by Rachel Ward
I tried to focus, to bring all these random thoughts back to the important one: If I ended it now, if I found that courage, I could stop the misery for a lot of people. Most of all, there was a chance I could save Spider. If no one saw his number any longer, perhaps that number would no longer exist.
I needed to do this, and the way to do it was to go in style, like diving into a pool. I raised myself up onto my toes, stretched my arms out wide. I’d count myself out. Numbers would see me through to the end. “Three…two…”
“Jem!”
I looked over my shoulder. Oh, God, he was there, spilling out of the staircase door in an untidy mess of arms and legs.
“Jem! Please, please, no!” His voice was thick with terror.
“Keep away, Spider. Keep away from me. I need to do this.”
“But why? I don’t understand…please don’t. Oh, my God, please don’t.” He was inching toward me.
“Keep away!” My words a high-pitched screech, carried away on the wind. He stopped, held his hands up.
“It won’t be that bad, Jem. Prison. We can handle it. And then we can wipe the slate clean. Start again. Jem, please, we can do this.”
“It’s not that. I can’t explain. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I have to do it.” I was teetering on the brink now.
“I don’t understand, Jem. I don’t understand why you’d leave me. Why would you do that?” He was edging forward again. Even in the wind and the rain, I could smell his sweat — it flooded through me, jolting me back to our first meeting under the bridge, back to our night in the barn. “Why would you leave me, Jem? I don’t understand.”
I owed him that, at least, didn’t I? An explanation?
“I’ve got to stop the numbers, Spider. I’m the only one who sees them. They’re inside me. I can’t get rid of them.” I dropped my voice, speaking more to myself now than to him. “I’ve got to do this. It’s the only way.”
But he didn’t get it. He was still hung up on hearts and flowers.
“It doesn’t have to end like this, Jem. We can be together now.” His words were so seductive — he was the only person in the world who knew what to say to me, what I really wanted to hear.
I started to cry.
“You want that, too, don’t you, Jem? I know you do. You can’t tell me that none of it meant anything to you, can you? Please don’t tell me that….” He was crying, too, now.
I can’t stand men crying. It’s wrong, isn’t it? Their faces aren’t made for it, they kind of crumple; it’s painful to watch.
He was close now, so close to me. If he reached out one of his long arms, he’d be able to grab me. I didn’t want that — I needed to go through with this — it was the most important thing I would ever do.
Three…two… and yet, and yet, to feel him again, to feel his arms around me, just for one last time — that sweet thought held me back.
“Wait, please wait a minute.”
“I’ve got to do it, Spider. You don’t understand.” The rain was mixing with tears on my face, with the snot bubbling out of my nose.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand, man. We had something. We can still have something. You and me, Jem.”
“No, it never happens. Happily ever after. It’s a lie, Spider. It doesn’t happen to people like us.”
He dropped down to the floor, crouched into a ball, clutching at his springy hair. He was sobbing, saying stuff at the same time. I couldn’t hear him properly. I should’ve jumped then, while he wasn’t looking, that was the time to do it, but I needed to know what he was saying. I didn’t want any loose ends.
“What is it? What is it, Spider?”
He looked up at me. “I can’t go on without you, man. There’ll be nothing left.” He got to his feet, held out his hand. “Give me your hand, Jem. Help me up.”
It’s a trick, I thought. He’s tricking me. I said nothing, did nothing.
“Why won’t you help me?” he said. “I’m coming with you.”
In one easy, fluid movement, he was up on the wall, right next to me. He tried to steady himself against the wind. “Whoa, this is awesome.” His big grin had broken out again now; he couldn’t help himself. “Look at it, man. You can see for miles. Whoo-hooh!” His whoop was whipped away on the wind.
“You’re mental. I always knew you were,” I said.
He grabbed my hand.
“Solid, man, solid. If you really want to do this, I’ll do it with you. We’ll go together. I love you, Jem. I don’t want anyone or anything else.”
Do you know what it’s like to hear those words? To hear the person you love telling you they love you, too? If you don’t now, I hope you do one day.
“I had a blast with you, Jem. These last few weeks, they’ve been the best time of my life. Don’t go without me. I love you.”
He was ready to go. We could dive off there together. His number would be right, after all, and I’d join mine with his.
And then I suddenly thought, Fuck the numbers, fuck it all. How many people meet the person they’re meant to be with? If we stayed indoors, out of harm’s way, maybe we could cheat the numbers after all. What if Karen was right, and it was all in my head — what if the numbers didn’t mean anything at all? If I ignored them, eventually they might go away. Spider and I could have our “happily ever after” ending.
“I love you, too, Spider. I can face anything with you. Let’s go inside, I’m freezing.”
He smiled at me, let go of my hand, and formed a fist. Our knuckles touched. “Safe,” he said.
“Yeah, safe.”
I bent my knees, put my hands on the tops of the stones, and slowly lowered myself back down. When I looked up, Spider was dancing along the top, easy as anything, enjoying the buzz of it, just like he’d danced on the railway sleepers the first day we’d talked, down by the canal.
“Get off there, you silly sod, you’ll break your fucking neck.”
He spun ’round to face me, big daft grin on his face, ready to jump down. Our eyes met, and we held each other’s gaze; my warmth and love for him reflected right back to me. It was going to be alright.
And then his foot slipped on the wet stone, and his balance was gone.
He teetered on the edge for a split second, eyes still on me, thrashing his arms wildly…and then he was gone, falling backward, a look of surprise on his face.
It was so quick, so unreal. I didn’t scream, although someone did far down below. I just watched as he tipped over and over in the air, arms thrashing, hands desperately trying to get a grip on something.
He didn’t hit the ground. His fall was broken by the roof. His fall and his back. Spread-eagled, lifeless, he lay staring upward. I looked into his eyes for the last time. They were still wide open, surprised, but he wasn’t looking back at me. There was no one there anymore.
His number had gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
It had pissed down rain all the way over there, but by the time we’d parked the car it had stopped. We walked down the pier, the wind whipping off the sea around us. Clouds were racing across the sky like a speeded-up film clip.
Karen kept asking me, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Difficult to imagine a time when I’d been less fine, but you know what I meant. I just wanted her to leave me alone.
Halfway down, Val linked her arm through mine. She didn’t need to ask me any stupid questions; she knew what I was going through. She’d waited until I was out of the hospital to do this. They’d had the cremation without me — obviously they couldn’t put that off forever — but she’d kept the pot with his ashes in it until everyone felt I was strong enough to cope.
She’d come to see me in the ward. The first time, I couldn’t speak, not to her or anyone. My head was still trying to take it all in. I couldn’t look her in the eye, either. She’d asked me to look after him; she’d trusted me with him. And I’d let her down. I’d taken him away, knowing he wou
ldn’t be back. She wasn’t angry with me, though — Christ knows why not. She was angry with him.
“What was the silly sod doing? He had to show off, didn’t he? If I could get my hands on him, I’d wring his neck….” Her hands were trembling in her lap, fiddling with the unlit cigarette she was holding. “Isn’t there a smoking room we could go to, Jem? This is killing me….”
She’d come back again, despite me not talking the first time, and despite the company I was keeping these days: the silent, the screamers, the deluded, and the sad. I managed to get a word out the second time. I’d spent days forming it in my mind, trying to remember how it started, what your mouth did to form the sound. She was talking, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying, I was concentrating so hard on what I needed to get out. She stopped when she saw me lean forward, saw my jaw moving as I forced my mouth to work.
“Sss…sss…”
“What is it, Jem?” She leaned forward, too, breathing her stale, smoky breath into my face.
“Sss…sso…rry.”
“Darlin’, it’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. Well, it’s his own silly fault, I suppose. How were you to know? He was always doing daft things, wasn’t he?”
I wanted to tell her that I had known. It had all happened just how I thought it would, so fast that you couldn’t stop it, and so slow, each minute leading inevitably to the next. So many chances to do something different, to change the path we were set on. I’d played it over in my mind a thousand times. I should have kept him safe. I should’ve…should’ve…should’ve…
“I saw him, you know, in the police station,” she said. “I sat in when they questioned him. They didn’t want me to — I’d been questioned, too, see, but I insisted. I was responsible for him. I was all he had. Apart from you.” She picked at the side of her yellow thumbnail with her index finger. The skin was very red, near to bleeding. “He said you two were heading to Weston. Gave me a start, that did. Didn’t know he remembered. I took him there, you see, when he was little. A sort of holiday. I’m glad he remembered….”
She trailed off into silence, and we sat there, while in a chair in the corner another patient rocked backward and forward, backward and forward.
“I’ve been thinking, Jem. When you’re a bit better, we could take him there, to Weston. Say good-bye properly. Only when you’re better. No hurry, love.”
I didn’t notice anything getting any better. One day was much like the last to me: flat, empty, crushed under a huge weight. After a few weeks, though, everyone ’round me started saying they were pleased with my progress. I was able to string words together now, when I felt like it, and was managing to eat a few mouthfuls at each mealtime. I’d still wake up in the night, tormented by nightmares, too scared to scream or cry out, and would lie there for hours, unable to close my eyes again. During the day, the nurses encouraged me to draw, to start to let the feelings out. I didn’t mind that, sitting at the table with some paper and colored markers — I could do it for hours.
Karen was a regular visitor, too. Fair play to her, no matter how often I kicked her, she still came back for more. One day she said, “Jem, the doctor says you’re ready for a change. Come home, love. Come home with me. Let me look after you for a bit.”
She’d kept my old room free. “I’ll decorate it for you. We can start again. What color do you want?”
And so I went back to Sherwood Road, to walls painted “Crème Caramel,” warm and honey-colored, the color of Bath stone. I stayed in my room and listened to music and stared at the walls, until one day I heard Karen going out to take the twins to school, and I started drawing. The first one was by my bed, an angel watching over me, keeping me safe; and I worked outward from there until they were everywhere, walls and ceiling: creatures with wings, climbing up and falling down. Some of them had their faces missing, or an arm or a leg. One of them had ridiculously long limbs and springy Afro hair — I put him at the top, spreading his wings and flying across the ceiling. I did a little bald one right down by the skirting board, sort of hunched up, wrapping her wings around herself.
When Karen brought my dinner in, she dropped the tray. Spaghetti Bolognese splattered on the walls.
I grabbed a tissue and started wiping it off. “Look what you’ve done, you’re ruining my pictures, you silly bitch.”
I was back in the hospital after that, and when I came “home” again it had all been painted over—“Bluebell Haze” this time, more calming, apparently. Except that you could still see some of my angels faintly under the paint, and I found that comforting. I didn’t have so many nightmares, knowing that they were there.
It must have been five or six months later that we found ourselves at the end of the pier at Weston-Super-Mare.
We stood there awkwardly for a bit, then Val said, “Well, then.” She unscrewed the lid of the pot. “Do you want to do it, Jem?”
“Um, I dunno. What do you do?”
“Just tip it out. Hold it at arm’s length over the sea and tip it.”
Tears were stabbing the back of my eyes. I’d kept them away for a long time, but they were there now, like little knives. “I can’t. I can’t do it. You do it, Val.”
She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to keep herself together, and stepped forward. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Which way’s the wind blowing? We don’t want him…well, we don’t want it going all over us.”
Karen licked her finger and held it up. “It’s coming from over there. Hold it over this side, it’ll be OK.”
“Right.” Val took a deep breath. She had her body right up against the railing and held the pot out as far as she could.
“Good-bye, Terry, love. Good-bye, my precious boy.”
Her voice caught on her last words, and she gave a little sob as she tipped the urn over. Gray ash streaked out. Most of it fell onto and into the water, but a rogue gust of wind took some of it and blew it straight back at us. It went in our hair and on our clothes.
“Bloody hell, I’ve got some in me eye! Can you see it, Karen?” Val stumbled back from the railing, empty pot in one hand, the other rubbing at her left eye.
“Come here, Val. Let’s have a look.” While Val blinked and gasped, and Karen peered at her face and dabbed her with a hankie, I watched a film of ash bob slowly away from us. That was all that was left of him.
I looked down at my coat, swelling out over my stomach, and ran my hand down the cloth. Inside me I felt that fluttering feeling again. I didn’t know for sure, but I had a pretty good idea it was a boy. He was always moving about, always restless. Just like his father.
A little line of gray ash built up on the edge of my fingers as I smoothed down my coat. I scraped it off with the other hand and put it in my palm.
Spider.
How could we have done that? Just thrown him away? I needed him with me, near me.
“Come back! “ I shouted to the sea. “Come back, don’t leave me!”
Karen and Val looked around and were instantly by my side.
“It’s alright, love,” said Karen. “You let it out.”
“But you don’t understand, I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready yet, to say good-bye.”
Val put her arm around me. “You never will be. There’s never a good time for it.”
I was really crying now, and so were they. We all put our arms around each other, a sad triangle, coats flapping in the breeze. I rested my arm on Val’s waist, but my fist was closed. I kept the last remaining particles of Spider safe in my hand.
Safe.
FIVE YEARS LATER
I don’t hang around the places where kids go skiving off anymore. I guess you could say I’ve moved on. These days, you’ll find me in playgrounds, on the beach, down at the community center, or waiting outside school. It’s all part of the normal pattern of things, isn’t it? Kids like me turn into parents like me. And our kids will turn into teenagers, and then into parents themselves. And on and on.
I’m not s
o different anymore. That whole time with Spider, it changed me, and not in just the obvious ways — growing up, falling in love, having sex, and that. It showed me what I was missing, what I hadn’t had for fifteen years: having real friends, someone to have a laugh with, learning to trust people, open up a bit. It changed my whole outlook on life — I’d been so hung up on the numbers that I’d let them paralyze me, I can see that now. The numbers had stopped me from living. But Spider, and all those other people — Britney, Karen, Anne, Val — they changed that for me, made me realize I was wasting what time I did have.
I wish I could tell you I’d done something great with my life — become a brain surgeon or a teacher or something — but you wouldn’t believe me, anyway, would you? I suppose, looking back, I’ve done two things so far. For a start, I stayed with Karen and looked after her after she had her stroke. I’d known she only had three years to go, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise, really.
I was trying to sort out getting my own place; in fact, I was over at the flat Social Services were offering me, when I got a phone call from the hospital. Karen had collapsed in the street. It was a massive stroke, left her partially paralyzed down one side. Her speech went, too — she still had all her marbles, just couldn’t get the words out without a struggle. It was just accepted that I’d look after her. She lost the twins — Social Services found them another home — broke her heart, that did. But everyone assumed that I’d stay with her and care for her.
It was hard, really hard, trying to look after Adam as well as dress Karen, feed her, take her to the toilet. It was like having two kids. I can’t tell you the number of times I nearly walked out. I even packed my bags. But in the end, I couldn’t do it. I knew she didn’t have long left. Besides, she’d stood by me, through being pregnant and then bringing Adam home. She’d helped so much, showing me how to cope with him, giving me a break when I was fed up. I figured I owed her.