by Juno Dawson
‘Guys,’ Troy said, shielding his phone screen from the sun with a hand, ‘just got confirmation from DJ Apollo . . . there’s a rave tonight.’
‘Oooh, where?’ said Nevada, nibbling a strawberry.
‘Abandoned mosque in Catford.’
We all voiced the appropriate level of offence at that statement. ‘Catford? As if,’ I said. ‘Is that even London?’
Troy rolled his eyes. ‘It’s like twenty minutes from London Bridge, Lex.’
‘Lexi doesn’t do South East,’ Nevada correctly added.
I smirked. ‘Why don’t we really go for it and just hit Aleppo for the weekend?’
‘Well, I’m going,’ Troy said sulkily. ‘Apollo has basically said there’s a surprise MC set from Lazarus.’
That got Antonella’s attention. ‘Oh my god, for real? He’s gorgeous.’
Troy handed her his phone as evidence. ‘No way! OK, I’m in.’
I gave her a look. ‘I’m not going to Catford. End of.’
‘Oh, come on, Lex! It’ll be fun! When was the last time we went dancing?’
‘Last Saturday!’ I laughed. ‘We went to Sink the Pink.’
‘Oh yeah. But this’ll be good too!’
‘A rave in a disused mosque? God, how Vice Magazine. It’ll be full of hipsters.’
‘Hipsters and Lazarus! Please! I wanna make a baby with him! Think how cute it’d be.’
I nudged Kurt. ‘Are you alive?’
‘Yup.’
‘What do you think? Apollo and Lazarus in Catford? You fancy it?’
He pushed himself up on to an elbow. ‘Sure. I think some of the guys are going.’
‘You knew about it? Whatever.’ It’s too sweltering to be pissy.
‘Kurt,’ Troy asked, ‘think you can get us some beans?’
He flashed his eyebrows. ‘Leave it with me.’
It was every bit as awful as I’d feared. Worse. Cash bar. I ask you. The organisers hired circus performers (standard) and you couldn’t move more than a metre without crashing into some cunt on stilts or an out-of-work actress dressed as a ‘sexy clown’ trying to sell jelly shots. I don’t know who thought ‘awful kid’s party’ was something to aspire to in adulthood.
The Mosque – or what was left of it – was divided into two rooms. I guess one was the women’s room and one the men’s, back when it was functional. Now there was scaffolding all around the exterior and the dome had been taken down and covered with tarpaulins. The biggest hall was the main dance area, while the antechamber had a chill out vibe.
‘Come on, Lexi, get into it!’ Antonella screamed, tossing her mane back. ‘Just go with the beat!’
The sound system was good, I’ll give her that. I’d lost Kurt about half an hour ago. The queues for the (woeful) toilets were round the block, so he’d probably gone to find a bush.
Antonella was deep into her vibe, arms aloft, glo-sticks in hand. ‘Just sink into it, darling.’
She gave me a lingering kiss on the lips. Jesus. Ecstasy. ‘Are you high?’
‘I dunno. Those pills Kurt brought are kinda bogus. I haven’t come up.’ She seemed pretty up from where I was dancing, but I said nothing. She sipped her mineral water. ‘Did you take any?’
‘Not yet. I can’t find him.’ I didn’t want to come up without him around. ‘Here, have mine.’ I gave her the pill Kurt had given me before I lost him.
‘You sure?’ I nodded. ‘Thanks! You can get some more off that girl over there, she’s dealing.’ She pointed across the mosque to a white girl with fire-engine red cultural-appropriation dreadlocks. I saw her place a pill on some girl’s tongue.
We danced for a while. Even after night fell, it was still like twenty degrees, a sticky breathless night. I wore an oversize LA Lakers jersey as a dress with hi-tops and it was matted to my back. Antonella was blissed out. I figured her E had finally kicked in. She tipped her head back, hair damp with sweat. In the middle of the mosque, eyes closed, arms in the air, it was like she was lost in prayer.
I was about to leave. I always think that if you’re not feeling the party, don’t bring others down – just leave them to it. Nevada, Troy and a load of other people from St Agnes were there, so Antonella would be fine.
Except she wasn’t.
I saw Kurt first, dancing through the crowd ironically. I could tell he thought it was shit and I loved him for it. ‘Isn’t this the worst?’ I shouted over the bass.
‘Have you ever seen so many twats in your life?’
I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a long deep kiss. ‘Can we get out of here?’
‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’ He kissed me again.
I was so into the kiss, I wasn’t aware – at first – of the commotion right over my shoulder. I just thought dancers were bumping into me. I didn’t realise it was people pushing past to help Antonella.
I swear the music stopped. It didn’t in real life, but all I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my skull.
She was on the floor, flat on her back. She was shaking like there was electricity running through her body. Her eyes were open, but all white, like she was looking in on her brain.
People shouted, screamed, gathered around. Someone tried to make her drink water, like that was going to help.
Her face.
White shit bubbling out of her mouth.
Her face.
Every time I close my eyes I see
Her face.
‘LEXI!’ Sasha screams in my ear so loud it hurts. ‘There’s a boat!’
I don’t remember passing out. I must have. I want to again. My eyelids are heavy, sleep pulling me back. Only it isn’t sleep, is it?
‘What?’
‘Boat! There’s a boat coming.’
I manage to push with my dead arms so I’m facing the other way. A light gallops over the waves towards us. It’s coming quickly. ‘We’re here . . .’ I manage barely a whisper.
Sasha is louder. ‘Oi! Over here!’ She waves her arms and I drop her for a second until she slips under the water and I grab her again. The light shines on our faces. ‘It sees us! They can see us!’
Kendall. Kendall went for help. She knew.
I still might die. I think I’m broken. I might be too broken to survive. But I am glad we’re not just going to be fish food.
It’s all very trippy.
It’s like when I first came to the island.
There is a boat. There are voices. I see a ladder. I’m too exhausted to use it. Someone has to get in to help us out. They save Sasha first. Strong hands hook under my armpits and drag me on deck. It’s a lifeboat. The coastguard or whatever. They cover me in towels and blankets. Sasha is next to me.
They ask questions. I don’t answer.
I’m cold.
There are stars.
Stay with us, Lexi.
I look at the stars.
‘Lexi? Are you OK?’ It’s Goldstein.
‘Yes,’ I say. I’m too wiped to think of anything funny or clever. From the docks, a car brought us straight back to the house and I came round a bit. Now they’re trying to establish if we need to go to hospital on the mainland. We’re in the medical bay. It’s the room next to Isolation. Both Sasha and I walk around in circles, swaddled in blankets – apparently it’ll reduce the risk of hypothermia. In such a small space, I’m starting to get a little dizzy.
‘How are you feeling? Take a seat.’
‘Better.’ It’s true. My hands cradle a mug of hot chocolate and the sugar is bringing me back into this dimension.
‘And you, Sasha?’
‘Thanks to Lexi, I’m fine. Listen up, Doc, you gotta know it was all, one hundred per cent my fault. Lexi tried to stop me.’
‘Sasha, Sasha,’ he holds up a placating hand, ‘we can deal with all of that later. All we need to do now is establish if you’re physically all right.’
‘Now I’m dry, I’m mint.’
I’m less sure. I’m not sure I’ll ever be warm again. M
y bones feel blue and icy. ‘I think I’ll be OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll take a bath.’
Goldstein pops a thermometer in my mouth. After thirty seconds or so he checks it. ‘OK. More or less back to normal. I’ll let the coastguard know they’re OK to go in that case. But we’ll be keeping a very close eye on both of you tonight. Understood?’
‘I’ll go in Isolation,’ Sasha volunteers.
‘There’s no need.’ Goldstein goes to speak to the coastguard, leaving us with Joyce and our drinks.
‘Lexi. You came through for me. I owe you one. I owe you a lot more than one.’
I shake my head. I just really want to wash the sea off me. They gave us dry clothes but it’s still all over my skin. I smell salty. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’
‘Lexi,’ Sasha says with a broad grin. ‘We’re alive.’
I spend a very long time in the bath. Despite having almost drowned, I submerge myself. I’m reminded of The Bell Jar, that quote about baths curing all of life’s woes, but I can’t quite remember it. The water is almost too hot, but I like it. My skin turns sausagey and pink, but I can feel my core defrosting. I take down the shower attachment and wash my hair twice, ridding it of stinky eau de seaweed.
A little worried I might still be dying, I don’t dare close my eyes, at least until I’m out of the water.
There’s a polite knock on the door. Gary said he’d give me some privacy. ‘I’m conscious!’ I call back. ‘I’ll be out in a sec.’
‘It’s Brady.’ His voice is muffled by two doors.
‘Oh,’ I shout back. ‘Give me a minute!’
I let the water out and grab a towel. I give my hair a quick rub and retrieve my dressing gown. My hair hangs in ratty tails and I haven’t got a speck of make-up on, but I think I can face Brady. I look . . . well, clean.
I opened the door about an inch before he barges in and sweeps me into a bear hug. ‘Oh Jesus, I thought you were dead.’ He takes hold of my face and gives me a fierce kiss. I’m startled for about a second before I get my shit together and return the kiss.
‘So did I,’ I say between kisses.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘She got in a boat. I followed her.’ I go and sit on the edge of the bed, my legs still like jelly. ‘It was stupid.’
‘Sasha is saying you saved her life.’
‘I think we saved each other.’
‘I was so worried,’ he says, stroking my face. ‘And I thought . . . I just thought how I was crazy to let you go. What if this . . . you and me . . . was meant to be, and there I am ignoring it?’
We kiss a little more. Gotta admit, I didn’t see this coming, and I’m not complaining.
‘Lex,’ he says, ‘when I thought about losing you, it felt like I was losing something real. I’m not high, I’m not drunk . . . and I think I love you. I think it’s love. Real love.’
I roll on to my back and look up into his eyes.
What about Kurt?
What about love?
Instead, I ask, ‘What about abstinence?’
‘What if it’s not addiction? What if it’s just love?’ He rolls on top of me and kisses me again. ‘I think I . . . we . . . deserve that.’
He feels so warm. I want him to defrost me. I want him to make me feel again, feel like I haven’t felt anything in a really long time.
Since that night . . .
‘Brady, wait.’ I push him off me.
His brow creases. ‘What is it? Don’t you want to?’
‘No, I really, really do, it’s not that.’ I sit up and pull my gown together where it’s come undone. ‘It’s just that you’ve been really honest with me and I haven’t been honest with you.’
Now he really looks worried. ‘What do you mean?’
I pad to the French windows and slide them open before I pull the armchair near the door so I can smoke. ‘A couple of things. The first is that, back home, there was sort of a guy . . .’
‘Can I have one too?’ I hand him my cigarette and light another for myself. ‘Sort of a guy?’
I take a deep drag, smoke the shit out of my lungs, and then exhale through my nose. ‘The popular opinion is that this guy may not have had my best interests at heart. I may have also fooled myself into thinking I was in love with my drug dealer.’
‘Oh wow,’ Brady smiles. ‘Sounds co-dependent.’
‘Well, if you don’t get the appeal, no one will.’ It feels good to be honest. Again, cleaner.
‘What was the other thing?’
‘Brady, what you told me about the car crash must have been . . . Well, what I should have said . . . what I should have said a really long time ago is that I killed someone too.’
‘Huh?’
I nod. ‘I really did . . .’
I tell him about Antonella. Everything. The day she stepped on stage at St Agnes; the coffee at Bar Italia; and the night at the mosque in Catford. ‘You ever taken PMA?’ I ask.
Brady shakes his head. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘It’s similar to ecstasy, MDMA or whatever, but it’s much stronger. Way stronger. The other thing with PMA is that it’s slow-acting. Antonella thought she’d taken worming tablets or something, because she didn’t come up right away like you would on E. So she took three. She took three super-strength ecstasy pills in an hour.’
‘Shit.’ Brady holds out his hand for another cigarette. ‘And she died?’
‘Not right away. She had hyperthermia and basically overheated. She had a heart attack and a brain haemorrhage. She was on life support for a couple of weeks . . . the bleeping thing and the oxygen thing, the works. We went to see her. She looked . . . she looked like a child. The bed, the machines . . . it all made her seem really little. This . . . little girl held together by tubes and tape. The doctors said she was unlikely to wake up, and if she did . . .’
‘She wouldn’t be Antonella.’
And that’s the crux of it. A sob pops out of my mouth. It’s such a strange noise it surprises me. ‘And she was so good.’ I cover my mouth with my hand. ‘She was the best one and now she’s gone. Her parents switched off the life support. You know, she would have gone on to do something fucking incredible. Not just impressive, but like Obama impressive. And we took her away from the world.’
‘Hey.’ Brady picks me up and sits, pulling me on to his lap. ‘Lexi. You didn’t kill her.’
I snort.
‘You didn’t. Did you make her take those pills? No – she made a choice, just like you did, just like I did.’
‘Kurt gave her those pills, and I gave her Kurt. The pair of us are poison.’
‘No! Did Kurt know they were PMA?’
I shake my head. He thought they were E. ‘He said it’s not his fault, but . . .’
‘But what? He didn’t know, you didn’t know, Antonella didn’t know. It was an accident.’
‘I lied,’ I say. ‘I lied to cover for him.’
‘Well, of course you did. Venus lied for me. Love makes us do shitty things sometimes.’
I try to speak, but if I do, I’ll properly go. I just shake my head.
‘How long have you been hanging on to that?’
‘It was last July.’
‘Ten months. That’s a lot of guilt to hang on to.’
‘I should have said. I should have said when you told me about the crash.’
Now he shakes his head. ‘It’s not the same, Lex.’
‘It is, I think. Why is it that you don’t blame me, I don’t blame you, but we both blame ourselves?’
He looks me squarely in the eye. ‘Because we hate ourselves.’
I smile a wry smile. ‘Jackpot.’
‘Maybe that’s why we need other people in our lives – because we don’t see ourselves too well.’
‘Someone to love us when we can’t love ourselves.’ I say the words before I know what I’m saying, but now they’re out. I kiss him before I can say anything else. The kiss is soft, nurturing somehow.
‘That
sounds very co-dependent, Miss Volkov.’
I shake my head. ‘Nah. I think even Goldstein would agree that we all need someone from time to time. We won’t get through this all alone.’
‘Get through what?’
‘Get through anything.’
‘Such wisdom.’
‘I read a John Green book once.’
He laughs and stands me up. He leads me back to the bed. He pulls my gown open a fraction and kisses the groove between my neck and shoulder. I tingle. More kisses up my neck towards my earlobe. Tinglier.
‘Why don’t you hate me?’ I ask him, feeling utterly naked, even though I’m in the robe.
He looks at me for a long time. His hand holds the curve of my face. ‘Because I can see you,’ he says.
We kiss again.
I’m crying even though I’m happy.
A warm hand slides inside my dressing gown and cups my boob. His thumb traces my nipple and it instantly goes hard. His other hand slides down my tummy and doesn’t stop. Maximum tingle. I catch his wrist before we pass the point of no return. ‘Is this really what you want? I understand now; I understand if you can’t.’
He kisses me on the lips. ‘I love you for understanding, but I think this is OK. It’s different.’
‘OK,’ I say, and he lays me back on to the bed. I can’t believe I’m doing this: a couple of hours ago I almost died, I should be exhausted, but I’m fully awake. This moment is now. It’s like an endangered butterfly or something and I don’t want to scare it away. It might not flutter along again. Let’s go, Brady Ardito Jr.
My gown falls open and he slides between my legs. Just the weight on top of me feels so good. As we kiss I realise this is the first time – maybe ever – I’ve had sex sober. I’m very . . . aware. Of everything: the scent of my shampoo; the taste of his kisses (spearmint); how much I want him inside me . . . it’s almost an ache. ‘Do you have a condom?’ I ask. Turns out being sober also makes you sensibler.
‘I do.’ He fishes in his back pocket. Gotta love a Boy Scout – always prepared.
Health and safety done, we can focus on business.
You know what? I’m nervous. Like really, really nervous. Normally I’m too out of it to care, but this is different. I’m stone-cold sober, and also it’s Brady . . . I want him to be impressed. I could care that I haven’t shaved my legs – or anything else, for that matter – but I’m already too turned on.
