Vicky Angel

by Jacqueline Wilson

  “Yes, I saw him!”

  “He was brutal, banging away at my chest. Then someone else said, ‘We've lost her,’ and they stopped. I was still lying there, feeling a bit stunned. Then I just gave this weird little wriggle and—and I sort of stepped out my body. You know, like stepping out of your clothes.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah, that's exactly what I said. And I just kind of floated upwards.”

  “I knew it would be like that.”

  “I saw all the doctors and nurses down below. It's very odd just seeing the tops of people's heads. Then I drifted around the corridors taking it all in. I kept hoping it was just one of those out-of-body experiences and the greasy-haired doctor would give my heart just one more pound for luck and I'd suddenly be jerked back into my body, alive-alive-oh—but then I found the nurse telling my mum and dad….”

  “Can they see you?”

  “I don't think so. Dad can't. But Mum … I tried touching her and she shivered as if she'd felt something, but she couldn't seem to see me, or hear me either.”

  “But I can.”

  “Well, we've always had our own secret language, haven't we? And sometimes you'll know exactly what I'm going to say before I've even started to say it.”

  “Oh, Vicky. I knew we couldn't ever be parted!” I say passionately.

  A boy wandering past kicking his schoolbag like a football stops dead in his tracks, blinks at me anxiously, picks up his dusty schoolbag, and runs.

  “You nut,” Vicky says. “Whisper!”

  We're nearly home, at the corner where Vicky goes her way and I go mine.

  “I want to go home!” Vicky says, tears suddenly spilling down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Vicky.” I try to put my arms round her. It's like embracing a shadow.

  “It's so weird. I can't believe it. I don't want to be dead,” she sobs. “I want to be me again. The real me. I hate just floating around and not having a life anymore.”

  “Don't cry so, Vic,” I say. I take a tissue and try to mop her face, but her tears roll unchecked and the tissue stays dry.

  “I want my mum,” Vicky sobs. “I'm going home even if they can't see me.”

  “But you'll come back to me?” I beg.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “When?”

  “I don't know,” Vicky sniffs. “You don't make appointments with ghosts, Jade. We just materialize as and when we choose.” She gives me a watery smile, waves, and then sort of swims into thin air, fading from view.

  I call after her, again and again. She doesn't come back.

  I feel so lost and lonely without her. All the horror comes back. And I have to go home.

  I hate my home. We live in a second-floor flat in the Oxford Estate. Mum used to say we'd get our own place one day, maybe even one of the black-and-white houses in Tudor Avenue where Vicky lives—

  Vicky doesn't live.

  I still can't take it in. I walk up the stairs and along the balcony. Mum is at me the second I step inside the front door.

  “For God's sake, Jade, where have you been? I've been home from work half an hour! We've been worried sick!”

  It's weird the way she's carrying on. Recently she's been going round as if she hardly remembers I'm here. She doesn't even listen if I talk to her. And Dad's never bothered with me much anyway. But now he puts his arm round me and rubs his cheek against mine. He hasn't shaved yet and he still smells of bed. I wriggle away from him.

  “What's up, Jade? Are you in trouble? You look like something bad's happened.”

  “It has,” I say, my voice catching.

  “Don't give me any sob stuff,” says Mum. “You've been mucking around with Vicky, haven't you? Where did you go? Round the shops? Or was it McDonald's? I'm not having this, Jade, you're not old enough to slope off by yourself. You're to come straight home from school in future, do you hear me? I'm not having that Vicky leading you astray.'

  “She won't anymore.”

  “What do you mean, pet?” says Dad.

  “Don't talk in that silly dramatic way!” says Mum. “What's happened? Have you and Vicky had a row?”

  “Vicky's dead,” I say, stunning them both into silence.

  Then Mum shakes her head, patting her curls.

  “What a wicked thing to say! Don't be so silly, Jade. ‘Vicky's dead’!”

  “She is! She got run over by a car,” I say, my voice going high-pitched, as if I'm going to scream any minute.

  “Oh my God,” says Mum, and she's suddenly got her arms round me.

  “What about you, Jade? Dear goodness, have you hurt yourself?”

  “No, no, it was just Vicky. We were outside school and—and she—and I—this car … the car … the car …”

  Mum's rocking me as if I'm a baby again. “There, lovie, there now.”

  “I went in the ambulance with her,” I say into Mum's navy work suit. “I held her hand, I kept talking to her, I waited ages at the hospital, I kept hoping they'd be able to do an operation, anything. But she died.”

  “That lovely girl. Poor, poor Vicky,” Dad whispers.

  “Poor Jade,” says Mum, and she holds me so tight I can't breathe.

  I can't sleep. I thrash around my bed all night long, curling up in a little ball, stretching out straight, lying on my side, on my stomach, ending up with my head right under my pillow. I can't blot it out. I think, Vicky Vicky Vicky. Whenever I start to drift and dream I hear the squeal of brakes and the scream and I'm wide awake again.

  I can't stop thinking of Vicky. I can't get her back again. I try calling. I open my window and lean right out looking for her. I can imagine her but I can't make her real the way she was coming back from the hospital. My made-up Vicky keeps saying the wrong things and fades into the dark.

  Then it's light and the birds are singing as if it's a perfectly ordinary day. I burrow down under my duvet until Mum comes in with breakfast on a tray, as if I'm ill.

  It's Saturday so I don't have to go to school and Mum doesn't go to work. She usually does the housework and goes round the shops while I hang out at Vicky's. Today we both drift around the house, not really knowing what to do. Mum plucks up the courage to phone Vicky's mum and then bursts into tears on the phone. I'm scared Mrs. Waters is saying stuff about me but Mum says she didn't even mention me.

  “The funeral's on Wednesday at eleven. Oh dear, we'll have to get a wreath organized. What were Vicky's favorite flowers, do you know?”

  “Lilies. White lilies.”

  “They'll cost a fortune—but it can't be helped, I suppose. And what are you going to wear?”

  People from school ring all day as the news gets round. They're nearly all Vicky's friends rather than mine. Or girls who wanted to be Vicky's friend. Some of the boys ring too. Several act like they were Vicky's boyfriend, which is crazy. She couldn't stand any of them, especially the boys in our year. Even Fatboy Sam, the class clown, rings up, though he's actually quite solemn and sensible on the phone.

  “I'm so sorry, Jade. It must be awful for you. You and Vicky—you've just always been together.”

  If only we could be together now. She still won't come to me.

  Sunday is worse. I don't know what to do with myself. I can't watch television. It seems strange that two days ago I actually cared about all these soap characters and discussed them with Vicky as if they were real. I can't listen to music because we always sing along to our favorites and it's as if half the tune is missing now. I can't read. The words wriggle round like worms and won't make any sense. I can't do any homework. I'll probably get into trouble but as if it matters …

  Nothing in the world matters but Vicky.

  I spend hours trying to conjure her up but it's no use. I want her so badly that in the afternoon I tell Mum I have to go round to Vicky's house. That's where she'll be if she's anywhere.

  “I don't know, Jade,” Mum says, biting her lips. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. We don't want to intrude, not at a time like thi
s.”

  “But I need to, Mum. I want to feel close to Vicky. Please.”

  So after lunch Mum walks round with me to Vicky's while Dad nods off on the sofa. He's not on nights at weekends but he can never switch round his sleeping habits so he dozes throughout the day. When we get near to Vicky's house I get scared and hang back.

  “What's up?” says Mum. “It's all right, love, I'm here.” But she sounds scared herself.

  “I've changed my mind. I don't want to go in.”

  “Oh, come on. We've made the effort now.”

  “I don't want to see Vicky's mum.”

  “Well, maybe she'll find it a bit of a comfort seeing as you and Vicky were always like sisters.”

  “She doesn't like me. I think she blames me for what happened.”

  “That's ridiculous! For goodness' sake, Jade!” Mum's voice is shrill. I nudge her, terrified that Vicky's mum might be in the front room and hear.

  “Please, Mum, let's go home.”

  “But you kept nagging on about coming here.”

  “I wanted to see Vicky,” I say, starting to cry.

  Mum stares at me as if I'm mad. Maybe I am. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

  I can't sleep again. Mum doesn't come in to wake me on Monday morning but I get up anyway. I weigh myself on the bathroom scales. I've lost four pounds since Friday. I don't suppose I've eaten very much. I don't feel like eating anything now, but Mum flaps round me, making me tea and toast. The tea is orange and tastes sour. The toast is hard and brittle and scratches my throat when I swallow.

  “Try to eat,” says Mum. “You're making yourself ill. Just look at you. Look at that white face! You're like a little ghost.”

  “Don't!”

  “I'm sorry, Jade. I didn't mean … Look, love, I don't think you're quite ready for school yet. Why don't you pop back to bed and try to catch up on some sleep?”

  But I feel I'll go really crazy if I stay cooped up in the house another day. I put on my school uniform and haul my bag of untouched homework on my shoulder.

  “You're a good brave girl,” says Mum, giving my shoulder a pat. She's being so kind. She's never really gone in for making a fuss over me, not even when I was small. She wanted a showy, sparky little kid she could dress up and pet, not someone shy and skinny and stupid, hanging her head in a corner. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

  I do—but she's looking at her watch. I know she's already late for work.

  “No, it's OK. I'll be all right. I'm not a baby,” I say, though I feel like a little kid on her first day at nursery school. That makes me think of meeting Vicky and I have to rush out the house quick before I burst into tears.

  If I run I can't cry at the same time. I only make it to the end of the street and then I have to stop, my heart banging. Vicky was mad to think I'd ever make the fun run. Oh, why, why, why didn't I say yes, though—and then we'd have walked home, arms linked, and we'd be together now, going to school on an ordinary Monday, the two of us—

  “We're still the two of us, idiot!”

  “Oh Vicky!” I rush toward her, arms out.

  “Hey, hey! People are staring at you, you nutter! Talking to yourself and hugging thin air. Whisper, remember?”

  “Where have you been? ” I whisper, trying to hold her hand tight—only all I can feel is my own palm.

  “I have been wafting through the ether, wailing and weeping and haunting folk. Isn't that what ghosts are supposed to do?”

  “Why can't you be serious? Oh, Vicky, I've missed you so.”

  “That's what you're supposed to feel when someone you love dies, OK?”

  “I thought I'd just imagined you.”

  “Cheek! You couldn't possibly. No one can make me up. I'm unique!”

  She sticks out her tongue at me. It looks so real, so pointy pink and glistening, and yet when I try to touch it my finger stays dry.

  “Ah-ah! I'll bite next time,” says Vicky. “Hey, you look dreadful, do you know that? What's the matter with your hair?”

  I brush it out of my eyes, scraping it back behind my ears. I don't think I've washed it or even combed it since Friday. It feels limp and lifeless. Vicky's hair couldn't look more vibrant, the sun glinting gold on her auburn waves just like a halo.

  “You look like … an angel.”

  “Oh, puh-lease! Still, feel free to worship me.”

  “Is that where you've been?” I whisper.

  “What?”

  I glance upward.

  Vicky cracks up laughing. “Since when have you turned into a religious nut, Jade?”

  “Since when have you turned into a ghost?” I retort. I eye her up and down. She's still wearing her black-and-silver outfit. I have a quick peek at her back to check she hasn't sprouted a matching pair of silver wings.

  “Stop staring at me! I have yet to ascend any heavenly ladder. Or indeed tumble into the pit of hellfire.”

  “Don't!”

  “It's OK. I'm not going anywhere. Yet. I'm stuck here. Hanging out with you.”

  “But you haven't been all weekend.”

  “I was with my mum.”

  “I thought you said she can't see you.”

  “I can see her. And I can see you too. I spotted you and your mum having a nose round outside my place on Sunday.” She laughs at my guilty expression.

  “I just wanted to see you, Vic.”

  “Well, you're seeing me now, aren't you? I'm here for your eyes only. But like I said, you've got to stop gawping. People will think you've gone off your head. Mind you, your best friend has just been tragically killed so maybe you're entitled to go a bit loopy. Come on, let's go to school. I want to see what everyone's saying about me.”

  “Trust you, Vicky. You've always got to be the center of attention, even when you're dead.”

  I give her a little poke in her tummy, my finger going straight through her and out the other side.

  “Ouch!” Vicky shrieks, doubling up.

  “Oh God, have I hurt you? I didn't mean … I thought … Oh, Vicky!”

  She's shrieking with laughter now.

  “Fooled you! Only quit poking me whether I can feel it or not. Come on.”

  She starts running and I stumble after her, scared she might disappear again. She's an even faster runner without any gravity to weigh her down. She turns the corner into the school road long before I do. I catch her up outside school. She's standing where the accident happened. She's not alone. There are crowds there, loads of adults as well as half the students from our school. Lots of them are crying or hugging each other or crouched down, looking. There's a carpet of flowers and cards and little cuddly toys right across the pavement and entwined all over the railings.

  “Wow!” says Vicky. “It's just like I'm Princess Diana!”

  People are turning, pointing, staring. For a moment I think they can see Vicky too. Then I realize they're all staring at me. There are murmurings, whisperings, and then sudden flashes. I blink, white lights flaring in front of my eyes.

  “So you're Vicky's best friend, are you? Were you with her when she got run over? How did it happen? What does it feel like now, with Vicky gone?”

  I stare at this reporter, hardly able to believe it.

  “What a nerve!” says Vicky. “Tell him to clear off and mind his own business.” She tells him herself in much more colorful language. Someone else is swearing too. It's Fatboy Sam. He's only in Year Nine like me but he's tall as well as fat and he easily elbows the reporter out of the way.

  “Leave her alone, you creep. She doesn't want to talk to you,” he says. He seizes me by the arm, pushing us both through the crowd. I peer round anxiously, scared of losing sight of Vicky, but she's right behind me, eyebrows raised.

  “Hey, I didn't know Fatboy Sam had a thing about me,” she giggles. “He looks really upset, doesn't he?”

  He's still clinging to me, steering me inside the school.

  “Well done, Sam,” says Mrs. Cambridge, rushing
down the corridor. “Oh, Jade! I can't believe it.”

  She puts her arm round me, she puts her arm round Sam, and hugs us both! Mrs. Cambridge, the fiercest teacher in the whole school, who was forever giving Vicky detentions for cheek! And now she's in tears.

  “This is incredible!” says Vicky, dancing round us. “You and Fatboy Sam and Mrs. Cambridge having a love-in over me!”

  Then Mr. Failsworth, the head, comes out of his study and even he looks watery-eyed behind his glasses. He mutters about Terrible Tragedies and Special Prayers in Assembly and asks if I want to say a word seeing as Vicky was my best friend?

  “I think it might be too much of a strain for Jade,” Mrs. Cambridge says firmly. “I wonder if you should even be in school today? You look in such a state of shock still.”

  It's partly because it's so weird seeing Vicky capering about, pulling silly faces and doing deadly imitations of Mr. Failsworth, hands together with a holy look on her face. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself bursting out laughing. Vicky hams it up even more and I give a little snort—but then instead of laughter it's tears. I'm crying in front of Mr. Failsworth and Mrs. Cambridge and Fatboy Sam. This is just too totally bizarre.

  Mrs. Cambridge takes me off to the staff cloakroom and holds me while I weep, and then she washes my face and holds a wodge of paper towels to my sore eyes and takes me back to the staff room for a cup of tea. This all takes so much time that I've missed Assembly altogether.

  And I've missed Vicky. She's gone. Sometime while I was crying with Mrs. Cambridge she got bored and drifted off and left me on my own.

  “I want Vicky back,” I whisper.

  “I know, I know,” Mrs. Cambridge murmurs, though she doesn't know at all.

  Mr. Lorrimer comes in in his tracksuit and squats down beside me. “I'm so terribly sorry, Jade,” he says softly. He takes my hand and gives it a little squeeze. Half the girls would die of envy because Mr. Lorrimer is a real dreamboat, thick dark hair, big brown eyes, a real six-pack stomach—no wonder Vicky wanted to join his Fun Run Club.