“You startled me!”
“Am I that horrifying?” she said, and pulled down her eyes so she looked gross and older. I laughed. “Are you looking for a bra?” she said.
“Um, yeah, I guess,” I said casually.
“Have you been measured?”
I frowned. “No.”
“Well, you have to be measured.”
“I do?”
“Yes. Come with me,” she said, and she took my hand between her hands and left me no choice but to follow her across the shop. People were staring at us. I frowned back at them.
“You might want to take that off,” she whispered to me.
“What off?”
She looked puzzled and patted my head.
“Oh! Oh yeah, I forgot.” I yanked at the bra on my head and the elastic straps catapulted it away from me, across the shop, where it hit the aisle and then slid farther along the slippy floor, down to where some ladies were shopping. They looked at it like it was a bit of disgusting poo. “Jane will clear that up,” the lady said, and waved to another lady in the shop uniform. “Don’t you worry.”
“I wasn’t,” I said quickly.
Then she took me through a door. It was like going into the bowels of the shop, but it turned out to be a special changing room for bras. She shut us in a small space with curtains around us. “Take your T-shirt off,” she singsonged.
“What?”
“I have to measure you, don’t I, silly?”
“Oh.” I felt weird, but I took off my T-shirt. Maybe this is how someone made Billie undress.
“Now let me just…” She whipped out a measuring tape and pulled it ’round me.
“Ow! It’s cold!”
“Just a minute.”
“It’s freezing.”
“Turn around. Let me get…Just another…” She kept pushing me ’round in circles, pulling on me with her tape. “Wonderful! I’ll just go and get you some bras in your size and we’ll see how they are looking. Stay there!”
“Wait! Why—?” I started, but she went out. I wanted to pick the bra. Instead, she came back with three white training bras, like I was some sort of tiny ballerina. “I want a Wonderbra,” I said.
“You don’t want a Wonderbra! You want one of these!” she said happily, and flapped them about like she was modeling them on TV.
“No, I want a Wonderbra,” I said icily. “I have to look like a man would want me.”
“Er…” she said, and her cheeks went red.
“If you don’t go and get it for me, I’ll get it myself,” I said, and went to pick up my T-shirt.
“No, no! I’ll get one, I’ll get it,” she said, and rushed out. A minute later, she rushed back in and pulled it on me roughly, tutting the entire time. “Well, I never,” and “Goodness me,” she said.
Finally, she let me go off and buy the stupid Wonderbra. I only want it to catch the pervert anyway. I don’t like it. It hurts like somebody trying to strangle my ribcage.
When I get home from Nan and Granddad’s it is the summer holidays and there is no one to supervise me, which Mum and Dad don’t like, but is ideal for my purposes. Dad is at the workshop in the village all day. He calls up the stairs to tell me so at breakfast time and asks if I want to go with him, but I ignore him because I’m still not talking to him, and he says, childishly, “Suit yourself.”
Sam is at his friend Barry’s for the day, so I decide to put the last touches to my plan before the day of action. I’ve upgraded it to a mission now, rather than a plan. That means I’ve made charts and instructions and stuff.
In the morning, I go into the village to see where all the police are. Hattie and Poppy are hanging out with Hattie’s sister and her friends on a bench. Nathan isn’t there, but the police are nearby. I walk right up to Hattie and the others and say hi, then stand there for ages. They are talking about how the village has a murderer in it and the police are like their personal bodyguards. It’s true. Sometimes, when I’m walking around, a police car will drive slowly behind me for a bit, then turn off. Sometimes I don’t even look back, I just know they’re there because of the engine. It’s changed in Eastcastle too. When we drove through on the way back from Nan and Granddad’s, there were lots of police cars, and lots of people in the town center.
“What’s that?” I asked Mum.
“It’s a protest, sweetheart.”
“What are they protesting?”
“Um…”
“Mum?”
“They think the police should have caught the killer by now. They think they’re not doing a good job.”
“What do you think?”
“I think they’re a small force. They’re doing the best they can. Detective Waters is smart.”
“Georgie?”
“Yes, Georgie.”
In the village, Hattie’s sister Lauren is saying how her friend Michelle, who lives near the trailer park too, isn’t even allowed out anymore, but her brother is.
“That’s so unfair!” I say.
They all ignore me and then Hattie says, “That’s so unfair!” And they all agree.
None of them look at me at all, and I stand there for ages, listening to their conversation and nodding and laughing at their jokes. In the end, it’s obvious they have sent me to Coventry, which is when you ignore someone and don’t talk to them. I try not to care, but I suddenly feel like crying, so I turn and walk away quickly. Behind me I hear them say, “Did you hear she—” and then I don’t hear anymore, but it sounds like they think I’m embarrassing and weird, and I feel my cheeks going red and my eyes welling up. At least they acknowledged my existence. I hope Hattie hasn’t told them about my plan. I told her about it when it was just coming together, when I thought I needed someone else to help me carry it out. But I don’t need her. I don’t need any of them.
I start to run through the village, past Dad’s carpentry workshop, and I only slow down when I get to the trailer park. I haven’t seen Nathan since Friday morning. I wonder if he misses me, and I am really hoping he isn’t still mad at me. I can’t see Nathan hanging about around the field so I knock on his door.
His mum opens it.
“You!” She looks very lazy, in dirty clothes and with her hair not brushed.
“Hello, is Nathan here?”
“You can’t play with my son anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I know what you did, filthy girl. Leading my son astray.”
I huff. “Me, filthy? Nathan’s always covered in dirt! You should clean his clothes, like a good mum!”
For a second Nathan’s mum looks livid, then she comes out of the door and hits me on the head with the cooking thing she is holding. It’s like a wooden spoon but with slits in it, and it hurts loads.
“Ouch!” I yell, and put my arm up across my face. She thwacks me with it, over and over.
“You dirty little girls, all sluts these days. I see you. I see you!” she keeps saying.
“I’m just one girl, you crazy person!” I say. She keeps hitting me, so I retreat from the trailer and run a little way away from her. “I’ll be back,” I say, like Arnie.
“You come back here, there’s no telling what I’ll do,” she says.
I narrow my eyes at her. Maybe Nathan’s mum is just as much to be feared as his dad. And that means…I look over to the copse.
“Don’t want to end up like her, do you?” she says.
My eyes widen. “I’m telling,” I say. “I’m telling on you.” I run off home and decide to do one of my planning jobs, so at least it’s a productive day, even if I don’t have any friends who are allowed to speak to me.
I cut my hair. This doesn’t seem like the most important job on the list, maybe, but I have been thinking about it and I made a list of reasons why I should. What it comes down to is: I
think, with half my hair, I will be pretty enough for Nathan to like me, but not pretty enough for the killer to kill me. Also my hair will be long enough for me to be obviously a girl, but not long enough to grab and hold onto (if someone were to chase me and try to kill me). This is a fine balance, but I think it’s one every woman must achieve.
Afterward I go outside, and practice defending myself. I use Dad’s axe that he chops the logs for the fire with, and which I intend to take on my mission, along with the vegetable-cutting knife that I eventually managed to get in the supermarket, pretending Nan needed it urgently to make barbecue kebabs.
The axe is heavy, but I figure out how to hold it so it feels right in my hand. Then I chop a few logs from different angles, so I can defend myself if I’m grabbed different ways, and then I practice throwing it. I’ve seen people throw axes on TV. The difficult thing is getting the blade to hit the side of the shed, rather than the handle. Unfortunately, the sixth time I throw it, the handle side hits again and knocks the blade out toward me. I jump to the side and it lands where my feet were. I try but I can’t fix it because the wood is broken, so I hide it behind the logs at the back of the woodshed, and hope Dad thinks he’s just lost it or something.
Then I take a shower to make myself smell nice for tomorrow. In the bathroom, I take all my clothes off and look at myself in the mirror. I’m pleased now I know other people think I’m pretty, but personally I can’t tell if I’m pretty just by looking. The bags under my eyes make me look old, and there are lines on my forehead that look like wrinkles. My boobs are still only almost, and my belly is poking out loads because I ate a whole packet of Maryland cookies this morning. I’m sweaty and tired and I feel like all this preparing would be actually fun if Billie were here, but she’s not. And I’m not looking forward to meeting her killer.
I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is cut off up to my chin on my right side, and to my collarbone on my left. “Hmm,” I grumble, and then suddenly I realize it doesn’t look like Billie’s hair anymore. We have always had identical hair. I have to choke back a huge, exhausted sob.
I miss her so much, but I pull myself together and tell myself I have to be tough for her now. Suddenly she walks through the wall behind me. I draw my breath in quickly but try not to look shocked. I don’t want to upset her.
Billie sticks out her tongue sideways at me in the mirror. She must have known I needed her. She shakes her head, meaning, “No tears, loopy.”
“I wish you could talk to me,” I say. “Properly, in your own voice.” She takes my hand. It’s so cold it makes my blood cold, and I can feel it running all around my body. “And I wish you wouldn’t always be with the dead girls,” I whisper, feeling guilty. “I know they were killed too, and I feel really sorry for them, and I think I know what you guys want me to do, but we’re never just us anymore.”
She puts her finger to her lips. The girls must be close by and she doesn’t want them to hear.
We look in the mirror together. My cheeks are pink and my hair is short and wild and curlier than before. Billie’s skin is white and her hair is still long.
She squeezes my hand. She raises her other hand and makes a cutting motion in the mirror where my hair is cut weird. I nod miserably. I go and get Mum’s kitchen scissors and hold my hair at my chin, and cut across the jagged bottom, making it straight again. Then I do the same to the other side, until my hair is chopped to my chin, but the sides are equal length. It looks okay. Definitely not as pretty as long hair, though. What if I made a mistake? What if I over-calculated my prettiness, and now I’ve made myself ugly and Nathan won’t want me? It’s so hard and confusing to think about trying to make Nathan like me and at the same time trying to be not likeable enough that I don’t get killed. I wipe my eyes, and Billie makes fists in the mirror, and so do I. We are telling each other to be strong. Then she leaves. And I have never felt more alone or less strong in my short life.
But when I get into my bedroom, someone else is there to keep me company. She takes my hand and I feel a dead girl that’s not Billie for the first time. She’s cold, and tiny. We sit on my bed, against the pillows, and I write down what she is telling me in my journal. She doesn’t just speak. She draws her My Little Pony and her mummy and daddy. It’s the littlest dead girl, and her voice is high and cute.
Hi Thera, my name is Ellie and I’m five. My favorite color is blue and my favorite toy is my My Little Pony. She’s a unicorn and her name is Sasha. I saw her on the television and she galloped all the way to my home for my birthday! Mommy and Daddy are still looking for me, but I died a long time ago. We drove across the whole country to a place that was nice and sunny and Mickey Mouse was there too! A man said my mommy said I had to come with him. I followed him for so long, and then I was really, really tired, so we got in his car so we would get to Mommy quicker, but I fell asleep! When I woke up I felt funny and sad so I cried and he gave me some juice and I went to sleep and I never woke up again. I miss my mommy and daddy. Will you help us?
Mum cries when she sees my new hair.
“What’s wrong, Ma?” I ask her. She comes in the door with her workbag, and immediately goes through to the living room and sits down with one hand over her eyes, crying. I try to sit on her lap on the couch, but she stands up.
“Thera, why did you cut your hair?”
“I don’t know, I just wanted to.”
“Go to your room.”
“What? Why?”
“Just please—Oh, fine!” she says angrily. “I’ll go to my room.” She runs upstairs and shuts her bedroom door. She doesn’t come down for teatime.
“Maybe she’s ill,” I say when Dad calls her and she doesn’t come down.
Dad huffs and says, “She’s not ill.”
He goes up and they yell at each other. I’m starting to get worried about them. Poppy’s and Hattie’s parents don’t live together anymore; they haven’t for a few years. Mrs. A said it’s like an epidemic with this generation. (Obviously I asked Granddad what that meant.)
I protest against Dad shouting by eating my sausage, beans, and mash on my bed instead of with him at the table, so Dad eats alone because Sam is still at Barry’s. It’s one of my favorite meals and I know Dad has made it to be nice to me, and this makes me cry because he wants to be friends again but I can’t quite. He’s just like the other men in the pub and the man who killed Billie. They’re scary and big and they keep reaching for me. Hands in the pub on my back, Mr. Kent’s hand on my neck, that man in the shop in town when I was asking for the knife, that man feeding the birds on Cleethorpes on Saturday when Nan and me were out. “My little love,” he called me, and then he took my hand. I felt bad, but I pulled it away and wiped it on my jeans. I just wish they would all go away and Billie would be back and things would be simpler.
I eat my tea for sustenance’s sake and do my workout again. I try on my outfit I bought on my shopping mission. I paint my nails pink and wait for them to dry. I botch them and have to do them again, but this time I do it very carefully. I put my lip gloss on. I look pretty now. Nowhere near as pretty as Billie, but maybe Nathan would properly want to rape/have sex with me like this.
I have been very scientific so far about mine and Nathan’s experiments. I lie back on my bed, feeling warm and funny. I liked when he kissed me on the cheek, and I liked how hard his chest felt against mine. He’s a bit older and a bit more grown-up, maybe. It was weird seeing his thingy, but it didn’t look horrible. I mean, I guess I’m supposed to like it, because I’m a girl, and I’m not gay. At least I don’t think so, because I fancy Nathan, and Edward Furlong, and Leo, and Zack, and I think the middle Hanson brother is okay. I do like Tia from Sister, Sister, but I think that’s because I want to be her.
I’ll be sad if Nathan has fallen out with me, or told on me to his mum. I hope she doesn’t know about my whole plan. No, because I didn’t tell Nathan the whole thing, did I? It w
ould be so poopsticks if I never saw Nathan again. I mean, obviously I would see him at the bus stop, but if we weren’t friends that would be rubbish. That would mean I didn’t have any friends, apart from Sam. Nathan is bigger than Sam. He’d be a better fighter if it came to him standing by my side in battle, being Lancelot to my King Arthur or whatever (obviously I wouldn’t be Guinevere, because princesses are saps). Has Nathan fallen out of love with me? Am I still in love with him? Were we in love at all?
I climb under the bedcovers and stroke my hand all over my chest and my crotch and my legs, imagining it’s Nathan. Then I bang hard against the bed like he did to me, and then I make a little mouth with my thumb and my pointing finger, and I kiss it. It’s so nice imagining him kissing me. I touch my boobs that he said were almost, and think how sweet he was to say that. I get lip gloss stickiness all over my hand, and rub on my underwear between my legs because it feels nice, and fall asleep in my new dress under my Care Bears duvet cover. It’s a Tuesday tomorrow. Mum and Dad both have to work, Sam will be at another friend’s house (Mum’s got him booked practically all week), and I’ll be home alone again. It’s time. I’m not nervous. I’m ready.
When you fall in love all at once, by the time you find out what the consequences of being swept up are, you’re already drowning. They are the only one holding you up. Your whole version of the world belongs to them. There is no way to live without them.
We moved into a flat together and got engaged. It was very quick, but everything had been. I was Catholic, and I wanted to wait until our wedding night to make love. That might sound old-fashioned, but I was nineteen and a virgin, and I thought, why not? We’re getting married in three months. Truth be told, I was still scared. We had done so much already. He liked to play a lot of games. He liked me to dress up like a schoolgirl. He liked to pretend to snatch me and take me against my will into our bedroom, where he would force himself inside my mouth and call me names. I wouldn’t have done it with anyone else, but with him I felt safe. I knew how much he loved me. And I may have been naive, but I wasn’t unaware of the fact that men were supposed to respect you, and he did, despite his games. He was marrying me, wasn’t he?
Dead Girls Page 19
