Toxic

by Nicci Cloke

  We ended up staying there for hours, skipping the afternoon’s lessons. It wasn’t like me, but then I wasn’t exactly feeling like me that week at all. And there was something lovely about lying there in the middle of the field, just us, like nothing else existed. Talking about silly stuff, nothingy stuff, watching the thinnest wisps of cloud drift slowly across the sky.

  ‘Ha!’ I rolled onto my front and clicked onto an article in the search results I’d just pulled up. ‘I knew it. Here we go: “Nutella was invented in Italy during World War Two.” I told you it wasn’t American!’

  ‘All right, fair,’ Nate said. ‘You win, Miss Lin.’

  ‘For that piece of useless knowledge, you get the last brownie, Dais,’ JB said, leaning over to pass it to me. I reached out to take it, barely noticing my phone vibrating on the blanket beside me.

  JB noticed though. I glanced down just in time to see the message he’d already read.

  Nice tits! Send me a pic? ;)

  Grant Tyrell from the rugby team.

  I flipped the phone over, turned to Charlotte. ‘So are you going to message Billy about this party then?’

  But when the conversation moved on, I kept catching JB watching me. A thoughtful look on his face. A worried look. I tried to smile at him, tried to keep the conversation moving. It was his birthday, and everything felt better and I wanted it to stay that way.

  At about three thirty Nate went into town and came back with more sweets and crisps – we were all sun-lazy by then, full of cake and cheese and not wanting the afternoon to end. Charlotte was on a sugar-high, in the middle of loudly detailing exactly what she liked about Billy Butler, when Nate, laughing, interrupted.

  ‘Jesus, Char, you sound like the female version of Zack.’

  ‘Or Gordon,’ JB said, shaking his head.

  ‘Urgh, don’t mention that man to me,’ Hope said, rolling onto her side and swigging the last dregs in her can. ‘I still can’t believe the nerve he had turning up the other night.’

  My heart turned to ice in my chest even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  ‘Turning up where?’ Nate asked, sitting up.

  ‘At Daisy’s …’ Hope trailed off, realising halfway through that I hadn’t told any of the others.

  ‘He did what?’ JB asked, his face turning hard.

  I felt all of their eyes on me, a cool breeze lifting the grass around us. ‘Oh, it was nothing,’ I tried to say. ‘I guess he heard about the rumours.’

  ‘He was trying to shut you up,’ Hope said quietly.

  I was silent then, looking down at the weave of the blanket.

  ‘I can’t fucking believe this,’ Nate said, but everyone else was quiet too.

  ‘Can we just not talk about it?’ I asked. ‘We were having such a nice afternoon.’

  ‘But, Daisy –’ Georgie started, but JB put a hand on her shoulder and she stopped.

  ‘Dais is right,’ he said. ‘Let’s not let the Conways ruin this. Anyone up for a game of cards?’

  THE SUN WAS setting by the time I got home, still warm with sugar and heat. The battery on my phone had finally given up at about 4 p.m. and I felt light, unanchored in some way. I felt like things were OK again.

  And then I rounded the corner onto my street, and saw Logan standing outside my front door.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, and we both stood and looked at each other.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  The hallway was dark after a day outside and I had to blink to get my eyes to adjust. I turned away from Logan, hanging my jacket on the banister, glad my parents were out for dinner that night. Conscious of being close to him in that small space, of all the times he’d walked through that door and into my arms. I took a step back, trying to push the thoughts away.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  He gave me a small smile. ‘Cup of tea would be good.’

  I waited for the kettle to boil while he sat at the kitchen table, looking down at his hands.

  ‘How have you been?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve been sad,’ I said. ‘But I’m doing OK. How are you?’ I set his tea down in front of him and then retreated to the other side of the table, not sure how close I should be.

  ‘I need to talk to you about something,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know who else to go to.’

  ‘OK.’ My heart beat against my chest like it might burst free.

  ‘It’s Hope,’ he said. The very last two words I’d expected to emerge.

  ‘Hope?’

  ‘I know you two have got close lately …’ He reached out to pick up his tea and then changed his mind, wrapping his hands round it instead. ‘I guess she’s probably told you about Emily.’

  I nodded.

  ‘The thing is, I’ve kept in touch with Ness. It’s been eating me up, Daisy. Thinking about how I let Hope down, how I let you down … And then there was Emily. I guess it all got muddled up in my head. I wanted to help, do something.’

  ‘OK.’ My pulse was slowing, the panic fading. ‘That doesn’t sound so bad.’

  For the first time he looked up from the table, his eyes locking on mine. ‘Emily’s dead, Dais.’

  I felt like I’d been punched. ‘What? How do you know?’

  ‘Ness called me this morning. She’s in bits.’

  ‘But … Oh my God. What happened?’

  ‘They’re not sure, but they finally found the bloke’s car she was seen getting in. It had gone off a cliff. It had sunk, they’d probably never have found them – but some fishing boat went off course during a storm and saw a bit of the bumper floating there.’

  ‘Oh, Logan.’ I reached out and took his hand, and he squeezed mine back.

  ‘They reckon the guy was drunk, trying to impress her. Just drove straight off the fucking cliff.’

  ‘That’s so awful.’

  ‘I know.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I know it’s stupid to be upset. I only met the girl once, for fucksake. I just feel so bad for her family, her mates. Like I said, it’s kind of got muddled in my head.’

  ‘It’s OK to be upset,’ I said. ‘It’s all right to care.’

  He sighed, looking up at me again. His hand was still warm in mine. ‘Ness asked if she should call Hope, and I said no. I said I’d tell her.’

  I nodded. ‘I think that was the right thing to say. She’s going to be upset too.’

  ‘Now I wish I’d bottled it,’ he said. ‘I know it really bothered her, what happened. That’s why she stopped messaging Ness. I think she thought …’ He trailed off, eyes on the table again.

  ‘She told me about the night of the booze cruise,’ I said. ‘She’s not mad at you, you know.’

  ‘She should be.’

  ‘Maybe. But she’s not.’

  He was silent again for a while.

  ‘Are you?’

  I thought about it. ‘Maybe frustrated. But no. I don’t think anyone’s as mad with you as you are.’

  He let out a soft little laugh. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

  I let go of his hand and picked up my tea, taking a shaky sip. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I said.

  We talked for a long time, Logan and I. We talked about little things – about the book I was writing, about the exams he’d decided to retake. And we talked about the more important stuff: about how things had been for me, about how he’d been feeling. About how he was finally talking.

  ‘Steph’s on my case,’ he told me. ‘She checks in like twice a day.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a lovely family, Lo. Let them help you.’

  He was quiet then. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘What happened with Zack … I should’ve been there.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have needed to be.’

  ‘Afterwards, I mean. I should’ve spoken to you. I just … I felt like you were better off without me. That sounds so pathetic now.’

  ‘Well, you’re here. And I’m here for you, you know.
’

  It was fully dark outside, the kitchen clock ticking past ten. My parents would be home soon, would be wondering what Logan was doing there. But I didn’t care. I still felt warm from the day, from the tea, from having him there and from all of these words spilling out between us.

  And then his phone rang.

  ‘Probably Steph,’ he said, reaching round the back of the chair to pull it out of his jacket pocket. But when he checked the screen, he was wrong.

  ‘All right, Nate?’ he said, answering.

  And then he listened, his face changing.

  ‘We’ll be right there,’ he said.

  WE ARRIVED AT the hospital twenty-five minutes later. I almost thought Logan was going to run the whole way there, but we got as far as the main road before finding a taxi to flag down.

  Past the sliding doors, the hospital smelled of antiseptic and bleach, something else metallic. A cleaner pulled a mop slowly across the speckled vinyl floor and a little girl sat on her mum’s lap, crying.

  Logan strode over to the reception desk, me hurrying after him.

  ‘We need to see JB … no, sorry, Jonathan Brown,’ Logan said, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

  ‘Are you family?’ the receptionist asked, hands moving quickly over her keyboard.

  ‘We’re his friends,’ I said. ‘Please.’

  ‘Daisy!’

  We both turned at the sound of my name. Hope was standing in the mouth of the corridor, still in her outfit from school but with her feet shoved into UGG-style slippers and her hair pulled up in an untidy knot.

  ‘Oh my God.’ I ran over to her, skidding on the wet floor, Logan close behind me. ‘Is he OK? What the hell happened?’

  ‘He’s through here,’ Hope said, and I saw how puffy and red her eyes were. ‘He’s a mess, guys.’

  We followed her through a set of double doors and into a ward, hushed voices and bleeping machines, two nurses shushing past in blue scrubs. Hope padded across to a bay, pushing back the curtain, and Logan and I followed her. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  Nate was sitting beside the bed, his hand on the mattress holding JB’s.

  And JB.

  Well, you remember.

  One eye swollen shut, a storm of purple clouding the side of his face. Dried blood around his nose and mouth, his jaw jutting at a strange angle.

  ‘Oh, mate,’ Logan said, slipping past me and going to the other side of the bed, squeezing JB’s other hand. His voice thick as he asked: ‘Who did this?’

  Hope and I stood at the end of the bed, her arm round me.

  And out the story came.

  You already know it of course.

  HERE’S HOW IT GOES:

  He knocks on your door a little after seven. Too many beers, too many circling thoughts, words he’s decided he has to let out. He stands on your doorstep and tells you that what you are doing is wrong. That the messages I’m receiving from your friends are wrong. That cutting him out of your life because of his sexuality is wrong.

  He says you say nothing.

  He says you seem ashamed.

  But when he’s done speaking, he says you ask him to leave.

  ‘It’s your life,’ you say. ‘But I can’t be around it.’

  He’s upset, he’s drunk. He tells you again that you are wrong.

  He tells you this loudly.

  Loud enough that your brother and your dad come out to see what’s going on.

  They tell him to leave too. They laugh at his tears.

  And you laugh right along with them.

  And then, when he’s walking home in the growing dark, three sets of footsteps follow him.

  Your brother and his friends.

  Who found they had something to say to him after all.

  WHEN JB FINISHED telling his story, Nate stood up, suddenly, like he couldn’t bear to have the words near him.

  ‘I’m going round there.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Logan said, quietly. His hand still held JB’s. ‘Don’t give them the satisfaction, Nate. Let the police handle it instead – it’ll hurt them far more.’

  Nate snorted but he sat back down. ‘I’d like to see Freddie go back to Oxford once he’s done for a hate crime.’

  I sank down onto the end of the bed, resting a hand on JB’s foot. ‘What do you need, babe?’

  He smiled at me, wincing with the effort. ‘We can’t get hold of Georgie. Can you try her again? Mum and David are still on their flight.’

  ‘Yeah, sure –’ I found my phone in my bag, turned to leave. But the curtain was already being pulled back, someone else stepping in.

  And, of course, it was you.

  It was Hope who moved first, her eyes flashing angrily. ‘Get out,’ she said, blocking your way, her voice trembling. ‘Get out of here right now, Zack.’

  ‘Fuck,’ you said, your eyes on JB. ‘Mate, I –’

  ‘He is not your mate,’ Nate growled. ‘Hope’s right. You need to leave.’

  ‘I didn’t know …’ You were stammering, your face pale. I’d never seen you so lost, so uncertain.

  I almost felt sorry for you.

  Almost.

  And then your eyes locked on me. ‘Daisy, I –’

  ‘You should leave,’ I told you, and my hands were shaking.

  Logan got up from his place beside the bed. ‘You heard them, Zack,’ he said, walking round towards you. ‘It’s time to go.’

  ‘Lo … JB … I swear I didn’t know they were gonna –’

  ‘That’s not the point, Zack,’ Logan said. ‘You started this. And you can’t fix it.’

  ‘Lo, please.’ Your voice cracked, and we all held our breath. Everything was cracking. ‘It’s my dad,’ you said. ‘He puts pressure on me. He expects me to be a certain way, you know. It’s always been like that, since we were kids. He’s always telling me I’ve got to be a man, can’t let the side down.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’ The words left my mouth before I realised I’d thought them. ‘Don’t blame other people.’

  ‘Please, Zack.’ JB’s voice was muffled through the swelling, through the gauze they’d pushed into his cheek to stop the bleeding from a tooth your brother’s friend cracked with a fist. ‘Just go.’

  And you looked at him, at each of us.

  Then you turned and you left.

  But not before I saw the first tear fall.

  AND HERE WE are, Zack. One year on. Another plane, another blue sky.

  And everything has changed.

  We’ve had an early start, and Hope leans her head against my shoulder, sleepily flicking through a magazine she bought at the gate.

  ‘You guys hungry?’ JB, on the end, offering out the Haribo he picked up there too.

  His face looks better, finally. There’s still a small scar near his jaw, left by a fragment of stone as someone stamped his head into the ground. His nose is ever so slightly crooked, though only he can tell, can point out where the break happened.

  But he’s good. We haven’t even taken off yet, and already he’s got his phone out, sending a message to Paul, the boy from Southfield he met at an end-of-sixth-form party we went to a couple of weeks ago. Somehow I think we’ll be seeing more of him this summer.

  ‘I’ll have some,’ Nate says, pushing his head between Hope and JB’s seats. He’s ended up next to Charlotte and Georgie, who are already planning where they want to go tonight, poring over Georgie’s guidebook and poking each other in excitement. Nate’s playing along for now, but I’ve got a feeling he’s hungover from last night and would rather put in his earphones and get some sleep.

  He’s been brilliant, you know. To all of us. It was him who suggested this holiday, who did all the research and collected deposits. It’s him who’s kept on at Logan to talk to him, to go on jogs round the park or – this will surprise you – to play a round of golf on a Saturday morning. Logan says somehow it’s easier to talk that way, in the quiet of the course, both of them walking or taking their shot,
eyes on the horizon. So they’re talking, they’re golfing, and Nate is there for whatever Logan needs him to be there for. For whatever JB needs him to be there for. And for me too.

  He even tried to be there for you, didn’t he? Him and Logan both, despite everything. After the police had visited, after Freddie and his friends were arrested, after you were questioned, after all of it. They reached out to you. They gave you a chance, remembering, maybe, those tears you shed as you left the hospital.

  You didn’t return their calls.

  You sent a text to Nate: We’re done. At school you avoided them, all of us. Hung out with your rugby friends, with Emma, your new girlfriend in the year below. You went to Freddie’s trial and you watched as your dad’s fancy lawyer got him off, as his best friend got sentenced to three years in jail. You got out of your dad’s big shiny car every morning until the day you passed your driving test, and then you swung the big shiny car he bought you into a space in the student car park every morning instead.

  You chose. I guess we all had to.

  ‘Hey, Dais!’ Dev’s face appears through the seats to my left, his eyes sliding right to see me. ‘You bring the thing?’

  ‘Shh!’ I nod. It’s Hope’s birthday tomorrow; we’re planning a surprise birthday party on the beach. Ibiza for your eighteenth – pretty cool, huh? I have a card in my suitcase, pages and pages of messages from all of us, from people at school, photos printed out and glued all over. She’s going to love it, and also hate the fact we’ve made so much effort just for her. I can’t wait.

  I’m proud of Dev, even though it took me a while to forgive him. He’s the most dedicated of us, now he’s decided what it is he wants to do. It’s weird, isn’t it – it seems so obvious now that he’d be a brilliant primary-school teacher. I guess I didn’t realise how much he loved his cousins’ kids, how he babysat them a lot of the time. Maybe he didn’t realise that was a path for him, but now he does, he’s taking it seriously. He was the first to get his UCAS application in, and he’s the only one who has plans after we get back next week – he’s off to Spain, his TEFL course finished months ago.