by Emily Gale
‘Just a bit.’ He looks stunned. I can’t run, he’s blocking the door. I don’t know what to say as his face turns from shock to a softer, accusatory kind of confusion. ‘Do you wanna tell me what you’re doing?’
I’m so ashamed, I hold out the tile and he takes it.
‘A and L. Is this supposed to mean something to me?’ He holds it up. A and L and a drawing of two people holding hands.
‘I used to come here when I was a little girl. I think I did that drawing years and years ago.’
‘But you broke in. Why didn’t you just ask me?’
‘I had a key.’
‘Yeah, and we trusted you. You’ve been looking after my niece – what kind of person are you?’
I don’t know. I really don’t have a clue what kind of person I am. I feel sick.
‘Will you let me out?’ I feel a tear slip down my face and get rid of it with the back of my hand.
‘Of course.’ He steps out of the doorway, and I walk quickly past him. ‘Adie.’ He holds out the tile.
‘I can take it?’
‘If it’s that important to you. But I don’t want you looking after Piper.’
Hours later, I wake with a start in my bedroom, curled inside my chair. The first image that comes to me is of Tav’s face when he found me standing in his bedroom. I picture him telling Piper why I can’t come over any more. I imagine the way she’d pronounce the words. Sneak. Thief. The loss of Piper’s affection is the worst. The thought of all three of them thinking I’m scum is a high price to pay for a single tile. It had better be worth it.
A train rumbles distantly and brings back a memory I had that night we got back to number twenty-nine. The sound of my rollerskates on the wooden floors. High-fiving my imaginary friend. Maybe she wasn’t imaginary. Maybe she was L.
A for Adie.
L for Letty.
I get to English class early, grab the seat I want and shove my bag on the one next to it for Wren.
‘Hey,’ says a voice in the back corner. Juliet.
‘Hey.’ I turn back to face the front. You can spend hours with someone in a small space, but as soon as you’re in the real world it’s awkward again. Maybe I should have said more than ‘hey’ just now, but then Wren walks in and I move my bag so she can sit down. It’s good to be near her; it feels like I’ve hardly seen her lately.
Hari takes a seat on the other side of Wren, Matt joins the end of the row and the three of them get into a conversation about the novel we’re supposed to be reading. The one I haven’t started yet. The classroom is filling up with bodies, their noises rise and spread. Wren is right there next to me, but she feels far away.
I can’t get …
How do I …?
Then Adie walks in.
‘Hey, stranger,’ says Wren. ‘Sit here.’
There’s some shuffling to my left as I’m trying to figure out why it feels like Adie and Wren know each other better than I thought they did.
Hari and Matt move up a seat, and before I can react, Wren has shifted up one as well. Adie has one old sneaker up on the table right by my arm and she effortlessly steps up and lands clean on the other side, next to me.
‘Hi,’ she says to me.
I freeze. I always sit next to Wren in this class.
‘Milo, this is Adie,’ says Wren, leaning around.
‘I know,’ I say.
‘Milo’s awesome, by the way,’ says Wren.
Adie smiles at me again. I hunch over my desk, pretending to read the back cover of the novel. When I sneak a look, my whole row plus Matt are in a huddle.
Ten minutes in and Mr Witheridge still hasn’t shown up. The fishbowl gets rowdier and I can’t concentrate. I’ve read page one seven times. The words are stuck to the page. I look at Tom at the front of the class with his headphones on. I should do that. I can feel myself edging towards anxiety. The heat in here. The smell, building. Too many voices. But if I put on my headphones and take refuge in Minecraft, I could miss something Wren says or lose my chance to be included in their conversation. I look behind me at Juliet. She’s staring at Wren and the others. Our eyes meet accidentally, so I look at my book again. I’ve never wanted to see my grumpy, elbow-patched English teacher more.
‘Where’s Mr Shakespeare-Twat-Face?’ says Christian. ‘Heart attack on the way to school, I reckon.’
His mates laugh with him. ‘Caught with porn,’ says one.
‘Could you just not for once?’ Wren flings in their general direction.
‘Don’t stress, it wouldn’t be goth porn. No one wants to look at you naked.’
She holds up a middle finger. I wish I could think of something clever to say to defend her. The insults fire back and forth between them. Death Eater. Excrement. Lezza. Slug.
‘You know, you used to be a half-decent human being,’ Hari says to Christian.
Wren slams her hand on the desk. ‘Are you serious? Him?’
‘Yeah, we got married in the playground in Year Two. Remember, hubby?’
There’s a bit of laughter, especially from Christian’s mates.
‘As if I’d go near you,’ he says. ‘Ugly feminist freak.’
‘I know you are, but what am I?’
‘Retro comebacks give me life,’ says Matt, and they high-five each other.
Hari starts singing a tune – the one that comes at the start of a wedding – and a few others join in: dar-da-da-da, dar-da-da-da.
Over the din, a voice from the back of the class says, ‘It was a Thursday. Under the pergola.’
At first I think it’s just me who hears, but then Hari reacts: ‘What’s that, Juliet?’
Juliet has a funny look on her face. Like she’s about to be sick. ‘I said it was a Thursday.’
‘What was?’
‘The day you married Christian in the playground. Next to the friendship bench. We used leaves as confetti. Luca was the best man. And then we had Art.’
Her voice hangs there for a moment. She has everyone’s attention.
‘Are you serious?’ says Hari. ‘How’d you know what day of the week it was?’
‘I’m … good at that sort of thing.’
Hari gets up and climbs onto the desk behind, closer to Juliet. ‘Talk about hiding your light. So what else do you remember?’
‘Everything.’ Juliet shrugs, then raises her eyes and smiles my way. ‘Not exactly everything, but lots of details that most people forget.’
‘We always knew you were a weirdo,’ says Christian. He puts his feet on the table, right by Wren’s arm. ‘Do you remember the day you had a mental fit and fell on top of Milo?’
‘That was only a few weeks ago,’ I say. ‘Juliet can remember much further back.’
They all laugh, and I look at Wren.
‘He was taking the piss,’ she says quietly.
Damn. Of course he was. I turn my back on them and try to disappear.
‘Maybe that was Juliet’s way of flirting with you, Milo,’ says Billy.
‘Holy hell!’ Christian laughs. ‘Maybe that’s how freaks do it. Hey, Juliet, didn’t you know Milo’s gay?’
Wren lobs a book across the room, which misses Christian’s head, and he hoots loudly, picks it off the floor and flings it at the whiteboard with incredible force. It smacks and all the pages flutter apart.
‘Brilliant,’ says Wren. I look at her face – she doesn’t mean brilliant. She looks like a storm.
‘Can everyone please chill? So how does it work?’ Hari asks Juliet. ‘Do we say a date and you tell us what happened?’
‘Well, there are lots of dates when I didn’t see anything that interesting, so you might get a bunch of stuff about what I had for dinner or what the weather was like or what was on the news. But I can pluck out some memories from primary school. If you want.’
‘Me first!’ yells Christian. ‘Tell me something awesome I did.’
‘Good luck with that,’ says Wren.
‘Okay, Christian, I’ll give y
ou one first.’
All heads turn.
‘Milo, mate, she wants to give me one. How d’you feel about that?’
How do I feel? I feel like leaving right now. I feel like Juliet should stop. I feel like all this laughter and chaos is creating a rash under my uniform. My legs won’t be still, my left fingers tap against my thumb under the desk, and my other hand tugs on the fabric of my shorts. I’m heading towards a state that I expend all my energy avoiding at school. That’s how I feel.
Juliet stares at Christian. Now all heads swivel to him.
‘When you were in Year Three, you wet yourself on school camp.’ As everyone laughs, Christian’s smile collapses. ‘We were waiting in line to go on the giant swing. I was behind you. You ran over to this huge patch of mud and rolled around in it for a joke, but I knew it was just to hide the wet patch from everyone.’
‘Bullshit,’ he says, and takes his legs off the table.
‘Mate, I remember you covered in mud!’ laughs Billy. ‘Was that really why?’
Christian waves the comment away, but he’s gone quiet.
‘Billy, do you remember when Christian stabbed you with a fork?’ asks Juliet.
The boys look at each other.
‘I’d forgotten about that,’ says Billy. ‘That was a low move.’
‘We were kids!’ says Christian. He waves Juliet away again. ‘Get back in your corner, freak.’
He looks at Billy, but Billy ignores him.
Juliet smiles and says, ‘Hari.’
‘Me next?’ Hari sits up straighter. ‘Okay, hit me.’
Juliet gives Hari three memories: she broke her wrist falling off the monkey bars, came dressed as Cruella de Vil the day before Book Day, and took the blame for the class when the teacher said no one was going to lunch until whoever had put an orange down one of the girls’ toilets owned up. I don’t remember any of these things.
‘Wow, what a mind-fuck,’ says Hari. ‘I’ve never forgotten the Cruella day, but I haven’t thought about the other two since the day they happened. How are you doing this?’
Juliet doesn’t answer. She carries on going around the class, handing out memories to everyone we were at primary school with, and early high-school memories to those who weren’t. She even remembers what Tom was eating when the canteen flooded. She describes him calmly eating tacos while everyone else piled out of the room.
‘Tommy boy!’ Christian leans over his desk to pat Tom on the shoulder.
Tom flinches but remains straight-faced. Everyone else is fired up. I’m still panicking about where this is all leading. I keep thinking I should walk out, take the emergency exit. Can I trust Juliet not to drag me into this? Can I trust the others not to make her? I can’t have my past laid out here in this classroom. I don’t want Wren to see it. My life at high school is a million times better, which only goes to show what a nightmare those years were – before I had Dan and Wren, before I’d started the work on how to survive in a neurotypical world.
Poppy and Scarlet, who are pretty and popular, barge through to get to Juliet and ask to be next. I doubt they’ve ever spoken to her in their lives. Juliet reminds them that in primary school Scarlet wasn’t allowed in Poppy’s gang and didn’t get invited to Poppy’s ninth birthday party.
Scarlet hits Poppy on the arm. ‘Hey, meanie!’
‘But I love you now,’ says Poppy.
‘When did we even become friends?’ says Scarlet. Both girls look at Juliet.
‘Term Two, Year Five. The three of us worked on a Science project.’
‘Oh yeah!’ they say in unison. Then they’re all over each other. ‘This is amazing, Juliet. Do more!’
Juliet’s eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, but now she’s looking at Adie.
And everyone waits.
At that moment, I hear a booming voice from the corridor and Mr Witheridge walks in: ‘The time is out of joint – O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!’
Whatever the hell that means, I’m grateful that he’s here. The show is over. I turn to the front of the classroom again and concentrate on the second hand of the clock ticking steadily on the wall.
After Mr Witheridge dismisses us, I stay seated and pack up slowly while everyone else files out.
‘Coming for lunch?’ says Wren. I shake my head; she takes the hint.
I remember that playground wedding in Year Two. I don’t see it in detail, but it’s a single leaf caught on a breeze, vexingly out of reach. As I stand to leave and put my bag strap over my shoulder, I try to imagine having a memory like Juliet’s for a day.
Someone else is in the room. Tom stares at me from his chair at the front.
‘Yeah?’ I say, but he doesn’t react. ‘What?’
Tom frowns. ‘Why don’t you sit next to Letty any more?’
‘Letty? Wait, you know her? She goes to this school?’ I navigate the desks to get closer to him. ‘I need to find her. Can you help?’
Tom points to the back corner, to Juliet’s seat. Then he stands and puts on his backpack. He’s over six feet tall, well-built, quiet and gentle. And I know him. He’s Big Tom from primary school. I never saw him properly till now.
‘I remember you,’ I say.
‘I remember you, Adie,’ he says, and he walks out just like that.
My heart is racing. I look again at Juliet’s corner.
Letty, short for Juliet.
But she didn’t say a word about me when she was giving out memories like candy. So either she’s forgotten me – which seems impossible after what she did today – or she remembers me and she has a reason not to say.
At lunchtime I realise I only have fifty cents in my pocket. I buy a single hash brown and walk self-consciously through the cafeteria and past the lockers. I cross the main courtyard towards the playing fields. I feel light-headed, strung out about Aslan and my mother, Tom who remembers me, and Letty-Juliet. Which is when I spot her under a peppercorn tree.
Under a peppercorn tree, earbuds in, I’m halfway through a guided meditation. The voice belongs to a regional British guy, maybe from Yorkshire or … somewhere else friendly and hilly. Listening to him reminds me of reading an old book set in a mining village or a cotton factory or the wild moors. Somewhere full of hardship and salt-of-the-earth types drinking a lot of tea after having to bury the sickliest child in a brood of fifteen. He’s Dickon from The Secret Garden, all grown up and teaching people how to relax.
Notice the way your feet make contact with the ground. Now, in your own time, close your eyes softly.
Okay, Dickon. However, it’s my bum making contact with the dry earth around the tree and, for safety reasons, I’m keeping my eyes open a fraction. I can feel my connective tissue unwinding and my lungs filling properly for the first time since class.
Don’t worry if your mind wanders off during this session; just gently bring it back.
Yes, Dickon, I’m trying really hard not to think about making a total fool of myself by telling everyone I’ve got a bizarre super-memory.
Remember, this is a moment for you to be fully present, fully with yourself.
I think I’d find Dickon’s voice relaxing even if he was spouting a bunch of random phrases: easy as pie, cut the mustard, carrying on like a pork chop, scarce as hen’s teeth.
Milo’s got the right voice for this too. Soft, focused. Milo speaks to people as if he actually has time for the conversation.
Although, all I got today was ‘hey’.
Hey!
Heyyyyy!
Huh.
And now I’m gently bringing my mind back from that depressing thought … I picture Dickon nodding his approval.
From this spot, the other students look miles away. All the little packs of them now utterly, wonderfully silent as Dickon tells me we’re about to start breathing – proper breathing, not the fake breathing that anxious people like me do all day.
The peppercorn tree reaches over me, blocking most of the sun. Its br
anches bob in the breeze and I’m cocooned. None of the stories going on out there can get to me past Dickon’s soothing voice, and when he says, How are you feeling right now? I think, I feel quite good, thanks, Dickon.
Breathe in – 1 – breathe out – 2 – breathe in – 3 – breathe out – 4.
But now Adie appears to be walking towards me.
Breathe in – 5. I bet she’ll change direction.
Breathe out – 6. She’s looking at me.
Breathe in – 7. Has she remembered who I am?
Breathe out – 8. If she isn’t coming over to apologise for forgetting her best friend, to beg on her knees for my forgiveness …
Breathe in – 9. I’m going to be extremely pissed.
She stops at my feet.
I take out my earbuds and there’s no breathing out for 10.
‘Hi … so, this is weird,’ I say.
‘Is it?’
Letty-Juliet gives me a look that’s both angry and nervous. I think she does remember me – the old version of me that I left behind.
‘Can I sit with you?’
She nods. This is the closest we’ve been. Her tight curls are big and wild, as if there are branches underneath. On her nose and cheeks there are dark scattered dots like faraway stars. I know this face, those pretty dots. How do I begin? I look down and dig into the dirt with a small stick.
‘I lived here a long time ago. But you know that, don’t you?’
She clears her throat and shifts.
‘My memory isn’t like yours,’ I say. ‘I’m trying to open doors that have rusted shut.’
‘Are you,’ she says bluntly, not a question. She does know me. I’m starting to understand how angry she is. When she stormed out of class that first day, afterwards everyone said she was scared of something – the teacher, they guessed. But they were wrong. She looks furious now – is that what she was then?
‘But I did remember that I had a friend.’ I drop the stick and look at her again. ‘A really good friend. And I remember a tree. And being next door, in my friend’s house. Which might have been your house once. And rollerskating in the hall.’
I try to remember more but nothing’s solid. Is that how memory works? That if you don’t keep going back to look – if no one takes you there – it loses structure until it’s dust. For some reason, Dad didn’t want me to remember. He never talked about Letty, or my mother, or our house on Angus Road. There were no photos or videos. As we moved around, he called us free spirits, discarding possessions along the way, picking up second-hand things that contained someone else’s past.
