
I sat down and picked a shot glass from the tray. They
hadn’t drunk many in my absence. Sal took one too and we
downed them simultaneously.
‘So … what were you two talking about?’ I asked
casually.
‘Nothing much,’ said Nat.
‘Didn’t look like nothing much to me! Tonight’s supposed
to be fun, remember? No more serious debates, OK?’
Nothing – not even burning curiosity about what they’d been
talking about – was going to ruin my mood.
We drank another shot each, and I told them all about my
‘spiritual’ dancing experience. They laughed at me. We sat
and drank more. Nat didn’t seem the slightest bit interested
in watching the bands, which seemed a little strange,
considering he’d bought the tickets in the first place.
When Sal headed off to the toilets, I took the opportunity
to snuggle up to Nat. He smelled really good, and I didn’t
even feel self-conscious about the fact that I might not, after
all the dancing. I kissed him, but he seemed a bit
distracted.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Are you having a good time?’
‘I am … Are you?’
He nodded.
‘What were you and Sal talking about before? She
looked kind of upset.’
‘Oh … nothing. Really.’ My facial expression told him he
was going to have to do better than that. ‘All right, all right. I
was teasing her about Devon.’
I smacked him on the arm, semi-playfully. ‘You idiot! You
know she’s a bit funny about him. Just watch what you say –
I really want her to have a good time tonight.’
‘Sorry. Won’t happen again. Promise.’
I laughed. ‘Now, hurry up and kiss me before she gets
back.’
The kiss was rudely interrupted by Sal stumbling into the
table as she sat back down. I took one look at her and
knew that something was wrong. She was pale and there
was a sheen of sweat on her face.
‘Sal? Are you OK?’ I reached out and put my arm around
her shoulder.
She shook her head slowly. I thought she might cry. ‘I feel
… sick. Grace, would you mind getting me a glass of
water?’ Her voice was weak and unsteady. I half stood,
unsure whether I should do as she asked, or if it would be
best to stay with her. I looked at Nat helplessly.
‘Go. I’ll look after her.’ He scooted his stool round so he
was sitting close to her. Reassured, I squeezed Sal’s
shoulder, before rushing in the direction of the bar. The
timing was bad; seemingly everyone in the place had
decided to get a drink while the next band set up their gear.
It must have been a good five minutes before I got near
enough the front to be able to catch Anna’s attention.
She greeted my request for water with a questioning
eyebrow. I explained that Sal wasn’t feeling well.
‘She obviously didn’t appreciate Si’s chat-up line.’
I asked her what she was on about.
‘Simon? He’s a mate of ours. Hmm … I take it you
haven’t had the pleasure yet? Hardly surprising, I guess –
he’s a bit of a sleaze. Nat would want to keep you as far
away from him as possible! I saw him talking to your friend
a couple of minutes ago, and she wasn’t looking too happy
about it.’
I tried not to let my confusion show. I hated being in the
dark like this. ‘Simon? Yeah, I think Nat’s mentioned him.
Which one’s he? Can you point him out?’
She craned her neck to scan the crowd. ‘I can’t see him
anywhere. He must have gone off to find another victim.’
I thanked Anna for the water and left the bar, trying my
best to digest this new piece of information. How had this
Si bloke managed to freak Sal out so badly? It didn’t make
any sense.
When I got back to the table, Nat was talking quietly to
Sal, his hand resting on her back. As soon as I sat down,
he got up and walked away. ‘Back in a couple of minutes,’
he said in a hard, tense voice. I nodded distractedly and
turned my attention to Sal.
She gulped down some water before thanking me.
‘Thanks, Grace. I feel much better now – not quite sure
what came over me. Too much to drink, I guess.’ A weak
shadow of a smile.
‘Who’s Simon?’ I asked.
Her eyes went wide and panicky. I continued, not wanting
to upset her, but determined to get to the bottom of this.
‘Anna said she saw you talking to some boy called Simon.
A friend of Nat’s?’
Sal said nothing.
‘Sal? What’s the matter? Did he hit on you? Is that why
you’re upset?’ I tried my best not to sound like I thought that
was kind of a ridiculous reason.
She nodded.
‘What did he say that was so bad?’
‘Nothing really.’ She paused and looked around, like she
was worried we might be overheard. ‘I came out of the
toilets feeling a bit dizzy and sick anyway, and then he was
suddenly all over me – he wouldn’t leave me alone, and I felt
all claustrophobic … like I was about to have a panic attack
or something. I swear I’m never drinking shots again.’
‘Did you know he’s a friend of Nat’s?’ She shook her
head. ‘I’m surprised Nat’s friends with someone like that …
Are you sure you’re feeling OK now?’
‘I still feel a bit dizzy. I think it might be best if I go home.’
‘We’ll go as soon as Nat gets back.’
‘No, no, there’s no need for you guys to come. I’ll be fine.’
There was no way I was letting her go off by herself with
Sleazy Simon on the loose. ‘Don’t be daft. We’re coming.’ I
checked my watch. ‘We wouldn’t be able to stay much
longer anyway – the last train’s at midnight.’
Nat returned just as we were gathering our bags
together. ‘We’re leaving – now.’ He looked angry.
‘I was just going to say the same thing! But what’s up with
you? What’s happened?’ I touched his arm.
‘Nothing. Let’s just go, OK?’
I wasn’t going to argue. He was scaring me.
The three of us left the club with Nat in the middle, his
arms guiding me and Sal in the right direction. No one said
a word on the walk to the station.
On the train, Sal promptly closed her eyes and fell
asleep. She must have been drunk after all – she never fell
asleep on public transport.
I whispered to Nat, ‘Now can you tell me what
happened?’
He was calmer now, but he looked really, really tired. He
sighed deeply. ‘Sal told me that Simon had been harassing
her, so I went to have a word with him, that’s all.’
‘And this is a friend of yours?’
‘Was. He was a friend of mine. Until I realized what kind
of person he is.’
‘What kind of person is he? Lots of guys come on to girls
like that, don’t they?’
‘Not like Si does.’ He glanced over at Sal and added
quietly, ‘He’s not the sort of person you want Sal to be
talking to.’
‘There’s more, isn’t there? Why did we have to leave in
such a hurry?’
He nodded. ‘I … I hit him.’
‘What?! Why the hell would you do something like that?’
Nat had never struck me as the violent type. I could not
have been more shocked.
He sort of mumbled, ‘I don’t know what came over me. I
was just so … angry. And Sal was so upset …’
was just so … angry. And Sal was so upset …’
‘God, Nat. I can’t believe you did that!’ I wasn’t sure how I
felt. Part of me was disgusted and shocked, definitely. But I
have to admit that a little part of me was also sort of thrilled:
he’d been a knight in shining armour, protecting Sal’s
honour. ‘Did he try and hit you back?’
‘No … he was sort of … sprawled on the floor. Which
was why I thought we’d better make a quick exit.’ He looked
embarrassed.
I shook my head in wonder. ‘I would never have imagined
you doing something like that – ever.’
Nat stared out the window into the blackness.
‘Me neither,’ he said softly.
We put Sal in a taxi at the station, and then Nat flagged one
down for me. I kissed him goodbye and thanked him.
‘Thanks? What are you thanking me for?’
I shrugged and kissed him again. ‘I dunno. For being
more than I deserve? For being all brave and strong and
coming to Sal’s rescue?’
He shook his head and stared at the ground, muttering
something that sounded like, ‘Stop taking the piss.’
‘I’m not! Come here, you.’ I hugged him and held on tight.
I whispered to him as the taxi driver shouted about not
hanging around all night. I remember the words all the more
clearly because they make me feel so stupid now. They
seem extra loud when I hear them in my head:
‘I love you for always doing what’s right.’
The next day was hard. As it turned out, the combination of
being back at school and having a killer hangover was not
a good one. I barely managed to make it through English
without throwing up. The three-page reading list we were
supposed to get through by the end of the year certainly
didn’t help. At least taking the train to see Nat would give
me some much-needed reading time.
At lunchtime, Sal and I secured our usual table at the cafe
round the corner from school. I ordered a bacon sandwich,
and Sal ordered a salad – which made me snort with
derision.
‘A salad? Are you feeling OK?’
She shrugged. ‘I just fancied something different, that’s
all.’
‘If you say so … weirdo.’
Sal chucked a bit of lettuce at me. It hit my cheek and
landed in my lap.
‘Urgh. Keep that filthy green stuff away from me!’ I threw it
back in Sal’s direction. I missed though – I always did throw
like a girl. ‘I need fat, fat and more fat today. This hangover
is a bastard. Anyway, how come you’re looking all brighteyed
and bushy-tailed? You drank just as much as I did …
Oh my God, you’ll never guess what Nat told me on the way
home last night! He HIT that Simon fella! Properly punched
him. Can you even believe it?’
Sal paused with a forkful of salad halfway between her
plate and her mouth.
‘What?’
‘I know! It’s weird, isn’t it?’
‘Why did he do that?’ She returned the fork to the plate
without taking a bite.
‘I dunno! I suppose he was defending your honour or
something. It’s kind of sweet in a way, don’t you think?’
Sal was shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe he did that.’
‘Yeah, I thought it was maybe a bit extreme, but
apparently that Si is a proper sleazebag. Bet he’s had it
coming for ages.’
‘God. I never would have thought …’
‘ I know! He just doesn’t seem like a “punching” type of
guy, does he? It makes me think of him in a whole new
light.’
Sal returned her attention to her salad as I continued to
ramble on about how perfect Nat was, and how I’d been so
sure that he was a nice boy who’d never harm a flea, and
now, well, he was a bit more dangerous. And definitely a bit
sexier too.
The common room was too frantic, considering the fragile
state of my head, so I ventured into the library after lunch. It
was cool and calm and quiet and everything you’d want a
library to be. Completely deserted too – just the librarian
and me. She was reading Glamour, somewhat furtively.
Not exactly the reading matter I would have expected from
a librarian. I wondered if she was worried that the Library
Inspector might come to call and make her hand back her
Licence to Library. I settled at a table round the corner,
leaving her in peace to discover this season’s must-have
trenchcoat or whatever.
I was halfway through the first chapter of Emma and
beginning to remember just how much I despised Jane
Austen when I suddenly felt that I was being watched. You
know how you just know? Maybe the librarian had clocked
me as Not a Regular Library Visitor and had decided to
check I wasn’t defacing the books or sticking chewing gum
under the table. I turned around in my chair, but all I could
see was books, books, books. I got up and peeked around
the corner of a shelf. The librarian was still engrossed in her
magazine, absently scratching her head. Huh. I sat back
down and tried to get on with my reading. But that nagging
feeling wouldn’t go away.
A mammoth sneeze broke the silence and confirmed that
I wasn’t going crazy after all. I jumped up from my seat and
headed in the phantom sneezer’s direction, ready to tell off
whichever snivelling little first year had been spying on me.
And bumped smack bang into someone a lot taller than I’d
been expecting. Devon.
He dropped his handkerchief and the book he’d been
holding. A handkerchief? In this day and age? Maybe he’d
been reading a little too much Jane Austen lately. He
scrabbled on the floor to gather his stuff together before
standing to face my somewhat puzzled expression.
‘Grace … hi. How’s it going?’ He sneezed again, a little
more stifled this time.
‘Hi … and bless you! What are you doing hiding back
here?’
His face flushed to match his ruby red nose. ‘I wasn’t.
Hiding, I mean. I was looking for a book. Um … this one, in
fact.’ He held up a battered old copy of To Kill a
Mockingbird, as if that proved he hadn’t been acting shiftily.
I nodded. ‘That’s one of my favourites. I used to wish I
was Scout. Even tried calling my dad “Atticus” for a while,
before …’ I abruptly shut my mouth. I was pretty sure I hadn’t
told anyone this before. Not that it was particularly
interesting or shocking. But still, it was personal.
‘Really? I didn’t think it would be your kind of thing. I
mean, not that there’s any reason it shouldn’t be. It’s a great
book, after all. It’s just that I thought you were more …’
‘More what? Mills and Boon? Jackie Collins?’ I teased
him.
‘No, no, nothing like that. Er … I’m going to stop talking
now.’
‘You don’t have to! Do you want to come and sit with
me?’ I’d gone and surprised myself again.
He seemed slightly taken aback at the invitation and I
sensed he was about to say no, so I grabbed his arm and
pulled him towards my table. ‘Pleeeease? I’m bored. And
surely it beats lurking around back there all by yourself?’
Devon muttered something as he reluctantly slumped into
the chair opposite mine. It sounded like ‘I wasn’t lurking’.
And so there we were: me and my boyfriend’s little
brother. Hanging out. Sitting in the library, chatting. Well,
semi-whispering actually. The initial awkward weirdness
disappeared sooner than I would have expected. Slowly but
surely Devon came out of his shell of shyness. He had a lot
to say, which shouldn’t have surprised me, but did. He
agreed with me about Jane Austen, and hated both
Brontës too. Our conversation was pretty much confined to
books at first, but little by little we moved onto other
subjects.
It turned out we felt the same about a lot of things. We
talked about music and compared the worst songs on our
iPods. He told me about a song he thought I’d like and we
listened to it, our heads huddled together, one headphone
each. Being so close, I couldn’t help but notice that he
smelled really, really good. The song was beautiful.
My hangover was forgotten. And if I wasn’t mistaken, a
slight flirtatiousness had crept into my voice, without me
even noticing. He had a cute smile – a little bit crooked. I
liked it.
The bell went, and I decided to skip history. Devon
looked at his watch briefly but carried on talking. I
wondered if he was missing a lesson too. He’d probably
never missed one in his life.
We talked all afternoon and it felt like the most normal
thing in the world. It had gone four o’clock by the time the
librarian kicked us out. I packed my neglected copy of
Emma into my bag. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better get going. I
said I’d meet Sal in town after school.’ This was the first
mention of either Sal or Nat. And the mere mention of her
name seemed to break whatever spell we were under.
‘Right, yeah, I’d better get home … things to do, you
know … It was fun though – talking to you, I mean. You’re
different …’ Every ounce of awkwardness was back – and
then some.
I nodded, not altogether sure what to say to that. ‘Yeah,
well, thanks for this afternoon. You saved me from Death by
Boredom.’
‘Any time.’ Devon smiled, but it was a slight, tight sort of
smile. He looked me in the eyes for the longest time. I
couldn’t look away; I didn’t want to look away. He was the
first to break eye contact. He looked down and fiddled with
the straps on his bag. If I hadn’t seen his lips move, I’d have
hardly believed what I heard next.
‘What do you see in him?’
I don’t know what to think about Ethan.
He’s fading.
I’m starting to give up hope.
Hope. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for any more.
What do you see in him? The words were tinged with
bitterness.
‘What did you say?’ I’d heard all too clearly, but I really
didn’t know how else to respond.
Devon looked at me, his expression unreadable. ‘You
heard me.’
‘Yeah, I heard you. But what kind of question is that?’
‘I’m curious.’
‘Curious?’
He nodded, a little less sure of himself now. ‘Yeah … I
just wanted to know … Never mind. Forget I said anything.’
He turned his attention to the noticeboard we were standing
next to and started picking at one of the drawing pins with
his fingernail. Back to Devon, Master of Awkwardness. But
I hadn’t imagined the bitterness in his voice, had I?
‘Devon, I don’t know what to tell you …’
‘You don’t have to tell me anything. Just forget it. Please.’
He still wouldn’t look at me.
‘I don’t mind, honestly.’ I paused, not knowing what he
wanted from me. ‘Nat’s not like anyone else I’ve been with.’
Cringe. I sound like a right slag. ‘He makes me feel good
about myself. And I trust him.’
Devon looked up. ‘Do you?’ He asked the question ever
so quietly.
I nodded.
‘You … love him?’ His eyes burned into mine. There was
something beyond weird happening between us, and
whatever it was made me hesitate before answering his
question.
‘Yes.’
He closed his eyes for just a second, but it was long
enough for me to notice his long eyelashes, just like Nat’s.
‘He doesn’t deserve you.’ The words were barely more than
a whisper.
And then he turned and bolted away down the corridor
before I was able to process what he’d said.
What the fuck? What the hell is he on about? Why would
he say that to me? I thought it was Sal he had a crush on,
not me. I couldn’t wait to see what she made of it all. I briefly
wondered if Devon was just jealous that Nat had a girlfriend
and he didn’t. And then I felt mean for thinking that.
I hopped on a bus into town and texted Sal to say I was
on my way. My phone buzzed straight away, and I was sure
it was going to be Sal, making some sarky comment about
me being the late one this time. But it was from a number I
didn’t recognize:
‘Sorry about that. Pls don’t tell anyone – I was out of
order. Sorry. D’
I had no idea how he’d got my number. Maybe he’d
nabbed it off Nat’s phone? I wondered whether I should text
him back, but since I couldn’t think of anything to say I
decided against it.
I mulled things over for the rest of the bus journey. The
idea that Nat didn’t deserve me was absurd. I was the one
who didn’t deserve him. Any idiot could see that. Well, any
idiot who knew the truth, anyway. Clearly Devon had no
idea what I was like. I was sort of pleased.
I’d really enjoyed hanging out with him that afternoon –
even more than I was willing to admit to myself. But why did
he have to go all weird and spoil things? It was annoying.
I was so immersed in my mulling that I very nearly missed
my stop. I jumped out of my seat and semi-sprinted down
the aisle, accidentally clouting some guy round the back of
the head with my bag. He swore at me just as I was about
to say sorry, so I kept my apology to myself. Served him
right anyway – he had an unusually large head.
I ran from the bus stop to the shop where I was meeting
Sal. We always met in the same place when we were in
town. It wasn’t as if there was much choice – there were
only about three half-decent shops. Sal wasn’t waiting
outside, so I headed inside. I was twenty minutes late, but
that was pretty standard for Sal, so I knew she wouldn’t
have been waiting too long – if she was even there yet.
The shop was busy and it took me a while to find her.
She was in the lingerie section, holding two bras and
staring vacantly into space. She didn’t notice me until I was
right in front of her, waving my hand in front of her face.
‘Oh, hi.’
‘Hi, space cadet. What planet are you on right now?
Hmm … Planet Va-va-voom, by the looks of those!’ I
gestured at the bras. They were lacy and black and nothing
like the underwear Sal owned. Well, none that I’d seen.
‘These? Er … yeah … I wasn’t …’ She started to put
them back on the rail.
‘But you totally should. At least get this one. Ooh … and
get the knickers too … Here you go.’ I held out the matching
set and raised my eyebrows suggestively. The knickers
were tiny.
Sal shook her head. ‘I don’t think so …’
I tutted. ‘Well why were you even looking at them then?
That’s proper pulling underwear. Hey, you weren’t planning
on going on the pull without me, were you? Cos that is just
not on!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just … I’d already looked at
everything else in the shop about four times, cos you’re so
bloody late. I’m not buying them … I mean, they’re not really
me, are they?’ She looked so embarrassed I wanted to hug
her.
‘OK, fair enough. Sorry I’m late, but I’ve got a really good
reason. You won’t believe it! But first things first, you should
absolutely buy this underwear. Even if you don’t want to
wear it now, you’ll be thanking me when Mr Fabulous
comes knocking on your door. Trust me on this one.’
Sal shook her head again, but I could tell her resistance
was flagging.
‘You know I’m right. Every girl should have some kick-ass
underwear at the back of her knicker drawer – just for
special occasions … And you never know when that
special occasion might be. Do it. By the power vested in
me as bestest friend ever, I ORDER you to buy these.’
Sal rolled her eyes, grabbed the hangers from me and
headed off to the cash desk. Result.
We left the shop, after a lot of muttering from Sal about not
really being able to afford her purchases.
‘Soooo … aren’t you going to ask me why I was late?’
Sal obliged. ‘Why were you late then?’
‘Ah, all in good time, my dear. I reckon this kind of gossip
definitely calls for a drink. What do you say? Might help the
hangover – hair of the dog?’
Sal wasn’t sure. She looked at her watch and ummed
and ahhed a bit.
‘Come on … you know you want to. We can celebrate
your first foray into ooh-la-la lingerie.’ That comment got the
withering look it deserved, so I tried one last avenue of
attack. ‘I’m buying?’ That clinched it.
A few minutes later we were settled on a sofa in a bar I’d
never been to before. I slipped off my shoes and tucked my
feet underneath me, took a sip from my stupidly big glass of
red wine and relished the moment. There was nothing quite
like having a sweet morsel of gossip to impart. I could tell
Sal’s patience was wearing thin, but that just made it more
fun for me.
When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I launched into the
story. ‘Guess who’s got a secret admirer?’ A sufficiently
intriguing start.
Sal listened quietly as I told my tale, occasionally
interrupting with the odd comment or two, such as, ‘But
you’ve always thought Devon was a loser, haven’t you?’
Fair point.
I was nearly one hundred per cent honest about
everything that had gone on. And if I happened to omit the
fact that I’d been kind of flirting with him, then who could
blame me? I hadn’t quite come to terms with the idea that I
was finding Nat’s little brother more attractive the more I got
to know him. Eurgh. It was just plain wrong. Anyway, I was
pretty sure the feelings would go away if I ignored them for
long enough …
When I eventually got to the good bit, Sal’s reaction didn’t
disappoint.
‘He said what?’
‘I know! Hysterical, isn’t it? It was like something out of a
cheesy soap. “He doesn’t deserve you!” I almost laughed in
his face!’ Not strictly true.
‘Why would he say something like that? What’s it got to
do with him?’ Sal’s annoyance was clear.
‘I dunno. I guess—’
‘It’s none of his business! Why can’t he keep his nose out
of it? It’s pathetic.’
‘All right, calm down.’ I laughed. I hadn’t expected Sal to
get quite so cross about it. Well, I hadn’t expected her to
get cross at all, actually. ‘No need to get your knickers in a
twist. Oooh … speaking of knickers … let’s have a look at
what you bought. I desperately need some new underwear.
Now that Nat’s off back to uni I’ve got to make sure I keep
things … interesting, y’know? Don’t want him getting
distracted by any skanky student girls – like that weird Anna
girl.’
It was a lame attempt to change the subject, and Sal was
having none of it. ‘What else did he say?’
I shrugged. ‘Nothing really. He pretty much scarpered
before I could say anything back to him. He did text and
apologize though.’
‘What is he playing at?’ She leaned back into the sofa
and sighed.
‘Er … it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?’
Sal looked confused.
‘Duh. He fancies me, doesn’t he? Little Devon’s got a
crush!’ I shushed the little voice inside my head – the one
that was calling me a bitch.
‘A crush? On you?’
‘Of course! It’s so obvious. Why else would he be all
weird and jealous of Nat? Asking me if I loved him and all
that!’
Sal nodded slowly. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Well, I can’t think of any other reason he’d be so weird.
Can you?’
She was biting her nails again. Suddenly I felt bad. ‘Hey,
are you OK about this?’
‘About what?’
‘Well … I know Devon’s always worshipped the ground
you walk on. I’m sure he’ll be over me and back to following
you around in no time. It’s just cos I’m with Nat – that’s the
only reason, I’m sure of it.’
‘Whoa there, Grace. Are you …? You think I’m jealous,
don’t you? You actually think I’m jealous!’
I shrugged. ‘Not jealous exactly … I mean, I know you’re
not interested in him. It’s just that it’s nice to be wanted, isn’t
it? Even if you don’t want that person back – it’s sort of
flattering.’ I couldn’t seem to think of the right words – the
words that would make Sal not be annoyed with me.
‘You are unbelievable! You know that, don’t you?’
‘What?! What did I say? I’m sorry, OK? It’s not my fault
that two boys like me and …’ I stopped myself short. Just in
time – I hoped.
‘And what? And no one’s interested in me? That’s what
you think, isn’t it?’
‘No, not at all. I never said that! Look, let’s talk about
something else. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ But I
wasn’t sorry. Not really. I had no clue why this harmless bit
of gossip had suddenly turned into something sinister.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘It’s OK,
Grace. I’m sorry I overreacted. I think I’m just tired after last
night.’
I put my arm around her and pulled her towards me. ‘Hey,
that’s OK. Let’s forget about boys for a bit, eh? Sometimes
I feel that all I ever talk about or think about is Nat, or
something vaguely Nat-related. And that can’t be healthy,
can it? What’s happened to me, eh?’
Sal leaned her head towards mine. ‘Maybe that’s what
happens when you love someone. You really love him, don’t
you?’ she asked quietly.
‘I do. It scares me, Sal. It really scares me. What if I lose
him? Sooner or later he’s bound to realize what I’m like. He
could do so much better. Why can’t he see it?’
‘Don’t say that. You’re a good person. He’s … lucky to
have you.’
‘Do you really mean that?’ I felt small and pathetic,
needing reassurance, needing someone to tell me that I
was OK after all. Not a freak. Not a bitch. Not a slag.
Sal turned to face me. She looked as if she was ready to
cry, but her voice was steady. ‘Of course I mean it. You
deserve Nat. And he deserves you … You two are right for
each other. Anyone can see that.’
I felt a rush of affection and hugged her. ‘Thank you. That
means a lot. You always know the right thing to say.
Sometimes I wish I was more like you, you know.’ I’d never
voiced this thought before. Possibly because it was ultra
lame.
Sal snored with derision. ‘Yeah, right, course you do.’
‘It’s true. I don’t know – it’s like you’re my moral compass
or something … You always do the right thing. And I try to
do the right thing, I really do. But it always seems to get
fucked up somehow, and there’s no one to blame for that
but me.’
Sal’s eyes searched mine. ‘Don’t say things like that. It’s
not true. I like you just the way you are.’ She squeezed my
hand.
‘Thanks, honey. You are the awesomest best friend I
could ever have wished for.’
Sal shook her head dismissively. She never was
comfortable with getting a compliment. It was one of the
things I admired about her. I was all too ready to gobble up
any praise anyone deigned to throw my way.
We stayed in the bar till closing time. Sal hadn’t really
wanted to, but I’d managed to convince her it was the right
thing to do. It was fun. Fun like the old days fun. We talked
about things that we used to talk about – before all the
drama.
Later, I waited with Sal at the bus stop. When the bus
eventually arrived, she stumbled onto it, but not before
slurring a question in my direction. ‘Why do I let you talk me
into these things?’
‘Because you LOVE me, and I know what’s best for you!’
I half shouted, half sang back at her. People on the bus
looked at me weirdly, so I treated them to a little bow as the
bus pulled away.
I looked at my watch and pondered for a second. Nat
was working the late shift. He’d be locking up right about
now. I smiled to myself, and reached out to hail a taxi.
It started raining almost as soon as I got in the cab. The
motion of the windscreen wipers and the sultry tones of
late-night love songs on the radio lulled me into a semidoze.
‘Oi! Sweetheart!’ The cabbie’s tone made it clear this
wasn’t his first attempt at waking me up. ‘We’re here! If
here’s where you want to be. Looks like you’ve missed last
orders. Sure you don’t want me to take you home? A pretty
little thing like you shouldn’t be wandering around on her
own this time of night.’
I tried to remember where I was and why. ‘Eh? No, that’s
OK. I’m meeting my boyfriend.’ I still got a kick out of calling
Nat my boyfriend. Saddo.
‘Well, if you’re sure …’ He seemed strangely concerned
about my well-being. It was disconcerting. I paid the fare,
told him to keep the change and got out of the taxi as
quickly as possible.
‘You take care, y’hear?’ He leaned out of the open
window and gave me a meaningful look.
‘Er … yeah … will do.’ Weirdo. He drove off and I stood
in the rain. It was serious, proper rain – no messing. I
looked up to the sky and let the water hit my face. It felt
good. I didn’t think of the havoc it must be playing with my
hair and make-up; I was totally focused on the fact that I’d
never really noticed how brilliant rain was. Why were we
always trying to shelter from it when it could make you feel
so good? OK, I admit it, I was not entirely sober.
After a minute or two getting soaked to the skin, I turned
my attention to the task at hand – Operation: Get Naked
with Nat. The ‘closed’ sign was hanging on the back of the
door, and the pub was mostly in darkness. I was worried I
might be too late, but as I stepped closer to the window, I
saw movement inside. I cupped my hands around my eyes
so I could see better. And there he was, the object of my
late-night lust. He was wiping down the pumps, ever the
conscientious employee. But he was speaking to someone
on his mobile at the same time – so maybe not that
conscientious. I watched as he smiled that beautiful smile.
God, he was hot.
He put the cloth down and leaned against the bar, clearly
engrossed in his conversation. I was going to knock on the
window, but something made me stop. I didn’t want to
interrupt him. It didn’t seem right; I could wait. Plus, it was
nice just watching him – seeing him be Nat. Maybe a
slightly different Nat to the one I knew. It struck me that there
would always be a part of him that didn’t (and shouldn’t)
belong to me. It’s all too easy to think that the people you
care about go into some kind of suspended animation
when you’re not around. That they only truly come to life
when they’re with you, and don’t really exist without you. I
mean, you know that’s not true (you’re not stupid, after all),
but that other part of their life is kind of irrelevant – to you at
least. But watching Nat, I felt differently. He was a one
hundred per cent real person, even without me. And that
made me happy.
It was maybe five minutes later that he hung up. He
looked at the phone for a moment or two, tossed it in the air
and then slipped it into his back pocket. Still he stayed
leaning against the bar, staring into space.
I knocked on the window.
He jumped, which made me laugh. Maybe he thought I
was some drunk, ready to batter down the door to get a pint
after last orders. Or maybe he was a bit of a wimp, scared
to be alone in the pub on a dark and stormy night. Or
maybe he was just daydreaming about me.
I squished my nose up against the glass as he came
over to unlock the door.
‘Grace, what are you doing here?’
Huh. Not quite Grace-what-an-awesome-surprise-comehere-
and-let-me-ravish-you-right-this-second.
‘I wanted to see you.’ I banged my elbow against the
door frame as I passed it. Ouch.
‘You could have called to let me know you were coming.’
He kissed me. A fleeting, cursory sort of kiss.
‘What? Can’t a girl surprise her very brave and slightly
dangerous boyfriend any more? What is the world coming
to?’ I was more drunk than I’d thought.
‘You’re wasted, aren’t you?’ He turned away from me and
started putting chairs up on the tables.
‘Maybe a leeeetle bit,’ I held my thumb and forefinger
together to indicate just how little. ‘Sal and I needed to ease
our way through our hangovers. How are you feeling
anyway, after all the drama last night?’ I went to him and put
my arms around his waist.
He shrugged. ‘It was nothing.’
‘I’d hardly call decking someone “nothing” … you know,
‘I’d hardly call decking someone “nothing” … you know,
it’s actually kind of sexy.’ I tried to look all seductive, but
judging by the expression on Nat’s face I’d got it a bit
wrong.
‘What are you on about? There’s nothing “sexy” about it. I
shouldn’t have done it.’ He wouldn’t look at me.
‘Why did you, then? All that guy did was hit on Sal … not
exactly the crime of the century, is it?’ Saying the words
made me actually appreciate how strange a thing it had
been for Nat to do.
‘She was upset.’ His voice was quiet and dark.
‘She overreacted, is what I think.’ Another realization.
Something wasn’t quite right.
‘You don’t know what you’re …’ He stopped himself, then
started again. ‘Look, Si’s a wanker of the highest order and
I wouldn’t put anything past him. Can we just forget about
the whole thing? Please?’
He put his arms around me and I nodded into his
shoulder, but something really wasn’t right. We were two
mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He smelled of work
and sweat. Sort of sour, actually.
I pulled away from him. ‘I should get going. I feel a bit
sick.’
‘But you’ve only just got here …’ He leaned down and
nuzzled at my neck. His breath was too hot.
‘It’s really late, and I’ve got school tomorrow.’ Again I
pulled away.
Nat smirked. ‘Okaaaay, if you say so … but we’ve got the
place to ourselves …’ He patted the bar. ‘What do you say?
Ever done it on a bar before?’ He laughed and it sounded
Ever done it on a bar before?’ He laughed and it sounded
wrongwrongwrong in my ears.
‘No.’ And his smile disappeared. What’s wrong with me?
Why don’t I want to?
‘What’s up with you? That’s why you came here, isn’t it? I
know you, Grace. Come on … it’ll be fun.’ He pinned me up
against the bar and kissed me hard. I relaxed into it,
knowing that this was the one way to silence the voice that
was whispering to me, telling me something was wrong. I
did my best to ignore the voice: how could I trust it when I
didn’t know who it belonged to? I was with Nat, and that
was all that mattered. Wasn’t it?
Nat’s breathing was loud and urgent and his mouth
tasted different to me. I was kissing a stranger. And the
stranger was unbuttoning my jeans.
I pushed him off me. ‘No!’ The word came out louder than
I’d intended. Nat was shocked, and I couldn’t blame him.
This had never happened before.
I softened my voice and tried to pretend that I was still me
and Nat was still Nat, and I was just tired and drunk and
everything would be OK in the morning. ‘I’m sorry. I really
have to go. I’m way too drunk for this.’
He said nothing for a moment, ego clearly bruised. Then
he seemed to shrug it off in a heartbeat. ‘Fair enough. The
bar’s still pretty skanky anyway … wouldn’t want you
sticking to it, would we?’ He smiled and he wasn’t a
stranger any more. ‘Let me call you a cab. My treat.’
We waited for the cab and he carried on clearing up as if
nothing had happened. And we chatted as if nothing had
happened. After all, nothing had happened. Had it?
I texted Nat when I got home: ‘Sorry about tonight. Love
you. x’
Got a message straight back: ‘No worries. x’
I was in a pretty foul mood for the next couple of days.
People at school seemed to sense it and mostly kept out of
my way. Sal tried to find out what was up, but I wasn’t even
sure, and I couldn’t even summon up the energy to talk
about it.
In the evenings I stayed holed up in my room, not doing
much of anything. I talked to Nat a couple of times and
everything seemed fine. I wanted to see him so badly, but
he had some random aunt visiting and he was expected to
show her round town and keep her entertained. I wasn’t
quite sure why his mum couldn’t do that, or Devon for that
matter. But apparently he was her favourite nephew – no
surprise there. Everyone loved Nat. He was golden.
By the time Friday came along, it felt like I hadn’t seen him
for ages. It had been three days. Random auntie had a lot
to answer for. Nat and I were planning to hang out on
Sunday, so I just had to somehow survive one more day at
school and one day at home. Not sure which was worse.
Sal and I went out for lunch. Fish and chips on a Friday was
the best way to start the weekend.
‘Urgh, I’m so glad this week is over. I can’t WAIT for the
weekend.’
Sal nodded. ‘Me neither.’
‘What are you up to anyway? Fancy doing something
tomorrow? I could really do with getting out of the house. I
can’t handle being around Mum at the moment – she’s
driving me loopy.’
‘Sorry, can’t tomorrow, I’m afraid. Family day.’
‘Family day? Since when do you have family days? I
thought every day was a family day chez Stewart?’
‘Yeah, I know it’s lame. But Dad’s decided we’re going
on some kind of day trip.’
‘Christ. Nightmare.’ But I was actually thinking it sounded
sort of nice. That’s the kind of thing dads are good at, I
guess. Planning stuff. Looking at maps and brochures for
stately homes or something. ‘What is it with families at the
moment? They’re everywhere, ruining my plans. Nat’s got
his aunt monopolizing every minute of his time, and your
dad’s scuppered my Saturday! How inconsiderate!’
Sal smiled. ‘Sorry, I’d get out of it if I could. You know how
annoying Cam gets on car journeys – not exactly my idea of
a fun day out. Tell you what – why don’t we do something on
Sunday?’
‘No can do, sorry. I’m seeing Nat for the first time in
forever. Well, first time since Tuesday anyway.’
‘No worries.’ Sal shrugged, but I could tell she was a bit
pissed off. We usually spent at least one weekend day
together, if not both.
‘But maybe the three of us could do something?’ I offered
– pretty generously, I thought. Please say no please say no
please say no. I want him all to myself.
She must have read my mind. ‘Nah, you’re all right,
thanks.’
I was relieved, and I immediately felt ashamed for feeling
quite so relieved. But Nat and I needed some alone time.
Hopefully this time both of us would stick to the script. I
certainly planned to, anyway.
I decided to go for a wander after lunch to walk off some
of the fish and chips. Free periods were the only thing that
made school tolerable. Sal had a free period too, but said
she had to get a book back from Devon. I meandered down
the side of the playing field, trailing behind some shiny new
first years embarking on their first ever cross-country run. I
never did understand exactly why we were expected to
parade around outside the school grounds in nothing more
than a T-shirt and some tiny gym knickers. Ritual
humiliation, I suppose. It was enough to put you off sport for
life, but somehow I’d managed to get through it and now I
loved running more than anything. Not that you’d have
guessed it though – I hadn’t been running in ages. Maybe
that explained my mood.
I was half-tempted to run after the first years but a) I
wasn’t exactly dressed for it (biker boots and teeny-tiny
skirt), and b) it would be a weird thing to do, even for me.
So I watched them run and stumble and meander into the
woods ahead of me.
And then the herd of runners was out of earshot and I was
utterly alone. It was peaceful. I found a comfy-looking tree
stump and perched on it like a gnome. I got out my
notebook and chewed on the end of a pencil. For the first
time in months I felt like writing something – I just wasn’t
sure what.
Writing and running. Two of my very favourite things. It
struck me that I hadn’t done much of either since I’d met
Nat, and that made me feel sad. Like I’d lost a little part of
myself. Or given it away. These were the things that defined
me, or at least I used to think they did. But how important
could they be if I was willing to drop them as soon as I got a
boyfriend? What else would I be willing to give up for him?
Before I could think of something to write, my phone rang,
scaring the life out of me and making me drop my pencil.
The cheery ringtone sounded all wrong in the silence of the
woods. I didn’t recognize the number and nearly didn’t
answer it, but curiosity got the better of me.
‘Grace? Er … hi, it’s me. Er … Devon, that is.’ He
sounded unprepared, as if I was the one who’d called him,
instead of the other way round.
‘Hi, how’s it going?’
‘Yeah, fine. I mean, not exactly fine. Um … look, where
are you?’
‘In the woods behind school. Why? Is Sal with you?’
‘No, er … no. She’s not here.’
‘I thought she was meeting you in the library after lunch.’
‘Can I come and meet you? I really need to talk to you.’
He sounded like he was on some sort of covert mission,
scared of being discovered by the enemy at any moment.
He really was an odd one.
‘Look, if this is about Nat and that crap about him not
being good enough for me, then I don’t want to hear it. And
how did you get my number anyway? I was wondering after
you texted the other day.’
‘I … got it off Nat’s phone.’
‘I don’t reckon he’d be too happy about that – do you?’
‘Who fucking cares what he thinks?!’ I’d never heard him
swear before and it sounded wrong. ‘Grace, you have to
listen to me. He’s—’
‘No, I really don’t.’ I talked over him, but I definitely heard
the words ‘messing you around’. Now I was cross. ‘I could
do without you putting ideas in my head. It’s really none of
your business, but if you must know, everything’s just fine
between me and Nat. And it’d be even more fine if you’d
keep out of it. I won’t have anyone ruining this for me, OK?
I’m going to talk to Nat as soon as your aunt’s gone. I think
he has a right to know what his little brother’s up to behind
his back.’ I left it at that, feeling better for venting my
feelings. Sure that I was in the right. Until …
‘Aunt? What aunt? What are you talking about?’
I went to the bathroom to splash my face. When I was drying
my hands I noticed something was different. Something
impossible.
My scars have gone. Every single one of them. This
cannot be real. I checked out my thighs, just to be sure. Not
one scar, just milky smooth skin. It is real.
And somehow I knew what had happened. I didn’t know
how I knew, but I knew.
I went to Ethan and lifted the covers I’d wrapped around
him.
His arms are criss-crossed with silvery lines. My scars.
Two of the scars are different from the rest. Thick rusty
red scabs running up the inside of each wrist. They have yet
to heal.
The other scars are as familiar to me as my own
reflection. But these two … they’re different. They’re new.
Ethan’s breathing is slowing, I think.
I wish there was something I could do.
‘Aunt? What aunt? What are you talking about?’
I disconnected the call. He called straight back, so I
turned off my phone. I retrieved my pencil from the forest
floor and wrote a single word in my notebook:
LIES
I underlined it three times, pressing harder and harder on
the paper. Lies. Unless Devon was spectacularly
unobservant and simply hadn’t noticed a middle-aged
woman roaming round his house over the past few days.
Unless Devon was staying at his dad’s house at the
moment. Unless … unless … unless nothing.
Nat had lied to me. It was so fucking obvious. I was
surprised I hadn’t realized sooner – it’s not like me to be so
trusting. Clearly he was still pissed off about the other night.
That’s why he was avoiding me. The knock-back must have
hurt him more than I’d thought. God, boys are so fragile.
One night they’re punching someone’s lights out, and the
next they’re all put out cos their girlfriend won’t put out (for
once).
I sat on my toadstool in the woods and thought about how
best to handle this. What to do what to do what to do? Nat
had lied. This was not good. But he had lied for a reason –
he was upset. And we’d arranged to see each other on
Sunday. So was it really so bad if he wanted some time
out?
Yes. Yes, it was. He shouldn’t have lied. If he’d just told
me he wanted to lay low for a couple of days, I’d have
understood. Now who’s lying?
I wanted to call him and confront him about the lie, just to
see what he’d say. But it would be much better to do it in
person. That way I’d be able to see the truth in his eyes (I
was sure of it).
Sunday. I’d wait till Sunday. That’d be the best way to
play it. I could be patient … if I tried really, really, really hard
(and hid my phone somewhere to avoid temptation).
Sunday. It would all be sorted then. I felt better as soon as
the decision had been made.
It was harder than I’d thought – not calling him. I skived off
the last couple of lessons of the afternoon and wandered
around town, trying my best to think about anything but him.
Mum made me sit down for a ‘proper dinner’. It was pure
torture. She tried to talk about Mick, but I refused to talk
back, which took the wind out of her sails somewhat. I
shovelled food into my mouth at record speed, desperate
to escape to my room.
The rest of the evening was spent battling indigestion,
which at least gave me something else to focus on other
than Nat. When I turned on my phone there were eleven
missed calls from Devon and five messages, all of which I
deleted immediately. I didn’t want to hear it. I wouldn’t
couldn’t shouldn’t let myself hear it.
I went to bed early so I didn’t have to think. But I dreamed
about him.
Got up late on Saturday and went for a long run. This was
the first step to getting back to being me. A wheezing,
sweaty, beetroot-red me. I was so out of shape it wasn’t
even funny. I wouldn’t let this weakness happen again.
Mum was out shopping, so I had the house to myself –
the silence was a relief. More missed calls from Devon. Got
my laptop out and read the last thing I’d written: a couple of
chapters about a girl spookily similar to me. Lame. I’d even
given her my middle name. Lame squared.
I deleted it and started writing a story about a psychotic
gnome who hung around in the woods, waiting for
unsuspecting schoolgirls to kill and eat. Also lame. But fun.
I forgot about Nat for a whole afternoon. It felt good to be
lost in fiction, where everything was so much more
straightforward. The characters (mostly) did exactly what I
wanted them to. I pulled the strings and they jumped. I felt
powerful and good and happy.
At about nine o’clock my phone buzzed with a message.
Devon was really starting to fuck me off now. Why wouldn’t
he leave things alone?
But it wasn’t Devon this time. It was Nat:
‘Can you come over now? I need to see you.’
That was unexpected, but a huge relief. I replied to say I’d
be there in half an hour and then changed my clothes. I
looked in the mirror and took a deep breath: better to get
things sorted out tonight. First, he’d have to beg my
forgiveness for lying, then he’d have to beg me to sleep
with him. And I wouldn’t turn him down this time.
Devon was waiting at the front door like some kind of
geeky gatekeeper. He started to speak, but I held up my
hand to silence him.
‘No. I’ve got nothing to say to you. I’m here to see your
brother.’
Devon shook his head and spoke quietly. ‘I was just
going to say that he’s upstairs.’
‘Right. Well, thanks for the info.’ I shuffled past him. He
smelled good.
As I trudged up the stairs I could feel him still watching
me, but I turned around just to be sure. He was leaning
against the door, staring up at me. His expression was
pained.
I paused outside Nat’s room. Music was blaring. A song
we both loved. I smiled to myself.
My hand was on the door handle. I wondered if I should
knock. Not that he’ll be able to hear me. And he IS
expecting me …
I opened the door.
I saw lots of things.
The crack on the ceiling, longer and wider than ever
before.
A textbook splayed on the floor, spine broken.
A glass of water on the desk, half empty.
Nat on the bed.
With Sal. Not me.
My eyes were broken and my brain was too.
He was sitting with his back against the wall. She was
lying down. Her head was on his lap. My head was not. He
was wearing jeans and nothing else. She was wearing
jeans and a bra. Bare feet. I wore trainers.
He was touching her arm. Not mine.
He was looking at her and she was looking at him and I
was looking at them.
My heart was spilling out of my mouth onto the carpet.
I was looking at them and they were looking at me. We
were all looking, and no one was speaking.
Music was blaring.
A door was slamming and feet were running. And
running. And running. And running.
My eyes were broken and my brain was too.
My heart had been left for dead on the carpet.
My feet were running faster faster FASTER.
I ended up at the park. The den at the top of the climbing
frame was waiting for me. I hugged my knees to my chest,
desperately trying to hold myself together so I didn’t splinter
into a thousand pieces. If I let go, no one would ever be
able to put the pieces together again.
I was sweating and cold and nothing.
My phone rang. Sal. My phone rang. Nat. My phone rang.
Sal. Sal. Sal. Sal. Sal. Sal. A text message. Mum: ‘Where
are you? ‘I want you home by midnight.’
Me: ‘Staying at Sal’s. See you tomorrow.’
All I could see was the two of them. The wrong two.
1 + 1 = 2
1 + 1 + 1 = broken shards of me
A text from Sal:
‘Grace, PLEASE answer your phone. I need to talk to
you. I’M SORRY. This wasn’t meant to happen. It’s all
fucked up. PLEASE call me. Where are you? I’m sorry. Call
me. x’
I threw the phone out of the window. I wouldn’t be needing
it.
I kept thinking about the bra she had on. That bra she
bought the other day. Brand-new underwear for a special
occasion. The special occasion of fucking my boyfriend.
I kept thinking about him touching her arm. The easy
intimacy that doesn’t just come from nowhere.
I kept thinking about them looking at each other. Gazing.
I kept thinking about
slicing flesh
welling blood
dizzy high
relief.
Later. A too-bright all-night cafe. Still thinking, drinking cup
after cup after cup of coffee until I threw up on the table. Got
chucked out. No tears, not yet.
The night went on and on and I dreaded the dawn. I didn’t
want tomorrow to come. But it did.
Sunday morning and joggers and dogs and people with
cappuccinos and newspapers. Up early, making the most
of the day. Ignoring the ghost girl wandering among them.
Dazed. Gazed, gazing, touching, wanting.
Public toilets. Ghost girl staring back at me in the mirror.
Who are you?
Nobody.
My house. Waiting outside, keys in hand. Another door to
open.
Mother waiting on the sofa.
‘Where have you been?’ Softly softly, but I could hear the
steel.
‘I told you – I slept over at Sal’s.’
‘Hmm … did you have a nice time?’
‘Yeah. We went to a late showing at the cinema. I thought
Mr Stewart would be able to drive me home, but he’s away
at some conference or something, and I didn’t have enough
money for a taxi. Sorry.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ I headed for the stairs.
‘Sit down.’ All steel now.
‘I’m really knackered. I just need to get some sleep.’
‘SIT down. Now.’
Nothing to do but obey.
‘When did you become such a good liar, Grace Carlyle?’
Lips pursed, anger barely contained.
I didn’t even try to argue. Past caring.
‘Sal called last night, asking where you were. She was
worried. I’ve been up all night waiting for you, worrying. I
nearly called the police.’
A derisive snort from me.
‘Would you like to explain exactly what it is you find so
funny? Just look at yourself! YOU’RE A MESS!’ Shouting,
spitting anger at me. She grabbed hold of me and hauled
me in front of the mirror above the mantelpiece.
‘Look at the state of you. You look half dead.’
I looked. Greasy hair and pale face and dark circles and
eyes. Green eyes that looked more like grey. Broken eyes.
Half dead?More than half, nearly all the way.
‘Are you on drugs?’
A giggle from me, high pitched and manic.
‘Well? Are you? Look at me, Grace.’ More manhandling,
shaking me. My head clinging on to my shoulders for dear
life. ‘Answer me, for Christ’s sake!’
‘No, Mother. I am not on drugs, but thanks for asking. It’s
nice to know you care.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘What do you think it means?’ No anger. A voice
detached from my body.
‘Of course I care, you stupid little girl. But you don’t make
it easy sometimes.’
‘It’s not my job to make it easy. You’re supposed to be
the parent, remember?’
She was furious now. Even more so because I wasn’t.
‘Grow up, Grace.’
‘Oh, I grew up a long time ago. Shame you weren’t
around to notice. Shame you never thought to ask where I
was all those other nights.’
That stumped her, if only for a moment.
‘What other nights?’ Defeated, deflated, tired.
A smirk from me. ‘The nights when I was with boys,
Mother. A lot of boys. Having quite a lot of sex, if you must
know.’
‘Grace!’
‘What did you think I was doing? Playing with dolls?
Having a teddy bears’ picnic?’
‘Be quiet!’
‘You can’t honestly tell me you’re surprised? You know
what they say … like mother, like daughter.’
‘Stop it! Stop talking NOW!’ Time for tears. But not from
me, not yet. ‘Your father would never have stood for this sort
of behaviour … he’d be ashamed of you.’
‘Whatever. He shouldn’t have fucking killed himself then,
should he? If he cared so fucking much.’ I felt something
then – a flicker of feeling, of caring. I stomped on it, hard.
‘Go to your room. Right now.’
‘Whatever you say, Mother.’
She hated me, and I was glad.
Questions. Lots of questions, all fighting for my attention. I
hid from them under the duvet, but they seeped in
somehow. Drip-drip-dripping poison into my head.
Drip. When was the first time? Shh, don’t listen.
Drip. Who made the first move? It doesn’t matter. Hush.
Drip. How could they do this to me? That’s what people
do. Hurt.
I slept. A confused, restless sleep.
Dreamsandthoughtandquestions all mixed up and upside
down and the wrong way round.
Cut. Cut them out. Deeper. It’s the only way.
The poison was stronger than me. I was powerless to
resist. Cut.
I woke up to a new question: Why did he ask me to come
over? He can’t have wanted me to see that … can he?
Unless that was his own unique way of dumping me? No.
Think harder.
And then I knew: It hadn’t been Nat who’d wanted me to
see.
Later. Mum crept in. I pretended to be asleep. She stroked
my cheek and her touch made my skin creep and crawl and
itch. She stayed a few minutes, and before she left she
whispered, ‘I love you.’ Liar.
Monday morning. Happy sunlight streaming through the
window. Today’s the day. I smiled at the ghost girl in the
mirror. She looked different today. I showered and dressed
and put some make-up on and went downstairs.
Now for the tricky bit …
‘Morning, Mum.’
She was sitting in the kitchen with her back to me. She
said nothing.
I stood behind her chair and hugged her, like I used to. I
whispered, ‘I’m really, really sorry about yesterday. I didn’t
mean any of it. I was just tired and upset – Sal and I … fell
out on Saturday night.’ I kissed her perfectly powdered
cheek. ‘I know it’s no excuse, but I’m sorry.’ There. Done.
She patted my arm and I knew I’d succeeded. ‘I’m sorry
too, Grace. I didn’t mean that … about your father. It was
just … some of the things you said …’
I slid into the chair next to her and took her hand in mine.
‘I made it up. I just said the first thing that came into my
head – I was being a total cow. Sorry.’
She looked into my eyes and didn’t see me. She never
did. She believed what I wanted her to believe. Always.
‘Really, Grace. You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Let’s just
move on. I tell you what – why don’t we have a girls’ night in
tomorrow? Just the two of us. It would be good to … talk. I
know I haven’t been around much recently, and things
haven’t exactly been easy for us since your father … but I
think we should start spending some more time together.
What do you say?’ Her face was hopeful. It made her look
younger.
‘Mum, it’s OK. I’m a big girl – I can look after myself. And
you deserve to live your own life. Things are just fine – don’t
you worry about me.’ It was easier than I thought. The words
all came out in the right order and my voice was light and
soft and … daughterly. ‘But tomorrow sounds good.’ Yeah.
Tomorrow.
‘Lovely! Oh, I nearly forgot. Sal phoned yesterday – quite
a few times actually. But I thought it was best to let you
sleep. Sounds like she wants to make up though, doesn’t
it?’
I plastered on a plastic smile. ‘Yeah. Great. Well, I’ll talk
to her at school. It’ll be fine.’ We smiled at each other and I
worried that my face would crack open.
After break, double English. Sal was there, of course. The
look on her face when I sat down next to her was pretty
special.
‘Grace, hi. I didn’t know if you’d be here. I … don’t know
what to say.’ How come I’ve never noticed how mousey
she sounds?
‘Have you got your Canterbury Tales with you? I left mine
at home.’
‘What? Are you serious?’
‘What?’
‘Grace, we need to talk …’
The teacher arrived and started droning on and on and
on and I took notes. I wrote extra neatly and used a ruler to
underline all my headings. Sal was scribbling furiously next
to me. She tore out a page from her notebook and slid it
across the desk to me:
‘I’m sorry. Please can we talk? We NEED to talk about
this. I’m so so so sorry about Saturday, but it’s complicated.
There are some things you need to know. (Yes, like when
you started fucking my boyfriend.) This was never
supposed to happen, just let me explain. I need you to know
that you’re my best friend and the last thing I wanted to do
was hurt you.’
I wrote back: ‘Have you got your Canterbury Tales?’
She sighed, frustrated now. Grabbed the paper back
from me: ‘Please. Just hear me out. Then if you want
nothing more to do with me, that’s fine. I need to explain –
about Nat, about Easter, about everything. Lunchtime?’
Me: Can’t today. Sorry.
Sal: Tonight then?
Me: Got plans. Sorry. Free tomorrow night though.
(Yeah, tomorrow’s perfect.)
Sal: I really think we should talk today.
I was bored now: Tomorrow or nothing.
I looked at her, stared her into submission. She nodded
a meek little nod.
I shot out of the classroom as soon as the bell went. I didn’t
want her following me. I wanted to get to the woods, but I
only made it halfway down the corridor. I couldn’t allow
anyone to see me – the library was the only option. I ducked
in among the reference shelves. Only just made it in time
before the tear ducts let loose: a total onslaught. Sobbing in
silence.
Explain about Easter? What about Easter?
Think about it.
No no no no no no no. It can’t be true. It’s not possible.
No. Yes.
Don’t think about it.
Stop it. Stop it now. This isn’t part of the plan. It doesn’t
change anything. Think about something else, anything
else. Look at the books.
I pulled an encyclopedia of British birds from the nearest
shelf and sat on the floor. Look how many different types of
seagull there are … count them, memorize them. Read
the Latin names …again and again and again.
Gazing, touching, wanting, fucking.
Footsteps. ‘Grace? Grace, is that you?’
I wanted the book to swallow me up. But it didn’t.
Sophie knelt down in front of me. ‘Grace! What’s the
matter?’
‘Nothing. I’m fine.’ Choking sobs betrayed me.
She sat down next to me and put her arm around my
shoulders, whispering, ‘Shhh, it’ll be OK,’ over and over
again. I leaned into her.
More footsteps approaching. I didn’t dare look up.
Sophie hissed at whoever it was. ‘Go on, piss off!’ The
footsteps fled. I laughed, still crying.
‘That’s better. More laughing, less crying. Do you want to
tell me what’s wrong?’
I shook my head.
‘You know you can trust me, don’t you?’ You can’t trust
anyone, ever.
But I nodded anyway.
‘Do you want me to go and find Sal?’
I shook my head again, harder.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Thank you.’ Right. Pull yourself
together now. I took a deep, juddery breath. ‘I think I’m OK
now.’ Liar.
Sophie wasn’t buying it. ‘Well, let’s just sit here for a bit
longer. We don’t have to talk.’
I was pathetically grateful. I wasn’t quite ready to face the
world yet – I needed to put my armour on more carefully this
time. Make sure there were no chinks. I leaned my head
against hers and we sat in silence.
I nearly told her. So nearly. But I had to stick to the plan.
The bell went and I dragged myself to my feet. A rush of
dizziness so that I had to steady myself against the shelf.
Sophie got up too. Her knees made a cracking sound,
which made us both smile. She pushed her glasses up the
bridge of her nose. ‘I … I hope you’re feeling better. If you
ever …’
I nodded. ‘Thanks for being so great. I feel loads better
now.’
It suddenly hit me: this would be the last time I ever saw
her. Breathing was difficult. I hugged her fiercely. ‘You’re a
real friend, you know that?’ She looked puzzled, but I
ploughed ahead. ‘What you did today – it … really helped.
Don’t ever forget that. I’m sorry for being such a bitch. I wish
things could have been different.’ Shhh. She’ll guess. Stop
talking.
‘Hey, it’s OK. We can be friends, Grace. I’d like that a
lot.’
I felt all hollowed out. ‘Me too.’
I walked away. Hating myself even more than I hated
them.
Don’t look back. Stay strong … Not long now.
The afternoon was fine. My armour protected me from
everything and everyone and, most of all, from me. Listened
carefully in lessons, took notes about battles and kings and
things. Memorized the dates and names.
And then it was over. School was over. Everyone
streamed out of the school gates, just happy that another
Monday was done and dusted.
I saw Devon waiting at the bus stop. He saw me too. I
walked towards him and he looked worried, guilty, trapped.
The bus arrived and he barged to the front of the queue,
desperate to escape.
I let him go. He didn’t matter, not really.
Home. An envelope for me, from Nat.
Terrible handwriting, just like mine.
No stamp or postmark – delivered by hand. I peeked out
the window in case he was watching. He wasn’t.
Why hadn’t he waited to see me?
You don’t want to see him. It won’t make any difference.
It’s better this way.
I sat on the sofa, the envelope sitting next to me.
Read it. Don’t read it. Read it. Don’t read it. Don’t read it.
Don’t read it. Don’t read it. Don’t read it. It will just be lies.
Lies and excuses and more lies.
You can’t trust anyone, ever.
I ripped it into tiny pieces – pieces so small no one could
ever put them together again. I scattered them into the
recycling bin.
Dinner with Mum in front of the telly. Pass the salt, please.
Washing the dishes. Putting everything back in its place.
Studying the knives in the knife block. Choosing.
Time to go to the park one last time.
Time to go, Grace.
And that was that. Mission accomplished. Monday was
over.
I was over.
Or so I thought.
Ethan’s gone. I woke up and he was gone.
He left me. Just like Dad. No. Not like Dad.
I’m not scared any more. I don’t need Dad. Or Ethan. Or
Nat. Or Sal. Not really.
I’m alive and strong and shiny and new and I think I’m
going to be OK.
All I have to do is get out of here. Soon.
The door isn’t locked. I KNOW the door isn’t locked.
Ethan wouldn’t lie to me.
One more sleep and I’ll be ready.
One more sleep.
Dreamy, drowsy, drugged. Wake up, sleepyhead.
I can’t open my eyes. Why can’t I open my eyes? Try
harder. No good. My eyes are broken. Listen then.
Silence. No, not quite silence. Beeping sounds, far far
away.
Whooshing too. Like the tide: in, out, in, out. On and on
and on. Shhh. Go back to sleep. Sleep is good. You can
sleep forever.
Wake up, sleepyhead.
Aw, please let me sleep. I’m so very tired.
No. Get up. Open your eyes. Move your arm at least.
I try. Arm disobeys. At least I think it does, but I’m not
sure where it is. Try harder. Find it, feel it. It should be
connected to your shoulder. There it is, with a hand on the
end, and fingers too. Try moving a finger. Nope, can’t. I
can feel something though. What is it? Feels familiar,
nice. A hand in mine: warm and comforting. A boy’s hand,
I think. Mmm, you smell good.
Are you Ethan?
Who’s Ethan?
I don’t remember.
Voices. People with voices, saying things I don’t
understand. Long words. Ask them where you are. Ask
them why you can’t open your eyes. Ask them ask them
ask them what’s wrong with you. Speak. Now. I CAN’T I
CAN’T I CAN’T. Screaming inside my head. My eyes are
broken and my brain is too.
Hush. Don’t worry. Maybe you’ve fallen asleep watching
ER again.
A new hand. Smaller, colder. And a voice.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s time to wake up now. Come
on, open your eyes, just for me. I know you can do it if you
try. No? … Well, squeeze my hand … Even just a little bit.
Please?’ My hand is floating, higher. Still at the end of my
arm, I think. Shhh. I’m trying to sleep.
‘Well, we’ll try again tomorrow. You rest up and we’ll try
again. Yes, tomorrow you’ll be stronger, I just know it.’
Silence. And then, ‘Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t even
think about it. I won’t let this happen again. I WON’T. You
hear me? You try harder tomorrow, OK? Just. Try. Harder.’
The same voice, tight and choked. It’s choking me.
Beeping beeping BEEPING louder and longer and it won’t
stop.
No whooshing. The sound of the sea has stopped.
The hand is ripped away from me and I’m moving fast, I
think. Things are whirling around me. Voices loud and
louder. Hands touching me. Not his though. Not his.
What’s happening to me? Shhh, just sleep. Don’t worry
your pretty little head about it. Night, night, sleep tight.
OK. If you say so. Tell everyone to be quiet though.
How can anyone sleep with that racket going on?
Pounding, pounding, pounding. My chest hurts.
Breathe. In and out. In and out. The whooshing is back
and so is his hand.
I smile. On the inside though, so no one can see. A
secret smile just for me.
Another voice. I have no choice but to listen. A girl-voice.
Sounds upset. I try to work out if there’s a hand in mine,
but I can’t tell. Just a dull throbbing sensation in my wrists,
which is weird.
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming. I couldn’t not come.
This is all my fault.’ This could be interesting.
The voice goes on. ‘I still can’t believe you did it.’ Did
what? Why so cryptic?
‘I don’t know if you can hear me … Of course you can’t
hear me! This is so stupid, but … I need you to know that
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. This whole situation is a mess.
And I can’t help thinking that if I’d just told you the truth
from the start then none of this would have happened. I’m
sorry.’ Enough with the sorry! Just get on with it.
‘I met him first, you know. I’m not just saying that to be a
bitch. It’s true. I was at Devon’s, and he was there. And I
liked him straight away, and he … liked me. I’ve never
been able to tell with boys before, but with him I just knew.
He had some mates over for a party – it was all a bit crazy.
Devon got fed up and went to stay at his dad’s. I should
have left too. But I didn’t. I liked him so much. We had
loads in common. We talked for ages. Sorry if you don’t
want to hear this, but I need you to know the truth.
‘I drank too much. I didn’t mean to, but I was nervous
and … I was having a good time. I felt like a different
person. I knew something was going to happen with him. I
really, really wanted something to happen. But he got
wasted too – playing stupid drinking games. He fell
asleep on the sofa while I was in the kitchen. Idiot. And
then I …’ And then you what?
‘One of his friends had been eyeing me up all night.
Simon. He saw that I was about to leave and begged me
to stay. It was easier to say yes than no. He dragged me
up to dance with him, and it was sort of fun. I remember
thinking that this must be what it’s like to be you – just
doing what you want and not caring. I’ve always wondered
how you do that.
‘Simon kept on topping up my glass and I just didn’t
care. We danced for ages, and then he kissed me. And I
kissed him back. I wasn’t thinking. And then we must have
gone up to Devon’s room. And I … don’t really remember
much. I don’t remember how it happened. I don’t think I
said no, but I can’t believe I didn’t. Does that make
sense?’ I have no idea.
‘I just know that I woke up feeling sick and sore and I
knew what must have happened, but it was almost like I
couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. Simon was asleep
next to me and I just got dressed and ran. I felt disgusting.
I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I should have told you, I
wanted to, but … I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for …’
There’s a sound like a door opening.
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.’ A boyvoice.
‘That’s OK. I have to go anyway.’
‘Don’t go. Please. I think we should talk.’
‘Not here. Not now. You should stay – talk to her.’ Her? I
think ‘her’ must be me. But who are they, and who is
Simon for that matter?
Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think …
‘I don’t know what to say.’ He sounds petulant.
‘How about sorry? That might be a good place to start.’
Ouch. A door slamming shut hurts my ears. I listen hard
for the boy-voice, but my ears are full of nothing. Just the
beeping and whooshing. Comforting. I’m just starting to
drift away when he speaks.
‘This is so weird.’ I hear a loud exhalation, and I think I
feel it on my arm. ‘Just for the record, I don’t think you can
hear me. Nothing I’ve read about this sort of thing has
convinced me.’ Ha. That’s what you think, buddy.
A deep sigh. ‘But I am sorry, you know. This should
never have happened. I did care about you, but it was
messed up from the start. You want to hear something
funny?’ I can tell it’s going to be anything but funny. His
voice is sour.
‘Remember the night we met? I’d just got back from uni,
and the first thing I did was go round to her house. I’d been
thinking about her ever since we met. I’d emailed and
called and texted, but she just ignored me, and I couldn’t
work out why. I was pretty gutted. God, why am I even
bothering to explain? You can’t hear a word I’m saying.’
YES, I CAN!
‘Anyway, she refused to see me that night too. And then
I met you at the bus stop. I thought I’d try to forget about
her. And it was working, till I found out you two were
friends. It was so fucked up. I know it’s no excuse, but I was
confused. I … I thought I was falling in love with you, but I
couldn’t get her out of my head. She knew how I felt, but
she said she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. She made
me promise not to say anything – even made me pretend
I’d never met her before.’
His voice goes quiet. ‘When you told me about her
getting pregnant … I blamed myself. I knew it must have
been Simon – he’s such a sleazy fucker and he’d acted so
damn smug after that party, but I never knew why. I
begged Sal to see me. I kissed her that night, but she said
if I broke up with you she’d never forgive me. She really
loves you, you know that?
‘And then that night. You shouldn’t have had to see that.
But nothing actually happened. We never …’
It hits me. Like a physical blow to my heart. That night. I
remember That Night.
I don’t hear another word he says.
Nat. Sal.
Don’t think about it. Don’t. Think.
But I have to. I want to. I need to.
Just go to sleep.
No!
You don’t want to remember. Just drift away. It’s better
this way. Trust me.
No!
You’ll be sorry.
We’ll see about that. We’ll see.
I remember. All of it. And it hurts. More than I’d have ever
thought possible.
I know where I am and what I’ve done and why I can’t
move or speak or open my eyes. And I’m scared.
It was all a terrible mistake.
I’d like to not be here. I’d like to go home now.
Please.
Please.
The hand is back, nestled in mine. The right hand. Or the
left. But it feels right at least.
Music is playing. The same song over and over again.
I’ve heard it somewhere before, I think. It’s beautiful.
The music stops. And then he speaks. ‘I hope you don’t
mind listening to that. I thought … you might wake up.
Stupid of me, probably. I didn’t tell you before, but it
reminded me of you the moment I heard it. I don’t know
why.’
A pause and then his voice is closer – right next to my
ear. ‘I’m here for you, if you need a friend. I know I might
not be your first choice, but I reckon we’ve got more in
common than you think. Don’t laugh.’ I’m not.
‘I’m sorry for what I did. You shouldn’t have had to find
out that way. If I’d thought for even a second that
something like this would happen, I would never have …
But you wouldn’t listen, and I couldn’t think of any other
way. You’re so stubborn! You’re even being stubborn now,
aren’t you? Pretending you can’t hear me. Ignoring me. It’s
really kind of rude, you know.’
But I CAN hear you, I shout inside. I won’t ignore you,
ever again. I promise. I could do with a friend right now. A
friend like you.
‘It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything today. But I’ll be
back. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, until
you’re so sick of me you get right up out of that bed and
walk out of here. It’s going to happen. Trust me.’ I think I
do.
I feel the gentlest of kisses on the back of my hand. And
then he’s gone.
The small hand is back again, but this time it’s warmer.
‘I’m sorry, Gracie-bear. I’m sorry.’ Gracie-bear? I’ve
heard that before, I think. But what does it mean? ‘I know I
should have said it years ago, but I was too wrapped up in
myself. I wasn’t there when you needed me … I was
hurting so much. And I knew you were too, but somehow I
just couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it. I couldn’t
be who you needed me to be. I missed him so much. He
was everything to me. I’ll never understand why he did it.
Why he left us.’ Her voice is small and sort of
heartbreaking. The hand squeezes mine and I would
really like to squeeze it back. I try my hardest, but it’s no
good.
‘I didn’t know how to be without him. He was all I’d ever
known. I know that’s no excuse, but I want you to
understand … things are different now. I’m here for you.
And I always will be, even when you don’t want me to be.
That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I won’t let you down, I
promise. You just have to wake up and let me prove it to
you.’
I believe this voice. And I know who it belongs to.
I try and try and try to move my hand, just to let her
know that I can hear her. My brain is sweating with the
effort. I concentrate on my little finger and think think think
about it moving. And I try and I try and …
Nothing.
But I’ll try again. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the
next.
I won’t give up.
I won’t ever give up.
acknowledgements
Entangled took its sweet time making its way from my
head to the page, and a relatively short time making its way
from the page to the book you hold in your hands. Lots of
lovely people helped me along the way. Extraspecial big
thanks to …
Jan Sherwood, my favourite English teacher, for not
laughing at my early writing attempts.
BWC. Our meetings got me through the whole ‘actuallyhaving-
to-write-the-book’ thing. Non and Kate K., I owe you
big time. Nonster, you know I couldn’t have done this
without you. Thank you thank you thank you for
encouraging/nagging me every step of the way. You are a
star. Go fish!
The All-American Rejects, Fall Out Boy, Cute Is What We
Aim For, Elliot Minor and Jack’s Mannequin for writing the
soundtrack.
Chris (Kissyfur), Ed, fabulous cousin Sarah, Liz
(Frodders), Dan, Laura, Smoo, JNT, Stephanie K. and
Megan L. Each one of you has been supportive,
enthusiastic and/or excited just when I needed it the most.
Awesome Sar, for recognizing that elusive first line
lurking in the middle of my manuscript, and for being,
y’know, awesome.
My agent, the marvellous Victoria Birkett, and the equally
wonderful Nancy Miles, of the Miles Stott Children’s Literary
Agency. Meeting you both on that sunny day in Marylebone
was truly one of the highlights of this whole journey. You
took a chance on Grace, and for that I will ALWAYS be
grateful.
Roisin Heycock (editor extraordinaire), Parul Bavishi
(publicity guru), Talya Baker (copy-editing genius) and all at
Quercus. I couldn’t have wished for a better home for
Entangled.
My new blogging and Twitter buddies, for sharing in the
excitement and for understanding that getting what you’ve
always dreamed of can be kind of scary too!
Lastly, and firstly, and always, my parents, Elspeth and
Rob for well … everything. And for being (sort of!) patient
when I wouldn’t let you read my writing.
for news, blogs and more information visit us
online:
www.catclarke.blogspot.com
www.catclarke.com
Twitter @cat_clarke
www.quercusbooks.co.uk
Twitter @quercusbooks @quercuskids
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