by Cat Clarke
‘You heard me. I can’t believe I trusted you! I should have known better – it’s not like you’ve ever been there for me before. Why should this be any different?’ I’d only called her a liar to distract her; I couldn’t have her asking questions about the charges against Alex. But what I’d said was true, and I realized I was angry. I was angry at Astrid for being a terrible friend and angry at Mum for calling the police and angry at the police for arresting Alex and angry at Alex for ruining my life.
‘I’m your best friend!’ Astrid looked genuinely upset, which was surprising.
‘Oh give me a break! You don’t know the meaning of friendship. Your idea of a friend is someone who agrees with you all the time and doesn’t mind being treated like garbage. Do you even know how messed up that is?’ I had no idea where this was coming from, but it was all true. I’d thought these thoughts before but I never would have dreamed of saying them. Until now.
Astrid said nothing, and when Astrid goes quiet that’s when you should really start to worry. It usually means she’s about so say something so exceptionally awful that your hand will fly to your mouth and your eyes will go as wide as they possibly can and you’ll say ‘ASTRID!’ in a shocked voice, and then you’ll laugh because you can’t help yourself because after all, it was funny. But this time was different. Astrid narrowed her eyes. ‘Why have you stayed friends with me then? If I’m so terrible?’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t exactly have any better options, did I?’
She blinked and for a second I was sure Astrid was going to cry. I knew I should apologize, tell her I didn’t mean it. There were lots of reasons why I stayed friends with Astrid despite hating her on a regular basis. She could make me laugh like no one else on earth and she could be unexpectedly kind and generous. It was complicated, just like most things in life.
I started to speak, started to say that I appeared to have temporarily lost my mind but Astrid jumped in and stopped me. ‘I think you’ve said enough, don’t you?’ Any hint of tears had disappeared, which made me think that they probably hadn’t been real in the first place. ‘Look, I was willing to be your friend and stick by you through this … whatever this even is … but from the sounds of it you don’t need me after all. I don’t need to stand here and take this shit, you know? I’ve got better things to do.’ She turned away, nearly flicking her hair into my face. I exhaled. I’d got away quite lightly, all things considered.
I watched Astrid strut away from me and decided not to go after her. I’d catch up with her later and grovel like I’d never grovelled before. She was right: I did need her. There was no one else I could talk to.
Astrid stopped when she was maybe ten steps away from me. She didn’t turn round straightaway and that’s what made me tense up. After what seemed like an age – it was probably only a second or so – she did turn to face me. There was a hint of a smile playing on her lips, but it did nothing to reassure me. ‘Do you want to know a secret?’ I had no choice but to nod; Astrid’s smile spread wider. ‘You may think I’m a bad friend … but that’s nothing compared to having me as an enemy.’
She was clearly delighted with this little show of theatrics. I thought she was going to add something else, but I think she must have forgotten her next line so she turned around again, flicking her hair even more vigorously. She couldn’t strut away as fast as she’d have liked because a couple of child-minders with giant buggies had taken up the whole path.
I knew straightaway that I’d made a terrible mistake – I just wasn’t exactly sure why yet.
chapter thirty-four
Astrid texted me straight after school: Reckon we should talk? Call me.
That was as close as Astrid would ever get to trying to smooth things over. When we’d had minor disagreements in the past, I was always the first one to crack – the first one to text or call. I didn’t answer; Astrid couldn’t bear being ignored. She needed attention like most people need oxygen.
I dreamed about Alex that night. Everything was normal and good and my boyfriend was a boy just like he was supposed to be. We held hands and we kissed and he touched me and I liked it. I woke up feeling good; the feeling lasting approximately three seconds before I remembered. Then I was disgusted with myself. My brain was betraying me, trying to trick me into feeling sorry for Alex, but I wouldn’t let it. The shock I’d felt about Alex’s arrest had faded. I’d talked to Mum about it when I got home from school the previous day and she reassured me I’d done the right thing and that Alex needed to be held accountable for her actions. Weirdly enough, the reassurance worked even though I knew full well she’d never say such things if she knew the truth. It was just nice to hear soothing words and to know that she was on my side even if she didn’t really get it. When she hugged me I could almost imagine everything was going to be OK and this mess would magically sort itself out.
It was only when I checked my phone a few minutes after waking up that I realized just how big a mistake I’d made getting angry with Astrid and, even worse, ignoring her peace offering. I hadn’t really been on Facebook much since I’d got together with Alex. He didn’t even have a profile. I’d thought that made him cool and interesting, because everyone I knew was on Facebook (even Mum, who had an annoying habit of ‘liking’ all of my statuses even though I’d asked her not to). At the beginning of the relationship I’d posted one or two status updates that could have been interpreted as smug – talking about how happy I was and what a good day I’d had, but I never mentioned Alex by name (mostly because of Mum’s habit of stalking my profile). As soon as things started getting serious with Alex I hardly ever went on there. I’d somehow lost interest in seeing what people were up to and what music they were listening to, and I didn’t want to see yet another photo Astrid had taken of herself pouting into the mirror or Stella quoting obscure song lyrics to make herself look deep and clever. Over the past few days I’d been back on Facebook, not posting anything, just watching people’s lives happening. There were more photos of Astrid, and more song lyrics from Stella. My life had been turned upside down and inside out but nothing had changed on there. I couldn’t decide if that made me hopeful or not.
Astrid’s status jumped out at me right away, mostly because of the number of comments and likes it had. The status had been posted at 9.37 p.m. the previous night. There was no photo attached to this one:
Have you heard the joke about the girl who found out her boyfriend was actually a GIRL and then had him/her/it ARRESTED?! Oh wait, turns out it’s NOT a joke. Truth is stranger than fiction, people.
Forty-eight people had liked the status and there were sixty-two comments. There was a lot of NO WAY?! and WTF?! and SPILL! and combinations of the three. Suggestions of names were being thrown around and promptly disputed by the girls in question. There were filthy jokes and bad spelling and the usual outpouring of glee at someone else’s misfortune. The penultimate comment was from some boy Astrid used to fancy: U comin out of da closet, Astrid? Followed by not one but three winky faces.
Astrid hadn’t added anything to the conversation up until that comment. She’d clearly been content to sit back and enjoy the chaos she’d caused. She had to reply to this one though, because her little plan would backfire spectacularly if people thought this was about her: LOL very funny. I don’t think Justin Maitland will be too happy to see you calling him a girl. My boyf is ALL man. Stella had ‘liked’ that comment – her only contribution to the proceedings.
I didn’t cry, not even when I refreshed Astrid’s feed and a new comment appeared in front of my eyes. Rachael Meadows: If no one else is gonna have the balls to come out and say it … KATE MCALLISTER.
I watched as the responses racked up (the very first one being Who????). It seemed like everyone from school was on Facebook that morning, like they’d been waiting for this to happen. I imagined Rachael Meadows sitting at a table, eating a bowl of cornflakes – spoon in one hand, phone in the other. I imagined Stella trying to pretend she wasn’t enjoying th
is, looking around guiltily in case someone saw her smiling. I imagined Astrid lying in bed (she never got up before midday on Saturday), but I couldn’t quite picture her face. Part of me was sure she must be feeling bad, regretting what she’d done. But part of me knew Astrid would be loving every second, basking in the attention she craved so badly.
I didn’t cry when someone said: Bollocks! How can you not notice your boyf doesn’t have a cock?!!!?!
Justin was the next person to comment: Or bollocks, for that matter. That comment got the most likes over the next half hour or so.
Eventually I forced myself to switch off my phone. I felt strangely calm, considering that almost everyone I knew was laughing at me and gossiping about me – not to mention all the people I didn’t know. A few months ago this sort of thing would have ruined me. But the worst thing that could happen had already happened to me; I was already ruined. At school the day before, I’d been panicking about people finding out, not realizing that it didn’t make any difference – not really. Astrid would be disappointed if she ever found out that she hadn’t managed to hurt me. She wouldn’t find out, though, because I couldn’t imagine ever talking to her again. And knowing that felt suspiciously like relief.
Maybe Astrid had done me a favour, telling everyone like this. They’d have found out as soon as the court case started anyway. It would be all over the papers, for one thing – even if they weren’t allowed to name any names because I was still a minor. I’d seen it on some TV programme – the police had to be especially careful not to name victims of sexual assault. I wondered why Astrid hadn’t mentioned the sexual assault thing; perhaps she was just biding her time until she dropped that little nugget of information into the mix to spice things up when interest was waning. The weird thing was, I was almost certain she knew – or at least strongly suspected – that I’d lied to the police.
Astrid knew that I’d lied, and she’d already shown that she was perfectly willing to hurt me. I should have been freaking out – doing everything in my power to make sure she kept quiet. And the fact that I wasn’t freaking out baffled me almost as much as the fact that I’d decided not to go back on Facebook and not to bother investigating Astrid’s Twitter feed to check if she was attacking me on ALL the social networks.
I was getting out of the shower when I realized that Mum might see something on Facebook. Not that she was friends with any of my friends – that would have been a step too far even for her – but she might see if someone posted on my wall. I wrapped my towel around me and hurried back to my room and adjusted the privacy settings on my account. I was still antsy about it though – she would blow things out of all proportion if she found out what Astrid had done – so I unfriended Mum, just to be on the safe side. If and when she noticed I’d tell her it must have been a glitch on the site. With a little bit of luck she wouldn’t even notice and I could go back to being a normal person who wasn’t friends with their mum on Facebook.
It occurred to me that nobody would think I was ‘normal’ anymore; that should have made me happy. Hadn’t that been the very thing I’d hated about my life last year? That people thought I was boring. No one had ever said it to my face (apart from Astrid that one time I wouldn’t try vodka at her sleepover), but I knew that’s what people thought when they saw me. They looked at me and thought they had the measure of me. A piano-playing geek who’d never done anything remotely interesting in her whole life. Wasn’t that why I started listening to different music and buying new clothes? And wasn’t that why I’d joined the Saving Serenity forum and started talking to Alex in the first place? It all came back to that creeping fear that had taken hold in my mind – the one that convinced me I was missing out on something. It felt like I was missing out on life. If only I didn’t spend every spare moment playing the piano, if only I could break free from Astrid’s shadow. If only I could believe I was someone interesting and worthwhile – someone people didn’t ignore.
Be careful what you wish for. No one would be ignoring me for a very long time. Lucky me.
*
Mum was vacuuming the living room when I went through. She’d vacuumed two days ago so I was immediately suspicious – it’s always been her least favourite household chore, mostly because she refused to buy a decent vacuum cleaner, leaving us stuck with one that seemed to spew out as much dust and rubbish as it sucked in. I tapped her on the shoulder, making her jump.
‘Morning,’ I shouted, because she didn’t bother turning off the vacuum.
‘Morning!’ she shouted back. Then she turned it off. ‘Did you sleep OK? The phone didn’t wake you this morning?’
I said no, I hadn’t really slept OK, thanks very much for asking, but I hadn’t heard the phone either. The two facts were not mutually exclusive, after all. I asked who’d been on the phone, which had clearly been the point of her asking if I’d been woken up. My mother was infuriating a lot of the time – often taking the long, scenic route instead of getting straight to the point. She plumped up some cushions, turning them so that they were at an angle on the sofa and swapping them so that the identical ones weren’t next to each other. The world would probably end if the identical ones stayed next to each other. ‘Oh, yes. It was the police.’
‘PC Mason? Is it Alex? What’s happened?’ From nowhere I had the clearest picture in my mind of Alex, her limp body dangling from a pipe on the ceiling, a belt around her neck. It was stupid – a hangover from too many films and TV shows. Alex would never do something like that, no matter how bad things got. I knew that. It definitely felt like something I knew, even though I was well aware that I didn’t know very much about Alex at all. Still, maybe it was possible that I knew something of the person she really was, deep down. I must have seen something real in all that time we spent together.
‘No, it wasn’t PC Mason, actually. It was a woman, more senior, I think … She was ever so polite …’
‘Mum!’ My exasperation seemed to surprise her.
‘Someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning, didn’t they? Anyway, as I was saying – if you’d just let me finish – they’re coming round this morning to interview you. I just want to make sure the place is looking a bit better than when PC Mason came round. I wouldn’t want them getting the wrong idea about this family. You always have to think about these things, you know, when you’re a single mother.’ Mum didn’t like to think of herself as a single mother – she hardly ever used the term – so I wasn’t sure why she was mentioning it now.
‘I don’t understand why they have to interview me again. I told them what happened.’ I tried to keep the panic from my voice. I’d known this was coming but that didn’t make the prospect any more appealing.
Mum shrugged. ‘I know, love, but that was just a preliminary interview. They have to take down an official statement, I think. The woman explained it all on the phone and I’m sure she’ll be happy to explain it again if you ask. It’s nothing to worry about, love. I know it’s not easy for you to talk about, but I’ll be there with you.’
There was nothing remotely reassuring about that. Mum being there just meant having another person to listen to my lies. I asked what time the police were coming and Mum looked at her watch. ‘Half an hour, love. Would you mind making me a cup of green tea? I’m gasping after all this.’
I retreated to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I took a deep breath to try to calm down but it just made me feel even more light-headed. I should eat something – I knew that. I’d barely eaten over the past few days – just enough to keep me going. I poured some cereal and splashed some milk into a bowl. I managed four or five bites, which was better than nothing. My heart was trampolining with anxiety. I hadn’t thought this through. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about anything beyond PC Mason’s interview, which was why the arrest had come as such a shock even though he’d said it was going to happen.
There was a whisper in my ear in a voice that sounded like mine telling me that I should see this as an opportun
ity – another chance to put things right. Tell the truth, the voice said. What’s the worst that can happen? A slap on the wrist for wasting police time? Mum would be furious but she’d get over it in time. A mother should be happy to find out her daughter hadn’t been assaulted. This whole situation had snowballed out of control. I never meant for this to happen. I hadn’t been the one to get the police involved. That was what I kept telling myself, because as long as I remembered that then none of this was my fault – not really.
I poured boiling hot water into Mum’s favourite mug and on to my hand. Not on purpose. Not really. ‘FUCK!’ I screamed. Mum came running, remote control in one hand, damp cloth in the other. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’ She saw me clutching my hand and hurried me over to the sink. ‘Oh, you silly thing! You need to be more careful, don’t you? It’ll be fine, just keep your hand under that tap for five minutes. Shhh, it’s OK, there’s no need to cry.’ I wasn’t crying – I wasn’t even close to crying – but as soon as she said that, I started.
The pain was white hot and deep and showed no signs of abating. I was grateful for it; it washed all other thoughts from my brain. All I had to do was concentrate on keeping my hand under the stream of cold water. An endurance test. The tears stopped. Everything stopped, apart from the water streaming on to my hand, which had now turned red – either from the boiling water or the freezing water. There was no way to tell where the pain and redness was coming from anymore. Hot and cold felt exactly the same. Like right and wrong.
chapter thirty-five
She was a sergeant. A Special Something or Other Officer, trained to deal with cases involving sexual offences. Sergeant Tanaka’s hair was scraped back in a severe bun – not a strand out of place. She made me uneasy for some reason. I think it was the way she paused before speaking, as if she was measuring her words, planning out what to say instead of just saying it. She also seemed to be very keen on eye contact, which is something I tend to avoid with people I don’t know.