Eden Summer

by Liz Flanagan

  ‘You know what?’ She pulled out a black jumpsuit and held it against her, looking in the mirrored door. ‘She’s been my age plus two all our lives. Not any more. Her clock stopped ticking at seventeen. So I’m going to catch up. Soon I will overtake her. Now I get to be the oldest. She’d bloody hate that, if she knew …’

  ‘Eden.’ I moved towards her, wanting to stop this stream of bitterness.

  ‘This!’ Eden spun round, triumphant, holding up a black dress on a hanger. She talked fast, not letting me get a word in edgeways. ‘Come on, Jess. Not long now. Let’s get changed.’

  I was glad to leave Iona’s room. We went next door into Eden’s. It had those little old-fashioned windows built under the eaves and I could see out, across the wide sunlit valley. The sunset caught the distant windows of the houses opposite, tiny squares of burning gold.

  Eden put on the radio and started singing as she stripped down to her underwear. ‘Hurry up, Jess, people will be here soon. You can’t wear that old thing. Borrow whatever you like …’

  We didn’t usually do this: our styles and sizes were too different. It felt weird, pawing through her things, as if wearing Eden’s clothes might turn me into her. Once, not so long ago, I’d’ve jumped at the chance. Right now, it wasn’t somewhere I wanted to go. Being Eden looked complicated and painful. Right now, I’d honestly rather be me, and that was saying something.

  However, I did as I was told. I settled for a red lace top I hadn’t seen her wear in months. It came down over my hips, but it would do.

  ‘There! Perfect, J!’ Eden took my shoulders and turned me to the mirror.

  She looked amazing, as usual. Iona’s dress was short and tight, making her long tanned legs look endless. She’d retouched her make-up and done her hair with tongs so it tumbled down her back in thick curls. It was Iona’s red lipstick, and Iona’s style.

  If any of Iona’s friends turned up, they’d get a shock. Maybe that was the point: Eden was being the bad sister, now that the job was vacant.

  And me? Even I looked all right. I lined my eyes, thick and black, taking dark shadow right up to the brow. I painted my lips a deeper shade than Eden’s. The red top matched my hair and made it glow.

  ‘Red suits you, J. You look fab.’

  I spoke into the mirror, watching our faces, taking a deep breath and daring to conjure up some honesty: ‘You don’t have to do this. You can change your mind, take down the invite.’

  ‘And why would I want to do that?’ she asked, turning icy.

  That trick never worked on me. ‘E, listen up: I’m worried about you.’ I dropped the pretence of keeping cool. I turned and looked up at the real Eden, not the reflection of a girl dressed up as someone else because being herself hurt too much right now. ‘Where’s it going to stop, E? When are you gonna stop running?’ I looked into her dark blue eyes and said, ‘You know I’ve got your back, but maybe you should slow down and admit—’

  ‘Lighten up, Jess.’ She interrupted me in a voice that was hoarse with something close to tears. ‘Don’t do this now, I mean it …’

  Just then the music started downstairs, so loud it made the window frames vibrate.

  Eden’s laughter was high-pitched hysteria. ‘Here we go!’ She spun away from me, running down the corridor.

  I followed more slowly, ducking under that stupid string. I felt self-conscious on the grand staircase, like I was making a Cinderella-style entrance, even though there were only four of us in the house.

  Az looked up from fiddling with an extension lead, saw me and whistled.

  Liam, flicking through a box of records, glanced up and paused. His expression changed, just for a moment. The next look that blew across his face was the usual one, warm and friendly, but I’d seen something else for a split second and I held it in my heart, a tiny glimmer of hope and fear, as fragile and dangerous as a real spark.

  An hour later, cars were jamming the lane outside. By the time Tyler and his mates arrived, things were definitely out of hand. Strangers were arriving from Manchester. Some lad I didn’t know was puking in a flowerbed. The bodies were so tightly packed on the dance floor that Ed Foster from the year above me started crowd-surfing between rooms. Az yelled at a tall dark-haired lad in a Burnley FC shirt for sliding down the banister and making the decks shake on the dismount. By midnight, the lights were out. Eden was dancing over candles on the dining table in perfectly coordinated underwear, while Liam played her favourite tunes. Tyler was right there, drinking it all in. In the flickering light his eyes were huge dark pools, never straying from Eden.

  I just hid. I found a spot near the door, a kind of alcove with a window seat behind a creamy-gold curtain, where I felt safe, where I could keep an eye on Eden. I had a tall glass of whisky and coke for company. I stayed behind my curtain, watching, watching, watching. My drink warmed me up. I leaned my head on the open window and took deep breaths of night air when the shakes got too bad: my breath misting the glass and then fading.

  When I was calmer, I looked back inside and watched it like a reality-TV show. I watched Tyler pass Eden something small, round and pale. I watched Eden tip her head back and swallow it. I watched how she took Tyler’s drink – a shot of gold liquid – and then kissed him on the lips. I watched Tyler follow Eden upstairs, ducking under the string barrier.

  My eyes found Liam. His hands were clenched fists, frozen above the decks. The track wanted mixing, and he fluffed it. The house fell into sudden silence. People started heckling.

  ‘Hey, mate, if it was my turn, you only needed to holler.’ Az nudged Liam over. ‘Come on, man, you’re making me look bad.’ He flicked the fader up and the room erupted again: hands in the air, people yelling along.

  I was the only one watching Liam lose it. Behind Az, Liam punched his fist into the wall. His face was transformed into a Halloween mask of jealousy and rage. Jekyll into Hyde, or was it the other way around?

  I managed to crush my fear so small that I could cross the sea of people dancing. I even managed not to scream when they slammed up against me, with their hands and their shoulders and the warm weight of their bodies. I managed to reach Liam. I managed to touch his arm.

  But I must have been white and shaking, cos he only had to look at me once. Then it was Liam leading me outside into the cool night air and down the garden path

  Chapter Twelve

  11.18 a.m.

  I edit this into a brief account for adult consumption and serve it up to the police and my mum.

  ‘OK, so I’m going to assume Eden drank alcohol, may have taken Class A drugs and probably didn’t get much sleep.’ Owl-lady police officer sums it up neatly. ‘Jess, I’m not judging. We’re looking at risk factors. We’re looking at people. We’re building a picture, as I said.’

  I feel like an informer. I take another gulp of sweet tea – Mum must have refilled my mug without me noticing.

  ‘Did you go back inside after that?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Sunday? What happened then?’

  ‘She slept, is what happened,’ Mum puts in. ‘Personal best: one fifteen in the afternoon. Then she went running. Nothing to report.’ She sounds defensive. I’m grateful someone else is speaking for a change.

  ‘Did you talk to Eden?’

  I shake my head. ‘We texted. Plans for Monday, a shopping trip. I think Tyler was with her Sunday, maybe.’ I skirt around the stuff I can’t mention. ‘I did my longest run, watched TV, nothing much.’ I shrugged. I’d run all the way up to Stoodley Pike – that old monument stuck like a needle into the highest, flattest point of the moor – and by the time I got back, my hangover was gone.

  Sleek-lady takes over. ‘Right, so much for Sunday. Then you spent bank holiday Monday with Eden? Where did you go? Was she herself, would you say?’

  It was a good job I’d run so far or I couldn’t have slept on Sunday night. As it was, I woke at six and lay there worrying for hours, going over the events of Saturday night. How I would ra
ise it with her. So, about Saturday night. You were off with Tyler, so I’m guessing you won’t mind I spent most of the party with Liam.

  When the text from Eden came through – Station at 11? – it was a relief and a deadline all at once. By 11.10 I’d know how she was and what she knew.

  It didn’t work like that. She was late, of course. I got the tickets and stood outside the station feeling sick with dread. The weather seemed to understand. It was grey, not even wet, just damp and still, like we were all suspended in a cloud.

  The Leeds train pulled in. People got off and filed out of the station past me. Then, at the last possible moment, Eden appeared in a taxi. She tumbled out, calling over her shoulder, and we just had time to run for it before the train doors hissed behind us and the guard muttered something grumpily about cutting it fine.

  My heart felt like it might jump right out of my chest. I wondered about hiding in the loo, but they always smelt so bad I’d be guaranteed to throw up. The only two free seats were at a table, and we flopped into them opposite two women plugged in to their phones.

  I hid my panic by babbling on about the train tickets and passing Eden’s over with sweaty fingers.

  I glanced at her sideways. What did she know? What had Liam said? Was she waiting for the right moment to bring it up?

  Eden settled back and stared out of the window. She did look like crap: pale beneath her tan, with massive purple-blue shadows under her eyes that the most expensive concealer in the world couldn’t hide. Had she been crying? I remembered the pill she’d taken. I was no expert, but I’d heard that a comedown could feel like flu.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked, hating myself. I was a hypocrite. ‘House get cleared all right?’

  She shrugged. ‘Found a website. Be good as new when I get back.’

  That was the thing about being rich. It could sort the small stuff. In the unlikely event I ever threw a party, no doubt I’d spend the next two days on my hands and knees scrubbing away the puke.

  She didn’t mention Saturday night again and neither did I. We compared shopping lists. Polite. Subdued. I could feel the presence of everything we didn’t say. It felt like some invisible creature sitting between us – like one of the storylines from Doctor Who. This monster would grow bigger and bigger the more we ignored it, till finally it would destroy us both. We talked like strangers, every bland word I said sticking in my throat, and all the while the little silent monster grew, guzzling away on my guilt and paranoia.

  In Leeds, I trailed after Eden in near-silence as she went around her favourite shops, buying ankle boots, a jacket, tinted lipgloss, same as the last. Then she humoured me in Paperchase – she knew I loved that shop. But even colour-coordinated piles of stationery couldn’t cheer me up today. I only got two sketchpads, three pens and a new block of stickies.

  Instead of lunch, she bought us overpriced coffees laden with sweet syrup and frothy milk. As we were finishing the dregs, I couldn’t bear it any more. I watched my best friend looking miserable, and I’d had enough. I’d just blurt it all out, beg for her forgiveness, and then at least this waiting would be over. I felt like I was on death row.

  ‘Can we talk?’ I asked, looking down at my knotted fingers, palms suddenly damp. I dared one quick glance.

  ‘Yeah. Course.’ She looked surprised. ‘But can we do it on the train back? Just, it’s time. We have to go now or I’ll be late.’ She picked up her phone and stood up, expectantly.

  ‘Late for what?’

  She flicked her eyes at me, but said only, ‘Come on.’

  I shrugged and stood up, feeling my heart slowing again: confrontation postponed.

  She used the app on her phone to navigate through the city centre, walking fast, taking sudden turns, leaving the main shopping zone. Finally we ducked into a cobbled alleyway and she stopped so abruptly that I crashed into the sheaf of oversize boutique bags she’d slung on her left wrist.

  ‘Number 54 …’ she mumbled, peering up.

  ‘What is it, E? What are we doing here?’ In my sleep-deprived state, the day had taken on an eerie, dreamlike feel. I had no idea what we were doing. Why wouldn’t Eden tell me anything? It wasn’t my paranoia: Eden was definitely being weird, and the day seemed to reflect her strangeness.

  We were standing outside a dingy arcade in an old Victorian building that had seen better times. Sure enough, the number 54 was worked into the fancy stained glass above the double doors. The ornate metalwork had once been white and was now stained with specks of rust like dried blood.

  ‘Will you stay with me?’ Eden asked, one hand on the door. She looked at me through half-closed eyes. In the dimness of the doorway she was deathly pale.

  I bit down more questions. ‘Course I will, E. Always.’ I felt a rush of protectiveness for her, so warm and strong that I could forget for a whole minute what I’d done.

  We went inside. It couldn’t have been more different from the sleek gold-and-glass arcade of designer boutiques up the road. This place was shabby and half the shops were boarded up. There was a second-hand clothes shop, a vinyl record store and a shopfront full of dog-eared posters listing the benefits of Traditional Chinese Medicine. My attention was snagged by a graphic-novel store displaying some new Japanese imports.

  But Eden was already heading up a wooden staircase in the centre of the building, the kind that folded around one of those lift shafts, like you see in old films, with the cables and all that mechanical stuff I’d rather not think about when I get in a lift.

  The upper floor was even quieter, echoey and full of shadows. It smelt damp and cold. The dreamlike atmosphere deepened.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked. ‘Are you sure this is right? It doesn’t look—’

  ‘Here.’

  To our left, a sign announced ‘The Angel’s Gift’, framed with gaudy red-and-black Gothic artwork that put my teeth right on edge. In the window there were ornaments, clusters of crystals, candles and other things I couldn’t name.

  ‘This is it,’ Eden said, putting her phone away. She pushed the glass door open and a loud clang of wind chimes signalled our arrival.

  ‘Welcome, welcome!’ A middle-aged woman rose from a stool behind the till to greet us, beaming.

  I stared, baffled. This was so not Eden’s kind of place. It smelt sweet and faintly smoky.

  The woman wore a green dress under a long brown woolly waistcoat thing. She had frizzy grey hair escaping from a bun, and her eyes twinkled at us over little half-moon glasses. ‘What can I help you with, dears?’

  She suited the rest of the shop so perfectly that it was hard not to snigger.

  ‘I’m here for a reading,’ Eden replied.

  A reading? I looked for evidence of books and found a few. Not the kind Eden read.

  ‘Ellie Caffrey. Three o’clock.’

  I searched Eden’s face. She wouldn’t meet my eye. Stung, I muttered under my breath, ‘Nice false name, E.’

  The woman opened a large diary and ran a finger down to the appointment, ticking it off in green ink.

  ‘What?’ I whispered to Eden. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I nudged her, trying to break the spell and re-enter reality.

  But Eden didn’t reply, all still and stiff and pale next to me.

  ‘Just settle up with me first, dear, and then you’re free to focus. Thirty pounds, please.’

  Eden handed over the crumpled notes The woman took the money and fumbled for change. She froze with her hand in mid-air as a thought occurred to her. ‘You did say you were over eighteen, dear?’

  ‘Of course,’ Eden snapped, taking the tenner.

  Liar. Like when I got my tattoo – just how far will the truth stretch for us?

  ‘Right. You’re just through the red curtain at the back, with Debs. I’ll put the kettle on for after, all right? Good luck, dear.’ Frizzy-lady seemed undisturbed by Eden’s rudeness.

  We walked hesitantly over to the other side of the shop, circling around a display cabinet labelled �
��Birthstone Jewellery’.

  ‘What? Here?’ Eden pointed, and Frizzy-lady nodded vigorously. Eden pulled the curtain back and we entered a different space.

  There was a huge round window on the exterior wall, flooding the little cubbyhole with greenish-grey light, filtered through the old glass. We could be underwater, looking out through a porthole at submerged city streets.

  ‘What is this?’ I tried again gently. ‘Why are we here?’

  She didn’t answer, scanning the room with wide eyes.

  It was neat and clean in there, with a round wooden table and four matching chairs. There were some lilies on the shelf in a gold pot and a stack of blue glasses and a blue water jug. It seemed more like the expensive salon where Eden had her hair cut, and I felt her relax, just a little.

  ‘Hi there.’ A younger woman appeared from behind another curtain and came to sit facing us. ‘I’m Debs Green, welcome.’

  We stared.

  She smiled. ‘I know, I get that a lot. Don’t tell me: I don’t look like a tarot reader. You expected someone like Irene out there, didn’t you?’

  Tarot? Eden? Now I was sure I was dreaming. Eden didn’t go for that stuff. She always said, If you can’t taste it, it’s not real.

  Debs wore a tight-fitting wraparound dress in a spiralling blue print. She was in her thirties, I guessed, with long, glossy, honey-coloured hair in a low ponytail. She wore a necklace of interlocking gold rings and her smile was very white and shiny. If you’d made me guess, I’d pin her as a dental nurse on a night out.

  ‘Which of you is Ellie?’ Debs asked.

  Eden jumped at the fake name, a beat too late. ‘Me. I am.’

  ‘Take a seat. Do you want your friend to stay? Or wait out there with Irene?’

  ‘Stay. Please.’ Eden gave me a pleading look and I saw that she was scared.

  ‘Sit down, both of you.’ She gestured at the chairs. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’

  We shook our heads, sitting on the edge of the seats. Neither of us took our coats off. Eden was gripping the handles of her shopping bags so tightly that her knuckles were white.