by Cat Clarke
On the bus into town, I felt my phone vibrate in my bag. It was a text from Nat: ‘Hey, you! Big congrats, clever girl. Want to meet up and celebrate? x’
Sal was busy staring out the window as I considered how to respond. Tonight was supposed to be a girls’ night. It was about me and Sal. Hmm. But maybe later on we could hook up with Nat … Sal won’t mind, will she? She was dying to meet him. Well, I thought she was – I suppose I’d kind of just assumed. I texted back: ‘Thanks! Am tied up at the mo, but let’s meet at Bar Code at 9ish? xxx’
I felt a brief pang of worry before I hit send, but I did it anyway. I checked my watch. It was coming up for six o’clock now. Plenty of time for me and Sal to hang out before he arrived. Seemed like the perfect opportunity for them to meet. It was a much better idea than a proper, pre-planned thing. Spontaneity rules, right?
I decided not to tell Sal that Nat was coming later. I didn’t want her to be pissed off that I was spoiling the whole ‘girls’ night’ thing. I’d probably tell her after we’d had a few drinks. Or maybe I’d let it be a surprise. I wasn’t exactly sure why I hadn’t told Nat I was out with Sal. Perhaps I didn’t want him stressing about having to impress my best friend. And maybe I was just curious to see their genuine reactions to meeting the other. And what better way to get a genuine reaction than to spring a surprise on them? I silently congratulated myself on my cunning plan. What could possibly go wrong?
I forgot Ethan was here, he’s been so quiet. But now he’s humming softly to himself. I’ve heard that song somewhere before, I’m sure of it. What the hell is it? It’s driving me crazy.
I asked Ethan. He looked up me, sort of dazed, as if I’d woken him from a dream. I had to repeat my question.
‘What song?’
‘Er … the one you’ve been humming for ages.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well? What is it? You must know.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Sorry. Was it bothering you?’
‘No, not really. It just sounded really familiar.’
‘I wonder where you’ve heard it?’
‘Well, you’re the one who was humming it! It’d help if you could remember.’ I was frustrated. I don’t know why; it was just a stupid song. Why did it suddenly feel so important?
‘I’m sorry, Grace.’
I sighed. ‘Fuck it. Who cares anyway? It doesn’t matter.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ethan was suddenly looking all intense.
‘It’s only a song. How could it possibly be important?’
‘Everything’s important, even the little things. And sometimes they’re the most important things of all.’
He got up and gave me one last meaningful look (well it would have been meaningful if I’d had a clue what he’d been on about) before he left the room.
That was about twenty minutes ago, and that stupid tune is still whirling round my head.
I want it to stop.
Another dream.
I was lying on my bed in my old house, flicking through the pages of a magazine. I vaguely heard Mum yelling that dinner was on the table. I ignored her for a couple of minutes, carried on reading. Then I heard Dad pipe up, ‘Dinner time, Grace!’ I knew I had to go downstairs, but I didn’t want to. If only I could stay in my room, everything would be OK. Another minute or so went by and Dad popped his head round my bedroom door. ‘Gracie, if you’re not at the table in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to start eating your roast potatoes. And then I’m going to start on the Yorkshire puds too …’ I looked up from my magazine, smiled and said, ‘No way! I’ll race you downstairs!’ Dad said, ‘You’re on!’ and disappeared from view.
Just as I was about to jump up from the bed, I took one last glance at my magazine. Except it wasn’t a magazine any more. It was a copy of the local newspaper. There was a picture of Dad on the front page. I tried to read the headline, but it didn’t make any sense. All the words on the page were just wiggly lines. They writhed like worms. I panicked. Why couldn’t I read it? I knew how to read. Maybe if I put my glasses on? There was a pair of glasses on the bedside table, but I didn’t wear glasses, so that was weird. I picked them up. They were Dad’s reading glasses, but I put them on anyway. One of the lenses was cracked. I looked around my room, and everything was cracked and broken and ruined. I was going to be sick.
I woke up curled into a little ball against the wall, my skin slick with sweat. I only just made it into the bathroom before the contents of my stomach rose up through my throat. I coughed and spluttered and choked. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I lay shivering on the bathroom floor. The dream had seemed so, so real. Dad was there, alive and laughing, his eyes all crinkly at the edges from smiling. There was a dull ache in my chest. I swear my heart felt bruised or something. I lay my head against the cool ceramic tiles. I could hear the blood rushing round my brain, feel my pulse racing like mad, feel my stomach convulse again. I wondered if I was going to die. And then I must have passed out.
Next thing I knew, I could hear Ethan’s voice calling my name, faintly, as if he was at the other end of a long tunnel. I couldn’t speak at first. Then his voice got closer and closer and closer, and I opened my eyes to see him peering down at me. There was a blinding light all around him. It hurt my eyes, so I shut them tight again. I could feel Ethan’s hand against my cheek. It felt soft and warm and comforting. I tried opening my eyes again and this time it was better, darker. He helped me prop myself up against the sink cabinet. I looked down at myself. There was vomit down my vest and all over the floor. I could feel it on my chin and taste it in my mouth.
I was vaguely aware of Ethan wiping my mouth with a wet towel, then pulling my vest over my head, all the while telling me that I was going to be OK. He helped me over to the bed and undressed me. I felt too dazed and sick and strange to feel even a little bit embarrassed. I got under the covers and Ethan pulled the chair over to the bed and sat down. I stared at the ceiling and started to cry. The tears trickled down the sides of my face, tickling my ears and wetting my hair. He held my hand.
After a while, Ethan said, ‘Do you want to tell me about it, Grace?’
‘I don’t know what’s happening to me. These dreams – there’s something about them. I feel … I don’t know … I feel as if I’m on the edge of something.’
‘What do you mean?’
I sat up, swiped at my teary face and cocooned myself in the duvet, before continuing: ‘I wish I could explain it better. I feel like I don’t know what’s real any more. All I have is this room, and you. And that’s all that makes sense to me. Being here seems right somehow, but how can it be? I should be doing my homework or going out with friends – that’s “normal”. But that all seems so far away that I almost can’t believe my life used to be like that. And I sit here, day after day, writing and writing and writing about it. But what’s the point? Why am I even bothering?’ I laughed a short, hollow laugh.
Ethan leaned forward in his chair. ‘Grace, what did you mean just then, when you said you felt you were on the edge of something?’ He spoke deliberately, as if he was taking great care to choose the perfect words.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t mean anything.’
He looked disappointed.
‘You have to try harder, Grace. Just be honest with me. That’s all I ask.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I am being honest. I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘You’re so close.’
‘OK, now you’re freaking me out a bit. Tell me what this is all about. Why am I here?’
Ethan shook his head slowly. He got up from the chair and pushed it back under the table. I felt like I’d failed in some way.
As he headed to the door, I said, ‘I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.’ The words sounded pathetic and whiny, and I wasn’t quite sure why I’d said them.
Ethan turned to me. ‘I’m not angry with you, Grace. But I just wish you could be honest
– if not with me, at least with yourself. What is it that you feel you’re on the edge of?’
And before I’d even thought about it, the answer was out of my mouth:
‘The truth.’
So that was a little bit weird. It was obviously the right thing to say, because Ethan smiled and nodded before he left the room. And even if he hadn’t, I knew it was the right answer.
I hope he comes back later. I think I miss him a bit. Talking to him makes me feel strange though – it’s not like a normal conversation. Sometimes I feel it’s about as much use as talking to myself.
One thought keeps bouncing off the edges of my brain like a pinball: the truth about what?
THE TRUTH ABOUT WHAT?!
I never was any good at pinball.
day 23
Ethan didn’t come back. And I’d been so sure he would. I had a rubbish sleep: too many dreams and nightmares and little snippets of things that didn’t make any sense. And throughout it all, threading together the scenes of weirdness, was that bloody song that Ethan was humming yesterday.
I’ve tried humming it myself, but it doesn’t sound right. Mum always said I was tone deaf. Of course she has a beautiful voice. She used to sing to me when I was young. Like if I’d just woken up from a nightmare, she’d come and sit beside me on my bed, stroking my hair and singing softly. Her voice was like honey, maybe mixed with a little alcohol or something; it never failed to soothe me and make me sleepy again.
And then one day the singing stopped.
When Sal and I arrived at Bar Code, it was already starting to fill up. There didn’t seem to be anyone from our school though. The popular lot would be at Tanya’s by now, and the rest were probably at the lame pub round the corner from school. We managed to snag a booth in a quiet corner – the same one Sophie and I had sat in. Sal offered to get the first round in, and I watched as she headed to the bar. Two blokes standing there immediately started nudging each other and glancing in her direction. She was utterly oblivious, completely focused on the (admittedly very important) task at hand. While the barman was getting our drinks, one of the guys moved closer to Sal. His mate gulped from his pint glass, trying his best not to look. I could see Bloke Number One’s lips move as he spoke to Sal.
He was quite cute, in an obvious kind of way. A bit cocky, and wearing one of those ridiculous ‘distressed’ T-shirts. Fifty quid for a piece of crap covered in paint splatters and tiny little holes? Bargain. His jeans were just as self-consciously worn and ragged, but the look didn’t extend to the shoes. They were black and shiny and a bit pointy. All in all, not the best look in the world. I knew Sal would feel the same way. She didn’t even turn to face him when he spoke to her. She must have said something though, cos the guy kept talking to her, leaning further forward on the bar, trying his best to get some eye contact. Sal glanced at him briefly, before resuming her intense stare at the barman’s back. When she eventually got the drinks, Sal left the bar without a backwards glance, leaving the poor guy staring after her. He shrugged his shoulders as casually as he could and then turned back to his mate, who was shaking his head and grinning widely.
‘So what did he say then?’ I smiled at Sal as she put the drinks on the table, careful not to spill a single precious drop.
Sal looked confused. ‘What did who say?’
‘Er … duh! Mr Smooth at the bar. I was watching.’
She sat down and took a big swig of her drink. ‘Him? Nothing much – you know.’
‘He was trying it on though, wasn’t he? Did you check out the shoes on him? Still, he was quite fit though.’
‘You think?’ She turned back to the bar, where the two guys were laughing. Distressed Boy didn’t look too distressed after his knock-back.
‘Yeah. Nice body, pretty decent face, shame about the clothes, but I’m sure you could have had them off in a matter of minutes …’
‘Grace!’ Sal pretended to be horrified.
‘I’m just saying! You could probably have any boy in here, if you wanted. And I’m sure at least some of them have to have decent taste in footwear.’
We both laughed.
‘So what do you say then? Want to try any of them on for size?’
Sal shot me a look that said ‘Don’t go there’, but I decided to go there anyway.
‘You’re allowed to have a bit of fun, you know? And I know that you’ve been through a lot, but maybe this is just what you need. A bit of fun with a nice, or even not-so-nice, boy. It’s good for the ego. You don’t have to sleep with anyone … just enjoy yourself.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got Nat.’ I couldn’t read Sal’s expression. I wasn’t sure if she was getting annoyed or if it was OK to carry on down this path.
‘I’d have said the same thing before he came along, and you know it.’ I reached out and grasped Sal’s hand between mine. ‘Look, all I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to take this boy malarkey too seriously. You’ve had one terrible experience, and I don’t know what happened there … Did I mention that I’d quite like to know?’ I shot her a cheeky glance to show I was only joking. ‘But things don’t have to be like that. If you want to kiss a random stranger, then just go and kiss a random stranger. He doesn’t have to be The One, or even anything remotely close to The One. Just do whatever you feel like doing. Don’t let what happened ruin things for you. It’s in the past.’
Sal said nothing.
‘Er … lecture over. Sorry. I just want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you?’
Sal sighed. ‘I know you do, and I appreciate it. I wish it was that simple. We can’t always get what we want though – life isn’t like that.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I dunno. Turning back time would be a good place to start.’ Sal smirked.
‘I’ll drink to that!’ And so we did. I was relieved. I hadn’t meant for things to get so serious – and on our first drink as well!
A couple more drinks down the line and we were having a grand old time, laughing and bitching and generally reassuring ourselves that things were back to normal between us. It was lovely to see Sal looking happy and normal after everything that had happened. She was halfway through telling me some story about a teacher at her old school with a penchant for getting it on with sixth-form boys when I did something inexplicable. I suppose it had been bugging me for a long time. Still, I don’t know why it popped into my head right then, when everything was going so well. But it did, and it went straight from brain to mouth in less than a millisecond.
‘Sal, did someone … did someone rape you?’ And then there was silence between us. The bar and everyone in it disappeared. There was only Sal and me left. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me for my complete and utter lack of anything approaching tact. I didn’t say anything. Neither did Sal. She just looked at me, eyes slightly narrowed. She didn’t look all that shocked, or even mildly surprised. If anything, I was the shocked one – still shocked after seventeen years at my capacity to ruin everything just by opening my mouth.
Sal was the first to speak, after taking a tiny sip from her drink. ‘Why?’
I shook my head.
‘Why would you ask me that? Why now?’ Her voice was calm, unreadable.
‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.’
‘Why would you think that … that had happened to me?’ She couldn’t even say the word that had spilled so readily from my mouth.
‘I don’t think that.’ I paused, frantically trying to work out exactly what it was that I wanted to say, and not wanting to make a bad situation any worse. ‘I suppose I’ve just been trying to understand what happened. I want to understand – no, that’s not quite right – I feel like I need to understand. Maybe it all boils down to the fact that I just can’t imagine you going out and shagging some random.’
Sal shook her head.
A barmaid appeared out of nowhere, cleared our empties and wiped the table. She seemed to take ages, making sure e
very last inch was sparkly clean. When she finally left, Sal said, ‘What does it mean anyway?’
I was confused. ‘What does what mean?’
‘Rape.’
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. ‘What?’
‘I just mean that sometimes things aren’t that simple. It’s not all black and white.’
‘Er … yeah, it is! Why would you say something like that? Just tell me what happened. I can help you. If someone did … rape you, we can go to the police. It’s not too late. You can get counselling or something.’
Sal was shaking her head and I was beginning to get annoyed. ‘Stop that! Come on, Sal, tell me.’ She shook her head even harder, like she was trying to shake thoughts right out of her brain.
‘No, it was nothing like that. I don’t know why I even said that. I was just being stupid. Right, my round.’ There was a fake brightness in her voice and a slightly manic look in her eyes.
‘Sal, wait …’
‘No. There’s nothing more to say. No one did … that to me. You know, maybe we’re more similar than you think.’ Before I could reply, she’d scarpered off to the bar.
The lads from before were still there, and Sal went right up and elbowed her way in between them, sandwiching herself into the non-existent space. Not that the boys seemed to mind, of course. I watched as she laughed and joked with them, touching Distressed Boy on the arm to emphasize what she was saying. He clearly couldn’t believe his luck, raising his eyebrows at his mate behind Sal’s back. His hand moved down to her bum and stayed there. Sal didn’t even flinch. When the barman handed her our drinks, Distressed Boy couldn’t get his wallet out fast enough, brandishing a tenner with a flourish. Loser. Sal made a move to leave the bar, and this time Distressed Boy really did look distressed … well a bit put out at least. Sal put the drinks back on the bar and grabbed him by his T-shirt, pulling him towards her almost violently. And then she proceeded to snog him as if her life depended on it. She was properly going for it – it was quite a sight. Distressed Boy’s mate looked over at me hopefully, but I just shook my head and looked away.
