THURSDAY, MARCH 23RD
ABIGAIL IS STILL NOT SPEAKING TO ME. I tried to make up with her today by writing her a letter to say I was sorry about the stupid fight. She spread it out on the table and read it OUT LOUD to Megan and Zara. Rosa-Leigh came in, saw what was happening, and steered me out of the lunchroom. I’m so ridiculous, I started crying. I kept apologizing to Rosa-Leigh for being so upset, but she said I shouldn’t apologize for being sad.
The afternoon went by really slowly. I wish more than anything I hadn’t taken Art. I hate it. I wish I could have done Creative Writing instead. On the bus I showed Rosa-Leigh the poem I wrote a while ago about silver fish. She smiled, in a good way. She showed me some poems she’s been working on, and we talked about them. She sent me some music this evening: it’s a Canadian band she likes a lot. The singer is a woman, and she has this weird, cool voice.
SATURDAY, MARCH 25TH
Just as I’d given up hope, Dan emailed and this is what it says:
Sophie, do you want to come to my house tonight? I’m having a party.
I’ve read it a million times. Now I have to work out what to wear. I really hope Abigail’s NOT THERE. I called Rosa-Leigh to see if she wanted to come with me. Her dad’s giving us a ride. I pressed the phone against my ear, suddenly wanting to cry, even though I had nothing to be sad about.
Rosa-Leigh wore a black short dress over jeans. Her hair was loose, and she looked amazing. I wore a silky blue top and jeans, and Rosa-Leigh said I looked awesome, too. She gave me these earrings made of jade to borrow, just little and green, but they went really well with my eyes.
Her dad dropped us off at Dan’s. Through the curtains, we could see the silhouettes of people packed in the front room. I knocked on the door and someone yanked it open. It was one of those houses where the front door leads right into the living room. All the excitement I’d felt on the way over just disappeared. I was like a balloon with all the air coming out, except I didn’t make that noise. Because Abigail was at Dan’s. Along with Megan and Zara.
Abi saw me with Rosa-Leigh and gave this laugh and then leaned in to talk to the other girls. They all huddled together so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Dan sauntered into the room. He came over and hugged me. My stomach danced and tingled. (Also, I was pleased because Abigail was watching and so were all the others.) He lightly kissed my cheek, and I could smell beer really strongly. He pulled back and tried to look at me. His eyes were red and fuzzy from drinking, but he was still really cute.
He said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
I nodded, my heart skipping, and introduced him to Rosa-Leigh. Rosa-Leigh said a quick hello then led me through into the kitchen. It smelled of sticky punch and of sweat. She leaned against a laminate counter filled with bottles, and pulled a he’s-the-guy? face.
“What?”
“He’s drunk. Really drunk.”
“I like him.” I realized as I said it that I really like him.
Abigail came into the kitchen and saw us. She went straight back out and then came in again with Dan, her arm through his. She flicked her frizzy hair, pouting up at him, and COMPLETELY IGNORED ME. While she started pouring drinks for the two of them, he stumbled over. “How’ve you been?” he asked.
“Um, okay,” I said. I’m so pathetic.
He smiled and my silly heart flopped about like a fish out of water. He tried to say something, but he got lost in his words because he was a bit too drunk. And then, I SWEAR, Abigail squeezed between us even though he was trying to talk to me, pushed herself up against him and started kissing him RIGHT THERE.
Dan raised his eyebrows like he was shocked, but it didn’t stop him kissing her back. A jealous ache went right through me; I wanted so badly for him to kiss me like that. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I wanted to burst into tears, or pull her off, or say something, but I didn’t do anything. Rosa-Leigh had her hand pressed against her mouth and I could tell she was going to die from horror if we didn’t get out of there. She seemed to realize that kiss was like a knife in my back, so she pulled me into the living room.
I said, “I can’t believe Abi just did that.”
She said, “I can’t believe Dan did. Let’s get out of here.”
We were going to leave, but Zara called me over and said she thought my top was adorable, trying to be nice, I guess. Then Abi came in smirking and pulled Zara off to one side. By then there were loads of people in the house.
Rosa-Leigh came over and whispered in my ear, “I’ve got a better idea. Really, let’s go.”
Out in the cool night the sky was crisp. We could see our warm breath, cloudy in the orange glow of the streetlights. I could hear the hum of traffic, the wailing of a faraway police car.
“What’s your idea? Where do you want to go?” I asked.
“We’ll catch the tube to Camden. I know this place.”
My heart stopped. I didn’t say anything.
“What?” she said.
“I can’t get on a train, Rosa-Leigh.”
She looked at me, and even though it was dark, I could see this light in her eyes. She knew. Someone must have told her. She said, “Sure you can,” kind of slow.
I took a deep breath. I said, “I can’t.”
She waited.
“I just can’t.”
Rosa-Leigh said, “Let’s do something else instead.”
“I want to go home.” I sounded like a whiny child, but I knew if I waited in the road another minute, I’d throw up. Suddenly my heart was beating madly and the cold was freezing the edges of my brain. I started hyperventilating.
She said, “Take a deep breath. You’re all right. Just breathe.” I could hear she was scared: her voice was higher than usual, tight. I sat on the curb and tears streamed down my face.
I said, “I’m dying,” but it came out like a whisper.
She sat on the ground next to me and gave me a hug. And then she waited until I said I felt better. We got a cab to her house, where I stayed over.
SUNDAY, MARCH 26TH
When I got back from Rosa-Leigh’s this morning, I clambered onto the roof. It was sunny and quite warm, so I curled up with a cup of tea and Fluffy, who deigned to sit next to me.
I remembered Mum, Emily, and me shopping together once in Soho. I must have been eight or nine. Mum walked ahead in shopping mode. Emily and I trailed behind, annoyed at having to keep up. The street was pretty, old buildings crowding along it like gossiping women and little boutique shops peeping out. I pointed out a shop to Emily. In the window was a beautiful golden globe. We looked at it for a moment, and then, without telling Mum, we went inside.
An old woman was sitting on a chair in the back of the room, her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. Emily said something to her, but the woman didn’t answer. We took another step closer, and I knew, I just knew, something wasn’t right. The woman’s head was lowered and she was sitting very still.
I said Emily’s name, but she didn’t hear me or she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, because she walked right up to the woman and put her hand on her shoulder. She pulled her hand away fast.
I looked at the old woman peacefully sitting there.
Emily whispered, “She’s dead.”
And then the old woman jerked her head up and her eyes sprang open. The pair of us screamed. We fled the shop and thundered down the street. Soon we were in narrow lanes that we didn’t recognize. I started crying. I looked around and Emily wasn’t there. I screamed, “Emily! Emily!”
Emily ran up to me and seized my hand. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going anywhere. I was just behind you.”
“I didn’t know where you were.” I sobbed.
“It’s okay.”
“Was that woman dead? How did she come back to life?”
She had her arms around me. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.” She sounded like Mum.
“Where are we?” I said.
> “It’ll be all right. Don’t worry, Sophie.”
“But where are we?”
Emily shushed me and put her arm tighter around my shoulders. She sat me on a bench. She said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you. Mum will find us.”
Mum came around the corner then, frantic. She grabbed hold of me and then of Emily. I’d forgotten that: she grabbed hold of me first.
“I’ve been out of my mind,” she said.
“We got lost,” Emily replied. “We thought this woman was dead. She can’t have been, though.” Looking back, I realize that the woman must have just been sleeping. The dead don’t come back to life.
Mum squirreled her eyebrows together. “What woman? What are you talking about?”
I tried to say something, but I had a sudden urge to giggle. Now Mum was over being relieved, she started telling us off. I squeezed my sister’s hand. Even as Mum was yelling, Emily whispered to me, “Told you it’d be all right.”
But it’s not all right. Not at all.
7
In a puddle of grey
MONDAY, MARCH 27TH
On my way to school I was making a long list of resolutions like I should have made on New Year’s. I resolved to go jogging twice a week even if it was raining. To eat more fruits and vegetables, and do a yoga DVD on Wednesdays and Fridays. To lose a little weight—although not as much as Abi has lost; she looked really thin today—and get toned in the right places. I want to make sure all my underwear matches, just in case I do ever have a boyfriend. (Not Dan, though. I wish I would stop thinking about him.) I want to paint my nails and have them look nice. I want to write more poems and read a book every week. I want to go back to doing something like drama or judo, one of the things I used to do before everything fell apart. And I want to stick to the one resolution I did make on New Year’s Day: to forget all about it, to move on.
As the morning slid by, I got more and more stressed. I ended up spending the afternoon in the bathroom. Eventually the bell rang for the end of school. I was shaking and hysterical. I watched out the window and saw Rosa-Leigh standing at the stone arch waiting for me, checking her watch. Then, when she’d gone, when everyone had gone and the janitor was about to lock up the building, I escaped and hurried through the park to get home.
When I’d calmed down, I looked on the internet to see if I could find out what was wrong with me. The only thing that fit my symptoms of nausea, mad heartbeat, crazy thoughts, difficulty breathing, and feeling frightened is “panic attacks,” which sound like the sort of thing people get who are really messed up. I’m definitely not going to tell anyone about this; I don’t want everyone to think I’m completely insane.
Trust me to get panic attacks, if that’s what they are. I’m so lame. Everything’s lame. Why can’t I just get a grip? I called Rosa-Leigh, deciding that I needed to stop thinking about all of this. We chatted about what a bitch Abigail is being, and Rosa-Leigh moaned about how much homework she has. It was all very normal, and for a moment I forgot all the stuff about panic attacks. Rosa-Leigh said she has a surprise for me on Thursday and I totally have to come to her house. Thank God for her. If there even is a God.
THURSDAY, MARCH 30TH
I’m staying at Rosa-Leigh’s tonight. I wonder what the surprise is….
FRIDAY, MARCH 31ST
Last night was amazing! We got to Rosa-Leigh’s, and all her family was there, including her dad. It’s so fun to have a dad around, especially a dad like hers who is so friendly. He’s short for a man but really broad-shouldered and red-faced, with a huge beard. Even he says he looks like a bear, which is the family joke. He told heaps of stories about Canada and made everyone laugh.
All her brothers were there, including Joshua, her oldest brother (I worked out which one is which) and who I SWEAR looked at me more than once and held my gaze until I blushed. He was sweet and funny and much better looking than Dan. (Although Dan has such nice eyes. But I have to forget about Dan, anyway.) Joshua even made sure I got enough spaghetti Bolognese, which Mum never makes anymore because we eat only takeaways or leftovers. I miss roast dinners and Mum’s crazy health kicks. It’s like now she can’t even bear us sitting together to eat. Not that I ever want to sit and eat with her. Anyway, the spaghetti Bolognese was the best ever. Rosa-Leigh’s dad made it.
After dinner Rosa-Leigh’s dad dropped us off somewhere in Camden. She said, “There it is,” pointing to a tattered red door. Above it hung a lamp, very nineteen-forties and cool. We pushed open the door, and it was like going into someone’s house, all these sofas everywhere and beautiful lamps with colored glass that Rosa-Leigh said were Tiffany. I thought Tiffany was the jewelry shop in New York, but I didn’t say anything. I sat on a sofa and looked at the crazy-haired people in the room, all dread-locks and braids, wearing multicolored jumpers and skirts. Stuff Emily would have thought was amazing. Except she wasn’t there and I was.
The sofa smelled of dust and smoke. It was covered in a flower pattern. Rosa-Leigh smiled and said hi to a couple who were sitting at a nearby table. Then she went to get us drinks. She didn’t get asked for ID like I would have been. I suddenly felt like I always want to feel: like I fit into my own life.
Rosa-Leigh brought us over gin and tonics. It’s the sort of drink my mum would have. Rosa-Leigh said it was the sort of drink she thought everyone in England had all the time, which I told her it wasn’t.
I asked her what this place is. She put her finger to her lips and raised an eyebrow in a wait-and-see gesture.
Then the lights went low, and over in one corner I saw the microphone in a spotlight. A black guy with the most gorgeous face went up to the mike. I could hardly stop looking at him, not because I fancied him but because he was so classically handsome that he looked like a painting. Then he started to talk. Except he wasn’t talking; he was saying POEMS. He recited this most amazing poem about war and bombs. I shivered as if someone were kissing my neck (which made me fantasize about Dan). It felt like the guy was saying the poem for me. Except he wasn’t saying it like it was a poem; he was saying it like it was REAL. I imagined Dan whispering along my spine.
After he was done, I clapped so hard my hands stung. Then a huge woman did three poems about sex and being a woman. She was hilarious. There were maybe four or five poets after that, all different stuff. One guy was no older than me, I swear. He looked like the sort of kid who sits at the front of class peering through his glasses. The sort of guy who is really awkward around girls. Except then he did this series of poems as fluid as water.
I asked Rosa-Leigh how she knew about this place. She leaned forward and whispered, “One of the exciting things about coming to London is spoken-word events like this.”
I’d never heard of spoken-word events. I wondered suddenly what Abigail would think of all this and saw the room through her eyes. She’d be trying to get the attention of all the other people there by speaking loudly and too much because she was uncomfortable.
Just then I caught my breath because I thought I saw Emily come into the room and sit at an empty table nearby. She scratched her neck and looked over at me. Except it wasn’t her. It was someone who looked like her, that’s all.
Rosa-Leigh must have seen my eyes get all wet because she squeezed my forearm and said, “You miss her, right?”
And I didn’t ask her how she knew. I didn’t have to.
SATURDAY, APRIL 1ST
April Fools’ Day. I sat on the roof this morning remembering April Fools’ Day last year. Emily called and said she was pregnant. Mum started screaming and yelling, and I came out of my room to see what all the fuss was about. I took the phone from Mum. Emily was laughing so hard, she could hardly speak.
“Don’t tell her I’m joking: I told her I was pregnant,” she said.
I started laughing, too, and Mum got even more mad before she realized what was going on. She didn’t laugh, though. She didn’t think joking about being pregnant was funny at all. I wonder now if we were hap
py then. Was that a good day?
SUNDAY, APRIL 2ND
It’s not even lunchtime and today has already been too long. Mum and I are stuck in the house together. I finished reading a book by Stephen King; once I start reading one of his books, I can’t put it down. Then I tried something Rosa-Leigh suggested. It’s called a found poem. What you do is take words that you’ve found and put them together to make a poem. You “find” the words by choosing sentences, or bits of sentences, you really like. Then you rearrange them to make something new. It was something I thought Mum might like to do with me, but I didn’t know how to ask her to join in. Things are not great between us. She was going out anyway.
“Where are you going?”
“Highgate, to the church. Do you want to come?”
I was amazed she asked me, but I couldn’t stop myself saying no. I ignored Mum’s sigh.
Here’s my first attempt at the poem.
The reminder
Early Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
For Emily
She was too late
It’s short. I used one of Mum’s magazines for it. I’m going to use a couple of books from the living room to try and make up a better poem.
He does teach the Bible
Has just written a book
He believes that his use of psychology
Is a hard-core Biblical message
Maybe I should have gone with Mum. I haven’t been to the church yet this year. I last went on the day before Christmas. It only made me cry. At least Fluffy’s here with me, purring and kneading my lap with her black paws. I stroked her and she tried to bite my hand, then jumped off and slunk away. I could tell by her catty disappointment that she finds me a poor substitute for Emily.
In the end I gave up on the poem and climbed onto the roof. I started thinking about this stupid fight Emily and I had about a year ago. I was watching TV when Emily walked into the room wearing a green skirt.
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