‘Dad!’ I exclaim, but I can’t help agreeing with him. Mum has a tendency to try out new and bizarre recipes for our birthday cakes. Last year I had broccoli cake – she’d seen a recipe for courgette cake but had a glut of broccoli and decided that it probably wouldn’t matter if she substituted one green vegetable for another. Turns out, it really did matter. The cake was utterly disgusting and Isaac whispered to me that it tasted like farts. We all ate it, though – nobody wanted to let Mum know how foul it really was.
We sprint up the garden path, trying to avoid the huge hailstones that are throwing themselves from the heavens. I think that the best thing about today is that it’s nearly over. It seems utterly wrong that real-life things like birthdays and parents’ evening and doing the shopping should still be taking place when our world is in free fall. I hate it most when something distracts me and I forget, for just a second – the moment of remembering makes me feel sick and guilty and lost, all at the same time.
I am so mad with Alice that I can hardly think straight. She’s supposed to be my friend and friends are supposed to be kind and considerate – and neither of those words applies to her right now.
Today starts badly. My alarm clock has broken so I oversleep this morning and that means I’m late leaving the house. When I get to our corner Alice isn’t there, which I think is a bit weird because we always wait for each other, but I know that if I don’t run I’ll be late for registration, so I have to go. I think that maybe she’s ill and hasn’t remembered to phone me, or something.
I make it into my tutor group by the skin of my teeth. Alice is in a different tutor group from me and she’s not in my PE class either, so I still don’t know if she is even in school by the time I get into the changing room. Sadly for me, Moronic Louise and her cronies are in my PE class, and I can see them looking over at me and sniggering while we are all getting changed.
Just as I am tying up the laces on my trainers, they swagger over. I know something is wrong the minute Louise opens her mouth. She’s trying really hard to sound all casual and innocent, and failing miserably.
‘Hi, Liv, how’re you doing?’ she trills. I grunt a response – I don’t feel in the mood to waste any proper words on her. Louise is a real faker. I honestly think it has been so long since she last did anything true or genuine that she’s forgotten how. Alice and I go to extreme lengths to avoid her – she’s poisonous and likes to surround herself with equally toxic, although weaker, friends.
‘Great news about Alice, isn’t it?’ she chimes in the girly, high-pitched voice that I happen to know is nothing like her actual voice.
I look up at her, wary now. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ shrieks Louise, turning towards her little witches’ coven and grinning manically at them. ‘Girls, we have to share the excitement with Liv, don’t you agree?’
There is a general giggling and nudging of each other among them.
‘I have no idea what you’re wittering on about, Louise, and I’m fairly certain that I’m not interested either, so if you’ll get out of my way I have an appointment with a badminton racquet.’ I stand up but before I can move, Louise puts her hand out.
‘You’ll want to hear this, trust me. I actually can’t believe that she hasn’t told you herself unless – oh, that must be it! She’s worried about how you’ll react. Poor Alice, torn between a boy and her best friend.’
‘It’s so sad,’ squawks Molly. She’s harmless but massively irritating. I’ve really had enough and I’m starting to feel worried. Alice and I don’t keep secrets from each other and there’s no way that she would tell Moronic Louise something before she told me – that literally could not happen. The only thing is, Louise can hardly keep still she’s so excited. Whatever she thinks she knows, it’s pretty big.
‘You’re talking a load of pants, moron,’ I tell her and push past. She lets me go and then, just as I reach the changing-room door, fires her weapon.
‘Of course, Alice has got no reason to worry, has she? It’s not as if you even liked Ben, is it? Wouldn’t go out with him if he was the last boy on earth, didn’t you say?’ She collapses into a heap of giggles and I leave the changing room with the sound of their laughter following me down the hall.
I’m really angry – but not with Alice. I don’t believe a word that stupid witch said to me but that doesn’t stop me imagining, through the whole double-PE lesson, that the shuttlecock is Louise’s head. Mr Hinch praises my energy and says that I’ve made real improvement today, and that now he knows what I’m capable of he is going to have higher expectations of me. Fantastic.
During break I go looking for Alice but I can’t find her. I’m not too concerned because it’s French next, and she’s usually forgotten to do her homework so ends up hiding in a corner of the school somewhere so that she can quickly scribble a few sentences in an attempt to keep Madame Dupont happy. The only thing is, I can’t stop thinking about what Louise said.
The minute I walk into the classroom I know that Louise hasn’t been lying. Alice is already sitting at our desk but doesn’t look at me until I sit down.
‘I need to talk to you, Liv,’ she says. She looks worried and I start to feel a bit sick and as if maybe I don’t want to hear what she’s about to say.
‘Where were you this morning?’ I snap.
‘What d’you mean, where was I? You’re the one who was late!’ she says, looking surprised.
‘Whoa, steady on,’ I say. ‘I only asked! Not my fault my stupid alarm clock broke, is it?’
‘Yes, well, don’t go blaming me when you’re the one who couldn’t be bothered to be on time.’
I sit there for a moment, not sure what to say. Why is Alice being so mean to me? She’s not even looking at me now, just messing around with the contents of her pencil case.
‘Alice?’ I say. She ignores me. I have to find out if it’s true. ‘Hey – you won’t believe what totally mental, stupid thing Moronic Louise said to me in PE this morning,’ I continue in a pretend-chirpy voice. ‘It’s the most stupid thing you’ll have ever heard. I mean, as if!’
Alice looks at me. ‘Everyone’s listening – let’s talk after class,’ she says quietly.
‘Is it true?’ I yell, not caring that the rest of the class are starting to watch us. ‘Has Ben asked you out?’
‘Please let’s not talk about it here, Liv,’ whispers Alice, going a funny colour.
‘I knew it! Well, thanks a lot, Alice – and thanks for letting me hear it from Moronic Louise.’ I turn my back on her and try to ignore the attention that we are getting from the people around us.
‘Please, Liv,’ begs Alice. ‘Just listen to me for a minute.’
‘Why should I?’ I hiss. ‘You could at least have told me yourself, not leave me to walk to school on my own. Bet you and Ben had a right laugh about that.’ I feel a bit ill as I say this, wondering why Alice would do such a thing.
‘No!’ says Alice, sounding shocked. ‘It wasn’t like that, I promise. I don’t want to have this conversation right now, but meet me after school and we’ll sort this out. Please?’
‘Whatever,’ I say, and busy myself copying the date and the learning objective from the board.
Madame D. walks into the room and everyone reluctantly gets into their seats. I sit in total silence for the rest of the lesson, not moving or saying a word. At one point, it looks like Alice is wiping a tear from her face but I don’t care. What’s she got to cry about, I think. Nothing, that’s what. She obviously doesn’t think losing my friendship is very important, so let her cry.
I get through the rest of the day, sitting alone in maths and science so that I don’t have to talk to Alice. Moronic Louise tries to ask me if I’m OK but I snarl at her and even she has the sense to back off. After the longest school day ever, I’m the first to leave the school gates and I run all the way home, desperate not to catch sight of Alice and Ben together.
Mum is lying as
leep on the sofa when I slam through the front door.
‘Liv?’ she calls drowsily. ‘Is that you?’ I go through to the living room and flop on to the floor next to her. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’ she asks and I tell her everything.
Mum listens and gives me a box of tissues, and hugs me and listens a bit more while I go over and over what went on today. It’s a bit hard for her to understand what’s actually happened to begin with, cos I’m crying so much that I can’t get any words out properly.
‘I’ll never speak to that disloyal cow again!’ I sob when I’m able to make myself understood. ‘She doesn’t deserve me as her friend.’
‘What did Alice actually say happened?’ asks Mum, stroking my hair.
‘She didn’t – I didn’t really give her the chance,’ I say, taking a deep breath and trying to get a bit of a grip. I actually feel like I might throw up. ‘Why would I want to hear a load of lies from her?’
‘Has she ever lied to you before?’ asks Mum.
‘Nooo!’ I wail, starting to cry again. ‘She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.’
‘So, sweetheart, what makes you think she won’t tell you the truth if you ask her?’
I haven’t really got an answer for that so I think for a bit. ‘Well, it wasn’t a very honest thing to do, was it? She could have told me herself.’
‘But that doesn’t mean that she’s lied to you, does it?’ insists Mum. ‘Don’t you think that she deserves the chance to talk to you?’
‘She had her chance, in French.’
‘Oh, come on, Liv, you told me yourself that everyone was listening. I bet Alice was really scared about seeing you – people don’t always behave their best when they’re nervous.’
I think a bit more. ‘She’s still done a horrible thing, though. She could have told me herself and she must have planned it cos she wasn’t waiting for me this morning!’
‘You were really late,’ Mum reminds me. She sinks back on to the sofa and I can tell she needs to rest. ‘You know, one real, true friend is worth more than twenty sort-of friends – and they’re worth fighting for. I know what I’m talking about, Liv – I learnt that the hard way when I was your age. Bring me my old diaries and I’ll show you.’
I plod upstairs, feeling pretty sure that Mum’s diaries are not going to be of any help to me. I don’t want to be unkind, but my problem is a little bit more difficult than a dead guinea pig or whether the back door is locked. I get the diaries out from my wardrobe and take them back to Mum. Her eyes are closed when I walk into the room, but she opens them as soon as she hears me and pulls herself up so that she’s resting on the cushions.
‘Pass them here,’ she says, reaching out. I give her the whole lot and then sit down next to her, feeling awful and miserable and completely sorry for myself. Mum skims through the books, muttering stuff like ‘No – too young’ or ‘I can’t believe I wrote that!’ as she reads. The pile of rejected diaries on the floor grows bigger and I zone out for a bit, imagining Alice and Ben laughing about me while heading into town on a date. I don’t think it’s possible to feel any more terrible than I do right now.
‘Here we go,’ Mum says suddenly. ‘Yes – 1989 started pretty badly for me. I was not a great friend, but I got very, very lucky. Read the entries in January, and remember that you aren’t on your own here. I do get it.’ She passes me the diary and I put it on top of the others.
Then I snuggle up next to Mum for a while, crying a bit until I don’t feel like I want to cry any more. When I can see that she’s drifted off to sleep, I stand up and kiss Mum on the head. I pull the blanket that Granny once knitted for her over her legs. Then I go upstairs, carrying the stack of diaries with me. I put them down on my bed and pick up the top book. I might as well read what she has to say after she went to all that trouble to find the right diary. Whatever it is, it obviously stuck in her memory. And actually, I’m a bit curious – I can’t imagine Mum being anything other than a great friend.
4 January 1989
Back to school tomorrow – I am NOT looking forward to it at all. I was reading my old diary the other day and saw that a whole year ago I wrote that if I was going to ever have a boyfriend I’d have one that year. So that’s me on the shelf for life then, dying an old spinster with just a few cats to mourn me. So tragic – fourteen years old and no boyfriend. It’s embarrassing.
5 January 1989
I don’t even know where to start writing this today. I think I might actually be in shock. When I got to school this morning, I couldn’t find Beth anywhere. The whole day was rubbish because we usually have a real laugh together and I haven’t seen her since the first week of the Christmas holidays. When I came home from school Mum had just got off the phone with Beth’s mum. She told me that last week, Beth’s mum and dad told Beth that they were splitting up. ANYWAY, the night after they told her, Beth drank loads of stuff from their drinks cabinet – and ended up in hospital. I saw something like this on TV once and they had to pump the girl’s stomach. It was totally disgusting.
I wanted to go straight round to Beth’s house but Mum said that she wasn’t there. She’s been sent to stay with her gran and won’t be back until the weekend.
I CANNOT believe it. Poor, poor Beth. I wish I could talk to her but I haven’t got her gran’s number. I hope she rings me soon.
6 January 1989
School was rubbish today. No Beth to hang out with and I didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. Hung around with Megan and her crowd for a bit, but they were all talking about a film that they’d watched which was an 18 and I couldn’t really join in. There is no way on this earth that I’ll ever be allowed to watch an 18 film – even when I’m forty-five, probably.
Beth hasn’t phoned me. I’m wondering why she didn’t ring me up when her parents told her they were splitting up. We always tell each other everything and she should know that I’m always there for her.
8 January 1989
Wondering where my best friend is? She was meant to be home today but I still haven’t heard from her. I cycled past her house but the curtains were all drawn, so I couldn’t tell if she was there or not. I know things must be hard for her but she could at least pick up the phone to let me know she’s OK.
9 January 1989
Awful, horrible day. I went into school and still no Beth. I was really fed up with being Rachel-no-mates so tried to hang out with Megan’s group again. But I wish I hadn’t bothered. They started talking about how many boys they’ve snogged and I could see, if the conversation continued, that I would shortly be called upon to publicly acknowledge my lack of a boyfriend – EVER.
I’m not trying to excuse what I did next but in my defence, it just sort of came out before I knew what I was saying. All I wanted to do was stop them humiliating me in front of the whole school. So I told them about Beth’s mum and dad splitting up. And then I told them that she’d been rushed to hospital in an ambulance, after drinking a bottle of sherry.
Everyone was laughing their heads off and I felt bad – but it felt kind of good too, cos I’d made them laugh and they weren’t laughing at ME.
And then everyone stopped laughing and went really quiet, and I looked behind me and there was Beth. She looked really pale and wobbly. We stood, looking at each other for a few seconds that felt like a million years, and then she just turned and ran down the corridor. She didn’t scream at me or try to pull my hair – I wish she had. She looked so sad and I realized that I’d totally betrayed my best friend in the whole wide world, just so that I could look cool for two minutes to a group of people that I don’t even like.
Wow. I cannot imagine Mum behaving like that at all. She never seems to care what other people think. In fact, she’s always telling me that the most important thing is to do what you want to do, not what other people are doing. And she might be quite embarrassing sometimes but she’s never unkind. I’m not sure how I feel about her doing that to Beth – she sounds a bit like one of the mean gir
ls at my school and I bet there’s no way that they’ll grow up to be as nice and fabulous as my mum.
I’m a bit worried about reading the rest and think that I’ll put the diary back in the box. But then I remember that it was Mum who told me to read this bit, so I should probably trust her – and I don’t want to disturb her by waking her up right now to check it’s OK. I turn the page and continue reading, keeping my fingers crossed that my mum wasn’t her school’s version of Moronic Louise.
11 January 1989
I have lost my best friend. I don’t know what to do. I tried ringing her up but her mum answered the phone and said that she was sorry, but Beth didn’t want to speak to me.
Mum came upstairs a while ago and asked me what was wrong. I’ve been too ashamed to tell her what has happened, but it felt good to finally talk about it. She listened to me and then said that life isn’t about friends who are nice to your face. It’s about friends who are nice behind your back. I cried quite a lot when she said that, but I think I know what to do now.
12 January 1989
Went over to Beth’s house after school. Nobody answered the door, but I could see the curtains move in Beth’s room so I kept knocking and yelling up at her window. I said that I wasn’t going to leave until she talked to me.
I sat on her front step for what felt like hours, but was probably about ten minutes, and then her mum walked up the drive. She asked why I was sitting on her step. I told her that I was really sorry and that I needed to tell Beth properly. She said she’d see what she could do and went inside. I sat there for another ten minutes, and then the front door opened and Beth came out with two mugs of hot chocolate.
We sat next to each other for a bit and then I told her how sorry I was and what a terrible friend I’d been and how, if she forgave me, I’d never, ever behave like that again. She told me to shut up and drink my hot chocolate. We gave each other a hug and I told her what my mum had said and promised that from now on, I would be the sort of friend who was always nice behind her back and that I’d always defend her and be here for her.
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