I almost don’t hear them at first, the voices. When I do, I keep my face turned to the sea. I don’t know how long they’ve been there, when I hear one of them shout:
‘Alex? Is that you?’
Reluctantly, I look down. It’s Sarah’s brother, Louis, at the base of the rock – my rock – looking up at me.
‘What are you doing up there? One freak wave and you’re history.’ He starts to climb up.
I look out to sea.
‘Come on down,’ he says, reaching me. ‘You’re getting soaked. Here, give me your hand. Let me help.’
‘I don’t want help.’ A wave crashes overhead, spraying us.
‘Jesus! Are you on a suicide mission or something?’
‘Go away, Louis.’
‘Come on . . . We’ve got booze.’ He nods to his two mates, back at base. One is passing a naggin to the other. ‘What’re you doing anyway?’ he asks, when I don’t respond. ‘Not like you to bunk off.’
‘How would you know?’
I start to climb down. Away from him. All I want is to be alone. That’s all. It’s not much.
‘Careful,’ he says, negotiating his way down beside me.
I reach the bottom. ‘See you, Louis.’
I have to pass his mates to leave. All they say is, ‘Hey’, but somehow he ends up introducing us.
‘This is Alex,’ he says to them, cheerfully, like we’re at a party or something. To me, he says, ‘Johnny. Rob.’
I raise my chin. They raise theirs. Louis puts out his hand for the naggin. Rob passes it over. Louis takes a swig and gives it to me. And I’m thinking, alcohol kills pain, right? I knock it back. It’s like swallowing fire. I spit it out like dragon breath. Then they’re laughing. I hand the naggin back to Louis and I’m walking away.
‘Hey! Where you going?’ I run up the steps.
‘Alex, stop. Hang on.’ He’s coming after me.
I stop. ‘What?’
‘There’s a party later . . . If you want to come.’
‘Do I look like I want to party?’ I say.
‘Maybe you look like you need to party,’ he smiles. ‘Here, can I borrow your phone for a sec?’
I look at him.
‘It’s an emergency.’
I doubt that. Still, I pass him my phone because I know that the sooner I do the sooner I can go. I fold my arms so he gets the message to hurry. He starts pressing keys. Then looks up and hands it back.
‘There!’ he says. ‘If you change your mind, you have my number.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Some emergency.’
‘Alex, you really should get out of those clothes.’ Weird, Louis advising the removal of clothes without being suggestive.
I look down and notice, for the first time, that I’m soaked through. And, just like a cartoon character who only falls once she realises she’s run off the cliff, suddenly I feel the cold. It’s like an invasion, coming through me, right to my bones. My teeth start to chatter. Like someone’s flicked a switch, I’m shaking all over. How did I let myself get so wet?
‘Here.’ He’s taking off his coat.
‘I don’t want your coat.’
He holds it out to me. ‘Come on,’ he says, like an adult humouring a child.
It’s warm from his body and too big for me. The sleeves come down over my hands. Then, the weirdest thing, he zips me up, right to the neck. And just for one moment I’m a child again, and my father is protecting me from the world.
‘Thanks,’ I say, and my voice sounds hoarse, even to me.
‘How’ll you get home?’
I remember Mike. Check my watch. ‘Someone’s picking me up in the village at six.’
‘You better go then.’
‘Thanks for the coat. I’ll get it back to you.’
‘Whenever.’
I get to the car park just before Mike. When he sees me, he jumps from the Jeep and strides over to me.
‘What happened you?’ he asks, all concerned.
‘I went for a walk. The sea’s kind of wild so I got a bit wet. Can we go?’
‘Of course. Come on.’ In the car he blasts up the heat.
‘Where did you get the coat?’ He’s looking at me closely in the rear-view mirror.
‘Some guy I know let me borrow it.’
He squints. ‘You sure you’re OK?’
‘Yeah, yeah, fine.’ I look out the window.
When we get home, he doesn’t go to park, as usual, but abandons the car and comes in with me.
‘You better get out of those wet things. I’ll ask Barbara to put on some soup for you.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Alex. This isn’t about hunger. Your lips are blue. You’re shaking all over.’
Right now, it seems easier to just do what he says. So I go up, take off the coat and get straight into the shower, still in my clothes. I stand under it for ages trying to warm up. Eventually, I undress. The only reason I finally come out is that I know Mike will be waiting with the soup. I wrap up warm in extra layers and come downstairs in two pairs of socks and my Uggs, still freezing. When Mike sees me, he hands me the soup.
‘Here, you better bring it back up. You can’t go around with wet hair.’
Mum used to say that.
I go to my room, make myself drink the soup, then dry my hair.
It’s not long before The Rockstar appears.
‘Mike tells me you got wet. What happened?’
I sigh deeply. ‘I went for a walk by the sea. I got wet. No big deal.’
‘How are you feeling?’ he asks, which must kill him. The Rockstar never talks about feelings.
‘Never better,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Do you need anything from me?’
‘No.’ Which is just as well.
‘Should I call the doctor?’
‘No.’
‘How’s the work experience going?’ he asks, like the problem might be there.
‘Fine. Good. I like it.’
‘OK, well, I think you’d better get an early night.’ He comes up to me and does something he hasn’t done in a very long time. He kisses me on the forehead.
‘Ugh, gross,’ I say.
And, just in time, he backs off.
I don’t know why I go to his room. Not to apologise. That’s for sure. Maybe to say goodnight. It’s the first time he’s shown any concern for me in such a long time. And I threw it back in his face. He doesn’t sleep in their old bedroom any more, the place I used to go to kiss them goodnight, even at fifteen, when Mum would sometimes pretend to get stuck in a hug, unable to let go. I don’t knock. Just walk in.
I stop dead. Not believing. I close my eyes. And start to back away. I bump into the door, whacking my head. I open my eyes. And Marsha is looking at me.
‘Oh no,’ she says.
My father’s head slowly turns.
And I’m gone. Running. Down the stairs, through the hall. Homer thinks it’s a game and starts to race along beside me, looking up and barking. I order him back. He whines. I burst through the front door, slamming it behind me. I race out across the lawn. The security lights snap on. I run through the gate that leads down to the sea and am plunged into darkness. I make my way down the narrow path, stumbling, tripping. There’s this: I’ve just seen my father having sex. There’s this: it was with Marsha. There’s this: I thought she was my friend. Mostly, though, there’s this: he’s forgotten my mum.
I race along the beach in the dark. To my left, I hear the waves crash to the shore like they always do, like nothing’s changed. I run and run, my eyes finally adjusting to the dark. The moon comes out from behind a cloud. A bird calls from somewhere I can’t see. I keep running.
Finally, I have to stop. I collapse onto the sand, trying to catch my breath, gripping the pain in my side. How could he do this? To Mum? To me? I used to hate Marsha. Why didn’t I keep it that way? She never cared about me. Just him. Oh my God, I hate her. But not as much as I hate him.
I start to get cold. The kind of cold you get when you cool down after exercise. The kind of cold you get when it’s January and you’re out without a coat. The kind of cold you get when you’ve already frozen to death earlier in the day. I need to get off the beach. I need to get indoors. But I’ve left without money. Without a plan. I check my pockets. All I have is my phone.
Who can you call when you’ve cut off all your friends? Who can you call when you’re escaping from your family? Finally, because I’ve no other choice, I call the last number entered on my phone. Luckily, I always have my phone on private so I don’t have to worry about Louis getting my number.
‘If you want me at that party, pick me up from Killiney Beach.’
‘Alex?’
Is the guy slow? ‘Yes, it’s Alex. Do you want me to go or not?’
‘Yeah, sure. But I don’t have a car.’
‘Find one.’
‘What time will I meet you?’
‘Now.’
‘Now?’
‘Now.’
He laughs. ‘You’re full of surprises. OK. Give me twenty minutes.’
I wonder if I’ll have died of hypothermia by then. I pull up the hoods on my two hoodies. I rub my hands together, then run them up and down my arms. I jog on the spot. Finally, I see him coming onto the beach. He looks around uncertainly. Calls my name. I come up behind him.
‘Hey.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ I laugh.
‘What are you doing on Killiney Beach at eleven at night?’ he asks. ‘What is it with you and the sea?’
‘Let’s go.’
We walk quickly off the beach to the waiting taxi. Getting in, his hand brushes off mine. He looks at me.
‘You’re freezing. Again.’
I remember a scene I want to forget, the scene that brought me to the beach. ‘Kiss me.’
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth is warm, and, for a second, I do forget.
Then I’m pulling back. ‘Thanks.’
He laughs. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Where to?’ asks an unimpressed taxi driver.
Louis gives him an address. Then puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses me again.
We get out of the taxi. Louis takes off his leather jacket and gives it to me.
‘If this keeps up,’ he says, ‘I’m going to run out of clothes.’
The house, a massive Georgian pile, is lit up with purple lighting. There are bouncers at the gate. They’re wearing tuxes, like something out of The Blues Brothers. They look me up and down. Compared to other arriving guests, I’m totally scruffy in my two hoodies, my trackie bottoms and Uggs. Louis puts an arm around me and walks me forward.
They open the gates with, ‘Have a good night.’
We walk up the drive, stones crunching underfoot. Music’s coming from the back of the house, where, behind the garage, I see the roof of a marquee.
‘So,’ Louis says, looking me over slowly, like he’s amused. ‘No short skirt. No make-up. Hair a total mess. You’re seriously trying to impress me here.’
I tug at his T-shirt, which says, ‘National Pornographic’.
‘Who’re you trying to impress with that?’
He looks down at it, then back up with a bad-boy expression. ‘My mum.’
I think, here’s one person who won’t want a piece of my soul.
‘You realise you’re with a seriously dangerous guy here.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Half vampire, half werewolf.’
‘I guess that explains the unibrow.’
He bursts out laughing. ‘You’re funny.’
We get to the marquee. I keep his jacket on. He keeps me to himself all night. Gets rid of Rob and the other guy when they come over. He gets closer and closer, until he’s lifting a strand of my hair, twisting it round a finger and slowly unwinding it. Then he’s kissing me, and my mind is emptying again, the ache is going. Too soon, he lets me go.
‘Back in a sec,’ he says.
My eyes follow him through the crowd. He’s saying something to the guy whose party it is. They look over at me. Then at each other again. Then he’s back, taking my hand and pulling me towards the house. In the hall, there’s no knight in shining armour.
In the bedroom, he closes the door and comes slowly towards me, eyes holding mine. I stand facing him. I let him come. He runs his fingers through my hair to the back of my head, cupping it in his hands. His lips almost touching mine, he says, ‘First time I saw you –’
I cut him off. ‘Got protection?’ I say it like I’m tough, like I’ve done this a million times and I’m not scared. I say it like I’m in charge.
He laughs again. ‘God, I love you.’
And that’s it, right there, the kind of love I need: a love that distracts, that takes away the pain, that promises nothing. A love that’s not love at all.
I close my eyes and let it happen.
It’s over quickly. I wonder what all the fuss is about. He lies beside me, chest rising and falling, rising and falling. I don’t know this person. I close my eyes. Think of my mum, driving me to ballet, fencing, tennis: all those things I wanted so badly to do, then quit as soon as I started. I think about the day she picked me up from school and said, ‘I feel like carrying someone today,’ and did, though, really, I was too big. I think about lying on the sand beside David looking up at the sky, making pictures out of clouds. I think about . . .
‘Are you OK?’
I turn my head. ‘What?’
‘You’re crying.’
‘I am not.’
He runs a thumb along my cheek. It comes back wet.
‘Those aren’t tears.’
No one else would believe me. ‘So, you’re OK?’ Louis asks.
‘Of course I’m OK.’
He breaks into a smile. ‘Good!’
I ignore him. Just look at the ceiling, the blankness of it.
‘Mind if I smoke?’ he asks.
‘Knock yourself out.’
He lights up then passes me the cigarette like we’re sharing a peace pipe. I take a drag. And hand it back slowly, trying not to gag. We’re quiet for a long time. He blows smoke rings and I watch them wobble to the ceiling.
‘So,’ he says, ‘whatever happened with that guy at Sarah’s party?’ And, just like that, the pain is back. ‘You know the guy, good-looking in a surfer-dude sort of way.’
‘I don’t know any surfer dudes,’ I say, grabbing at my clothes.
‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like?’ I shove my arms into my first hoodie and yank it down.
‘Why, though?’
I ignore him. Hurry into the second hoodie. He flings back the covers. I look away.
‘So,’ he says, dragging on his jeans. ‘Not that I make a habit of this or anything but . . . can I’ve your number?’
I have to think fast. ‘I’ll call you,’ I say, not planning to. I want to forget about Louis. Forget I was ever here.
He’s grinning. ‘You don’t talk. You don’t give out your number . . . You sure you’re not a guy?’
I head for the door. ‘You’d better fix the bed.’
‘Oh, right, yeah.’ He flings the duvet back.
I don’t wait. On the way downstairs, I turn on my phone to call a cab. Messages pop up on the screen. Loads of messages, and missed calls. Some from Mike’s number, some from a withheld one – home. The last call was three minutes ago. I close my eyes. Do I really want to go back? Then Louis is beside me. I remember I’ve no money. But I’m not asking him. I feel cheap enough already.
‘I’ll see you, OK?’ I say.
He looks at me for a moment, like he knows it’s the brush-off it is. He shrugs. Smiles. ‘Sure.’
He walks back to the party.
Out on one of the busiest streets in South Dublin, I flag down a taxi. I sit in the back and start trying to forget the biggest mistake of my life. Outside, people sway unsteadily home from parties. One girl is in her bare feet, carrying her shoes. Her boyfrie
nd’s jacket sits across her shoulders. It reminds me of a time I sat in a fairytale garden and shared a bench with a knight. Silent tears glide down my face.
TWENTY-FIVE | ACCIDENT
Before the taxi even stops, the front door of our house swings open. It’s Mike with The Rockstar right behind him. They’re running down the steps.
Wearily, I open the door of the cab.
‘Thank God,’ says The Rockstar. Like he cares.
‘Have you got money? I need it for the cab,’ I say, coldly. This seems to throw him. He stops, roots in his pocket and produces a crumpled twenty. It could be a hanky for all the respect he shows it. I snatch it off him and give it to the driver. I tell him to keep the change. It’s a lot. But The Rockstar has too much anyway and needs to share it around a bit. I slam the door shut, walk past The Rockstar.
‘Are you OK?’ Mike asks me, and I soften when I see how worried he looks.
‘Yeah. Sorry,’ I say to him. But only him.
‘It’s OK, Mike,’ The Rockstar says. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
Mike looks at him, and, for a moment, I think he’s going to object but he just looks at me and says, ‘OK. I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex. Good to have you back.’
Then he turns and disappears into the house.
‘Where were you?’ The Rockstar asks.
‘What do you care?’ I hurry up the steps and through the front door.
But he keeps up. ‘It’s three in the morning. I’ve been desperate . . .’
‘Yeah, well, I’m back now.’
He closes the door behind him. I reach the stairs.
‘Alex, wait. Let me explain. About earlier. I’m sorry . . . It was an accident.’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 18
