‘Someone from the “yes” side,’ says Laidlaw.
‘I didn’t think you were here today,’ I whisper. She doesn’t move, doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve spoken.
I reach down deep for the words. Where did my words go? They’re back to disappearing just when I need them. Where do they hide?
Viraj is picked on by Laidlaw and says something about how, yeah, it was a selfish act but that doesn’t necessarily make it bad.
I lean in closer to Zan.
‘I’m sorry, okay?’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry I made you mad.’
Finally she turns and I wish she hadn’t. Because knowing Zan is mad at me and seeing the anger in her eyes are two different things.
‘Mad?’ she says. ‘You’re worried about me being mad? What about Carmen? How do you think she feels?’
The guilt twists my heart and I’m scared to say anything more because I know everything I say will be wrong. There aren’t any right words; that’s why I can’t find them.
‘And Kari broke things off with me so thanks for that.’
‘What?’
Zan looks away, sucking hard on her lips. ‘She said she couldn’t be with anyone she didn’t trust. That I was obviously too immature for her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Save it. You only say “sorry” when you’ve been caught out and there’s nothing else for you to hide behind.’
Her words sting and more so because of their truth. She’s right and it shames me into silence.
She shakes her head. ‘You should have come clean. Ages ago. I told you to do it and you didn’t.’
Why didn’t I tell Carmen? Why didn’t I tell her that first day?
Because she didn’t want to know. Because the family asked for no contact. I knew she would never want to know me, would never accept me.
Laidlaw shushes the class and asks the next question: ‘Is Victor’s creation more human than monster?’
The hum of conversation increases and there’s more movement this time. People cross and I watch carefully, waiting to make my choice. Farran and his mate cross. Tamaya and her friend come stand in front of me. Zan crosses to the other side without looking at me. I’m not sure if she’s changing to that side because that’s what she thinks or because she just wants to get away from me. Maybe both.
In the end the sides are split fifty-fifty so I stay. Crossing the room will only draw attention. With the group thinned out I’m not as well hidden up the back. I try to shrink behind Tamaya but she’s almost as short as I am.
‘Skye? Tell me why you chose “no”.’
She rolls her eyes at the other two Cerberus heads. ‘Because his name is literally “the monster”. He wouldn’t be called that if he wasn’t an actual, you know, monster.’
There’s laughter, but Skye doesn’t blush like I would. The laughter puffs her up and I don’t know if she’s actually ignorant or playing it for laughs.
‘Totally,’ says Eddie, and he turns to look at me. ‘He’s made out of dead people bits.’
I bite back a sob. It locks in my throat and swells, choking off the air. I can’t breathe. Every heartbeat feels like a knife, cutting, slashing, destroying me from the inside. I can’t breathe. I try to grip the wall behind me but there’s nothing to hold.
‘What do you reckon, Marlowe?’ says Eddie. ‘You’ve got personal experience with this.’
The class erupts – laughter and gasps and whispers, and everyone turns to look at me.
Laidlaw barks Eddie’s name, but Eddie just laughs it off.
‘Devalan’s office,’ Lairdlow snaps. ‘Now.’
Eddie says nothing as he slowly crosses the room.
I look at Zan and for a moment our eyes meet. Her eyes flick to Eddie for a fraction of a second and I think maybe she’s going to say something.
But she doesn’t. She folds her arms across her chest and looks away.
Pip clutches Finn Family Moomintroll the whole way home from school. He switches it from hand to hand, sneaking glances at me; I stare straight ahead. At our front gate he stops, worry lines visible between the strands of his bright green wig.
‘Why is it paper for first anniversaries?’ he asks.
I pause with my hand on the gate. Because paper is thin and temporary and easily torn, and things that are only a year old are fragile like that. You have to wait sixty years for it to be a diamond. ‘I don’t know, Pip.’
‘It should be something like a cake. Or a rat. Wouldn’t that be cool? You’d never be sad if someone gave you a rat like Brutus.’
He smiles his unsinkable smile, but I am too big an iceberg even for him and his smile vanishes. I open the gate.
Pip runs up the path to our house and pushes through the front door. ‘Home! We’re home!’ he shouts.
My phone pings and I pull it out. It’s Leo. Again. Do six hours of silence mean ur not ok or ur just not talking to me??? I bet Frodo answered Sauron’s texts.
His message makes me feel warm and achy in the pit of my stomach, but my fingers don’t move to answer. I can’t feel that way right now. It’s gross to be happy today. Carmen is a suburb away having the worst day of her life.
The second worst.
It’s too complicated anyway. It would never work, no matter how much I’d like it to.
Another ping, another burst of jittery warmth: If you could just tell me either way?
My thumbs tingle. I’m fine, that’s all I need to write. I’m fine. We’re fine. Everyone is fine.
Isn’t ‘fine’ a stupid fucking word?
I pocket my phone and drag myself inside. Dumping my bag in the hallway, I head to the lounge. I want to eat, then sleep and sleep and sleep and forget.
‘Does furry rhyme with anniversary?’ asks Pip. He is dancing underneath Mum, who is halfway up a ladder, pinning a banner that reads: Happy One Year Anniversary, Marlowe!
She looks down at me and grins. ‘Ta-da!’ She throws both arms in the air.
It’s a punch in the gut. Punch after punch after punch after punch. My eyes flick around the room. There’s a table set up in the centre of the lounge with food and drinks already on it.
Punch.
Pinned along the walls is the homemade bunting Mum drags out every holiday, and from the stereo Bowie is crooning ‘Let’s Dance’.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
‘It’s Marlowe’s anniversary,’ sings Pip. ‘I like her even though she’s furry. Cos I like rats and they’re furry too.’
I make a strange noise in the back of my throat that sounds like I’m being choked.
Punch.
‘Give us a hand,’ says Mum. ‘I know it’s your party and by rights you should get to sit on your butt and watch the rest of us work, but just pass me the tape, will you? I forgot it.’
‘It’s Marlowe’s anniversary,’ sings Pip. His dance is all hips and shoulders. ‘And we’re having a party. Even though she looks like a monkey. And she smells a little funky.’
‘The tape, Marlowe,’ says Mum, flicking her fingers at me. ‘Don’t make me climb down this ladder. Again. I almost broke my neck five times. I swear I never used to be this uncoordinated.’
Is this what it was like for Carmen? This suffocating, squeezing, choking anger? Punch. I grab a fistful of my t-shirt and squeeze.
‘I said I didn’t want a party.’
Mum stares at me like I’ve spoken to her in French. ‘Why wouldn’t we have a party, Marl?’
I don’t have the words to tell her why not and that makes me even angrier. But she shouldn’t need me to explain it. She should just hear me. Why does she never hear me? Punch.
‘I don’t want this.’ I point at the table with food, and the bunting and the banner. My voice shakes with barely contained anger. ‘I said no. Why didn’t you listen to me?’
She sighs. As though I’m causing her distress. ‘Marlowe, you’re being ridiculous,’ she snaps. ‘Of course we’re having a party. You invited your friends.’
&nbs
p; I don’t have friends. I grip my t-shirt tighter – my fingernails dig through the soft cotton and into my palms. There’ll be a mark. I hope it leaves another scar. I don’t have friends.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
‘Just hand me the tape and quit being a sourpuss. Your friends will be here soon. Then we can dance. Woohoo!’
The anger builds inside me – builds and roars and pushes at the back of my teeth, looking for a way out.
‘Oh, and I invited Hannah. Pass the tape, Pip, Marlowe’s being a grumpy-bum.’
‘Grumpy-bum, grumpy-bum,’ sings Pip.
My phone pings. I don’t look at it.
I am going to explode – I will rocket out of this room and into space and I will become a black star, sucking the life out of everything that comes too close to me. My anger will destroy the universe.
Pip jumps up and down on the spot, trying to touch the half-hung banner with the tips of his fingers. ‘It’s Marlowe’s anniversary,’ he sings, a little out of breath from the jumping. ‘She can –’
‘Shut up, Pip!’ I yell. Because I can’t take another second of this. It hurts too much; I don’t want to be the one hurting anymore. Someone else can hurt for once. ‘Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! Why do you have to be such a freak? Can’t you just be normal?’
The second the words leave my mouth I want to reach for them, catch them in the air and shove them back down my throat. But I can’t. You can’t undo an explosion.
Punch.
Pip’s bottom lip trembles. His eyes are wide.
Punch.
Mum gasps.
‘Pip. Don’t –’
But he just runs, thumping up the stairs and slamming his door shut behind him. The reality of what I’ve done slams into me like a truck.
Mum hurries down the ladder, face set in anger.
‘Mum –’
‘How dare you? You don’t get to say that to him. Not you. Never you. That kid worships you. He has done nothing but live his life for you – to make you happy, to make you smile, to make you forget your troubles. You selfish, selfish girl.’
I am overflowing with shame. Now time moves too fast – I can’t grab hold of it, I can’t claw it back, I can’t stop this from happening.
Mum’s face is contorted, red. ‘You got what you wanted, Marlowe. The party’s cancelled. God forbid we do anything to let you know how much we love you, how fucking happy we are to still have you with us. God forbid we get to enjoy ourselves after years of living on the knife’s edge.’
She looks at me like she no longer recognises me, like I’m Bert the Butcher and every other cruel-hearted bastard she’s ever come up against all rolled into one; she looks at me like I’m dog shit. And I am.
‘Mum –’
She storms past me and up the stairs, where moments later I hear a knock on Pip’s door.
I can no longer hold myself up. I crouch on the ground. And all I can think of is Pip performing a one-man musical version of Star Wars before my first major heart surgery, dancing and singing until my tears turn to laughter. Pip making faces behind the doctors’ backs so I always hear their bad news with a smile. Pip holding my hand until the very last moment before they wheel me away and give me a new heart, and Pip at the end of my bed, desperate to be the first face I see when I wake up.
There’s a bitter, roiling heat in my belly – I’m going to be sick. Maybe if I throw up, all the horrible words I’ve ever said or ever could say will be expelled and I’ll never be able to hurt anyone again. I cover my mouth; I have to fix this. How do I fix this?
I hurry out of the lounge and upstairs. I tiptoe to Pip’s door; it’s ajar and Mum’s inside, leaning over Pip curled on his bed. She brushes a hand through his hair. There’s silence. It has a permanent feel about it, the kind you know is there even when you’re talking. It’s always there underneath. Lurking.
I remember the first time I met Pip after he was born. I screamed because I thought he was an alien and Mum couldn’t stop laughing, but then Pip started screaming too and she said, ‘Look, Marlowe, he wants to be just like you,’ and that was the moment I knew I was in love. The kind of love that makes you whole.
There’s a photo of me and Pip that day. His teeny tiny hand is gripped around my little finger, holding on like I was his life raft, like only I could stop him floating away. But I wonder if that’s true. Maybe I’ve been keeping him grounded when he should have been allowed to fly.
‘Pip?’ says Mum. ‘Say something.’
But Pip doesn’t say a word.
I back away, gripping my stomach. Down the stairs, out the front door, onto the street where I double over; panic fires in my veins and I can’t get enough air in my lungs. My heart has never felt this broken.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
I wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone.
This was supposed to be a beginning, not an end.
There’s a story about a guy who travels back in time and shoots his grandfather and poof! he winks out of existence because he just killed off his ancestor. Imagine having a gift like that – time travel! – but then doing the stupidest thing with it.
Well, that’s me. I got the best gift of all – a second chance at life – and I stuffed it up in the worst way. I hurt Carmen, Zan and now Pip.
Behind me there is the sound of feet and shuffling and a voice: ‘Marlowe?’
I know it’s Leo, but I turn away, grabbing hold of the fence. It’s the only thing keeping me upright. ‘Go away.’
‘What happened?’
‘Now’s not a good time.’ My voice cracks.
‘Are you hurt? Sick?’
I shake my head. ‘Not me. But –’ I cover my mouth – a sob.
‘Shit. Come here.’ His hands press to my shoulders and I cry, the kind of hacking sobs that make it hard to breathe. He tries to turn me around; I resist but he keeps pushing. Finally, I give in and burrow into his chest – I’m too tired, too sore, too sorry. ‘Is it about last night?’ he asks. ‘That girl?’
There’s no room in my head for words. He waits, patiently, but eventually he pulls me back so he can look at me; god knows what state my face is in – there’s a lot of snotty tears, that’s for sure. But he doesn’t look at me like I’m gross and he doesn’t notice the wet face-print I’ve left on his t-shirt. He wipes a thumb across my cheek, one side and then the next. ‘Don’t cry.’
I cry harder. ‘I messed up.’
‘You can fix it.’
‘I can’t.’
He shakes his head. ‘She’ll forgive you. Just give her time to get used to the idea –’
‘Not Carmen.’ I grab hold of his wrist and stop him wiping away my tears. I caused these tears. They should fall. They should never stop falling. ‘Not just Carmen. Pip too. I called him a freak. It’s the worst thing I could have said.’ I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. ‘And I should know. I’ve heard it so many times. I hated you for calling me a freak.’
He grimaces. ‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Shit. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to . . . no. There’s no excuse. I was a dick. I shouldn’t have said that to you. You can pay me back. Hit me. Knee me in the balls – I don’t care.’
‘Is that how I get Pip to forgive me? Because I don’t have any balls he can kick.’
‘I can get you balls, Ray. Lots of them.’
I laugh, an unexpected splutter, wet with crying.
‘That’s better.’ He lifts his t-shirt and dabs at my face.
‘You’re nice,’ I tell him. ‘For a butcher.’
‘You’re not so bad. For a vegan.’
I nudge him in the ribs, his skin warm to the touch. My nose is still running. I’m so gross right now, but he looks at me with the same intensity that got us all tangled up last night.
I turn away. ‘Stop looking at me.’
He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and draws me back to him. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. Sometimes you’re all I can see.’
I try to turn my head away. ‘Leo, I –’
‘You’ll fix it. It hurts now but you’ll find a way to fix it. You know how I know that?’
I shake my head.
‘Because you’re stubborn. Pathologically stubborn. And determined. So when you get something in your head you do it. Like graffiti and wanted posters and prank phone calls.’ He grins. ‘And, yeah, it gets you into trouble, but it’s also going to get you out of it.’
I want to believe him but all I can think about now is how much I wish I didn’t have anything to fix. Because even if I can repair things, I still broke them.
‘I forgave you,’ he says, voice low, playful. His lips brush my forehead, my nose, my cheeks damp with tears. ‘You said I had shit hair and I forgave you.’
‘I love your shit hair.’
He chuckles, his breath warm against my skin. ‘I know.’
I don’t mean for it to happen, but when he presses his crooked smile against my lips time stops in a good way. In a way that lets me forget everything else for a moment. And kissing him tastes like freedom and desire and life. And the sweetness of it makes me feel that maybe broken things can be fixed. Even me.
I reach up between us and I can feel my scar beneath my t-shirt and for the first time it feels right because it proves that I’m still here, that I’m strong, that I can survive anything. That second chances are possible.
Leo kisses me until there’s a gasp behind us and we break apart to find my mum.
My mum.
Watching me.
Watching me kiss a butcher.
Mum is in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a cup of tea in her hand. She’s like a painting, perfectly still, and there’s some kind of symbolism in the way she’s just leaning there, shoulders slumped, eyes unfocused.
The banner’s on the ground, torn.
I’ve hid in my room all afternoon but I can’t stand the silence.
I pause in the doorway, watching Mum, seeing fine lines at the edges of her eyes I’ve never seen before and little sparks of grey in her hair.
When she notices me she pushes off the bench, turns around and tips her tea down the sink. ‘I don’t have anything to say to you.’ When she turns back, her eyes find the torn banner on the ground. ‘I mean, you tell me you’re old enough to be in control, to make good decisions and then . . .’
Tin Heart Page 23