His eyes glance back at the envelope on his lap, and then to me. He slides it back onto the bedside table where I’d left it.
‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask. ‘Water? Coffee?’
‘No thanks,’ he says slowly. His eyes briefly meet mine then he looks away. It feels so awkward around him now, like we’re meeting properly for the first time. My cheeks feel warm like I’m blushing. I keep my eyes focused on the ground around my feet.
A gust of rain blasts the glass and I jump, a short scream escaping. When I look behind me, my reflection stares back in the window. Wide eyes, full of fear, mouth open, and my hands are trembling. It’s just rain. When I turn back, Jack’s looking at me with a pained expression on his face. Does the rain trigger any flashbacks for him? He glances away, and breathes heavily. Then he turns the TV on again. It looks like a new remote control. I wonder if he broke the last one. He avoids the news channels and instead we watch the end of a show called Tipping Point which reminds me of the penny-drop machine at an old arcade. Then the screen quickly changes to a chat show, showing a family of five arguing on the sofas, then onto an old episode of Family Fortunes which we call Family Feud in the US.
‘We asked a poll of people what is the most common kitchen appliance used in Britain …’
‘An oven,’ I blurt out.
He looks at me, then back to the TV. ‘A kettle,’ he counters.
‘And our survey says, a kettle.’
I glance at him. I think he’s smirking.
‘Name a place you visit where you aren’t allowed to touch anything …’
‘An art gallery.’
‘A zoo,’ Jack says.
‘Our survey says, a museum.’
‘Close enough,’ I say.
‘Best of three?’ he asks. Now he’s definitely smirking.
‘I think we have time for best of nine.’
Jack
Yesterday was OK. She stayed for the whole of Family Fortunes – lost – and for the first part of Tenable – won, of course. Her knowledge of bird species and political leaders was impressive. And I didn’t completely hate her company. It was nice, actually. When my friends visit, there’s an unspoken pressure to keep the conversation up, to be positive and not act all negative and ‘wounded’ all the time. There’s a lot of history between us, a lot of shared adventures, and now that just seems to add to the divide I feel when I see them. I feel different. I am different. And whether it’s all in my head or they’re feeling it too, something’s changed when we all get together.
But with Alice, it was different yesterday. It was a little weird, of course, as we’re still pretty much strangers to each other. But it wasn’t forced. There was no pressure, and the majority of the time was spent just watching TV or sitting in silence. I don’t feel pitied when she’s here. In fact, I find myself sometimes worrying about her, like when she jumped at the rain. Rain brings me back to that day too, but not to the extent to which it seemed to unnerve Alice yesterday.
She’s back again today. This time we’ve got through another episode of Tenable and a repeat of Only Connect, both of which she is scarily good at. We’ve sat mostly in silence, bar a few quick awkward glances at each other to see if the other one is looking.
‘Words that can be preceded by “under”,’ she calls to the TV. She seems particularly skilled at Only Connect which makes me wonder if she has a social life at all.
‘Seven years in Ireland …’
‘Next clue,’ she shouts.
‘They can’t hear you,’ I mutter quietly.
‘Six years in Russia …’
‘Hmm,’ she mumbles.
‘Five years in France …’
‘Length of Presidential terms!’ she says, pointing to the TV screen.
I’m also wondering whether this will be the extent of her visits over the next few weeks. Me lying in bed watching her shout at a TV screen and managing to beat the contestants. I scoot onto my side. My back has been aching for days now. I’m not used to all this sitting and lying. I’m used to being up and moving my body. I reach back and try to grab a pillow to stuff lower down my back, hoping for some temporary relief.
Alice suddenly jumps up. ‘Here, let me.’ She slowly leans in at first then starts ferociously fluffing the pillows behind me, punching and slamming them.
‘It’s fine,’ I stammer, but she keeps going.
‘No, I want to help. Almost done.’
‘Alice, I think that’s—’ No, she’s not done. Now she’s got me upright, leaning over my tray table that still houses my leftover lunch. She’s shaking the pillows now, one by one. Now she’s slamming them on the wall.
‘Watch out for the—’
Too late.
A corner of the pillow hits the emergency call button and suddenly the room is flooded with a silent red siren. It illuminates the space, even blocking out the sunlight streaming in from the window. She drops the pillow and starts backing away. Three medical staff rush in, one pulling on gloves already. The nurse at the back pushes an equipment trolley. Is that a defibrillator?
Alice stands at the window, still clutching a white pillow to her chest, mouth agape. Her cheeks burn red like her hair. ‘I … I …’
‘Sorry, false alarm. We hit the button by accident trying to sort the bed,’ I quickly say.
The first nurse leans over and switches the alarm off. ‘No problem. Just be careful where you fluff those pillows next time,’ she smiles at me. She briefly glances at Alice, the smile fading from her face. Then she walks calmly out of the room, the other two following.
Silence fills the empty space, except for the low whirling of the air-conditioning vent in the corner and a faint flow of traffic from outside the window. Alice is still standing by the window, still not moving. I clear my throat and look her way. ‘So, can I have my pillow back?’
Her eyes dart at me, her face still rigid and flushed. Then she softens around her jaw and forehead, and starts smiling. Then she starts laughing, hysterically. It’s the worst laugh I’ve ever heard. Small bursts of deep belly laughs, with the occasional high pitched cackle, and … was that a snort too?
I don’t know what to do, except watch her keel over and get herself more worked up.
So I laugh with her.
Alice
‘What are your favorite subjects at school?’ I ask, leaning back in the chair by the window. We’ve been engaging in tentative conversation now for almost an hour, which for us is huge progress. The TV is off, which helps, I suppose, although I am very aware that a new episode of Tenable started five minutes ago. I resist the urge to reach for the remote.
‘PE—’
‘Of course,’ I nod, smiling. ‘My least favorite subject.’
‘Languages. And English.’
‘You enjoy reading?’
‘I do. My family has a huge library at the house, and I love just looking at the books wondering what to read next. What about you?’
‘All of the Sciences, Math, and also Modern Studies here because I like learning about your political system.’
‘Hmm,’ he says. He probably expected me to say that. I am a stereotype through and through: military transfer, no friends, academic pursuits, a ten-year life plan. ‘What do you do for fun?’
‘Fun? What’s that?’ I tease, raising an eyebrow. ‘Just kidding. I like reading too. I love the libraries and little bookshops in your city.’
‘You should take a walk down Cecil Court sometime. It’s a little alleyway near Covent Garden filled with antiquarian booksellers and rare finds.’
‘Good to know, thanks.’
‘What else do you do in your spare time?’
‘I write poetry and I listen to music.’
‘Will you read me some of your poetry sometime?’
‘Definitely not,’ I scoff. ‘No way. But I’ll play you some of the music I listen to, if you want?’
He smiles, ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’
He’s not what I t
hought he’d be, based on his social media profile. He’s more than that. I knew he’d be articulate, well-read, funny and yes, a bit charming. But he’s also kind, and a good listener. And oddly has a calming way about him. I thought he’d be bursting with impulsivity and adventure, but he seems quite grounded. I assumed we’d be polar opposites, and I guess we are in many ways but not in every aspect like I first thought. Sitting here and talking to him is strangely natural in a familiar kind of way, and not forced like you get with two people who have no apparent shared interests.
‘When are you going back to school again?’ he asks.
‘I’ve actually been thinking about home-schooling. I bet the school has amazing tutors, and my grades are near perfect anyway so it’s not like home-schooling is a risk to my academic future. In fact, some might say that I am an ideal candidate for independent study.’
Jack raises his head off the pillow and stares at me. ‘Home-schooling?’
‘Yeah.’
He shrugs and rests his head back on the propped pillow again.
‘What? It’s not completely uncommon,’ I say.
‘No, but it’s completely weird.’
‘How so?’
‘Home-schooled kids are … odd. When they finally break out and make it to university, they’re like unsocialized rabid animals.’
‘Wow,’ I laugh.
‘Sorry.’
‘I was home-schooled for a few years and I turned out okay,’ I argue.
He looks at me strangely, then nods. He’s probably still deciding that. I roll my eyes and swirl my latte to mix the espresso and milk again. It sloshes up the side and a drop splashes out the lip onto my hand. I lick it off and suddenly become aware that Jack is still looking at me. ‘What?’
‘So why home-schooling? Why not go back?’
I shrug. ‘It’s just a lot right now. And since I won’t take the train, it takes forever to get into the city for school in the mornings.’
‘Why won’t you take the train?’
‘They’re too busy and … I don’t know, exposed. Something might happen again,’ I say quietly. Jack drops his gaze to the bed. ‘No one in London seems to take the bus. Not if they can get to where they need to on the tube. It’s much faster that way, so buses are pretty quiet usually.’
He nods. I think he understands why I’m avoiding crowds and tight, cramped spaces with few exits. ‘Why did you home-school before?’
‘I didn’t have an easy time like you when I first started high school. Freshmen have a tough time anyway, but mine was even more difficult. People called me names and it got to me. So Mom decided to take me out for a bit. I had a tutor come to the house and studied online until it was time to move again. I guess that’s the one good thing about moving around a lot. If I hate the school and the people, I know I won’t be there for long anyway.’
‘Sounds lonely,’ he mutters.
‘Sorry, visiting hours are up,’ says a nurse from the hallway. She pulls a trolley into the room, filled with new bandages and dressing treatments.
I nod and gather up my hoodie and coat. ‘See you.’
‘Don’t home-school,’ he calls back.
‘Why?’
‘Because then they’ve won.’
The nurse slowly closes the door, leaving me standing in the dark hallway alone. Who did he mean by ‘they’ – the bullies, or the terrorists?
Jack
She fiddles with the speakers, turning them up so the music fills the whole room.
‘What is this? From the 70s?’
‘Seriously? It’s First Aid Kit. They’re the greatest modern folk band of our time. Listen, what about this one? You must like this one.’ She cradles her phone in her hands and leans back in the armchair. ‘This song reminds me of my dad. Listen to the lyrics. They’re singing about Emmylou Harris and Gram Parsons, and June Carter and Johnny Cash. The great country singers. It’s sort of like a tribute to the couples – to love, I guess.’
‘They’ve got OK voices.’
‘They’re not just OK. They’re amazing.’
‘Skip forward. Let me hear the rest.’ I reach for the Bose speaker on the bedside table but she playfully snatches it away.
‘Only if you appreciate the sounds filling your uneducated ears.’
‘Next time it’s my turn. I’ll show you what real music is. Not this American stuff.’
‘They’re Swedish.’
The nurse sticks her head in. ‘Visiting hours are almost done, guys.’
‘Please, just another few minutes,’ Alice pleads, turning the volume down low.
The nurse sighs and looks behind, down the hallway. ‘Clare’s on shift in twenty minutes. If you’re still here by then you’ll definitely be in trouble, OK?’
‘OK. Thanks, Sara.’
She leaves and Alice turns the volume back up.
‘Do you know everyone’s names?’ I ask her.
‘Yeah, don’t you?’
‘No.’
‘That’s because you’re a snob.’ She pulls a face and takes another swig of her ridiculously large coffee. ‘And possibly because I’ve spent more time bargaining and pleading with staff to let me in so I’ve come to know them all quite well, except Mrs Clarence. She’s a hard one to crack. She won’t tell me her first name.’
‘Who?’
‘The receptionist downstairs.’
‘I guess I don’t make it downstairs very often,’ I mumble, fidgeting with the covers on the bed. I don’t know why. I’m not a fidgeter. That’s for people who have nothing to do. I suppose, that’s me now. My jaw suddenly aches.
She crosses and uncrosses her legs, then crosses them again. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said and I’ve decided to try school again.’ She plays with a stray thread hanging from her skirt, tugging at it then winding it around her middle finger. She seems to pull on it until it goes white and numb, then releases it and watches the blood flow back in. Then she does it all over again.
‘When?’
‘It’s all arranged for me to go back tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. It’ll suck because it’s school, but it’ll be fine.’
She’s tugging on that thread again, this time scrunching her face as she wraps it around her finger tighter like she’s trying to hurt herself. She pulls on it, so hard her cheeks burn red with effort. Then her body relaxes and she eases it off her finger. When she’s done she places her hand in her lap and waits patiently for whatever feeling that was to pass.
I look away so she doesn’t know I saw her.
Alice
The headteacher is waiting for me outside the side gate when I arrive with my mom. I muster up a weak morning greeting and stand awkwardly around them as they talk about me like I’m not there. They quietly discuss the schedule for the day, my classes, what I’ve missed, and finally ‘protocol’ if I have another panic attack. In front of us, students flood in through the main gate and hurry up the stone steps. The chatter around me intensifies as a large group of girls hover by the building doors, excitedly exchanging stories from the weekend. Sounds like there was a party at someone’s house on Saturday. I wouldn’t have got an invite even if things had been running as normal. Jack, on the other hand, would have been there no doubt. He would have arrived with that cute, skinny blonde Lauren from the Facebook photos, strolled in like it was just the first of many parties he had to attend that evening, and immediately been engaged in a group conversation where people laughed at all his jokes and hung onto his every word. He should be here right now. Not me.
‘Ready, Alice?’
I glance at my mom who repeats Ms Perrie’s question like I didn’t hear it. ‘Ready, sweetheart?’
Is there an option to say ‘no’ at this point? Probably not. I can’t lie to my mom, so rather than reply ‘yes’ I just walk around them and begin the slow ascent into school. One foot in front of the other. Just keep going.
‘Want me to stay a while?’ Mom calls out
.
I turn back and shake my head. I could try to fake a reassuring smile, but again, I can’t lie to her. She’d see right through me. I stand there at the top of the steps and watch her walk away, her bag swinging against her hip. I want to scream, ‘Don’t go! Please don’t leave me here!‘ I want to run down the steps and into her arms – where it’s safe, where the bombs don’t fall and the blood doesn’t flow. I want to press my cheek against her shoulder so hard it blocks out the sounds.
Where it’s safe.
Where it’s safe …
But nowhere’s safe.
Not here and not in my mother’s arms. Not anymore.
So I don’t scream after her and beg her to turn back. Instead I move deeper into the school, the walls tightening around me as the headteacher closes the doors behind us. We pick up my new schedule from the main office and she walks me to first period, Physics. I shuffle to the back and take a seat. I usually like to sit up front, it’s easier to answer the teacher’s questions and I get a better view of the SmartBoard for taking notes. But not today. I didn’t even bring my notepad today. Today is just about being here. If I can get through today then tomorrow I’ll concentrate on the content. I finally glance up and meet the eyes of the guy next to me. He’s staring, and now so is the girl beside him, and soon the girl next to her. No one’s noticed me since I first transferred here. I was a nobody, an insignificant, and now everyone sees me. It’s funny, I thought I always wanted that. I don’t.
I shift my chair to an angle that faces away from them, towards the window. If I can’t see them, then maybe they can’t see me, even though I know it doesn’t work that way. The teacher is rabbiting on about astrophysics but I block out his voice until all I hear is the gentle hum of the air-conditioning unit in the back corner of the room and the odd student’s pencil-tapping around me. The voices begin to overpower the humming, tapping, and occasional heeled footsteps of teachers passing by outside. Then whispers trickle from behind, creeping up over my shoulder and spilling out onto my desk, seeping into the wood and staining where I sit. I can’t make out everything they’re saying but I know they’re talking about me. Now I want to know, so I lean back in my chair and lift my ear towards them.
After the Rain Page 8
