Entangled

by Cat Clarke

  She emerged from the kitchen with two gigantic mugs of tea. ‘Get some of that down you.’ I took a scalding gulp, relishing the pain.

  ‘Now, what did he do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ My brain wasn’t functioning.

  ‘Nat – what did he do? He must have done something for you to be in such a state. Tell me, and I’ll go and punch him on the nose.’ Just the thought of that made me smile.

  ‘Nothing. He didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.’ I launched into the story of the weekend so far. Sal listened carefully, sipping her tea.

  She interrupted only once. ‘He told you he loved you?’

  ‘Yeah, he did. And I was so happy. Then somehow it all went wrong. We got into a stupid argument and I got really angry and asked him to leave. He didn’t even try to change my mind, even though it was like stupid o’clock and the buses wouldn’t have been running. He just … left.’

  ‘You got into an argument when he’d just told you he loved you? How on earth did you manage that?!’

  My mind raced through the possible lies I’d concocted for Sal’s benefit, before I made a decision.

  ‘OK, here’s the thing. Please don’t be angry with me …’

  ‘Why would I be angry with you? Don’t be daft!’ But I could see the first flickers of worry in her eyes.

  ‘I’m really, really sorry, but I told him what happened with you.’ I cringed, waiting for Sal’s reaction. I must have looked pathetic – like a dog that had just peed on the carpet.

  ‘You told him about …?’

  I nodded. ‘He kept asking and asking about why we fell out, and I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.’ I struggled to meet her eyes.

  Sal shook her head slowly. ‘You didn’t know what else to say?! Come off it, Grace. You could have told him anything – you’re the best liar I know. Jesus! I can’t believe this!’ She put her face in her hands.

  ‘Hey, come on, it’s not that bad. He’s not going to tell anyone. But I still shouldn’t have told him. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’

  Sal didn’t look angry or upset – more resigned than anything else. Resigned to the fact that her best friend couldn’t be trusted.

  ‘So … do you think you can forgive me for being a Class A idiot of the highest order? Honestly, I don’t know why you put up with me!’ My weak attempt at humour drew a scathing look from Sal.

  ‘I don’t know why I put up with you either.’

  ‘Because me being such a loser makes you look good?’ That managed to coax a small smile.

  ‘Yeah, that must be it. Let’s just forget about this, OK? Obviously I wish you hadn’t told him, but it’s done now. As long as you’re sure he won’t tell anyone? Especially Devon.’

  Christ, I hadn’t even thought about Devon. ‘He won’t tell anyone, I promise. And you have to know that you can trust me, even though it might not look that way right now.’

  ‘But you still haven’t told me why you argued. Why would you telling him about me … why would that start an argument? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  There was no point in lying now. The worst was surely over. ‘He asked who you’d slept with and then wouldn’t believe that I didn’t know. And he kept asking, and I told him it was none of his business, and I suppose it just spiralled out of control from there.’ I paused, wondering how far to go down this road. ‘He thought you would have told me. And I think I got so angry with him because … well, I suppose I thought so too.’

  ‘Oh, I get it. So somehow this is my fault now?’

  ‘No no no, that’s not what I meant at all. I was just trying to be honest with you. The only one to blame here is me.’

  ‘But you’re still pissed off about it, aren’t you? About the fact that I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘No, not at all!’ God, this telling-the-truth malarkey wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I continued, ‘Well, maybe I’m a little bit hurt that you won’t tell me. I just can’t see what difference it makes.’

  ‘Grace, you’re just going to have to get over this. I can’t keep having this conversation with you. I’m trying to forget about the whole thing, and do you know what would really, really help me do that?’

  I looked at her expectantly. She laughed. ‘Alcohol!’ I laughed too, relieved that things were still fine between us – at least on the surface. Maybe there was something to be said for telling the truth after all.

  I cracked open one of Mum’s best bottles of wine, and over the next hour or so Sal listened to my Nat woes. She tried to reassure me that everything was going to be OK with him, that one little fight didn’t necessarily mean that we were going to break up, that arguing was a perfectly normal thing for couples to do. Eventually I started to believe that maybe things weren’t so bad after all. She persuaded me to text him an apology: ‘I’m SO sorry about last night. I was an idiot – my fault completely. Ring me later? x’

  I felt better as soon as I’d sent it, even though I didn’t actually think it was my fault completely. Ninety per cent maybe. The other ten per cent was down to Nat’s general nosiness. But I was happy to take the blame if it meant he’d stay with me. He’d said he loved me, for Christ’s sake. I wasn’t just going to let him slip through my fingers.

  He texted back about ten minutes later: ‘OK. Am covering a shift at the pub tonight. Might not be able to call. Talk tomorrow. x’

  It wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for, but Sal seemed pretty positive about it when I showed her. She managed to convince me that he was probably distracted and busy at work, and that the only thing I needed to take any notice of was the kiss at the end of the message.

  She poured me another glass of wine and stood up. ‘How about some food to soak up the vino?’

  The fridge revealed a few rashers of bacon, the sight of which was enough for Sal to convince me to create my legendary bacon, pasta and peas. It was her favourite.

  Soon the pasta was boiling and the bacon was sizzling in the pan. Sal’s phone rang in the living room. She must have got a new ringtone – some incredibly cheesy song from before we were even born. She picked up the phone and looked at the display to see if it was worth answering. She was almost as obsessive as I was about screening her calls. She didn’t look particularly thrilled at what she saw. She turned and saw my quizzical look. ‘Er … I’ve got to get this. OK if I take it upstairs?’ I vaguely wondered who could be calling and why she didn’t want me listening in, but I was distracted by the pasta, which was threatening to boil over.

  Sal ran upstairs and I turned my attention back to the cooker. A minute or so later I was getting the plates out of the cupboard when I suddenly remembered. My room. I completely panicked: Sal must not see the state of my room. The plates clattered on to the work surface as I rushed out of the kitchen and scrambled up the stairs. Please let her be in the bathroom or in Mum’s room or in the hall or …

  She was standing just inside my room with her back to me. The phone was clasped to her ear. I heard her say in a quiet, weird voice, ‘I’m going to have to call you later.’ She snapped the phone shut.

  ‘Sal, I …’ I couldn’t think of anything to say. I looked past her and saw that I hadn’t done a very good job of covering the bed after all.

  She turned slowly towards me, a look of horror on her face. Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘OK, listen, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just come downstairs and we’ll talk about it.’ I reached out to try to take hold of her arm, but she shook me off.

  ‘Jesus, Grace! Look at this!’ She picked up my dressing gown and dropped it on the floor, revealing the worst of the bloodstains. It did look bad – even worse than I’d remembered.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, honestly. I just … I was in a bit of a bad way last night.’

  Sal shook her head slowly, surveying the scene.

  ‘Sal? Say something. Please?’

  Instead of speaking, she grabbed my s
leeve and tried to pull it up my arm.

  I pulled my arm away. ‘What are you doing?! Stop it!’

  ‘Show me.’ Her voice was eerily calm.

  I shook my head. ‘Come on, let’s just go downstairs.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until you show me.’

  ‘I’m not going to show you anything, so can we just leave it? Please.’

  We stood in silence for a few moments, neither of us willing to budge.

  ‘I want to see what you’ve done to yourself. Show me your arms. Now.’ I’d never seen her like this before. It was scary.

  I did as I was told and rolled up my sleeves. Sal took each arm in turn and examined it for scars. There was nothing to see – nothing new at least. She looked confused.

  I spoke quietly. ‘My legs … I cut my legs.’

  A look of pure disgust flickered across her face. ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Look, it’s no big deal. I can’t help it – you know that.’

  ‘But this? It looks like someone died here or something.’

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. Sal stood there, unable to take her eyes off the scene before her. I was desperately trying to think of something to say – anything that would bring this conversation to an end.

  ‘I couldn’t stop myself. I just kept cutting.’ Sal was still shaking her head; I was clearly going to have to do better than that. ‘It made me feel better … I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?! Jesus, Grace, do you have any idea how wrong that sounds? How can cutting into your own flesh, making horrific scars all over your body … how can that possibly make you feel better?’ Sal’s voice got louder as she continued, ‘Do you ever think about how I feel? I worry about you all the time.’

  I was taken aback by her outburst. I thought we’d got over the whole cutting thing. It was just something I did. As normal to me as brushing my teeth or filing my nails.

  ‘There’s no need to worry. I’ve got it under control.’

  Sal snorted with derision. ‘Yeah, course you have. Looks that way to me. This is the very picture of control.’ She picked up a blood-spotted pillow and brought it so close to my face that I thought for a mad split second that she was going to try to smother me.

  Now I was getting annoyed – my mood slowly but surely ratcheting up to meet hers. I grabbed the pillow out of her hands. ‘Give it a rest, Sal. Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’ She looked surprised. Clearly she hadn’t expected me to talk back. She really should have known better.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Right, that’s it. I have to go.’

  ‘What? Why? Aw, come on! Don’t be like that. I was only messing – sarcasm really suits you.’ I attempted a smile.

  ‘This isn’t a joke, Grace. I’m going. I just don’t know what to say to you right now.’ She turned her back on me.

  I jumped up from the bed and put myself between Sal and the door. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Please don’t go. Can’t we talk about this?’

  ‘I’m sorry too.’ Sal shook her head as she neatly sidestepped me. ‘But there’s nothing else to talk about. You can’t go on like this. You know that, don’t you? If something happened to you, I’d never be able to forgive myself. Try to put yourself in my shoes … I’ve tried to understand … but this? This is too much for me to deal with right now.’

  ‘Sal, I …’

  ‘Just think about it. Promise me that,’ she said, back to her usual, gentle self all of a sudden. I nodded. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, OK?’ She gently touched my shoulder, before leaving the room.

  Another mute nod from me and then she was gone. The second time I’d been abandoned in the past twenty-four hours. I threw myself down on the bed and the tears came all too easily. After a minute or so the smoke alarm began to beep. The bacon. Fuck.

  I lay in bed that night, under a fresh, over-starched duvet cover, mulling over the colossal pile of crap that my life had become. Trying to work out how (or if) I could make it all OK again.

  Eventually I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and fired off two text messages in quick succession:

  ‘I’m sorry. Things are going to change from now on – I promise. Love you.’

  ‘I’m sorry (again!). I want to fix this. I love you.’

  Subtly different, but basically the same message to the only two people I cared about.

  I slept badly, my head a tangle of nightmares and dark thoughts. Every time I woke up, I checked my phone for messages, feeling more and more wretched. Finally, at about 3 a.m., I had to accept that neither of them was going to reply – at least not until morning. I tried not to think about what that might mean.

  day 28

  Ethan’s skin feels cold and clammy. His skin looks paler too, with an almost blueish tinge. That can’t be good. Last night I lay down beside him, pulling the duvet over us both. I lay my hand on his chest, so that I could feel it rise and fall, rise and fall, trying to reassure myself that everything would be OK as long as it kept doing just that.

  This morning I woke up with my head resting where my hand had been the night before. His breathing hadn’t changed. I got up and stretched. I feel … well, I feel good. Strong and vital. I haven’t eaten for two days, but I’m not hungry. Not even a little bit. That can’t be normal.

  I know what I have to do. I’ve never been so certain of anything.

  I have to finish what I started.

  I just hope there’s time.

  Sal was as good as her word. She called at lunchtime and told me she hadn’t got my message until that morning – something about turning her phone off cos she was so knackered. Our voices stumbled over one another’s as we both tried to apologize. I promised not to cut again. I sat and watched myself in the mirror – watched myself lie to her. Sal was upset, even crying at one point. She kept on insisting that she was the one who should be apologizing. It was weird, but I figured she was just hormonal.

  Nat didn’t answer his phone the first couple of times I tried him. I didn’t leave a message. I watched some crap on MTV, trying my best to concentrate on the trials and tribulations of some indistinguishable blonde chicks: Heidi/Lauren/Blah/Whoever.

  After an hour, I took a deep breath and tried Nat again. One ring, two, three, four, five and then he answered. I couldn’t tell much from his ‘hello’, apart from the fact that he seemed a bit out of breath.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’ Suddenly I had no idea what I wanted to say.

  ‘Hi, you.’

  I took heart from the fact that he hadn’t hung up on me straight away. ‘Can we meet up? I really need to talk to you.’ Somehow I managed to refrain from begging.

  ‘Grace, I … OK. Where do you want to meet?’

  YES! There was still a chance, however slim it might be. We arranged to meet in a pub round the corner from the one where he worked. I chose to meet him there for three reasons: there was no danger of anyone we knew being there; it would be practically deserted at this time of day; and there would be alcohol.

  I arrived early and ordered a vodka and Coke to settle my nerves. I tried to sip my drink in a nonchalant yeah-I’m-perfectly-happy-drinking-by-myself-in-the-middle-of-the-afternoon way. The barman looked over from time to time. It was sort of annoying. I crunched the ice cubes; the cold made my teeth tingle. I checked the time on my phone, again and again. Nat was late – nothing new there. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he wouldn’t show up. What if he’d changed his mind?

  No. He wouldn’t do that to me. He was different from all the others. And that’s exactly why I loved him.

  But there was something to be said for the simplicity of a meaningless relationship. You’re far less likely to get hurt. You move on to the next one, memories already beginning to fade before you’ve even scrubbed away the smell of him in the shower. Apathy is the key. And so what if that apathy dooms the ‘relationship’ (if you can even call it that) to failure from the very start? Shrug your shoulders because you don’t know any better – it’s all you’ve ever known. It’
s all you’re good for anyway.

  I shook myself and checked the time AGAIN. God, I hoped Nat arrived soon. These thoughts were not helping. I downed the rest of my drink and quickly headed to the bar for another. I didn’t want Nat to see that I was already on my second one. I settled myself back down and continued to watch the door.

  It had started raining outside, and people were rushing past, shoulders hunched against the weather. A couple of guys in suits hurried by, trying in vain to shield their expensive haircuts with newspapers. The door opened and an old man in a tweed suit trundled in with a scruffy little dog at his feet. He left his huge rainbow-coloured golf umbrella by the door. The dog shook himself vigorously and water flew everywhere. It was cute, if you like that sort of thing.

  I was so distracted by the dog that I didn’t even notice Nat until he was halfway across the room. I gave him a little wave that made me feel stupid the moment I’d done it. He nodded, saw that I’d already got a drink, and detoured towards the bar. I watched him as he ordered his pint, smoothing back his damp hair, then nervously tapping his fingers on the bar. He’d ordered a Guinness, which took aaaaaaages. I just wanted to speak to him, to look in his eyes and get some kind of clue as to how this was going to go.

  And then he was sitting in front of me, looking incredible.

  ‘Hey.’ A solid start from me, I thought.

  ‘Hey.’ Right back at me. Eye contact. My heart hurts.

  ‘So …’ I wasn’t sure how to start. I really should have practised what I was going to say, but then maybe I’d have come across as being insincere. Nat said nothing and took a sip from his pint.

  I tried again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

  He nodded, but still said nothing.

  ‘Nat, I hate myself for how I acted. There’s no excuse. I get angry way too easily – always have. Just ask Sal.’ I silently kicked myself for mentioning her. ‘Do you think … maybe we could get past this?’