by Cat Clarke
It was so obvious that the whole show was for my benefit. What is she playing at? Trying to prove she’s just like me? We both know that’s not true. She could get off with every bloke in the bar (and even the girls … why not?), but I still wouldn’t believe it. What the fuck had happened to her? I was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it.
Sal came and sat down, looking like the cat that got the cream. Not that the cat had even wanted the cream in the first place; the cat had been trying to prove a point, in a painfully obvious way.
‘Nice show you put on there.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sal replied airily, with a look of mock innocence. That really pissed me off, but I held my tongue. After all, she’d been doing exactly what I’d advised, hadn’t she? So I should have no complaints. Still, our previous conversation had left me with a nasty, niggling feeling that I just had to bury. For now, anyway.
‘So, you gonna get his number then?’
‘His? No chance. His technique needs a bit of work.’
I snorted into my drink. ‘Really? It didn’t look like you had any complaints.’
‘Well, he did pay for our drinks, didn’t he? I thought he deserved a little reward.’
‘Yeah, Sal, you’re all heart.’ We giggled and chinked our glasses together, downing the contents. I wasn’t buying her new attitude AT ALL, but it did no harm to play along. Anything for a quiet life.
A little later, I noticed the bar had filled up considerably. I checked the time – Nat was late. While Sal was in the toilet, I texted him: ‘Babe, where R U? Getting busy here. In booth behind bar – far right. x’. I thought I might as well make it easy for the poor boy. He had no idea he was walking straight into The Best Friend Test (fail it at your peril).
When Sal returned, I headed to the toilet. I wanted to be back in the bar by the time Nat arrived. Hmm. What is it they say about the best-laid plans? I took time to make sure my make-up was OK, hair was passable, etc., and then somehow got embroiled in conversation with a wasted girl about whether she should break up with her boyfriend.
I eventually escaped the ladies’ with a sigh of relief, only to reverse it into a sharp intake of breath when I saw a distinctly Nat-shaped boy standing at our booth. Damn. I could only see the back of him, and his body obscured Sal from view, preventing me from spying on this unexpected turn of events from afar. I snuck up behind Nat and put my arms around him, encircling his chest. To say that I surprised him would be something of an understatement. He whirled around to face me, eyes wide.
‘Grace! You made me jump.’ I went to kiss him, but he turned his head slightly so my lips met his cheek. Huh. I grabbed his hand and scooted into the booth, pulling him in next to me. Finally I faced Sal expectantly. ‘So … I suppose you’ve met Nat?’
Sal nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose I have.’ She smiled at Nat, and he smiled back awkwardly.
‘No need for lame introductions then – excellent!’ I turned to Nat with a stern look on my face. ‘Haven’t you got something to say to me?’ He looked back at me, and was it my imagination or did he look just a teensy bit panicky? His eyes flitted between me and Sal, as if he’d be able to find the answer written on our faces.
‘Er … I don’t think so.’
‘Come on – I’m waiting!’ I thought I’d better help him out. ‘Er … the reason we’re all here tonight …? Does that ring any bells? Celebrating your girlfriend’s complete geniusness? Or rather, her being a bit of a jammy cow at exams.’
Nat slapped his forehead. ‘How could I have forgotten?! You are indeed a genius!’ He gave me a swift hug, and I raised my eyebrows at Sal over his shoulder. She looked on in amusement, quietly taking it all in. Nat was quick to ask Sal how she’d done too. Good boy. Obviously knows how to make a decent first impression. I listened to the two of them talk for a bit, congratulating myself that my plan was back on track, despite the initial setback.
Suddenly Nat banged his hands down on the table. ‘Right, you two. This deserves a celebration. How about a little champagne for the two geniuses … er … genii … er … dead clever girls?’
‘Now you’re talking! Thanks, hon.’ Wow. He’s really going for broke. And here I’d thought all students were supposed to BE broke. Still, it was a lovely gesture – even if it was just to show off in front of Sal.
Nat headed off to the bar (and ended up standing next to Distressed Boy, I noticed) and I turned back to face Sal, dying to quiz her on her first impressions of my beautiful boy. But Sal did not look like a particularly happy bunny. Far from it, in fact.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
I feigned innocence. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought this was supposed to be a girls’ night out. Just the two of us … remember?’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. It was going to be, but then Nat texted me to go out and celebrate, and I thought it might be fun.’ I paused, checked to see that Sal was still looking seriously unimpressed, before continuing, ‘Look, I’m sorry, Sal. I totally should have checked with you first. I just really wanted you to meet him. And this gets it out of the way for both of you without any awkwardness.’
‘Yeah, cos this isn’t awkward at all, is it? God, this is just so typical of you. Sometimes I wish you’d just think about things a bit more. I was really looking forward to tonight.’
‘I know you were. I was too, but it’ll still be fun – I promise. And we’ll go out next week, yeah? You and me – just like the good old days … well, not exactly like the good old days, but you know what I mean.’ I couldn’t wait any longer; I just had to ask. ‘Sooooo … What do you think of him anyway? Isn’t he just … no, OK, I’ll shut up now.’
Sal rolled her eyes, but she looked a little happier at least. ‘He seems nice.’
‘He seems nice? Whoa, careful there, Sal – don’t go overboard.’
‘Sorry, I mean, I like him. And buying champagne certainly works for me.’ We both laughed.
I looked over in Nat’s direction. He was tapping his hand against his thigh in time to the music while the barman cracked open the champagne.
‘He is so hot, don’t you think?’ I was determined to get more than faint enthusiasm out of Sal.
‘Er … yeah, I suppose. He’s your boyfriend, Grace – not mine!’
‘Ha! Yeah, hands off! I guess he’s not really your type though, is he? No bizarre piercings or anything like that.’
‘Very funny.’
‘And he doesn’t exactly look like Devon, does he? Hard to believe they’re from the same gene pool.’
‘Maybe, although Devon’s …’
‘Devon’s what?’
‘I just … I dunno. I kind of wish you wouldn’t take the piss out of him so much. He’s been good to me.’
‘Really? I thought you hadn’t seen him in ages?’
‘No, no, I haven’t. I meant before.’
Before I had time to mull this over, Nat was back, plonking a bucket in front of us. As he was passing round the glasses, I said, ‘Thanks, babe. I was just saying to Sal how weird it is that you and Devon are brothers. Not much family resemblance, is there?’
‘Oh, you know Dev? I didn’t realize.’ There was a forced casualness in the way Nat spoke. Or maybe I was just imagining it. ‘Anyway, let’s get stuck into this before it gets warm.’ He raised his glass, gesturing for us to do the same. ‘Cheers, you two. May all your exams be this easy!’
We all clinked glasses and took a swig of fizz. I nudged Nat, stage-whispering, ‘Not as easy as I’m gonna be tonight if you play your cards right!’ He raised his eyebrows at me and looked at Sal somewhat uncomfortably, before taking another gulp of his drink. Some people are so easily embarrassed.
And then silence – the strangest silence. Sal coughed, and turned away to look at the bar. Nat twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers. And I … well, I was looking at the other two. The silence probably only lasted a few seconds,
but it seemed like close to forever to me. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Luckily Sal jumped in with, ‘So, Nat … Grace tells me you’re going to be a doctor?’
‘Um, yes. That’s the idea anyway.’ And they were off, talking about Nat’s course. But there was something not quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I realized that they were both using that fake voice that you use when you’re talking to someone else’s parents – you know, when you’re utterly polite and on your best behaviour. Sal was suddenly talking like a sober person, and Nat was looking oh-so-earnest. Neither of them seemed comfortable AT ALL. I sat back, puzzled.
The rest of the evening passed – uneventfully, I suppose. Things improved for me with each and every drink. I started to think I had imagined the strangeness of earlier. Maybe I’d just been a bit paranoid, because I was so anxious for the two of them to like each other. I got pretty drunk.
Things I can remember about the rest of that night
1. Kissing Nat while Sal was at the bar. Once again I told myself the weirdness was just my imagination: he WAS as into it as I was. He did NOT pull away from me like he’d just got an electric shock from my lips.
2. Asking Nat if he had any fit friends for Sal. She looked daggers at me, and Nat avoided answering the question.
3. Coming back from the bar with a tray of shots and thinking that Sal and Nat were getting on a lot better.
4. Drinking shots until everything blurred. Someone telling me to slow down. Nat or Sal? I don’t remember.
5. Being sick in the toilets and then feeling much better.
6. Nat putting me in the back of a taxi and handing me a tenner. Did I beg him to come back with me? I think I did, but he said something about having to get up early next day.
7. Er … that’s pretty much it.
Ethan hasn’t had much to say for himself today. Maybe yesterday was just a little bit intense for both of us. I feel empty and hollow. My throat hurts too.
I’m tired of thinking so hard.
I’m tired of remembering.
day 24
Lunch was good today – a perfect sandwich can be a thing of wonder. When Ethan came in to take away my plate, we chatted for a couple of minutes. It was almost like a normal conversation. And then I had to go and ruin it.
‘Ethan, can I ask you something? Something serious. And I don’t want you to answer me with a question, or with some weird cryptic answer. I just want you to be honest with me. Please?’
He weighed that up for a moment or two. ‘I can try.’
I took a deep breath. I was finally ready to ask the question I’d been too afraid (or stupid) to ask before now. ‘Are you ever going to let me go?’
He looked at me curiously. I managed to hold his gaze, even though I wanted to cry. I was scared to hear the answer.
‘That’s not the right question, Grace.’
I snapped. I launched myself towards him, my chair clattering to the floor. I punched him in the mouth, then shoved him back against the wall. He offered no resistance; it was like he wasn’t even there. Or maybe my rage gave me extra strength. I was screaming in his face, my hands clenched into fists, grabbing the material on the front of his shirt. My face was inches away from his, and as I shouted and screamed and ranted and raved, my saliva spotted his face. A trickle of blood emerged from where I’d punched him, just under his nose. I must have caught him with one of my rings – and on the exact same spot as his scar too. The sight of the blood brought me to my senses. I stopped shouting and watched as it trickled down to his top lip, hanging there for a second before continuing its path towards the crease of his closed mouth.
My grip on his shirt loosened, but I made no move to step back. I looked up into Ethan’s eyes, afraid to see the shock and anger that would surely be there. But of course this was Ethan, and there was no such thing. His beautiful eyes were untroubled and met my gaze as calm as you like. Neither of us spoke, but something suddenly dawned on me, something I knew with absolute certainty:
Ethan wasn’t in the least bit surprised about what had just happened. He had known I was going to attack him.
What the fuck was going on here? Why had he said what he did, if he knew how I was going to react? And more importantly, how could he have possibly known how I’d react?
For the first time in weeks, I was scared. I backed away from Ethan, shaking my head. Stumbled towards the bed, afraid to look away, even for a second. His eyes followed me across the room. There was no escape. I felt like he could see straight through me, as if I was fading away to nothing. I curled up on the corner of the bed, as far away from him as I could possibly get in this mad white room … this prison.
I closed my eyes. But it was no good. I could still feel him looking at me. I buried my head in my hands, pushing my palms into my eyes so hard that I saw stars.
After a minute or two, I spoke softly, my voice muffled. ‘Who are you?’ There was no answer. Silence in the room, except for my ragged breathing. I knew he’d heard me. He had to have heard me. So I looked up cautiously. Ethan had lifted up his vest, and was using the bottom of it to dab at his bloody mouth. My gaze flickered down to his perfectly toned stomach. I felt numb.
‘Answer me! For fuck’s sake, who are you?’
Ethan let his vest fall back into place. There was a lot of blood on it now. I was surprised, and a little bit disgusted, at the damage I’d done. He opened his mouth and started to say something, before stopping himself. He started again. ‘You know who I am. You know me.’
I was too baffled to speak. A wave of exhaustion suddenly hit me, and I had to stifle a yawn. I had so many questions, but what was the point? I felt beaten.
Ethan said, ‘You’re tired, Grace. You should rest.’ I nodded and buried myself under the covers. I heard the door opening and closing, and muttered to myself, ‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t know a fucking thing any more.’ And then … well, I know this is going to sound mental, but at least there are mitigating circumstances here …
I heard Ethan’s voice inside my head. I didn’t imagine it – I heard it. And he definitely wasn’t in the room any more – I checked. I swear on my life that I heard him. And this is what Ethan-in-my-head had to say for himself:
‘You know much more than you think. All you have to do is remember.’
What the hell?!
I’m losing my mind. It’s the only explanation. I suppose there’s only so much the mind can take before it starts to fragment; the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle falling apart. I should be grateful I’ve stayed sane for this long. Reckon it’s only a matter of time before I’m sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, banging my head against the wall and drooling.
I can’t think about being crazy any more – it’s making me crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about what I heard. So I know much more than I think I know, do I? Just where is this information supposed to be hiding? In some cobwebbed corner of my addled brain? Maybe alongside that fucking song I can’t remember.
All I have to do is remember. Remember, remember, the fifth of November.
I could be dead by the fifth of November.
I slept all afternoon, I think. Feeling loads better now. I don’t feel like a crazy person any more. Well, not a proper crazy person – just a slightly eccentric one, maybe. Just because I ‘heard’ Ethan inside my head, it doesn’t mean anything at all. I’m so used to his stupid cryptic replies that I can fill them in for myself. It’s kind of like with me and Sal, when we used to say the same thing at the exact same time and then both shout, ‘Jinx!’ You spend enough time with a person, you start to think a bit like them, don’t you? Ethan’s become so predictable to me that I know what he’s going to say. I won’t need to speak to him any more; I’ll just hold the conversations in my head. They’ll go something like this:
Me: How did you know I was going to attack you?
Ethan-in-my-head: How do you think I knew, Grace?
Me: Fuck off and die.
Yup, it’s that simple. I know Ethan. And he knows me. We’ve bonded. We are one.
day 25
The morning after the big Sal/Nat meeting, I felt like death. Hardly surprising. My head was thumping, and when I licked my lips it felt like my tongue was twice its usual size and that all the moisture had been sucked out of it. I was sprawled across the bed starfish-style, fully dressed, make-up clinging on for dear life. All in all, not the prettiest picture – thank God Nat hadn’t come back with me.
I got up gingerly, testing my body to see if movement was going to result in another bout of barfing. Luckily it didn’t, so I headed towards the bathroom. The smell of frying bacon wafted up the stairs. Now, food smells can go one of two ways when you’re that hungover. Either it’s exactly what you need OR it’ll have your head down the toilet again in no time. That morning, a bacon sarnie seemed just the ticket. But I was weirded out by the significance of the glorious bacon smell: it meant that Mum was cooking breakfast. Not so strange for normal human beings perhaps, but for my mum? She hadn’t made breakfast in years. Why now?
And then I remembered – my results. Shit! Had I texted her last night? It was all a bit hazy in my head. I hurried back to my room and scrabbled through my bag to get my phone. Four missed calls, all from Mum. I checked my sent items, and sighed with relief when I saw that I had texted her after all: ‘All As and Abs – piece of cake. Back late tonight. G’
Maybe not the nicest message in the world, but it did the job. The missed calls had been made about every half-hour after my text. Hmm. This is not good.
