“Edie,” Dad says. “I’ve changed. That’s what I came here for. To let your mother know that.”
“If you’d really changed, Mom would still be here. You’d have left us alone to get on with our lives.”
“You’re being just like her, too headstrong and emotional. I was trying to calm her down when everything happened,” he interjects. There’s an edge to his voice that I recognize. I’m making him angry.
“That’s right,” I say. “I am just like her — not like you. She was strong, loving, and gentle. She protected me every single day of my life. And she paid for that with her life. You need to stay away from me. Forever.” I pause for a moment, looking him in the eyes. He looks away first. “And if you come after me, I’m not running,” I add.
I take a deep breath, turn and walk back down the hall with Siobhan and Officer Murphy right behind me.
Once we’re on the other side of the door again, I collapse into Aunt Siobhan’s arms and sob. I cry for at least half an hour until I can’t squeeze out any more tears. Mom’s gone. I’m never going to see her again. I can’t believe I’m not able to just dial her cell number and hear her ask me how my day was. I miss her so much. My chest hurts and my heart feels like it is being torn apart. Everything hurts now.
CHAPTER 33
That night I tell Aunt Siobhan there are a couple of things I still need to take care of. This is going to be my way of proving to myself, once and for all, that I’m not like my father; that I’m not going to go around hurting people just to get what I want.
The next day I show up at school. From the moment I walk in, things are different. I’ve gone from being the girl who hardly anyone noticed to being the most recognized person in the place. It’s disconcerting having all these people I don’t even know coming up to me and expressing condolences about Mom. My gut reaction is to ignore them or tell them to piss off, but I don’t want to just think about myself anymore. There’s no need to keep living on survival mode.
My first stop is the office. The front desk secretary looks up as I approach.
Pity floods her eyes. I bite my lip and manage a smile.
“Is Mr. Middleton around?” I ask.
“He is, Edie. Would you like to see him?” she asks, taking off her glasses and giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Sure. I mean, yes. Please. It will just take a minute.” Impulsively, I finger the wad of bills in the front pocket of my skinny jeans to make sure it hasn’t somehow disappeared.
“I’m sure he’d be happy to see you,” she says, picking up the phone. “By the way, will we be seeing you soon? It would be grand to have you back here at Windrush.”
As soon as my mother’s funeral is done and my father’s murder trial is over, I want to say. After being so careful to conceal our private life all these years, it makes my stomach churn to know that our entire story is everywhere. However, she’s being sincere and I need to appreciate the fact that people are concerned about me.
“Not sure,” I say. “I’m going to be living with my Aunt Siobhan in Ireland for a little while, I think.”
“Well, just know the door is always open here,” she says. “Go ahead in.” She waves me toward Mr. Middleton’s office.
He greets me at the door. He’s wearing his usual suit and tie. Today it’s a navy check with a red tie. He places his hand on my shoulder. “I hope you realize the entire Windrush community is here for you,” he says. “We’d like to hold a little fundraiser for you and your aunt next week. That is, if you feel comfortable with that.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “That’s really nice of you,” I say. “But … I don’t think I deserve it. My aunt might be able to use the money, though. Seeing how she’s suddenly inherited me.” I try to smile, but my bottom lip begins to tremble uncontrollably, and, instead, I end up with tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Take a seat, Edie.” Mr. Middleton pulls a chair in front of his desk for me. “This must be an incredibly hard time for you.”
I nod. My nose is beginning to run. Mr. Middleton hands me a tissue.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Mr. Middleton’s eyes widen. “You needn’t apologize.”
He doesn’t know how I hate this, how I hate having my emotions out on public display like this. I take a deep breath and compose myself.
“I need to give you something,” I say, rummaging around in my pocket and pulling out the wad of bills.
Confusion washes over his face. “I don’t understand. Why …”
“I was the one who took the charity money from the class,” I say, interrupting Mr. Middleton mid-sentence. “It wasn’t Jermaine, though he took the fall for me.”
There’s no denying the surprise on Mr. Middleton’s face. “Why wouldn’t Jermaine have said something? He’s ended up with another permanent suspension on his record because of this.”
“Because he’s not a rat. And I think he’s kind of given up on expecting people to see him for who he really is. But he’s smart, and a really loyal friend,” I reply, holding the money out to Mr. Middleton. “Anyway, it’s all there. The eighty pounds. I don’t mind if you want to have a fundraiser so things are easier for Aunt Siobhan, but this money needs to be given to its original cause.”
It’s noon by the time I leave Mr. Middleton’s office, so I head straight for the cafeteria, hoping she’ll be there. There’s one more thing I need to do.
I’m not disappointed. Scanning the room, I see her, sitting alone, head buried in a book at table in the far corner of the room.
“Hey, is this seat taken?” I ask, plopping myself down on a chair opposite Imogen.
Startled, she looks up at me, eyes wide. “Edie!” she says, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. She smiles widely for a brief moment, and then remembering, suddenly grows sombre. “I’m so sorry about your mum.”
I nod. It’s the first condolence today that’s really touched me. “Thanks, Imogen,” I say.
“How are you doing?” she asks, then immediately shakes her head. “That was so stupid of me. Of course you’re not going to be doing well.”
I smile at her. “It’s okay. I’m actually doing better, thanks. It’s hard to get up in the morning, but every day it gets a little bit easier.”
“Still, it must be hell,” Imogen says, staring hard at her plate of fries. Today’s fare is so greasy, the fries practically glisten under the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria.
“Yeah, it is,” I admit. “Listen, I came back to school to talk to you.” I pause for a moment. “And to return the charity money.”
Imogen’s mouth drops open. “You took the money?” she asks, incredulously. “I thought Jermaine did.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I took the money and let Jermaine take the blame. What a bitch, eh?”
Imogen raises an eyebrow at me. “Kind of,” she says. “Especially considering he’s the type of person who risks his life for little kids.”
We’re silent for a few moments.
“I came back because I need to apologize to you,” I say. “I treated you really badly when I was around Savitri and Keisha. That was wrong. You were the first person to make me feel welcome here. And you gave me the heads-up about Precious,” I add, shooting her a smile. “Seriously, though, Imogen, you’re a nice person and what I did was really out of order.”
“You’re starting to sound more English,” she says. “And thanks for the apology, but it’s no big deal. I mean, it’s not like you’re the first person who didn’t want me around. I’m kind of used to it.” She looks down at the table.
“It is a big deal. People shouldn’t treat you like shit. Especially Precious. You’re a much better person than her.”
“Well, I won’t have to worry about her anymore,” Imogen says, looking back up at me. “Her mum was arrested for beating her up in the front garden of their flat last week, wasn’t she? Precious was taken into care. Everyone in the neighbourhood knows about it. Apparently her mum knocked
her two front teeth right out before the police arrived.”
I sit back and breathe out heavily. It never occurred to me that other kids might be dealing with domestic violence as well. That definitely explained Precious wanting to lash out at everyone around her. I have to admit to understanding that feeling all too well.
“Are you coming back?” Imogen asks, interrupting my thoughts. “I mean, back here to Windrush? Or will you return to Canada?”
I think about it for a minute. Now that I’m with Aunt Siobhan, I’m going back to Ireland with her. Another place I’ve never been; another place where I’ll be a complete foreigner. At the same time, there’s no one left for me in Canada. Not in terms of family, anyhow.
“I’m not sure where I’ll be eventually,” I reply. “But why don’t we stay in touch? Do you have a pen and paper?”
Imogen grins. “Really?” she asks, leaning down and unzipping her knapsack.
“Really,” I say as she hands me a pen and her school agenda. “I’m giving you my email address and I expect some communication.”
“It’s a deal,” Imogen says. “Take care of yourself, Edie. Remember your friends are here for you.”
I walk over to her and give her a hug before walking away. “I will,” I say. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 34
“Thanks,” I say as the stewardess hands me a glass full of ice and a miniature can of Diet Coke. I look over at Aunt Siobhan, who is nervously unwrapping a stick of gum.
“Want one?” she asks. “It’s the take-offs I can’t stand.”
I shake my head. “No, thanks,” I say. “So, what happens next?”
We’ve been living in Dublin for the last six months while Siobhan trained someone to take her position so that we could make our permanent move to London. Siobhan also felt it was best for me to be out of England; Mom’s murder and Dad’s impending trial were all over the media and journalists were constantly snapping photos of us.
Mom’s funeral and most of the last few months are a blur for me. It’s only now that I’m beginning to feel emotions other than anger and grief again. I still lose it a few times a day, but at least I find myself sometimes thinking about other things or enjoying a television show or movie. It’s a start. And I miss being in school.
“Well, we’ve got a flat set up. Nothing posh, so don’t get your hopes up.” Siobhan smiles. “But it’s nice. I think you’ll like it. We’ve got a little garden and everything.”
The engines start up with a roar. The plane begins to taxi down the runway and Siobhan grips at the armrests so tightly the skin over her knuckles whitens.
“It’s not near your old school, unfortunately,” she says through gritted teeth.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ve kept in touch with everyone I wanted to from there anyhow.” Especially Jermaine, I want to add, but decide against it. Aunt Siobhan doesn’t need to know that I’ve already got a date to meet up with Jermaine the day after we arrive back.
“Listen, I’ve arranged for you to see someone for a while to talk about everything,” Siobhan says. “Are you okay with that?”
I slosh the ice cubes around in my drink for a moment, letting them bump against the sides of the plastic cup.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d rather talk than just stuff it all away. I think it’s good to talk. If more people talked about things that happen in their homes that no one sees, rather than feeling ashamed, there might be less violence. Maybe Mom would still be here.”
I look out the window as we take off into the grey skies over Ireland. I still feel really angry and sad inside, but like the fact that my life is going to become more regular now. Aunt Siobhan has no idea how much I ache to go to the same school day after day.
I reach into my jacket pocket for the photograph of Mom I put in there earlier today. My fingers touch a piece of paper: Jermaine’s note. I take it out and unfold it. I’ve read it and reread it so many times these last few months that it’s practically disintegrating along the folds.
Edie — You’re the only person I can truly call a friend. When things get tough, don’t forget to lean on those who love you. Jermaine.
I fold the paper back up, put it in my pocket and lean back into the seat. No matter what awaits me in London, I can face it. No more running. I smile and grab hold of Aunt Siobhan’s hand.
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Copyright © Mary Jennifer Payne, 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.
All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Editor: Shannon Whibbs
Cover design: Laura Boyle
Design: Colleen Wormald
Cover image: © youngvet/iStockphoto.com
Epub Design: Carmen Giraudy
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Payne, Mary Jennifer, author
Since you’ve been gone / Mary Jennifer Payne.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4597-2818-9 (pbk.).--ISBN 978-1-4597-2819-6 (pdf).--
ISBN 978-1-4597-2820-2 (epub)
I. Title.
PS8631.A9543S55 2015 C813’.6 C2014-902140-2 C2014-902141-0
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Since You've Been Gone Page 15