Young, Gifted and Dead

by Lucy Carver

  Then tragedy – he’d flown out to the Californian tennis academy and while he was away masochistic me had convinced myself that he didn’t care, had no feelings for me, was totally indifferent to how I might feel in return.

  ‘You’re weird,’ Paige had said flatly when she finally picked up my negative, self-destructive vibes. This would be about two weeks into Jack’s sabbatical. ‘How could he not be into you?’

  ‘Yeah, Alyssa,’ Lily had agreed. ‘How could he not? I’ve already told you – just look at you, girl!’

  I told her I’d looked and didn’t like what I saw.

  You’re thinking, Grow up, Alyssa! Just be nice to Jack when he gets back. Start over. But, hey, I didn’t have the confidence.

  He came back with the tan and the look of a guy who wasn’t interested any more. Let it be.

  Alone and cold by the lake, reflecting on my failings and weaknesses, I stared at the oil-black water. There was no moon, no stars, only sleet driving against my face.

  ‘Don’t stand so close to the edge,’ a voice warned.

  I didn’t look round. I knew his voice, felt his presence, and it sent a tingling sensation down my spine.

  ‘Alyssa, step back,’ Jack said as he took my hand.

  I pulled away from his grasp.

  He let go and waited for me to be ready to talk. ‘I saw you walk down this way.’

  I stared at the water, dark and deep.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  I turned. ‘What for?’

  ‘Being a loser. Not knowing how to act.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘All the time I’m around you. I’ve been a total tosser.’

  ‘No.’ Yes, actually. I remembered the cool and distant ‘heys’ as he passed by in the days after he’d told me about California. But then that had been down to me and my immature overreaction. ‘No really – it’s OK.’

  ‘I had a lot on my mind – getting ready for the trip, other things.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said again. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I just want you to know one thing – at Tom’s party I was genuine. I wasn’t just using you.’

  ‘To get back at Lily?’ I said baldly. ‘It’s OK – Zara just told me you two were an item.’

  Jack nodded. Like me he was wet through, his hair sticking to his scalp, rain running down his face. ‘I guess I should have mentioned it. But I was over her – in that way. I was moving on.’

  ‘So why did you two finish?’

  Jack thought for a while before he spoke. ‘It just happened. My dad knows Lily’s mum – they’re both on some kind of committee at the National Opera – so we’ve hung around together since we were little kids. Then suddenly for a few months we were an item.’

  ‘You adored her?’ That’s the way Zara had described it and the word was like an itch I had to scratch.

  He frowned and half turned away. ‘Everyone adored Lily.’

  And wanted to look after her and admired her and was scared of her mood swings. Again I kind of understood.

  ‘I miss her,’ I confessed.

  ‘I adored her, but we just wore out,’ was how he finally described it. ‘We were into different things – me with my sport, her with her painting. And life with Lily was intense. I’m more of a laid-back guy.’

  ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.’ Adam had told Paige and me in confidence about Lily’s bipolar disorder and I tried to figure out if Jack also knew about the diagnosis. From the look on his face when he searched for the word, ‘intense’, I guessed that he did.

  Again he took my hand and this time we stepped back from the water’s edge together. ‘Lily and I had stopped dating months before she went with Jayden. I want you to know that.’

  ‘Does it make any difference?’ I wondered out loud.

  ‘You think I was still jealous of Jayden?’ Jack didn’t need to have things spelled out – for a guy he was sensitive to these emotional issues. ‘I wasn’t, but at the same time I knew he wasn’t right for Lily.’

  ‘So what was wrong with him?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘You’ve seen him.’

  I thought of Jayden, reluctant daddy and feral gatecrasher with his Upper Chartsey mates. ‘Hey, Jayden!’ a newly pregnant Lily had cried as she tottered towards him fuelled by alcohol and everything else she’d been able to lay her hands on, before she’d wobbled and collapsed and been carried off by Luke and Paige.

  I could smell her Lola perfume mixed in with the alcohol, could see again the red-wine stains on her sequinned top. And I read cruelty in Jayden’s hooded eyes as Lily sank on to the Turkish rug – his top lip curled to show his teeth as he turned away and made his exit through Tom’s French windows.

  ‘I can totally see you’d be worried about her,’ I told Jack.

  His angst suddenly burst through. ‘And I didn’t do anything to help.’

  I said I didn’t think it would have made any difference, that Lily had a self-destruct button that even an outsider like me had spotted early on. ‘So don’t feel guilty.’

  ‘I do. I will.’ Turning, he walked me away from the lake, squelching up the slope out of the swamp. ‘Always, especially now. Maybe if I’d talked her out of going with Jayden, she’d still be alive.’

  ‘You think she killed herself because he dumped her?’ I voiced the most obvious theory. ‘You know she sent an email?’

  Jack stopped short, halfway between the lake and the main house. ‘Sure – I was the one she sent it to,’ he confessed quietly.

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘She sent me the email from her iPhone – probably the last thing she did before . . .’

  ‘She told you what she was planning to do? What did she say?’

  ‘Here,’ he said, pulling a piece of folded paper from his pocket and handing it to me with a trembling hand. ‘I printed it out, gave two copies to Dr Webb and kept one for myself.’

  ‘It’ll get wet,’ I warned, putting on a burst of speed until we reached the stone archway leading into the quad where we stood under an ornate wrought-iron lamp. ‘Here, now wait while I read it.’

  Hey, Jack.

  Lily’s suicide note began like an everyday digital message, but it soon plunged off course.

  Hope you’re cool with me sending you this email but I couldn’t think of anyone else I wanted to say bye to as much as you. You can pass it on to anyone else who might miss me. I know you will miss me a bit, Jack, because we go way back. I’m sober by the way, not pissed like you might think.

  I stopped reading to shake my head and get a grip.

  ‘I know,’ Jack groaned. ‘It hurts like hell.’

  So I have something huge to tell you and you can pass this on too if you like. I’m pregnant, Jack. Big breath. Read again: I’m pregnant. This is not a lie – I did the test twice and both times it came up positive. Careless, huh? You’d have expected better of a smart St Jude’s girl like me.

  I closed my eyes and tried to get my breathing back to normal. It was a while before I could go on reading to the end.

  So at first I didn’t tell anyone what I’d done except the baby’s father who of course didn’t want to know – why should he? And I’m telling you now, giving you the reason why I’m going – it’s because I don’t want to go on living the out-of-control way I’ve been living these last few weeks that I’m out of here and won’t be back (too shitty and painful and head-fuckingly awful, and anyway what kind of mother would I be?).

  So sorry to dump this on you, Jack. And tell Paige and Alyssa hey and sorry to them too. We had fun sometimes, didn’t we, girls?

  I cried. The sobs just came. Jack held me and hugged me and we didn’t say another word.

  chapter four

  ‘So Mistral’s basic transition from trot to canter still needs work,’ Paige sighed as she made us both hot chocolate before bed. ‘Georgie, my trainer, said it needed to be smoother, but Mistral was tired tonight – he acted like he didn’t
want to know.’

  I took the mug and cradled it. My eyes felt hot and sore from all the crying in Jack’s arms.

  ‘Usually those basic transitions aren’t a problem. When he has his head screwed on, you can’t fault him. But in a way I know Georgie’s right – Mistral has to be perfect one hundred per cent of the time, tired or not.’

  ‘Paige,’ I interrupted.

  ‘I mean, at the standard we’re aiming for, which is Olympic dressage level, no one can afford to have off-days.’

  ‘Paige!’

  ‘What? Oh sorry, did I put in too much sugar? I forgot.’

  ‘No. Paige, listen to me – Jack and I are talking again.’

  ‘My God, what took you so long?’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot.’

  Paige didn’t disagree. ‘So when you say “talking” . . . ?’

  ‘I said sorry.’

  ‘And? Are you two an item again? You kissed and made up and don’t tell me no because if you do I might have to bang your stupid heads together.’

  ‘Later,’ I pleaded. ‘No, the thing is, Paige – I read Lily’s email.’

  She frowned and I could see her brain change gear. ‘The one Adam told us about?’ she asked falteringly.

  ‘Yes. Jack was the one Lily sent it to. He just told me.’

  ‘Oh God!’ All the breath went out of her and she slumped on the bed beside me. ‘And I’m burbling on about horses.’

  ‘The email makes it seem more real. And it was gut-wrenching, the way Lily blamed herself, saying how stupid she’d been.’

  ‘Lily wasn’t stupid,’ Paige argued. ‘That was the last thing she was. It was that shit-face Jayden.’

  ‘We think.’

  ‘We know!’

  ‘She said she didn’t want to go on living the way she’d been living these last few weeks. She said to say bye to me and you.’ I began to cry all over again, joined this time by Paige.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she sobbed. ‘I still think she’ll be back, chucking stuff over the floor, stinking us out with her paints. To tell you the truth, I steer clear of this room and spend as much time as I can with Mistral because I know every time I look at her empty bed I do this – I break down.’

  This was hearty, cynical, horse-obsessed Paige’s confession and, what do you know, her distress broke down my defences and I relived it all over again.

  They pulled Lily’s body from the lake – three divers in black wetsuits. Her hair streamed back from her face. Her travel bag and one of her shoes were missing. It was a clear, cold day, with a touch of frost.

  ‘Jack plans to contact Adam Earle,’ I told Paige through my tears. ‘He wants to know about Lily’s funeral arrangements.’

  Adam Earle’s staff blocked all Jack’s calls and emails for the rest of the week, but Adam himself showed up at school again on the Saturday morning. This time Lily’s mother, Anna, came along, dressed all in black.

  We saw her from our bedroom window, stepping out of her son’s car – tall, beautiful and fragile, as if a strong wind would blow her over. Her eyes were hollow, the corners of her mouth turned down and her skin was deathly pale.

  ‘What do they want?’ Paige’s tone was hostile.

  A rapid knock soon told us the answer.

  Zara poked her head round the door. ‘Hey, you two. D’Arblay says can you make yourselves scarce? The mother and brother want to come in and collect Lily’s things.’

  ‘Where are we supposed to go?’ Paige objected, ready to stay right where she was.

  ‘Stables?’ Zara made the obvious suggestion as she vanished again.

  Mule-headed Paige decided to take her time, but I made a quick exit – I didn’t feel up to facing Lily’s brother and her grieving mum. So I sped along the corridor and down the stone stairway into the quad where, unluckily, I ran into Mrs Earle, who was standing at the narrow entrance to the boys’ staircase, deep in conversation with Jack.

  He spotted me and called for me to join them.

  It was obvious he needed rescuing so I took a sharp, shallow breath then steeled myself for the conversation I was about to have, the questions I would have to answer. This wasn’t about me, I reminded myself. Hold back the tears, be dignified and do it for Lily – all of that.

  ‘Mrs Earle, Alyssa. Alyssa, Lily’s mum.’ Jack eyed me nervously as we shook hands.

  I saw echoes of Lily in Anna, in the long, dark hair and eyes, the curve of her eyebrows.

  ‘The funeral’s fixed for next Wednesday. It’s going to be at St Michael’s.’ Now Jack set up a background commentary while Lily’s mum and I simply stared at the ground. ‘Everyone believes that Lily would have wanted it to be in Chartsey because it’s where she felt she belonged. Adam’s arranging the details with Dr Webb.’

  I would have nodded and walked on, away from Mrs Earle’s silent agony, if Adam hadn’t suddenly opened the long, lead-paned window of the principal’s study and called my name. ‘Alyssa, have you got a moment?’ he asked.

  You didn’t say no to someone like Adam Earle.

  ‘Wait there. I’ll come out,’ he said.

  The window closed, and while we waited Anna Earle’s manner seemed to change from silent and grief-stricken to edgy and afraid.

  ‘I should have come here sooner,’ she explained to Jack in a sudden, breathless rush. ‘I wanted to be here, believe me, just to see for myself.’

  ‘We were all shocked. And we’re so sorry.’ He was two sentences ahead of me at expressing how we felt and I could tell he was trying to protect me. I was tongue-tied, not doing well at all.

  ‘Adam said it would be better if I stayed away until the police . . .’

  A couple of students crossed the quad, coming towards us – Harry Embsay and Jack Hooper. They sensed the tension and veered off under the main archway.

  ‘Until the police finished doing whatever they had to do. That’s terrible, isn’t it?’ At this point Anna’s voice cracked.

  I nodded. Get a grip – you will not cry! went in a loop through my brain.

  ‘We heard the news over the Atlantic. It came through on the pilot’s radio. Robert wasn’t with us. He’d stayed behind in Chicago. Adam and I landed at Heathrow. He took me home, made sure I was in good hands then came up to St Jude’s as soon as he could.’

  People in shock need to tell you the mundane details – I read that somewhere. They turn the whole thing into a plain, simple story, which they repeat over and over, word for word. It gives the pain a framework they can deal with, some kind of defence against an otherwise unbearable avalanche of emotion.

  By this time Adam had appeared, shadowed by Saint Sam who hovered in the background. Anna Earle’s flow of information dried up immediately. She seemed to hold her breath and fade elegantly into the background.

  ‘Alyssa,’ Adam began. He ignored his mother and Jack. ‘I’m glad I caught you. I was just arranging funeral details with the principal – which students will represent the school, who will speak the eulogy, which hymns and so on. Dr Webb thinks it will be appropriate for you and Paige to speak during the service.’

  I noticed Anna’s reaction – little shudders on words like ‘funeral’, ‘eulogy’ and ‘hymns’, as if sharp darts were piercing her pale skin. Her face was an open book, emotions all on the surface, just like Lily’s. Like mother, like daughter, I realized.

  ‘What would I have to say?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, it needn’t be a long speech. Maybe you could focus on what Lily was like as a roommate – any good, recent memories you might want to share. I’ll get Paige to cover the pre-sixth form stuff.’

  I nodded and muttered that I would try to write something down.

  ‘Great, thanks. The police have accepted the coroner’s initial report.’ Adam went on without missing a beat. ‘There’s no sign of a struggle or any suggestion at this stage that anyone else was involved. And of course we have Lily’s email.’

  Was this man a machine? I glanced at Jack, who stood w
ith narrowed eyes and clenched fists.

  ‘Which frees us to go ahead with the funeral next week. We’re fending off press interest by insisting that it’s a private family occasion, and that’s one of the reasons why we’re holding it out here in the Cotswolds, away from the full media glare. Although of course there can’t be a complete news blackout, given my father’s international profile.’

  OK, enough! Really – I had to put some distance between myself and Adam Automaton Earle. Jack obviously felt the same so we mumbled our goodbyes and got out of there together.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Terrible, thanks.’

  ‘Thought so.’ We walked together under the archway on to the front drive. That part felt good, at least. ‘What do you say we get out of here?’

  I nodded and let him steer me towards the sports centre and new library.

  ‘Now we know why Lily hated her family and stayed away as much as she bloody well could,’ Jack said as we grabbed a couple of mountain bikes from the bike shed next to the sports centre. St Jude’s provides them for the school community to use as and when – a bit like Boris Bikes in central London. It makes it easier for students to get into Chartsey.

  Jack and I rode there mostly in silence, sharing the misery of Anna Earle’s situation.

  ‘What about Lily’s mum,’ I asked as we hit the top of Main Street. ‘She seems different.’

  ‘Like she might even care,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘Look what I snuck out of Lily’s box of oil paints!’ Paige crowed. She’d texted me and found out that Jack and I were at the Squinting Cat, holding hands across the table and busily avoiding Anna Earle and the automaton. She joined us now, slapping a small notebook down on the table. ‘Her diary!’

  I recognized it straight away – the pale blue cover scrawled all over with Lily’s intricate designs, dog eared and paint spattered.

  ‘You stole it!’ I yelped.

  Jack trapped it with his hand, as if it might have legs and walk away unaided.

  Paige came over all innocent. ‘I wouldn’t say “stole”. I was just tidying stuff, ready for Adam and Mrs Earle to pack up and take away. The diary kind of fell out of the box into my hand.’