by Rhian Ivory
As if she senses the seesaw of our friendship tip the wrong way, she jumps up and reverses the roles, so everything is back where it should be. ‘Now, turn on the laptop and let’s work out what this PMD thingy is and how we can fix it,’ Callie declares, viciously flipping open the lid to my laptop before I can stop her. I jump across the room ready to slam the lid down but I’m too slow. She’s already seen what’s on the screen.
‘What the actual… Tell me you haven’t sent this yet?’ Callie splutters, spinning round to look at me.
The last email on the screen is the one I sent to Riley, three days ago.
‘What if he says yes? Has he said yes? Just how many secrets are you keeping?’ she asks, and before I can come up with an excuse, she adds, ‘I feel like I don’t know you anymore, Hope.’ Which feels like the very worst thing anyone has ever said to me.
‘I thought you said I should meet him. I was only taking your advice.’
‘I did not! I mean, yeah, maybe, but not like this! I meant properly. This is not safe! Do you not watch the news? Have you forgotten all those internet safety days at school?’ she shouts. I shush her, not wanting Mum or worse still Nonno to come charging in. ‘You don’t even know this guy!’ she starts up again. ‘He’s some random dude. You can’t trust him. You don’t even know what he wants from you,’ she adds darkly.
‘I do trust him and we do know each other! He saved me.’
She rolls her eyes at me. ‘What are you on about? No! You and I know each other. You and he do NOT know each other. What do you need saving from?’
This is too much, too much information coming out too quickly.
‘Myself,’ I tell her, unable to keep the drama out of my voice. But this is real. This isn’t a made-up life on the stage, words written on a script. This is me inside and out. I have to tell her how I met Riley on the ferry even if it means this mess it too big to fix and that I’ve broken us.
‘And what did he say? Is he going to meet you?’ she asks, after ten minutes of serious silence.
‘He hasn’t replied yet. Maybe he’s busy?’
‘I thought you said he texts you every day?’ she snaps.
‘He does usually. He used to, anyway. Maybe he’s lost his phone or something. That’s why I emailed him as well.’
‘Uh huh,’ she grunts, sounding less than convinced, which puts me on edge. I check my phone again to see if there’s anything from him. No.
‘Maybe you’ve scared him off? Been a bit stalker-ish with all the texts and emails?’ She says what I can’t, what I don’t want to face.
‘He started the whole thing. He asked to meet up first!’ I’ve had enough of the heart to heart. The last thing I need to hear is that I might have sent Riley running.
‘Don’t snap at me, don’t you dare snap at me. Everyone knows long-distance relationships don’t work. I’ve tried to tell you that,’ Callie lectures.
‘Have you had one – a long-distance relationship? How do you know?’ Callie doesn’t do relationships. She’s focusing on her career first and isn’t going to waste her time on small-town boys.
‘No, but…’ She pulls her ‘trust me I know what I’m doing’ face.
I sigh. If he doesn’t want to meet, I’m not going to have a breakdown, and I can see that’s what she’s worried about, now she knows. I knew this would happen once I told her about PMDD. She’s looking at me like I’ve got a special snowflake label stuck on my forehead. I’m different from her now. This is why I held off from telling her. This is why I’ll now be Hope but with added PMDD and any little thing that goes wrong will now be linked to this. Even if she doesn’t say it out loud, she’ll be thinking it. I feel betrayed.
‘And even if you do meet, what then? He’ll break your heart. He sounds like a right tart from what you’ve told me!’ she carries on. I immediately regret showing her any of his flirty messages. ‘I mean, do you really want your sexual debut to be with someone like this?’ I wince at the phrase sexual debut and wish she wasn’t quite so theatre about it all.
‘I don’t see what the big deal is; felt like the next step to me,’ I huff.
‘Stop being so naïve, Hope. Listen to this… “Hi Mum and Nonno, on the way back from Dublin I met this boy who stopped me from… I don’t know what? Jumping overboard because I didn’t get in to drama college?”’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t going to jump overboard!’ I wish I’d never told her. ‘I was standing on the rail because, because I just wanted to get away from myself. And he made me wobble by grabbing my jacket. I was fine until he came along!’
She’s not listening. ‘Oh and here’s the kicker: I’ve also got PMDT which controls my moods and makes me do irrational things like climbing up safety rails on ferries to scream at the sea.’ She pauses to leave me with that image. ‘Anyway, back to the strange man-child on the ferry who smokes dope. Well, he gave me his number, except he secretly hacked into my email account and since then we’ve been messaging, chatting and generally having great big sexy relations under your nose.’
‘We haven’t been having sexy relations. We haven’t been having sexy anything, Callie!’
It’s no good. She’s raging.
‘It’s alright if I go and meet him on my own and not tell anyone where I’m going, isn’t it? We’re just gonna find a hotel room somewhere and Netflix and chill?’
‘No one even mentioned a hotel room, stop being so ridiculous.’ I have visions of Mum thundering up the stairs to see what’s going on.
‘Oh and, before I go off to meet this potential paedophile who I’ve met all of once, we’d better revisit the PMMT thingy, which is an illness which makes me really angry and aggressive and behave in a way I’d never normally. REPEAT it makes me behave in a way that I would NEVER normally.’ Callie is on her feet now, doing a scarily good impression of me.
She turns round and looks at me with an expression I don’t recognise, then asks, ‘Who are you?’ which crushes me.
When I don’t answer she yells, ‘And you can keep your pathetic Hope Chest!’ She storms out of my room.
‘Come back, Callie?’ I plead but it’s too late. She’s stomping down the stairs. For a hideous second I think she’s going to tell Mum and Nonno. A tiny part of me wishes she would, just to get it over in one go, then they can all hate me together. I feel sick as I hover on the landing, listening to her lying to them, saying that she’s feeling unwell and would Mum mind driving her home? Nonno says something quietly to her and she answers. I can’t hear them properly. Maybe Callie’s asking Nonno to take her to the RSC.
There’s no point going down there to try and talk her out of leaving, so I go back into my room. I sit on my bed and think about her last question. Her words wound, just as they were meant to. She doesn’t get it. I just know nothing bad will happen to me if I meet Riley. I can’t explain it to her because I can hear how dodgy it sounds, how dangerous. I think I’d know if he was someone to be scared of. But if she’d suggested the same thing, I’d absolutely tell her not to do it. We’ve had enough lectures at school and college on internet safety and grooming, but this isn’t what’s been going on between Riley and me. We have met! He isn’t a stranger luring me in. He isn’t an older man pretending to be a young boy and he isn’t an axe murderer after my blood. The truth is he’s barely interested in me at all. The scariest thing about him is the fact that I sent that email days ago and he still hasn’t replied.
When we get back home, we search in the dark for a parking space. As soon as Mum has finished straightening up the car, I jump out. I open the front door. Scout starts barking and rushes out of the kitchen to greet us, her massive tail crashing into my legs. I sit on the mat and pull her onto my lap as Nonno and Mum step around me and head into the kitchen. There’s post on the mat, underneath Scout. I pull out a scary-looking brown envelope with my name on. I push Scout off my lap, brush black and white dog hair off me, and walk into the kitchen, her damp nose pressed against the back of m
y calf, giving me a thorough sniffing. I put the brown envelope on the table.
‘What’s that? Aren’t you going to open it?’ Mum says, pouring herself a glass of red wine. She doesn’t offer Nonno one.
‘My results.’
Nonno switches on the coffee machine and holds an espresso cup out to me in question. I shake my head. I probably could risk a coffee but I’m not going to. The doctor told me if I can live without caffeine and avoid alcohol the tablets will work better. Whatever it takes.
I tear it open. I look at the first page, then the second, and then all the other sheets, taking in each result. Mum puts down her wine.
‘So, how did you do?’ she asks.
‘Not good.’
‘Put us out of our misery?’ she pleads. ‘It’s been a very long night already.’ She looks pointedly at Nonno. ‘The last thing you should be having at this hour is an espresso,’ she tells him. He ignores her.
‘A* for Music, A for French, B for English Lit, C for English Lang, C for Maths, double C for Science, D for Humanities, an E for Tech. And a B for Drama.’ I look up to see her rearrange her face. She looks strangely relieved.
‘But that’s brilliant. You’ve done brilliantly!’ She grabs me and kisses me, hugs me then kisses me again, holding my face in her hands. I pull away and she looks hurt.
‘Mum, they’re rubbish results, all over the place!’ My voice comes out squashed. ‘I was predicted A*s and Bs not Ds and Es. I got a B for Drama! A pathetic B, for God’s sake!’ I shout.
‘I know you were expecting an A and…’
‘I was predicted an A*.’
‘An A* then. At least you got one for Music, that’s brilliant and…’
‘I can’t believe you’re using words like brilliant!’
‘You know, just because I don’t agree with your grandfather and this ridiculous RSC trip on your secret day out to Stratford, it does not make me a bad person!’ she snaps. ‘I am not the enemy here. I never told you you’d get an A*.’
‘I didn’t say you did. And who said anything about Stratford or the RSC? I wasn’t even talking about acting.’
‘For once,’ Mum murmurs, but I hear her.
‘God, I just wish…’ I stop myself.
‘No, do go on, what do you wish, Hope?’ She picks up her wine to take a sip.
‘Just that you’d be a bit more like Nonno, and do stuff, help me make decisions and come up with choices,’ I say, knowing she’s not going to want to hear it. Before she can respond Nonno comes back into the room.
‘Scusa, I bought this when you were born, piccolina. Is it a good time to open it now?’ he says, before kissing me on both cheeks. Mum shrugs. ‘A peace offering, Erin? It is time to celebrate the good that has happened?’ he suggests.
‘Really? Alcohol, Gianni?’ Mum reprimands, before she snatches three champagne flutes from the wedding cupboard that’s only opened on very special occasions. She slams them down on the little table so hard I’m surprised they don’t shatter.
I panic. This is not a special occasion and I don’t want the champagne Nonno is pouring out shakily into the glasses. One glass might wreck my medication. How am I going to say no to Nonno’s special champagne? I can’t think of a good reason. The champagne spills over. Mum tuts then mops it up. Nonno hands out the glasses and opens his mouth to make a speech, to toast me and say things about me that just aren’t true. I have to stop him.
‘I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss. I haven’t done anything worth all this, have I, Mum? You’ve made that clear. You think I’m a complete failure, don’t you, Mum? Just a fucking failure!’ The panic rises up and fizzes out of me.
‘That is it! I have had enough. You do not get to speak to me like that. I don’t deserve it. Go to your room!’ she spits.
Nonno winces.
‘Are you serious?’ I say half-laughing.
‘Go! she shouts. ‘Just get out!’ She can’t stand the sight of me right now.
I do as she says, glad of a reason to leave the room, the brown envelope and her.
‘I don’t think you’re going to be able to sing today…’ a nurse starts as Pryia and I walk into Kofi’s room and I feel deflated. I played Tracy Chapman all night, memorising the new lyrics to ‘Give Me One Reason’ I’d written just for him. It also took my mind off the stupid row with Mum. And the one with Callie.
‘They’ve got to. Oh, yes, yes. He’ll need distracting if they’re going to do this,’ Kofi’s mum interrupts. Her son is hidden, enclosed by white coats and important voices. The room is full of people all crowded around his bed.
‘What are they doing to him?’ I ask, earning a sharp look from Pryia.
‘Lumbar puncture,’ his mum tells me, clearly not remotely bothered about sharing information. I don’t know what a lumbar puncture is or even where your lumbar is, but it sounds painful. Puncturing anything isn’t good, especially a small body like his. The nurse and Pryia exchange a quick look and then the nurse nods, giving us permission.
‘Stay there until they get started and then stand over there. They’ll need room to work,’ she instructs, looking as unsure about this as I am. This does not look like the time to be singing but his mum is insistent. I want to move across to the bed, push the gowned ghosts out of the way and see Kofi for myself, check he’s actually in there and hasn’t somehow disappeared in his Tardis. I want to see his face, to make him smile, but I do as I am told and stay away from all the doctors clustered around his bed.
‘Keep your back arched like that, good boy. Mum, perhaps if you could come here, this side please, and hold Kofi’s hand?’ the anaesthetist says. Kofi’s mum – I don’t know her name, walks around the bed, people move out of the way, and finally I catch a glimpse of Kofi’s hair. He has white sheets over him but his back is exposed. I see a needle like nothing I’ve ever seen before: it looks inhumane. If that thing is going in his back, it is going to hurt more than anyone in the room can begin to imagine. Pryia takes my hand and holds it tightly. We shuffle over to Kofi’s mum, trying very hard not to get in the way.
‘Please sing to him?’ she begs us, looking at me. ‘He needs you to sing to him, Hope.’ I didn’t even know she knew my name.
‘Of course.’
Kofi’s eyes are on the three of us. He looks completely terrified, which makes me feel scared too.
‘Shall we sing our song about space again?’ Pryia asks Kofi, but he shakes his head. I’m finding it difficult to know where to look. There’s a team of people behind him preparing stuff which I can’t see because Kofi’s body is in the way. I settle on looking at Kofi’s curly hair, soft and short, as if he’s just had it clipped. I want to stroke it and so I do, looking at his mum first. She nods her permission for me to touch him.
‘What do you want us to sing, Kofi?’ I whisper, stroking his hair, but he won’t answer me, he won’t even look at me. ‘Kofi, how about some more Tracy Chapman?’ I ask, and finally he turns his head, gives me a tiny nod and then closes his eyes. His mum mouths thank you to me.
‘But I don’t know any Tracy Chapman off by heart,’ Pryia blurts out. She sounds panicked.
‘Don’t worry, I do.’
Kofi’s mum keeps holding his hand, tears sliding down her face, as I sing the first line from ‘Give Me One Reason’. Pryia recognises the chorus and joins in with relief. I don’t look at the doctors, I don’t look at all their sterile equipment or their gowns and gloves. I shut them all out and focus on him. And then I sing his song, the one I wrote just for him.
Kofi’s Song
I know one reason to stay here
And it’ll change your mind
Stop worrying your lovely Mamma
Come on Kofi now be kind
There’s worlds out there for you to explore
See what your sonic screwdriver can find
Aliens full of guts and gore
A Dr Who fan couldn’t want more
How about a trip in the Tardis
; with Oswin?
That’d be bliss
Kofi get better, please try
And get better
I know you know you got this.
Give you one reason to stay here?
How about a Big Mac for lunch?
Or maybe a caramel McFlurry dear?
Oh, I got your number there.
I know you don’t wanna leave me lonely
And this song’s gonna change your mind.
When I look up the room is almost empty. All the doctors, anaesthetists and consultants have left. There are only two nurses monitoring Kofi. I wonder when they all went. The room was so full and noisy.
It is silent, apart from the beeps of Kofi’s machine. Kofi is asleep. His mum is still holding his hand. Pryia looks at me and without speaking we leave the room as quietly as we can.
Outside, I can think again. I feel like I’ve fallen back into the real world. The doors open and close behind us, as people walk in off Steel House Lane and out again. Taxis arrive and drop people off, buses hiss past and cars search for a parking space. It all carries on. There’s a few parents outside smoking, guilty hooded looks cross their faces as they notice us in what looks like a hospital uniform. Pryia and I head down the road.
‘How did you know he liked Tracy Chapman?’ she asks, taking a Mars bar out of her pocket, opening it and bending it into two equal pieces.
‘He told me.’ I take my half gratefully. I need a sugar boost, even though my body is supposed to be a temple now.
‘Your voice is … so rare. I know I keep on about it, sorry, but … it’s like velvet.’ I can hear something in her voice, admiration and maybe a bit of jealousy. ‘Are you going to come to choir rehearsals now? There’s still time for you to sing with us in the concert. I know you won’t have had long to rehearse but we could do with your voice. And those song-writing skills!’
I laugh.
‘So? Going to join us?’
‘Yes,’ I decide. After singing to Kofi the decision is easy.