We leave the shop together, the united family. We’ve probably gone twenty metres when Mum turns to me.
‘What the hell were you thinking? Don’t you get enough?’
We’re on Grafton Street. She is shouting. I want to die.
‘Are you completely stupid?’ she asks.
The answer is, yes. But if I say it, she’ll think I’m being sarcastic. And that would make her go completely psycho.
‘This wasn’t your first time, was it?’
I look down at my feet.
‘Jesus, Sarah,’ she says.
I just want to go home. Start over. Be the person she wants me to be. Or at least try.
‘This is the last time you ever take anything that doesn’t belong to you. Do you hear me?’
It’d be hard not to. I nod so that she’ll stop.
‘Why don’t we discuss this somewhere quieter?’ Dad says. ‘Where did you park? I’ll walk you to the car.’
She turns on him. ‘We don’t need anyone to walk us to the car. We are perfectly capable of walking to the car, thank you very much.’ I feel like throwing up. She looks at him the way The Suit looked at me – like he’s nothing. ‘Just let me know when you’ve everything set up.’
Dad looks at me. ‘Stay out of trouble,’ he says but gently and with a smile. Then winks, like he used to do.
‘It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it?’ she says to him, then.
He looks tired. ‘Goodbye, Joanne.’
He turns and walks away. And leaves me with her. And her anger.
THREE | FINGERPRINT
She breaks the lights and curses at totally innocent people – a little old woman not crossing fast enough, a guy in front of us who stops at an orange light. I look out the side window and try to pretend I’m with someone else.
‘It’s that school,’ she says. ‘Hanging out with kids who have too much.’
I stare at her. This has nothing to do with my school. This has nothing to do with my friends.
‘I knew it would be a mistake,’ she says, like she’s glad to prove Dad wrong. He chose Strandbrook. Another ‘mistake’ with his name on it.
‘It’s a good school,’ I say. ‘It gets the grades.’
‘I don’t see any evidence of that,’ she says, like she wants an argument. ‘All you’ve got since you went in there is an air of entitlement.’
I look out the window again. She’s wrong. I’m not like that. My eyes well up. I can’t do anything to make her happy. Ever. She always thinks the worst of me. Then I always end up proving her right.
My phone bleeps.
She sighs loudly. Like I sent the text.
Which makes me take out my phone.
It’s from Simon. ‘Want to hook up?’
‘Sorry,’ I text back. ‘Not feeling well.’
It’s not a lie.
We pull up outside the house. She gets out fast, slams the door and marches up the path. I let her go, taking my time, keeping as much distance between us as possible.
Inside, though, she’s waiting in the hall.
‘Don’t you ever do that to me again.’ It’s like this is a drama, created for her to have a starring role.
‘I didn’t do anything to you.’
Then, wham, she slaps me across the face. I stare at her, holding my stinging cheek. She’s never slapped me before. And I swear to God, I feel like slapping her back.
Louis, the brother I hardly know, appears out of the kitchen.
‘Was that necessary?’ he asks her, as if he’s the parent not the son.
‘Don’t you start,’ she says. She looks back at me.
‘I don’t know why I ever had children,’ she says. ‘I just don’t know.’ And then she’s gone, running up the stairs like something out of Gone With The Wind.
‘You OK?’ Louis asks.
‘Do I look OK?’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’ I walk past him, into the downstairs loo. I check my face in the mirror. The outline of her hand is highlighted in red. Like the Ulster flag.
Louis appears in the doorway. ‘She’s under a lot of pressure.’
I swivel, angry. ‘Doesn’t give her the right—’
‘I know.’ Then he walks into the bathroom, takes me by the hand and pulls me out, like I’m three years old. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll make you a … Coke.’
I look up at him. ‘You’ll make me a Coke?’
‘Well, I was going to try making a smoothie but … it’d probably be a disaster.’
‘A Coke will do,’ I half smile.
In the kitchen, I sit at the island. He pours two Cokes. I reach for mine.
‘Wait,’ he says, holding up a hand. He goes to the freezer and takes out the ice tray, whacks it against the worktop and drops ice into the drinks. He slices a lemon and pops that in. Then he hands me my Coke.
‘What, no straw?’ I tease. It’s so not like Louis to go to this trouble.
‘That’s more like it.’
We sit for a few minutes, just drinking our Cokes, the silence welcome after all that noise.
‘So, what happened?’ he asks eventually.
I shrug.
‘I’ll hear anyway. Might as well give me your side.’
I look at him and sigh. ‘I took a dress.’
‘You took a dress?’
‘OK, stole a dress.’
His eyebrows pop up. ‘Impressive.’
‘It’s not a joke.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s not.’
‘And you better not tell anyone.’
‘Come on, Sarah. What do you take me for?’
‘Ever. OK?’
He nods, his face serious. ‘Of course I won’t tell anyone.’ He looks at me. ‘You OK? They didn’t call the cops or anything?’
‘Yeah. They did.’
‘Shit, Sarah. They didn’t press charges, did they?’
‘No. Dad talked them out of it.’
‘Dad was there?’ He sounds relieved.
‘You make him sound like a superhero.’
He smiles at that. ‘He’s good at stuff like that, though.’
‘Are you saying Mum isn’t?’ Someone tell me why I’m defending her.
He says nothing. From the back pocket of his jeans, he pulls out his tatty leather wallet. ‘How much d’you need?’ he asks, like he’s the dad now.
‘Nothing! I’m fine.’
‘Come on. I know what it’s like when your friends are loaded.’
He’s working part-time now at the Jitter Mug Café and part-time at a local pub. Mum won’t let me work, though. Not till I’m finished school. He pulls out a twenty.
‘It’s OK. I’m fine. Seriously.’
He puts it down on the counter. ‘Take it before I change my mind.’
I feel guilty. This is all about me. ‘How’re things with you?’ He’s my brother but we’re practically strangers.
‘Grand.’
‘Bet you wish you could move out, though,’ I say.
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’
I look at him. ‘It’s kind of weird.’
‘What?’
‘Us … talking.’
He raises his eyebrows and nods slowly.
‘How’s that friend of yours, Alex?’ he asks after a while. ‘That thing with the stalker, wow. What actually happened there?’
I sit up, loving these kinds of conversations. ‘Oh, yeah! This, like, total nutter thought she loved Alex’s dad or something? She was, like, some obsessed, fan he’d called up on stage once. Anyway, when Alex’s mum died, she got it into her head that he’d ask her to marry him. Weird, right? He didn’t even know her. So he got this barring order but that didn’t stop her. She followed them over to San Diego.’
‘What were they doing in San Diego anyway?’
‘This is so sweet. Alex’s Dad wanted to give her a chance to get back with her ex, David, because she’s like totally in love with him. A
nd, actually, after the whole stalker thing, that’s exactly what happened. They’re together again. So it turned out really good for her in the end. Those guys were seriously meant to be together.
Louis slides the twenty over, pats it and gets up. ‘Right. I’m off.’
Surprised and actually kind of disappointed, I wonder if I was going on a bit. ‘OK.’
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘don’t worry about today. It’ll blow over. Everything does in the end.’ His face becomes serious. ‘I wouldn’t do it again, though. You don’t want a criminal record. You might want to get into the States sometime, right?’
I look at him. Would it really have been that serious? Could one stupid mistake really stand against you for the rest of your life?
In my room, I take out the very first thing I stole two weeks ago, the Mac eye shadow. I roll it between my finger and thumb, watching it sparkle, remembering how I felt that day when Mum freaked at me about something and I just slipped my hand into my pocket and felt the eye shadow like a ray of sunshine. Now, I dip my finger in. The grooves of my fingertip are highlighted in blue. A tiny circle at the centre is surrounded by increasingly bigger circles, like spreading ripples. There are lines cutting through the grooves, damaging them. And it makes sense to me that I wouldn’t have a perfect fingerprint.
I close the compact and fling it, hard, into the bin. I will be a new person. A better person. I will try so hard.
I spend the rest of the day in my room. She doesn’t call me for dinner. And when I’m practically starving to death, I raid my chocolate stash rather than go down.
At nine, my ancient Nokia rings. Rachel’s name appears on the scratched screen. I know she’s calling about tomorrow – the three of us are meant to be going to Dundrum. Now, though, the thought of going near a shop makes me feel sick, the thought of facing my friends even sicker. What if they’ve, somehow, found out?
The phone stops ringing. Oh God. I never not answer my phone. She’ll know something’s up. She’ll wonder what. I have to call her back. And I have to go. Of course I do. Alex is just back from San Diego. There is no excuse good enough not to.
FOUR | ELECTRONS
Sunday. I get up early to clean the house. This is the new me, the person who makes her mum happy – or at least tries to. It is also the me who has to tell that same mum she’s going out in the afternoon.
I start in the kitchen, cleaning up Louis’ usual trail of destruction. Then I hoover and mop, feeling like Cinderella. I wonder if that’s how Mum feels. No. She’s way too angry to ever feel like a Disney character.
I work for literally hours. And the scary thing is, I’m actually proud of the shine I’ve brought to the place. When Mum finally comes down and sees the result of my hard labour, she looks surprised. Then, instantly suspicious. She throws me a look that says: I know what you’re up to. Instead of screaming, I unload the dishwasher. She makes coffee and lights up. I go back upstairs.
An hour before Alex is due to call, I start to get ready. I need to be at the door before the bell rings, so she doesn’t get to meet my mum. This is a standard routine – given Mum’s moods. Today, though, I especially can’t risk what she might say, what remarks she might make. They can’t know what I did.
I straighten my hair, take it easy on the makeup and just wear Uggs, denims and a hoodie – so there’s one less thing for her to give out about.
Mum’s still in the kitchen when I come down. At the end of a cigarette and looking out the window.
‘I’m going out for a while,’ I say. I try to sound casual. Like it’s no big deal.
She turns, whisking the cigarette from her mouth. ‘No you’re not.’
‘But it’s arranged.’
‘Well, unarrange it.’
‘I can’t. Alex has been away for ages. If I don’t go, she’ll be, like, insulted.’
She squints at me then. ‘I can’t believe you’d want to go out after yesterday. I mean, don’t you feel any remorse?’
Don’t you? I want to ask. She still hasn’t apologised for hitting me and I know she won’t. But I say nothing. I just want to get out. ‘Of course I feel remorse.’
‘So you won’t mind being grounded then.’
‘Oh my God. I’m going to see a shrink. I’m doing community service.’ Whatever that’s going to involve. I don’t even want to think about that.
The door bell goes. I look at her. One last try, ‘That’s them.’
‘Well, then you better tell them you can’t go.’ Oh my God, what does she want, blood?
When I open the front door, Alex is standing there. Alone. She smiles.
‘It’s just the two of us,’ she says. ‘Rachel has to help her mum with some catering thing.’
Now I really feel terrible that I can’t go. Alex never goes out with just me. And now, this one time she wants to, I let her down.
I grimace.
‘I can’t go either.’ I look towards the kitchen, then back. I want to tell her the truth – that I’m grounded. But she might ask why. ‘Mum wants me here,’ I say. It’s not enough. ‘We’re having guests. She just told me. I was about to call you. I’m really sorry.’
She just looks at me for a minute like she can’t believe it. ‘It’s OK,’ she says then. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
I feel so bad. ‘We could go tomorrow after school – if you like.’ Then I remember. I’m grounded.
Her face brightens. ‘Yeah. Mike could pick us up. And we finish early tomorrow anyway.’
‘Cool,’ I say, only because I can’t back out again. And as I walk Alex to the car, I try to work out how to do this – keep everyone happy. Mum doesn’t get home till seven. If I get back by six, she’ll never know. I feel bad. But then remind myself that she thinks the worst of me anyway, no matter what I do. At least, this way, I keep Alex happy.
We get to the car. I give Mike a little wave. I love Alex’s driver. He’s just so cool. He hardly talks and when I look at him from behind (the usual view), I imagine he’s a cowboy from an old black-and-white movie, chewing on a toothpick or blade of grass. I flirted with him once, just to see if an actual man would ever be interested in me. He wasn’t. And that, I realised after, was a major relief. He’s Alex’s driver. And, like, at least thirty.
I stand back as Alex gets in.
‘Sorry,’ I say again.
‘It’s OK.’
‘What’ll you do?’
‘Probably just have a jacuzzi and take it easy.’
My idea of total heaven. ‘Cool. See you tomorrow.’
An estate agent would describe our house as a three-bed semi with attic conversion. They’re always optimistic. If it was flattened out, our house would fit, completely, into about a quarter of Alex’s ground floor. (Another reason not to have her around.) The attic conversion is my room. My dad turned my original bedroom into an office for himself and converted the attic for me. Then, he left. Still, I’m glad he did it. I love my room, tucked away up here at the top of the house, away from everyone. I feel like Rapunzel but with internet access and a mobile phone.
I hide out up here for the rest of the day, keeping out of Mum’s way and using all my energy to hate her. Not just for being a stone-cold bitch about what happened, but for being the reason Dad left. If she hadn’t been so angry all the time … if she’d kept herself good-looking … if she hadn’t made him choose … But I’m not thinking about that right now. Or ever.
About The Other Thing, though – would it have killed her to give me a break? I took two things. Two things. I said I was sorry. And I am. I’m seeing a goddamn shrink. And doing community service – which no one has even bothered to explain. I mean, what’ll I be doing? And how long for? Britney Spears got community service, I’m pretty sure. But I can’t remember what she had to do. Someone famous had to pick up litter. I know that. Oh God. Is that what I’ll be doing – picking up litter? What if someone sees me? I try to stop thinking about that. I lie on my bed and zone in on my wall of Caliente Men, a
huge collage of the hottest international actors, models, rock stars, footballers and generally beautiful people I’ve collected from magazines since first year. It’s not growing all the time. Sometimes I go off a face and get rid of it.
I look at Robbie Williams and try to think only of Robbie Williams – not usually a problem. Today, though, it’s not working. I can’t forget what happened. I can’t forget that my mother hates me even more than usual now. Or that, tomorrow, I have to go back to school and face people who might have seen, heard, found out. Oh God. Maybe I could develop a sudden debilitating sickness.
Next day, on the basis that I can’t hide out forever, I go to school. At first, I don’t trust the calm. I expect to be outed, any minute. When first break passes without incident, I start to hope. The big test is lunch. No one holds in a scandal beyond lunch.
I’m queuing in the canteen with Alex and Rachel, afraid to look around. Simon strolls up to me.
‘Hey, babe.’
‘Hey.’ I’ve been so worried about The Other Thing I’ve pretty much forgotten Simon. Then I remember: on Saturday, I told him I wasn’t feeling well. I haven’t heard from him since. ‘I’m fine, by the way.’
He looks confused.
‘It was just a tummy bug.’
‘Oh. Right. Yeah. Cool.’
Cool? I know we’re not serious. I know we only hook up once a week and when that doesn’t come off, we just kind of leave it, but ‘cool’? Seriously? I look at him and wonder. If we didn’t actually see each other, would we have a better ‘relationship’? We get on so well on Facebook. It’s like we’re different people. Funny, flirty, fun. Then we hook up and he’s just Simon. And maybe he thinks the same about me because he’s telling me he’ll see me later and is walking off. I watch him sit with another group – Amy and Orla and a few of the guys. Simon still moves around, like he always did. His life hasn’t changed because of me. I don’t mind. Thing is, I probably should.
It’s quarter past one. No one has called me a criminal. Or a liar. No one has given me a funny look with a smart comment. Can I hope that this means that they won’t? At lunch, the three of us sit together. Then Mark joins us. Since David moved to the US, Mark’s the only guy sitting with us – and the only person who thinks that is working is Rachel, who is in love with him. Ever since we got back to school, he’s been edgy. Today, like every other, he’s silent while we eat. And as soon as we’re finished, he’s looking around like he wants to be somewhere else. I get that, though. I mean, who wants to be the only guy sitting with a bunch of girls, even if he does love one of them? He finishes his drink and puts it down like he’s made a decision. He turns to Rachel like he’s going to say something. But when he looks at her, his face softens and he doesn’t say anything. A nearby table bursts out laughing. I remember the shoplifting and turn slowly, expecting the worst. It’s the jocks. But whatever they’re laughing at, it’s not me. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then notice Mark, looking over at them, like that’s where he wants to be. Then he turns to Rache.
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 27
