The Forevers

by Chris Whitaker

‘What did you see?’

  ‘That up close, it’s just colours. Just strokes. And that’s us, Mae. Up close, alone, we’re so nothing, so perfectly nothing.’ He stood, his eyes still on the sky. ‘And you can lift out a single dot of colour, a single person, and no one really notices. Because it’s still a masterpiece. And I’m happy I got to be part of it. Happy I got to sit in one perfect still of an imperfect world.’

  ‘But …?’

  ‘But if you’re not alone, if you matter too much, to too many people, then you don’t just lift out, because you drag them with you.’

  He stepped close to the edge, the slightest breeze and he’d drop.

  ‘Sometimes breathing … if you focus on it. Because you have to do it, it becomes something too hard.’

  She thought about kissing him. ‘I still hate you.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ he said.

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about you.’

  ‘You know too much.’

  ‘I know Abi was a Forever.’

  From her bag she took out her phone and together they looked through Counsellor Jane’s notes.

  There were names at the top, traits at the bottom. The fear was cold, the talk of Selena, of both believing and not really believing they would die.

  Mae smiled at Jeet Patel’s card, the single word, HAPPY, bold against the angst.

  Only one stood out.

  Sullivan Reed. There were some shorthand notes, and then, at the bottom, the name Abi Manton, with a question mark.

  ‘I think I want to die here in this spot,’ Mae said.

  ‘Okay.’

  They sat in silence and felt the universe shrink a little. She did not tell him that the headstone beside that bench belonged to her parents.

  23

  In West Groceries she bought food for Stella and their grandmother. The shelves had been bare for a long time. Things vanished, things Mae could no longer recall.

  ‘Hey.’

  Mae looked up, confused to see Candice working behind the counter.

  Candice read the look. ‘My parents are making me pay for the summer house that burned down. They said it was, like, my fault that boys get obsessed with me. I won’t even have time to work it off if Selena hits us. So what’s the point?’

  Mae placed the groceries on the counter.

  ‘Are you going to the Final?’

  Mae shook her head. ‘You?’

  ‘I guess. Liam hasn’t asked, he just assumes we’ll go together.’

  ‘Everyone does what’s expected of them.’

  ‘Except for the Forevers.’

  Mae said nothing.

  ‘Sometimes it’s just easier being in than being out. You’re cool though, Mae. What you said, what you had with Abi, it was cool.’

  ‘Stop being … nice, the world’s messed up enough already.’

  Candice held a tin up and inspected it. ‘Hotdogs in a can. Gross.’

  ‘That’s better.’

  Mae handed her cash.

  ‘It’s short. You need another pound.’

  Mae searched her pockets, the heat finding her cheeks as Candice watched her. Mae picked up a chocolate bar she’d got for Stella. ‘Can I put this back?’

  Candice shoved it in the bag. ‘We’ll be dead by the time they do stock check.’

  Mae nodded.

  Candice turned back to the small TV behind the counter, leaned back on her stool and chewed her gum.

  Down the high street people were drinking coffee outside Lou’s.

  She gazed in every window, and then she stopped when she saw it.

  West Fine Art.

  The kind of place that opened when the summer people started building and the money flowed into West.

  When she opened the door and stepped inside she was hit by a blast of ice-cold air that prickled her skin.

  It was empty, museum quiet. Polished wood floor, the windows small and arched. She gazed at a couple of paintings, abstract washes of colour, white skies and white water.

  And then she thumbed through prints. Familiar scenes, waterlilies and pearl earrings. She stopped when she came to The Nightmare, the darkness pulled her back to Mr Silver’s office.

  ‘Henry Fuseli.’

  Mae turned.

  The man had a thin moustache, glanced her up and down, then turned back to his newspaper, speaking without looking at her. ‘A few years before he painted it, Fuseli fell for the niece of a friend. He was infatuated. Obsessed. She is mine. I am hers.’

  ‘What happened?’ Mae said, her throat suddenly dry.

  ‘Her father didn’t approve. She married someone else and Fuseli poured his feelings into this painting. People say it’s about sex, I see only lost love.’

  ‘That painting in the window, the beach scene,’ she said.

  He sighed through his nose. ‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘You think I’d hang something like that?’

  ‘It’s important.’

  He bristled, looked at her again and decided he could do without the battle. ‘Our Saturday boy. He has the …’ He motioned to his cheek. ‘I can only assume he has a thing for the artist, because he badgered me relentlessly for a month till I agreed to stock it. And then he said the girl had died and now it’s in the window. We might actually make some money from it. Nothing hikes value like death.’

  ‘Sullivan Reed?’ she said.

  He nodded. Mae felt the adrenaline kick then. ‘Can I talk to him?’

  That nasal sigh again. ‘He works weekends. What day is it today?’

  ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

  ‘I can’t give out his home address.’

  ‘I’ll stay here till you do.’

  The Reed house sat at the end of an overgrown lane. Towering high but seriously rundown, the whitewashed weatherboard was rotten in several places. Mae looked up at the roof and saw several slates missing.

  Outside was a rusting truck, each tyre flat, the windscreen cracked. She stepped up onto the creaking deck and knocked on the door.

  At the side window the net curtain twitched, and then Mae found herself face to face with a large woman with a hard face. She had rollers in her hair and wore a yellowed dressing gown.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m here to see Sullivan.’

  The woman’s face transformed into a wide smile, her eyes lighting up.

  She clutched Mae’s arm and shepherded her into the house.

  The smell hit her first. A mix of damp and some kind of chemical.

  Mae brought a hand to her mouth.

  ‘Ammonia,’ the woman said. ‘And citric acid. You get used to it.’

  Mae looked at the torn wallpaper. Dark swathes of mould oozed from the ceiling and ran down the door frames.

  A heavy grandfather clock ticked away.

  ‘Sullivan’s my boy. I’m Suze.’

  Suze wore white Crocs and scratched at a line of nicotine patches that ran up her arm. ‘Cravings. Sullivan’s always on at me to stop.’

  She opened a door and Mae gasped as she stepped inside. Every wall, and the ceiling, was lined with paper. Even the windows had been blocked.

  ‘The only thing that’ll stop her. We sit in here for a while, maybe even a week. I got the cans.’ Suze pointed to the far corner, where Mae saw a sorry collection of tinned prunes.

  ‘So you must be her,’ Suze said, beaming wide. Two front teeth missing, the rest brown and yellow. She dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief, the drool appearing every time she spoke.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His mystery girl. He doesn’t say much, sly one, that boy. But I know he’s courting. Lovesick. Always locked away in his bedroom. He won’t even let me in there now, keeps the door locked and takes the key with him. Says he’s working on his art.’

  ‘His art?’

  ‘He takes photographs. Old-fashioned camera, used to belong to h
is father. God rest his soul.’ Suze crossed herself as she sank into a foil-wrapped armchair.

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No. You can wait though,’ she said quickly.

  Mae heard the loneliness then.

  ‘He never stays out too late. Afraid of the night. You have to be now, all these kids drawn to the darkness. I walked through town and saw two girls holding hands. Lesbianism.’

  Mae nodded like she got it.

  ‘Playing with fire this close to the end. Leviticus. Chapter eighteen, verse twenty-two.’

  Mae looked at the walls, at the pages and pages of paper.

  Up close she almost gasped when she realised they were pages from the Bible.

  ‘It doesn’t bother you then?’ Suze said.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Sullivan’s cheek. He grows his hair all long like a girl to cover it. He should be proud, you know. He earned it.’

  ‘Earned it?’

  Suze smiled. ‘Lost his way a while back. I caught him … those magazines.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, he had to show he was sorry.’

  Mae felt a draught on the back of her neck. ‘How?’ she said, quietly.

  ‘And the great dragon was thrown down. Satan. And his angels.’ Suze smiled. ‘He won’t make it to this house. Selena, his form, she’ll burn up at the windows and we’ll watch and we’ll rejoice. Because the heathens, those sinners, they’ll –’

  ‘Could I please use the toilet?’

  Suze flinched a little, then nodded. ‘Use the spray after. You’ll find a bottle in there. I make it myself. Sullivan has allergies, we have to keep the house clean.’

  Mae left the room.

  ‘Upstairs. Second door,’ Suze called.

  Mae climbed the creaking stairs. She saw the bathroom straight in front, looked inside the doors beside and saw stacks of empty boxes. She tried the door at the end and found it locked.

  Sullivan’s room.

  She took her bobby pin and got to work, eased the lock and gently opened the door.

  The room lay in total darkness, the only window blocked by a heavy sheet.

  Mae almost screamed when a cat shot past her.

  She fumbled around for a light switch, and when she found it the room was plunged into red.

  Her breath caught as she took in the scene.

  Wires criss-crossed the ceiling, and on them dozens of photographs were pegged. There was a mattress on the floor, the bedding clean and neat.

  Mae looked at the photos. Most were of West. The beach.

  The water. Trees and leaves.

  She sat down at his desk. There was a large sketchpad, and she flipped the pages, the building horror caught in her throat. Abi’s smiling face. Some of them colour, all of them beautiful.

  A dozen of Abi and Theodore.

  The last drawing showed Abi at the bottom of the cliff, her body twisted, exactly as Mae had found her, her soul floating free towards the sky.

  She could picture it. Sullivan getting knocked back, Abi getting knocked over.

  As she went to leave the room she saw it hanging on the back of the door.

  A red hoodie.

  She ran out of the room and down the stairs, breathless as she made it to the door.

  And there stood Suze, blocking her way.

  ‘I made you tea.’ Suze held a mug, the contents dark.

  Mae held up a hand. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘But Sullivan should be back soon. He’ll be so sorry he missed you.’

  Mae tried to keep her smile casual. ‘Maybe I can come by later. I have to get back for my sister.’

  ‘You’ll come for dinner?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’ll make something special. Pigeon.’

  Mae felt the bile rising up in her throat but managed to keep that smile there.

  ‘Do you know where Sullivan is now?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be taking his photos. He’s documenting the world as it is in these times. So we don’t forget.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘His favourite place. He likes the lighting, the noise. The woods. By the school.’

  24

  She sprinted past the old truck and back down the overgrown lane, cursing when she realised she’d left her shopping bag in the house.

  At the end she slowed and panted, glanced back and saw Suze watching her, no smile, just watching.

  Mae ran to the police station, breathless and sweating. She found the door locked, cursed loudly, drawing a shake of the head from an old lady walking past.

  She pressed her face to the glass but the blinds were closed.

  She knew she should wait, maybe for Sail, maybe for Felix.

  And then she saw the sign, Forever, written across in bold red.

  Mae had to know, time was running out.

  By the time she made it to the school the place was deserted.

  Mae crossed the sports field and stood at the shadowed line of trees.

  She wondered if this was where Abi had stood, if someone had lured her into the woodland or if she’d set off with grim determination to end her own life.

  Maybe Sullivan Reed was in there now, lying in the leaves, his camera aimed at the trees. Mae felt a chill when she thought of his bedroom, that red light and all those pictures of Abi.

  And then she heard it.

  A scream.

  Her blood began to pump fast.

  Mae turned towards the sound.

  Another girl. She looked back at the school building, a long way, even if she ran.

  She cursed, then moved quickly, beat back the fear by breaking into a run, the adrenaline coursing.

  At the edge she slowed.

  She began to creep, keeping herself low and covered by dense branches.

  The girl was leaning back against the wide face of an oak tree, knees pulled to her chest.

  Hunter Silver.

  And there, facing her, was Sullivan Reed.

  Mae moved nearer.

  ‘I need you to see what you are, Hunter,’ he said.

  Mae looked around, reached for a stick long and thick enough and then moved slowly and carefully.

  ‘They tell you to confess your sins, but it isn’t enough. You have to pay for them.’

  Hunter shook her head.

  ‘Selena, she’s the leveller we’ve been waiting for. Kids like me. Kids you step on every day without noticing. She’s coming down and we’ll end up in the same place. We’ll be the same.’

  He took a step nearer.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘You take girls like Abi, and you make them like you.’

  Hunter pushed herself back further, hard against the tree. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I just want you to see, Hunter.’

  Mae moved from the shadow.

  She cut between trees, there and then not, keeping herself directly behind as Sullivan turned and glanced around.

  Mae froze, her muscles tensed as she thought of Stella and the kind of world they existed in. She could still go, drop her stick and melt back into the shadows, leave behind Hunter Silver.

  It was Stella that kept her from doing that. She told her sister they were fighters, that the world could be broken down into two groups, as simple as good and bad, no longer room for the shades of grey.

  ‘Please,’ Hunter said.

  Mae thought of all the times Hunter had got on her. Made up lies, told people she was a slut. She could stand there and let it happen, or turn and walk away, let Hunter’s screams send her off to sleep each night.

  She looked at the word on her wrist and thought of Abi and everything they’d believed in.

  Mae moved.

  Sullivan was quick to turn, but slow to move his feet.

  Mae brought the stick down hard across his head.

  The noise was ugly.

  Heavy and dull.

  He fell back to sitting, for a moment his eyes rolled back into his head, and then blood seeped down his face. He slumpe
d to his side, face in the leaves as Mae stood ready, the stick held high in case he moved again.

  Hunter got to her feet. She spat on Sullivan. ‘Freak.’ And then she aimed a kick at his ribs.

  Then another.

  Mae put a hand around her waist and pulled her back.

  ‘Enough now. It’s over.’

  Hunter stood there panting, hair wild, eyes wild. Her make-up had run.

  ‘I need my shoe,’ Hunter said.

  Mae looked down and saw Hunter’s bare foot in the leaves.

  ‘Fendi slides. I’m not leaving it’ She spoke calmly, like the tears, the screams, it had all been an act.

  They found it beside Sullivan.

  ‘You think he’s dead?’ Hunter said, staring at Sullivan’s sprawled body.

  Mae saw the slight rise and fall of his chest and shook her head.

  ‘Maybe call Sergeant Walters when you get home, but leave my name out of it.’

  Hunter nodded.

  They began to walk back towards the clearing.

  ‘He followed me. I just … I wanted to be alone. You ever feel like that?’

  Mae said nothing, just glanced at the gunmetal sky as the breeze picked up.

  ‘He was going to rape me. Or try. What the hell is going on in this town?’

  ‘It’s not just this town.’

  ‘I’ve never even spoken to that kid.’

  ‘I think that was the problem.’

  ‘You could’ve left me,’ Hunter said.

  ‘I could have.’

  ‘I would have totally left you. Or maybe hidden and filmed it.’

  They moved on in silence, till the trees began to thin. Hunter stopped, bent over and retched, fighting for air as reality came at her. Mae stopped, reluctantly moved back and joined her.

  ‘I think I twisted it.’ She wiped sweat from her head with the back of her arm, then gritted her teeth as she studied her ankle.

  Mae took a breath, then hauled her up.

  They moved on together, Hunter limping, Mae taking her weight.

  They made it to the field as sunlight punctured the clouds.

  A group of kids were playing football. Some boys looked over.

  Hunter wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled a pocket mirror from her bag. ‘They won’t see me weak.’

  By the bay they stopped and sat on a bench. Hunter needed a break.

  ‘How come you were there?’

  ‘Long story,’ Mae said. She lit a cigarette and held the smoke deep. Hunter held out a hand and Mae passed it to her.