by Sant, Sharon
She looks as though she’s fighting the impulse to raise an incredulous eyebrow. ‘You want to elaborate on that?’
‘I have a boyfriend,’ I say, changing the subject to what I realise, too late, is an even worse one.
‘That’s great,’ she says. ‘How’s that going?’
‘Ok.’
I haven’t seen Dante since he came to my house a week ago. I haven’t called him either. I don’t know whether he’s staying away because he thinks I want him to, and I don’t phone him because I don’t know whether he wants me to. Are guys like him disgusted by girls like me once they’ve had them?
‘Ok? You don’t sound very certain about that.’
I pause. ‘It’s early days, I suppose. And I’ve had a lot on my mind, with my gran being ill.’
She picks up a file and makes some notes. I try to snatch a look but her writing is scribbly and I can’t make any sense out of it.
‘You’d have made a good doctor,’ I comment as she snaps the lid back on her pen. She looks up at me with a questioning frown. ‘The handwriting, I mean.’
‘Oh yes,’ she smiles. ‘Like two ink-soaked spiders having a fight.’ She seems to appraise me for a moment before she speaks again. ‘How are you coping domestically?’
‘My hair is clean,’ I run a hand through it, just to clarify how squeaky it is. ‘I’m washing clothes now and I have food in. I can’t promise that you’d be able to run a finger along the surfaces at home and not catch some form of plague, though…’ I pause for a moment. What else? ‘Oh, I’ve still got the cat. She’s a she… I think. I don’t have a name for her yet but I’m working on it.’
‘Are you sleeping?’
There’s no point in lying because it’s obvious to anyone that I’m not. ‘I’m still getting the flashbacks and the dreams. I’m getting even more now,’ I say, instantly realising I shouldn’t have opened that conversation.
‘More?’ she asks. ‘Why do you think that is? Has something happened recently?’
‘I don’t know why it’s happening,’ I say quickly.
She gazes at me before taking a sip of her tea. ‘You’re sure nothing has happened to set you back?’
I shake my head. My gaze travels to the window behind her.
‘What about the journal?’ she asks. ‘Do you feel like it’s helping?’
‘I haven’t written for a while. Been too busy with Gran and everything.’
‘Was it helping when you did?’
I shrug. ‘It gave me something to do.’
‘That’s better than nothing,’ she smiles. ‘What about university? Have you thought about that? A support network of friends might be just what you need. And the university has its own counselling service; I could put you in touch with them and they’d help to support you.’
‘That’s where I’d have to sit with normal people all day, talking about normal things and doing normal things as if nothing abnormal has ever happened to me, right?’
‘No,’ she replies slowly, ‘it’s where you might just get your life back. It would give you something to focus on, some direction for the future, help you to look far enough to see that there will be an end to how you’re feeling right now.’
Something to focus on… I tear at the skin around my nail until it starts to bleed, thinking about what she’s said. Maybe that’s what helping Karl is. It gives me some sort of purpose at least. I’ve gone around and around in my head, trying to figure out why I survived that crash, but perhaps it’s nothing more than simply having a job to do. I’ve been brought back with a gift that can save lives, or at least give closure to the ones left behind for the lives I was too late to save. It’s a comforting thought.
‘Do you believe that we have predetermined destinies, or that we have free will?’ I ask.
She sighs and puts down her cup. ‘You’re doing it again, Cassie.’
I raise my eyebrows in a questioning response.
‘Putting barriers in the way of your recovery,’ she explains. ‘Asking me questions that you know won’t really lead our discussion anywhere.’
‘How do you know my question won’t?’
‘Because you’re trying to answer something that can’t be answered and so ultimately it won’t help.’
‘Or maybe it will. How do you know? You can’t have come across this before because I’m a unique case.’
I sit back and wait for her response. Part of me thinks that last statement was the most arrogant thing anyone has ever said, like I think the sun revolves around my Earth. But it’s true.
‘You are a unique case,’ she says, ‘but you don’t have unique emotional responses. You have classic survivor’s guilt. You are the same as every other person who ever survived a disaster or a war. And the coping mechanisms will be the same.’
Just the phrase coping mechanisms makes me want to throw something at her. It’s just so fucking textbook. I sit on my hands and wait for the rage to subside as she bends her head back to her notes. She thinks I’m just a silly girl feeling sorry for myself and I can’t make her see that I could be more, so much more, if only I could figure out how.
‘We need to start examining why you think you survived while your family did not.’ She says. ‘It’s a question you’ve been avoiding for a long time now. Once you can face that, honestly, I think you may start to see that it was random chance, and could not have been caused by anything you’ve done.’
‘How should I know that?’
‘You must have some thoughts about why you’re here now. Tell me the first response to the question that pops into your head.’
‘I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve obsessed over it,’ I say. ‘I don’t have the answer. There is no reason for the choice. That’s why I want to know about destiny and free will.’
‘Do you believe in God?’ she asks.
I laugh. She raises her eyebrows in surprise as I lean closer and drop my voice. ‘Do you?’ I ask. ‘Because if you do, then you’re in for a big shock. When you die there’s nothing, Helen, there’s just darkness and cold and nothing else.’
I turn the corner to my house and Dante is waiting by the door. He looks up as I approach and smiles awkwardly.
‘So, they don’t have phones in your universe?’ I say as I pull my keys out.
He shrugs. I open the door and turn back to him.
‘I suppose you think I’m going to ask you in for more sex on my kitchen floor?’
‘Cup of tea first, maybe?’ he asks.
Despite myself, I smile. ‘Is that what they do for foreplay in Belfast?’
It’s his turn to give a reluctant smile. ‘It’s all part of the Irish charm.’
I pause and then beckon him in. ‘Come on then.’
He follows me down the hall. ‘You went back to Helen,’ he says.
‘How did you know?’
‘I saw you go in,’ he says.
I gesture for him to take a seat at the table and shrug off my coat. The kitchen is cold but it feels weird leaving it on. ‘If you saw me, why didn’t you say anything?’
He sits down. ‘It didn’t seem like the right time. You were on your way in and I was across the street after I’d left. I felt like you might not want to see me right then.’
‘Ok,’ I say slowly. ‘How about a phone call before then?’
He shrugs. ‘The right moment never seemed to present itself.’
‘The right moment? The right moment to just say hi never presented itself?’ I’m aware that I must sound like a harpy, but I can’t help it. The truth is I’m beginning to realise just how lonely I am and I kind of like the idea of him being around. It’s an admission of weakness that doesn’t come easily to me.
His finger traces the ring of a teacup stain on the table as he stares at it. ‘I didn’t know if you’d want me to call.’
‘Traditionally, when a woman gives herself to a man, she kinda likes him to call afterwards.’
‘You had your gran and everything to
worry about.’
‘All the more reason for you to call.’
‘I’m here now,’ he says, looking up at me.
‘Yeah, why are you here now?’
‘I wanted to see you.’
I flick the switch on the kettle and take a seat across from him. ‘Here I am.’
‘You’re angry.’
‘Whatever made you think that?’
‘You didn’t call me either,’ he says, a resentful note creeping into his tone.
‘I shouldn’t have to. I’m the girl. You took advantage of me.’
He frowns. ‘Sexist pig.’
I don’t want to, but he makes me smile again. ‘You want tea, then?’
‘That means I’m forgiven, right?’
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’
His gaze returns to the mug ring on the table. ‘You want to know why I’m here today?’
‘I thought you wanted to see me.’
‘I do. My nightmares are getting worse. And I think it’s going to happen soon.’
‘Why does that mean you need to see me?’
He seems shocked at my tone. ‘I figured I might not get many more chances to see you,’ he says. ‘On account of my imminent death and all.’
I get up to fetch mugs from the cupboard. ‘They’re just dreams,’ I say, putting teabags into the cups.
‘How can you, of all people, say that?’ he asks. ‘You expect everyone to believe your I see dead people thing but my dreams mean nothing? What’s the difference between you and me?’
I wheel around. ‘I went to hell and back –’
‘I know,’ he cuts in. ‘But at least you came back. My nightmares never leave me.’
‘You want to know about nightmares?’ I fire back. ‘How about you go to sleep every night and face the final moments of everyone who ever meant anything to you, over and over again? How about you inhabit the last moments of raped, murdered girls?’ I grit my teeth. ‘Don’t tell me about nightmares.’
He stares at me as the tears I’ve been trying to swallow force their way out. They’re not sadness, though, they’re rage and frustration.
‘I didn’t know it was like that…’ He reaches for me and strokes his thumb beneath my eye to wipe them away. I don’t know whether I want to slap him or kiss him as he holds my gaze with a pained expression, something so mournful it’s like poetry.
I wrench myself away as the kettle clicks off. I finish making the drinks and place his on the table, taking a seat alongside and curling my palms around my own mug. The warmth spreads through my fingers, making them tingle.
‘Would it help to talk?’ he asks, gazing into his drink.
‘That’s what Helen is for,’ I reply.
‘What can I do?’ he asks, looking up.
‘Nothing,’ I sigh. ‘No one can do anything for me.’
We lapse into silence; only the ticking of the clock reminds me that the world has sound. The cat sidles into the room and weaves herself around the kitchen table leg. Dante smiles broadly, seemingly relieved to have a reason to change the subject. ‘You never said you had a cat.’
‘I’ve only just got her. She was a stray and she’s sort of decided to move in.’
Dante bends down and clicks his fingers gently. ‘Come on, then. How’s about a little bit of Dante love? You know you want to.’
The cat gives him a look of utter disdain. I can’t help but laugh at this.
‘I think that proves beyond any doubt that cats are an excellent judge of character. She clearly thinks you’re a total loser.’
He pouts. ‘I’m usually really good with animals.’
‘Dumb ones, maybe. Not this cat; she’s a smart cookie.’
‘She must be if she chose to live here with you.’
I hold out my hand and she comes to me for a fuss.
‘What’s her name?’ Dante asks.
I look up at him and shrug as I haul her onto my lap where she stretches lazily before curling into a ball and settling down. ‘I haven’t thought of one yet.’
He looks at her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘How about Marmalade?’
‘Marmalade?’ I repeat. ‘That’s a bit lame.’
He throws me a look of deepest offence and I have to laugh again. ‘Well, she is orange like marmalade,’ he says in a voice that suggests he is actually not putting on the fact that he’s slightly miffed.
‘If that’s the criteria then I just have to draw up a list of things that are orange and choose one… so that could include Tango, prison jumpsuits, Belisha beacons, fake tan…’
‘Ok, ok, very funny,’ he says. ‘I happen to think Marmalade is cute but if you’re going to be like that about it….’
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist it,’ I grin. ‘Maybe Marmalade will grow on me and I suppose I haven’t thought of anything else.’ I tickle her under the chin and set her purring. ‘Marmalade it is.’
‘So, have you just been calling her cat this whole time?’
I nod.
‘Harsh,’ he says and a slow smile spreads across his face. ‘Will you be referring to me as boy for the next few months then?’
‘Probably.’
We both exchange a look and then laugh. It’s nice, and just for a short time I’m transported from all the pain and mess my life is right now and I’m just normal again. But then we lapse into an awkward silence as the moment fades and the warmth dissipates just as quickly as it came.
‘What about your gran?’ he asks finally.
‘She’ll die soon. If she doesn’t then she’ll be a vegetable so she might as well.’
‘That’s tough; I’m sorry. You’ve only got her?’
‘She’s the only one that matters.’
‘What will you do then?’
‘Same as I’m doing now.’
He looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Just now, when you said about girls getting murdered, what did you mean?’
‘It was nothing.’
‘It didn’t sound like nothing.
‘It just slipped out.’
He frowns. ‘How does something like that just slip out?’
My anger washes away and, in its place, cold fear creeps in. Though I try not to, I start to tremble. The images of death assail me and I can’t shut them out.
‘Cassie?’ he says gently. ‘Cassie, what’s happened?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ I whisper.
He kneels beside my chair, the newly christened Marmalade leaping from my knee and skulking away as Dante pulls me into his arms. His warmth is a place I don’t deserve. Half of me wants to sink into it, the other half wants to beat my way out.
‘I understand. But I won’t judge you if you want to,’ he says.
‘You don’t know how much I wish I could. But it hurts too much.’
He lifts my face. His lips gently graze mine. He looks into my eyes and then kisses me again. There’s a sweet taste on him. I don’t want this but I’m possessed. I need him to kiss away the ghosts. I gasp as his mouth finds my neck.
‘Don’t…’ I whisper.
He nips at my ear, and then kisses the curve of my jawbone before finding my mouth again. His kisses are deep and urgent this time, full of fire and need. My body responds, the tingling in my loins telling me I’m alive.
‘I can’t,’ I plead, but it’s more of a sigh and he silences me with his lips over mine once more. Everything becomes molten; I’m heat and desire, my hands in his hair, pulling him into me. I stand and he drags me closer, stiffens against me. Lips locked, he yanks me across to the wall and pushes me into it. He breaks off and holds my gaze, his eyes a dark place of loss and want. ‘You’re ok?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘You’re sure you want this?’ he says.
‘Yes. I want this.’
Dante’s shout is almost a scream as he bolts up. I’m hurled off the sofa where we’ve been dozing, intertwined, as he twitches awake. He’s crying and clutching at his side. I scrambl
e back to perch on the edge of the sofa and pull his head to my chest.
‘Your nightmare?’
I feel his tiny nod in my arms.
‘It’s ok,’ I say, stroking his hair as he sobs. ‘I’m here.’
It feels good to be the one giving comfort, for once. It’s a feeling I could get used to. I lean my chin on his head as I hold him, breathing him in. For the first time in months, I can feel a new world building around me, if only I can grasp the chance and make it stick. I have the power to mean something, to make a difference, even if it is only small. Maybe I have the power to bring happiness back to my own life too. I may be losing Gran, and it’s going to sting like a bitch, but acceptance of that brings with it realisation that there are others around me who can stop me falling into the void. And they need help, just like me. Dante and Karl and Marmalade and future victims of a nameless killer: they’re all lost in some way, they all need me. I couldn’t save Tish or Mum or Dad, but that doesn’t mean I have to give up. I have to believe that I can put things right this time; I have to be strong enough to save them all.
Eight: Purpose
‘I’m sorry about before,’ Dante says as he stares into his mug.
I rub sleep from my eyes and take a sip of my tea. ‘Don’t worry about it. One of us would have woken screaming, I’m just glad you beat me to it.’
He looks as though he doesn’t know what to say, then breaks into a shy smile. It’s a sweet, uncomplicated smile I haven’t seen from him before.
‘You fell asleep too?’ he asks, looking up.
I rub a hand through my hair. ‘No, I always look this good.’
His smile widens. ‘You look great.’
‘What about the bed breath?’
‘We never got as far as the bed, as I recall.’
That’s because you’re impatient.’
‘That’s because you’re gorgeous.’
My head goes down. The warm contentment spreading through me is tainted by something, like I can’t allow myself the luxury. But then I remember my resolution and the promise I made to myself to save him and maybe that has to start with me letting him in. I look up and force a smile.
‘Did it freak you out?’ he asks, his tone serious again.