by Maria Farrer
“Hey, Simon, it’s me.”
“Hey, me. Don’t tell me … you’re running late.”
“Worse. Dad’s grounded me before the race tomorrow.”
I hear muffled swearing, as if he’s put his hand over the mouthpiece.
“That’s great,” he says into the phone, his voice sarcastic. “Bloody typical.”
“You know how he is.”
“Yeah.” There’s a short silence.
“I’m sorry.”
In the pause that follows, I imagine Simon at the other end of the phone.
“Hey, look, never mind. We’ll go another time.” I can hear the flat disappointment in his voice.
“Maybe once the next week or so is over?” I say. “Things might be easier then.”
“Yep.”
“See you on Tuesday then? At the café?”
“OK. Bye.”
“Aren’t you going to wish me luck for tomorrow?”
But the phone’s gone dead. I stare at it then thump it on to the bed. It’s times like these that I wish, beyond anything, that Liam was still alive – the nice Liam. The Liam where I could still fling open his bedroom door, in true drama-queen fashion, and rave about the injustices of my life and he’d sit there, watching, until I’d got it all out of my system. And then he’d make me laugh and laugh until the world was right again. Oh, God. I lean forward as thoughts jumble in my head. I fold my arms across my stomach, trying to squeeze away the pain. Grief hurts. Sometimes I love Liam so much that I think my heart will burst and sometimes I burn up with anger for the mess he’s left me in. Either way, whether I want to hug him or beat him up, he’s not there.
Either way, I miss him.
Either way it would be better if it was me who was dead.
The race is over. I stare out of the car window as Dad and I drive home in a silence as empty as the trophy cabinet. I’ve said sorry about a hundred times. I actually came close to winning and that makes it worse. I was beaten in the last 200 metres, overtaken by four people in the final sprint. Dad refused to stay for the prize-giving.
My phone pings and Dad glares at it. It’s the first time he’s shown any awareness that I’m in the car with him. It’s an unknown number.
Party at my place on Saturday. BYO sleeping bag and drink. Bring friend if u want. X Kelly
Kelly? I frown at my phone. Saturday? Is this some kind of sick joke? She must remember what day Saturday is. I haven’t heard from Kelly in ages. I think she only played at being my friend because she fancied Liam. Why else would she dump me like a hot potato when he died?
I look at the text again. Perhaps I’m being unfair. It wasn’t quite as simple as that – nowhere near as simple, in fact. This time last year, Kelly’s older brother, Tyler, shared the podium with Liam at prize-giving. Silver and gold in the half marathon. Liam won by less than a metre. They were best mates, even though Tyler was in the year below. They were forever training together, pushing each other further and faster. The rest of the time they’d lock themselves in Liam’s room, playing music or gaming, the volume turned up so loud that they were oblivious to everything and everyone else. I hated the way they locked me out.
It was Tyler who was with Liam when he died.
I’ve never seen Dad lose it like he did that day at the hospital. He was screaming – screaming at the doctors and screaming at Tyler – forcing him to go over and over what happened. Dad wouldn’t accept that Liam had simply collapsed. There was a huge scene, Gran and Mum trying to calm him down, doctors, nurses. And Tyler, white with shock.
“If you did anything,” Dad kept saying to Tyler. “Anything…”
I should’ve stuck up for Tyler. I knew he wasn’t to blame. Liam had suffered massive heart failure. It was very rare and very unlucky. That’s the word they kept using, “unlucky”. The shame and guilt of it engulfs me all over again.
I glance at Dad as he drives, his mouth slack, his smile muscles out of practice. Liam is dead and now Dad’s left with me – a useless reminder every day of what he’s lost.
Dad told everyone that it was Tyler Dawson’s fault. Tyler was a bad influence. Why were he and Liam such good friends anyway? Why hadn’t he come to the funeral? Dad took that as a sign of Tyler’s guilt. Dad said he’d always known the Dawsons were trouble.
I didn’t hear from Kelly again and, not long after, the Dawsons moved away. Rumours spread and people started to talk: Tyler and Liam had been seen bunking off school, Kelly was pregnant and Liam was the father, Tyler was supplying Liam with drugs and Liam had overdosed. The rumours became more and more wild. I tried not to take any notice. But what if there was a grain of truth? After all, I’d heard them arguing the evening before he died.
I pull up my knees and hug them close to my chest.
Whatever anyone says, it made no sense that someone as fit as Liam could have a heart attack; how a fatal medical condition could appear from nowhere. Did he know? Is that what he was hiding from me – was he too ashamed to admit he had a problem? Or was it something else? If only Liam had talked to me.
I stare at Kelly’s message. Why now?
Then I look at Dad and sense a small shift inside me.
Why not now? Just because Dad hates the Dawsons, it doesn’t mean I have to.
Gran thinks Kelly’s party is a great idea. She’s trailing round after me, making sure I give all the pots in her garden a good water. “It’s time you started going out a bit more,” she says.
“Even if it’s Kelly?” I try to reach a hanging basket without pouring water all over my head.
Gran pauses. “It must have been terrible for that poor brother of hers. He and Liam were very close. To be honest, I think your dad was a bit heavy-handed. Do you still see Tyler at the running club?”
I shake my head. The last time I saw Tyler run, he was leaving the hospital on the day Liam died. He didn’t seem to know which direction to head in. He caught my eye for a millisecond, took a couple of steps, then jumped a low fence and sprinted off. I’d never have caught up with him even if I’d tried.
“If Mum and Dad find out I’m going to a party at Kelly’s, they’ll kill me.” For some reason I smile. Somewhere inside, the opportunity to do exactly the opposite of what they’d want is attractive.
“But they’re not going to find out because they’re not going to be here, are they?” Gran’s voice is bland and neutral, as if she’s discussing the weather. “I won’t tell them if you don’t.” She winks and then surveys her small garden. I shake the last few drops of water out of the can. Mum once told me that Gran had a reputation as a troublemaker when she was young. It’s not hard to believe sometimes.
“So you really do think I should go then?” I ask.
“It’s your decision, Amber. As long as Simon is with you, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
I’ve invited Simon. Who else was I going to ask? But I’m not sure he is going to be with me, though I haven’t mentioned this to Gran. It’s his sister’s birthday this week and they’re having a family party on Saturday night – Simon’s not sure he’ll be able to get away, or that’s what he says. It all sounds a bit vague and I have a feeling he’s just paying me back.
Gran appears deep in thought. At last she says, “I don’t think Liam would want to see you sitting around moping. He’d prefer to see you out having fun.”
“I can’t remember how to have fun.”
Gran puts her arm around my shoulders and gives me quick squeeze. “It’s time you got back into practice, then.”
I suppose she’s right, but I’m not sure the anniversary of my brother’s death is perfect timing.
June 27th. The day I’ve been dreading.
It’s 8.06 when I wake up. The numbers shine out from my phone.
Emptiness.
That’s the first thing I sense – the emptiness of the h
ouse.
I lift my head then let it flop back down on my pillow and blink a few times, thoughts going this way and that, as I try to shape the day.
Mum and Dad left early to avoid the weekend traffic and, I’m guessing, the opportunity for Mum to get drunk. I should’ve gone to Gran’s last night, but I thought I wanted to wake up here this morning. Now I’m not so sure.
I reach for Liam’s stone and his voice rings clear in my head. I try to blank it out, but I can’t.
“What the hell’s got into you, Amber? I can’t believe you stole my stone.”
The words from that phone call will stay with me for ever.
“You look after it with your life and you give it back. If you let anything happen to it, I’ll never forgive you.”
I slip the leather lanyard over my head and slide the knot to tighten it, feeling the weight of the stone round my neck. I am looking after it with my life, I won’t let anything happen to it. But now I can’t give it back and Liam can never forgive me. I just wanted him to talk to me, that’s all. I never meant for anything to happen.
I kick off the covers, stand up and open the curtains. The sun streams in and I let the warmth pour over my body, breathing it in. Was it sunny on the day Liam died? Why don’t I know?
My head tells me to keep walking past Liam’s bedroom door and go straight downstairs. My feet have a mind of their own. They drag me into Mum’s room and towards the drawer where she hides the key to his room. I feel under her sweaters until my fingers close around the familiar metal shape.
Liam didn’t always have a lock on his door. Not until he complained to Dad that I kept barging in; that he had no privacy. That was rubbish. I never barged in.
I put my head against his door, telling myself not to go in, then slowly turn the key.
The room is grey, bare and still.
It’s not Liam’s room any more, not in any real sense.
The day after the funeral, Mum took all Liam’s stuff to the bottom of the garden and burnt it. There must have been things she couldn’t burn because I heard her tell Dad she’d taken them to the dump. I’ll never forget the smell of smoke on Mum’s clothes, the burn marks on the wooden fence, the pile of cinders and ash, Dad’s face.
I stare out of Liam’s window. Even now there’s a rough circle of raw, blackened earth where the bonfire used to be. Nothing wants to grow there. Why did she have to destroy everything?
I’m seized by an overpowering urge to smash the silence.
I jump on to the bed and I bounce and whoop like we did when we were small and Dad used to go mad at us. Each time my feet hit the mattress, a spray of dust rises and twinkles in the air, and Liam’s stone clunks against my skin. I laugh. For a moment I think I hear Liam laughing too and that stops me. It stops me, it folds me up and then it creates a pain so intense across my chest that I think I might be dying too. I flatten myself on to his bed and cry and cry until my sleeves are soggy and my head is thick with misery – until I can’t cry any more.
“I was going to give it back,” I whisper into his mattress. “But it wouldn’t have made any difference. It was your heart that was the problem. That’s what the doctors said.” I want him to hear me. “It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was your heart.” I say it over and over, hammering my fists on to the yellowing pillow. “It was your heart, it was your heart…”
When I find the strength to look up, the dust has settled and the sun is still shining. I know he hasn’t heard me. Of course he hasn’t. He’s dead.
A loud bang followed by the sound of swearing comes from next door – that crazy dog of theirs knocking over the bin again. Next door, life is normal. In here it isn’t and I need to get out. By keeping Liam’s door closed, I can pretend he’s on a long holiday, that someday soon he’ll come back and I can say sorry and things will be all right again. By locking the door, I can lock away reality.
I decide to go over to Gran’s sooner rather than later. Packing is an effort when you’re not thinking straight and any enthusiasm I had for Kelly’s party has gone. I stare into my cupboard. Kelly’s always top-to-toe cool. God knows where she gets the money from. I open my bag and chuck in jeans, T-shirt, warm sweater, clean underwear and a toothbrush. I scrabble around for some make-up then recheck Kelly’s text. Sleeping bag – don’t have one. Drink – presumably alcoholic. For once, I’m thankful for Mum. I spend so much time trying to get rid of her bottles that I know all her hiding places. I hate the taste of alcohol. It reminds me of the smell of Mum’s breath, the acid vomit, the dirty sheets. Still, it wouldn’t be cool to arrive at Kelly’s empty-handed. It takes me longer than I expect to find a bottle and I have to give Dad credit for his thoroughness. Luckily, he didn’t think to check the “new” orange squash bottle. She thinks she’s fooled me with that one, but she hasn’t. I unscrew the top and take a sniff. Who says vodka doesn’t smell? I shove it in my bag.
I wrap a scarf round my neck to cover the stone and check in the mirror to make sure no one can see it. I leave the house, lock the door and zip the keys carefully into the inside pocket of my overnight bag. I’m acutely aware of everything and everyone. Almost exactly this time, a year ago, Liam left this house and he never came back. I relive his last steps.
What was going through his mind?
At the bus stop I hold the secret of Liam’s death inside me. No one else here knows what day it is today. I wonder what sadness each of these people are carrying around with them, because they all look pretty miserable.
Then again, the bus is very late.
Kelly lives way over the other side of town and Gran’s offered to drive me.
“You’re looking very nice,” she says as I come down the stairs. She’d say that whatever I looked like. I don’t feel nice. I feel dull and uninspiring, in need of new clothes. Everything I own has memories attached to it: things Liam liked, things he hated, things I wore when we went certain places. The T-shirt I’m wearing now – Liam had one almost exactly the same. We laughed about it at the time. Sometimes I have a strange sensation of becoming my brother. Maybe I’m not yet ready to let him go, or maybe he’s not prepared to let me go.
I wish more than anything that Simon and I could arrive at Kelly’s together. I’m nervous on my own. What if I don’t know anyone? Will anyone talk to me? Will Simon turn up at all?
Getting to Kelly’s takes an age. Gran managed to find me an old sleeping bag and the stink of mothballs fills the car. We follow the calm voice of the satnav. It’s one of those ones you are supposed to stick to the windscreen – except Gran got it second-hand and it doesn’t really stick any more. So I hold it in my lap and wait for the inevitable words, You have reached your destination.
“What number?” asks Gran, peering at the doors. It’s a pretty rough street, rougher than where the Dawsons used to live round us. Gran’s face gives away nothing, but I wonder if she’s having second thoughts about letting me come.
“I won’t park right outside,” she says. “It would only embarrass you.”
“Don’t be silly,” I laugh, “you’re not an embarrassing kind of Gran.” If Dad was here now, he’d be hammering on Kelly’s door, demanding to see her mother. But Dad wouldn’t be here because he wouldn’t let me anywhere near the Dawsons’ house. The thought makes me determined to have a good time.
“Make sure Simon looks after you,” she says. “Do you want to wait for him?”
I shake my head.
“And you know you can ring me at any time.”
I nod.
“I mean it, Amber – any time at all.”
Her worrying makes me more nervous. “I’ll be fine,” I say.
I lean over to give Gran a kiss then let myself out of the car. I grab my stuff from the back and kick the door shut with my foot.
“Have a lovely time,” Gran calls out of the window. “And I’ll pick
you up at eleven tomorrow unless I hear from you otherwise.”
“OK.”
Gran gives a little wave and drives off. Too late to change my mind now. I hitch the sleeping bag under my arm and head towards Kelly’s door.
Number 43. There’s a window open at the front and I can hear voices inside – not many by the sounds of things. I ring but no one answers so I knock loudly. The door is opened by a tall, pretty girl I don’t recognize. I hope I haven’t got the wrong place. She looks me up and down.
“Is this Kelly’s house?” I say.
“Depends who’s asking.”
“Amber,” squeals Kelly from over the girl’s shoulder. She comes and takes my hand, dragging me towards the kitchen. I nearly drop my bags in the process and she tells me to chuck them on a pile in the corner. I keep my small bag on me, looped across my body.
Kelly’s looking great and I kick myself for not making more of an effort – though I’d never get anywhere near the way she’s done her hair and make-up. It must’ve taken hours. The others are all dressed up too and it makes me feel doubly awkward. Kelly drapes one arm around my shoulders and flies through the names of the girls standing in the kitchen. They hardly bother to look at me. They’re all too busy sipping their drinks and appearing somewhere between cool and bored. I try to memorize the names. I think the one in the shorts is called Zoe. I’m glad Kelly seems so pleased to see me.
She tells me there are masses of people coming, though there aren’t many here yet. There’s a group lounging around in the sitting room and the rest of us are with Kelly in the kitchen. No one seems to know quite what to do or say. Zoe keeps flicking her hair. Two of the group are whispering and they glance in my direction. I look away, my cheeks hot.