Stay Mad, Sweetheart

by Heleen Kist

  Facing away from the machine, she dropped to her knees, bringing the handle down with her. She stuck the cable under her arm and leaned sideways to prevent it from slipping. She gave the scarf another swift jerk where it coiled around the handle. Good.

  The silvery stars on the blue fabric twinkled, reflected the spotlights overhead. Maybe this pattern had been the best choice after all.

  Her knees throbbed against the mat. She looked sideways to gauge the height of the machine’s frame and gathered the loose end of the scarf. She made an ‘S’ shape and then a ‘C’. Funny how you never forget. She wrapped the shorter length of fabric around the longer five times and threaded the end bit through the resulting loop.

  There.

  She was quite proud of that one.

  She released the handle from underneath her aching armpit, holding the cable taut with her left hand.

  Emily lowered herself onto her bum. The cable dug a groove inside her now extended fist.

  She placed the soft, silk noose around her neck. Then tightened.

  The weights were at their highest position.

  She closed her eyes, counted to three and let go.

  9

  ME

  Atticus rubbed his head against the arch of my bare foot; his fluffy, fat body caressed my skin as it followed. After the tip of his tail tickled each single toe in sequence, he turned and repeated this action in the opposite direction for the umpteenth time. He still wasn’t getting my attention.

  Six hours since Emily’s death. Six agonising hours in which it seemed like every last drop of liquid from my body had left through my eyes. Six numbing hours that kept me welded to the floor of my living room, my back to the wall, legs spread, staring into space.

  After agreeing with Claire that I should come to Pure Brilliant myself to look for Emily, she returned my call within minutes. When the phone rang, I had one leg in my jeans and stumbled as I lunged for the device.

  I’d strained to hear Claire’s voice through the cacophony in the background. Pure Brilliant was being evacuated with a fire alarm. Rumours were flying about a blaze, but she said she didn’t buy it: there were no fire engines, even after eight minutes. She’d gone to investigate and found Darren being led by Security to the side of the building. When she reached him, he was kneeled on the grass, head in his hands.

  He’d found Emily.

  Everything else Claire told me was a blur — and not only because of our combined sobs.

  My stomach rumbled. Atticus climbed on me and massaged my thighs with his claws, preparing to cuddle up. I grabbed him and buried my face in his tummy, my hot breath fanning the ginger fluff across my cheek like a caress. If only I could stay here forever.

  The phone rang. I peeked. Suki again.

  Piss off.

  I didn’t want people around. People made Emily do this. I wished they would all die. I hugged my cat harder. The damp patch on his down grew with every tear. He wriggled free and took his warmth with him. A shiver ran up my spine.

  Cold and alone. A memory flashed by. Seven years old. Stuck in a tree during a camping trip. Cold and alone, scared and longing for Dad to come rescue me. He did, then, but he couldn’t anymore. I remembered Mum fussing over me, insisting on packing up and driving straight home. I remembered the hot bath.

  I wrapped my arms around my chest. I yearned for that bath; for Mum — for the first in a long time; for Dad. I still missed him, fifteen years on.

  The foreign dial tone signalled Mum was still in Spain. When she picked up, it sounded as though she was in a bar, glasses clinking, laughter.

  ‘Hello darling, this is a nice surprise,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry to call. I... I don’t know how to tell you this. Emily is dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She killed herself, Mum. They found her this morning.’

  ‘Oh honey, are you okay?’

  ‘No. No, I’m not.’ My whole body shook as my mother made shushing sounds from too far away.

  ‘’I’m coming home, darling. I’ll get the next flight out. Oh my God, her poor parents. I can’t believe it. I’ll be there as quick as —’

  My vision blurred. I dropped sideways. The phone smashed against the ground.

  10

  ME

  A glass-walled holding pen across the drive from the main chapel of Mortonhall crematorium served as a waiting room between tightly scheduled ceremonies. Mum and I arrived early and nodded to the other mourners out of courtesy. I overheard ‘Poor Susan.’ Sweat sprang to my temples. This wasn’t the group for Emily yet. I tugged at Mum’s sleeve and motioned with my eyes to leave but she didn’t get it.

  Thankfully, black-clad people began to exit the crematorium and flowed down the hill. Staff moved floral arrangements out the back door and refreshed them with new wreaths that stood ready on folding tables in the side alley. I admired their efficiency.

  The group we’d invaded left and proceeded in near single file to the concrete, accordion-like building. Mum and I sat on the chairs freed by the elderly. She placed her hand on my knee. I had nothing to say. She knew.

  We waited.

  Eventually, I heard the murmur of Emily’s mourners arriving. First a trickle, then a steady stream walking up the tree-lined path from the parking lot.

  I smiled awkwardly as they entered the pen. Emily and I had only a handful of other friends growing up, who’d all moved away. Who were these people? A dull ache spread across my chest. I remembered her inviting me to parties when we’d first moved to university. Awkward, smoky, clammy places with loud music preventing you from thinking, let alone allowing you to discourage the drunken advances of pale, randy students. I’d given up after a handful of attempts and she stopped asking. Her other friends would have been relieved the boring sidekick was out of the picture and I couldn’t begrudge her enjoying her newfound popularity.

  I studied the various clumsy greetings around us. Too young to have experienced anything more than the loss of a grandparent, they struggled for words and made do with mumbles, nods and pats on the back. What should one say about the utterly preventable death of someone in pain?

  I looked at the tiles on the floor and ran my foot over the pretty swirly pattern. It made sense for Emily’s parents to book the funeral here: Edinburgh was as far for them and those coming from Peebles as its alternative, Melrose crematorium — where Dad’s funeral had been held. This place looked bigger, too. Just as well. We already didn’t fit here. Many stood outside. Boxed in, surrounded by a noxious mix of cosmetic smells, I wished I’d done the same.

  When the cortege of black cars headed by an elegant hearse came around the bend, the room fell silent. The others looked around, seemingly searching for a leader who would know whether this was the time to cross the road. A subtle wave from a man in a top hat and tails by the chapel suggested it was, and they spilled out.

  ‘Come on, baby,’ said Mum. ‘It’s time.’

  My mother held my hand during the whole ceremony and squeezed whenever my grief hiccoughed from my body. I tried to concentrate on the readings, but it was as if the words floated in the air out of sync. I picked at my skirt.

  When the curtain closed behind the coffin, and we sang the final hymn, Emily’s family — her parents and her younger brother — shuffled past the congregation to stand in a line by the exit.

  I didn’t want to go to them. I didn’t think I’d cope. Mum prodded me along, whispering what to say and do. I figured it wouldn’t matter what I said: Emily’s parents looked sedated through the parade of handshakes, hugs and condolences. When it was my turn, her mother grabbed me in a full embrace, my nose pressed to her black lapel.

  ‘Oh Laura, you were such a good friend,’ she said.

  My cheeks flushed. Given what had happened, I’d been anything but.

  The family invited those closest to Emily to join them at a nearby hotel for soup and drinks. I stuck to tea, Mum and I a twosome on the edge of the green-carpeted room.
>
  I overheard a young woman say, ‘Did you see the arrangement Adam Mooney sent?’

  ‘Quite right,’ said another. ‘Though a bit small...’

  ‘Do you think? At least he showed the good sense to not send anything too ostentatious.’

  ‘I kinda expected him to come to pay his respects. He’s still in town, you know.’ said a third.

  ‘God, can you imagine? No. That would totally not be okay. Talk about upstaging the deceased!’

  Mum nudged me. My cup wobbled on the edge of the saucer.

  I glared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Deb and Paul are waving us over. Come on,’ she said.

  Emily’s parents had regained some colour in their cheeks. Whether it was because of the soup or the coffee — or whatever they’d spiked it with — was anyone’s guess. It made them easier to approach. Less of the oppressing face of doom that caused me to be tongue-tied as we’d exited the chapel. I couldn’t imagine their agony.

  ‘Laura, my dear. Look at you all grown up,’ Paul said.

  It hit me that it was true: they hadn’t seen me in years. Not since Emily’s graduation. I didn’t avoid Peebles — it was a fine place — I’d merely not been home for a long time. Too busy. Would I ever return? The cradle of my friendship with Emily unimaginable without her.

  My mum gave them both a hug, and they shared words that passed me by. All the while I had an itch, something I needed addressed. And when I caught a lull, I asked, ‘What are the police doing?’

  They stopped talking, quizzical faces on me.

  ‘Have they done anything?’ I said.

  Deb winced and leaned into her husband. ‘Well, they’ve been kind. There’s not much they can do, is there? I mean She... she was suffering. She did this... to herself.’

  ‘But she was being harassed—’

  ‘Laura...’ Paul gave me a stern look.

  Deb placed her hand on his. ‘It’s fine, Paul. We’re all upset.’ She looked at me and forced a smile. ‘The Edinburgh police said they were looking into it, darling. Though they warned us not to expect too much. They said it was difficult to identify anonymous — what did they call them? Trolls. And, well, because Emily never made a formal complaint it apparently makes it even more difficult. To do anything.’

  Paul nodded solemnly; a stereotype of Scottish stoicism: people who didn’t speak, who never dwelled. Eventually, he said, ‘We must let the wound heal.’

  Heat rose in my chest. Let the wound heal? I’d pick at that scab as much as necessary to get the bastards that hurt Emily. ‘How can you let it go so easily?’ I asked. ‘They committed crimes.’

  The parents’ shocked faces and Mum’s bony elbow in the side told me I’d gone too far.

  ‘How can we help?’ Mum offered.

  Deb shook her head and walked away, tearing at the tissue in her hands, mumbling something about more soup.

  ‘The reason we waved you over, Laura,’ Paul said, ‘is about Emily’s flat. Deb and I went the other day but...’ He turned away from his coffee as though the mere sight of it made him feel sick.

  ‘It’s alright, Paul,’ Mum stroked his arm. ‘I can’t imagine how difficult it must be.’

  He sniffed, then sighed deeply. ‘We opened the door. The place was in such a state. Deb fainted. I caught her just before she hit the ground.’ He rubbed his forehead and grimaced. ‘I put her down. Had to leave her there. I rushed in to get Emily a dress... for today.’

  My heart sank at his lost face. Should I comfort him? Mum already had a hand on him. Would two be too much? I rubbed the handle of my teacup, clutching the saucer with my other hand. I looked down; a small scuff scarred my special-occasion pumps. ‘Which dress did you choose?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I heard Paul say.

  I raised my head back up. ‘Which dress did you choose?’

  His brow twitched. ‘A blue one with flowers.’

  A vision jumped into my head so suddenly I gasped: Emily picking me up from work one rainy afternoon, opening her raincoat like a flasher. ‘Pssst, like my new dress?’ She’d quickly closed her coat again and let out a raucous laugh, her hand against the dress’s high neckline.

  I smiled at Paul. ‘Perfect.’

  He put his coffee down on a side table and cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, we’ve hired a company to pack up Emily’s belongings next week. The landlord is letting us break the lease early given... um... the circumstances.’ He turned to me. ‘But Deb and I thought you might want to go in first and choose some items to keep. For you.’

  I recoiled.

  Mum put a firm arm around me. ‘That’s thoughtful of you, Paul. I’m sure that means a lot to Laura.’

  ‘We can get keys to you,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘I have keys thanks.’ I stroked the palm of my hand against my skirt, remembering the cold sensation of Emily pressing the cat-shaped key ring into it years ago, joking to Atticus that there was a new tomcat in town.

  ‘In case of emergency,’ she’d said. ‘If I ever lock myself out there’s only two places you’ll be, work or home, eh?’

  I’d snickered because she was right. Me. Her ever-reliable Laura.

  ‘Plus, I don’t want to end up like that poor woman I read about in the Herald, who tripped in the bath and died. She was there for days before anyone found her.’ She’d closed my fingers around the key ring. ‘I mean, that’s got to be the worst way to go.’

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, banishing thoughts of Emil’s last moments.

  How wrong she was.

  A woman smiled at me from the corner of the room. She was roughly my age and wearing too much make-up, with thick, drawn-in eyebrows that were inexplicably all the rage. Blonde highlights snaked through her chestnut hair.

  Did I know her from school? I didn’t think so. Or had we all changed so much in seven years? My brown shoulder-length ponytail was the same as always — the incident with the scissors at nursery notwithstanding. Same face, with a button-tipped, straight nose and sunken brown eyes. My only change the peekaboo games played by my freckles between seasons.

  When I smiled in return, the woman advanced, holding a half-empty pink drink.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ I replied.

  She put her hand on her chest and said, ‘Claire. From Pure Brilliant. You called me... that day...?’

  ‘Oh, God. Yes. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s a big shock for everyone.’ She rubbed her lips together. ‘You were close, right?’

  Not knowing how to begin to describe the friendship of the ages, I nodded.

  She took a sip of her drink. ‘A lot of our colleagues came this morning. We’ll miss her.’

  We stood side by side, scanning the room, each waiting for the other to change the subject. I clutched my stupid empty teacup. Where the hell was Mum?

  ‘You don’t have to worry about your account,’ Claire said. ‘I’ve taken over the Empisoft conference.’ Seeing my scrunched forehead, she said, ‘I mean... Not taken over-over.’

  I remained silent, which she must have interpreted as permission because she added, ‘I want you to be confident it’s all in hand. A lot of the organisation is taken care of. Emily did a great job.’

  Pressure grew behind my eyes. Emily’s squeals of delight filled my head. ‘This will be such fun, Laura. You and me working together.’ Empisoft’s inaugural conference had been a tiny affair, but it was her first. And she was dead proud. We both were.

  ‘I’m focused on getting the media lined up.’ Claire fidgeted with her glass. ‘They asked about Emily. They liked her...’ She sniffed and flicked her hair. ‘They’re still keen to cover it — it’s always an exciting conference — but I am getting push back. They’d like there to be an announcement. Maybe a new product?’

  How could she go on about the conference? When I shook my head in disbelief, she misunderstood. ‘I know, right?’ she said. ‘You only launched the latest upgrade a few months ago, but they’r
e like wolves. They travel in packs. Always hungry for more. So... no new product?’

  I eyed Claire’s hopeful face. This woman who was a stranger, and yet... We’d shared a profound experience, a common moment that would bind us forever. To each other ... and to Emily. She rubbed the rim of her glass with her thumb, her smile fixed. Was she nervous? I threw her a bone. ‘No. But don’t worry. The wolves will get fed something special. Be patient.’

  Claire’s eyes flashed open. ‘What do you mean? Marketing has said nothing.’

  People around us started to leave. The door opened and closed, yielding flickers of opportunity. But I stayed. The conference was Emily’s baby, and my heart tugged at me to help Claire deliver it.

  I took a deep breath. ‘We haven’t told Marketing yet. It’s top secret, a last-minute thing. I’m only telling you to help you prepare better. Promise to keep this quiet?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’ Claire cemented her promise with an X across the chest.

  ‘The company’s being acquired.’

  Claire’s gasp made surrounding heads turn. ‘When? Now? Who’s the buyer?’

  Her many questions made me regret I’d opened my mouth. Funny how that was always the way. ‘I can’t tell you who it is, but it’s big. And bar any unforeseen circumstances, I’m told it’s happening.’

  ‘That’s exciting!’ Claire’s exclamation prompted some disapproving stares. She cleared her throat and fished the memorial programme from her pocket. A signal she remembered why we were here.

  The portrait of Emily on the front was taken somewhere outside, and the reflections of the sun in her blonde hair framed her head like a halo.

  ‘Poor Emily.’ Claire sighed. ‘I looked, you know. When you called. I looked everywhere I could think of... I’m glad I wasn’t the one to find her. It never occurred to me to check the gym. Darren can’t step foot in it anymore. Such a weird choice, the way she went, the gym... We’ll never know what was going through her mind, will we?’