by Jemma Wayne
Sarah crossed the road, sitting on the bench just inside the gated park. “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? Coming to your work?”
“She said she wanted to give us a heads-up. Nice of her, I suppose. But I don’t actually believe Amelia would have done anything terrible, so yes, probably excessive. It was strange, Sarah. Veronica seemed to be suggesting that Amelia has some sort of behavioural issue, or learning difficulty, or, something. She mentioned having to write a report.”
“What? That’s ridiculous! How dare she suggest something like that!”
“Wait. Sarah, really, I don’t know why, but I think she’s just looking for a reason to see you again.”
“That’s crazy,” said Sarah. But even as she said it, her mind flew back to that summer long ago, to the anticipation she had felt then for Veronica’s arrival, to the way her friend’s powerful tentacles had wrapped themselves around her family, to all that happened afterwards. Sarah had been so infatuated with Veronica then. Was it normal for girls of that age? Had Veronica felt the same way about her? Did she feel it still?
“I don’t like her being in charge of Amelia,” Sarah said, surprising herself.
“What?” There was a beeping on David’s end of the line.
“Nothing, you’re driving. I’ve got to go anyway. See you at home. We’ll talk about it then.”
The tube would have been far quicker, Chancery Lane was round the corner, but every bit of her resolve was going into staying calm for what lay ahead. The MRI scans were a yearly challenge – an annual check on a benign brain tumour they’d found when she was sixteen. Of course, open scanners were shiny new and available, but not covered by her health insurance, nor by the NHS, so once a year, every year, Sarah had to steel herself for the tunnel. She had at least developed a few tricks to get her through. Although generally opposed to drugs – refusing when others at university dabbled in cocaine, or ecstasy, or other names she lost track of – now, a sedative was a necessity; she always brought somebody with her to wait outside; and there was a mantra that she repeated to herself over and over: the fear wasn’t real, the fear wasn’t real, the fear wasn’t real. Nor, she attempted to convince herself, was the dizziness, the dry mouth, the gripping of her chest, the constriction in her throat, the feeling that she was trapped and trapped and going to die that way.
Her father greeted her with a hug as she stepped out of the cab in front of the hospital and promised earnestly to break down the door of the scanning room if she did not emerge within one minute of the scheduled half hour slot. He promised the same thing every year. She loved him for this. In chambers, she had not told anybody about her claustrophobia (despite a number of humiliating episodes which she had explained away as a stomach bug, a hangover, a result of skipping lunch), but her family knew all about it. More specifically, they knew that she had it, and what it entailed for her; they didn’t know its cause. Even Sarah couldn’t be certain – perhaps it had always been there, sleeping, dormant, waiting for the trigger. Perhaps she couldn’t blame one incident, one person. Then again, she remembered in vivid detail the first time she felt this way – drenched in the wet smell of chlorine, and the coolness of slatted wood.
Veronica went first. “I dare you,” she said slowly as she picked at peeling nail varnish. “I dare you to be my slave for ten minutes.”
“No. That’s not one dare, that’s as many dares as you can fit into ten minutes.” Sarah had procured a Cherry Coke from the pool house fridge and rested her bottom lip against the cold glass, blowing gently to make music.
Veronica laughed. “No, I won’t ask you to do anything stupid. Just things like, well like being a servant in olden times. But you’re only allowed to answer ‘Yes’ to me, and you have to do whatever I say.”
Sarah furrowed her brow, placing the glass bottle on the floor next to the slatted wood of the bunk. She crossed her legs around themselves. Loud thumping occupied her chest and her stomach clenched. Servitude? It was degrading and both she and Veronica knew this, seeing it exactly for what it was – an absolute concession of power, a hundred miles away from the self-respect that Sarah’s parents had always instilled in her. ‘Be true to yourself’. ‘Stand up for what’s right’. ‘Be the leader’. These were practically family mantras – the imperative to be the shepherd and not the sheep, to be aware of the choices one made, to not blindly do as one’s told. They talked about such things over the dinner table. Sometimes in relation to trivial issues, like not succumbing to fads; other times, in recollection of the Holocaust, and family members lost there. Even as a young child, Sarah had absorbed her parents’ outsider mindset, their integrity too, and by twelve, this had evolved into a tangential fixation: a need to always be in control – of the moral code, of the situation, of herself. But, there was something enticing about the opposite: the challenge of letting go. There was something freeing about it. “Fine,” she agreed, as though it was nothing. “What shall I do for you, Queen Veronica?”
“You say only ‘Yes’,” Veronica reminded her. “And we’re not starting now. We start when I say ‘go’.”
“I’m not going to wait around all day for you to think of things,” Sarah complained. “Dare me something else, this is boring.”
“No, it’s when I say ‘go’,” Veronica insisted.
And there was no more time to argue about it because that’s when Sarah’s mother called them up to lunch.
“Wouldn’t you two have more fun up here than in that cramped pool house?” Sarah’s mother asked lightly after they’d all dashed in from the rain and set upon ever-large slices of quiche. “Then Eliza could join you.”
Eliza looked up from her lunch and shot an accusatory glance at her mother.
“We don’t want Eliza to join us,” Sarah responded. “And she doesn’t want to anyway. She doesn’t even want us to go to her oh-so-fabulous party.”
“Don’t you?” Sarah’s mother asked, squinting at Eliza.
“It’s an evening in,” Eliza corrected.
“We were hoping we could go,” Veronica piped up suddenly. “Weren’t we Sarah? Didn’t you say you wanted to go? Didn’t you say you really hoped that we could ‘go’?”
Mid bite of quiche, Sarah froze. Veronica was winking furiously behind a carton of juice. A public dare! Enduring for ten whole minutes! It was so demeaning, so carefully cruel. But excitement tightened Sarah’s stomach.
“Yes,” she answered slowly.
“Then that’s fine, Sarah and Veronica can come,” Sarah’s mother declared, nodding pointedly at Eliza.
“I don’t even care,” Eliza shrugged.
“Thanks,” smiled Veronica angelically.
“Okay, I have two more patients,” Sarah’s mother said, getting up from the table. “How about we give it till four then go to the cinema? This rain’s horrendous.”
“Fine,” answered Eliza on behalf of them all. Then, when their mother had returned to her office: “I couldn’t really care less if you come to my party or not, brat, just stay away from me, okay?”
Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but from the other side of the table Veronica shook her head. She looked at her watch and held up eight fingers, before speaking carefully: “Sarah, will you get me another glass, this one’s dirty?”
Sarah hesitated. She looked at her sister, but Eliza seemed barely to be listening.
“Sarah?”
Another glance at Eliza. She was fiddling with the buttons on her new Discman and appeared totally disinterested in the exchange of the two younger girls.
“Yes,” Sarah said as casually as she could, getting up to retrieve the vessel and quickly plonking it down in front of Veronica.
“Do you want anything, Eliza?” Veronica asked. “While Sarah’s up?”
Now Eliza raised her eyebrows and studied the two of them, Veronica seated, Sarah hovering just behind her. “I’ll have a Coke if there is one.”
Sarah didn’t move.
“Sarah, get Eliza a Coke,” Ver
onica prompted.
“Yes,” said Sarah, her face flushing red.
It was four long, embarrassing steps to the fridge. She sensed Eliza’s gaze searing into her as she fished around inside it. And Veronica’s triumphant eyes. At some point she would have to turn around and face them both, but the coldness felt like a sanctuary. The Cokes were right in front of her but she lifted cartons and packets and opened drawers, every movement feeling awkward and acutely observed. Eventually there was nothing left to do but turn. She set the Coke roughly in front of Eliza.
“That was a bit rude, wasn’t it Sarah?” said Veronica.
“Yes,” growled Sarah, shaking her head and sitting back down, not daring another glance at her sister.
“Get me a Coke now,” Veronica instructed.
Obediently, Sarah stood up again. Eliza watched her. This time she fetched the drink as quickly as she could.
“Pour it for me,” Veronica demanded.
Eliza watched.
Sarah poured.
Veronica picked up the glass pointedly with six fingers. Sarah stood uncomfortably, unable to look at Eliza. Suddenly, however, her sister spoke.
“You two are weird.”
Veronica opened her mouth to answer but Eliza held up her hand.
“Grow up,” she said, perhaps only to Veronica, or perhaps to both of them. And with her Coke and quiche and Discman, she left the room.
Sarah burst into hysterics. “That was so embarrassing—” she began, but before she could say anything more, Veronica interrupted her with a held up hand, raised in the same haughty fashion that Eliza had done.
“Only ‘yes’, remember?” she asked patronisingly.
Sarah blinked. Now that they were alone, she had assumed the dare was over, but Veronica tapped her watch.
“Five minutes,” she grinned. “Can you count to five?”
Sarah could have refused to answer. She could have stuffed the dare, recaptured her integrity. Or just laughingly done it – without spectators, it shouldn’t have been embarrassing. Yet, somehow, this private exchange between them felt even more humiliating than before. Sarah knew that Veronica’s family had maids. She wondered if this was how she spoke to them. Veronica stared at her boldly. Testingly.
“Yes,” replied Sarah, with equal boldness. She jutted out her hip and placed her hand upon it.
“Stand up properly,” said Veronica. “Take your hand off your hip.”
Sarah obeyed.
“Lower your eyes.”
Sarah obeyed.
“Whoops,” said Veronica, and tipped her coke slowly onto her bare feet. “Get that cloth,” she instructed. “Clean my feet.”
Over the following days, the dares spiralled. Sarah’s next for Veronica was to invoke not only the notorious baby voice, but baby crawling and bawling in front of Sarah’s father who had no idea what was going on and pretended not to notice. At some point, one of them had to make three prank calls in a row to Lisa Markozy, confessing love for her. And somebody had to go up to the aging postman and ask him, quite seriously, if he wanted fries with that shake. There was nothing dangerous, or criminal, or even particularly daring, but all sorts of boundaries were tested and pulled at, and the thrill was the not knowing how far they would go. By their fourth night-time meeting in TCR they had all but forgotten who was daring who, and now they concocted challenges they were both equally repulsed by, or pretended to be. Sarah had to pose naked while Veronica drew her. Then Veronica had to open her legs while Sarah stared at the knickerless area between them – without blinking Sarah, you’re not allowed to close your eyes. And then they both had to skinny dip, illuminated by the underwater pool light, with extra points for breaststroke. Giggles punctuated giggles. They couldn’t stop even as they returned to the house and snuck back upstairs to their beds. Dry and pyjama clad, they lay and somehow found conversation to fill another whole hour, or two, or three. It was easy, and delicious, and they stopped only when Sarah’s mother opened the bedroom door at two in the morning and properly told them off because it was ridiculous to still be awake, and at that volume selfish too. After Sarah’s mother had left, they would fall quiet, but a few minutes later Sarah would feel Veronica creep into the bottom of her bed, and with feet next to faces, they finally drifted off.
Who knows whether TCR would have continued to house their pre-pubescent dalliances if Eliza had not had her evening in. But the day of the party, instead of camping out again in the pool house, Sarah’s mother took them shopping and bought them each a new ‘body’ – bodies being a glorified leotard with poppers at the crotch, the uniform of the teenaged cool. Veronica’s was pale peach, complementing her tanned skin and bright blonde hair. It had been Sarah’s first choice too, but her mother insisted that it washed her out and steered her towards a deep red. Eliza had selected an electric blue one, ribbed with a low neckline that showed the brimming contents of her push-up bra. Veronica expressed her admiration at this. Sarah rolled her eyes.
She rolled her eyes again when Eliza appeared that evening fully dressed, her beautiful dark hair curled in a variety of spirals and crimps, her newly pierced ears sporting dangly blue earrings, her eyelids delicately shaded to match. Suddenly Sarah wished she had borrowed the lipstick Veronica had offered her, and dried her hair properly after her shower, and not chosen a body that was quite so flattening. Not that there was anything to flatten.
She rolled her eyes a further time when Eliza’s friends arrived, coolly excited, chewing gum and flicking their hair. And again, when the boys turned up on mass. Amalgamated sharpness quickly over-scented the living room. Puffy bomber jackets and curtain-cropped hair clustered on one side of the room, bodies and jeans on the other. Pizza, coke and crisps – and nothing else Mum, really, please don’t – stood brave in the middle, occasionally luring a couple of opposites in. Saranveronica stood in a two on the edge of Eliza’s huddle.
Until, halfway through the evening, one of the boys meandered over and said hi to Veronica. And Veronica didn’t seem to notice Sarah roll her eyes at that, or at least she didn’t respond to it. And by the time the games began and the lights were turned down, and they were spinning bottles and declaring themselves ‘nervous’ and engaging in an array of other pastimes that brought lip to lip, and hand against padded bra, Veronica was altogether part of Eliza’s coven, and Sarah had either to join in or not, and found herself retreating upstairs with a ‘headache’, to climb into bed with her parents who were watching TV, every now and then her father declaring it ‘a load of rubbish’, her mother hushing him, and Sarah tearing the crusts off his pizza.
When Veronica finally came up to bed, with Eliza, Sarah was back in her own bed and heard the two of them whispering feverishly outside her door. She strained her ears until at last her friend entered the bedroom. For a minute or two Sarah allowed Veronica to believe her asleep, fumbling around in the dark for her pyjamas, but after a while she switched on her bedside light and sat up, and waited for Veronica to talk.
“I got off with Adam,” Veronica grinned almost at once, flopping onto Sarah’s bed.
Sarah furrowed her forehead. Immediately, she wished she’d remained in the dark. “Which one was Adam?”
“The really fit one with the blue t-shirt. The one I was talking to. Eliza says he’s really cool.”
“Don’t remember.”
Now Veronica frowned slightly. “How’s your headache?”
“Bit better.” Sarah rubbed her temples for authenticity. “So?”
“So?”
“So? Go on then. What was it like?”
“Did you really have a headache, Sarah?” Veronica sat a little further back on the bed and stared at her seriously.
“Of course I did.”
“You weren’t just scared of playing those games?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Sarah threw a teddy bear at Veronica. A little too hard. It hit her on the neck.
“Ow.”
Veronica stood up and moved to her bed
where she set about taking off her shoes.
“So?” Sarah prompted again.
“Eliza said you were scared. But you know you could have just said ‘nervous’, if you didn’t want them to touch you.”
“I had a headache!” Sarah barked.
“O-kay.” One by one, Veronica removed a row of bangles from her wrist.
Sarah gritted her teeth. “Sooo?”
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” Veronica answered flippantly, pulling off her jeans and unbuttoning the ridiculous body with the stupidly placed poppers, that made Sarah feel like she was in a babygro. “Too tired now,” Veronica softened, yanking on an oversized t-shirt and crashing her head against the pillow. “Night.”
The next day, however, and for the remaining three that Veronica was there, she didn’t tell Sarah what it had been like to kiss someone. And Sarah didn’t ask again. Although they still swam, and played cards, the long, expansive days of summer seemed to have lost their openness, their wile-away-ness. Things felt fissured, the first cracks of childhood. And Sarah noted that Veronica spent much of her remaining time either on the phone to Adam, or giggling from inside Eliza’s bedroom. The two of them seemed suddenly to have secret things to discuss, and if Sarah appeared at the door, they would go quiet and sullen. One afternoon, Eliza crimped Veronica’s hair. Another evening, Veronica borrowed Eliza’s top when they all went out for dinner. Sarah spent a lot of time rolling her eyes. They didn’t return to TCR. Or mention it.
Until, on Veronica’s last day, they were packing up down at the pool, Sarah long-sufferingly listening to another idiotic detail about Adam with what she hoped was unspoken but noticeable disapproval, when she remembered that her favourite swimming costume was still in TCR, and ran through the pool house to get it. She had only been inside the room for a second, when the door slammed.
Sarah’s first thought was that it was windy, and the door did that sometimes, so it was with a vestige of calm that she tried the handle. But the door wouldn’t budge.
Sarah’s stomach clenched. Already, the single window seemed tinier, and the switch for the light a million miles away in all its good being outside the room. She tried the handle again, pulling hard, imprinting the shape of it deep into her clutching palm. For a second, she thought she felt somebody moving it from the outside, then there was definitely the sound of a key turning, and for a moment she felt her body flood with cool relief. She even stood back to wait for the door to open. But instead, a few seconds later, she heard Veronica’s voice, not just beyond wood, but far outside: “Just going up to hang with Eliza!”