by Cat Clarke
No one else seems that bothered. They all head straight for the bar, where a couple of barmen are showing off to the crowd – chucking glasses over their shoulders and stuff like that. There’s no alcohol being served, of course – strictly mocktails only.
I’m finding it difficult to think or speak or do anything. The photos of Tara overwhelm me. She looks so beautiful up there. It doesn’t seem possible that she’s gone. Surely she’s going to skip onto the stage at any moment and take a bow to rapturous applause. ‘Thank you! Thank you! Sorry about the whole pretending-to-be-dead thing, but it was the only way I could think of to make you have a massive party all about ME!’ And then the adoring crowd will storm the stage and hug her and congratulate her on her terribly cunning plan.
‘It’s … wow.’
‘Told you. I kind of like seeing her up there though. Tara would have loved it, don’t you think?’ Jack pulls his gaze away from his sister to look at me, but his eyes flicker back towards the screens every couple of seconds.
‘Probably.’ I see something out of the corner of my eye and drag Jack along to get a closer look.
It’s an easel displaying a big sheet of black cardboard. Someone has written ‘Rae Morgan R.I.P.’ at the top in silver pen. The letters get smaller towards the right-hand side, as if the writer misjudged the amount of space. There are three pictures, overlapping each other at inappropriately jaunty angles. The picture in the middle is a school photo of Rae, from last year by the look of it. The other two were obviously taken years ago. In one of them she has the kind of tragic bowl-cut you always dread when you go to the hairdressers. In the other, she’s perched on a shiny new mountain bike and sporting a neon-green baseball cap.
This is the best they could do? Really? It’s like someone’s done it on purpose – created the crappiest memorial they possibly could to make it clear that this is all about Tara. Rae is an afterthought. A support act who must not be allowed to distract from the headliner. If Tara would have loved the big screens bearing her image, then there’s no question that Rae would have hated this. She wouldn’t want her pictures or her name anywhere near this morbid carnival.
Jack reads my mind. ‘Doesn’t seem right, does it? You’d think they’d have made more of an effort.’
All I can do is nod.
We spend the first hour or so hanging out with the band in a reasonably quiet corner. Spike’s hand brushes my bum a couple of times and I resist the urge to slap him. Maybe he just struggles with the concept of personal space.
A couple of Jack’s mates from school sidle over and Jack introduces me as his girlfriend, which is pretty much the best thing I’ve heard anyone say – ever. While we’re all chatting he keeps his hand on the small of my back. It keeps us connected, even when we’re talking to different people. I like it.
I try my best to forget about where we are and why we’re here. It’s not that easy when I can practically feel Cass’s glare on the back of my head. I know she’s watching – I caught her when I nipped to the loo. She’s sitting on the edge of a group of girls I don’t know all that well.
Every time I turn around I see Polly chatting to someone else. A couple of times I notice her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Polly is almost unrecognizable as the girl who got on that bus to Scotland.
While the rest of us have become less, somehow she’s managed to become more. Has this version of Polly been biding her time all these years, watching, waiting? Like those cicadas that emerge from under the ground after seventeen years or something. I can’t help wondering where the old Polly is. Whether she’s gone for good. I hope not – this new version makes me uneasy.
The boys are caught up in some kind of drinking game, which strikes me as slightly pointless until I realize that Spike has smuggled in a bottle of vodka. There’s nothing ‘mock’ about what they’re knocking back. I hope Jack doesn’t get too drunk before their set. I almost say something, until I remember that I’m not his mother, so telling him not to drink would be decidedly not OK.
‘What a fucking circus.’ The voice is slightly slurred. I turn to see Danni practically collapse onto the seat behind me. Her hair is a state and her makeup is smudgy. She smells like she’s been showering in alcohol. Clearly Jack’s mates aren’t the only ones who’ve smuggled in some booze to liven up the party.
‘How are you doing?’
She shakes her head and says nothing.
‘This must be hard for you.’
‘Nice of you to notice. No one else gives a flying fuck. Funny how I seem to have been relegated from the position of Tara’s best friend. How come Polly Sutcliffe is the centre of the universe all of a sudden? Tara would be laughing her arse off. Everyone seems to have conveniently forgotten that she DESPISED that girl. How can they have forgotten? How is that even possible?’
But I know all too well how quickly people forget. Social boundaries are fluid – not set in stone like people think they are. People can rise up the popularity scale faster than you would believe. No one knew that better than Tara. The irony does not escape me.
I’m about to say something vague and reassuring to Danni when a hush descends on the hall. The lights are dimmed and a spotlight flashes onto a lone microphone in the middle of the stage. Polly emerges from the darkness.
‘Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me,’ Danni says way too loudly. People turn and stare, before returning their attention to the stage.
Polly clears her throat and wipes a non-existent tear from her eye. ‘Thank you all for coming tonight. I know it would have meant a lot to Tara. And to Rae. I don’t think there’s a person in this room whose life has not been profoundly changed by these tragedies.’ She stops and looks around for a moment or two. I can hear sniffling coming from the direction of Stephanie de Luca’s table. Jack’s face is inscrutable. Danni’s face is murderous. ‘Let’s have a moment of silence to honour our lost friends.’
Polly bows her head and everyone else does the same. I go for a kind of halfway option, bowing my head a little bit so I can still see what’s going on. Some of the girls are holding hands. Some of the boys are fidgeting and looking awkward. Someone sneezes. The pictures of Tara are still flashing up on the screen. You’d think someone might have paused them or something.
Just as I’m beginning to think that this is the longest minute of my life, Danni jumps to her feet. She stumbles against the table so hard that a glass falls off and smashes on the floor. A vivid red stain creeps across the white tablecloth. Every single bowed head snaps up and all eyes are on Danni. I can hardly bear to look.
‘You people …’ She shakes her head in disgust. ‘This is a complete joke.’ She points at Polly and the look on her face is pure venom. ‘YOU are a complete joke.’ Polly’s expression is a careful blend of sadness and pity, but it looks like a mask that could crack any minute.
Daley rushes over and grabs Danni’s arm, gently but firmly manoeuvring her out of the room. Danni does nothing to resist.
The room is filled with whispers and awkward laughter. Everyone loves a bit of drama.
Jack’s hand is on my arm. ‘Do you think you should go and see if she’s OK?’ It shames me that he suggested it before it even crossed my mind. As I leave the hall I hear Polly start to sing some terrible ballad, unaccompanied. Good grief.
36
Danni was fine. Well, not fine exactly: drunk and emotional and sweary. But sort of OK. Daley was grateful to palm her off onto me while she went and called a taxi to take Danni home.
‘I probably shouldn’t have done that, should I?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone would blame you.’
She smiled weakly. ‘You’re OK, you know.’
‘Um. Thanks. I think.’
‘I don’t know why Tara hated you so much.’ She clapped both hands over her mouth and laughed. ‘Oops. I mean, that’s no secret, is it? You knew that already?’
I nodded.
‘Thanks for listening to me ramble
on. I know I’m a teeny bit pissed, but I won’t forget this. You’re being more of a friend to me than my so-called best friends. Well, the ones I have left anyway.’
I walked her out to the taxi when it arrived. She hugged me and there was nothing for me to do but hug her back. ‘Nice one getting it on with Jack, by the way – he is FIT … but I’ll kill you if you tell anyone I said so.’
Daley cornered me on the way back in, enquiring about Danni’s mental state. I told her Danni would be fine. She didn’t look like she believed me. Probably worried that Danni would go home and slit her wrists. I left her looking fretful in the foyer.
Everyone seems to have forgotten about the disturbance by the time I get back to the table. Spike asks me about my ‘crazy friend’, comments on her ‘awesome rack’ and says he ‘SO would’. Jack rolls his eyes and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I’m left alone when the band heads off to get ready for their set. It’s nice to be on my own for a while. I watch the images of Tara and work out there are thirty-one photos in all. My favourite is the one where she’s looking over her shoulder at the camera. Her hair is windswept and glossy. The picture looks completely spontaneous – like the photographer called her name and just snapped away. Knowing Tara, she probably planned it that way.
Every time a new photo comes up, I think I’m sorry. Over and over again. It turns into a weird sort of game with myself, where I have to think the words at the exact moment when one photo fades into the next.
And then a new photo comes up. This one stays on the screens. This one breaks my heart into a million tiny pieces.
Jack and Tara. Their arms slung loosely around each other’s shoulders, laughing. They look like twins.
The band come onstage to cheers and applause. Jack’s eyes seek out mine. He waves at me and I wave back. It takes him a few seconds to notice the screens, but when he does he stops in his tracks. I want to go to him, hold him, touch him, tell him everything will be OK. Tell him I’m sorry.
His hands are shaking as he plugs in his guitar and fiddles about with some pedals at his feet. It looks like he’s muttering to himself, trying to pull himself together.
Dave’s drums kick in and people surge towards the stage. I can’t take my eyes off Jack. He’s on autopilot for the first couple of songs. He barely looks up from his guitar and I know it’s not because he needs to concentrate.
It was Jack’s idea to start with a couple of cover versions. Clearly a stroke of genius – loads of people are dancing like crazy. There are still a few people (me included) standing or sitting around the edges of the dance floor. Cass is leaning against the wall by the door, still watching. It’s getting creepy.
A few songs in and Jack’s loosening up, starting to enjoy himself. He looks so bloody good up there. He’s sweating and his hair is sticking to his forehead. The muscles on his forearms are taut. His fingers move up and down the frets almost faster than I can see. I want to eat him up. Or tear his clothes off.
We make eye contact and there’s something different there. Something powerful and raw. I’m surprised no one else can feel it.
The end of the set comes round too quickly and there’s no avoiding what’s next. Jack steps up to the microphone and I brace myself for a big, emotional speech.
‘This one’s for my sister.’ That’s all he says. It’s enough though. The mood in the room shifts. People are suddenly still.
The song is even more haunting than the first time I heard it. Jack’s eyes are closed and his voice is surprisingly rich and strong – different from before. I look around to see that everyone’s eyes are on Jack. Even Cass has stopped staring at me for a little while. Gemma and Sam are right at the front, their elbows resting on the stage. Gemma could probably reach out and touch Jack if she wanted to. She’d better not. The teachers are all grouped at the back of the room. Mr Miles has his hand on Daley’s shoulder. She’s crying in great big heaving sobs.
Daley’s the only one crying at first, but somehow the tears infect the room, and by the time Jack gets to the really quiet bit at the end of the song I’d guess that a good half of the girls in the room are crying. As far as I can see, none of the boys have succumbed. A few of them are awkwardly patting the shoulders of the girls they’re with. Probably working out if this heightened emotional state increases (or decreases) their chances of getting some action tonight.
Jack sings the last line and this time his voice doesn’t crack and I’m glad for him. He bows his head for a second or two and I wonder if he’s praying. It takes a few seconds for the crowd to shake off their stupor and begin to clap. The applause is quiet and respectful at first, but it soon builds and builds and some cheers and whistles are added into the mix. It goes on and on. Jack’s embarrassed. He keeps ducking his head and acknowledging the reaction with a half-raised hand. Spike isn’t so modest: he bows theatrically again and again. Jenks and Dave are loving it too. They’ve obviously never had a reception like this before. The biggest gig they’ve played before now was some crappy under-eighteens night at a club in Camden. Apparently it did not go well.
The band disappear offstage and emerge ten minutes later. Spike is acting like some kind of minor celebrity. He even manages to work in a few high-fives on his way through the crowd.
Jack looks exhausted and I wrap my arms around him. ‘You were amazing,’ I whisper into his ear.
‘Really?’ he whispers back.
‘Yes, really … and you looked ridiculously good up there.’
He squeezes me a little tighter. ‘Oh yeah? You like the whole Rock God thing then?’
I kiss his neck, surprising myself. Public displays of affection seem to be my new thing. ‘I like it a lot.’
We kiss properly and Spike asks if I’m willing to congratulate all the band members in the same way. We ignore him and kiss some more.
Jack pulls away too soon. ‘Um … maybe we should stop?’ he murmurs. He doesn’t sound sure, so I choose to ignore him.
‘Alice … people are staring.’ Who cares? But a quick look over his shoulder confirms he’s right. And one person in particular is watching us closely. That does it for me.
‘Right, come with me.’ I pull Jack by his hand and he almost loses his balance. We head out into the foyer, passing my would-be stalker on the way. ‘Jack, could you wait here for a second? I’ll be right back.’ I give him a quick kiss and leave him looking puzzled.
I stomp back into the room and stop in front of Cass.
‘What is your problem?’
She smiles sweetly and tilts her head ‘Problem? I don’t have a problem. What makes you think I have a problem?’
‘Stop staring at me. I mean it, Cass.’
‘Oh, you mean it. That must be serious.’
‘Just … stop it.’ I’m so angry I can’t think of anything else to say.
‘Ah, but it’s so hard to resist watching love’s young dream. You two really are perfect for each other … What could possibly go wrong?’
‘Nothing’s going to go wrong.’
She’s glittering with malice now. ‘Hmm … you don’t sound so sure about that, do you? Aw, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you two will be fine. I mean, it’s not like you’ve got some big, dark secret that would ruin everything, is it? Oh wait – you do. I know you, Alice. The guilt will eat away at you, more and more each day until you can’t take it any more. Until you tell him.’
‘For God’s sake! When are you going to start listening to me? I’m not going to tell Jack anything!’
‘Tell me what?’
37
It’s like something off a terrible daytime soap. I didn’t think things like this actually happened in real life. Turns out I was wrong.
Jack’s face is relaxed and open. Cass looks almost as freaked out as I feel.
‘I …’ That’s the best I can do. And here I was, thinking I was a good liar.
‘Tell you that she’s crazy about you,’ says Cass. ‘I said she should tel
l you how she feels, but she wanted to wait. Our Alice has always been shy when it comes to boys.’ She laughs and pats me on the cheek. She knows how much I hate that, but I’m so grateful for her quick thinking that I could forgive her anything right now.
I shrug and hopefully look just the right level of bashful.
‘Oh, right. Er … cool.’ The poor boy doesn’t know where to look. ‘I’m Jack, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met?’
Cass sticks out her hand. ‘It’s nice to finally meet you, Jack. I’m Cass.’
They both look at me as if it’s my turn to speak. My heart still feels like it’s trying to burst out of my chest like some kind of alien.
I need to extract Jack from this situation as quickly and painlessly as possible. ‘Jack, do you want to come with me? There’s something I want to show you.’ Makes me sound like a paedophile … Do you want to come and see some puppies?
‘Consider me intrigued … OK, let’s go.’
Jack and Cass say their goodbyes and I lead Jack away. I turn back to Cass as I steer Jack through the door. I mouth the words ‘thank you’ and she nods.
Jack and I walk through the deserted hallways. It’s dark and eerie, and I might be scared if I was on my own. But Jack’s hand in mine is all it takes for me to feel safe.
‘So what is it you wanted to show me? I bet it’s your locker, plastered with poems about me.’ Since when did he get so cocky? Oh yeah, probably since being told I’m crazy about him.
I refuse to rise to the bait. ‘You’ll see soon enough,’ I say, aiming for sexy and mysterious. The truth is, there is nothing worth showing him in this place, unless you count Ernie the skeleton in the biology lab. He’s pretty special.
I stop when we’re far enough away from the main hall so we can’t hear the music any more. I peek in the window of a classroom I’ve never been in before.
