by Camilla Way
Inside it’s warm and crowded. When someone stands to give me their seat I sink into it gratefully, holding Maya tightly, wrapped inside her blanket still asleep. Early-morning commuters press against me, smelling of damp coats. Rain begins to pelt hard upon the windows, the bus sighs and shudders its way through the school-run traffic towards Lewisham and I feel myself begin to relax for the first time in months. I look down at my sleeping daughter and feel her warm solid weight in my arms and I realize with a sense of wonder that for once there is no accompanying rush of panic. I shift her in my arms, guarding her from the swaying press of steaming, warm bodies.
My attention wanders to a crowd of schoolgirls by the door, a damp huddle of Ugg boots and navy uniforms beneath a cloud of clashing perfumes. They giggle behind their braces, their nervy, excited eyes flitting to each other beneath mascara-clogged lashes. But when at the next stop another girl gets on, her skirt short, her legs long, the breathless giggling and chatter vanishes as they silently watch her climb the stairs and disappear. Their young faces instantly sour.
‘Thinks she’s fucking lush.’
‘Thinks she’s gorgeous.’
‘He’ll dump her, then she’ll be all like, trying to be our mate again.’
‘Knew I liked him.’
‘Bitch. Fucking two-faced bitch.’
The bus has climbed the hill from Lewisham to Blackheath now and beyond the wet windows I see the wobbly green expanse of heath stretching out on either side. On impulse I ring the bell and when I get off I see that the rain has stopped and small patches of blue have begun to appear amidst the grey. I take a path that cuts through the middle of the heath, away from the road and traffic. The sky seems vast here with no buildings to clutter it. I breathe in the scent of wet grass and feel as though a dark pressure has lifted from my chest. I find a bench to sit on, the church and shops and streets of Blackheath behind me, and watch a couple in the distance walk their dog towards Greenwich Park. A gentle breeze picks up, the sky has paled to a light, hazy blue. Far away to my right, three children chase an orange kite. The dark cluttered flat and Heather seem very far away.
I feel Maya stir in my arms and watch as she begins to wake, her large brown eyes fixed upon my face. I hold my breath, afraid of her reaction when she realizes it’s me and not Heather who holds her, but she merely yawns and looks about her, apparently unfazed to find herself here, outside, in the middle of the heath with me. She turns back to consider me again and I feel a strange, fleeting lightness, a momentary sense of weightlessness as our eyes meet. Something inside me at that moment seems to unlock, and we look and we look at each other and I feel such shock as I think: How did I not see? How did I not see before how beautiful, how lovely you are?
It’s less than a couple of hours later when another bus returns us to the bottom of my road, but it’s as if some of the wide-open space and fresh air I’d left behind has seeped into me, lifting my spirits, lightening my step. As I walk, Maya rests against me, trusting and peaceful in my arms. The feeling of calm stays with me as I make my way to my building, but as I fish my key from my pocket I look up to the top floor and stop in my tracks to see Heather there, a faceless silhouette against the glass. My forehead tenses with a sudden ache as I look doubtfully down at Maya. She will be hungry soon and needs to be changed, but though my chest begins to tighten with anxiety, the thought of returning to the flat fills me with despair. I remain on the step, frozen.
‘Are you all right?’
Monica is on the pavement behind me, laden with shopping bags.
I feel myself redden, aware of how strange I must look. ‘Yes,’ I say, but I’m unable to continue, or make myself do anything else but stare back at her, my door key in my hand.
Her eyes are a pale greyish blue, like cool, still water, and they assess me silently for a moment, before she steps past me and, unlocking the door, lets us both in.
‘Haven’t seen you about much,’ she says, when we’re standing in the hall. She has a nice voice, low and husky with a strong London accent. I hold Maya closer to me. ‘No,’ I say, and I look at the floor. ‘I haven’t been very well.’
She nods, and I feel her thoughtful gaze linger before she goes to her own front door. ‘Well, mind how you go,’ she says, and I know this is my cue to leave, to return upstairs, but I still can’t seem to move.
I watch her turn her key in first one lock, then another and at the third one she hesitates. ‘You can come in for a cuppa, if you want,’ she says and I find myself nodding and following her into her flat, looking about myself as she bolts the door behind us again.
Before
Dad stands behind his desk with his back to me, looking down at the garden below. Finally he clears his throat. ‘Corinthians tells us, Heather, that bad company ruins good morals.’ He turns and peers at me, as though checking whether I’ve taken it in, and dutifully I nod. For as long as I can remember, Dad has spoken to me in Bible passages, it’s like he finds it easier somehow. At any rate, I’m glad it’s him doing this and not Mum, who hasn’t spoken to me since we returned from Walsall two days ago.
‘Your mother is – well, your mother and I are – extremely concerned about what happened last Tuesday.’
‘Dad,’ I begin, but he holds up a finger to silence me.
‘Now, I’m aware that it was the, er, the other girl who was responsible, but it is nevertheless troubling that you allowed yourself to become caught up in it all.’
I look at my feet.
‘You have your future to consider,’ he continues. ‘What about your education? Your medical career?’
I’m not sure whether he wants an answer; it seems not because he hurries on: ‘I think it’s best if you avoid this … Ellie person from now on.’
Instead of replying I clench my fists so hard the nails dig into my palms. After a pause he comes over to me and puts his hands upon my shoulders. ‘Heather, trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.’
I nod, wondering how on earth he manages to remember this stuff, and I murmur a vague response until finally I’m dismissed. I go to my room and sit down on my bed to think about Edie. I haven’t spoken to her since Tuesday and sometimes I can’t sleep for worrying. What if the police arrested her? What if she’s in huge trouble? It would all be my fault. Twice I’ve sneaked out to the phone box on the corner to call her. The first time it rang and rang, the next it was snatched up almost immediately, only for my hopes to be dashed as soon as I heard her mother’s voice on the other end. ‘She’s not in,’ she’d said snappishly. ‘Haven’t seen her for hours. If you do find her, tell her to come home, I need her to go to the shops for me.’ At least it didn’t sound as though Edie had been thrown in prison. I sit and gnaw at my thumbnail. Where is she? Is she all right? Does she hate me?
I hear my father’s door open and the sound of his footsteps retreating down the stairs. A little later there’s the muffled rise and fall of voices. Even from here I can tell they’re arguing. The sharp staccato of my mother’s voice against the low, unyielding rumble of Dad’s, like pebbles clattering against a brick wall. I cover my ears with my hands and then on impulse jump to my feet. My heart racing with a sudden daring I pause at my door and listen. Then I dart across the hall to Dad’s study. I stand staring at the phone on his desk before snatching it up and dialling the number I’ve learnt by heart. Please please please, I think. And on the fifth ring she picks up. ‘Edie!’ I hiss, ‘It’s me!’
‘Oh, hiya,’ she says, and it sounds as though she’s eating something, the words muffled by a crunching, chewing noise. I imagine her biting into a piece of toast, her fingers sticky with butter or jam, her lips covered in crumbs. Relief and joy floods me.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, ‘I’ve been so worried.’
‘What?’ she says distractedly. ‘Oh, yeah, the police and that. What a fucking drag.’ I’m so happy to hear her voice m
y face aches with smiling. ‘What were you thinking, you doughnut?’ she says.
‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘I’m really, really sorry. What happened? Are you all right, did they … did they, charge you?’
‘Give over. Course not. Sent me home and phoned my mum. Who didn’t give a shit, obviously. More worried that she’d run out of fags.’ She takes another bite of whatever she’s eating, and I hear her chew then swallow. ‘They wanted her to go to the station but course she can’t. So they’re sending someone over, or so they reckon. Though they haven’t. Obviously.’
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ I tell her, ‘for taking the blame like that, I mean. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before. It was amazing, Edie, it was …’
‘Yeah, well. Your mum looked like she was going to kill you, so—’
I hear the kitchen door open downstairs. ‘I’ve got to go, I’ve got to go!’ I tell her frantically. ‘I’ll see you at school, shall I? You’ll be there, won’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I’ll—’
But hearing my father’s step on the stairs I quickly replace the handset and shoot back across the hall to my room.
That night as I’m getting ready for bed I think about how great it had been to hear her voice. Three days until school starts, until I see her again. And best of all, I’ll have her all to myself because Connor won’t be there. I picture the two of us, gossiping and laughing together in the corridors between lessons, lending each other make-up and sharing secrets in the loos. I think about how she’d saved me in the shop and my heart almost bursts with happiness.
Later, when the house is quiet and the night is thick and dark outside and I’m in bed beneath my duvet, my mind wanders as it often does to the memory of when Edie and I went to Connor’s flat, of how I’d seen them lying together on the bed. I wonder how Edie had felt, to have Connor’s hands on her like that, and I think about how her dress had been undone, its skirt pulled up, her skin flushed and trembling beneath his fingers.
On Saturday I sneak out early to the market and manage to find a couple of tops like the one Edie had picked out for me in Walsall. On Sunday I go to church with Dad, expecting Mum to join us and I’m surprised when we set off without her. I glance at Dad and consider asking him where she is, but think better of it. It occurs to me that Mum hadn’t gone to church last Sunday either – she’d said she’d not felt well and Dad had left without her. Puzzled, I try to cast my mind back to previous weekends; had this happened before? I’d been so caught up with Edie I’d not noticed.
On Monday I wake early and shoot worried glances at Mum over breakfast, wondering if she’ll say anything about my new clothes and the make-up I’m wearing, but she barely looks at me. I feel a little shocked, so accustomed am I to her watchful, critical gaze. In fact, the only time she speaks is to say to Dad, ‘I won’t be here when you get back, I’m spending the afternoon over at Wrexham. A fundraiser I’m helping with.’ He nods, but they don’t look at each other, and I ponder this for a moment or two before my attention returns to Edie, and to wondering what time she’ll be in school.
The sixth-form block is already full of people, the corridors buzzing with students when I arrive. I search the crowds for Edie’s face, waiting until the last bell has gone and the corridors have completely cleared before I reluctantly make my way to my Maths class without having seen her. Sick with disappointment, I find a seat and try to concentrate on the lesson. Mr Shepherd’s voice drones endlessly on while I stare unseeingly at my textbook and the hot, early autumn sun pours through the window, making my eyelids heavy and my head ache. As soon as it’s over I scramble from my seat and head for the canteen. I take my place in the queue and, full of hope, buy myself and Edie a Coke, then quickly add an orange juice and a cup of tea too, just in case she’d like that more, before finding a table for two at the window and settling down to wait.
I hear her before I see her, her loud laugh ringing out across the canteen’s hubbub, and I jump to my feet, craning my neck until at last I see her, flanked on either side by Alice Walsh and Vicky Morris, two girls who had been in my form last year. I hesitate, my heart sinking. As I watch, they queue and buy their food together before taking their trays over, still laughing, to the far end of the canteen and finding a table. She doesn’t even look for me.
Slowly I pick up my tray and make my way over. ‘Edie?’ I say, and I have to cough and repeat myself before the three of them look up.
‘Oh, hiya,’ she says, smiling. ‘Was wondering where you’d got to.’
I feel Vicky and Alice’s eyes on me and the heat rises in my cheeks. Why, of all people, did it have to be these two who Edie chose to sit with? I clear my throat. ‘I thought we … well, I saved us a table over there,’ I mumble.
‘Oh, right,’ she says. ‘Sorry, didn’t realize.’
I continue to stand there, holding the tray, wishing that she’d get up. ‘Well, why don’t you sit down here?’ she asks, with a puzzled laugh.
And so I do. I notice that she’s already got herself a Coke and I look at the four drinks on my tray, not wanting any of them now. ‘All right, Heather?’ Vicky says, and I mutter a ‘hello’.
‘You all know each other, right?’ Edie is glancing from one to another of us.
‘Yeah, we all know Heather,’ Alice says, and the tone of her voice is unmistakable. ‘How are you?’ she adds in a phony grown-up voice, but I don’t reply. She turns back to Edie, ignoring me again. ‘Yeah, so why don’t you come along some time?’
I don’t know what they’re talking about and I don’t care. As I sip my Coke I shoot glances at the three of them: Vicky with her flat, blonde hair and peach lipstick and sly blue eyes, Alice a slightly less pretty carbon copy of her. The school’s A-listers. Five years’ worth of their taunts and ridicule echo around my head. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood and realize that Edie is looking at me. ‘They’re talking about this club they go to in Walsall,’ she explains. ‘You fancy it?’
Before I can answer, Vicky says with a little laugh, ‘I don’t think it’s really your thing, is it, Heather?’
I stare down at my plate.
‘Wouldn’t want you having one of your funny turns, would we?’ says Alice, and she and Vicky both titter.
I feel myself flush a hot crimson. They’re talking about the daydreams I have, the ones I can’t seem to snap out of. Sometimes in the middle of a lesson I’ll sort of ‘wake up’ to find the whole class staring and sniggering at me and I’ll look around me, blinking and ashamed. And then there are the other times, when I lose my temper or get upset. I don’t want Edie to know about those, either. I don’t want her to think I’m a freak too.
‘What’re you on about?’ Edie’s voice is sharp as she looks at Alice. ‘Heather?’ she turns to me but I get to my feet and run from the room.
I’m halfway across the playground by the time she catches up with me. ‘Hey,’ she says, grabbing my arm. ‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’
I stop, my breath thick in my throat. ‘It’s just. I thought …’ My voice trails off weakly. ‘I saved you a seat.’
‘Oh, don’t be mental. I can sit where I like you know.’ She stares at me in exasperation and when I don’t say anything, she sighs. ‘Those two were in my class earlier, that’s all. I didn’t ask them to follow me to lunch.’
I nod miserably and she gives me a nudge. I look up to see that she’s smiling at me, and it’s her lovely, warm, toothy smile, the one that makes me feel as though no one else exists in the world but the two of us; it beams down on me, warming me, as though I’ve been pulled from cold dark water into sunlight.
‘Didn’t want to hang out with them anyway,’ she says. ‘All they do is bitch bitch bitch, I can’t stand it.’ She mimics their local accent, ‘Did you see so-and-so in that skirt, she looks well fat. So-and-so got off with what’s his face, she’s a right slapper.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘God! It’s so bloody boring, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ I say, starting to smile despite myself.
She takes my arm. ‘Come on mardy-arse, I’m off to meet Connor in the square. You can come too, if you want. Love your top, by the way.’
He’s already in the square when we get there, standing with a group of other lads by the statue, and when she goes to them I sit on a bench to wait. Maybe she’ll want to do something later, I tell myself. Just the two of us – maybe this day will end up the way it was supposed to after all. I hug my school bag and watch them. They’re the type you’d usually cross the road to avoid, Connor’s friends. They stand around, hard-faced and shifty-eyed, shaven-headed and tattooed, sucking on roll-ups or from cans of lager, an edgy sort of boredom rising from them into the clear blue sky. My parents would call them lowlifes, would faint in shock at the thought of me near them.
Connor stands in the centre of them all, his good looks and quiet, watchful air setting him apart from the others, who glance back at him frequently, as if waiting for his approval. Edie stands next to him, her hand on his arm and talking animatedly, but he barely responds, as though he’s not really listening, and as I watch, his eyes meet mine, his cool green stare resting on my face before it flicks away again and I shiver.
And then, suddenly, a commotion. A beer can sails through the air and hits a lad I hadn’t noticed before standing on the edge of the group, the frothy spray exploding over his face and down his neck. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he says, as the others laugh and jeer. He walks away from them, towards me. He’s younger than the others, probably about my age, his shoulders thin beneath the hoodie he’s wearing, something childlike in the way he’s pulled the sleeves right over his hands. He sits down at the other end of the bench and starts rolling a cigarette and after a while I take a breath and say, ‘Hi, I’m Heather, Edie’s friend.’ He glances up and nods; ‘Liam,’ he says.