When we finally stop to catch our breath, Fi digs a packet of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket. ‘To the garden!’ she commands, putting her arm round my shoulders.
I feel energized from the dancing. Light. Happy. A part of me wants to carry on, but fresh air also sounds good. ‘OK!’ I shout back, grabbing another bottle of wine. She always gets loads in for her parties – her parents are so cool. I tuck it under my arm and follow her out.
It’s quieter outside. The usual group of older boys are crowded near the shed at the back, laughing and smoking something stronger than cigarettes. Fi and I sit on the lawn, facing the house, surrounded by daffodils. The whole back wall is covered with Welsh dragon plaques. Fi’s parents are so devoted to Wales it makes me laugh, though they spend more time travelling the world than at home.
‘You got away OK?’ Fi asks, glancing at me.
I shrug. ‘Sure. It’s not even a big deal now.’
She grins. ‘You’re becoming sooo good at it! Like your brother.’
My skin prickles all over. Has she forgotten how bad he was at sneaking out? He was always getting caught. Not that he actually tried to sneak away though: he just went. At least my way isn’t upsetting anyone.
Fi must see that I’m irritated. She gently nudges me. ‘I just meant that he’d be impressed,’ she says.
I nod. He would. I know he would. ‘Yeah,’ I say, managing a smile.
And then Fi lights a cigarette. Smoke mingles with the air around us and I breathe in the smell. I breathe and breathe, focusing on the fairy lights dangling from the fence, twinkling against the darkness.
The first time I saw Akash smoking, I was ten and he was thirteen. It was the summer holidays. Hot. I’d been doing cartwheels on the lawn and I was standing next to the shed, brushing grass off my skirt, when I smelled cigarette smoke. I looked around, trying to figure out where the smell was coming from, and saw him peering back at me through the shed window. His eyes were wide as he pressed a finger to his lips. He was smirking a bit, that cheeky, lopsided smile of his. Understanding straight away, I nodded and cartwheeled all the way back to the house, our secret buzzing inside me. It was the first of so many.
Fi squeezes my arm and I jolt out of my daze. She blows out a smoke ring the size of a saucer. I gaze in awe as usual.
‘What you thinking?’ she asks. ‘About him?’
I look down at my lap. ‘Always.’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I know.’
‘Have you … got any more clues?’ I look at her now. My heart’s racing from the hope, the possibility. Fi and I have been trying to figure out what happened to Akash ever since we became friends. We’ve spoken to everyone who knew him from school, all his friends, but no one saw him that night after Fi’s party. But someone must know something. And we’ve promised each other we won’t give up.
Fi shakes her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, Neens. You?’
I shake my head too.
Fi smiles at me sadly. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but he’s the one who taught me how to do smoke rings …’ She blows out another one. It floats up into the air, a perfect circle, and then it spreads, disappears into the air.
There, and then gone.
‘Did he?’ I say. It doesn’t surprise me. ‘Yeah, he used to say they’re their own kind of art.’ I drink some more wine. And then I laugh. My brother could find art in anything. God, I miss that.
Fi nods enthusiastically. ‘Art. Yeah. That’s it! He said the exact same thing to me.’ She leans into me. Rests her head on my shoulder. I rest my head on hers. ‘Imagine what he could’ve done as an artist,’ she continues. ‘I mean, if your parents hadn’t held him back. You know?’
I pull away from Fi. Feel a bit sick. What she’s saying is true, but it doesn’t seem right coming from her somehow. ‘Yeah, I guess. But they always tried their best, you know? And he always did what he wanted anyway …’ I can’t believe I’m defending Mum and Dad.
Fi looks at me hard. ‘Sure … But all their rules, you know? Anyway, you can’t let that happen to you, Neens …’ She’s slurring a bit but her eyes are focused. Unflinching.
I peer at the freckles round Fi’s nose. ‘Yeah,’ I say. But it’s not as easy as she thinks. Since Akash left me, I’ve managed to get better at painting, but everything else has become harder.
Fi grabs my arm. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. Her cigarette’s burning away now, just hanging there between her fingers like she’s forgotten about it. She’s totally wasted. I down more wine too.
‘The thing is …’ She opens her eyes. ‘I know it’s a cliché or whatever, but life’s fucking short! That’s what Akash always said too. You can’t let your parents control you … You just can’t. You’ve got to … to … follow your heart. It’s cheesy but true.’
‘I know that!’ I tell her. ‘Why do you think I’m here?’
She laughs. ‘Yeah. Of course you know. I’m sorry. I just … I wish things were different. I wish we … you know, could find out more about what happened. I just want him to be proud of us both.’ She stubs her cigarette out on the grass. ‘Do you … do you think he is? Proud, I mean.’
I smile at her. ‘Yeah.’ I don’t need to even think about it. I know both Fi and me are doing him proud. ‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’
Fi smiles too.
This was the last place Fi saw Akash, on the night he disappeared. She was the last person to see him – as far as we know. I look around the garden, half expecting him to jump out on us, like I always do when we’re talking about him. It’s silly, I know, but I can’t help it. And, as always, I’m disappointed when he doesn’t. But then I see Josh.
‘Oh God, he’s here,’ I say, not meaning to say it out loud. He’s standing in the doorway, peering out into the garden and looking a bit lost. Is he searching for me? No, no. I’m being too hopeful.
‘Ahhh. Josssshhh! Oui!’ Fi grins. ‘What exactly is up with you guys?’
I glance at her. ‘What? Nothing! And keep your voice down!’ I’m suddenly very nervous. Which is ridiculous. It’s Josh. Just Josh. He looks over at us and we wave at him. ‘Just … stay here a minute, will you?’ I say quietly to Fi. ‘Don’t leave me.’
Fi stands up. Grimaces. ‘Ahh, I would if I could but I can’t – sorry! I’ve got to … go mingle.’ She snatches the plastic cup from my hand and knocks back my wine.
‘What! No!’ I hiss. ‘Stay, Fi!’
She shakes her head. ‘Just have fun!’ Grinning, she waves Josh over. ‘Good luck,’ she whispers before slipping away.
‘What the hell, Fi,’ I mumble, clutching the bottle of wine against my chest.
When Fi reaches Josh, she hugs him, and I feel a tiny bit jealous. What’s wrong with me? For a moment, I even think he’s going to go back inside with Fi, but then he starts walking over to me. I watch him carefully. He’s wearing a loose-fitting shirt and looks a bit smarter than usual. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders are hunched. Why does he look so awkward? He waves to some of the guys smoking at the end of the garden before sitting down next to me.
Oh God. My head’s spinning a bit. I shouldn’t have had so much wine. But, at the same time, I want some more.
‘Oh, hey!’ I say, keeping my voice as breezy as I can. It’s just Josh. No big deal. Right?
He smiles. ‘How’s it going?’ he mumbles. He’s looking at his feet and I can’t quite figure out his tone. But I notice he’s gelled his hair, the dark strands styled into a sort of wave at the front. Does that mean anything?
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m … good,’ I say, desperately trying to think of something witty or funny or just even a bit interesting to say. ‘You?’
‘Yeah. Good too.’
‘Cool.’
‘Cool.’
Oh God. Why is he being so weird? Maybe I imagined us flirting. It seems we can’t even have a normal conversation. We sit in silence for, like, a hundred years, listening to th
e music blaring out of the windows and the chatter and laughter of all the people who do know what to say to each other. I actually want to die. But I’m going to kill Fi first. Why did she have to leave us out here alone?
Finally, Josh looks at me. His green eyes are bright. He plays with some of the string bracelets round his wrist. ‘Is that wine?’ he asks. ‘Can I … maybe have some?’
‘Oh! Yeah. Sure.’ Without realizing it, I’ve unscrewed the cap of the bottle I’m holding. Fi walked off with my cup, so I gulp some down straight from the bottle, trying hard not to spill any. I hand it to Josh. He drinks too.
Then he points up at the sky so abruptly it makes me jump. What’s up with him? He’s usually so relaxed.
‘Sorry,’ he says, bringing his arm back down just as fast.
I laugh – one of those stupid forced laughs. Doesn’t even sound like a laugh. And Josh’s face goes bright red. Great. Nice one, Neena. He glances at me and then quickly looks back up at the sky, and I sort of wish I could ask him straight out: DO YOU LIKE ME OR NOT? But I’m too much of a wuss.
Josh clears his throat. ‘I was just going to say that … it’s a good night … to see the stars, I mean.’ He points up again, slower this time. ‘That there is Orion’s belt.’ His finger draws lines against the black sky, and I don’t really know what he’s pointing at. All I can see are loads of tiny stars all muddled together.
‘Right. Yeah,’ I say, taking the wine bottle from his hands. ‘I knew that.’
‘Oh. You did?’
I swig from the bottle. ‘Mmm-hmm. I mean, it’s not exactly rocket science, is it? Ha! Get it?’ It’s a lame joke – the lamest – but I don’t care. I’m desperate at this point and it works; he smiles and I’m a bit thrilled.
‘You can laugh if you want,’ I tell him, poking him gently in the ribs.
He grins properly now, his smile wide and a bit goofy, and I get butterflies that burst up from my stomach through to my chest. Maybe he does like me. This is what we’ve been like lately: a bit friendlier than usual, a bit jokier. I grin back at him, a proper, full-on ‘I’m so chuffed’ grin, which can’t be very attractive. I need to calm down.
‘Anyway …’ he continues. ‘Over there is the Plough …’
‘Mmm-hmm. Cool.’ I drink more wine. I wish he’d stop looking at the stars and look at me instead. He’s obsessed with astronomy. But last week, at another of Fi’s parties, he danced with us. And he never dances. Am I reading too much into that?
‘And there – that’s Cassiopeia.’
‘Ha! Now you’re just making up names … Here, have some more wine.’
He turns to face me and, again, his cheeks go red. ‘God, you’re not making this easy, are you?’
‘Huh? Making what easy?’ He doesn’t take the wine, so I drink some more instead. The redness spreads to the rest of his face and all down his neck. ‘Oh! Hang on. Were you …?’ I get it now. I thought he was just going off on one about the stars because he didn’t know what else to talk about. But no, this was flirting.
I laugh properly now. It’s actually quite funny.
He scratches his neck. ‘Look, Neens, I’m not very good at this …’
‘What? You?’ I say, in mock outrage. Josh has had a different girlfriend practically every year since primary school. How can he not be good at this? He scratches his neck again. Is he coming out in a rash?
I’m actually enjoying myself now. I thought I was the one who was awful at flirting, but surely even I can do better than that. I shift closer to him. He smells good. Well, of shower gel. But really nice-smelling shower gel.
‘Good at what?’ I tease. ‘Good at talking to girls about stars? Or good at something else …’ I twist a strand of my hair round my finger. So much for worrying about my parents! Josh stares back at me; his chest is moving up and down fast.
I remember once thinking Josh was flirting with me in science, before we were separated for GCSE and he got put in the top set because he’s a total science geek. We were sharing a textbook and, as we leaned towards it, his shoulder pressed against mine, and so did his leg beneath the desk. I couldn’t concentrate as I tried to copy a passage from the book. But afterwards he acted like nothing had happened and I thought it was my imagination.
Now he’s definitely looking at my lips. ‘What about your parents?’ he says. ‘I always thought … with them being so strict and everything …’
‘Oh God. Please forget my parents!’ I lean towards Josh and close my eyes before the moment is lost forever. He presses his lips against mine.
I always thought I’d be stupidly nervous when I had my first kiss. I mean, isn’t everyone? But actually, though I am nervous, I’m even more excited to get it out of the way.
Josh’s lips are soft with tiny rough bits. He tastes of salty crisps and wine. The sound of the laughter and chatter and music around us fades away. I feel the warmth of his body through his shirt, his heart beating hard and fast, and my body tingles all over. It’s sort of similar to the feeling I get when I paint. Free. Light. But there’s also something else. Something … uncontrollable. And I like that: this good feeling coursing through me, taking over everything else. It’s like that day in science, but times a million.
And it’s been so long since I’ve felt something this good that I want more and more of it. I press up against Josh. I can’t help it. Then his hands are in my hair, and mine are in his, and we kiss harder. It seems he doesn’t want to stop either.
‘You said you weren’t good at this,’ I whisper, when we finally pause for air. ‘You lied.’
The sun’s rising by the time I stumble home. I sip water from the bottle I stowed in my bag before I left for the party, and my head clears a little as I slowly start to sober up. But I’m high on the night, music still playing in my head and a smile plastered to my face as I walk down the drive. Then, as I climb back through the bedroom window and open my curtains, the buzz dies. Dad is sitting on my bed.
‘Shit.’ It comes out before I can stop it.
His arms are crossed, fingers tightly clutching the cardigan he’s wearing over his pyjamas. His legs are crossed tightly together and his whole face is frowning: eyebrows, eyes, lips. He’s like an angry folded-up giant.
‘Shit,’ I say again. ‘Sorry.’ I try to think of some sensible explanation as to why I’m climbing in through my bedroom window at five in the morning. ‘I was just … I needed to … I …’
But it’s obvious what I’ve been doing. Dad glances up at Akash’s cap and I know we’re both thinking about him. Remembering all the nights Akash came home drunk, clumsily tripping over in the corridor, Dad’s fist banging on his door as they shouted at each other and Mum screamed at them to stop.
Dad stands up and his face is no longer frowning. It’s all screwed up. ‘What. Do you think. You’re doing?’ He’s not shouting; instead, there’s this pressure in his voice, like he’s going to explode.
‘I … I’m sorry.’ I don’t know what else to say.
Dad shakes his head. He shakes it and shakes it like it’s a moneybox he’s trying to get a coin out of. Then he charges over to my dressing table. He looks around for a second and grabs my hairbrush, squeezes it in his hand. It’s a bit confusing, to be honest, and, for a weird moment, I think he’s going to try to brush his (practically non-existent) hair. Maybe as a sort of lament for his youth or something? But then he growls and hurls it across the room. I jump as it hits the wall above my bed.
‘You?’ Dad hisses, in his about-to-explode voice.
I stare at him. Wait for the shouting.
But instead Dad sinks down on to my dressing-table stool and stares back at me, like he’s seen a ghost. There’s something in his eyes that makes it hard for me to look at him. I gaze at my feet instead. It’s silent for a long time. I shift from one foot to the other and pull the cap off my head as a wave of guilt rises inside me. It rises and rises until I feel like I’m going to snap.
I can’t handle Dad’s si
lence. It reminds me of the days after Akash disappeared, when Dad drank too much and was quiet all the time, as if words were just too much effort. It went on for months and I hated being at home, my stomach constantly hard, like there was a brick lodged there. It wasn’t until Mum’s friend, Aunty Jasmine, barged in one evening and poured all the booze down the sink that he stopped. ‘You’ll thank me later,’ she’d assured him, pulling on rubber gloves and getting ready to clean the place up. That’s when Mum switched from sleeping all the time to cooking and cleaning all day too.
Cold air is drifting in through my bedroom window, making me shiver. I turn round and pull it shut, and it feels like closing something else, officially putting an end to the night. I want to push it open again, but I turn to look at Dad.
‘You?’ Dad says, and this time it’s a whisper.
I suddenly want him to shout at me instead. ‘Yes,’ I say, clutching Akash’s cap against my chest. ‘Me.’ Shout at me, shout at me, shout at me.
But Dad doesn’t shout. He rubs his hands over his face. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he says. ‘What … what’s the point of it?’
I almost laugh. ‘I don’t know, Dad. I don’t have the answers to the world’s most philosophical questions. What’s the point of anything?’ Shout at me, shout at me, shout at me.
He stares at me, silent again. My chest aches. I charge over to the door and open it wide. ‘Go to sleep, Dad,’ I snap. A year ago, I wouldn’t have dared speak to him like this. But everything was different then.
Dad stands up slowly, walks over to me, and out of the room. I think I’ve finally managed to get rid of him but he turns round before I can shut the door.
‘No,’ he says. ‘You can’t do this. Not you.’
The Million Pieces of Neena Gill Page 2