Unspeakable

by Abbie Rushton

  That’s what you do, isn’t it? Ruin friendships.

  Back at school, Mr Harwell is all invigorated after his holiday and ready to try new things. ‘Right, Megan,’ he says with a clap. ‘We’re going to try a bit of humming today.’

  I raise an eyebrow. Humming’s OK. If I’m on my own. Not in front of others.

  ‘Now, just give it a chance before you make up your mind. I’ve brought some CDs for you to look through. No mocking my bad taste! Why don’t you pick one?’

  I flick through the pile he’s left on the desk. Some of his choices are seriously questionable, but there are a couple I wouldn’t mind listening to.

  Mr Harwell puts the CD in the player and lets me choose the track. ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ by The Verve. He closes his eyes – he knows it helps if he’s not watching me – and starts to hum. He’s completely out of tune. I stifle a giggle. Mr Harwell opens his eyes and gives me a look that tells me to take it seriously.

  I nod, take one of those deep breaths we’ve practised, and focus on the music. I really do like this song. I feel the melody pulse through me, sing the lyrics in my mind. A few moments later, I start to make the smallest of sounds at the back of my throat.

  The song finishes. Mr Harwell looks pretty pleased. ‘Let’s try it without music this time.’

  Keep quiet.

  I flinch.

  Mr Harwell nods sympathetically. ‘It’s OK, Megan. You’re safe here.’

  I trust him, so I try to do it.

  Silence. After a few minutes, Mr Harwell breaks it. ‘There’s no one to hear you except me.’

  Another silence. He lets this one stretch out even longer.

  ‘If you’d like to try something else today, Megan, we can move on and come back to this next week.’

  I shake my head. I want to do it.

  I swallow heavily, then close my eyes as one of Jasmine’s favourite songs plays in my mind. It’s from a West End musical. I’m not sure which one, but it’s a beautiful, haunting love song. As soon as she played it to me, I loved it. It makes me smile to think that most teenagers are jumping around their rooms to boy-band pop while Jasmine is blasting out ballads from some bloke called Lloyd Webber.

  I imagine I’m in her room. Jasmine’s singing along lightly, almost under her breath. I hum the first few bars with her. The sound scratches and scrapes its way out, but it’s there. It’s really there!

  I give up about halfway through the song. I’ve had enough. Mr Harwell still says he’s proud of me. I’m proud of myself. I feel like we’re loosening the clamp around my voice box, one tiny notch at a time.

  You’ll never talk again.

  I should’ve known better. I’ll never speak again. And, after what I did, I probably don’t deserve to.

  I try to get some revision done after school, but it’s impossible. The sun is streaming through my bedroom window. I just need to be outside.

  Minutes later, I’m on my bike, Grandpa’s camera bumping gently against my hip.

  I ride out to Stonylea Hill. Hana and I used to have competitions to see who could get the furthest before giving up and pushing to the top. I usually won. Not because I was the fittest. I was just so stubborn. Once we were at the peak, the real fun began and we’d fly down the other side, wind whipping the hair off our sweat-soaked backs.

  When I reach the top, I practically fall off my bike and drop into some leaf mulch by the side of the road. I lie on my back, gasping as I watch the leaves above tremble and twitch like butterfly wings. A woodpecker chips away at a tree somewhere behind me, and the call of a starling sounds out through the forest. I remain like this, listening, until my breaths start to even out.

  Leaning my bike against a fence, I enter the forest. I stick to the main path for a while, then veer off to the left, down my own trail. My shoes crunch and rustle over fir cones and dry leaves. I disturb a deer that was crossing the path before me. Its ears flick back and forth, nostrils flaring, before it bounds off into the trees.

  I reach my fallen oak. There’s a beautiful curve to the trunk that’s just perfect to sit in, as though it’s been carved just for me. This is my most perfect, private place.

  A beetle waddles across the bark beside me. It’s jet black with a blue sheen. I pull out Grandpa’s camera and focus on it. I take a couple of shots, following its progress to the ground.

  I get off the tree and crouch down so I can take some close-ups. But my lens catches something else behind the beetle. I pause. The camera falls from my frozen fingers and thunks into a pile of leaves.

  Beneath the tree trunk, there’s a hollow. Hana and I used to leave messages for each other here. There’s something in that hollow now. Something white.

  Oh. My. God.

  I checked here. I know I did. After she … after it happened, I came here. But there’s definitely something here now. I feel cold, then hot, then sick.

  With clumsy hands, I reach for it. It’s an envelope, wrapped in a sandwich bag. I peel off the wet bag, careful not to let it drip on the paper. My name dances across the front in her messy scrawl. I bite my lip to stifle a cry.

  I stand on weak legs and lean against the tree trunk. I trace the letters with my fingertip, trying to imagine what she was thinking when she wrote it. My nail slips under the envelope flap. I hesitate. Do I really want to know?

  A twig breaks. I jump and shove the letter in my jacket pocket. When I look up, Rob – Sadie’s boyfriend – is standing in front of me, his absurdly chiselled jaw hanging open.

  To my horror, Josh, Lindsay and Grace appear behind him, followed by Sadie, who looks disgusted as she staggers through the mud in a pair of heels.

  This isn’t happening. This is my place. And I need to read that letter. In private.

  Before Rob can say anything, I leap up, stumble over the oak, and charge into the forest.

  I’m off the main path. It’s overgrown. Wild. I dodge through trees, leap over roots and rocks. Brambles and thorns snag my hair and thin branches whip across my face. Are they following me? I don’t know. Can’t hear anything but the fast thud of my heartbeat.

  After a few minutes, I stop.

  The letter. I have to read it now. I reach into my pocket.

  It’s gone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  No! The letter must’ve fallen out of my jacket. I’ve got to get it back. I pivot round and retrace my steps. Please let me find it before I reach my tree. Please don’t make me go back. My eyes dart around, searching for a flash of white amongst the dry leaves and dirt.

  But there’s nothing. When I emerge in the clearing, my forehead damp with sweat and my hair all over the place, Lindsay smirks, places a hand on her hip and shouts, ‘Look who it is, Sadie.’

  Sadie glances up. She wraps her slender arms around Rob’s waist. ‘Hi, Megan.’ Her voice drips with syrup. ‘Have you come out to play with us?’

  I don’t respond. The letter is on my side of the fallen oak, in the shadows just beneath it. I don’t think they can see it. My heart is pumping too fast.

  Sadie says, ‘No offence, but I don’t think you’re Rob’s type.’

  Lindsay throws back her head and laughs. Grace just blushes and looks down at her trainers.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ Sadie snaps.

  Grace’s eyes widen. ‘Nothing!’ She lets out a fake laugh. ‘But it’s boring here. Let’s go somewhere else.’

  ‘What’s wrong with here? I like it here.’

  ‘But Megan’s here,’ Grace murmurs, her head tilted down.

  Sadie smiles and her lip gloss glistens, soft and sticky as strawberry jam. ‘I thought Megan was just leaving.’

  I take a step towards her. Towards the letter.

  ‘Have you forgotten something?’ she asks with fake, mocking concern.

  My eyes flit to the envelope. Stupid! Sadie’s gaze follows. She leans over the tree trunk so she can see what I’m looking at. I start to move, but she pounces, snatching it up and scrunching it in her fist.
A choking sound falls out of my mouth and I stretch out my arm.

  Shut up!

  Sadie waves it before me, her eyes alight. Cruel. ‘Is this yours, Megan? It’s got your name on it. Do you want it back?’

  I nod once, my expression pleading.

  ‘All you have to do is ask,’ she says in a singsong voice.

  I glare at the ground, my blood boiling.

  Sadie draws her voice out, relishing each sound. ‘Just … one … word.’

  Enough! A coil of rage winds through me. With a raw cry, I grab Sadie’s arm and yank her forward, slamming her hips into the tree, leaving her doubled over it. She shrieks, thrusts her arm back and shoves the letter at Rob, who takes it and stares at it dumbly.

  ‘Bitch!’ Sadie yells, brushing down her jeans. ‘You’re not ever having that letter back now.’

  I shake my head. I need that letter. How can she not realise how important it is? I look up, letting her see how close I am to tears.

  But Sadie just shakes her head. ‘No. It’s mine.’

  What can I do? Short of wrestling them all to the ground, there’s nothing. I had it in my hands and now I’ve lost it. I blink and a tear spills over my eyelid and trails down my cheek.

  Rob is still staring at the letter, turning it over and over in his hands. ‘Let’s give it back, Sades,’ he grunts.

  Sadie rolls her eyes. ‘It’s just a stupid letter.’

  It’s not a stupid letter. You have no idea what it is, what it means.

  Should I tell her who it’s from? But what if she opens it? Reads it out in front of everyone so they can all laugh at me?

  No one says anything. Sadie stares at Lindsay, but Lindsay looks away, nibbling one of her nails.

  Sadie sighs. ‘All right, Megan. I’ll give it back.’ She takes it from Rob and holds it out. I gasp and reach for it, but Sadie whips it away. ‘When you stop hanging around with Jasmine.’

  What? No. You can’t ask me to do that. You can’t take her away from me!

  Sadie arches an eyebrow. ‘I’ll give her a second chance. I’m nice like that. You know you’re just dragging her down. If she hangs around with us, she’ll be popular, have loads of friends. Don’t be selfish. She’d be much happier with us.’

  How can I choose? How can she ask me to do that? Those are the last words that Hana ever wrote to me. I have to read them. I need to know what she was thinking. All this time, it’s been tormenting me, eating me up, and now I have a chance to get inside her head.

  But Jasmine. I can’t give up on Jasmine. Hana’s gone. She’s … she’s gone. I can’t change that. But I can protect Jasmine from Sadie, who’ll probably just use her, then turn on her when it suits her. If Jasmine’s right about Sadie sending the notes, I have to do everything I can to keep Sadie away from her.

  I shake my head and back away.

  Sadie shrugs. ‘Fair enough. I gave you the choice. Now get lost, Megan.’

  I walk away slowly. It takes everything I’ve got to hold myself together until I’m a safe distance away, then I slam my palm against a tree. It hurts, but – in a weird way – feels kind of good. With my face pressed against the bark, I sob into it, wrapping my arms around the trunk like it’s a person, clinging to it to stop myself from sinking to the ground.

  When I’m done, I stand up straight, brushing my cheeks with fierce strokes. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’ll get that letter back from Sadie. I will get it back.

  I walk along the road to collect my bike, then I ride home quickly, taking my frustration out on the pedals. By the time I arrive, I’m a little dizzy, and shaking so much I struggle to get the key in the lock.

  Mum comes to the door, takes one look at me, plucks a leaf from my hair and says, ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  I nudge past her to get inside.

  ‘Megan!’ Mum calls after me.

  I put my bike in the utility room, scattering crumbs of mud across the floor. I stare at each dry piece of dirt, trying to count them all, trying to steady myself. But there are too many. My head starts spinning. I need to clean them up.

  Mum stands in the doorway, folding her hands across her chest. ‘What happened?’

  I shake my head. I can’t.

  Mum follows me to the kitchen. She breathes in slowly through her mouth, drawing on an imaginary cigarette. ‘Can you write it down?’

  No. I’m sorry, Mum. You wouldn’t understand.

  I grab a dishcloth and start to clean the work surface. It’s filthy.

  ‘Can you leave that, please?’

  No. It’s gross.

  ‘Come on, Megan. I’m your mum, for God’s sake.’

  I scrub at a soup stain on the cooker, my hand moving in rapid, angry swipes.

  ‘I never know what you’re thinking.’ Mum’s working herself up. Her eyes are red, her mouth scrunching as she tries to hold back tears. ‘I want to make it better, but I don’t know how.’

  You can’t, Mum. No one can.

  She studies me for a moment, desperately searching my face for … I don’t know what. Then the tears overflow and she yells, ‘God! I’m not a mind reader, Megan. I wish you’d just talk to me!’

  My mouth drops. She realises her mistake in an instant. I think she’d like to take her words back. But they hang in the air, dangling like twisted toys from a child’s mobile.

  I slam down the dishcloth, flicking dirty water over both of us. This isn’t a choice. Do you think I do it just to spite you?

  I stomp up to my room. How dare she? Mum has no idea.

  I pause. Sigh. She has no idea because I haven’t told her. She has a point. How is she supposed to know how I’m feeling? I know it’s been hard for her too. Mum didn’t want a baby when she was sixteen. She wanted to be out clubbing with her mates. She wanted to do her A-levels. She didn’t want to be judged by every middle-class snob in the village. But I ruined everything.

  You always do.

  I wish I could call Hana. I wish I still had the letter. I imagine what it might have said, rewrite it a thousand times in my mind. It kills me that I had it in my hands and now I’ve lost it.

  As soon as Jasmine and I arrive at the bus stop the next day, Sadie peels away from her crowd and heads towards us. My eyes flick to her massive handbag. I wonder if the letter is in there. How am I going to get it back? She’s not exactly going to wander off and leave her bag alone. What if she just chucked the letter away last night? My throat thickens.

  Sadie ignores me and goes straight for Jasmine. ‘Your mate attacked me in the woods last night,’ she announces.

  Jasmine looks at me uncertainly. I shake my head, struggling to swallow.

  ‘I’m telling you, she’s unstable. I’ve got two massive bruises on my thighs and my jeans are ruined. You want to watch out. She’s dangerous.’

  Jasmine looks away. ‘Seriously, Sadie. I’m not interested.’

  Sadie thrusts her face into Jasmine’s and hisses, ‘Well, don’t come running to me when you realise what a psycho she is. And tell her,’ she barely looks at me, ‘that if she ever touches me again, I’ll slap her so hard her ugly nose will straighten.’

  ‘What happened last night?’ Jasmine asks softly, after Sadie has flounced back to her friends.

  I can’t tell her everything. She’ll feel bad if she finds out I lost Hana’s last letter because of her. I scribble: She found me in the woods last night and took something from me. I tried to get it back.

  Jasmine stiffens. ‘Were you writing to Hana again? I thought we talked about you not doing that.’

  I glare at the ground. Just because you think I should do something doesn’t mean I have to do it. I take a deep breath. It’s OK. It’s better she thinks that than knows the truth.

  Jasmine looks like she’s going to say something more, but the bus arrives, so she lets it drop.

  Luke isn’t waiting for us on the bus today. When Jasmine asks Simon why, he looks out the window for a moment, starts picking at some loose st
itching in the back of Jasmine’s seat, then finally says, ‘He’s off sick.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Jasmine replies. ‘What’s up with him?’

  Simon blushes and mumbles something.

  Jasmine leans closer. ‘What did you say?’

  Simon looks straight at her. ‘Promise you won’t tell?’

  Jasmine and I exchange a glance. ‘Okaaaay,’ she agrees.

  ‘He had a fight with Dad, then he broke a mirror, then he went out and didn’t come back all night. Sometimes he just gets really mad, and he can’t calm down.’

  I frown. That doesn’t sound like Luke. But I know he finds things tough where his dad is concerned. I hope he’s OK. Maybe I should text him?

  I have to clear my head and concentrate on a Maths exam in the morning, but I poke a note through a slit in Sadie’s locker at lunchtime, asking her to return the letter. It’s completely pointless. I know it is. I just need to do something. I try to reach the Sadie I used to know, the Sadie I liked and trusted. I remind her that, if our friendship meant anything, she’d give it back. I loiter round the corner, waiting, then watch helplessly as she glances at it, rolls her eyes, and screws it into a ball. I guess the Sadie I used to know is gone for ever.

  Jasmine tries to cheer me up on the way to the bus after school. She tells me about the time she got in a pickle with her PE kit, forgot to put her knickers on, and spent the whole basketball lesson trying to shoot without jumping, in case someone saw up her shorts. I smile vaguely, but she can tell I’m distracted.

  On the walk home, I can’t really keep up with what Jasmine’s saying. Something about a play she wants to see in London. Maybe if I can get hold of Sadie when she’s not with the others, I can explain that the letter is from Hana, that I really need to read it. She must understand!

  Jasmine drops me off at home and I rush inside to write Sadie another note. She can’t just walk all over me because I don’t have a voice to answer back. She’s not getting away with this. That letter is mine!

  My heart flips as I head up the path towards Sadie’s front door. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I remember having water fights in the front garden, her mum smiling at our shrieks as she washed her car in the drive. I glance up at the window we broke during a game of rounders. We had to save up our pocket money for weeks to replace it. And there’s the spot we buried her hamster, Hugo, beneath the rose bush, along with a poem Sadie wrote for him.