Wednesday night. The night that Eddie saw her out on the town. A million and one thoughts are flashing through my head now. She was with a guy and he hit her, the bastard. She came in late and… Oh my God, that’s it. Her dad hit her. The goddam lousy cowardly slob. He hit her. And I bet he’s hit her before. Oh the cowardly dirty trash. It must be him. He has a temper. He’s very aggressive. I’ve heard him. I know it’s him!
Well of course, I don’t know anything of the kind. But I’ve made up my mind. Her dad beats her up. But I can’t say any of this. What can I say?
‘Should I kiss it better?’
That’s feeble again, but like I said, I can’t blurt out what I’m thinking.
She smiles, that dirty, sultry, sexy smile of hers, and she leans towards me.
‘Mmm… the kiss part sounds good…’
She puts her hand on my arm to steady herself and then she pulls away and her hand is gently feeling the bandage beneath my shirt.
‘Hey, what’s happened to you?’
‘Nothing. Just a cut.’
I’m so drained that I can’t even think of a decent lie. She’s unbuttoning my shirt and rolling up the sleeve and I just sit there and let her. Pretty soon she’s looking at the bandage and the blood stain and all, and she seems pretty shocked.
‘Christ, what have you done?’
She’s looking at me like I’m an alien or something and I don’t like that look on her face one little bit. She’s leaning back away from me now, like she’s just heard that I’ve got an infectious disease.
‘It’s nothing. It’s just a cut. It’ll heal.’
I’m trying to act all cool but I’m actually shaking and I’m hoping like hell that she doesn’t notice.
‘You’ve done this to yourself haven’t you?’
I can’t answer.
‘Christ Tom, you stupid, stupid jerk.’
I liked it better when she was calling me Holden.
‘This is because of me, isn’t it? I just knew it. I knew it the other day when I saw how you were playing with those scissors. Christ.’
‘It’s nothing, really.’
I want her to believe that. I want to believe it myself but the truth is, she’s right.
‘I think we should stop seeing each other any more, before this goes further.’
‘No…’
I’m really shaking now, so that I feel like I couldn’t get up even if I tried. I can feel the blood rushing to my face even as I feel cold inside.
‘You don’t have to do something just because I’ve done it.’
‘I know. I…’
‘I can’t be responsible for this, Tom. I just can’t. It’s best that we end this right now. I can’t handle this. It’s too much.’
I don’t exactly sit there as she gets up and starts to walk back to the school building, but I’m struggling to get to my feet because I’m shaking so much and I feel really weak.
‘Sylvia…’
She doesn’t even turn to look back at me. And pretty soon, I can’t even see her. My eyes are full of tears, I don’t mind admitting it. I’m just crying fit to break your heart, if you must know, and leaning against that goddam tree.
CHAPTER 14
Making allowances
Well Chet goddam Baker is playing again and my room is dark, with not even the flicker of the TV tonight. The whole house seems under some sort of black cloud. There’s only Madeleine and me at home; Mom and Dad are away at their goddam orgy or whatever it is, and I’m scared.
I’m scared of how I feel right now, and I’m scared about tomorrow. I hate Sylvia for walking away from me like she did, even though I realise that I actually love her. I hate the fact that Madeleine is going to be depending on me because I don’t feel strong enough, I just don’t. And I hate Mom and Dad for not being here. And I hate myself for being weak and being scared.
Of course I’m holding the scissors again. The dirty, blood-soiled bandage is on the floor next to me. In places the cut from last night is still weeping blood and plasma, but it’s not really flowing. And I’m just playing at these open wounds with the tip of the scissors and I’m feeling nothing. I’m just numb with fear.
Madeleine is downstairs watching TV. At least she was when I last saw her. She’s watching a DVD – a recording of some ghastly stage musical that we’d all been to see last year. Normally, I’d have a dig at her for that. I mean, musical theatre is surely the lowest, meanest, least intelligent art form imaginable isn’t it? I’d rather watch rats mating than sit through a minute of that anodyne drivel. It’s like baby food for the minds of morons; all sickly mush is what it is. I have to make allowances for Madeleine right now though. She has other things to consider and I know it.
When I walked past Madeleine’s room earlier, I saw her little overnight bag on her bed. I’ve never seen anything so lonely and sad in my entire life as that bag just sitting there. Madeleine has packed a change of clothes for tomorrow. It’s not like she is going to stay overnight or anything; she just wants something fresh to put on once it’s all done and finished.
I’m sitting here trying to put myself in Madeleine’s shoes, to feel what she’s feeling, but I’m so wrapped up in my own misery and self-pity that I can’t. I despise myself for that. Madeleine needs me more than ever right now and I’m just useless. Perhaps I’ve always been useless. Selfish and useless. What use am I to anyone? Sylvia’s getting beaten up and I can’t do anything. Madeleine is hurting and there’s only me to help her and all I’m concerned with is my own depression.
I can feel the blood running over my arm again. I’d better get another bandage. I should really go and sit with my sister. Did I ever tell you how much I love her? It might not seem like it, the way I’m acting right now, but the truth is that I do. I really do. I love her to bits if you must know.
CHAPTER 15
Mondrian, Kandinsky and Rive Gauche in the clinic
Madeleine is driving. It’s early Saturday morning so there isn’t a lot of traffic. We’ve had to drive through the city, because that’s the quickest way to get to the clinic. Normally, we’d be singing. We’d have that old CD player on and we’d be singing along and laughing while the world rushed by outside. But today all we have for company is the engine sound, and the sound of the tyres as they swoosh across the asphalt. It’s a sunny day outside and scorching hot, but we don’t even have the roof down. I’m not even wearing shades.
The clinic is deep in the countryside, way beyond the city. It takes an hour to drive there, and Madeleine pulls her little Mazda in through the discreet gates. The wheels crunch on the gravel of the driveway. I can feel Madeleine’s tension as she sits beside me and I know that she’s scared. I’m just hoping and praying that she can’t tell that I’m scared too. I just have to be strong for her.
I’m carrying Madeleine’s cute little overnight bag and I follow her into the sterile white building. The reception area is actually quite light and the walls are painted pastel shades and there are prints on the walls – Mondrian and Kandinsky. And there are low padded couches upholstered in soft fabrics, and glass-topped tables strewn with magazines.
I don’t pay attention as Madeleine speaks to the woman sitting behind the reception desk, but pretty soon she’s asking me for her bag, and before I know it, I’m just standing there looking at her as she’s led by a nurse through a set of swing doors. She doesn’t even turn to look back, and the feeling I get is that I’m watching her being led off to a prison cell on death row.
I must look the way I feel, too, because that receptionist – who is wearing Rive Gauche perfume – is right beside me and she’s holding my arm very gently. I’m letting her lead me to one of the couches. I notice the receptionist now like it’s the first time I’ve seen her. She must be in her thirties and she’s wearing a white smock that suits her and sort of just hints at her curves so that I find myself thinking that it’s actually very sexy on her. On her finger there is a thick gold wedding band and a ring with a
diamond that’s so big that I’m wondering if perhaps she’s married to a doctor. She’s smiling at me and offering to get me a drink and just being so kind that I just hope that her husband makes her happy. She’s just the sort of person who deserves to be always happy. I want to cry because she is so kind and I can sense that she would be sympathetic, but that would not be fair on her, so I hold it back. Even so, she sits down next to me and she’s close and I’m so upset that I’m almost intoxicated by her lovely perfume.
‘Your sister’s very lucky to have a brother like you.’
I look up at her and her smile is so gentle and soft that I can’t help myself. The tears start to flow and I’m sobbing and she’s holding me. And I’m not just crying for Madeleine; I’m crying for Sylvia too, and I’m crying for myself because all of a sudden I don’t feel strong. And while the receptionist holds me and strokes my hair I continue to cry because I want my mom. Mom should be here for us. It’s Mom’s job to look after us, is what I’m thinking.
‘She’ll be fine, don’t worry.’
The receptionist is still letting me cry all over her and stroking my hair. I feel like I could stay like this forever.
Of course I don’t though. And now it’s a few hours later and I’m still sitting on that couch when the swing doors open and Madeleine is being wheeled into the reception area on a chrome-framed chair. Madeleine looks drained and pale and old in that chair so that I almost lose it again. I even feel the tears well up in my eyes, but seeing Madeleine gives me strength. I can control myself for her sake. I think the receptionist notices though. She is looking at me, and she nods gently and smiles. She even winks at me, like she’s saying that everything has turned out okay, just like she’d told me it would.
I want to know what Madeleine is feeling right now, but she doesn’t seem to want to talk. She seems like a zombie, really. I just want to get her home.
So we’re driving through the city again. It’s mid-afternoon now, and there is plenty of traffic. Lots of people on the streets, too. I’m behind the wheel of course, even though I don’t have a licence. It’s a risk we’ve taken many times before and actually, I’m a really excellent driver.
Madeleine hasn’t said more than a word. She’s looking at the dashboard and her arms are folded loosely across her tummy, like she has mild indigestion or something. I don’t really want to think about what she’s just been through. I just want to get her home where I can look after her.
We don’t have any music on again, so I’m glancing at the people walking on the streets. Heading for the shops, I’m guessing. And it’s while I’m scanning the people and wishing that Madeleine and me could swap places with two of them, that I nearly crash the car. It’s true, I nearly swerve into another car and Madeleine has to grab the wheel momentarily.
‘Christ, Tom!’
She doesn’t have to say more than that. And I feel deep shame at letting her down like that as I carry on through the traffic and towards home. So I guess you’re wondering what I must have seen to make me lose control like that. Well I’ll tell you. I saw Sylvia. Walking down the street in a black lace-trimmed summer dress and sandals and sunglasses, and she looked happy, like there was nothing on Earth that could possibly matter on such a perfect day as this. And she was with a guy and they were holding hands. I could still make out the shade of lacquer that I’d painted on her nails. Yeah, they were holding hands. Right up to the moment when they stopped and turned to each other and she was standing on her toes to kiss him.
You can see now why I nearly crashed the car, right? I feel sick. I really do want to be sick. It’s tight up in my throat and my head is everywhere. I just want to be home. Christ, I need to be home.
CHAPTER 16
I want my mom
It’s a quiet Sunday. I stayed in with Madeleine yesterday after we got back, but I don’t know how much of a comfort I was to her. She had severe stomach cramps – as you’d expect – so I lay her on the couch and sat on the floor next to her while we watched TV. I can’t even tell you what we watched, to be honest. Because all the time, I could only think of Sylvia.
I’m thinking of Sylvia now. I’m in Madeleine’s room, and guess what? We’re watching TV, even though it’s only mid-morning. Madeleine seems to be in a lot of pain, judging from the occasional grimaces and groans. I’ve asked her if she wants to go to the hospital, but she says that the pain will pass and that she just needs time. I can’t argue with that – what would I know? But I do know Madeleine, and I can tell that it’s not the physical pain that hurts her the most. So I just stroke her feet, which I know she likes, and my mind comes back time and time again to Sylvia.
I’ve called Sylvia’s house, of course. Enough times to be classed as a stalker, to be honest. And needless to say, I’ve not managed to speak to Sylvia; just had the occasional terse exchange with her father. Funny, I’m not even thinking about how much I hate him as I speak to him. I’m not thinking about how aggressive and unhelpful he is, and I’m not even thinking about how he hits Sylvia. Rather selfishly, all I can think about is that I have no way of getting in touch with Sylvia short of going round to her house. And there is no guarantee that she would be there. And what if she was, but that guy was with her? Would that make me feel better? I think we know the answer to that. Anyway, I can’t leave Madeleine. Before there was Sylvia, there was always Madeleine. And no matter what happens, there always will be Madeleine. Why the hell can’t Sylvia carry a cell phone? I hate her for that.
And now I can hear a car pulling into our driveway outside. Mom and Dad are back, obviously. Yesterday, I really wanted Mom to be around for us, but right now I’m not so sure. I’m being selfish, but the thing is, she’s going to find out that Madeleine is unwell – we’re obviously not going to tell her why – and she’ll be fussing over Madeleine, just like she should, I guess. And that means that I’ll be pushed to one side. And all I’ll do then is churn over how I’ve seen Sylvia kissing that guy. God, I can feel Sylvia’s kisses now and it brings a lump to my throat. I just want to die, thinking of Sylvia with that guy.
‘Hi, we’re home.’
Mom has popped her head around the door. She is smiling her sweet smile at first, but that’s quickly dropped and we’re seeing her concerned Mom face now. Well you’d be concerned if you saw us, I guess. Madeleine suffering from stomach cramps and depression, and me just going quietly mad. Yes, I am, really. I’m losing control. Sylvia is consuming me and I can’t do anything about it. And now I’m going to have to be alone with my thoughts. I’m not sure that I can handle that.
But I do handle it, after a fashion. Mom has made Madeleine come downstairs and lie on the couch. Mom thinks that Madeleine is having severe period cramps, even though the timing would suggest that that would be unlikely. As if Mom would know that though. Mom is fussing over Madeleine and talking to her in a low voice, like they’re sharing ‘secrets of the sisterhood’. If I wasn’t so miserably mired in my own self-pity I would sneer in contempt. What with the gazillion lessons we’ve had at school over the years, and with having a sister as uninhibited as Madeleine, I reckon I know enough about the menstrual cycle to be a top-notch gynaecologist. Still, I leave them to it.
It’s night again, and I’m alone in my room. Last time I checked, Madeleine was looking a little perkier. Having Mom around to look after her has been a tonic after all. I am ashamed that I am so wrapped up in my own business that I haven’t been a real brother to Madeleine at just the moment when she needed me most. I’ll have to make it up to her some way, someday. Someday soon at that. But right now I just want to talk to Sylvia, so I pick up my phone and hit the number – yes, she’s on my speed-dial list now.
The phone rings half a dozen times.
‘Yeah, who is it?’
Sylvia’s father, of course, but he doesn’t sound quite as aggressive as he usually does.
‘Is Sylvia there please?’
There’s a pause and I’m waiting for the customary growl telling me tha
t she’s not available.
‘Sylvia! Phone!’
Oh God. She’s there. Now I feel nauseous and my chest tightens up. I was so expecting her not to be there that now she is, a tiny part of me is actually afraid.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi. It’s only me.’
I’m cringing at how my voice is squeaking. Surely she can feel my fear and lack of confidence. And surely she’ll understand straight away the subtext to this call.
‘Oh. Hi.’
‘I was just calling, you know, to see how you were.’
‘You shouldn’t call. We shouldn’t see each other Tom. I can’t be responsible if you do something stupid. I can’t afford to blame myself.’
‘But I’m not going to do anything stupid…’
I know, I know. I know how it looks. I’ve already done something stupid, so why should she believe me? Of course, she doesn’t believe me, so that’s okay then.
‘Tom, I’ve got to go. You’ve got to stop calling.’
I’ve been expecting that this call wouldn’t go well, but short of stabbing me in the heart with an ice-cold dagger, I can’t imagine how much worse it could be than just hearing her say those cruel words like that.
‘But, honest – Sylvia…’
There’s no point me continuing because she’s put the phone down. And I’m picturing her going back to her room and that guy being there. Bet you can imagine just how that feels, right? And I’m thinking of Madeleine downstairs and how she had been depending on me, and all I’d done was the least that I could do. And I’m sorry for myself because there’s nobody here to look after me. And I’m hurting too. I want my mom. I really want my mom.
And now you can see that I’m crying. I’m silent because I don’t want anyone to know, but you can see the tears as they splash onto the chrome scissors. The bandage is on my lap and a fresh one is by my side. I can’t talk to you or anybody really. My mind is blank and I don’t even feel the blade open up the wounds that are already there. I do see the blood though. That part never changes. Seeing red.
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