Unspeakable

by Abbie Rushton

  OK … OK, stop it. Get a grip. I know what to do. I have to get Jasmine away from the smoke. Just the thought of it brings more tears to my eyes. I don’t know if I have the strength to get myself out of this, let alone Jasmine. I’m not leaving her, though. I will not go through that again. I will not!

  The fire is getting closer, its heat scorching my back. I need to move. Now.

  I can’t stand, but I can shuffle backwards on my knees. I hook my hands under Jasmine’s arms. So heavy! Her head lolls sickeningly to the side. I drag her a couple of feet, then have to put her down. This is going to take ages. Too long! The fire is speeding towards us, engulfing everything in its path. But I grit my teeth and move her again.

  Jasmine’s lips are moving. Her eyelids quiver.

  Jasmine! Don’t pass out again.

  I shake her, say her name. I lean towards her ear and say it again, louder.

  But she’s gone.

  I haul her a few more feet, but I have to stop. I sit back on my knees, her head in my lap. My shoulders are aching, my arms trembling. I don’t think I can pull her much further. I start to sob, my tears dropping on to Jasmine’s still face.

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  A shaking, hot hand finds mine. Jasmine tilts her head back. My eyes lock with hers. That look is all I need. I squeeze her hand, muster all the strength I have left, and stand, then heave Jasmine to her feet. I wrap one arm around her waist. Her body is limp and she leans heavily against me, but I won’t let go.

  We stagger away from the fire, one tiny step at a time. The smoke thins. I’m doubled over, wracked with coughs, but we’re almost there. We push ourselves on, until the air is fresh and clear. I gulp it in, more grateful for it than anything in my life.

  We collapse on our backs and lie there, filling our lungs between coughs. There’s the distant wail of a siren.

  ‘Megan?’ Jasmine’s voice is hoarse, tight with fear. ‘Are you OK? Megan, please. Just nod or something.’

  Am I OK? I don’t know. I feel as if I’ve been gargling with shards of glass. My muscles are throbbing, my lips stinging, my chest sore, but I’m just about OK. I nod.

  There are smudges of ash on Jasmine’s face. Her hair is sticking up all over the place and her eyes are bloodshot and wild. ‘God, Megan. You saved me! I can’t believe you saved me. You were so brave.’

  I wish I could tell her not to talk – she should rest. But telling Jasmine not to talk is like telling the fire not to burn. She coughs, then the rest of her words fall out in one great rush. ‘I called the fire brigade. It happened so fast. I couldn’t stop it. I tried to use a branch to smother the flames, but that caught light too and I burnt my hands.’

  I wipe my watery eyes and look at her palms, which are a mess of red, seared skin. Before I can think, I lift myself up and kiss her fingers. Jasmine’s lower lip drops. For a moment, we just stare at each other. The fire fades into the background. I forget how bad I feel, how every breath stretches my lungs tight.

  Jasmine looks away. ‘I’m sorry I left you.’

  I shake my head. We don’t need to do this now. Just rest. We can talk later.

  But she’s not looking at me. ‘Owen and I had a fight. You were right about him. I was just so flattered that anyone would find me attractive. I—’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ I murmur.

  Jasmine gasps, eyes wide with awe. ‘What did you say?’

  I open my mouth again. Nothing. But Jasmine is looking at me. Waiting.

  Don’t.

  No. I’m sick of being a prisoner in my own body. It’s my turn now. My time to speak.

  ‘Say it again, Megan,’ Jasmine whispers. ‘I knew you’d find your voice. You’re amazing. Say it again. I want to hear you speak.’

  My jaw resists, but I force each syllable out. ‘You’re beautiful.’

  It’s hardly even a noise. My voice is husky, my pronunciation poor, but I know she understands.

  Jasmine lunges forward and kisses me roughly, pushing hard to mould her mouth to mine.

  My lips respond in an instant, brushing over the folds and furrows of her skin. There’s a burst of warmth inside me and my hand winds through her hair, drawing her closer. She tastes of smoke and salty tears.

  Jasmine is trembling. I wrap my arms around her, unwilling to break away for even a second. But it’s her who ends it, jerking her head back. ‘Megan,’ she says, eyes pooling with tears as she touches her lips in disbelief. ‘What are we doing?’

  There’s a shout behind us. A team of firemen jog through the grass. Three of them charge straight past like stampeding animals, the ground vibrating beneath their boots, while one stops to ask if we’re all right.

  For once, Jasmine has no words. Wrenching her gaze from mine, she nods.

  ‘Is there anyone else in there?’

  Jasmine is staring at the ground. I have to force myself to look at him and shake my head.

  The fireman barks into a radio to request an ambulance.

  As we wait for it to arrive, Jasmine is silent. She’s pale, too. Whether it’s shock from the fire, or from the kiss, I’m not sure. Her words bounce around my head like a solitary sock in a tumble dryer: What are we doing? I can still feel her lips, remember how she tasted, the way her body felt pressed against mine.

  I knew what I was doing. Didn’t she? Was she just caught up in it all? Did she only want to be comforted? Is she regretting it?

  Whatever Jasmine’s thinking, we can’t go back now. Everything’s changed.

  *

  The next few hours pass in a whirl of oxygen masks, stretchers and sirens. When I get to hospital, I’m whisked away for tests. I close my eyes and block it all out. An image of Jasmine’s face is stamped on the back of my eyelids: that conflicted, stunned expression. It’s all I see. All I think about.

  In my cubicle, they turn on the TV and let me watch the news. It’s taken hours, but after several helicopter dumps of water, the firemen have got it under control. They’re not mentioning a cause yet. I wonder how much Jasmine will say. I remember Owen messing around with that lighter. Did he do it deliberately, to try to scare her? I wonder what they argued about. I wonder what she’s thinking now.

  I want to go home. I want to wrap myself in my own comfy duvet, not this clinical, scratchy thing. I want to smell Mum’s coconut conditioner, instead of antiseptic. I want to get out of this horrible gown and put my bunny rabbit pyjamas on.

  Apparently they’ve struggled to get hold of Mum. Her stupid mobile’s always out of battery!

  The nurses gently ask me questions. Jasmine must’ve given them my name when we arrived. They’re puzzled by my lack of response, but don’t press me. I hear one saying that it must be shock. I almost laugh. She doesn’t know the half of it!

  Not everyone is quite so understanding. In the early evening, my curtain is ripped open by a rotund policewoman with a crop of dark hairs hanging over her upper lip. At first, she is nice – smiling and asking how I am – but it’s not long before she loses patience. Her bushy brows draw into a frown and she repeats the same questions over and over again.

  ‘Playing dumb isn’t going to help you, young lady.’

  There are two specks of spittle rolling around the corners of her mouth. I can’t stop watching them, terrified they’re going to fly out and hit me in the face.

  ‘All I want is the truth. We’ll find out eventually, you know. The fire brigade have teams of investigators who can check these things. You’ve got nothing to gain by staying silent.’

  Her interrogation is interrupted by a yell that echoes down the ward. ‘Take your hands off me! I don’t care if Jeremy bloody Kyle is interviewing her, I’ve told you, she won’t say anything.’

  Mum swipes back the curtain and glowers at the policewoman. ‘You leave my daughter alone. She’s not some hooligan who goes around starting fires. How dare you treat her like a suspect when she’s lying there with an oxygen mask on?’

  Another police officer – a
wiry man with a dodgy tan and silver hair – steps forward and calmly tells Mum that, if she doesn’t lower her voice, she’ll be asked to leave. Mum harrumphs at this, but fixes the woman with a steely, mascara-rimmed stare. ‘My daughter’s a mute. If you don’t believe me, check her GP records. It’s all there.’

  Moustache-woman pauses. ‘Well,’ she says crisply, ‘I’ll take a written statement.’

  ‘Not until she’s rested,’ snaps Mum. ‘Look at the state of her! She’s exhausted.’

  But the police officer insists, and I agree, just so Mum will stop making a scene. The policewoman hovers over me as I complete an official form, eyeing my every movement as if she’s some kind of human lie detector. I don’t mention that Owen was there. If Jasmine wants to drop him in it, it’s up to her.

  After it’s done, and the police have left, Mum launches into a barrage of her own questions. How am I feeling? Too hot? Too cold? Does anything hurt? Do I know what happened? Did I see who started it?

  I shrug. Not the response she’s looking for, but I’m tired.

  Mum tells me I look awful. She tries to say it with some sympathy, but it doesn’t quite come out right. I look away. She heads off in search of coffee and chocolate, and probably a sneaky cigarette.

  I listen to the news again, but they’re just repeating the same information. They say the fire was reported by two campers. They don’t give our names. I switch the TV off and catch whispered voices coming from behind the curtain. It’s Mum and Eleni.

  ‘I knew something like this would happen! We should never have let them go,’ Eleni says. ‘They could’ve been killed!’

  ‘They’re OK,’ Mum replies. ‘No point stressing about what might have happened.’

  ‘Jasmine’s barely said a word. I’ve never seen her like this. How’s Megan?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell with her.’

  ‘I’d better get back to Jasmine. Give Megan my love.’

  Mum stays and chats to me for a while. A nurse pops in to tell us I won’t have to stay overnight, which is a relief. Mum helps me get ready to go, but I pause and scribble a note to ask if she knows where Jasmine is.

  We find her two cubicles down. She’s staring straight ahead, into nothingness, responding to Eleni’s questions in a monotone. When she notices I’m there, her eyes flick towards mine, then quickly move away.

  Mum starts to walk towards Jasmine’s bed, but I stop her, shaking my head and backing away. Mum frowns, but follows me out, shouting over her shoulder, ‘Feel better soon, Jasmine.’

  ‘Have you two had a fight?’ she asks as soon as we’re out of earshot. ‘What happened?’

  I shake my head. Mum sighs, then starts to rant about the cost of coffee at the hospital. I tune out. I can’t shake that dull, dead expression on Jasmine’s face. My eyes blur with unshed tears. She wants nothing to do with me.

  You’ve ruined it. Just like you ruin everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dear Jasmine,

  I don’t know where to start. My thoughts are all tangled and I can’t find a beginning or end to them. So I’m sorry if what comes out is a mess. But I just need to get it out.

  I can’t stand not knowing what you’re thinking. This last week has been horrible. Could you not have come to the door when I called for you? I just wanted to see you. I understand you’re confused. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.

  If you think it was a mistake, you’re wrong. If you think I was just caught up in the moment, I wasn’t. It was real for me. I’ve wanted it for a long time. Everything changed when I met you. I’ve started to speak again, and I know you’ve played a big part in that. The truth is, when you kissed me, I think I was happier than I’ve ever been. I can’t stop thinking about it. Or you.

  I miss you so much. Will you come round this week? I won’t push anything.

  Please? Can we just try?

  Megan xxx

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The doorbell rings a couple of days after I deliver the letter. I’m still in bed, but I sit bolt upright, my heart hammering. Jasmine?

  I hear the tap of Mum’s heels as she goes to answer it. I scramble out of bed and fly to the top of the stairs. The door’s opening. Mum’s saying hello. Who is it? I can’t see!

  ‘No, thank you, we don’t need any knives sharpening.’

  Mum shuts the door firmly and stamps up the stairs. ‘Bloody cheek, calling at this time! I’m going to be late for work. Have you seen my phone? I had it last night when I … Megan? What’s wrong?’

  I try to retreat to my room, but Mum grabs my arm and twists me round. I slump forward, nestling my neck in the crook of her shoulder. Mum’s perfume catches in my throat as I breathe between sobs.

  ‘Hey, what’s all this about?’ she asks. ‘It’s Jasmine, isn’t it? Look, whatever went on between you two, you’ll sort it out. You’ll be fine. Honest.’

  I unwrap my arms, wipe the tears away.

  Mum strokes my cheek. ‘If you ever want to …’ I can almost hear her brain whirring as she searches for an alternative to ‘talk’, ‘… discuss anything, you know you can come to me, right?’

  You wouldn’t dare.

  I shudder, swallow heavily.

  ‘Megan? Did you hear what I said?’

  I nod, give her a peck on the cheek. Then I lead her to the bathroom, where she left her phone last night.

  Mum laughs. ‘What’s it doing there?’

  I think she was bidding for something on eBay while she was shaving her legs.

  Mum shakes her head. ‘What am I like?’ She ruffles my hair. ‘What would I do without you?’

  I shrug, wave goodbye, then head off to get ready. I’m going out for emergency chocolate supplies, then I plan on spending the rest of the day on the sofa.

  I take the long route to the shop. Well, it’s more of a detour, via Jasmine’s house. I slow my steps as I walk past, eyeing the windows hopefully, but there’s no sign of anyone. I imagine she’s inside, just feet away from me. I wonder what she’s doing now. I stay a few minutes, until I’m verging on stalker-territory, then I mooch off to the shop.

  The moment I step through the door, I see Sadie, Lindsay and Grace huddled around the magazines. Sadie is sniggering at some pictures of a drunken celebrity flashing her knickers. I start to back out. Too late. Sadie spots me and sidles over, Lindsay and Grace close behind.

  ‘Megan Thomas. Aren’t we just the talk of Brookby?’ Sadie says, swiping a newly cut fringe from her eyes. ‘Drama just seems to follow you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You some kind of pyromaniac?’ Lindsay asks.

  ‘Megan didn’t start it,’ Grace says quietly. ‘She was just there.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Sadie snaps. She turns back to me. ‘So come on, Megan. Give us the gossip. Did someone start it deliberately?’

  I shuffle backwards out of the door, colliding with someone behind me. I spin round, look up. Seriously? This just gets worse!

  ‘Sorry,’ Luke mutters, neatly sidestepping me.

  My gaze sweeps down to the pavement. When I look up, he’s gone, and his dad and Simon are following him inside.

  ‘Hi, Megan!’ Simon says through a mouthful of crisps. I manage a wave. Luke’s dad says nothing. He’s a big guy. Not just tall, but brawny, with a square head and two mean, squinty eyes.

  I lean against the shop window. How did that just happen? The two people I least want to see, and they’re both here! And the one person I do want to see has completely vanished. I need to leave. Sod the chocolate.

  Sadie comes back out, tearing the wrapper off a packet of gum. ‘You still here? Waiting for your boyfriend?’ She braces her hands against the window, one each side of my head. I can smell the sickly cherry scent of her lip gloss. ‘So what’s the deal with Jasmine and Owen? I heard they broke up.’

  Before I can stop myself, I glance up. Really?

  ‘Shame. I guess she couldn’t handle him. He’s a bit of a live wire.’

&
nbsp; Lindsay smirks.

  Luke and his family emerge and head for a carparked against the pavement. Simon and Luke’s dad get in, and Luke is about to when he glances up, sees us. He pauses, the door open. Then he walks over, shaking his head as if he knows it’s a bad idea.

  ‘Why don’t you leave Megan alone?’ he says to Sadie.

  Lindsay eyes him coolly. ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘I’m just saying …’

  Sadie whips round. ‘What’s your problem?’ she snarls. ‘I’m just talking to her.’

  ‘Only because she doesn’t talk back. Leave her alone.’

  A glow of gratitude spreads through my stomach. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.

  Luke’s dad beeps the horn. Luke tenses, but doesn’t look away.

  ‘Why don’t you piss off, Luke? Why are you sticking up for her anyway? Oh, I know!’ Sadie draws a finger to her shiny lips, as if she’s just had a revelation. ‘It’s because you have a massive crush on her. God knows why.’

  Luke’s face flares up. ‘Evil cow,’ he mutters.

  The horn beeps again. ‘Luke!’ his dad bellows. Luke flinches.

  I don’t want him to go. I want to sort stuff out, make things better between us. It’s bad enough that I’ve screwed up everything with Jasmine. I don’t want to lose Luke as well.

  But he can’t stay. His dad is about to pop a vein or something.

  ‘Run along now,’ Sadie says. ‘There’s a good boy.’

  Luke reaches the car in two quick, angry strides, wrenches the door open, then slams it behind him. Inside, his dad starts to yell, and the wheels screech as he pulls off and flies down the road.

  Sadie yawns and stretches. ‘Come on,’ she says to Lindsay and Grace. ‘It’s boring here.’

  I watch them leave, then let out a shaky sigh. Why did Luke do that? Why not let Sadie rip shreds out of me? Maybe he’s not so angry any more. I should text him, say thanks.