All the Invisible Things

by Orlagh Collins

  ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about or am I supposed to guess why you’re being like this?’

  ‘Like what?’ he says.

  I’m determined to have it out now. ‘Like this! Is the silent treatment for saying what I said outside your house last Saturday night?’ He turns his face. ‘Or has whatever happened with you and March got anything to do with it?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No, Vetty,’ he says, slowly.

  His body stiffens and I think I see his eyes narrow but he says nothing more. I clear my throat, then exhale hopelessly. I spoke fluent Pez once. ‘I don’t know how to read you any more. I used to, but I’ve no idea now. I don’t even know what you care about.’ He looks away. ‘God, would you at least say something!’

  ‘It’s too quiet here,’ he says, after a while.

  I lie back and take in a deep breath. I thought that when I got here after Mum died. I couldn’t believe how black the night was, or how the silence here could be both quiet and loud, and something about him noticing this too makes me soften. ‘Pez?’ I say, but he doesn’t answer and we curl in silence again for what feels like forever. I’m willing sleep to come when he rubs his nose noisily with his sleeve.

  ‘Do you miss her?’ he says.

  I roll my head around to his, then back. ‘Every day.’

  ‘Is it harder or easier, being back in the flat?’

  I think about the three of us trying to fill the empty space where she should be. ‘I thought being in London would help, but, it’s worse. In Somerset, I didn’t have to look but all I see now are the shadows she’s left behind. I see them everywhere.’ Pez squints like he’s thinking. ‘And with Arial, there’s all this new stuff, stuff I didn’t have to think about before. Like how much she needs her mum, I guess.’

  ‘And you have to be like her mother,’ he says. It’s not a question and he just nods like he understands. It’s a glimpse of the Pez who notices stuff that other people don’t want to see. I’m so relieved by all the truth we’re sharing that the muscles in my face soften.

  ‘I was mad at you,’ he says, looking away.

  My jaw locks. ‘Yeah, well, you made that pretty clear.’

  ‘Not last weekend,’ he says. ‘For moving away, for—’

  ‘Like I had any choice in that.’

  ‘You had a choice whether or not to answer calls or to reply to my messages. It was like you wanted to forget, about me—’ His voice shakes.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, pulling at his arm.

  He looks up. ‘The night before you left Camden, we were crying in the square. “Thanks,” you said, all sweet, like you were grateful I was feeling for you, but I was crying for me. Mum and Harland fought every day that summer. You were the only one I talked to about any of it. But when your mum got sick you stopped asking. Losing her was the worst. It was awful for you and I get that. Of course I do. But when you moved away it was like I didn’t matter any more. I’ve never said this to anyone, but I can’t not say it to you now, because—’ He stops and breathes in deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with all of the air around us. ‘Because it … hurt.’ He pulls up the neck of his hood, closing his eyes and hiding his face.

  I gulp down his words. ‘It’s OK.’

  His lids open. ‘Nothing is OK,’ he says, revealing the huge whites of his eyes. ‘I’m not OK.’ He says this last sentence so slowly it scares me. ‘You came down here to fields and farms …’ He throws his arms out in the dark ‘… to this Disneyland of hugs, but—’ He stops and holds his head in his hands for long time. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, finally. ‘I sound like a prick.’

  He does sound like a bit of a prick, but I reach for his hand, squeezing his fingers in mine, in our special code of short bursts and I shake my head, because in my heart that’s the last thing he is.

  He pulls his hand away and looks up at me from under those lashes. ‘You’ve got no idea how badly I wanted you to move back to London, or how much I just wanted … you. And when you came back, without telling me, it just, like, proved everything that I didn’t want to believe … about how little I meant to you.’

  I’m still shaking my head. It’s all I can do. Light flashes in the darkest parts of my mind and I see it was me who kept a distance. It was me who stopped answering calls. ‘I’m here now.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he says, quietly.

  That he doubts me makes me so sad. ‘It’s not an excuse,’ I say, leaning over, ‘But I felt the same. I just thought you would be fine without me, that I was the one who needed you. I never stopped to think that you might have needed me too. Not really.’ I lie back and warm tears drip into my ears. ‘I feel bad saying this, but I’m being honest.’ When I sit up he’s looking straight ahead. ‘Pez?’

  He sits up too, rubbing his hand under his nose again, sniffling. ‘I’m not in a good place.’

  ‘I get it.’

  ‘You think you do, but you don’t.’

  ‘Tell me then, so I can try.’

  ‘After you left I had no one.’

  ‘You’ve got tons of friends.’

  ‘I’m not myself with them.’

  ‘But they care about you, they do. When we moved here I didn’t know anybody. I had to start over. But I didn’t blame you for any of it.’

  ‘I’m not blaming you,’ he says. ‘I’m trying to explain. What they see isn’t me … nobody knew me like you and I’m just trying to understand why I feel so lonely—’ He stops and looks at me as the word sits there between us, so simple and honest.

  I’m so moved; by how he’s letting himself be seen like this, I lean over and put my hand on his cheek, leaving it there, hoping that something of me and all that I feel is passing through our skin.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Pez.’ He lifts his eyes. ‘I couldn’t go on missing you and Mum as much as I did. I had to go forward, not back. I had to let go. And I was trying so hard to hide or to be somebody else and I was afraid you’d see right through it. Besides, you were Pez … all bright and brilliant in your big blue house. You could do anything, draw anything, you made everything fun. I guess I convinced myself you’d be fine.’ He covers his face with his hands. ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Sounds like you’re talking about someone else,’ he says.

  I reach over, trying to peel his fingers away. Then I pull him closer, but he’s stuck to the ground and I have to drag him.

  ‘Pez?’ He looks up, but his arms don’t budge. ‘Come here, asshole,’ I say, shuffling closer. ‘Hug me, will you?’

  ‘I need to sleep,’ he says, shuffling away.

  ‘Pez, I’m serious. Don’t make me ask again.’

  His breath is heavy as he slowly lowers himself back down on to the bed. That’s it? I flop down too and he rolls on to his side. After all that I can’t put my arms around him. He clears his throat, like he can hear my thoughts. ‘But thanks for saying what you said.’

  ‘S’OK,’ I say, but as we lie there in the dark, more thoughts come to my mind and I’m so inspired by how brave he’s been that new words load themselves on to my tongue, eager to be let out. ‘Can I ask … just one more thing?’ He says nothing, but there’s a grunt, which I take as a yes. ‘When I walked in here earlier, what were you doing?’

  His breathing gets louder. ‘You looked at my computer the other day,’ he says. ‘I know you did.’

  I wasn’t expecting him to catch on that quick. I hardly knew I was going to bring this up, how on earth did he? ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘So, what? You think I was watching porn when you walked in here too?’

  It takes a few seconds for me to speak. ‘Um … no, I dunno. And I wasn’t judging you. I—’

  ‘What right would you have to judge me?’

  ‘None. I wasn’t. That’s what I’m saying. I—’

  ‘So, you’ve never watched—’

  ‘No! Stop!’ I say. ‘Let me finish. That’s why I brought it up. I just wanted to—’ Oh god. ‘Forget it,’ I say, curling up on my
mat.

  But I started this and I want to be honest.

  I scrunch thick fists of duvet under my chin and we lie there like bizarre bookends not looking at each other and I imagine myself standing over the edge of a great cliff. I hold myself completely stiff. Nothing moves inside or outside the tent. It’s as though the wind has stopped and even the leaves on the trees and the blades of grass outside have stilled, like they too are holding their breath. I picture thoughts forming in his mind, like those ellipses when typing a message. Neither of us talk but my thoughts are loud.

  ‘I have watched porn,’ I say. ‘Quite a bit recently.’ When I twist around all I can see is his back, like I’m talking to his T-shirt, not him. ‘Pez, are you listening?’

  I’m about to shove his shoulder when he rolls over. ‘And?’ he says, bending his elbow, propping his head up on the palm of his hand.

  ‘And … I’ve been trying to work out how I feel about it,’ I say, back on my cliff, leaning into the wind and finally diving over the edge. ‘And, I’ve got questions, I guess. See, the truth is—’

  I stop and he lies there watching me free-fall. ‘Go on,’ he whispers eventually.

  ‘It’s been on my mind, since I saw what I saw in your room. See, it’s like my body feels one way about it and my head thinks the opposite. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places but a lot of the stuff I’ve seen is kind of disturbing, you know? As though a lot of the girls are just acting like they enjoy the way sex is … done to them, and it’s hard to get on board with that. Look, I haven’t seen that much, but what I’ve seen has sort of stayed with me after I’ve stopped watching.’ He says nothing. ‘And then I also kind of … get it.’ He stares into the space in front of him, like he’s looking through me and I tilt my face to match the angle of his. ‘This might sound like a stupid question, but is it all so … one-sided?’ I ask, and he looks up. ‘I can’t help wondering if there’s stuff out there that’s a bit more … cheerful maybe?’ I attempt a laugh, but he jolts. ‘Sorry, I thought you might know.’

  ‘Why would I know?’ he says, quickly.

  ‘Well, you watch it more than me, so—’

  ‘How did you work that out?’

  His words sound so hard. Does he really not know that I see him night after night staring at the screen in the dark? But then, what if he’s just playing Fortnite or watching Netflix? What if, like me, he was googling around one day and opened a load of porn to look at and I’ve built this into something far bigger than it is? What if all the madness is in my head?

  ‘Have you shared this theory with anyone else?’ It’s an accusation, not a question.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you told anyone else?’

  ‘No!’ This isn’t entirely true and my voice jerks. I’ve spoken to Rob and March about him. ‘It’s been on my mind, that’s all.’ I hear him sit up and take a drink. Liquid quickly glug glug glugs down his throat and this is followed by the sound of plastic being crushed in his hands.

  ‘What d’you mean you get it?’ he says.

  ‘I get that it … works?’

  ‘Works?’

  Holy hell. This is embarrassing. ‘That it helps … to get you off?’ I turn and study what I can see of his face but it’s hard to tell whether or not he’s smiling. ‘Please don’t make me feel even more weird about this.’

  His face goes still. ‘So, how often d’you get off?’

  I prop myself up. ‘Dunno,’ I whisper, wishing I could skulk back under the covers, but I brought it up. ‘I’m still … working myself out?’ Shudder. I don’t know how to explain it honestly. ‘But I guess I try about as much as guys.’ I’m waiting for something, a laugh would help, but he looks so serious. ‘Why?’ I say. ‘How often do you?’

  He leans back again. ‘Can we talk about something else?’ he says.

  I lie down. ‘Sure,’ I say, quietly fuming about the fact that I’ve totally overshared and now neither of us know what to say and the silence feels endless.

  I pull my sleeping bag around my face and as the heat leaves my cheeks it slowly dawns on me that I wasn’t the only one to leap off a cliff tonight. It was huge of Pez to tell me he’s been lonely and as I snuggle up in the quiet, I think about how much I treasure this trust and how thankful I am.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he says, after a while.

  ‘Night,’ I say back.

  22

  Arial kneels inside the tent, stuffing a croissant into her mouth. ‘Is it time to put my jumpsuit on?’

  It seems like only minutes ago I shut my eyes. I prop myself up on my elbows and rub my face awake. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Dunno, but Dad says you need to get up,’ she says, shoving the last mouthful in and using both her hands to tie the door flap open. Pez stirs and quietly announces he’s going to the bathroom. I watch him crawl out of the tent and with the door open I have a full view as he slowly moves up the garden towards the house, becoming more and more vertical with each step.

  Arial insists I budge over so she can cuddle in beside me. ‘Was it like uh-mazing to sleep in here last night?’ she says. I don’t answer. I can’t. ‘Bet it was,’ she says. ‘But you should have brought a midnight feast.’ She places her face in front of mine. ‘Ohmygod, did you have a midnight feast?’

  I pat the ground, searching for my phone. ‘How are the brides?’

  ‘Haven’t seen Fran yet,’ she says. ‘But Wendy’s still in her tracksuit bottoms. She’s stressed because her phone says it might rain.’ I sit up and look out at the dark clouds above our heads. ‘Dad can’t get the helium thing to work.’

  I spin around. ‘Was that the real reason he sent you down?’

  She drops her chin. ‘He just wants you to help.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be up in a bit,’ I say, remembering my own job and frantically scrolling through my phone for the paragraph I found on the internet from a book called Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. It has a nice passage about love that lots of people seem to read at weddings and once Arial is gone I reread it slowly, timing myself. It feels clever and meaningful, but not as personal as I’d hoped. But on the plus side, the section I’ve picked is only forty-six seconds long.

  I collapse back on to the pile of sleeping bags, closing my eyes. I want to take a bit of time to process last night, but then I remember the awkwardness with Wendy and I know I can’t stay mad at her today. I force myself up and hike the path to the house. I’ll make everything better after I’ve showered.

  When I reach the courtyard, Pez has got the helium canister going outside the back door and the balloon operation is well under way. I watch him help Arial tie string to the bottom of a balloon. Then she opens the utility room door and volleys it inside before the rest of them can spill out. Pez places another limp balloon on the gas nozzle and it quickly gets bigger and bigger, but his face looks blank like it doesn’t register it inflating before his eyes. I open the camera on my phone and click several times. Then Arial reappears and he hands her the giant peach but instead of tying it this time, she puts it to her mouth and sucks in the gas. I lurch forward but she’s already raised her head and with one hand on her hip, she starts talking to Pez like a chipmunk. He laughs and so does she. She’s bent double. Neither of them can stop.

  When Pez looks up, I tuck my phone in my shorts and stroll over like I’ve just arrived. They’re still giggling as I pass by and I’m tempted to turn around, to try to join in, but it was their moment.

  I stroll on into the kitchen, where Dad is at the table reading his iPad and drinking coffee while people literally spin plates around him. I sit down and grab a croissant.

  ‘Howdy, camper,’ he says, rubbing my head. ‘I’m going for a walk down by the river. Do you think Pez would like to come?’

  ‘Ask him,’ I say, getting up. ‘I’m going to see whether there’s anything useful I can do.’ If I can’t get mad with either Pez or Wendy today, maybe Dad is the next best thing.

  There are no official bridesmaids,
but I find myself doing what I understand is pretty much that job; that is, telling Wendy she looks great and generally fussing around making her slightly more stressed. There’s a chance I’m overcompensating for yesterday and laying on the niceness a bit thick. I’ve washed and blow-dried my hair and I’ve got my green tea-dress on. Somehow, I’ve ended up with eyeliner and red lipstick and although my face looks completely different, I’m quite pleased. When Wendy sees me, she puts her arm around me and looks at me so kindly, I manage to push yesterday’s conversation to the back of my mind.

  Dad must have persuaded Pez to go on that walk because when I go downstairs to show him my new face, there’s no sign of him. I make some tea and sit on the stairs, unable to stop thinking about last night and everything he said, but after a while Fran’s brother appears and tells me it’s time to get Wendy moving. When her hair and make-up are done and we finally get downstairs Dad is waiting by the door to the garden, where a path of tiny jam jars filled with flowers has been laid all the way to the door of the tent.

  ‘It’s brightened up out there,’ Dad says, turning around. I can tell by the way he bounces on his knees that he’s nervous. Wendy takes one look at him and starts to cry. Fran’s brother is convinced Wendy’s crying because the sun’s out, but when I look at her watching Dad, I don’t think it’s that.

  The marquee is full and Pez sits beside me, studying the thick card in his hand like he has an exam on the order-of-service-for-offbeat-lesbian-weddings right after. He’s wearing a denim shirt buttoned up to the top and he looks neat and different, like he’s made an effort, and I’m surprised by how much I appreciate it. Dad sits on the other side, with an empty chair for Arial on his right.