by Cat Clarke
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, judd
ery 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 boy-voice.
‘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.