Becoming Jo

by Sophie MacKenzie

  Meg arrives first, her face drawn.

  “Poor Beth,” she whispers, hugging me close. “And oh, Jo, you must have been terrified. I feel so guilty that I went out. You were all on your own with her…”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” I reassure her. I’ve already decided there’s no way I’m going to tell Aunt Em that Meg wasn’t at home. I’m certain she’ll be so worried about Beth that she won’t even think to ask.

  Sure enough, when Aunt Em turns up a few minutes later, the scent of an expensive perfume in her wake, she is only focused on getting answers from the doctors.

  “I need to tell her parents she’s not well,” she says. “And I don’t want to call and say I’ve got no idea what’s wrong with her.” Her eyes narrow. “I should like some information, please.”

  “We’re just waiting for some test results,” one of nurses says. “The doctor will be in to talk to you very soon. You’re her next patient.”

  Aunt Em nods, an anxious frown on her face. The three of us spend what feels like an eternity but is actually less than ten minutes watching over Beth. She is still pale and clammy, a fresh drip attached to her arm and her eyes shut. At last she opens her eyes.

  “Where am I?” she asks, her voice thick.

  “Hospital,” Aunt Em says. I hardly recognize her voice, it’s so gentle. “You gave us all quite a scare.”

  “I’m sorry,” Beth says. Her face is grey with tiredness.

  “Oh, hush.” Aunt Em glances at me and Meg. “I should be the one apologizing. I should never have left you girls alone – you must have been terrified.”

  Meg and I look at each other.

  At that moment the doctor appears. She examines Beth, touching her with gentle hands and asking a few questions in a low, soothing murmur.

  “I’m pretty sure the fit just happened because Beth’s temperature got too high,” she says at last. “She’s stable now, but we’re going to admit her for the rest of the night for observation and to run a few more tests.”

  Armed with this information Aunt Em goes outside to call Mum. Meg and I sit on either side of Beth. Aunt Em comes back in.

  “Good news,” she says, going straight over to Beth who is blinking slowly awake. “Your mother is going to fly home.”

  “Really?” Beth smiles.

  “Even better…” Aunt Em looks around at us all, a smile on her normally serious face. “Your dad has just been given the all-clear. They’ll both be home the day after tomorrow. Your mother is booking flights now.”

  “Oh, yes!” I gasp, relief seeping through me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them until this moment. Mum and Dad home.

  “Thank goodness.” Meg clasps her hands together.

  Beth says nothing, just leans back on her pillows, her eyes welling with tears of joy.

  “So you need to work hard on getting better, Beth,” Aunt Em says, reverting to her usual, brisk manner. I notice she avoids her more normal “Elizabeth”. “Then we can have you home as soon as possible.”

  Beth nods, her eyes still closed.

  Aunt Em clears her throat. “I think you girls should head off now. Beth’s going to be admitted to a ward and I’ll stay with her. You can come back in the morning, when she’s had some rest.”

  I gaze down at Beth, reluctant to leave her. Meg touches my arm.

  “I’ll be OK, Jo,” Beth whispers, her eyes flickering briefly open.

  Aunt Em walks us to the exit. She calls a taxi and, while we wait, reels off instructions about cleaning and tidying the house. As she puts us into the cab, though, she squeezes my arm.

  “Thank you for looking after her, Jo,” she says in a low voice. “You girls did well this evening.”

  There is warmth in her eyes and I feel closer to her than I ever have.

  “With Mum and Dad home in a few days I guess you’ll be able to finally book your holiday,” I say, genuinely pleased for her. This isn’t a hint about Aunt Em taking me with her. With Beth so ill the thought doesn’t even occur to me.

  “Not till Beth is properly better,” Aunt Em says, glancing back at the hospital.

  “Of course,” I say. “But that’s going to be soon. I just know it is.”

  She smiles again. “Of course it is, Jo,” she says.

  I wake early and set to cleaning Beth and Amy’s room. I attack every corner with a duster, shoving Amy’s piles of clothes and toiletries under her bed and into her drawers. Hesitant to vacuum while Meg is asleep, I go outside and pick a handful of tiny daisies from the garden. I put them in a glass on Beth’s bedside table.

  Meg is up by the time Aunt Em calls from the hospital with an update.

  “The doctor says that Beth is stable and they’re putting yesterday’s high temperature down to a mystery virus,” she says with an unimpressed sniff. “I have to say she does seem absolutely fine now, so they’re letting her out this afternoon.”

  I offer to change places with her at the hospital, so she can come home and get some sleep. Meg suggests that she should pop over to Katy Brown’s house and fetch Amy, with strict instructions she’s not to have her friends round for a few days while Beth recuperates and Mum and Dad settle in back at home.

  Aunt Em agrees to both ideas gratefully.

  I spend the next few hours sitting next to Beth in her hospital bed. I’ve brought my laptop and, while Beth dozes, I have another attempt at a story for Teen Spiral.

  I try to imagine a Tallulah story but without Tallulah being free to go anywhere and do anything. Something “less far fetched, that could happen to actual teenage girls” in Marianne’s words.

  It’s hopeless. Quite apart from the fact that I can’t imagine a Tallulah who allows herself to be constrained by what she’s told is sensible behaviour, I’m too distracted to work. Beth does seem better, but I’m still reeling from the shock of seeing her have that fit yesterday evening. Plus, whenever I think about Mum and Dad coming home, my excitement builds, my heart racing with anticipation.

  Beth is discharged around three, and Aunt Em comes to collect us. Once we’re home, Beth goes up to rest in her room. Amy, Meg and I creep around the house, trying to make as little noise as possible. Aunt Em starts sorting through her things. It’s weird to imagine Mum and Dad being here, in their room. Over the past three months, Aunt Em has kind of made it her own. And Dad has never slept here at all.

  Once Beth is settled, my thoughts turn to Lateef. I can’t wait to tell him about Mum and Dad coming home tomorrow – and of course he needs to know about Beth’s overnight stay in hospital too.

  I message him about meeting up, but am too impatient to wait for a reply, so I fly across the road hoping he’ll be in.

  He is. In fact, he answers the door.

  “I’ve been dying to see you,” I gabble, bursting into the hall. “Did you get my message?”

  “Yes, what’s up?”

  “A million things,” I tell him, dragging him up the stairs to his room. “And all of them since yesterday.”

  “Oh, right,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about too.”

  I give him a close look. Usually he’s irrepressibly cheerful, but now he looks weighed down by troubles, his shoulders hunched and his jaw set in a grim line.

  “Are you OK?” I ask.

  “Fine.” He manages a smile, sitting down on his couch. “Tell me what’s been happening,” he says.

  “It’s Beth. Actually it was awful,” I explain, sitting down next to him. “She was so ill she had a fit and had to go to hospital.”

  Lateef’s head jerks up. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, she’s fine again now and back at home. The doctors say it was probably a virus and her temperature just went too high and that’s why she had the seizure. They’re doing some more tests but … but yesterday evening I had to call an ambulance to the house. I’m surprised you didn’t see it outside.”

  Lateef shakes his head
. “I was out with Uncle Jim,” he says, his eyes full of concern. “How horrible.”

  “It was really scary.”

  “I bet,” Lateef says. “Poor Beth, is she really OK?”

  “I really think she is,” I say, trying to reassure him. “I mean the doctors wouldn’t let her out of hospital if she wasn’t.” I pause for breath. “But that isn’t the only thing. We also found out yesterday that Mum’s coming home tomorrow and guess what? She’s bringing Dad with her.” I beam at Lateef.

  “That’s brilliant,” Lateef says. “I’m really pleased for you. And it’ll be great to see your mum again. And to meet your dad.”

  He’s still smiling, but it’s like the light has gone out in his eyes. I stare at him, the realization finally dawning that something is wrong.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, leaning forward and touching his hand.

  Lateef meets my gaze, his big brown eyes full of feeling. I’ve never met anyone with such an expressive face as Lateef. Impulsively I give his hand a squeeze. Lateef holds my fingers briefly, then lets go with a sigh.

  My mobile rings. Meg. I answer, still looking at Lateef. “Aunt Em wants you to go to the corner shop and get some bread. OK?”

  “Sure.” I ring off and stand up. “I have to go down the road, Lateef,” I explain. “I’ll be back in a bit or … or d’you want to come with?”

  “I…” He hesitates, then squares his shoulders. “There’s something I need to tell you first.”

  I frown, leaning forward again. “What is it?” I ask. “Is it Uncle Jim?” A thought strikes me. “Or is it news from your home … your original home?”

  “No.” Lateef lowers his head. Outside, a passing car beeps its horn angrily. Then silence descends again. A beat passes as I wait for him to speak. When he does his voice is so low that I can hardly hear him. “It’s you.”

  “Me?” I stare at him. “What have I done now?”

  Lateef says nothing. I wrack my brains trying to work out why he might be upset with me. Then I remember the tension between us yesterday.

  “Is it because of what happened at the picnic?” I ask. “I’m sorry if I was mean. I was just a bit embarrassed when you asked me that question about what I most wanted. It’s not your fault and it’s not that I’m ashamed of it, but when you tell people you want to be a writer lots of them think you’re being really pretentious, so—” I shrug. “I felt weird about you asking me in front of everyone, and I was embarrassed and rude. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not that.” Lateef looks up again and, to my horror, his eyes are bright with unshed tears. “It’s how … how I feel about you. The way I think you feel about me.” He gazes at me, urging me to understand.

  Which I don’t.

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “What way?” I’m trying to sound light and jokey, but I can hear the sharp edge to my voice.

  “I love you,” Lateef says.

  We stare at each other.

  “Er, I know,” I say, feeling bewildered. “Me too, like you’re the brother I’ve never had, but we don’t need to go around talking about it, do we?”

  Lateef shakes his head. “No, that’s what I’m trying to say … I love you, but not like a brother. I love you like…” He trails off, either from an inability to find the words to express himself or in horror at the shock that must be written all over my face.

  “What?” I say, stupidly, my head spinning.

  “I love you,” Lateef says again. “That’s it. I’m in love with you.”

  The words drop like acid on my skin. A single word roils up inside me, expressing everything that I feel.

  Everything I know I will ever feel.

  “No,” I say. “I’m so sorry. No.”

  We stare at each other for a second, then Lateef’s face floods with humiliation.

  “I think you should go,” he says.

  I don’t know how to argue. What to say. I don’t want to leave like this.

  My cheeks burn as I stand. “Lateef…?”

  He doesn’t look up. I walk over to the door, my stomach churns.

  “Lateef, please.”

  Across the room, he jams on his headphones.

  I have no choice but to make my way down the stairs and out of the house, feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  Chapter 8

  Almost twenty-four hours after my conversation with Lateef and I’ve neither seen, spoken with nor messaged him. It feels weird. Worse, it feels wrong. He’s my best friend. We’ve seen each other almost every day since we met. When we aren’t spending time with each other, we’re chatting or messaging. And now, nothing.

  Part of me wants to march over there and demand that we talk. But I have no idea what I’d say.

  It still doesn’t feel real that he said he’s in love with me. Has he always felt like that? Why didn’t he say something before? No, never mind that. Why on earth did he have to spoil everything by saying it at all? Our friendship was perfect and now he’s gone and thrown a bomb in it.

  I haven’t told anyone. Partly from embarrassment, but also because everyone at home is totally preoccupied with their own stuff. Mum and Dad are due home in just a couple of hours and, when she hasn’t been fussing over Beth, Aunt Em has been busy packing. Beth herself seems miles better, though her face is still pale and she doesn’t have much of an appetite. She’s spent the day resting in her bedroom, under strict instructions not to overexert herself.

  Despite the fact that the doctors weren’t able to identify whatever made her ill, Amy is convinced she’s got glandular fever. Apparently Katy Brown had it last year and says all the symptoms match. Meanwhile Meg has been tidying and baking in anticipation of Mum and Dad coming back.

  I still can’t write my story for Teen Spiral. Perhaps I’m just too excited. I keep sitting down at my laptop but the words will not come. It’s past five p.m. when I drift downstairs to the kitchen. Meg is taking a tray of cupcakes out of the oven, her rosy cheeks more flushed than usual.

  “Don’t touch,” she snaps as I come over. “They need icing.”

  “Whatever.” I veer away, towards the fruit bowl. “Who wants one of your stupid cakes anyway?”

  Meg straightens up. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m just nervous.”

  “It’s only Mum and Dad,” I say, taking an apple. “They’ll be so pleased to get back they won’t care about a bunch of cupcakes.”

  “Not about that,” Meg says with a sigh. “I need to talk to them about … about the courses I’ve been looking at.”

  I stare at her. “Lateef says working with kids is really hard work,” I say. I’m still hoping that I can find a way of convincing Meg to see that she’ll regret studying to be a nanny, that she’d be much better suited training to be a designer or a stylist.

  Meg looks away.

  “Why do you need to talk to Mum and Dad so urgently anyway? I mean, it’s still only July. You don’t have to start thinking about college applications until we’re back at school.”

  Meg says nothing, just bites her lip.

  I don’t know what else to say to her. I feel too raw over Lateef to argue any more. It’s like it was with Amy. A disagreement isn’t worth losing a sister over.

  I let out a long, heavy sigh. Meg tucks a loose strand of hair behind her eyes.

  “Speaking of Lateef, where is he?” she asks. “I thought he’d be over today to see Beth – you did tell him she was ill when you went over yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” I hesitate. I want to tell her what happened between us, but somehow it’s too private, too awkward to explain. “I don’t know where Lateef is,” I say. “Are you going to see Aiden again?

  “No,” Meg says. “He’s OK, but I’m not really interested.”

  “Right.” I leave Meg placing her cakes on the cooling rack and wander back upstairs. As I reach my room, my phone pings with a message.

  It’s from Lateef.

  On way to airport, going away for res
t of summer. Better that way. Sorry about everything. L.

  I sink on to my bed, studying his words. He’s going away – because of me.

  I scroll to his number, but it rings and rings with no answer and no way to leave a voicemail. So I message him.

  Where are you going? I’ll miss you. Hope you have a great time.

  I hesitate, then send a second message which asks what I really want to know.

  Can we still be friends?

  There’s no reply.

  I’ve put out fresh towels and changed two sets of bed linen, and now I’m lying on my bed, thinking about Lateef again. Mum and Dad are due back any minute. Meg has showered and is drying her hair in our room. I still can’t confide in her. I’m not sure if I could even put how I feel into words. Mostly I’m confused.

  Confused and upset.

  “Jo?” Beth calls from the landing.

  I wander out. She’s dressed in an old T-shirt and sweatpants, a smile on her pale face. “Are you coming downstairs with me? Mum and Dad will—”

  As she speaks, the key sounds in the door. Her eyes widen. Downstairs, Amy and Meg squeal in unison.

  “Daddy!” Amy’s cry pierces the air.

  I hold my breath. Beth grips my arm, her eyes glistening. “Come on.”

  I let her go first. Mum meets her halfway down the stairs with a big hug and a smile up at me. “Come on, Beth, you and Dad can be convalescents together in the living room.”

  They disappear down the stairs. I follow slowly, listening to Dad’s gruff voice soften as he tells Beth how sorry he is to have been away and kept Mum away while she was in hospital. I reach the hall in time to see Amy virtually dragging Dad into the living room, everyone else following behind.

  It feels surreal to have Dad back, to know that he is here, really here. I wander into the living room. Mum is by the door. She squeezes my arm. Meg is next to her, beaming at Dad. Beth is already on the sofa, Amy beside her, patting the seat next to her for Dad to sit down. They’re all talking, laughing, looking up at him.

  Dad. He’s standing in the middle of the room, gazing at me. He looks even older and thinner and greyer than he did on Skype.