Black Heart Blue

by Louisa Reid

  ‘Your dad’s just outside. He’s been ever so worried. Well, haven’t we all? But I think you’ll be good as new, you’re a strong little thing, aren’t you? A proper little fighter. I’ll tell him he can come in, shall I, poppet?’ Off she went with a smile and in came The Father.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ he breathed into my face, ‘or they’ll take you away.’

  If they took me away I’d never see Granny or my sister again, so I sewed my mouth shut.

  He didn’t leave me after that. He sat and held the hand of the arm that wasn’t in plaster up to my elbow and his nail dug a groove in my palm.

  There was an answer for every question, an excuse for every word. I’d been mucking about and fallen down the stairs. (You know, foolish horse play, they’ve been told to be careful, many a time.) He didn’t mention that he’d hit me at the top or describe how I’d tumbled from stair to stair like the funny plastic Slinky toy we played with at Granny’s.

  The day they let me go, sound booming everywhere around me now that I had the screws and the boxes to allow me to hear, he bought that nurse flowers and chocolates and a card. He held both her hands and she flushed pink as petals on a new summer rose.

  That was when I was nine.

  Most of all Hephzi wanted revenge. So far I didn’t dare spill her secret but maybe one day, if my soul ever found a place to breathe, I would.

  As for leaving, well, how could I? I had no job, no money and still no idea if they’d fall for the summer-school plan. I was going to have to try again with The Mother but when I spoke, she pretended not to hear.

  Hephzi could get The Mother to do almost anything. I don’t mean she could get her to set us free, unless the college debacle counts, or that she could make her call off The Father when he’d flipped. But The Mother would do other stuff if Hephzi nagged. Mainly she could get her to lie to him and cover for her. That’s how Hephzi managed to see Craig; if it hadn’t been for The Mother pretending not to notice anything, then maybe my sister would still be alive. I’m sure she knew Hephzi was sneaking out, I’m sure she rumbled her and turned her vacant eyes the other way because she was afraid of what Hephzi might do or say, like she’s afraid of him. People are. Both of them have this way of looking at you which makes you wish you were invisible. Hephzi would do it to me all the time. If I disagreed with her or warned her or advised her she’d fix me with that stare, that curled lip, which demanded, Who are you to tell me anything? Because I had warned her. Lots of times. When I’d found out about what she’d been doing with Craig I’d told her she was mad, asking for trouble and was bound to get found out, but she’d sneered and snarled until I climbed back into my box. I’d told her once, after one of her escapades with Craig, that it made her just like him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She’d stared at me, wide-eyed. Little Miss Innocent.

  ‘When you bully me, when you won’t listen to me. When you treat me like I’m a nobody. That’s just like HIM.’ I mouthed the final word at her as loud as I could in the night-time of our room, silently shouting to be heard.

  ‘I’m not like that! Don’t say that, Reb!’ She cried and said she was sorry, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Hephzi thought she’d learnt how to survive.

  Even though I’d posted the application I knew the summer-school idea would have to go. It had been stupid to even think it was a possibility.

  What are you going to do, then? asks Hephzi, nudging me again. I tried to ignore her when she kept on and on at me but she was getting louder all the time.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I told her, trying to be firm. ‘Just be quiet and let me think.’

  At this rate you’ll be leaving in a shitty cardboard box, just like me.

  I took a deep breath and thought about it again. It couldn’t be that hard, I reasoned. All I’d need to do was pack a bag, raid The Parents’ wallets and head for the town. From there I could take a train or a bus and lose myself in some city far away. If they came looking for me I’d just run again, and anyway, it would probably be more trouble than it was worth for them to hunt me down. He could simply dress himself in his grief and sorrow as he’d done before, suck up the condolences of the village and go about his business as usual. The Mother could be his whipping boy for a change, it would serve her right. And then maybe when I was free and safe I could let the truth out. That would show them.

  But how would I live? It wouldn’t be safe. And who would employ me? I had no skills or talents and who would want to look at me, day after day? I had nothing to offer.

  Night after night these thoughts kept me awake, winding in my sheets. I hid under the blanket, playing invisible, while I planned and plotted, plotted and planned. Eventually I’d go to sleep and then the nightmares would begin. The sound of the crying in the wall was getting louder too, just like Hephzi. The crying has been driving me crazy for years, since I was thirteen, but now all three of them are at it. I wished they’d be quiet, just for one single night.

  In the morning when I awoke everything cleared again. I could see that none of my plans was possible; the shadowy light of the vicarage turned the future back to black. I would never trick them. Wherever I ran to they would find me. And so they knew that I would stay.

  It was a Friday in April and almost the Easter holidays. I was dreading the break; for all I hated college, I hated the vicarage more. As usual I’d been keeping my head down, being careful not to sit beside anyone or to make myself known. Period six was Maths and my teacher was some new supply, covering for nice Mr Connor, who’d gone off sick. The supply teacher, Miss Peters, was what you would call officious; you could tell she thought we should count ourselves lucky to be in her esteemed presence by the way she mocked people who got answers wrong, as if it was all so simple and we were all so thick. She called on me today for answers again, having acquired some notion that I needed to speak up in class, as if ritual humiliation were character building. Usually I had some idea of an answer which I could hazard, but not today. In fact I hadn’t been listening at all, I dozed and daydreamed in my chair, thinking of anything but the formula which glared at me, black and angry, from the whiteboard. And so when she picked on me I couldn’t even manage a guess. I felt them all waiting, the air in the room thickening with expectation. My cheeks began to glow and I shrank into my jacket as I heard the sniggers start. I started to hum softly, hunching over my textbook; I didn’t need to hear the laughter and the taunts or feel the pellets of paper fired at my back to know they were enjoying my discomfort. Eventually Miss Peters cleared her throat and got on with the lesson, but the tense edge to her voice didn’t slacken and I knew she’d keep me behind. My lack of co-operation, she told me at the end of the class, was making her extremely frustrated. She saw no reason why I couldn’t at least try to make an effort like the rest of the class. She wasn’t going to pander to me and give me special treatment, either I bucked up or she would be contacting my parents and would have to ask them in for a discussion of my progress. She stepped back, startled when I interrupted, my voice loud with sudden urgency.

  ‘No. Please don’t do that. I’ll do better. Please.’

  For the first time I met her eye. She gazed levelly back.

  ‘What exactly is wrong with you, Rebecca?’

  Her voice was soft and I understood at once what she was asking. She wanted to know all the gory details, to be let in on the secrets of my family and my face; for some reason she thought the fact that she was my teacher gave her the right to stare at me like I was an exhibit in a freak show. I picked up my bag, swallowing everything I wanted to say and had been waiting to say for years. Turning to go, I paused.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Miss. Nothing.’

  So that was Friday and I did not want to go back to that place again, not ever. Hephzi keeps telling me to act normal, to put on some lip gloss and to try to be nice. She reckons I need to get over myself and that all my problem
s are in my head. Well, she’s changed her tune, because that’s not what she used to think. When she was alive she would nudge me and whisper, ‘They’re staring at you,’ or, ‘Stand over there, pretend we don’t know each other.’ She knew what it meant to be me, she just didn’t feel it like I did and like I always will.

  I didn’t think anything could get worse after that. I was sure I’d reached the lowest point possible and when I got back to the vicarage all I wanted was to crawl upstairs and sink into forgetfulness. But they were waiting for me again. His face was ghastly and The Mother bobbed there at his shoulder, flushed with anticipation. For a second I didn’t understand, I couldn’t think what it could be, and then I saw what he held in his hand. A glossy brochure, sheets of typed paper. I glimpsed my name on the large white envelope. He had the proof, there would be no need for a trial.

  Hephzi

  Before

  By Friday Craig still hasn’t added me on Facebook and I feel rubbish. I’ve got my period too and a massive spot on my chin. No way am I going to risk going to the pub tonight. Daisy told me I could sleep over at hers but I told her no, said we were going away.

  ‘How can you be going away? Doesn’t your dad have to do all his vicar stuff at weekends?’

  ‘Oh yeah, he does. But me and Mum and Rebecca are going to our gran’s.’ See, I told you I could lie.

  ‘OK. Your loss. See ya Monday.’

  She flounces off and I jog to catch up with Rebecca and we walk home together for the first time in ages. I think about my lie to Daisy.

  ‘Hey, Reb, remember when we used to go to Granny’s?’

  She nods. She hates talking about it.

  ‘Why’d they stop us?’

  Rebecca looks at me like I’ve just asked her the colour of grass or whether the world is really round.

  ‘He hated her.’

  ‘Yeah, but why though? What did she ever do?’

  ‘Hephzi, don’t be thick. She took us out for ice cream. She bought you a bra. She told us not to believe his lies. He couldn’t stand it. And he thought she’d tell someone what he did to us, he knew it was only a matter of time.’

  ‘I miss her.’

  ‘Me too.’

  It’s raining and our jackets aren’t up to the weather so by the time we get back we’re both soaked. I go straight upstairs and lie on my bed, my stomach cramping and my wet hair plastered in soggy strands around my neck. Rebecca comes in and offers me a cup of tea. I shake my head.

  ‘You should take your wet jacket off. And your jeans.’

  She’s right. The heavy denim is claggy round my thighs. But I shake my head again.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  I bury my head in the mattress and eventually she goes away and sits on her own bed, humming and muttering. I scream into the blankets, wondering if I’ll ever be able to stop.

  Before we started college I always used to just lie in bed when I had my period. Mother won’t buy us sanitary towels so I’d stuff my knickers full of toilet roll, itchy cheap stuff, and just lie there until I felt better. It’d usually be a few days. All day today I’ve sat in lessons with my pants stuffed with loo roll praying that it would hold and I wouldn’t leave a mess anywhere. My thighs are chafed from walking home like this. I cry into my mattress some more. Rebecca sits down on the side of my bed and pokes me in the shoulder. I shrug her off.

  ‘Here,’ she says.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘I got you something.’ I turn and look. She’s holding a sanitary towel and two painkillers.

  ‘Where’d you get that?’

  ‘Her drawer. Right at the back. It was the only one, sorry.’

  I roll out of bed, grab the stuff and go to the bathroom to sort myself out. I splash my face with cold water and look in the small mirror. It’s so cracked and clouded that it’s hard to make myself out, but I can tell that I’m all blotchy and red-faced. Ugh. Sitting on the side of the bath I wonder what I’m going to do.

  When Monday comes I do my best to put on a good face. It’s been a miserable weekend but Rebecca did my homework last night so I could rinse my hair and clothes. I’m running short of things. I’ve worn everything I own twice already and soon Daisy will notice. I returned her stuff the other day and she just screwed up the top and jeans into a ball and stuffed them into her bag like it was nothing. Mrs Sparks sometimes brings us things and I hope she’ll be round soon. Or I could go and see her, just to give her memory a little prompt. I’ve been wondering if she’s guessed something’s up. I need more sanitary towels, so on the way to school I persuade Rebecca to distract the chemist with one of her many ailments while I nick some. I’m not a good thief; I get nervous, especially when I think of what would happen if I were spotted. But I can’t go back to using loo roll, or even wearing old rags in my pants, washing them out and hanging them to dry in the bedroom. They never got clean, the stains stayed put, dark reminders of the pain. For once Rebecca does quite a good job on the chemist and I’m out of the door and hurrying further up the High Street without her. We’re going to be late for registration now but who cares? This time I don’t wait for my sister, I can’t let people see us together too much, and I hurry and sign in and go straight to the study centre; I have a free first thing, and want to check my messages. There are loads of Facebook posts and I scroll through them, reading what the rest of the college was up to while I was stuck in the vicarage with Rebecca and my parents. This weekend Rebecca and I did the usual chores and then did penance, kneeling on the cold stone church floor for six whole hours. That was our punishment for failing to answer his questions about his sermon to his satisfaction. I wonder if I should post that as a status update.

  But my heart lifts when I see that Craig has finally accepted my friend request and that he’s sent me a private message. Blushing and grinning I click on it.

  Where were you this weekend? You missed a good night. Party at mine this Saturday. Be there.

  I think I might be sick. This is the most exciting thing ever. I’m going to that party if it’s the last thing I do, which if my father finds out it probably will be. This has to be proof that Craig likes me as much as I like him. It has to be. Daisy appears at my shoulder and I can tell she’s straining to look at my screen. I quickly minimize it.

  ‘Hi!’ She sounds happy to see me and I smile back at her.

  ‘Did you have a good time at your gran’s, then?’

  I remember the lie quickly enough to answer without a pause, ‘Oh, yeah, it was OK.’

  ‘We had such a good night on Friday. You really missed out.’

  I shrug, what do I care?

  ‘Yeah, we all ended up back at Scott’s – his parents were out and it was a bit of a party. His older brother was there too with all his mates. Oh my God, this one guy, Billy, he was like, so fit …’

  I nod as she tells me her story, not really listening but thinking instead what I’m going to need to do to escape on Saturday. I gather that of course Daisy got off with one of the older guys and is seeing him this weekend. She’s full of it and I’m glad, at least it means she’s not after Craig any more and maybe I’ll have more of a chance.

  ‘So will you bring him to Craig’s party, then?’

  ‘What?’ For a second Daisy looks unsure, then smiles widely, tosses her hair and shrugs. ‘Maybe, if we can’t think of anything better to do.’

  I eventually go to class and sit daydreaming through the experiment we’re supposed to be doing in Physics. Luckily I’m partnered with Jack and he’s such a keeno that he’s more than happy to do all the work for me. It’s easy to keep him sweet. I only have to smile and he blushes to the roots of his hair. He probably fancies me, most science geeks are lucky if a girl gives them the time of day, let alone tells them how great they are, so I keep on ladling out the compliments and he keeps on doing the hard graft. I think the relationship’s working well for both of us. R
ebecca disapproves of course, she says I’m taking advantage and that it’s OK to do it to her but I should have more respect for other people. She can be such a bore sometimes. No wonder she’s got no friends.

  Anyway, I find Samara and Daisy at lunch in the common room and they’re bitching about Craig’s party.

  ‘So how come you got invited and we didn’t?’ Samara folds her arms and looks at me hard with her head tipped to one side.

  I shrug. I actually have no idea.

  ‘D’you reckon you could get us an invite, then?’

  Again I shrug. ‘I suppose I could ask.’ I can’t help the reluctance creeping into my voice and I know it’s really obvious that I don’t want to.

  ‘Don’t you want us there or something?’ Now Daisy sounds mad, and that’s the last thing I need.

  ‘Of course I do, it’s just that I’m not sure I know him well enough to, well, you know, ask for favours.’

  ‘But Craig knows me!’ Daisy is still cross. ‘I’m not just any old person, it’s not like you’re asking to bring that mongy sister of yours, is it?’

  For a moment my head reels and spins. I thought that Daisy was my friend. I thought she liked me. I don’t know why this hurts so much, I knew what she thought, of course I did. But she shouldn’t have said it. I can’t laugh it off.

  ‘You ask Craig yourself if you know him so well, Daisy.’ I stand up, just about, and walk away. Sorry, Rebecca. That was the best I could do.

  Crying in the toilets doesn’t help much. I make it through the afternoon without talking to anyone and I can’t look Rebecca in the face as we walk home. She thinks I’m still upset about the weekend.

  ‘One day things’ll be better, Hephz,’ she says.

  I manage a laugh. ‘Oh, yeah? When’s that?’

  We’re nearing the vicarage and she stops and stares up at the house. It looks meaner than ever.