‘I might head off for a bit.’
She looks surprised. ‘Oh. OK.’
He puts a hand on her shoulder like he’s sorry. Then he’s gone.
‘It’s hard for him without David,’ Alex says.
‘I could ask Simon to sit with us,’ I say, not exactly sure he’d want to.
Rachel looks at me. ‘It’s OK, thanks. No offence or anything but Mark doesn’t really get on that well with Simon.’ What she really means is: he doesn’t like Simon. ‘He’ll probably just hang out with his rugby mates for a while. I don’t mind.’
He lands at their table, sits down and in seconds he has them laughing. I feel kind of sorry for Rache.
‘Guess who’s coming back to Dublin?’ Alex asks.
I look at her. Not David!
‘Marsha!’
‘Oh my God. I love Marsha,’ I say. She’s the only stylist I’ve ever met. And she’s amazing. I couldn’t believe it when she left. I turn to Alex. ‘So your dad’s hired her back?’
‘They’re going out.’
‘What? Oh my God,’ I say, totally excited.
But Rachel’s looking at Alex like this is bad news, like she knows something I don’t. Which wouldn’t be a first. I look at them and think of two electrons on the same shell. I think of a third electron on the next shell out – me. And I can’t believe I’m comparing us to science. I hate science.
‘I’m OK with it,’ Alex is saying to Rachel. ‘Honestly. In the States, I really thought I’d lost Dad. When the stalker attacked, there was all this blood. And the scariest sound, like he couldn’t breathe.’ Alex looks so pale, so worried, like she’s living through it again. Then she seems to wake up. She looks at Rachel and says, ‘After that, nothing seems like such a big deal, you know? And Marsha’s not the total worst, I guess. We all make mistakes, right?’
What mistakes? I’m wondering.
‘How did they get back together?’ Rachel asks.
‘Back together?’ I ask, totally confused. Marsha and her Dad weren’t going out.
Alex looks at me, kind of apologetically. ‘They had a, kind of, one-night stand thing before she left. Actually, that’s why she left – I walked in on them.’
‘What, like, kissing?’
‘Worse.’
‘Ee-ew.’ God.
‘I was upset.’
‘I bet you were.’
‘So how did they get back together?’ Rachel asks again.
‘When Marsha heard about the attack, she dropped everything and flew straight to San Diego. She spent so much time with him, in the hospital and afterwards while he was getting better. I was with David pretty much all the time. In the end, Dad asked if I’d be OK with them seeing each other.’
‘He asked your permission?’ I ask. ‘Seriously?’
She shrugs. ‘He just wanted to make sure I was OK with him seeing other people, you know, after Mum.’
‘Wow. That was so thoughtful.’ I try to imagine my dad asking my permission to do anything. And almost laugh. I wish, when you were born, you could pick your parents, the way you pick good fruit. Squeeze them, tap them, shake them. The only thing is, you’d be a baby so you wouldn’t know what you were looking for and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to talk, so you couldn’t ask important questions like, ‘will you like me?’ or ‘will you stay together?’
‘So where’s she going to live?’ Rachel asks.
‘In an apartment in Dalkey.’
‘What about her design business?’ Rachel asks.
This time, I don’t even ask.
‘Oh, she’s going to try it from here.’
I think about her flying across America to be with Alex’s dad. I think about her moving back to Ireland to be with him. ‘Love,’ I say, dreamily, as someone else finds it.
‘Oh, it’s not love,’ Alex says, making a face. ‘They’re just seeing how it goes.’
That’s when I realise Alex might be OK with them being together. But not in actual love. And I get that. It kills me that my dad is with someone else. When I let myself think about it.
We go back to class. The rest of the day goes by in the usual way. Nothing happens. No one says anything. By the time we’re walking through the school gates, I’m so relieved I want to cry. So, it hasn’t followed me here, after all. I feel so lucky, like I’ve been given a second chance. I can go on being me, just me, not some loser who got caught shoplifting, not someone you can’t trust. I close my eyes in relief. And make myself a promise – I will never steal again.
FIVE | HELLO
After school, Mike drops us to Dundrum. We head for the shops. Normally, I’d be leading the way. Today, I’m lagging behind. I force myself to follow Alex into the first shop. It is part of the same chain that I was caught in on Saturday. What if they talk to each other? What if they warn each other about shoplifters? My stomach twists into a knot. My heart starts to pound. My mouth is dry. God, I’m even breathing funny.
‘Are you OK?’ Rachel asks.
‘What? Yeah. Fine.’ I aim for cheery but sound kind of scary.
She’s squinting at me. ‘You don’t look too well, Sarah.’
‘I’m grand.’
Alex, who shot off to have a look around the minute we hit the shop, comes back.
‘God, their stuff is really crap. Want to try Tommy Hilfiger?’
Phew, I think.
We leave the shop. Only problem is, it’s not the only shop. We’re almost at Tommy Hilfiger when I decide I can’t do it.
‘I think I’ll wait outside,’ I say.
Rachel looks instantly worried.
Alex just looks puzzled. ‘You love Tommy Hilfiger.’
I make a face. ‘I just want to people-watch for a while. See if there are any cute guys.’
‘Ah,’ Alex says, as if that makes total sense.
‘Want me to come with you?’ Rachel asks.
‘Do I look like I want competition here?’
Her face relaxes into a smile. ‘You sure?’
‘I’ll be over by the escalators.’ I start walking to the busiest part of the centre. When I get there, I hold on to the chrome railing and look down at the level below. People are milling around like ants. Slowly, I start to calm down. I don’t know how long I’m there but I’m miles away when a hand falls on my shoulder. It feels like I’m having an actual heart attack. I turn.
But it’s just the guys.
‘Jesus, Alex, you frightened the crap out of me.’
‘See anyone interesting?’ she asks.
I’m still holding my heart.
‘Are you OK?’ Rachel asks. ‘You look terrible.’
‘I didn’t expect you back so quick.’
She checks her watch. ‘We were, like, twenty minutes.’
‘Were you?’
They look at each other. Then back at me.
‘You sure you’re OK?’ Rachel asks.
‘I wasn’t great over the weekend,’ I say to cover up.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’ Alex says. ‘I’ll call Mike.’
‘No, no, it’s OK, I’ll be fine.’
‘Sarah you look like death,’ Rachel says.
‘I’ll sit down, I’ll have a frappuccino.’ With Louis’ twenty.
‘We’re going,’ Alex says.
‘You sure?’
It’s the first time in my life I’m happy to leave Dundrum.
We pull up outside my house and I’m stressing again. Mum’s car is outside. I’m dead. I hurry up the path. I open the front door really quietly and start to sneak upstairs, hoping she hasn’t noticed I’m not home.
‘Sarah?’
Crud. I stop. No point going on. Especially as she’ll only come after me. I sigh, then turn around and trudge back down. I open the door to the kitchen, preparing to be decapitated.
She’s standing, leaning with her back against the sink, smoking. It hits me, suddenly, how much weight she’s lost, especially on her face. And she wasn’t exactly fat in the first
place.
‘Where were you?’
‘At Alex’s. Doing a project.’ She makes me lie. I swear to God, she makes me lie.
‘You’re grounded. Remember?’
‘For school work?’
‘For everything. Unless you check with me first. What’s the project on?’
‘Fashion,’ I say, starting to blush.
‘What about fashion?’
Jesus. ‘Is it, like, a form of expression?’
‘Let’s have a look.’
‘What?’
‘At what you’ve done.’
‘It’s in Alex’s.’
‘Why were you going upstairs when you came in?’
‘To change.’
‘You saw my car, didn’t you?’
I don’t answer. But I look down. And I know she knows.
‘Set the table,’ she says, sounding as tired as she looks.
In silence, I set three places, knowing that Louis won’t be home. Louis always has an excuse. If it’s not ‘college’ it’s ‘part-time job’. We never see him. But she insists on setting a place for him anyway. Because we’re ‘still a family’. I pour water into three glasses and carry them to the table. She strains the potatoes into the sink, steam rising all round her face. I imagine her in a sauna throwing water over hot coals. She could do with a sauna more than anyone I know.
Sometimes – when she’s not angry – I want to tell her it’ll be OK. But what do I know? And it’s not like she listens to me, anyway. It used to be different. We were close, once. OK, maybe not as close as Rachel is with her mum or Alex was with hers. But close enough. I could tell her things and she wouldn’t freak. Now she’s more likely to say, ‘do your homework’ than ‘let’s go to Ikea’. We never go anywhere together any more. I don’t know when it changed. It wasn’t a sudden thing. I just know that, over time, I began to spend less time at home and more time at other people’s. I’ve never told anyone, but I loved Alex’s mum. I seriously miss her. Which is probably wrong, right? She was Alex’s mum. I know that half the problem with my mum is that I don’t achieve. She totally blew when I did so badly in my Junior Cert exams. Then again, Louis doesn’t achieve either. But there’s something about Louis. He can melt her somehow. I’ve never learned how.
When I’ve set the table, I hang around, knowing that if I try to go upstairs, she’ll just call me back. Finally, she lands the plates down. Soggy broccoli, gloopy mash and dried out chops. I thank her. Because I value my life. I pick up my knife and fork, trying to decide which looks the least yuck. I cut into the dry meat and slide some wet potato onto it, hoping that one will cancel out the other. I’ve tried convincing her to let me have money for school lunch so she won’t have to cook. That would cost her a fiver, as opposed to whatever she spends on dinner for three, that’s eaten by one. She never touches food herself, just lights up and smokes her way through. So it’s a total joke when she says that she wants us all to sit down for a meal. Like eating (or pretending to) is going to bring us magically together.
The only sound is the grating of my knife on the plate. She looks out the window and puffs away. She turns back and taps the ash onto her side plate. Then she looks at me like she’s remembering I’m here.
‘So how are your friends?’ She says it like she doesn’t like them. Which is unfair given that she doesn’t really know them (I try to avoid exposing them to her). The irony is that her ideal daughter would be a Rachel. Someone organised, focused, in control. Someone who knows what she wants in life and goes after it. Someone who never messes up. Maybe, instead of giving out about my friends, she should call up a few of her own. If she has any left.
‘How’s Ellen?’ I ask, inspired.
She looks surprised. ‘Ellen? I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in ages.’
‘I wonder how she is.’
‘Happily married with kids that don’t give trouble.’
I stare at her. She only sees what she wants to see. I took her side. Cut Dad off. Because of her. She’s never once seen that. I get up from the table.
‘You’re not finished.’
‘Neither are you.’
‘Eat your meal,’ she says. Like I’m two.
Is that what it is? I think but don’t say. I’m not suicidal – yet. I go over to the bin and slide in the last few bits of dried meat. She gives me this look, like I’m the spawn of the devil or something. And I feel like becoming the spawn of the devil just to spite her. She’s my mother but she doesn’t know anything about me. She doesn’t know that, despite her, I can be happy. She doesn’t know that I love my friends. She doesn’t know that I’ve a boyfriend. That I’ve had sex (just as well or I’d be dead). She doesn’t know that, if I could, I’d be miles away from here, from her.
SIX | SHARK
On Tuesday, some sort of diplomat is giving us a talk on what she does. It’s either the most boring job in the world or she’s just making it sound that way, talking to us like we’re three, like we haven’t a clue what goes on in the world, like we’re actually slow. She’s doing my head in.
‘So,’ she says, finally. ‘Does anyone have any questions?’
‘Why are you still here?’ Alex whispers, looking innocently ahead.
‘Are you always so boring?’ I whisper.
‘Could you use more hand actions?’ Her hands haven’t stopped moving since she got here.
‘Can you repeat everything you just said? Only more slowly.’
‘If I’m in Brussels and you’re in Brussels when’s the next train out of Brussels?’
‘Is that your hair or did something die on your head?’
Alex giggles.
It’s so great that she’s back to normal, back to the way she used to be before her mum died, over a year ago. I missed her.
After school, surprise, surprise, none of us is in a hurry to go home. When Rachel suggests the Jitter Mug, I can’t say no. These are my friends, for God’s sake. Just for half an hour, I tell myself. I can cover for half an hour if my mum finishes early.
The place is mobbed as usual. The only difference is that Louis is at the till.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘I work here.’
‘At weekends.’
‘They upped my hours. What can I say? Customers like me.’
Yeah, I think. Women customers.
Louis sees Alex and breaks into this huge smile. ‘Hey, Alex. Glad you survived that frenzied attack in California.’
‘You make it sound like a shark,’ she says. He laughs. ‘When really it was just a mad psycho who almost killed my dad.’
His face goes serious. ‘Glad you’re OK though.’
She nods. ‘Yeah. Thanks.’
It’s weird. It’s like they know each other. I mean, outside of her just being my friend. Louis catches me looking. And snaps out of tunnel vision mode.
‘So, what can I get you, ladies?’ he asks, like he’s at the bar not the coffee shop.
‘Three tropical smoothies,’ I say.
‘Paying separately?’
‘I’ll get them today,’ Alex says. ‘To celebrate my survival.’ She directs this at Louis. He smiles like they’re sharing some kind of private joke. I so don’t get it.
We wait for our smoothies at the end of the counter. I watch Louis dealing with the next customer. He acts like we’re not there. But he’s gone all perky, like he knows someone’s watching. Finally, we collect our smoothies from another guy and go sit down.
I look at Alex. ‘So. What’s the story with you and Louis?’
‘What?’ She looks appalled.
‘I don’t know. You just seemed so pally.’
‘Yeah!’ Rachel says, like she’s as surprised as me.
‘There is no story. He slagged me. I slagged him back, Jeez.’
I shrug. Then I remember. ‘He asked for your number. Weeks ago.’
She shrugs. ‘Don’t know why.’ She takes a sip of her smoothie.
‘He didn�
�t ring?’
‘I’m not Louis’ type,’ she says, without looking up from her drink.
‘Does Louis have a type?’ Rachel asks.
I clear my throat loudly. ‘Louis is my brother.’
Rachel looks at me. ‘No offence, Sarah. But he is a bit of a player.’
I’m about to argue, but then I look over and catch him flirting with the next customer – a young mum who is actually carrying a baby.
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘He has no shame.’
When I get home, Mum’s there again. Waiting for me in the kitchen. What is up with the health services in this country, letting their social workers sneak off early like that? Please God, let this not be a pattern.
‘Sit down,’ she says. ‘We need to talk.’
This is Mum at her scariest – when she doesn’t shout. When she says we need to talk. I sit at the kitchen table, knowing that something’s coming. Something awful. She sits opposite and places her cigarettes on the table like a weapon. She puts her cheap blue lighter on top. Then takes her hand away.
‘I’ve been on to Our Lady’s Abbey. They’ll take you.’
‘What?’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 28
