by Alan Gibbons
People were moving.
‘Look, it’s my stop. I’ll call you. Think about it, yeah?’
BEING ALIVE IS A STATEMENT
Saturday, 3 August 2013
Rosie made quite an entrance. The front door crashed shut then she appeared in the garden where we were sunbathing.
‘Oh, that’s why there’s a draught. You’ve got the wind roaring through the house. The door nearly took my hand off.’
I was in the back with Jess, Hannah and Rehana. Hannah hadn’t met Rosie before.
‘Great look,’ she said. ‘Love the hair.’
Rosie pinched her dreads, dangling them in front of her face.
‘Really? You like them?’
She sounded almost disappointed, as if attracting praise wasn’t the point.
‘I like the combination of scarlet and black. If it was all one colour it wouldn’t look quite so dramatic.’
Rosie smiled and swept back into the house. Dramatic was good.
‘So your sister’s a goth?’
‘Kind of. No, not really. She’s alternative.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘She’s alternative to everything. She turned up at the goth weekend in Whitby in punk gear.’
‘Have you never wanted to copy her?’ Rehana asked.
I can honestly say the idea had never occurred to me.
‘What, because we’re sisters? When we were growing up I wanted to look like Cheryl Cole. She preferred Countess Bathory.’
‘Who?’
I gave my fingers a spooky wriggle.
‘The Blood Countess. She bathed in the blood of maidens to keep herself young.’
‘You’re making it up!’
I shook my head. There was a synchronised turn towards the kitchen where Rosie was washing our dishes. She paused and pushed the window open with soapy fingers.
‘Don’t you ever clean up after youself, Eve? You shouldn’t leave everybody else to do it. I don’t even live here any more and I do my bit.’
Scout came padding along the windowsill. Jem mewled somewhere out of sight.
‘OK, so what are you looking at?’
‘I told them about the Blood Countess,’ I explained.
Rosie pulled a face.
‘I’m done with maidens. I’m moving on to traffic wardens.’
I stifled a yawn and rolled onto my stomach, the sun closing my eyes like invisible fingertips on my lids. I was used to Rosie’s weird sense of humour. Rehana and Hannah weren’t sure what to make of her.
‘Is it a statement?’ Hannah asked. ‘You know, your look.’
Rosie laughed. ‘It’s a revolt.’
‘Against?’
‘Whaddya got?’
Hannah frowned and whispered, ‘What’s she talking about?’
‘It’s a movie reference,’ I said.
Rosie nodded. ‘Wild One with Marlon Brando.’
There were looks of confusion all round.
‘Don’t worry about it. It’s really old.’
‘Black and white?’ Rehana asked. ‘I don’t watch black and white films.’
‘Rosie does. She’s at MMU, studying Film and Media Studies.’
‘What year?’
‘Just going into my third,’ Rosie answered. ‘I graduate next year.’
‘So you’re into Twilight and all that stuff?’
Rosie wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s gothic lite. I need more darkness, more blood, more edge.’
Rehana checked the time on her phone. ‘We’d better phone a cab.’
Mum leaned through the kitchen window.
‘Don’t do that. I’ll run you home. Call it Morrison’s taxi service.’
‘So is it?’
Rosie tilted her head to one side, squinting against the late afternoon sunlight.
‘Is what what?’
‘What Hannah said, is this a statement?’
In the golden halo of the fading day Rosie was stunning. Her bodice was lacy, her pale arms bare, her skirts wide and long, almost hiding the black, pointy-toed boots.
‘Eve, being alive’s a statement.’
‘That isn’t really an answer, is it?’
‘What do you want, Eve? You usually go with the flow.’
‘I wondered why you have to be different, that’s all.’
‘You’ve never asked before.’
‘I’m asking now.’
‘Is this because your friends were so curious about me?’
‘I suppose. I never really gave it much thought until now. Then I started to see through their eyes.’
‘Because I don’t fit into their idea of femininity? I don’t go for the same uniform.’
She plucked a blade of grass and tickled the tip of my nose.
‘Eve, you’re funny, you know that? We all belong to some kind of tribe.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do. Remember last week? You, Jess and Rehana were all wearing kimono dresses and wedges. What’s that?’
She had me, but I wasn’t about to give in that easily.
‘Coincidence.’
‘Mm, a coincidence that you all looked at the same page of the same catalogue.’
I was starting to find the tickling annoying and brushed her hand away. She was sounding smug.
‘I’ve seen you in town with your friends. You all think you’re so individual, but you’re wearing a uniform too, don’t tell me you’re not. At least we’re not trying to provoke anybody.’
‘Neither am I. Neither is Paul. This is me. Take me or leave me.’
I gazed at her for a moment, doing my best to keep my face stern and serious, then the act dissolved and I leaned forward to hug her.
‘OK, you can be in any tribe you want, goth girl.’
‘You too, fashion chick.’
And we held that embrace for several moments. I just wish I could hold her now.
FRIENDS FOREVER
Wednesday, 5 March 2014
Anthony left his guitar in Music Room 1. Mrs Rawmarsh locked the door and walked across the yard with him.
‘It’s good to see you joining in more,’ she said.
Charlie was lounging against the wall opposite, waiting for him.
‘You’ve made a friend, I see.’
‘We’re into the same music.’
He noticed something, a hesitation.
‘There’s a reason for this conversation, isn’t there, Miss? There’s something bothering you.’
Mrs Rawmarsh ran a hand through her hair.
‘You seem to be close to Jess Hampshire.’
‘That wasn’t meant to happen.’
‘There was a good reason for moving you into another form. She’s Eve Morrison’s best friend. Is this going to be a problem?’
‘I don’t want to cause any trouble.’
‘Just be sensible, Anthony. It might be an idea to keep your distance if you can.’
He watched her striding across the yard.
‘What was that about?’ Charlie asked.
‘She was catching up,’ Anthony lied, ‘asking me how I was settling in.’
That was his life, half-truth upon half-truth, lie upon lie. It was bound to come out sometime. Part of him wanted to get it over with. Surely anything had to be better than this limbo. Before long Jess appeared with Eve.
‘Let’s go the other way,’ Anthony said.
Once they were round the corner of the sports hall, Charlie tugged at his sleeve.
‘Are you crazy? Why do you want to give Jess the slip? If the sexiest girl in Year 11 had the hots for me, I’d let her find me. I’d roll a red carpet right to her feet. Man, I’d give both arms to be where you are.’ Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘I can’t figure you out sometimes.’
‘There’s nothing to figure out.’
Charlie gave him a shove.
‘You sure you haven’t got hidden depths?’
Anthony shoved him back.
‘No, more like hidden shal
lows.’
Jess was trying to pretend she hadn’t seen Anthony duck round the corner. She started talking fast, about anything, about nothing, rushing out the words so she didn’t choke on them, but Anthony’s deliberate escape had upset her. I wondered whether maybe this was the best way out. What if he didn’t really like her? Then I wouldn’t have to tell her what was going on, not until I had to. Oh please, that would solve everything. For now.
‘You can drop the act, Jess. I saw him. He couldn’t get away fast enough.’
A friend’s instinct is normally to say nothing. But these weren’t normal times.
‘He couldn’t have made it more obvious.’
Jess crumpled, her chin quivering.
‘What’s he playing at? On Monday he seemed to want to be with me.’ Her voice faltered. ‘It’s whenever he sees me next to you.’
But if I thought it was going well, I was fooling myself. Her eyes flashed suddenly.
‘This isn’t about me at all, is it? There’s something between you two. I know it.’
This time it was my defences that were down.
‘Don’t be stupid. I’d never set eyes on him until a week ago.’
She searched my face.
‘I’m not stupid, Eve. You’re keeping something from me, both of you. The way you reacted that first day, the way your mum came into school and got him moved . . .’
I could hear doors opening in her mind. Up to this point she had been tangled up in her own interests, her curiosity about Anthony, her concern about Oli. Now, for the first time, her thoughts had broken free of all that. They were racing. It was only a matter of time before she started to make the connection.
‘You need to talk to me, Eve. Friends don’t keep secrets.’
‘Jess,’ I pleaded, ‘I need you to be patient. Don’t press me, please. Just stay away from Anthony.’
‘Why?’ she cried. ‘What’s he done that’s so terrible . . .?’
Her voice broke off.
‘Jess, no.’
Her eyes were wild. In that moment she knew, not the details, but the heart of it.
‘Brierley.’
‘What?’
‘He said he was from Brierley.’ There was a moment’s pause. ‘It’s got something to do with Rosie, hasn’t it?’
I didn’t even try to deny it. Pandora’s box was open and the lid could not be closed. The demons were flying. Jess would have gone after Anthony then, confronted him face to face, but the bell rang. I seized her by the arm.
‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Listen to me. We’ll find somewhere at break. I’ll tell you who he is. Don’t do anything until then. Promise.’
She was still drawing away from me.
‘Jess, you’re my best friend. Maybe I haven’t been fair to you, but trust me. Please.’ The first fury had gone out of her. I seized the opportunity. ‘You don’t go near him until I’ve had a chance to explain. Jess, you’ve got to give me that.’
The tension was draining away.
‘OK. OK, I’ll hear you out.’
We headed for the benches overlooking the sports pitches. It was dull and overcast and we shivered in our thin blazers. There was only one thing in favour of the weather. It kept everyone else away from this exposed part of the school grounds. The wind boomed over the fields and clawed through the chain-link fencing.
‘I was right, wasn’t I?’ Jess demanded. ‘He was there the night Rosie was attacked.’
There was no point denying it.
‘He was there.’
‘Oh God!’
‘I had to keep quiet about it. Mum thinks he might act as a witness.’
‘After all this time?’
‘I think she’s clutching at straws. After everything that’s happened I’m not sure she trusts the law to do its job. She just wants justice to be done.’
We huddled together.
‘Somehow I don’t see Anthony as a thug,’ Jess said. ‘Are you sure you’ve got this right? What did he do? How much did he see?’
How many times had I asked the same question? I kept re-running the possible scenarios through my mind. In some he fled the park almost immediately. In others he watched, fascinated, as they swarmed around Paul and Rosie. I even imagined him lashing out like the rest of them.
‘We only know what those anonymous emailers told us. They all say he wasn’t involved in the attack, but he was there.’ I struggled to finish what I was saying. Just talking about it made my eyes sting and my voice choke off. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Complicated how?’
‘Mum went to see him. Well, she went to see his mum.’
‘You’re kidding! Is she allowed to do that?’
I shrugged. ‘She did it anyway. You know what she’s like. She’s still fighting for Rosie. She said Anthony’s mum seemed scared.’
Jess sighed.
‘You’re right. What a mess.’ She took my hand. ‘So what happens now?’
‘We stay away from him.’
‘I don’t know if I can do that. Not when he pretended to be something he wasn’t.’
‘Please.’ We were both trembling. ‘No matter how much you want to shout and scream, we do nothing. If there is a chance he will come forward as a witness, we can’t do anything to put it at risk. Mum would never forgive me.’
The bell shrilled in the distance.
‘Still friends?’ I asked.
Jess smiled.
‘Friends forever.’
Memories are razors. Dreams are instruments of torture. Thoughts come swarming like wasps, leaving their poison burning in your flesh. When you lose a sister, it is not an end, but the beginning of your understanding of her. You know her better, need her more, but she is no longer there. Her absence is the ultimate wound.
Anything can bring her walking back through the door, a holiday photograph, a scent, a taste, a memento gathering dust on a shelf or nestling in a packing case. With me, it was music, not the kind you expect. It wasn’t Evanescence or Marilyn Manson that brought Rosie back into my heart. It wasn’t the stuff that formed a soundtrack to her life. It was a band called Fun, not the kind of music she usually listened to at all, and a song called We Are Young. The first time I heard it, a few weeks after the attack, it owned me. Rosie would never grow old. Age would not weary her. The years would not condemn. I would remember her forever, twenty years old, beautiful and doomed.
That is how the pain begins. For hours, maybe even days, I put her in a gallery in my mind. For however short a time I think I can leave her there, to be brought out from time to time when I am ready to face her, but it isn’t like that at all. Just when I am least expecting it, she is there beside me. I feel the brush of an arm, hear a ripple of laughter, share a common experience. But here is the turn of the screw, the burn of the brand. When I go to speak to her, when I want to embrace her and share a secret, she is gone, swept away like leaves in an autumn breeze.
She has to return to the shadows, shrink back into the photos and videos, be confined in objects and bric-abrac. I phoned Jess that night about half past eleven and we talked. I tried to explain all this. The last thing I said would later come back to haunt us both.
‘No matter how close we were in life, I can never have said I love you enough. We can never have done all the things together we should have. Jess, you have to treasure every moment you have with Oli and your mum and dad. Hold them. Fight for them. Because life is much more fragile than you think.’
I SOUNDED LIKE ROSIE
Thursday, 6 March 2014
Something had changed.
Anthony had caught Jess’s eye two or three times now. On each occasion she had looked away, but this wasn’t flirting. Her eyes were dull. Gone was the spark that lit her gaze whenever she saw him. This was contempt, even disgust. Anxiety clawed at him. Had Eve finally told her? Was he about to be exposed before the whole school?
It didn’t add up. If she knew, why hadn’t she confronted him? There had been no repercussions,
no pointing finger, no rumours, no accusations. Instead there were these cold stares.
‘What are you going to play in Shackleton’s Got Talent?’ Charlie asked, breaking into Anthony’s thoughts.
‘No idea.’
‘You’ve got to be joking. The final is next week. How can you not know?’
‘I’ve listened to hours of music. Nothing seems quite right.’
‘Do you want to do this?’
Anthony didn’t duck the question.
‘You want an honest answer? No. I mean, the whole thing got sprung on me. I was happy the way I was.’
Charlie cocked his head. Anthony had struck a false note.
‘I know happy, Anthony, and you weren’t it.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘You were in a band. You must enjoy the limelight from time to time. You just said you’ve spent hours searching for something to play.’
Anthony nodded.
‘So play.’
‘It isn’t as easy as that. It has to be the right song. I’ve got to feel it.’
As if he had felt anything but fear since his mother met Mosley. Since then, life had been a series of humiliations.
‘Well, you’d better find something, my friend, and fast.’
Voting on the Great Debate was in full swing.
Jess was next to me, staring at the display board outside the dining hall.
‘Oli’s got it in the bag,’ she observed. ‘Everybody says he was the best.’
‘He’ll get to the final,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think it’s a foregone conclusion.’
‘Why not?’
‘There are what, three hundred students in Key Stage Four? Do you really think Connor Hughes and Jake Lomas are the only Neanderthals around the place?’
‘No, maybe not, but they’ve got to be in a minority.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘you think the battle against prejudice is won? We get lessons and assemblies on equal opportunities. Everybody pretends to be all PC. Are you telling me you’ve never heard a racist or sexist joke? You’ve never heard the boys comparing the girls’ boobs?’