Spark

by Rachael Craw

  I close my eyes and rub my face. Seizure, epilepsy, tumour, brain cancer? The options grow wider and worse.

  The phone rings and I shake myself. I blink once, twice, and the strange high definition effect recedes. I check my reflection in the window; my messy eyes are back. “You are losing your mind, Everton. Rein it in.”

  I exhale and go to find the phone. It sits in the hall on a cramped table beneath Nan’s statue of the Virgin, one of the nostalgic fingerprints Miriam left untouched when she reclaimed her childhood home. I lift the handset. “Everton Images. Evangeline speaking.”

  “It’s me. I’m home. Flight was a bloody nightmare. Six crying babies, I mean to say. Six!”

  I lean my forehead on the bookcase and grin, gently wiping dust from the Virgin’s robe with my finger. “Sounds nasty.”

  “It was.” Kitty’s accent, crisp and round from the first ten years of her life in England. “Honestly, I’m dead.”

  I chuckle.

  She makes a strangled sound. “Evs. Hell. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I turn and sit at the bottom of the stairs, let Kitty apologise a couple more times – get it out of her system – and throw myself in the first gap to ask about London. She’s been doing time with her famously abrasive Uncle Jeremy, getting a taste for the family textiles business, which Jeremy heads in the UK and Leonard heads in the States. It’s expected of the Gallagher children, like some high-powered work experience thing – supposed to help them decide on their focus for senior year and their majors for college, with the prospect of finding their niche in the business after graduation. I struggle to imagine such a well-planned life.

  “Uncle Jeremy’s such a bloody schemer. He’s got me pegged for legal, but Dad’s always fancied me in trade.”

  “I love how you say that like I have a clue what it means.”

  She grumbles. “It means they’ll both be pissed off because I don’t want either.”

  My eyebrows spring up. “Have you told them that?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I actually want to enjoy my summer.”

  I snort and she launches into a wandering rant based on the trials of being a Gallagher heiress. I usually hear a version of it at least once a summer, or whatever holiday it is that we end up sharing. Kitty and I have been holiday buddies since she was eleven and I was ten. When they moved back to the States, Barb had been determined to throw us together. While Kitty’s vacation spots ranged through European capitals, mine was always New Hampshire, with the occasional summer camp at this lake or that. I can’t even imagine a summer that doesn’t involve Nan and Pop’s old house, the forest around it, the familiar mountains and the wild Border River that circles the small town of Burton. I can’t imagine a summer that doesn’t involve the Gallaghers, though I could happily erase one of them.

  “Jamie’s taking the heat off me, thankfully,” Kitty says, as though she’s sensed my thoughts have strayed to her brother. “He’s told them outright he doesn’t want a bar of textiles. Dad’s on the warpath.”

  “Really?” I wish I wasn’t interested.

  “Says he wants to build boats and that doesn’t require an MBA.”

  “Boats?”

  “Yachts, specifically.”

  “Then what’s he been doing in Berlin for the last year?” I can’t keep up with the twins’ complicated education. Barb, a New England WASP, insisted her children have some time at her alma mater here in New Hampshire – Gainsborough Collegiate, where she and Mom had become the best of friends – but Leonard’s ties were in the UK, Eton, Oxford, land and titles. Apparently, Jamie’s year boarding with his uncle hadn’t gone well.

  “Who knows? Uncle Jeremy sorted it out. Some uber-international school. Probably a bribe. Here are some mountains and lakes, lad. Ski. Sail. Get it out of your system, then when you’re all safely graduated come and be a good boy at Oxford.”

  “You think he’ll cave?”

  Kitty sighs. “Don’t know what his problem is. I guess he must have had a really miserable time at Eton for them to pull him out and pack him off to Germany. Bloody waste of time. He was perfectly happy at Gainsborough with me.”

  I can’t imagine Jamie struggling anywhere. He’s naturally popular, looking like he does, with his family as it is. Athletic, easy going, funny – if you liked bastards. Aces any subject he looks at. On what basis would Jamie Gallagher, heir to a multi-billion dollar textiles empire, ever find himself miserable?

  “Boats, then,” I say. “Guess it could be worse.”

  Kitty snorts. “Listen to you, all magnanimous and whatnot.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “I thought you’d be spitting.”

  “What do I care if Jamie wants to build boats?”

  “I meant about him coming home.”

  My stomach flips and I press a hand to my eyes. “Ah, crap.”

  “He gets in this afternoon. In time for the Governor’s Ball thing. Didn’t Barb say about Jamie?”

  It always jars me to hear Kitty call her mother by her first name but it is Barb’s rule. It jars me more to imagine facing Jamie.

  She chuckles. “Well, I suppose she wouldn’t want to put you off.”

  I groan. The phone feels too hot against my ear and I swap sides.

  “You will come to the ball though, won’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Not even to see me?”

  “No.”

  “You could meet my friends.”

  “Right,” I choke. “Hey everybody, this is Evie. She has no money and has never been anywhere, but please be nice to her, her father doesn’t know she exists and her mom’s just died.” Kitty always loved the lurid mythology of my conception: April on a college bender waking up with a foreign exchange student in her dorm-room bed. He shipped out after the one-night stand. She didn’t even have a name to follow up when I appeared on the radar a few weeks later. All a bit hard to imagine, growing up with my pathologically sensible mother.

  “Everybody loves a poor orphan.”

  “No.”

  She heaves a colossal sigh. “You suck.”

  “’Fraid so.”

  Eventually she gives up bullying me and starts in on school and subject options. I pretend to listen but my brain churns: Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. I finger the tiny scar in my hairline, the mark of our first encounter when he “slipped” and pushed me in the river. Head versus rock and the rock won – a blinding thwack then a watery blackout. He dragged me out – not that I remembered – but the sharp pain, coming round on the bank, the spitting up water, the abrupt end to our families’ picnic and the stitches afterwards were clear as day. It’s one of the only times I ever saw those grey eyes express fear, as he peered down at me, his dark gold hair dripping water into my eyes.

  I let Kitty talk on, shaking my head. Was it really eight years ago? I had such sky-high expectations that summer with the Gallaghers moving from London; the prospect of ready-made holiday friends – glamorous, exotic friends, with accents and everything, whose family home may as well have been Disneyland. But I can’t smile at the memory, not when there’s a present-day threat. Jamie. Home. This afternoon. My chest feels all fluttery. I want to get back into bed and put my head under a pillow.

  Kitty says something derogatory about Burton Central High School and I try to tune in.

  “You should seriously consider it,” she says. “You’re the year-ahead-brainiac, you could easily get a scholarship.”

  “Scholarship? BC’s a state school, Kit.”

  “No, you numpty, Gainsborough Collegiate.”

  Illustrious in name and notorious in price. Nan and Pop worked themselves to the bone to put Mom and Miriam through the school, but it’s well out of my price range. “As if. And I’m no brainiac. Being forced up a grade at seven was an optimistic failure by the state.”

  “But it’s utterly ridiculous for us to be living in the same town, for once in our lives, and not be going to school together.”

  �
��If you’re that worried about it, ditch Gainsborough and slum it with me.”

  She gags.

  “Snob.” I chuckle. “Our whole relationship is based on seeing each other during school holidays. It would all fall apart if we were in each other’s pockets every day. We’d be sick to death of each other.”

  “I suppose that’s true. We’ve only been on the phone half an hour and I’m already fed up.”

  KITTY

  There are more hunting and fishing shops than fashion boutiques in Burton, but I keep my whining to a minimum and let Miriam lead me through the handful of clothing stores that dot Main Street. I’m not against shopping. I love to shop. I undoubtedly need new clothes. It just makes me uncomfortable to see Miriam hand over her credit card. When we come to the counter at a denim outlet, I cringe at the cash register’s tally.

  “Don’t get all twitchy.” She has her don’t-mess-with-me lips on. “When your house sells in Penn you can do what you like, but for now I get to spoil you.”

  The saleslady laughs. “Most girls are thrilled to see their mom pull out the credit card.”

  My “I’m not–” collides with Miriam’s and I choke on the rest.

  We get out onto the street and neither of us says anything, though I can see Miriam glancing at me. I finally stop and face her. “Hey, listen. It’s no big deal. Bound to happen, right?”

  Miriam nods, scanning my face. “You look pale.”

  I feel faint and my pins and needles are going nuts. The day has become hot and I’m suddenly parched. Miriam takes the bags from my hands. “Did you eat this morning?”

  I think of the eggs I left congealing on the skillet. “Um …”

  “Lunch?”

  “Does the last of the chocolate milk count?”

  She shakes her head and nudges me towards a cafe with empty tables out front; the lunch crowds have long gone. She pulls out a sticky chair and I sit without protest. “Pins and needles?”

  I shrug. No point lying, she can tell I’m uncomfortable.

  “Have you been sleeping?”

  I shrug again. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Mom got sick. If I manage to slip consciousness, I dream and wake in sweating panic. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Wait here.” She pats my head.

  I close my eyes and take deep breaths, trying to ease the tension in my chest.

  “Evie!”

  My eyes pop open and there she is, Kitty Gallagher, grinning on the sidewalk with a bag in each hand.

  “Hey!” I get to my feet, head spinning with the upwards rush. She practically throws herself on me and my pins and needles amplify like I’m plugged in. Stars burst before my eyes and a roaring fills my ears.

  “You’re so tall!” She laughs and hugs me tight, her chin barely reaching my shoulder. “Why are you so tall?”

  “I – I really need to sit.”

  “Sorry.” She steps back, teary eyed. “It’s so good to see you. Blimey, you do look a bit peaky.”

  I sit heavily and hold my head, dizzy and weirded out. “Just a little faint. Miriam’s gone to get me something to eat.”

  Kitty takes in the array of shiny boutique bags. “You’re coming tonight?”

  “No,” I say. “Replacing essentials. Everything’s a bit short these days. It’s great to see you, Kit.” She’s cropped her honey-blonde bob closer to her chin. Her dove-grey eyes sparkle and she looks pretty damn good for someone after a long-haul flight.

  She takes the seat opposite and lays her hand on my wrist, sending a strange electric current shooting up my arm to meet the zip-zapping in my spine.

  “Are you feeling sick?” Kitty looks genuinely worried.

  But I can’t concentrate to answer, too baffled by my body’s reaction to her touch. At that moment Miriam appears. She carries a tray with a muffin, a soda and a chocolate bar. “Kitty! You’re here!”

  Kitty lets me go. My arm instantly stops tingling and the roaring in my ears dims, but the pressure in my chest increases. It must mean something. Kitty rises briefly to kiss Miriam’s cheek. Miriam places the tray in front of me. “Eat.” She takes a seat, darting furtive glances up and down the street. “Are you by yourself, Kit?”

  I rip the wrapper off the chocolate bar and take a big bite. Sugar. Sugar will settle my system. Kitty grins and covers my hand again, producing the same alarming surge in electricity. The chocolate lodges in my throat and I cough to clear the obstruction, pounding my chest with my fist. “Don’t worry,” she laughs. “Jamie’s not behind me. Barb and Dad are on their way to meet him at the airport.”

  Miriam gives me a guilty smile and sits back. She must have known he was coming home. I take a swig of soda. Content to sit and eat and let them do the talking, I concentrate on the competing sensations in my body. I don’t feel so dizzy thanks to the sugar hit. My thirst has backed off with the soda. My pins and needles seem to respond to Kitty like she’s a magnet. Yet, despite this, being with her comforts me. Maybe it’s the whole familiarity thing, a friend on hand after weeks of moping around Miriam’s place. I can’t stop looking at Kitty, like I’m relieved somehow to see her happy and well. But why relieved? And why the tight feeling in my chest? Anxiety tight? How can I feel relieved and anxious at the same time? That’s easy. You’re losing it.

  “You know you’re going to have to see him sometime.” Kitty’s back on her brother. “If you come tonight it would be over and done with. Then we could get on with our last few weeks before school without things being all awkward. It’s been three years. Can’t you be grown-ups?”

  “I’m not coming to the ball to prove something to your brother.”

  “Oh? But you are coming?” She sits up straight, eyebrows high. Seeing her so hopeful fills me with a strange unwillingness to disappoint her. I shake my head. Her shoulders slump and I feel bad.

  The waitress comes out with the coffee pot and places cups on the table.

  “I’m good with soda,” I say.

  “I’ll have hers,” Kitty says.

  As the waitress fills two cups, an eerie feeling comes over me. A tingling awareness of the moment that magnifies small details: the silver rim of a passing bicycle winking in the sunlight, the shimmer of heat rising from the asphalt, the breeze lifting a child’s bangs as she whines at her mother on the sidewalk. To my right a man counts change into his palm, the coins chinking.

  My spine tightens.

  The circumference of awareness narrows, the micro-details of the periphery diminish. The glint of light on Kitty’s coffee becomes the riveting focal point. Steam pearls upwards, dewing the inside rim. The porous ceramic bears signs of wear and a hairline fracture on the handle catches my eye. Kitty says something and goes to pick up her coffee by the bowl. It’s too hot. She takes the handle instead. Electricity crackles in my spine. I squint at the sharpening light and time stretches. Kitty raises her cup in slow motion. I observe the gradual trajectory of her hand, hear a small pop like the sound of chalk snapping and the handle of her cup breaks away. The bowl of hot coffee falls in a long elastic second.

  The instinct to protect Kitty seems as natural as the solution. I simply reach out to catch the falling bowl. I don’t even feel the burn on my wrist where it splashes, scalding my skin.

  Time snaps back to its regular speed, my ears clear and I stare at the cup in my hand. Miriam’s on her feet.

  “Bloody hell.” Kitty shoves her chair back. She drops the handle on the table and takes the still full cup from my hand. “How did you do that?” She rubs at a few stray drops on her jeans. “Look at your wrist.” A blister rises in a red weal.

  “No idea.” I feel awake, like I’ve just come out of a long foggy dream and the world is back in technicolour. “Ha!”

  Miriam frowns. “You need something for your hand.” She turns away and goes back into the cafe.

  I look at Kitty, who still gapes at me. I feel more alive than I have in weeks and filled with certainty. My social phobia is irrelevant. Jamie is irreleva
nt.

  Being with Kitty is important. Urgent. Inexplicably urgent. If she’s going to this thing tonight, then so am I.

  “All right,” I say, as if she’s asked me again. “I’ll come.”

  PANIC

  “You’re going to look killer, Evs.” Kitty leans to peer at me through the window of her shiny European car. “Everything, it all works.”

  “For the sake of Miriam’s credit card, I hope so.”

  Kitty argued for a ball makeover, which apparently meant a total overhaul. Face, hair, dress, shoes, accessories. Miriam had been unsure about leaving me to shop, worried I wasn’t well enough, but even with the electricity in my spine and the roar in my ears, being with Kitty made me feel better than I had in ages. I argued. Miriam conceded. Kitty had to promise to bring me home if I felt faint, and I had promised to use Miriam’s credit card. Sort of a compromise, I guess.

  “All for a good cause,” Kitty says. “It’s always the best revenge to turn up looking gorgeous when there’s an ex around.”

  “Jamie’s not my ex,” I mutter, but I still feel buoyed enough to laugh it off. In fact, I had followed Kitty around in a daze all afternoon from salon to boutique to shoe store, compliant, content, bolstered to the point where the prospect of meeting her snooty schoolfriends no longer seems to faze me. Seeing Jamie won’t be such a big deal. He’s eighteen, I’m seventeen. Like Kitty says, we can be grown-ups. I even picture us laughing off old misunderstandings.

  The strange inner workings of my body reassure me. Zip-zap, Kitty’s very important to me. Zip-zap, she’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had. Zip-zap, it isn’t such a hardship making her happy. Besides, zip-zap, saying yes to Kitty makes me feel good.

  “Still,” she says, “won’t hurt him to feel a little regret.”

  I roll my eyes.

  She waves. “See you tonight.”

  “Okay.” The vague anxious feeling tugs at me. “Thanks again.” I hold my breath as her car pulls away. It doesn’t feel right. The not-right feeling peaks when she reaches the corner. I almost cry out. Then the car turns out of sight and the feeling evaporates.