by James Dawson
She had to act quickly in case Molly Sue grabbed for control again. Sally rose to her feet. The wind was stronger than ever. It could so easily carry her over the edge. She wondered how long it’d take to hit the tarmac. Not long at all. She doubted she’d even feel it. It’d all be over: Molly Sue would be finished. Whatever she was, she’d been gone for good.
‘Go on then,’ Molly Sue taunted. ‘Do it.’
Sally inched her toe over the edge. Her hair blew about her face, blinding her.
‘Girl, we both know you don’t got the stuff. What yo poor mama and papa gonna do? Go to church and talk about their little girl who committed suicide? What about Stan and Jennie?’
A little voice in her head questioned if her parents might even feel unburdened if she were to die. As for Stan and Jennie . . . well they’d have each other. ‘They’ll be fine.’ Sally balled her hands into fists, geeing herself up to take the final step. It’ll be just like flying . . .
‘No, they won’t and you know it. Let’s paint us a picture. Without you, Stan fails all his exams, can’t get into college, ends up working at a deli in town for ten years or so before he gets himself a nice little problem with liquor. Grief can really mess people up.’
Sally screwed her eyes tight. ‘Stop it.’
‘With you gone, Jennie gets back together with that there Kyle. Back to business as usual. He beats her and he rapes her . . .’
‘I said stop it!’ Sally screamed and stepped down off the ledge. Molly Sue was right. She couldn’t risk hurting them – even if it meant Molly Sue hurting others.
‘See what I mean?’ Her voice was even, matter-of-fact. ‘You are so weak, you can’t even kill yourself right. Now, listen up, girly . . . we ain’t gonna have this conversation again.’
Sally nodded. She had nowhere to go.
The inside stairwell of the multi-storey car park smelled so powerfully of urine, it burned Sally’s nostrils. It didn’t matter. At that moment, nothing mattered much. Sally felt like she was turning to cement, each heavy footstep towards the elevator was exhausting. At least Molly Sue had shut up.
You are so weak, you can’t even kill yourself right.
Sally sensed she wasn’t alone. Was that footsteps? She looked around and saw a figure duck around the corner at the furthest end of the fourth level. She only got a glimpse, but it was enough to recognise the kilt and wimple. It was Sister Bernadette. ‘Sister Bernadette!’ Sally called without thinking. ‘Wait!’
There were staircases at both ends of the car park. Sally darted across the fourth level, past the few cars that were parked and reached the left stairwell. She pushed through the doors and hurried past the Pay And Display booth. ‘Sister Bernadette! It’s me, Sally!’
This staircase was no less pungent than the other. Below her, Sally heard footfalls slap down the stone steps. Looking down the central shaft, Sally saw the top of her head spiral down the stairs. The nun, evidently, was in a hurry. Hadn’t she seen her? Or didn’t she want to be seen watching her? Sally chased after her, taking the steps two at a time. She almost fell, tripping over her feet, and had to grab the rail for support. ‘Please wait!’ she repeated.
As she reached the ground floor, Sally saw the main exit closing. The sister couldn’t be far ahead. Sure enough, once Sally was outside, she saw Bernadette walking briskly across a dreary courtyard of cracked paving slabs and pebbledash bollards. Sally tore across the yard and grabbed her shoulder. Sister Bernadette gave her a shy glance, almost embarrassed. ‘Oh, Sally . . . I didn’t realise that was you. I thought it was . . . well I didn’t know who it was.’
Sally didn’t buy that – she must have heard. ‘I called your name. What . . . what are you doing here? Are you following me?’
Sister Bernadette looked around the concourse. They were alone. Except, of course, they weren’t. ‘Very well, I lied. Something for confession later. I saw someone standing on the edge of the car park and I was compelled to help.’ Well that was quite the coincidence. Sally went to call her on it, but the nun spoke again. ‘What were you doing up on that ledge, Sally?’
Now it was Sally’s turn to be embarrassed. ‘Oh, nothing. I . . . I just like the view from up there.’ Sally looked at her feet shiftily. Only a total imbecile would buy that.
‘Ah that makes sense,’ she said with that familiar kindness in her eyes. ‘See, I thought there was someone up there about to make a terrible mistake, but I was wrong.’
‘Oh I wouldn’t ever . . . ’
‘I know, Sally. You’re too strong for all that.’
Molly Sue wouldn’t agree, Sally thought to herself.
Sister Bernadette gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I have to go, but we shall meet again – when the time comes.’
‘What?’ Sally blinked, not sure she’d heard correctly. ‘I don’t understand!’
‘You will. Remember, Sally, do no harm: not to others and not to yourself.’ And then she leaned in and whispered in her ear. ‘There’s a place where she can’t hear you.’
Sally snapped her hands back. ‘What did you just say?’
Sister Bernadette tucked Sally’s hair behind her ear and stepped into the road, darting to the other side. Sally took off after her, but a horn wailed and she leapt back in time to feel the whoosh of a Royal Mail van miss her by about a centimetre. Woah that was close. A bus followed the van and once Sally got over the road, Sister Bernadette was gone, lost in a crowd of school kids, charity workers and old ladies with shopping carts.
Chapter Twenty
Over the coming days, the weather broke. The humidity built and built like a fever. At night, Sally cast off her nightdress, laying naked on top of her sticky sheets, burning up and unable to sleep a wink. On the fifth day, like a water balloon, the sky burst into a downpour, accompanied with rumbles of thunder and sheets of lightning. Murky brown streams gushed along the gutters, the drains clogged and overflowing. The corridors and common rooms of Saxton Vale High became packed with ripe bodies rubbing portholes in steamed-up windows.
Neither Sally nor Molly Sue spoke about the rooftop incident again. Sally behaved herself, not even thinking about tattoo removal and so Molly Sue left her alone. If anything, she was quieter than she’d ever been, allowing Sally to carry on with her life. It felt like they’d reached a truce, albeit an uneasy one. In her skull, the presence remained; the pea under the mattress, the pebble in her shoe.
If Molly Sue knew what Sister Bernadette had said, she didn’t let on. What did the nun mean? Was there a physical place where Sally could have privacy, the church perhaps, or did she mean somewhere inside? The encounter had added another level of Dali-like weirdness. It wasn’t a coincidence, Sally was sure of it. Bernadette had followed her to the car park, but why?
The whole thing was starting to piss her off – an evil tattoo and an enigmatic nun. Bernadette had said there was no such thing as black and white, but it was looking pretty clear cut: good and bad. Are these my options? Sally thought, sexy bad gal or chaste sister? Virgin or vamp? How is that fair?
There was plenty to keep Sally busy and it was impossible to stress about Molly Sue twenty-four hours a day. As opening night crept ever closer, rehearsals for Little Shop intensified – they now had after-school sessions on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and singing workshops on a Wednesday lunchtime. Sally found herself immersed in Chiffon and the world of Skid Row.
Stan had taken on Audrey II, or rather the model of him, as a project and was working with Mr Peterson, the art teacher, to construct the giant plant. There were to be four versions of it: two baby ones (which would be glove puppets operated through a hole in a table), an intermediate one and then the giant one for the second act which had to be big enough for the cast to crawl through when they got eaten.
Sally was pleased to find they were doing the original version, in which pretty much the whole cast dies, not the schmaltzy movie version which had a happy ending. It felt more honest somehow.
Two good things happened at rehearsal t
he week after the car park incident. Mr Roberts gave her the opening lines of ‘Skid Row’ to sing as a solo. It was a really beautiful section and she got to make big, sad eyes and really emote. Although wary of the spotlight, Sally agreed.
‘You could do this in your sleep.’ Molly Sue spoke for the first time in a couple of days. ‘The notes aren’t even that tough.’
As Sally sang the part, she saw Stan watching her, covered in enough paint to resemble the Jolly Green Giant. He grinned and gave her a somewhat lame thumbs up. Song over, she smiled back, allowing herself a minor victory.
Secondly, Mr Roberts was pleasingly tough on Melody, who wasn’t exactly nailing Audrey. The thing with Audrey, Sally felt, was that she’s a tragic figure (she is, after all, in an abusive relationship with a ‘semi-sadist’) and Melody was playing her like . . . well, a bit like Molly Sue. Too strong, too sexy. What’s more, Sally was starting to think she had the edge when it came to singing; Melody’s top line was reedy at best. Her American accent also sucked.
Sally was surprised how much she was enjoying the production. Keira had a major crush on Duncan Curtis, who was playing the dentist and Sally was enjoying being her wingman.
‘Are you coming to the Year Twelve dance?’ Keira asked, her arms in the air as her bust was measured by Mrs Greene, the textiles teacher. They were being fitted for their fantasy gowns, the costume they wore for most of the production.
Sally wondered if she was hearing things – again. It sounded a lot like Keira Stevens had just invited her to a party. ‘Erm . . . no, I don’t think so.’
‘Aw, why not? It’ll be fun. Everyone’s going.’
Sally squirmed. ‘It’s just not really my thing,’ she said before adding, ‘And no one’s asked me, anyway.’
Keira laughed. ‘Jesus, Sally, this isn’t 1950! Just come with us girls.’
‘Aren’t you going with Duncan?’
‘He hasn’t picked up on the first six hundred hints, but fingers crossed. Anyway, you could take your pick. I know Lucas Greer thinks you’re hot.’
Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Well, I’m female and have a pulse, so that’s not a surprise.’
Even Mrs Greene stifled a chuckle at that as she measured Keira’s hips. ‘What’s the story with you and Randall?’ Keira checked to make sure no one was listening. ‘Haven’t you been together since you were three?’
‘No! We’re just friends!’
‘That’s a shame. You know, we were just saying the other day that Stan is like the third hottest guy in the year.’
‘What? Stan Randall?’
‘Totally! He’s super hench! Puberty massively agreed with him. If Duncan takes someone else to the dance, I was thinking of asking him . . . if it’s OK with you?’
Sally was speechless. Stan and Keira? No way! For some reason even the concept made her uneasy. He hated her. Stan and Keira? Sally shook her head. ‘Well . . . erm . . . Stan’s not my boyfriend . . . it’s just not like that.’
‘Mayor of the Friend Zone?’
Sally shrugged, feeling clammy-palmed all of a sudden. ‘I guess.’
Keira grinned. ‘You have a crush on someone else! I can tell! Who is it?’
‘I don’t!’
‘You do, you’re blushing!’
‘I am not!’ You definitely are.
‘Oh, come on, you can tell me! Unless it’s Duncan, in which case I’ll have to nut you.’ At that moment, because the universe is cruel, Todd entered at the back of the hall, no doubt coming to collect Melody after football practice. He was still in his short shorts and Sally couldn’t help but stare. ‘Oh my God!’ Keira gasped. ‘Is it Todd?’
‘No!’
‘Duh! Of course it is; I saw you dancing with him at the gig.’
Sally’s heart plummeted. ‘Did you tell Melody?’
A wry smile. ‘If I had, do you think you’d still be breathing?’
‘Good point.’ Sally smiled her a thank you.
Mrs Greene stood up, her knees creaking. ‘OK, Sally it’s your turn.’ She moved over to her and Sally lifted her arms obligingly.
Keira leaned in conspiratorially. ‘You wanna know a secret?’
‘What?’
‘Todd told Lucas that he’s going to break up with Melody.’
Sally almost knocked Mrs Greene out with her elbow. ‘What?’
‘I thought you might like that. I thought it was just Lucas stirring, but maybe not. What did you say to him last week?’
Sally shrugged. ‘I told him if he didn’t have the balls to dump Melody I wasn’t interested in him . . .’ Well, it was sort of true.
‘You didn’t!’ Keira looked like a scandalised Victorian maid. Sally nodded. ‘Oh my God, that’s hilarious! It must have worked.’
Sally looked over to where Todd was waiting. Melody was ignoring him, trying to engage a frazzled Mr Roberts in a conversation about her performance. Maybe it was true . . . Todd must be sick to death of Melody, but Sally couldn’t believe he’d taken their conversation at the gig seriously. Well, taken Molly Sue seriously.
He looked over and caught her eye. With a subtle nod he gave her a half-smile that was almost more than she could stand. She fixed her eyes on her feet but every square inch of her skin felt like it was glowing.
Sally and Stan took it in turns to babysit Jennie. She wasn’t sobbing and wailing any more, but she couldn’t tolerate a moment by herself, as if she couldn’t stand to be alone with her own mopey thoughts. On the Saturday night, they all got together at Stan’s and did a recap of all the season four episodes of Satanville so far. For some annoying reason, new episodes were ‘on hiatus’ for three weeks before the last three finale episodes. Why did American shows always do that? It was SO frustrating.
‘They’ve confirmed season five, right?’ Jennie said. ‘So there’s no way they can kill Dante?’
It was good to see her chatty and engaged again. Sally was beginning to worry she’d permanently damaged her friend.
‘I don’t know,’ said Stan. ‘They haven’t confirmed who’s coming back.’ Rumours circled the forums that one of the major characters was to be killed off in the finale.
‘They can’t kill Dante,’ Sally agreed. ‘If any of them dies, it’ll be Angela.’
Stan’s face sank. ‘No way! I’m never watching it again if they kill Angela!’
‘You liar!’ Jennie laughed.
It was weird. Now that Sally had seen Stan without his shirt, she couldn’t see him in the same way any more; she found herself trying to sneak peeks at his abs. It was freaking her out, but she couldn’t stop herself. He wasn’t safe any more – as stupid as that sounded. This was all Molly Sue’s fault; she’d made her see him differently – he was a man with a manly body and man bits. She couldn’t help but compare him to Todd; Stan was bigger and broader than Todd, although Todd was more athletic.
She wished she’d never seen him. Now things were messed up.
‘Thanks for entertaining me, you guys,’ Jennie said. ‘I know I’m being a nightmare.’
‘No way! You’re not!’ Sally snapped out of her boy trance.
‘I’m feeling a lot better now,’ Jennie said, almost convincingly. ‘I can do better than Kyle.’
‘Oh, God, you can do a hundred times better! That guy is a wang.’ Stan said, possibly too enthusiastically. Sally shot him a look. No good could come from telling Jennie what they really thought about Kyle . . . they might still wind up back together – despite Molly Sue’s warning.
Jennie wrapped a liquorice lace around her finger. ‘Well, right now I agree. I hope he gets herpes and dies.’
‘I don’t think you die from herpes,’ Sally said. ‘But he has it coming.’
‘Being single isn’t too bad. I just have all this time on my hands. It’s weird.’
‘More time to hang out with us,’ Stan said. ‘And you can help me build this bloody plant.’
‘Sure!’
‘And all’s well that ends well,’ Molly Sue chipped i
n. ‘Told ya so.’
Sally just ignored her.
The next day started very well indeed. Sally woke up to a Facebook friend request from Todd. Her eyes were so fuzzy when she checked her phone that she had to do a double take to check she wasn’t dreaming it. But sure enough there was a little red flag. She added him at once, only to then wonder if that seemed a bit desperate. She sat up in bed and thought about Melody. She’d be able to see all this so Todd was either very brave or very stupid.
There was a knock on her door. ‘Sally, dear.’ It was her mother. ‘Are you ready? We have to leave for church in fifteen minutes.’
‘I’m not going,’ she groaned.
Her mother entered her room. ‘Why not? Are you feeling ill?’
Sally pulled the duvet over her head. ‘No. I just don’t want to go, Mum.’
‘Well, you’re coming and that’s that.’
‘I’m not.’ Sally pushed the covers back and looked her in the eye. Her mum gawped at her like she was waiting for the punchline. ‘I’m not. There’s no one else my age there and I feel stupid.’
‘Oh, I’ve never heard such nonsense.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘You are.’
Sally didn’t know why today was the day she decided to fight back, but she wasn’t going to cave in. ‘I don’t see how you can make me. What are you going to do? Drag me into church? That’ll look great.’
Her mum looked so wounded, Sally wondered if she’d gone too far. ‘What will your dad say?’
‘I don’t care. Just go without me. I’m seventeen years old; I can stay here by myself. I’m not a baby.’
‘Sally . . . I thought you liked coming to church.’
‘Well, I don’t. You’ve never asked what I thought, Mum. I don’t even believe in God. I think it’s all a load of brainwashing.’
Her mother was speechless for a second, like she’d been slapped around the face. ‘Sally Feather, that is a despicable thing to say and I know you don’t mean it.’
She shrugged. ‘I do.’
Her mother’s bottom lip trembled. ‘What has got into you?’
