There’s no reply. No sound of music or voices, no sound of life at all. Did they cancel the party? I turn the handle and step inside, and a wisp of fake cobweb brushes against my face. The place is decorated for Halloween with leering paper skeletons and hanging spiders … but it’s deserted.
Disappointed and weary, I sit down for a moment. The ghosts of all the good times we’ve had in this space seem to whirl around me, and I blink back tears.
And then I hear the sound of voices and laughter, and I run to the doorway and see the band coming across the grass, dressed in bizarre Halloween costumes and carrying instruments.
‘Sasha!’ Marley yells. ‘You’re here!’
Jake, wearing devil horns and carrying a Halloween lantern made from a pumpkin, legs it up the railway carriage steps, picks me up and whirls me round.
‘Trick or treat?’ he asks, grinning. ‘We’ve just been to your house, but you weren’t in!’
‘I’m here,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve missed you!’
‘I’ve missed you too,’ Jake answers, and then Marley, terrifying in a skeleton onesie and brandishing his guitar, elbows him aside and pulls me into a hug.
He turns to the others. ‘Ready?’ he demands. ‘Go!’
The rest of the band form a group round the door of the old railway carriage and Marley leaps down to join them as they launch into a wild open-air rendition of an old sixties song called ‘I Only Want to Be With You’. Without a lead singer, their vocals are ever so slightly dodgy.
It’s quite surreal to watch Dracula, Frankenstein and a whole posse of ghosts, zombies and werewolves bopping about in the flower beds and playing trumpet, violin and tomtom drums. It’s possible that I’m hallucinating, of course, but when the song is over and they bound up the steps to catch me in a big, messy group hug, I have to accept it’s real.
‘Your face!’ Marley says, wincing. ‘Looks sore!’
‘I had an argument with some gravel,’ I quip.
‘You haven’t been answering our texts and calls,’ he says. ‘When you didn’t turn up earlier, we thought you’d vanished off the face of the earth – so we went to find you. We had to get your attention somehow. We’re all in agreement, Sash – we don’t want another lead singer. We only want you! Like the song says!’
‘I’ve quit,’ I tell him. ‘I should have done it a while ago. I never planned to mess up your big chance for fame … I’m so sorry! I haven’t been answering your messages because I left my phone at Tanglewood … just got it back today. I know you must be mad at me. I’ve been an idiot!’
‘Yes, but you’re our idiot,’ Marley says. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort this out!’
Not everything can be sorted out, but I’m not sure Marley’s seeing that just yet.
I bite my lip, pulling the rolled-up newspaper from my shoulder bag. ‘There’s something else … something terrible. Matt Brennan …’
‘You saw it then?’ Bex says. ‘Horrible, right? What a loser!’
‘But … it’s all lies!’ I manage to say. ‘There were no drink or drugs involved! I just fainted! And we were supervised the whole time … None of this is true! Poor Ked!’
‘There’s a whole section on his decadent lifestyle and the monogrammed towels in his bathroom,’ Marley retorts. ‘Matt must have been snooping around Ked’s private apartment. I’ve spoken to Ked, and he’s not too worried … says he’s had worse things written about him. He’s more upset about you, Sasha, and how you’re feeling.’
‘I feel … awful,’ I grate out. ‘Betrayed. Matt was supposed to be our friend – how could he do this?’
Jake raises an eyebrow. ‘Ambition,’ he says starkly. ‘Money too, I bet. Poisonous little skunk … wait till I get my hands on him!’
‘What do we do now?’ I ask, anger bubbling to the surface again. ‘Get in touch with the paper, put our side of the story? We can’t let him get away with it!’
Marley shakes his head. ‘Ked reckons it’s best to ignore it. Fighting back would just fan the flames. So we made the national newspapers … well, so what? It’s rubbish. The band hasn’t shattered and no bright futures have been derailed. We carry on just the same as before.’
‘Without me,’ I remind him.
Marley rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, about that,’ he says. ‘We don’t want you to go over some silly misunderstanding, Sasha. Ked feels awful – he and Camille were just worried, and talking about how to support you. We’ve all been texting and calling non-stop, and when you didn’t answer we had the idea of serenading you with that song!’
‘We miss you,’ Lexie says simply.
‘And we brought cake,’ Happi adds, prising the lid off a tin of cupcakes iced to look like spiders and passing it round.
Lee unwraps a length of bloodstained bandage from his head in order to attack his cupcake more efficiently. ‘We need you, Sasha,’ he says between mouthfuls. ‘Don’t go!’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t belong in the Lost & Found,’ I say sadly. ‘Ked and Camille were right – I’m not cut out for it!’
Marley rakes a hand through his hair. ‘No, no, no! You are! You look great – you have the voice of an angel … and besides, Ked doesn’t call the shots here. We do! We know you’re not well, but we can work round that. It can be treated, obviously. It’s not a problem.’
‘It was only flu,’ I point out. ‘I’ll be fine in a couple of days!’
My friends exchange glances, frowning, and I feel I’m missing something, that they know something I don’t.
‘Shut up, Marley,’ Jake says, glaring. ‘Leave it. OK?’
Marley shrugs. ‘Whatever,’ he says. ‘Just stick with us, Sasha. We can make this work, I promise!’
A rush of gratitude fills me, sweeter even than the Halloween cupcakes, but I have to be honest.
‘I’ve quit,’ I repeat. ‘It’s just … it’s not my dream, Marley. Not like it is for you guys. My heart isn’t in it and I don’t want to hold you back.’
Marley looks defeated. ‘You weren’t holding us back,’ he says. ‘If you want to quit, OK, but don’t be too hasty. If you change your mind … band practice is at five o’clock tomorrow. Think about it, Sasha, please?’
‘It won’t be the same without you,’ Romy says. ‘We’ll miss you like mad, but no hard feelings … except for that lowlife Matt, obviously.’
Lexie is nodding. ‘We wish you well, whatever you decide. We’ll still see you all the time at school anyway, and maybe … could you be the band stylist or something?’
‘Starting from now,’ I say, opening my make-up case. ‘I promised, didn’t I? I have face paint, I have fake blood, I have willing victims …’
‘Yesss!’ Dylan grins.
Lexie puts a Halloween-themed playlist on the sound system, Happi pours mugs of blood-coloured fruit punch and George grabs first turn in the hot seat, asking if I can make him look like Dracula.
I spread page five of the Daily Scoop across the countertop and use it to mix my paints.
376 likes
SashaSometimes I’ll be deactivating this account in a day or two. I’ve stepped down from the band as lead singer, although I’ll still be working with them on and off and of course we’re all still friends. Thanks for the follows and the likes – they meant a lot. Love ya. Xxx
#NoMoreBandLife #Lost&Found #Quitting #NoMakeUpSelfie
#DigitalDetox #RealMe #NobodysPerfect
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27
Secrets
Jake walks me home, only attracting a few stares with his devil horns and newly painted face.
‘OK?’ he asks.
I laugh. ‘Just great,’ I say. ‘Today’s news is tomorrow’s garbage, right?’
‘You said it. And today’s ace reporter is tomorrow’s has-been. Matt’s a loser, end of story.’
I nod, but there’s something still bothering me, something that doesn’t feel quite right. That moment when my friends looked at each other, as if th
ey knew something I didn’t …
‘Jake … what is it you’re not telling me?’ I ask. ‘What is it you told Marley not to say, just before?’
He looks awkward. ‘Your mum hasn’t spoken to you?’ he says. ‘About what happened that morning when you fell?’
‘I’ve been out of it these last few days,’ I say, putting a hand to the gravel burns on my cheek. ‘Sleeping most of the time. I know what happened, though. I fainted. Typical me – I had to fall down on gravel and not the grass.’
Jake’s eyes darken. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again, uncertain. ‘You really don’t remember?’
Fear coils like a snake in my belly.
‘Talk to your parents, Sash,’ he says. ‘Ask them, OK?’
He kisses me and plants the red devil horns on my head as a parting gift.
Mum makes pasta for tea, and Dad pours orange juice into fancy wine glasses so we can toast the fact that I’m getting better.
‘I saw Jake today,’ I tell them casually. ‘He told me to ask you what happened when I fainted. What did he mean?’
Dad frowns and Mum’s cheeks burn pink.
‘It wasn’t a faint,’ she tells me quietly. ‘When you fell over. It was more a kind of seizure. Like a fit. A convulsion.’
‘A … seizure?’ I echo. ‘What? What d’you mean?’
‘Well, we weren’t there, obviously, but it scared your friends,’ she continues. ‘You went stiff and jerky, and your eyes rolled back in your head. They didn’t know what to do, but apparently Charlotte came running out, and she’d had first-aid training so she knew what it was. She put a scarf under your head to stop the gravel cutting you, and when the seizure was over she rolled you on your side and called an ambulance.’
‘I had a seizure?’ I repeat, unable to take this in. ‘A seizure?’
I remember the weird test at the hospital, the one where they wired me up to a machine and flashed lights in my face. The doctors took a trace of what was happening in my brain.
According to Mum, it was a test to check for epilepsy.
I roll the word around in my head, but it feels so clumsy, so frightening. No wonder I could never be perfect with something like that hidden beneath the surface.
‘Jake told us about the blackout moments you’ve been having,’ Dad says gently. ‘We’d noticed that a couple of times, but we didn’t know what it was – we thought you were dreaming, zoning out. Turns out those blackout moments are a form of epilepsy. Absence seizures, they’re called. It’s like your brain has some kind of short circuit and just cuts out … something like that. The hospital has referred you for an appointment with a specialist in Millford so they can start you on medication and get things under control.’
I can’t make sense of any of this. ‘So they can treat it?’ I check. ‘This … absence thing?’
‘They definitely can,’ Mum says. ‘We’ve been reading up about it. Now they know what’s wrong, they can give you meds to stop it happening.’
I want to laugh out loud. It’s not funny, of course, but the relief is huge … the black-hole moments are a real thing and they can be treated.
‘I thought it was anxiety,’ I say. ‘Worry about being in the band, being the lead singer. I looked it up on the internet!’
‘The internet?’ Dad huffs. ‘Full of rubbish! You love being in the band!’
I sigh. ‘I don’t actually,’ I admit. ‘I haven’t for ages. I get sick with nerves every time I have to perform, and sick with worry that I’m not good enough. That’s why I ran away from Fox Hollow Hall – I just couldn’t do it any more!’
Dad looks stricken. ‘But why didn’t you say? We were so proud of you! I don’t understand!’
‘Why didn’t you just tell us, Sasha?’ Mum asks. ‘About the blackouts, and how you really felt?’
I shake my head. ‘I wanted to,’ I explain. ‘I really did, but I was scared you’d be disappointed in me. You think I’m some kind of perfect daughter – I’ve tried so very hard to be – but I’m really, really not. I’m a mess!’
‘You’re not a mess!’ Mum scolds. ‘And you don’t have to be perfect, Sasha – we’re not, so why should you be? We love you no matter what.’
Tears mist my eyes, and first Mum hugs me tight, then Dad.
‘You always were a sensitive child,’ Mum says. ‘Wanting things to be perfect – but life’s not like that. You’ve always pushed yourself too hard. That’s why I was so happy you’d joined the Lost & Found – you had friends, you were having fun! That was all we ever cared about.’
There are so many things I got wrong, it seems. I put myself under so much pressure that things were bound to crack in the end … and I’m almost glad they have, because it means I don’t have to hide any more, don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.
‘When we see the doctor … can I ask about anxiety too?’ I say. ‘Because I’d like things to be different and I’m not sure I can change on my own. They’d take it seriously, right?’
‘Of course they would,’ Mum says. ‘Oh, Sash – if you’d just told us all this before!’
‘I almost did,’ I confess. ‘Just before we went away. It was that day I came in and you were arguing, and then Dad went out … I got scared. I thought you were fighting again. You know … like when I was little!’
I look from Mum to Dad, waiting for them to laugh, to push away my fears, but their faces are serious. ‘Oh, Sasha,’ Dad says. ‘I’m sorry! We didn’t think. We didn’t know …’
The ground slides away from under my feet all over again.
‘What is it?’ I demand. ‘What’s wrong? Is it work? Money? Have you … are you –’
Mum holds up a hand. ‘It’s OK, love,’ she says. ‘We’re fine. I promise. You’re right, though – things have been pretty stressful these last few months. We didn’t want to worry you …’
‘I was worried,’ I say. ‘I’m worried now! What’s wrong?’
Dad reaches out across the table, takes my hand. ‘You won’t really remember, Sasha, but when you were little we did go through a bad patch. Your mum lost a baby and was told she probably couldn’t have any more, and she got very sad and low afterwards. I got angry – it seemed so unfair. I drank too much and we argued a lot, but we got through it.’
‘I do remember,’ I tell him. ‘I do.’
Dad nods. ‘Well, the thing is … the doctors were wrong, Sasha. They were wrong! Your mum’s having a baby!’
My scrambled head can’t make sense of the news. ‘Wh-what?’ I stutter. ‘How? Are you sure? Is everything OK?’
Mum is laughing. ‘We’re very sure,’ she says. ‘And yes, everything’s fine – I’m twenty weeks in and I had a second scan while you were away, just to be sure. The doctors think I’m past the danger point now. We’ve both been working extra shifts to save some money for the baby, and that day you caught us arguing – well, your dad was worried, he thought I was doing too much. That’s all it was. You’re going to have a little sister, Sash!’
Mum puts her arms round me and holds me close, and this time I can feel the little bump of her tummy pressing against me. My little sister. Tears are rolling down my cheeks as if they’ll never stop, but I’ve never been so happy in my life.
We have a whole lot more talking to do, of course. We talk about the epilepsy, about the newspaper article, about me quitting the band. It turns out that none of it is the end of the world. The epilepsy can be controlled, my parents say, and there’s a chance I will grow out of it in time. Nobody takes any notice of the Daily Scoop, Dad reckons, but he’s furious the paper printed my name and photos and is going to demand an apology. He’s also going to talk to Mr Simpson, the school principal. ‘Matt Brennan will find he’s in a lot of trouble,’ Dad says. ‘And so will the Daily Scoop … you’re a minor, for goodness’ sake! They’re really out of order!’
Mum and Dad are fine about me leaving the band, although they tell me not to make any rash decisions, do anything I m
ight regret. Whatever I decide, they’re proud of me. I wonder why I ever thought it would be so hard to tell them the truth, or why I thought I had to be perfect for them to love me. Funny how you can get things so wrong.
On Sunday I find myself thinking a lot about Marley’s offer to come to band practice. Maybe he’s right? Maybe with meds and a bit more confidence I could hang on? Or maybe not.
As the clock creeps closer to five, I pull on my coat, tell Mum and Dad I’m going out, and walk over to Greystones. The street is wide and sweeping, carpeted with leaves from the many big trees that edge the park. I sit down on a low wall across the road from the Greystones gateway, and the darkness keeps me hidden as my friends arrive for band practice.
First I see Marley and Dylan turning into the gateway, then Happi, Bex and Lexie walking together and Sami in a new winter jacket so different from the tattered overcoat he used to wear. Lee and George and Romy are wrapped in various hats and scarves, hurrying so as not to be late.
Not one of them sees me hiding in the shadows. I am the invisible girl.
I imagine the old railway carriage lit up in the darkness, the heaters going full blast. I imagine Happi and Lexie making hot chocolate in the little galley kitchen, handing round chocolate chip cookies and listening to Marley outline some kind of plan for the future.
What would happen if I walked in there now and told them I’d changed my mind? They’d welcome me back with open arms, I know.
A figure appears on the driveway, a skinny boy with wind-tunnel hair and a lopsided smile. Jake comes out on to the pavement, scans up and down the street and finally spots me. He walks over, grinning, pulling himself up on to the wall beside me.
‘Not coming in then?’ he asks, nudging me gently. ‘Sure?’
‘Sure,’ I tell him. ‘I just … wanted to say goodbye, really. I feel so sad, Jake … they will find another singer, won’t they?’
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