Lost for Words

by Alice Kuipers

  Rosa-Leigh just called to see if I was okay. I told her I had the flu. We chatted for a bit, and I found myself complaining about Mum wanting me to meet her guy friend, even though, since our fight and Mark’s heart attack, there’s been no mention again of him coming around. I guess it’s been on my mind. Rosa-Leigh went very quiet.

  “What? I can’t handle Mum doing this to me,” I said.

  “Well, what if your mom needs a friend right now?” Rosa-Leigh said softly, like she didn’t want to upset me but she couldn’t stop herself asking.

  “What about me?” I said, hearing that I was being selfish.

  “Maybe she needs someone to help her through.”

  “I don’t think you should defend her.”

  There was an awkward pause. “Okay,” said Rosa-Leigh. Then she changed the subject. She said, “Abigail asked me to her place for that party on Friday.”

  “Another party?”

  She said, “Want to come with me?”

  “I can’t,” I lied. “My mum’s calling; I have to go.” I got off the phone feeling weird. I could totally go to the party. I haven’t got anything to do on Friday. But Abigail hasn’t asked me, even though we’re supposed to be friends again.

  Sometimes I wish I were a thousand miles away. Somewhere different. With a different life and a different mum and a family like the Haywoods or Rosa-Leigh’s family. I’m going to have a shower and NOT THINK ABOUT ANY OF THIS EVER AGAIN.

  WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12TH

  I sat on the roof tonight, listening to the radio. It was warm enough that I needed only a thin jumper. Spring has eroded winter, and soon it will be summer. Sitting up there, I found it wasn’t long before I thought about summer last year. I thought about the night Emily eventually got home for the summer.

  I remembered Mum and I had been waiting for hours. We sat watching day turn into darkness, pretending to be interested in the TV. At one point Mum said, “Sophie, stop drumming your fingers on the table.” A bit later she said, “Surely you should have something better to do,” but she was being grumpy only because Emily was late.

  I watched out the window. After a while I went to get a book. Mum asked me what I was reading, and she seemed like she genuinely wanted to know, but I ignored her. When Emily did arrive, we flung ourselves into her arms, and we were so busy hugging her and helping her with her bags and putting dinner back on the table, that the long wait was almost forgotten.

  Afterward I wished I could have every minute of that long evening all over again. Waiting for Emily was so much better, it turned out, than not waiting for her.

  Emily kicked off her red slip-on shoes. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, showing off moonstone earrings. Her dress, funky and short, had red and silver swirls all over. I looked down at my own jeans. I could never wear a dress like that. Emily stroked Fluffy, who purred with delight, then swept into the kitchen to her plate of food.

  We sat with her while she talked about her courses and this job she’d been doing since her classes finished: helping people in the community paint and draw their painful experiences. She always had jobs where she did good things for others: working at an old people’s home when she was younger, spending some of her weekends volunteering at a center for learning-disabled kids. I’d seen Emily stop in the street to give a homeless person a sandwich she’d bought for herself.

  I watched her talking, her mouth moving quickly, her hands leaping. She told us that she had a new boyfriend, and I wondered if I’d met him. I’d gone to Leeds twice to stay in her house there: a huge place full of people who had colorful bedrooms and who always seemed to be coming in or going out. One of them wanted to be a pilot; another wanted to work in TV. I wondered if her new boyfriend was the guy who’d had the downstairs bedroom—a well-built, classically good-looking guy who’d stared at Emily every time she spoke.

  As soon as Emily had finished—she ate only half the pasta and none of the salad because she was talking so much, twirling her fork and then pushing the plate to one side—she went to get something to show us. She came back to the kitchen with a large rucksack and opened it ceremoniously on the cork floor. She pulled a couple of ordinary tree branches—well, more like large twigs—from inside and set them on the table. I picked up her plate, scraped the remains into the bin, and put the plate in the dishwasher. Mum made us all a cup of tea. Emily told us that the branches were going to be a family tree—a project she was making. From each branch she would hang the faces of our family printed onto leaves.

  Mum told us she had an old album with a family tree inscribed on the front page. She went to get it. While she was gone, Emily winked at me and put her hand on my forearm. She asked me how I was.

  “Fine. Happy it’s summer,” I said. I wanted to say so many things, but I was suddenly shy of her because we hadn’t spoken that much while she was at Leeds. I looked away and then back, willing myself to talk.

  She leaned forward to say something, but then her mobile rang, and she stopped whatever she was saying to answer it. She spoke softly. I listened, trying to work out who it was. Her voice sounded lighter when she talked to her friends than when she talked to us. She sounded like a stranger. She got off the phone and sat back down. I thought now would be the chance to chat with her alone, but Mum came in and the moment was lost.

  Mum was showing Emily the names of long dead family members. I looked out the window and wished there were stars to count. The light pollution in London meant I could rarely see stars. Light pollution and clouds. I felt suddenly lonely and tuned back into the conversation. Emily wondered if withered leaves could represent the dead, like Dad. It seemed morbid to me.

  Mum switched off the lamps and lit the candles. I watched the little flames dance. It was nice having Emily home. I had missed all the noise and excitement and drama she brought, the quiet winks she sent in my direction when Mum gave me a hard time, the way she knew me better than anyone in the world did.

  Emily and Mum talked on. I watched the candles burning low, the shapes made by the shadows. As the last flame began to flicker, Mum told us it was time for bed.

  Emily agreed with her. She was tired; she’d been out late the night before with friends. I was jealous of those people who got to spend time with her instead of me. And disappointed. I wanted to carry on talking to my big sister alone. Mum offered us hot chocolate. She normally never had time to make me hot chocolate, and now I almost said no out of spite but I didn’t. Mum made us a cup each, and I took mine to bed. I heard Emily answer her mobile in the room next to me and chatter away to someone deep into the night. I fell asleep to the sound of her voice.

  I wish I could hear it again.

  I woke in the middle of the night and I could hear Emily. I could HEAR her. It was as if she were sitting on my bed whispering in my ear. And she said, “Why did this happen? It’s not fair.” And she said it over and over until I put my hands over my ears and couldn’t hear her anymore. Oh God, I feel like I’m falling from a great height and no one can catch me.

  THURSDAY, APRIL 13TH

  Rosa-Leigh called just now and was asking how I was. I didn’t really want to talk to her, but she said straightaway, “I know you’re mad about what I said about your mum’s friend.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Well, I’m sorry.”

  “I just can’t think about her now.”

  “That’s fine, then. And I know you’re mad about Abigail’s thing. I only said I’d go because I thought you’d go with me.”

  “She hasn’t even asked me.”

  “So what? It’ll be fun.”

  I pulled a face and then happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, sitting on my bed feeling sorry for myself. I started to giggle. Rosa-Leigh started giggling down the phone line, too. She said, “I’ll pick you up on the way there.”

  “You could come over first,” I said. “We can catch the bus.”

  “I thought you were never going to ask me over.”

  �
�My house is not the most pleasant…”

  There was a moment’s silence and then Rosa-Leigh said, “My brother thinks you’re cute.”

  “Which brother?” I blushed.

  “Joshua. But you cannot date my brother.”

  “He really thinks I’m cute?”

  “You cannot date my brother.” She was laughing.

  I said, “What time are you coming over?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon?”

  I somehow have to make my house a better place to be by then. Perhaps I can pretend Mum’s not even in, so Rosa-Leigh doesn’t have to meet her properly. Things are so tense and unpredictable between me and Mum, and I know a lot of it might be my fault, but I just can’t handle being around her right now.

  FRIDAY, APRIL 14TH

  Rosa-Leigh arrived and we stayed in my room. I didn’t go and tell Mum she was here or introduce them, even though I knew I probably should. Rosa-Leigh and I were sitting on my bed and talking and laughing when there was a knock at my door and it swung open. Mum stood there looking as full of hope as a child at Christmas. She stared at Rosa-Leigh sitting on the bed.

  She said, “You girls sound like you’re having fun.” She looked over at me, and she was so pleased, it was pathetic.

  Rosa-Leigh got up and said, “I’m Rosa-Leigh. We met at my house the other week. Nice to see you again.”

  “Hello,” Mum said. “Good to meet you…. Would you girls like something to eat?”

  “We’re all right, Mum,” I said. I wanted her to go away and stop being so embarrassing.

  “No. Let me make you something.”

  “We’re fine. We’re going to Abigail’s.”

  “How’s Abigail?” she said, and she smiled this fond smile. I thought she was going to come and sit down on the bed. I stood up and said, “We’ve got to get ready.”

  She said, “Let me give you a lift there.”

  I paused.

  Rosa-Leigh said, “That would be great, thanks.”

  “We need to get ready now,” I said.

  Then Mum looked at me and, like a slow moon rising, comprehension shone from her face: she knew I didn’t want her there. She said she’d be ready when we were and left.

  I felt bad. I took a slow breath. I said, “Sorry about her.”

  Rosa-Leigh shrugged and said, “She’s really nice. You should—” She stopped herself from saying anything else, and I was grateful.

  Mum drove us to Abigail’s. When Abigail opened the door, she looked terrible, really thin and pale. I said, “Hi.” I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t asked me to the party herself now we were supposed to be friends again, but I just smiled like nothing was wrong.

  She looked as if she momentarily didn’t recognize me, then with a big smile said, “Hi” back.

  I was suddenly glad I’d come. I needed to talk to Abigail. I needed to make up with her properly. She is my best friend and I miss her. We used to have such a great time together, her coming up with wild ideas and me listening and laughing along. I thought for a moment she might hug me, but someone jostled past. Dan appeared and put his arms around her waist. I wondered what it would be like to have him enveloping me like that. I looked at Abigail’s face, expecting to see her smiling. Her jaw was clenched. Even though she seemed uncomfortable with Dan, I was jealous. I wanted to be held like that.

  I felt suddenly like there was a hedge between Abi and me. Not a wall—that would be too solid—but a hedge with thick, leafy branches. I could still see my best friend through the gaps between the leaves but I couldn’t touch her.

  Dan smiled at me then, and my body gave a little jolt, which I wished it hadn’t, and I blushed. He’s so sexy and his eyes are stunning. God, I really like him.

  We went inside and got drinks. It was weird because there were loads of people there I didn’t know, whereas once Abi and I together would have phoned everyone to invite them. Who were all these people?

  Megan was talking really loudly in the middle of the room and she was obviously already drunk. I talked to Zara for a bit, even though I remembered that during that stupid game she wrote I’m clingy. I tried to be cool and not clingy—even though I’m not clingy at all. Then I started wondering if it even had been Zara who wrote that. Fortunately her phone rang so I didn’t have to think about it anymore.

  I wandered over and sat and talked for a bit with this boy sitting next to me who was not cute AT ALL. I felt a bit sorry for him.

  It was late by then. Everything was dark, and the house was full of people. For a moment I pictured more and more people pouring into the room, looming and fading in a crazy crush of bodies. It would be so easy to be trampled to death in a dark, crowded room. I imagined lying on the floor, blood pouring out of me, my limbs at strange angles, my lungs struggling to get air in after someone had accidentally stamped on me. I took a deep breath, made my mind change the subject. I wondered where Abigail’s mum was. I’d never really seen the house like this; it felt like a house of strangers, not a house I’d spent so much time in, not a house I knew so well I could walk around it with my eyes closed.

  I wanted to go to the bathroom, but the downstairs one was being used. I slipped upstairs, although Abigail had been putting all the coats on the steps to try to stop people going up there. The upstairs corridor was dark. I tiptoed along, remembering how even last year this house felt like my own home. Then, out of the dark, someone put his hand on my wrist.

  I jumped.

  A voice said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Dan?” I spluttered. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I just wanted to get away.” He was standing in the doorway to Abi’s room. His fingers were a bracelet around my wrist.

  “Where’s Abigail?”

  He shrugged. “Come and talk to me a moment.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “No, I mean it, Sophie. I want to get to know you better.”

  “You and Abigail,” I said, feeling nothing but the warmth of his hand.

  “She’s not up here, is she?” he said.

  “I’m going back downstairs.” I was saying it, but my stomach was fluttering with pleasure.

  He bent closer, and a little light played on his face so I could see his eyes. I could smell his aftershave. “Don’t be like that,” he said.

  “I should go.”

  “Don’t go.” He held my wrist tighter: a manacle.

  “Dan,” I said, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.

  He kissed me then, and I was so surprised—No, I’m lying. I knew he was about to kiss me. I wasn’t surprised at all. And my mouth opened. I thought how easy it was for everything to change. How easy it was for me to change. Then I pushed against him. He slid his hand up into my hair. My skin tingled. I didn’t want him to stop. I managed to pull away.

  I said, “I can’t do this to Abigail.” I looked at him. My body shuddered. “I’m going now,” I said.

  “Stay.” He leaned forward.

  “I can’t do this to her.”

  He lowered his head and kissed me again. His mouth was warm and his lips soft. I couldn’t stop myself kissing him back. He ran his hand along my spine, lower. I tangled my hands in his hair and pressed against him. And then, just as he started to slip a hand under my top, I thought of Abigail, the shock on her face if she knew. I stepped back, my hands on his chest to steady myself. I didn’t let myself look at him.

  He said, “Sophie,” but I turned from him and ran downstairs, nearly falling on the way down.

  I sat next to Rosa-Leigh, who gave me a beer. She was talking with these two guys. And it was as if nothing had happened. Except my face was hot and I kept looking up to see if Dan was coming into the room. I thought about him upstairs in the dark.

  I’m ashamed to say, after about five minutes, I figured he must still be waiting and I decided to go back to him, but just as I got up, Rosa-Leigh said we should go home. It felt like a sign or something, so I followed her out of the h
ouse, looking around one last time for Dan. I didn’t say much to her in the cab so she asked if I was okay.

  “I’m just tired,” I said.

  “I’m really sorry about what I said about your mum and her friend—it has nothing to do with me.”

  “I wasn’t even thinking about it.” And it was true; I wasn’t thinking about Mum or Emily or anything. Then suddenly I wished Emily were in the car with me, that she were the one asking me if I was okay. I’d tell her all about Dan. She’d tell me what to do. I had to look away from Rosa-Leigh so she didn’t see the tears fill my eyes. I swallowed them back.

  My head is STILL SPINNING. I can’t believe I kissed the guy my best friend’s with, even if she isn’t really my best friend anymore. But kissing him made me feel so good. It made me think about him and how he tasted and how he touched me, and for a moment I really did forget everything else. The worst of it is I want to kiss him again.

  9

  Where nothing can swim

  SATURDAY, APRIL 15TH

  Mum was out. Katherine called. Mark’s definitely much better from his heart attack, although he’s a bit quiet. I could hardly concentrate on anything she said; twice she asked if I was all right. All I could think about was Dan, and his intense blue eyes. I pretty much thought about Dan all day. Rosa-Leigh emailed me a poem by E. E. Cummings, who doesn’t like capital letters and punctuation. I’m not sure about someone who doesn’t use capital letters. I don’t know; I’m weird like that: I like sentences to look neat. I’d never tell anyone that at school, not in a million years, but it’s true. Anyway, I read the poem, and I swear it’s about me and Dan. Here’s the end of the poem.