Fragile Like Us

by Sara Barnard

  The smirk had disappeared. He was watching me warily. “She knows I didn’t mean it. Now would you just fuck off?”

  I waited a beat for Suzanne to open her eyes and say, again, “Don’t talk to her like that.” But she didn’t move.

  “You’re such a dickhead, Dylan,” Rosie said after a silence. She took my elbow and began steering me back toward the house. Then she paused, turned her head slightly and added, “And you’re pathetic, Suzanne.”

  We walked back into the warmth of the house together, Rosie’s arm through mine. There was something comforting about the noise of the party and the anonymity of the drunken crowd, but I still felt as if I was about to start crying.

  “I think I liked it better when it was just the two of us,” Rosie said.

  * * *

  For the next couple of hours I tried to forget about Suzanne. I drank enough to blur out the edges of my anger and turned my attention instead to the beautiful boy who had sat next to me on the sofa and offered to share his beer. His name was Tariq. We would have beautiful babies, I had already decided. Rosie would be my maid of honor; maybe Suzanne could come to the bachelorette party.

  It was nearing midnight when I went to find out if there was any alcohol left, leaving Tariq on the sofa—“I’ll be back don’t run off I’ll be back okay?”—with my bag. Rosie, who I would usually entrust with my possessions, was otherwise engaged with Liam on an armchair on the other side of the room. I was on my way past the kitchen when I saw Suzanne, her back against the fridge, kissing . . . who? I stopped midstep, confused, looking at the boy. Not Dylan. Not anyone I knew.

  I was about to turn away in disgust, I was maybe a second away from doing this, when I saw her hands. They were squashed in front of her, ineffectually but unmistakably pushing against the stranger. I was processing this when she moved her head away from him, stumbling slightly, and he pushed her—hard—back against the fridge.

  “Hey!” I heard myself shout, the loudness of my voice startling even me. I was already moving forward, shoving him away. “What are you doing? Get off her!”

  Without anyone to hold her up, Suzanne staggered, and I reached out my hands to steady her. “Are you okay?” I tried to make eye contact, but hers were unfocused. I couldn’t tell if the redness was due to alcohol or if she’d been crying. “Hey.” I shook her shoulder slightly. “It’s me, it’s Caddy.”

  “Hey, we were just—” the boy started saying, his voice slurred.

  “Fuck off before I knock you out,” I snarled, because he didn’t know me and I could have been a black belt, for all he knew.

  It worked. He bolted out of the kitchen, looking far more terrified than a threat from me should ever warrant.

  “Caddy?” Suzanne’s voice was hoarse and quiet, choked with tears. So she had been crying.

  “Suze,” I said in response, relieved. I squeezed her shoulder. “You okay?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a mess, Caddy.”

  “Yes, you are,” I agreed.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No.”

  Her face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I said I’m not mad at you,” I said slowly.

  “I messed up so much,” she said, like she hadn’t even heard me. “Everyone hates me.”

  “No one hates you, Suze.”

  Tariq appeared in the doorway then, a friendly, searching smile on his face, my bag in his hand. “Hey,” he said to me, “did you get lost?” He took in Suzanne, and his smile faded. “Oh.”

  “Who are you?” Suzanne squinted at him.

  “It’s Tariq,” Tariq said patiently. “I’m in your English class, remember?” He turned to me. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “She’s out of it. I think we should go.”

  “Go?” He looked disappointed, which was gratifying.

  “I live really close,” I said. “But I need to find Rosie.” The easiest thing would be for the three of us to go to my house. We could walk the fifteen minutes or so, which would surely help. “Could you just . . . stay here for a sec while I get Roz?”

  Tariq looked alarmed. “Um . . .”

  “I’ll be right back,” I said quickly, bolting out of the kitchen before he could protest. I found Rosie in the living room where I’d last seen her, still curled on the armchair with Liam. I hesitated, wondering if she’d ever forgive me if I interrupted this unexpected success for the sake of the complete mess that was Suzanne.

  I decided not, and went back to the kitchen without disturbing her. I’d text her instead. Neither Tariq nor Suzanne had moved; she was slumped against the kitchen counter, barely holding herself upright.

  “Sorry,” I said to Tariq.

  “That’s okay,” Tariq replied. “Um, can I friend you on Facebook?”

  “Sure,” I said casually, trying not to look too thrilled. “Ready to go, Suze?” I tried to remember if she’d brought anything with her except the phone I could see wedged into her pocket.

  Suzanne looked at me, and for a moment I thought she was going to say something important. Then she stepped away from me and vomited into the sink.

  * * *

  It’s fair to say I was almost completely sober on the walk back to my house, which took a lot longer than the fifteen minutes it should have. This was because Suzanne seemed utterly incapable of walking more than five steps without either slumping onto the floor and crying or throwing up into a bush. I had never seen anyone so completely, definitionally wasted.

  Between the bouts of tears and retching, Suzanne would talk. She told me she loved me. She told me she was sorry. She told me her mother had once told her she was a disappointment. She told me she’d once tried to step in front of a bus, and had been yanked back by a passerby, who’d then yelled in her face that she was an idiot. She’d lost her virginity to her best friend’s brother when she was fourteen. She had never told anyone this. She loved me. Did I love her? No one loved her. She was a disappointment. She was sorry.

  I gave up trying to respond to these proclamations and revelations when it became clear she was too much in her own head to really hear me. Twice I had to physically hold her up while she sobbed into my shoulder, her fingers clutching my arms tightly enough to bruise.

  The walk home took us almost half an hour. I rooted around in my bag for my keys while Suzanne stood blinking under the sensor light. I glanced at her disheveled figure as I eased my key into the lock as quietly as possible, suddenly remembering the first time she’d stood in my doorway. She’d seemed so together then.

  “Caddy,” she whispered to me as I guided her over the front step and into the house.

  “Yes?” I whispered back, pushing the door shut in increments.

  “Nothing.”

  I turned to look at her in exasperation. Even in the darkness I saw the wicked, mischievous grin that had spread across her face. I had to laugh, albeit quietly. “Do you know how ridiculous you are?”

  Before she could respond, there was a creak on the stairs. I froze, clenching my fist around my keys. I’d really hoped I wouldn’t have to face my mother until the following morning, when Suzanne had sobered up and regained some semblance of her charming self.

  “Caddy?” A whisper from the stairs. “Is that you?”

  It was Tarin. Thank God.

  She turned on the kitchen light and gestured to us to follow her in there. She was still wearing day clothes, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her gaze took in both of us, an odd expression on her face. Was she amused? She didn’t speak for a moment and then said, “Christ. What happened?”

  “My life,” Suzanne said morosely, before I could even open my mouth.

  “Oh, melodrama!” Tarin said, her eyebrows raising. “How lovely!” She was definitely amused, but there was something else in there too. It might have been sadness.

  “Is it still melodrama if it’s true?” I asked.

  “Yes!” Tarin looked at me like I was crazy. “Even more s
o.”

  “Tarin,” Suzanne said earnestly, “I wish I had a sister. I wish you were my sister.”

  “Oh, darling, you’re wasted, aren’t you?” Tarin’s whispered voice softened. “You poor thing.” She said this with no trace of sarcasm. The sincerity was almost painful.

  Suzanne and I went up to my room as quietly as possible, Tarin following with a glass of water for each of us. She set the glasses on my beside cabinet and then looked at me expectantly. Suzanne sank onto my bed, pulled off her shoes, and then curled herself inward, umbrella-like, on top of the covers.

  “You should get a bucket or something,” Tarin whispered to me.

  “I think it’s out of her system,” I said.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Tarin said, with the voice of someone who’d learned from experience. “Make sure she doesn’t fall asleep on her back. Just in case.”

  I looked at my friend, her arms curved protectively over her face, lying on my bed, shoulders already slack with sleep.

  “I don’t want to be a downer,” Tarin added in the same low voice, “but you do realize you’re going to be in major trouble tomorrow?”

  “I don’t care,” I said, realizing that I really didn’t. “I couldn’t leave her on her own there. And she wouldn’t have been able to get home safely by herself.”

  A look of something like pride passed over my sister’s face, followed by a smile. “Night, Cadders. If you need me, just come right in and get me, okay?”

  I found a bowl in the cupboard by the bathroom and put it by the bed, just in case. I turned the light off and climbed carefully over Suzanne to get to the free side of the bed. I was just settling in to sleep when her voice startled me awake.

  “Buona notte?” she whispered, almost like a question.

  I smiled. “Buona notte.”

  21

  I HAD A VAGUE IDEA that I would be able to hustle Suzanne out of the house in the morning before either of my parents realized she was there. Unfortunately my mother took it upon herself to walk right into my room before either of us had even woken up.

  “Oh, you are here,” she said. I’d never noticed how loud her voice was before. “I thought I saw your shoes by the door.”

  I sat up, realizing as I did so that I was still wearing my clothes from the night before. Suzanne was still in the same position she’d fallen asleep in, on top of the covers, curled in a ball. She’d somehow slept through Mum’s entrance.

  Mum came further into the room and sat herself down on the corner of the bed by Suzanne’s feet. The movement on the bed must have woken her, because Suzanne jolted, then sat straight up.

  “What?” she said, looking at me. She reached up and brushed her mangled hair out of her face, blinking and confused.

  “Um,” I said, a little helplessly. “Morning?”

  “Yes, good morning,” Mum said drily. Suzanne’s head jerked toward her, her expression suddenly nervous. “I’m a little surprised to see the two of you. I thought you were going to be staying with Rosie, Caddy,” she said, turning to me.

  I tried to think of the best way to answer this. Suzanne was dangerously wasted and Rosie was making out with a guy, though truthful, probably wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  “It was easier to come back here,” I said finally.

  Mum raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for more. I forced myself to resist the deep-seated impulse to tell her everything and stayed silent.

  Finally Mum patted Suzanne’s calf in a friendly way, then said, “Why don’t you both get a bit cleaned up and I’ll make you some breakfast. Suzanne, I’m sure Caddy has some clothes you could borrow.”

  After we’d both showered and I’d found some lounging clothes that fit Suzanne, we went downstairs together. In the kitchen, Mum was frying bacon and eggs, and Dad was sitting at the table reading the paper. Tarin was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping tea. When she saw me, she threw me a knowing but supportive grin.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I said, even though my head was throbbing and my stomach had the persistent lurching sensation of a washing machine midcycle.

  “I’ve spoken to Sarah,” Mum said to Suzanne, who blanched. “She’ll be here soon to pick you up. It’s interesting—she wasn’t aware there was a party at all. She was quite surprised to hear you’d come here.”

  The only thing worse than being told off by your mother is your mother telling off your friend.

  “Coming back here was my idea,” I said, the only thing I could think of.

  Mum gave me a look and I shut up. “Why don’t you both sit down and have some breakfast?” she said.

  When Sarah did arrive, not even ten minutes later and wearing the expression of someone deeply, deeply put upon, Suzanne didn’t even bother trying to defend herself. She hunched her shoulders inside her leather jacket and looked down at the floor, avoiding Sarah’s gaze.

  “I’m so sorry, Carol,” Sarah said. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “I think they both share some of the blame this time,” Mum replied, putting her hands on my shoulders and squeezing.

  Suzanne glanced up at me, a fleeting smirk of solidarity flashing across her face, before putting her head back down.

  “Come on, trouble,” Sarah said with a sigh, reaching out and taking Suzanne’s arm. “Let’s get this over with.”

  When they’d gone, I tried to make my escape upstairs, but Mum blocked my way and pointed to the kitchen. “In,” she said. “Sit.”

  I went in and sat.

  “So,” Dad began, pressing his fingers together, “I think it goes without saying that we expect a lot better from you. Behavior like this, it’s simply not acceptable.”

  Less than a minute in and we were already two clichés down. It was just my luck that I’d ended up in trouble on one of the rare days my dad was actually at home. If it had been Mum, she’d have been disappointed and maybe a little shrill, but I’d have been contrite and it would soon have been over. Dad liked to be overly reasonable, like he was working through a checklist of How To Discipline Your Daughter. We could be here for hours.

  “Shall we start with the alcohol?” Dad raised his eyebrows significantly. “Or the fact that you walked across Brighton in the middle of the night while you were drunk? When we were under the impression that you were staying with Rosie?”

  “We were supposed to,” I said. “But Suze was—”

  “Right,” Dad interrupted. “Yes. Your friend Suze. I was going to get to her.” He let out a sigh through his nose. “This is the same friend who got thrown out of school for throwing a chair? The one with all the detentions—am I right?”

  I hesitated. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “You may as well be honest,” he continued, talking over me. “It’s quite clear that she’s the reason you came back here at all. Tarin said you were practically holding her up.”

  I looked at my sister, stunned by the betrayal. “Tarin!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Tarin looked annoyed. “Don’t twist that, Dad.” She looked at me. “I said that in an affectionate way, Caddy. The point of it was you being a good friend.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t be,” Dad said, his voice picking up. “Not if it means doing things like this. If she wants to turn up drunk or high or who knows what else at all hours, that’s her problem. Not yours.”

  “High?” I said, confused. “When was she high?”

  “John,” Mum said pointedly. I caught the look she gave him, and it occurred to me for the first time that maybe Sarah really was telling her things about Suzanne that I didn’t even know. The thought threw me, so I pushed it away. Mum turned back to me. “We’re very concerned about your friendship with this girl,” she said calmly. “I’ve told you that before. If it’s getting to this—drinking and not being where you say you are, well, that’s a problem.”

  “You can’t blame her for me drinking,” I said. “Everyone drinks.”

  “You
are sixteen,” Dad said slowly, enunciating each syllable. “Do we really need to remind you of that?”

  “Dad,” Tarin put in at this point, “all sixteen-year-olds drink. I’m sorry, but they just do. You can’t expect Caddy to go to a friend’s party where there’s drinking and her not to drink.”

  “That is exactly what I expect.” Dad smacked his hand against the table, making us all jump. His voice had risen. “We raised you better than this, Cadnam. You don’t take the drink just because it’s handed to you. You say no.”

  I looked at him, trying to figure out how he could be so oblivious. I’d been drinking at parties with my friends since I was thirteen years old. My parents could have raised me however they wanted, but I’d still have grown up in the world.

  “We’ve never had any concerns about your friendship with Rosie,” Mum put in, “and I think that’s significant. I thought you were sensible enough to not go along with this kind of behavior. I’m disappointed to find out you’re not.”

  Tarin, standing behind Mum and still leaning against the counter, rolled her eyes at this.

  “Some people are toxic, Caddy,” Dad said. “Some people are more trouble than they’re worth.”

  I thought about Suzanne standing patiently at my side while she straightened my hair and talked to Rosie about Liam; showing me how to jerk the shot glass so I’d barely taste the spirit; clutching my arms and crying in the middle of the street.

  “She’s not toxic,” I said. “She’s just sad.”

  “Well, that’s not your problem,” Dad said again. My dad, the doctor. My dad, who’d caught spiders from my bedroom walls and released them with gentle fingers into the garden. “I don’t want to see her in this house again. She’s not welcome here.”

  I looked at Mum, feeling the sting of imminent tears in my eyes. She sighed. “If you want better consequences, Caddy, you need to make better choices.”

  * * *

  There was worse to come.

  Rosie turned up on my doorstep in the middle of the afternoon, a total surprise. Though she was polite to my mother, who’d let her in, I could see something simmering under her smile. Sure enough, when she and I were alone together in my room, it came out.