by Cat Clarke
‘In here. Follow me.’
‘Your wish is my command.’ He can be such a perfect geek sometimes.
Pale moonlight glances off the teacher’s desk. Jack moves to turn on the lights, but I stop him. I hop up onto the desk and swing my legs back and forth. Jack wanders round the room, eventually stopping in front of me.
‘Ah, so this is what you wanted to show me …’ He gestures to the whiteboard. ‘I can see why. I’ve always wanted to know more about the shanty towns of São Paulo. How did you know?!’ He laughs.
‘Shut up and kiss me.’
He’s surprised at my forwardness, but he doesn’t mind. He is a boy after all. ‘Whatever you say.’
I kiss him hard. My tongue seeking out his with a new kind of desperation. My fingers run through his hair. His hands are on my waist, but I want them everywhere.
I pull him even closer to me so that he’s standing between my legs. My dress rides up my thighs and I don’t care.
After a few minutes he pulls away. ‘What if someone comes?’ The choice of words makes me giggle.
‘Who cares?’ I slip my hands up under his shirt and my fingers roam up his spine. ‘I just want you to kiss me and not ever stop.’ My mouth finds his and I feel out of control with lust.
My fingers find his belt buckle and get to work. I’m struggling with the zipper when Jack grabs hold of my hands. ‘What are you doing?’
I laugh. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’ My breathing is ragged. ‘I want you, Jack.’
‘You mean you want to …? Here?’ It’s funny how these things are so hard to talk about.
‘Yes, I want to. Don’t you?’
Jack sighs and winces. He leans towards me so our foreheads are touching. ‘Of course I want to. I’ve wanted this for longer than you can imagine. But not like this. Not here.’
‘Why not?’ I think I’m going to cry.
‘It doesn’t feel right, you know? And anyway, I don’t have any … um … condoms.’
I kiss him, biting his lip a little. ‘I don’t care.’ And that’s when I know I’ve lost my mind. What a monumentally stupid thing to say.
‘Alice! You don’t mean that.’
Of course I don’t. I’m not stupid – just horny. And embarrassed. My vision blurs with tears and I turn away, hoping Jack won’t see.
‘Hey, don’t cry … Come on, it’s OK.’ He puts his hands on my shoulders and tries to get me to look him in the eye.
‘I’m fine. Really. Let’s go back to the party.’ I hop down from the desk, straighten my dress and take a deep breath.
‘Are you … ? Are we OK? I don’t want you getting the wrong idea. I want this to happen, but I want it to be right.’ Isn’t it supposed to be the girl who says things like that? I want my first time to be perfect. He must think I’m a right slag. I can’t work out whether it’s better if he thinks I’m a slag or a virgin. Tough call.
‘We’re fine. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is really embarrassing.’
Jack puts his arms around me and kisses me on the forehead. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Oh God, that sounds really arrogant, doesn’t it? That’s not what I mean. What I’m trying to say is, I feel very lucky that you want to be with me.’
This makes me feel a bit better. ‘Sorry for throwing myself at you.’ I smile to make sure he knows everything’s fine.
He smiles back. ‘Next time I’ll be ready. I can promise you that.’
38
The rest of the night went quickly, thank God. I couldn’t quite manage to shake off the shame, but at least I managed to hide it from Jack. We danced and laughed and talked. I kept an eye out for Cass, but she must have left early. No such luck with Polly. She seemed to be everywhere I looked – to such an extent that I started to wonder if she was doing it on purpose. But that seemed like a weird thing to do, even for her.
When Jack and I said goodbye, he said one word: ‘Soon.’ And suddenly I felt terrified and not at all ready. This is all very confusing.
Dad picked me up and we stopped for doughnuts on the way home. I gave him a (very) edited version of the night’s events and he asked lots of questions without ever crossing the line into nosiness.
Of course Ghost Tara had a thing or two to say. She was disgusted at how prominent Polly had been in the proceedings. She was worried about Danni. And she called me a ‘right little minx’ for ‘trying to get in Jack’s pants’.
As I tried to sleep, all I could hear was Tara whispering in my ear. At least I think it was Tara. Sometimes I swear the voice is inside my head. And sometimes I swear the voice is mine.
You don’t deserve Jack.
You don’t deserve to sleep.
You don’t deserve to live.
I’ve been dreading Monday the whole weekend: the inevitable, interminable talk about the dance. I swear most people enjoy that bit more than the event itself. It’s all about who was wearing what, who was getting off with who and who was sick in the toilets.
The last thing I want to hear is any gossip about me and Jack. Not that I think I’m particularly gossip-worthy, but I saw the way a lot of girls were eyeing him up onstage. Some of them will definitely have something to say – probably along the lines of he could do SO much better.
I swear more people are paying attention to me than normal as I trudge through the corridors. And I know for sure it’s not all in my head when Stephanie de Luca says, ‘Hi,’ as I approach my locker. I say a quizzical ‘hi’ back and turn to concentrate on finding my books. Daley wants us to hand in our copies of Chaucer today. Mine must be lurking underneath the miscellaneous detritus at the bottom of my locker.
Much to my surprise, Stephanie leans against the lockers. There’s such an air of nonchalance about her that you’d think she stopped by for a chat every day.
‘Did you have a good time on Friday?’
‘Um, yeah. It was OK, thanks.’ I get down on my knees and start piling up books beside Stephanie’s feet. She’s wearing sparkly ballet pumps, for Christ’s sake.
‘So … you and Jack Chambers? What’s the deal there?’
Oh God, here it comes. ‘What do you mean?’ I’m glad I don’t have to look at her, but I don’t exactly feel comfortable scrabbling around at her feet. I find a Spanish textbook I thought I’d lost.
‘You’re together, right?’ I find a grubby pair of gym socks.
‘Yes.’ That’s all she’s getting from me.
‘Since when?’ There’s something wedged down the back of the locker, partially hidden by my mammoth German dictionary. I pull it out. It’s a plain white envelope, slightly creased and grubby. My name is written on it in fat black capital letters. I wonder how long that’s been there.
Stephanie fake-coughs. ‘Alice? Helloooo?’
I stand too fast and have to ride out the wave of dizziness. Stephanie’s lucky it’s the locker door I grab hold of rather than her. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. We’ve been together a while. Why?’ I turn the envelope over and over in my hands.
She shrugs. ‘Just curious. He’s cute. Soooo … I don’t suppose you know the rest of the band, do you? Cos that lead singer was smokin’.’
‘Yeah, that’s Spike.’ I wedge my thumb under the flap of the envelope and start to tear it open.
‘Spike? Sounds dangerous.’ And you sound pathetic. The envelope contains a single piece of white paper, folded once in the middle.
‘Maybe you could introduce us sometime? Oh, BTW, I’m having a party on Saturday if you’re interested?’ This catches my attention. Firstly, I can’t believe she actually said ‘BTW’ out loud. And secondly, I can’t believe she’s inviting me to a party. I’ve only been waiting four years. Also, I can’t believe she’s not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s only talking to me to get to Spike. How could I have ever wanted to be this girl’s friend?
I unfold the letter slowly, just to leave Stephanie hanging.
At first I don’t understand what I’m seeing. The
words don’t make any sense, even though they’re written in the same thick letters as my name on the envelope.
I glance up at Stephanie, worried that she might be looking at the note. I needn’t have bothered though – she’s busy examining her nails. I need her to leave – now. But there’s a planet-sized lump in my throat. Somehow I manage to force out some croaky words. ‘I’m busy on Saturday.’
This was clearly not the answer she was expecting. ‘Um … OK. Well, let me know if you change your mind. Facebook me, yeah?’
I nod vaguely, and Stephanie walks away looking puzzled.
A quick, furtive glance around at the now empty corridor before I risk looking at the letter again, hoping it will say something different.
It doesn’t.
You have to do the right thing. Tell someone. Please.
The note is signed: ‘R’.
A bizarre thought flits in and out of my head: the letter R is only worth one point in Scrabble.
39
My hands were shaking as I folded the note and put it back in the envelope. I put the envelope in my bag, shoved everything else back into my locker and slammed the door. I went straight to the school nurse and told her I’d just thrown up. She told me I did look a bit peaky and let me lie down in the sick room. When she popped her head round the door an hour later I asked her to call my dad.
On the way home, Dad kept on asking if I was OK. I said that talking made my head hurt.
I went straight up to my room, closed the curtains and got into bed still wearing my school clothes. Bruno jumped up next to me and rested his head on my legs. I couldn’t stop shivering.
I read the note again. One question steamrollered over all the others in my head: how long had it been there?
I tried to convince myself that Rae had put it there just before she killed herself. I really, really wanted this to be the case, because the alternative was too horrible to think about. But I forced myself to think about it anyway. What if Rae put it there weeks and weeks ago, waiting to see what I would do? And when I did nothing, she …
I didn’t sleep for four nights. I mean, I’m sure I slept a little, but it definitely didn’t feel like it. I felt groggy and confused and sick with anxiety. Dad tried to get me to go to the doctor, but I refused. I told him I was on my period and he left it alone.
Rae’s letter was all I could think about.
I felt terrible. A whole new level of terrible I never knew existed. The kind of terrible that makes you want to lock your bedroom door and stay in there forever. That makes you scared to look anyone in the eye in case they see what kind of person you really are.
I stayed home from school for the rest of the week – which stretched Dad’s belief in my ‘women’s troubles’ as he called them. Jack wanted to come and visit me, but I put him off. I was scared to see him. The only other person to get in touch was Danni, who messaged me on Facebook: Just wanted to check you’re still alive. Hope you haven’t topped yourself. Sorry for being a dick the other night. I didn’t reply.
Ghost Tara taunted me, repeating the words of Rae’s note in a crazy sing-song voice that never went away. Even when I was downstairs with Dad and Bruno, I could still hear it. On Thursday morning Dad caught me banging my head against the kitchen table in a vain bid to silence the madness. I somehow managed to convince him I was annoyed with myself for pouring orange juice on my cereal instead of milk. He didn’t seem to notice I was eating toast at the time.
By Sunday afternoon I realize there’s no way I can avoid going to school tomorrow. If I stay cooped up in this room I may well end up in a mental ward. Or worse. I put Rae’s note in the drawer next to Tara’s ring. It seems like the right place for it.
There’s a knock at the door and I slam the drawer shut, throw myself onto the bed and close my eyes. I’m sure Dad must be able to hear my thumping heart from the other side of the door.
‘Alice? Can I come in?’ It’s not Dad. The voice is so out of context in these surroundings – in my surroundings – that it takes a moment or two for me to place it.
‘Yeah, come in.’ I manoeuvre myself into a sitting position as the door opens.
Danni closes the door behind her and tiptoes into the room like she’s creeping through a graveyard in the dead of night. ‘Sorry. Were you asleep?’ Before I have the chance to answer she looks around and her eyes widen. ‘Wow.’
‘I know, I know, I’ve heard it all before. My room looks like an eight-year-old’s … blah blah blah.’
Danni shrugs and strokes the zebra-print curtains. ‘I was just going to say how much I like zebra print.’ I’m pretty sure she’s lying, but I appreciate the effort. She pulls the curtains open and the light hurts my eyes. ‘Can I open the window? It smells a bit … stale in here.’
‘Charming! Yeah, go for it. Um … how did you know where I live?’ I try my best to sound nonchalant, as if I’m used to random people popping over all the time.
‘I asked around.’ Danni throws herself down on the beanbag in the corner. ‘I wanted to see how you were. Did you get my message?’
I shake my head. ‘Danni, why are you here?’
Her eyes narrow. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something. And I was worried about you … but mainly I wanted to talk to you. You’re the only one who gets it.’ Somehow I have become Danni Carrington’s confidante.
I draw my knees up and tuck them under my chin. My body language could not be any more defensive if I’d adopted the brace position they show you on aeroplanes. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
Danni leans forward and I can hear the polystyrene balls inside the beanbag rearrange themselves. ‘I think Tara was murdered.’
My stomach twists itself into a complicated knot and I hope against hope that my facial expression has stayed neutral. ‘Is this the Duncan thing again?’ Please God, let it be the Duncan thing again. Or any crazy story that Danni has concocted, as long as it’s nowhere near the truth.
‘No. I mean, yes. Sort of.’
‘Danni, we’ve been through this before.’ My sigh comes out more shakily than I would have liked.
‘I know, I know. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Sometimes I feel like the whole world is going crazy and I’m the only one thinking about this logically. And then sometimes I think I must be the crazy one because no one else is even considering other explanations. They’ve got their neat little story and there’s no need to look any further. But it makes no sense. One, Tara would never have gone swimming. She was looking forward to a week away from all that … she said as much. But even if she did go swimming – which she didn’t – there’s no way she’d have had an asthma attack. Swimming never brought on her asthma before, and anyway, she’d have had her inhaler with her. Definitely.’ Danni’s words tumble out fast, as if she’s worried I’m going to stop her or contradict her at any moment.
‘You can’t know that, Danni. Not for sure.’
‘I can. I do! Tara never went anywhere without her inhaler. She was pretty chilled about most things, but not about that. She had a scare about a year ago when we were doing cross-country. It was bad.’
‘What happened?’
‘She was in the lead by miles, but she started to have trouble breathing. Of course, being Tara, she decided to power on through it – she couldn’t bear the thought of losing.’ That sounds about right. ‘She collapsed near the finish line. I was way back so I didn’t see what happened. Apparently it was really scary. Thank God Polly was there.’
The room shrinks and the walls start to pulsate in time with my heartbeat. Somehow I manage to spit out a single, ugly word. ‘Polly?’
‘Yeah, she pretty much saved Tara’s life. Knew exactly what to do. You know her asthma’s really bad? Way worse than Tara’s.’ I shake my head. Why would I know this? ‘Yeah, she’s like, obsessive about it. Carries at least two inhalers wherever she goes. That’s why she always gets out of doing sports at school. Tara probably could have too, but she likes … liked push
ing herself as far as she could go … Anyway, Polly was at the finish line, being the official timer or whatever. Tara was lucky.’
‘Polly saved Tara’s life?’ There’s a scrabbling sound in my ears. I think it’s my brain trying to make a break for it. It can’t compute what Danni is telling me.
‘Yeah. Mad, isn’t it?’
‘How come I never heard anything about this?’ Everyone knows about everything at our school. There’s nowhere on earth that gossip spreads as fast as at a girls’ school.
‘It’s not exactly something you’d want getting around, is it? Polly Sutcliffe coming to your rescue? Tara made sure no one said anything.’
It makes sense now – Tara letting Polly follow her around like a lapdog. Polly would have been so grateful to be hanging on to the edge of the in-crowd that she wouldn’t even care that they still despised her.
‘She always had this thing about never wanting to look weak. She always had to be the strong one. You know, I never once saw her cry?’
That was my fault. Tara was like that because of me.
‘I … Danni, I’m not feeling too well. Would you mind …?’
She nods. ‘I’ll head off. But do you think I should go to the police? I mean, I know I don’t have any evidence or anything, but they might listen to me. Don’t you think?’
I can’t think. Not while Danni’s looking at me as if I have all the answers. ‘Let me think about it. Don’t do anything rash. We can talk about it next week.’ I sound strangely calm and in control.
‘OK.’ She struggles up from the beanbag. ‘Thanks for this, Alice. I feel a little less crazy now – sometimes it’s just good to get stuff out, you know?’
I nod.
‘See you at school.’
‘Yeah.’
I’m left alone with too many thoughts clashing against each other in my head.
What the fuck am I going to do?
40
