Unspeakable

Thanks for the cinema trip and the meal. And the action figure, too. I like it more than I let on.

  See you around,

  Megan

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I’m such a coward. I actually run from Luke’s house after I’ve posted the letter. What if his mum reads it? What if Luke stays with his dad this week and doesn’t see it until the weekend? What if I bump into him before then and he tries to kiss me again?

  I head straight for Jasmine’s to confess what I’ve done.

  She starts tidying her bedroom, swiping up dirty clothes and hurling them at her wash basket. ‘I just don’t get it, Megan. The guy’s crazy about you. Plus, he’s like the perfect man.’

  She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s wondering what’s wrong with me.

  I write on the back of a magazine: But I don’t feel the same about him. It’s cruel to lead him on. I don’t get why you like Owen so much, but I don’t go on about it.

  ‘Well, that’s different!’

  No, it isn’t, I reply. I don’t try to tell you how to feel.

  Jasmine flops down next to me on the bed. ‘I’m not trying to tell you how to feel … am I? Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m doing that bossy thing again. I just want you to be happy.’

  I scribble in quick, angry strokes: Does Owen make you happy?

  ‘What’s your problem with Owen?’

  Nothing, I write. I just don’t want you to get hurt.

  ‘Look, I know I can’t exactly bring him home to meet my parents, but there’s just something about him, you know?’

  No, I really don’t. But I’m not writing that down.

  We sit in silence for a few moments, then Jasmine pokes me in the ribs. When I look up, she sticks her tongue out. I grin, pick up a pillow and whack her in the face. She squeals and lunges at me, tickling me around the waist. I try to get away, but Jasmine leaps on top of me, pinning me to the bed. I twist beneath her, but I can’t stop laughing. She’s laughing too, breathless and beautiful.

  Jasmine stops and looks at me for a long moment. The atmosphere changes, grows serious again. Neither of us looks away. Then Jasmine hoists herself off and puts the radio on, loud.

  ‘Let’s dance!’ she says. ‘C’mon. I want to dance!’

  I laugh. There’s no music – the DJ is just talking – but Jasmine starts to bounce around the room to an imaginary beat. I get up and grab her hands, leaping up and down with her, shaking my head from side to side. We don’t care how stupid we look. When we’re out of breath, we collapse on the bed, giggling helplessly.

  Jasmine goes to fetch some drinks and I grab my pen, eager to share an idea I’ve had. When she gets back, I thrust a note at her: Fancy going camping for my birthday? Grandpa used to be mates with this farmer who said we could pitch our tent in his field for free. We could use Grandpa’s old tent. It’s a bit musty but I reckon it’ll be fine. There’s loads of camping gear, too.

  ‘I think it’s a great idea!’ Jasmine declares. ‘I used to go hiking and camping all the time in Cyprus. It’s going to be so much fun! I can get one of those blow-up mattresses so we don’t have to sleep on the ground. We should have proper camping food, like sausages and beans. Oh! And marshmallows. There has to be marshmallows. I burnt my lip on one once. It blistered and looked ugly for days. Still love them, though. When they get a bit black and crispy on the outside, but they’re all gooey and warm on the inside – lush!’

  We spend the rest of the afternoon making plans and lists of what we’ll take.

  As I’m walking home, I wonder whether Luke has got my letter yet. It’s awful not knowing. How does he feel about me now? Does he hate me, or does he still really like me? If I were a normal person, I’d just make up a reason to call him. If I could just talk to him, I’d know how he was feeling.

  I should’ve asked Jasmine to call him. But things seem a little off between them. I wonder why he didn’t even say hi to her at the barbecue. Hang on a minute … what if he did? What if he made a move on her, and she rejected him, and that’s why he came and found me? No. Jasmine would’ve told me. She wouldn’t have kept that a secret. God! Talk about paranoid!

  After dinner, I get a text from Luke. My finger hovers over the ‘open’ button. I have no idea how he’s going to react. Anger? Hurt? Spite? No, not spite. That’s not Luke’s style. I open it:

  Got your note. OK.

  That’s it? Clearly, it’s not OK. What am I supposed to do now? Go round? No. Too soon. Maybe in a couple of weeks. I get a second text. I open it quickly, heart thudding:

  BTW, changing my number soon. Will text you the new one.

  Why do I get the distinct impression he’ll never send me that number? I’ve lost him. Screwed things up, as usual. But he’ll still keep our secret safe, won’t he? He promised. We both did.

  You’d better not break that promise.

  The next morning, I ask Mum about the camping trip. She stares down at her fingers, picking at some chipped nail polish. ‘Well, I had booked your birthday off, Megan. I thought we’d do something together.’

  Oh no. Really? Now I feel bad.

  ‘It’s fine. I’ll give Carolyn a call. See if she wants to go for coffee.’

  I write on the back of a bill: You sure?

  ‘Yes. It’s all right. You and Jasmine don’t want me cramping your style.’ Mum smiles unconvincingly. ‘You’re becoming inseparable. You can have dinner under the stars. How romantic!’

  What does that mean? Does she know? How does she know? Am I that obvious? Does Jasmine know too?

  The doorbell rings several times, then Jasmine lets herself in. She rushes into the kitchen, hair astray and cheeks glowing. She’s breathing heavily, as if she’s run all the way here. ‘Look what I found!’ she gasps, slamming something on the table.

  Mum and I peer at a crinkled page torn from the local paper. It’s an article about a Polish artist who makes sculptures from old coat hangers.

  ‘Not that!’ Jasmine pokes a red finger at the bottom of the page. ‘That!’

  It’s an advert for a competition: Hampshire Young Wildlife Photographer of the Year. My pulse quickens. I scan the rules. I’m eligible. I check out the prize: to have my photo on display in a local gallery. But I’m shaking my head. There’s no way. I’m not good enough. Hundreds of people will enter. I won’t stand a chance.

  Mum and Jasmine are nodding and smiling.

  ‘You have to enter, Megan. You’re an amazing photographer!’

  ‘Grandpa would be so proud,’ Mum adds. ‘You could use his old camera. He would’ve liked that.’

  She’s right. And he would’ve told me to go for it.

  ‘Doesn’t it have to be digital?’ Jasmine asks.

  Mum skims the small print. ‘Doesn’t say, so I guess not.’

  I point to the clock. Mum’s running eight minutes late. Her boss will be fuming.

  ‘Oh, sod him!’ she says. ‘Man’s so uptight you could press trousers in his arse crack!’

  There’s a moment of shocked silence. Then we all burst into laughter.

  After Mum has left, Jasmine’s mobile rings. She moves into the living room to answer it, but I can hear everything she’s saying. ‘I’m with Megan … What do you mean, “again”? She’s my best friend … Don’t be like that. I’ll see you tomorrow … No, you don’t need to come round … Yeah, I know it’s strange that I’m just next door … OK. Yep. Bye.’

  She returns to the kitchen, sighing. ‘I think he’s going to dump me.’

  Dump her? My heart does a little dance. Then I instantly feel guilty. What sort of friend wants her mate to be dumped?

  Why? I write.

  ‘I dunno. He’s just been all grumpy recently. I think he might’ve gone off me because I’ve put on weight.’

  What? I think. What are you on about?

  ‘Look at his ex! Sadie’s a stick insect compared with me!’

  I scribble: Sadie’s a stick insect compared with anyone!

  Jasmine laughs, b
ut it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  I start to write something, but end up scratching it out. This is so frustrating. I need words! How do I tell her?

  You don’t. Ever.

  Jasmine squeezes my shoulder. ‘Don’t feel bad. I know I should lose a few pounds.’

  But you shouldn’t, I think. You’re beautiful. How do I show you?

  I have an idea, and jot it down: Will you let me take some pictures of you?

  Portraits aren’t my thing, but if I’m going to photograph anyone, I want it to be Jasmine.

  She shakes her head, curling her arms around her waist. I want to hold her so badly. ‘I really don’t like it, Megan. I don’t even like looking in the mirror.’

  Please? I write. Trust me?

  Jasmine considers for moment, then relents. ‘OK. But only my top half. My boobs are the one thing I am proud of!’

  We ride out to a small copse to take the photos. When we get there, Jasmine is restless. She tugs at her top, then asks if she can go home and change. I shake my head. Jasmine’s wearing a necklace that Owen bought her. She adores it, but I think it looks a bit cheap. I make something up about it catching the light and ask her to take it off, putting it in my pocket.

  I position Jasmine against a tree trunk, then gather up her mass of curls and draw them across one shoulder, where they spill down in glorious waves. I lay two fingers on the bottom of her chin, feel a small thrill at the touch of her skin beneath mine, and tilt it upwards, so she’s looking towards the light.

  Jasmine’s eyes flicker down to meet mine and she smiles a smile that makes my heart falter. I point up and her gaze follows. I position the camera, frame the shot, and take a second to look at her. The sunlight darts across Jasmine’s face and her eyes shine with the reflection of leaves above. She is stunning.

  Jasmine notices I’ve paused. ‘Is it OK? Am I doing it right?’

  Perfect. You’re perfect.

  I keep taking shots until Jasmine yawns and says, ‘Are we done yet? Can we get an ice cream now?’

  I hold up a finger and pull my mobile out to take an instant shot of her. Jasmine leans in close, her breath whispering past my cheek. She gasps. ‘Megan! You … I don’t know what to say! You’ve made me look … I’m … I look great!’

  You’re beautiful. I didn’t ‘make’ you look anything.

  We detour through the village to get ice creams, then amble back to Jasmine’s.

  ‘So I won’t see you tomorrow,’ she says. ‘The day after, though?’

  I nod and wave, keeping the smile on my face until I’ve turned round. So Owen wins tomorrow. What am I supposed to do? I hate having to share Jasmine. I hate that she makes me feel like this, but I can’t say or do anything about it.

  My head’s all muddled, and it’s a good evening for walking, so I wander around, keeping a constant eye out for Luke. The way I feel right now, I’d rather see Sadie than him, and that’s saying something.

  It’s dark when I remember that I’ve still got Jasmine’s necklace in my pocket. Owen will probably be annoyed if she’s not wearing it tomorrow. Maybe I should keep it? No. That’s horrible. What’s wrong with me? Anyway, if I take it back it’s a good excuse to see her again.

  I’m almost at Jasmine’s when the quiet road is pierced by a scream. Jasmine! My stomach lurches and I sprint to her house. When I get there, she’s standing inside, the front door open, looking at something on the step. What is it? I can’t see. It’s too dark. Is she hurt? What should I do?

  Jasmine’s illuminated by a pool of light inside the house. She looks up at me, unsure for a moment. ‘Megan? What are you … Why are you here?’ I take a step towards her. Jasmine steps back, closes the door a little. What’s the matter with her?

  ‘Why are you here, Megan?’ she shouts, tears rolling down her face.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the necklace.

  Jasmine squints through the night, then nods slowly. ‘Have you seen this?’ She gestures at the doorstep with a shaking hand.

  I move towards her, then cover my mouth, swallowing the urge to vomit. It’s a dead cat. I think its neck is broken. It’s mangy. Probably a stray.

  Jasmine is wailing, her hands clamped around the door to stop herself from falling. ‘Who could do this? Why? What have they got against me?’

  I shake my head. I don’t know. Oh, God, Jasmine. I don’t know.

  Jasmine holds out a note. I have to lean over the cat to take it:

  I DON’T WANT TO HURT YOU. I DIDN’T WANT TO HURT THE CAT EITHER, BUT LOOK WHAT HAPPENED.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Where are your parents? I write.

  Jasmine just stares at my message. I touch her arm. She looks at me, but doesn’t see me. She shudders, then seems to come back. ‘They’re … um … Where are they? They’ve taken Lily to the cinema.’

  How did you find the cat?

  ‘I … er …’ Jasmine closes her eyes. Opens them again. ‘Someone rang the doorbell, but there was no one here.’

  They must’ve known her family were out. How did they know? Were they watching her? Are they still watching now? I glance up and down the road, but there’s no one around. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  I’ll stay with you until they’re back, I write. Can you get me a bin bag? I’ll sort it out. I smile, try to look calm, but I feel sick and shaky. Why does someone have it in for my best friend? And if they can kill a cat, what else are they capable of?

  After I’ve cleaned up, I go through the house, switching on lights, the TV and the radio. Jasmine tries to call Eleni, but her mobile’s off. I make her tea, stroke her hair, but I can tell she just wants her mum.

  We try to watch something on TV, but Jasmine’s not following it. She doesn’t even flinch when a celebrity lies in a bath of maggots for charity.

  The second the door opens, Jasmine launches herself at Eleni, weeping.

  ‘What on earth …?’ Eleni asks, instantly enfolding Jasmine in her arms.

  Between sobs, Jasmine explains what happened. Eleni reels off a furious string of Greek. Arthur sinks on to the sofa, cradling his head in his hands. Lily is sent to bed, though she doesn’t give in without a fight. ‘You can’t make me go. I want to stay here with Jasmine.’ She plonks herself on Jasmine’s lap and throws her little arms around Jasmine’s neck. Eleni gently pulls her away and takes her upstairs, leaving Jasmine, Arthur and me in shocked silence.

  ‘We’re calling the police,’ Eleni announces when she returns. ‘You should’ve told us sooner, Jasmine. This person has been in our house, in your room!’

  ‘I thought it was just someone from school mucking around,’ Jasmine says. ‘I didn’t realise they’d go this far.’

  ‘Well, it’s not going any further. I’m calling them right now.’

  ‘Mum?’ Jasmine asks. ‘You’re not going to make us move again, are you?’ She glances at me, and my heart breaks a little. ‘I don’t want to leave!’

  Eleni and Arthur exchange a look. ‘That’s not up for discussion tonight,’ Arthur says. ‘One thing at a time.’

  I can’t look at Jasmine any more. She’s devastated. I’m devastated. I can’t even think about what would happen if she left.

  Over an hour later, a police officer arrives. He takes a statement, but seems pretty disinterested. ‘These types of incidents are usually kids playing pranks,’ he says. ‘I’ll look into it, but I’m fairly confident they’ll soon get bored.’

  He gives Jasmine what he thinks is a reassuring smile. Patronising git!

  Eleni stands abruptly. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Officer,’ she says in a clipped tone. ‘I think we could all do with some rest now.’ She ushers him to the door, then slams it behind him.

  Jasmine and I leave her ranting to Arthur, alternating between Greek and English so fast it’s hard to catch any of what she’s saying.

  I should go, I write. Text me if you need anything.

  Jasmine nods and leans in for a hug. I clutch
her tightly, holding on for longer than I should, but tonight, she doesn’t seem to notice.

  I lie awake. Tomorrow will not be a good day. The eleventh of July: Hana’s birthday. Except she won’t be turning sixteen. I can’t get my head around that. When we were kids, Hana thought it gave her the right to win any argument. If she knew she was losing, she’d come back with: ‘You have to listen to me – I’m the oldest!’ Not any more. She’ll stay fifteen for ever, and in a few days, I’ll be a year older than her, instead of a few days younger.

  When I wake the next morning, there’s a few seconds of blissful ignorance before it clicks. Then a wave of grief rolls over me and I turn on to my front so I can cry into my pillow. I think about Hana’s last letter. Was she angry? Probably. I can guess what it said. I wish I’d found it sooner. If Sadie had just showed up five minutes later … What’s the point, though? It’s gone. I’ll never know what she was thinking.

  Mum clatters around in the kitchen. ‘Megan!’ she yells. ‘I’m off soon. You coming down?’

  Of course, she’s completely forgotten what day it is. Not so easy for Hana’s parents, wherever they are. I imagine them in their new house, silently staring at each other across the breakfast table. Hana’s mum is probably twisting her wedding ring around her finger. She always does that when she’s stressed. I wish they’d kept in touch, after they moved. I miss them.

  I wipe the tears from my face and get up. I try not to be mad with Mum. Why would she remember? It’s not like it’s my birthday.

  I think about the parties that Hana and I had when we were kids: racing through tunnels or diving into ball pits at the play centre, splashing in the pirate ship or whizzing down flumes at the swimming pool, stuffing ourselves with doughnuts and screaming on rides at the theme park. By the time I get to the kitchen, I manage to muster a smile for Mum.

  She is simultaneously wolfing down toast and applying eyeshadow. ‘I’m guessing you’re heading over to Jasmine’s today?’

  I nod, grab some junk mail and write: We’re going to make camping plans!