Undone

by Cat Clarke

  I realized as soon as I woke up. I’d forgotten. How could I have forgotten?

  I sit staring at the envelope for a few minutes. The date is wrong. I mean, the date is right. But it’s yesterday’s date. I feel like I’ve betrayed Kai. I know it doesn’t matter when I open the letter – as long as I read it. And I know that Kai’s not going to know. But I know, and that’s enough to make me want to crawl back under the covers and cry.

  Jem,

  If my calculations are correct (and you know how good I am at maths), it should be the start of the summer holidays right about now. I hope the exams weren’t too traumatic. I bet you’ve done better than you expected. That’s always the way with you.

  If everything’s gone to plan you should be set up for a pretty good summer. If everything hasn’t gone to plan (and I know how stubborn you can be) then you’re in for a pretty standard sort of summer - only you won’t have me around to stave off the boredom sorry. .

  I keep wondering whether you’re playing along with my silly challenges. I wouldn’t like to bet on it, but I do hope you are. And I really, really hope you’re having FUN. Even just a little bit? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d snagged yourself a boyfriend by now (can’t quite imagine you going for someone at school though...unless you’ve been keeping secrets from me and you’re secretly in love with Marc Fishman. Please don’t be in love with Marc Fishman. That name is just too hideous to even contemplate. But if you DO happen to be in love with him, you’re not allowed to get married until you’re at least 28... and you absolutely MUST keep your name. Agreed? Good.)

  And if it turns out that you don’t have a boyfriend - WHO CARES?! It’s not like you need some random boy to tell you how amazing you are, because hopefully you’re starting to believe what this non-random boy has been telling you for years. YOU ARE AMAZING. So there. Anyway, boys are more trouble than

  I’ll keep this brief.

  It’s summer.

  Go outside. (It’s nice out there, honest. Fresh air is good for the soul.)

  Enjoy the sunshine.

  Have fun.

  Simple.

  Love you always, pickle,

  Kai

  xxx

  p.s. I was going to suggest you get a bikini and do a bit of sunbathing in the park but I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Count yourself lucky.

  p.p.s. Remember that summer we put the paddling pool in your garden and pretended to be marine biologists? That was brilliant.

  chapter twenty-nine

  A week into the summer holidays and I haven’t done a bloody thing. Mum’s been on my back to ‘get out and do something’. As soon as she gets home from work she seems to have the uncanny ability to deduce that I’ve been on the sofa all day. Maybe it’s the imprint my bum makes on the faux leather.

  I miss him so much. It doesn’t get any easier. No matter what they say, time doesn’t heal the wound. Time just unravels and shows you new and more painful ways to miss someone. The longer they’ve been gone, the worse it is. You start to forget their smile or the way they tilted their head when they were confused or the way they looked at you and knew exactly what you were thinking. You can look at them in photos, but it’s not even close to the real thing, and pretty soon you feel like your real memories are being replaced by the photo memories – like the only way you can picture them any more is in one of those photographs. They become two-dimensional and it rips your heart out whenever you think about it so you really try not to.

  At least I’ve got the letters. That’s more than most people get. But it won’t be long before they’re all gone. The stack is dwindling way too fast. Four more, then I’ll be left with nothing – apart from the satisfaction of knowing I at least did something to get back at the people responsible for his death. It’s not enough though. It’s not nearly enough.

  I’ve decided to focus my attentions on Lucas for the moment. If all goes to plan, I’ll be having the sort of summer romance that would put Sandra Dee to shame.

  He’s making things easy for me. It’s getting more and more obvious that he maybe kind of sort of does like me a little bit. He’s been texting me (not that I’d ever admit that to Sasha). Nothing serious – just stuff like Are you coming to Sasha’s tonight? and Would it be wrong to kill my sister? ;) It’s not exactly flirting, but Stu and Bugs have never texted me, so it’s got to mean something.

  After yet another exchange of innocuous messages, I decide it’s time. I compose a message and amend it several times before the wording is just right: Want to hang out today? Just us two? ;)

  The reply is almost instant: Finally. ;)

  I smile to myself, not because I’m happy or excited, but because I’m finally doing something. The thought of spending time with Lucas without the others around makes me nauseous, but it has to be done. It will be worth it in the end.

  I meet Lucas in the park. He’s slouching on a bench with his legs far apart, casually twirling a frisbee on his finger like one of those plate-spinning idiots you see on TV. He’s wearing jeans and a black and red checked shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his biceps. Ray-bans and a pair of flip-flops (Havaianas, of course) complete the look.

  He sits up straighter when he sees me coming. He smiles that ultra-confident smile that has every girl hooked and he calls, ‘Catch!’ as he launches the frisbee. I have a moment of panic when I’m certain it’s headed straight for my face, but somehow I manage to catch it cleanly – which I’ve done maybe one other time in my whole life. I try to disguise how surprised I am at making the catch while Lucas claps and whoops like I’m a particularly skilled performing seal.

  I sit down next to him and hand over the frisbee. ‘Impressive! I didn’t have you down as a world-champion frisbee player.’

  I shrug. ‘There’s lots of things you don’t know about me . . .’

  ‘Clearly! I hesitate to ask if you fancy a game . . . I fear my fragile ego might be in for a battering . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.’ I nudge his arm with my elbow and he looks delighted. Meanwhile I’m thinking, I bet Sasha was some kind of frisbee fiend. You, on the other hand, are about to make a complete fool of yourself, Jemima.

  But I don’t. Somehow I don’t. I have to concentrate really, really hard, but somehow I manage. I think God must have temporarily granted me an ability to catch and throw that has been lacking my whole life – much to the disappointment of Noah, who’s always trying to get me to throw a rugby ball with him in the back garden. If Noah could see me now he’d be the proudest brother in the world.

  Lucas throws and catches the frisbee the same way he seems to do everything else in life – with ease. As if he was born knowing how to do everything. It makes me want to hit him, so I do the next best thing, which is aim for his perfect face. But he ducks out of the way and manages to catch the disc with an easy swoop of his left hand (even though he’s right-handed). ‘Whoa there! Are you trying to kill me?’

  I grimace. ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Maybe we’d better quit while we’re ahead – or before I get maimed for life!’ He jogs towards me.

  ‘Good idea. I wouldn’t want to break your sunglasses . . . they look pretty expensive.’

  He pulls them up, rests them on top of his head and then looks over his shoulder. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but these are fakes. My sister got them for me on her gap year.’

  I like it better now that I can see his eyes. Talking to someone with sunglasses makes me nervous – you can never tell where they’re looking. ‘Nothing wrong with that. I’d be more worried if you’d spent a hundred quid on a pair, to be honest.’

  Lucas laughs loudly. ‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me! You’re like the opposite of Sasha or something.’

  I look away and then back at him, fixing him in my gaze. ‘Is that a good thing?’ My voice is lower and quieter.

  ‘That’s definitely a good thing.’ He bites his lip and I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I’d find the lip-biting t
hing pretty damn adorable if I actually liked him. But there’s a calculated cuteness about it that I can see right through. It’s a move he’s used before to great effect, probably to get a girl focusing on his mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. I’m wondering too, because I know it’s going to happen. It’s only a matter of time before it happens.

  Lucas takes a step closer to me and he’s definitely invading my personal space now. I have to fight the instinct to take a step back. I stand my ground and look up at him. It’s getting awkward – neither of us has said a word for a few seconds. I do not know Lucas well enough to be sharing comfortable silences with him. It’s a deeply, deeply uncomfortable silence – for me at least. He seems to be enjoying himself.

  He leans down and I’m sure this is it. I am going to kiss Lucas Mahoney right here in this park in broad daylight. There are heaps of people around and they’re going to see us kissing. Some of them might think it’s sweet, some of them might think we should get a room, most of them probably couldn’t care less. But whether they realize it or not, they’re all about to witness something impossible happening.

  I tilt my head back a little, so that he knows I’m OK with the idea of him kissing me. He leans even closer and I’m just about to close my eyes in anticipation when something entirely unexpected happens. I feel something on my head – a flat and plastic something.

  Lucas has not kissed me. He’s balanced the bloody frisbee on my head!

  I don’t move, so the frisbee stays in place. ‘Er . . . what are you doing?’

  He smiles. ‘Frisbees are the height of fashion this summer, don’t you know? And this one really suits you. Wait, let me take a picture on my phone.’ As he fumbles in his pocket I whip the frisbee off my head and whack him on the chest with it.

  ‘You’re an idiot.’ He laughs and cowers under the onslaught of frisbee blows. I can’t help laughing too, mostly to cover my embarrassment for thinking he was going to kiss me.

  And then he grabs me. And kisses me.

  I drop the frisbee on the ground and I am kissing Lucas Mahoney. My lips are touching his and his hand is pressed flat against my back and I don’t know whether to gag or push him away or just go with it. It repulses me, the thought of doing this. But the actual doing this, the actual kissing, is sort of OK. Conflicted doesn’t even begin to describe the way I’m feeling.

  The kiss lasts maybe five seconds before he steps back and looks at me like he’s just done a very bad thing. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I wonder if this is part of his usual routine, pretending to feel bad about kissing you. It would be very endearing if you liked that sort of thing. ‘Why sorry?’

  He shrugs. ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted to . . .’ He seems embarrassed – he’s not used to having to explain himself.

  I smile with a confidence I definitely do not possess. ‘Don’t worry about it. If I hadn’t been OK with it, you would have known about it. Trust me.’ Who is this person who looks like me and thinks like me and speaks with my voice but says ridiculous things like this?

  The easy smile is back on his face and it’s dangerously close to a smirk. He likes this false me. She’s feisty. ‘You’re different, you know that?’ He steps in close again.

  ‘Different? Is that supposed to be a compliment? You’re going to have to try harder than that, especially if you want to . . .’ I lean up and kiss him swiftly. I can’t get over how easy this is, this game of make-believe.

  ‘It is a compliment. You’re more . . . I dunno . . . than I thought you’d be.’

  ‘Wow. Eloquent.’ We’re standing so very close, our faces inches apart.

  ‘Hey! Are you making fun of me?’ He looks like he’s very much OK with me making fun of him – as long as there’s going to be more kissing.

  ‘Yes, I think I am.’

  I steel myself and kiss him again to soften the blow.

  Later I’m lying on my bed, thinking about the kissing. I can’t stop grinning; it was so easy. So basic and simple and uncomplicated. It’s amazing to me that I can say something and know exactly how he’s going to react, despite the fact that my previous experience with boys is practically non-existent.

  Has this version of me been lurking there all along, somewhere deep below the surface, biding its time, waiting for its chance to make an appearance? Or do I just have some random talent for acting that I never knew existed? Should I have been auditioning for school plays all these years instead of taking the piss out of those ultra-confident drama kids?

  There’s some part of me – a stupid, hippy-dippy spiritual part – that wonders if somehow Kai has something to do with this. Like he might be guiding me from beyond the grave. Crazy, I know, but the idea is sort of comforting.

  Lucas and I kissed for a long time, only stopping when a tiny yappy dog came over and got its long lead tangled around our legs. Lucas laughed and bent down to disentangle the dog, which then proceeded to try and mount his leg.

  ‘Someone’s popular today!’

  ‘What can I say? I’m irresistible to women, dogs, pretty much any species you can think of. I believe it’s called “animal magnetism”.’ This is exactly the kind of thing I’d expect a boy like Lucas to say, but there’s a mocking glint in his eye and I can’t quite tell if he’s mocking me or himself.

  ‘You’re an idiot.’

  He treated me to another devastating smile. ‘A cute idiot though, right?’

  I shrugged and walked away. Sure enough, he followed like a little puppy.

  We got ice creams (Lucas paid) from the cafe in the middle of the park. Lucas held out his cone and said, ‘Fancy a lick?’ while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  ‘Maybe later,’ I said, just as suggestively. Normal shy and retiring Jem was screaming, YOU DO REALIZE YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT GIVING HIM A BLOW JOB, DON’T YOU? And this new version of Jem was shrugging, not even a little bit bothered (because that is never ever going to happen). I have to draw the line somewhere, and right now I choose to draw it at exactly the level of Lucas’s belt.

  chapter thirty

  ‘Lucas told me.’ Sasha’s tone is casual in a very non-casual sort of way.

  My hand stops flicking through the hangers. ‘Lucas told you what?’

  Sasha grabs the hanger out of my hand. ‘Perfect! You found my size.’ She holds it up against herself and tilts her head. ‘What do you think? The ultimate pulling top?’

  I nod. It’s definitely the perfect pulling top – slinky and sexy and black. ‘Sasha, what did Lucas tell you?’

  ‘Nice try, Jem, but there’s no point playing dumb with me. It’s OK, you know. I told you it’s OK. He really likes you – there’s no way he’d have told me unless he really liked you. I guess he was looking for my blessing or something, or at least making sure I wouldn’t kill him . . . or you.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say.’ There are some things in life that are beyond imagination. Going shopping for pulling outfits with Sasha Evans and talking to her about kissing her ex-boyfriend is pretty high up on my list of whatthefuckery.

  Sasha smiles and flounces past me to flick through a rail of even slinkier clothes. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I get that it must be a bit awkward for you, but if I’m not being weird about it then I refuse to let you be weird about it. So let’s make a deal. No weirdness, OK?’

  ‘No weirdness. But–’

  She holds her index finger up to her perfectly pouty lips. ‘Hush! I said NO WEIRDNESS.’

  So I can’t ask her why she’s being so ridiculously reasonable about this and why it doesn’t seem to bother her one little bit that I had my tongue in her ex-boyfriend’s mouth. I thought it was like the first rule of friendship or something – you stay away from friends’ boyfriends and ex-boyfriends and even boys they used to have a vague crush on. Clearly I have a lot to learn about friendship. Or perhaps Sasha’s the exception that proves the rule.

  She throws a hanger at me and I fail to catch it. I must have used up
my quota of catches playing frisbee with Lucas. ‘You should try that on. He’ll like it.’

  Now this is crossing the line into major oddness. She wants me to try on a top because Lucas will like it. Not because she likes it, or because I would like it. Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad she hasn’t flipped her lid about the Lucas situation. If she did have a problem with it, Lucas might want to cool things, and how the fuck would I be able to hurt him then?

  I’m really glad he was the one to tell her, because I would have had no idea what to say. I’ll admit, I was maybe slightly looking forward to seeing her reaction, just for the surrealness of it. I’d even gone so far as to picture it in my head – the drama, the tears, maybe a slap thrown in for good measure.

  We head into the changing rooms to try stuff on, and miraculously we’re the only ones in there. I try on the top Sasha picked out and inspect myself in the mirror from every possible angle. I don’t know whether Lucas will like it, but I definitely do. It fits well but it’s not too tight. Green’s not a colour I would normally wear. There’s something fresh and cheerful about it. It’s a summery sort of top; I usually go out of my way to avoid anything remotely summery. Summer is my least favourite season by some distance. Give me autumn or winter any day. You’ll never find me complaining about a cold rainy day – it gives me the perfect excuse to stay in and watch TV. Kai always loved summer. He was a sunny sort of person. No one would ever accuse me of being sunny – even with the blonde hair.

  I think Kai would approve of this top. I care more about that than I do about what Lucas thinks.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ Sasha knocks on the door.

  I step out of the cubicle and pretty much the only thing I can focus on is Sasha’s cleavage. Her breasts are just there, like they’ve been laid out on a silver platter. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Too much? What does this top say to you?’ She sashays towards the huge mirror at the end of the changing rooms.