The Forevers

by Chris Whitaker

And then the roar.

  Thermonuclear.

  The Earth so broken not a thing would survive.

  Mrs Abbott came out of the hairdressers’, the foils still in her hair as she looked at the sky, then the ground. ‘Just a tremor.’

  Dog walkers moved on, beach girls lit a fire as a plane crossed their sky, the air thick despite the shine of rainwater on the road.

  Mae stood in the haloed shadow of the church clock tower and watched the creeping minute hand cut swathes from her life.

  A board sat outside the newsagent’s, a bold red 31 splashed across it.

  Beside was West Video, where Mae worked shifts alternating between flipping through magazines and pointing prescient summer people towards the ARMAGEDDON display, where they could get their fix of last-gasp salvation against a banging score.

  An old Vauxhall pulled onto the driveway of the rectory.

  ‘Did you feel it?’ Mrs Baxter said, climbing out. ‘Global warming, Mae. It’s like we’ve broken our world.’

  Mae opened the boot and grabbed a shopping bag.

  ‘Pineapple this week, gone like it never was.’

  ‘I don’t remember the taste,’ Mae said.

  ‘I saw you in the police station. Are you in trouble again?’

  Mae lived with the judgement, no longer feeling it.

  ‘Is it true what they’re saying?’

  ‘Abi Manton.’

  ‘Lord.’ Mrs Baxter wore emotion like a badge. ‘Three children.’

  Mae opened the garage. The boxes were stacked. Crates of food rose floor to ceiling, packets of rice, cereal, tins of soup and vegetables. Freezer chests lined the far wall.

  ‘He takes it to the shelter in Newport,’ Mrs Baxter said.

  They turned as an ambulance crawled up the hill, no lights flashing. Mrs Baxter dipped her head.

  Mae walked out onto the street as it passed, her face mirrored in the smoked glass. She thought of Abi in there, zipped into a bag. She wondered where they’d take her; if they’d lay her on a cold metal table, slice her open and see there was nothing inside.

  ‘Jesus,’ Mrs Baxter whispered. ‘She was seventeen. There’ll be nothing left to save. Nothing at all.’

  Inside Mae climbed the creaking staircase and found Felix by the window, his forehead pressed to the glass. He stood six five, wore glasses too large for his face and was the kind of skinny that had old ladies trying to feed him after Sunday service.

  ‘It’s not true, is it?’ he said. ‘Tell me it isn’t true.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Jesus, Mae. What the hell is going on in this town? She jumped? That’s what I heard. But then Sullivan said she was pushed. And Jeet said …’ He looked down at her, eyes as dark as his skin. ‘Jeet said you found her.’

  A group gathered by the church. Abi’s friends huddled as their mothers stared off towards the cliffs.

  ‘He also said you were with Hugo Prince. Don’t tell me you were –’

  ‘Maybe I was.’ She said it coldly, her eyes on the hurt and the pain across the street.

  ‘Sleeping with the enemy. You know he hangs around with Liam Carter. And you know Liam goes out with –’

  ‘Candice Harper.’

  ‘And she should be going out with –’

  ‘Felix Baxter. But he’s too much of a pussy to talk to her.’

  ‘I’m biding my time.’

  ‘Because we have so much of it.’

  Felix ran a hand through hair slicked back at the top and falling to tight curls over his neck. A poster of Barry White filled the far wall.

  Sergeant Walters arrived at the church. Mae guessed he confirmed it because a Lycra-clad blonde crumpled as her husband rushed to prop her up.

  ‘People are falling apart,’ Felix said.

  ‘They weren’t whole to begin with.’

  ‘What happened to our Forever?’ He looked down at the solitary F tattooed on his wrist.

  ‘You cried before I could finish.’

  ‘You said stick and poke, nothing about actual needles. And they weren’t tears, I told you. The ink won’t take. My skin is too pure for it. My father’s the goddam Reverend. That practically makes me an angel.’

  Mae grabbed a copy of Playboy from beneath the bed and held it up. ‘Angelic.’

  ‘I just read the articles. Not much else I can do. I can’t … any more.’

  She followed his eye to the small, wooden crucifix above his bed. The Reverend’s latest attempt to capture his son’s lost soul.

  ‘He’s fixed it with glue. My father is a sadist.’ He reached for a small bottle, shook out a pill and swallowed it dry.

  Mae didn’t know exactly what was in them, just that Felix took one every night, and that one pill was powerful enough to keep him from sleeping.

  The theory was as simple as it was stupid. Time was running out, Felix didn’t want to waste a single moment of it.

  He snatched the magazine from her and looked longingly at Vanna White. ‘’87 was a fine vintage.’

  ‘Bathroom?’

  ‘Mother Teresa watches down from above the toilet.’

  Mae shrugged. ‘She’s bound to have seen worse on her travels. Lepers and shit –’

  ‘What if there’s a murderer in town? What if he comes for me next? I can’t die a virgin, Mae. That’d be the real tragedy.’

  Felix checked his watch then switched on the television. Morales stood before a dozen microphones as cameras flashed in his eyes. He raised a quietening hand.

  We don’t stand by and wait. We have the most capable minds studying every part of her. The probe we landed, it sends back data every second, and from that data we have formulated Saviour 10.

  It will be different. There will be casualties but the devastation won’t be total.

  ‘I’d rather he just said we’re all doomed, go have some fun,’ Felix said, frowning at the television.

  ‘Panic sex, it’s your only hope now.’

  ‘I’ve got Candice right where I want her.’

  ‘Unaware of your existence?’

  ‘I just need to summon my inner Barry White and then she’ll –’

  Mae silenced him by reaching into her bag and taking out a piece of paper.

  His mouth fell open. ‘You got it?’

  ‘Printed it during my last shift. A list of every single movie Candice Harper has ever rented.’

  He went to take it but she snatched it back. Felix took a bottle of communion wine from his wardrobe and the exchange was made.

  Mae went back to the window and watched Abi’s parents arrive. Her father, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he looked around like he was in some kind of daze. Abi’s mother was swallowed by the group, all keen to hug the shock out of her.

  And then Mae saw Theodore. Instead of joining them, he crossed the road, dropped his head low and walked away.

  ‘No way she jumped,’ said Felix. ‘Abi was a Forever. Sometimes I miss –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You. There was the Mae before, and she was messed up, but at least she smiled sometimes. She was living.’

  She looked to the sky, mouth tight. ‘So I’m not?’

  ‘You’re existing, Mae. We’ve got, like, no time left, and you just waste each day. Alone. You know he’s out there.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Everyone gets one, and one only. I’m talking gut-wrenching, all-consuming, never never gonna give you up, true love.’ With that Felix turned, blew the dust from a record and closed his eyes to the deep baritone voice.

  Mae turned back to the TV, to a still of Saviour 9, the trail of fire and light like a nebula hanging in the predawn sky.

  ‘I remember the Forevers,’ he said, lying back on the bed and pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘We did it for the creeps and the weirdos.’

  She reached a hand out and felt rain on the rooftop.

  ‘You and Abi, you said we didn’t belong here. So we do belong some place. But I’m scared we don’t have the time to find
it.’

  ‘We were that place.’

  ‘Some days I feel invisible. Candice doesn’t see me. My father doesn’t see me. I bet Barry never had that problem.’ He took off his glasses and yawned.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ she said, as she headed for the door.

  ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’

  ‘And that will be …’

  ‘Thirty days.’

  ‘And sixteen hours.’

  5

  The house was old and maybe once was grander but Mae did not allow herself to remember before.

  Inside, her grandmother followed her through to the tired kitchen. She wore a dressing gown pinched at her skeletal waist, close to gaunt, skin painted her bones like any flesh between would be wasteful. A sky watcher, all day, every day. Mae remembered a time when she was soft, red-cheeked from working her allotment, her kitchen filled with the homely smell of minted lamb and apple pie.

  ‘Mrs Abbott called to say she saw you come out of the police station. What did you do now? Were you on the beach with a boy?’

  Mae said nothing.

  ‘You know there’s a name for girls that do things like that.’ Every cabinet door was opened and slammed. She carried a note pad and pen and kept track of each can and packet, her hand shaking, the writing illegible. ‘Think of your sister.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘This town. You get a name and it sticks, Margaret.’

  Mae hadn’t always hated her given name, but right then it reminded her of her mother, the memory so sharp it hurt.

  ‘My granddaughter, the slut.’

  ‘I didn’t do –’

  Mae wasn’t ready for the slap. It caught her so hard she dropped to her knees, her hair falling over her face.

  She closed her eyes, counted, that’s what she did when she couldn’t take it any more. She counted, and each number brought her nearer to the end.

  ‘Who used a plaster? We had thirteen mediums.’

  ‘Stella grazed her knee,’ Mae said, the sting in her cheek brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘She fell?’

  Mae nodded.

  ‘You have to take her arm.’

  ‘She hates that.’

  ‘Why are you on the floor?’

  Mae took a deep breath. ‘I slipped.’

  ‘A girl died. Is that right? Mrs Abbott said it was Abi Manton. It couldn’t be, she came by here just last night.’

  Mae felt her pulse quicken as she followed her grandmother towards the stairs. A dozen leaflets sat piled by the front door. A hundred more were plastered across the doctor’s surgery. Some nights Mae scanned TV channels, the high numbers rolled live every hour of the day with meditation techniques, deep-breathing exercises and mindfulness.

  ‘She said sorry.’

  Mae looked into her eyes, trying to read her. ‘Abi said sorry?’

  ‘Yes. I asked her to come in. I wanted to make her a hot milk. That always worked when you had a nightmare.’

  ‘A nightmare?’

  ‘Poor girl looked scared to death.’

  Mae stood there beside the peeling paint, her feet on the bare floorboards.

  She cracked the door to her sister’s bedroom, took in the dark walls, the starred ceiling, the papier-mâché planets that hung from wire that criss-crossed the room.

  ‘Did you feel it, Mae? The earth shook again.’

  ‘Yeah, I felt it.’

  They climbed from Stella’s window and lay on the flat roof of the kitchen.

  ‘You know there’s bunkers,’ Stella said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘If you’ve got enough money, they’ll let you in. Or if you’re clever enough, or beautiful enough.’

  ‘That’s bullshit.’

  ‘Teddy Lawson said I’m not pretty enough. And his mum laughed at my clothes. They think I don’t know, because I can’t see. And he said Daisy wouldn’t get in because her daddy has a boyfriend. And he said –’

  ‘One, Teddy Lawson’s mother is a toxic dirtbag. And two, the way you look … your sexuality, your gender, they’re the least interesting things about you.’

  ‘The Prince family are building one,’ Stella said, excitement reaching her words. ‘Missy Wright lives next door and she says they dig all night long. You know his mother has gone.’

  The leavers. Those who said their goodbyes or those that simply tired of the wait and disappeared in search of more. Sometimes Mae wondered what more looked like. Maybe it was a sailing boat in the South Pacific, maybe it was drinking yourself to death in a Vegas hotel room. Whatever it was, it had to be more than sitting in a classroom listening to a weary teacher preach ethics when they’d never mattered less.

  ‘Is it true there’s a dead girl?’ She was eight, too small to speak those words.

  ‘Yes.’

  Mae glanced over at the flat roof next to theirs. She used to lie there across from Abi. They’d try and touch hands but the gap was too vast.

  Do you think we’ll ever stop watching the sky?

  Even if they stop her, we’ll still wish on stars.

  ‘Was it Abi Manton?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mae placed an arm around her sister. Small for her age. Stella wore dark glasses to hide eyes that had never seen, hair cut by Mae, a smile too big for their world. She chose her own clothes, the brightest she could find, a technicolour dream to Mae’s eternal dark.

  ‘Paint the sky for me.’

  ‘The sky is white tonight. The brightest white I’ve ever seen. And the stars are black, like pepper on mashed potato. And the moon … the moon is green like it’s grown grass.’

  ‘Green.’ Stella smiled.

  The silhouette of her, too small, too breakable.

  ‘Sometimes people in class talk about the future,’ Stella said.

  ‘It’s like they don’t know. Does anyone not know?’

  ‘Some kids have parents that lie to them. Would you rather I lied to you?’

  ‘I think maybe Miss Hart has parents like that. She’s getting married in autumn and she tells us about her wedding plans.’

  Mae thought of Stella’s teacher, her smile so fragile, like the coming days would shatter it. ‘It’s a directive. We choose to live. To go on like it isn’t happening, like Morales will save us. That works to a point, and then it stops.’

  ‘And then what happens?’

  ‘I think we’re starting to find out.’

  ‘Those men in the butcher’s. They fought over that piece of steak. Sometimes words are so hard I can feel their edges, their points and their sharpness.’

  Punches had been thrown. It might be the last fillet I ever eat.

  ‘Will you go to the Final?’ Stella said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Felix can teach you to dance.’

  ‘Felix is an idiot.’

  ‘He’s teaching me, for the play. I have to waltz with Prince Charming but Felix keeps making us listen to Barry White.’

  ‘You don’t need a boy to dance with.’

  ‘But it’s in the –’

  ‘Boys make everything worse, Stella. Never forget that.’

  Stella nodded.

  ‘Cinderella, huh? They must think you’re pretty special if you got the lead.’

  ‘A blind Cinderella – they’ll sell more tickets.’ Stella reached out and touched Mae’s face. ‘Your cheek is hot. Did Grandma hit you again?’

  ‘No.’

  She traced her small thumb across the tattoo on Mae’s wrist. ‘Can I be a Forever?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything, Stell.’

  They climbed back through and lay on Stella’s bed.

  ‘Did you find Abi?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Paint her for me.’

  ‘She was wearing white. Her brown hair fanned out. And she had this look on her face … like she was sleeping. But more than that, like she’d found peace. Her lips were curved into the slightest smile. She was the Abi you remember.’

  ‘Did her ey
es look empty like mine?’

  ‘Your eyes are full of life.’

  ‘Was there a time … before?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Was it everything?’

  Mae felt her sister’s small hand find her own. She wanted to tell her yes, it was everything.

  Mae slipped into black jeans and a dark zip-top. She hid her necklace under a scarf, tied up her hair and buried it beneath a baseball cap.

  Streetlights glowed as West slept. The zigzag of bats skimming trees, the distant wave of beach fire.

  Mae walked down the middle of the road like the town belonged only to her.

  Ocean Drive, the road winding above the town, each house punctuated by the water behind, so black it might as well be the edge of her universe.

  The white house was the grandest on a street where grandiose was an art form. Each night she’d stop outside, lose her nerve and choose less intimidating prey.

  The house had long been the subject of rumours. Three summers to build it, kids rode their bikes to the fence and looked on as fully grown trees were craned in. Stella said it belonged to a family of vampires, immortalists who thought nothing of burning millions of pounds before the place was decimated.

  She found footholds in the stone wall, her arms strong, the muscles lean and tight.

  Mae dropped down into another world.

  Lanterns hung from trees that snaked up a twisting driveway.

  She stayed in shadowed borders, rare flowers sweetened the air.

  She passed marble statues of winged children.

  A large fountain erupted in the centre of a sweeping carriage driveway.

  The house could be glimpsed from the water, if you swam out to the second buoy, but here, up close, it felt as if the owners had dared to build something so beautiful it couldn’t possibly be destroyed, like the crime was too great.

  A downstairs window was open to balmy night air.

  She didn’t like to go in when people were there, but time weighed her down now, the press of each minute so acute sometimes she could not breathe.

  Mae crossed fast and kept low, each step carefully measured. She pulled her scarf up over her nose, only her eyes on show as she climbed through the window and found herself in a home office.

  Everything was so crisp and so startlingly white, from the walls to the carpets, for a moment she just stared.

  Mae opened each drawer in a large white desk, found stacks of papers so moved on to the bookshelves. She carried a small bag and shoved in a laptop, stalled by a drinks cabinet, and then she saw it. On the bookshelf, the copy pristine, the half-naked lady on the cover, ‘D.H. Lawrence’ scrawled on the spine.