My heart starts pounding. Dad will be okay. But I won’t.
I imagine him coming home early from work. Throwing his briefcase aside as he marches down the hall. His words booming through doors and walls. Lucy! Get out here! I feel them vibrate through me now.
But buried beneath them is a voice, tiny as a leaf lying on a train track. I hope you feel safe all day.
That’s what I wanted. To wake up and start the day without wondering, after the bottles are dropped in the recycling and the jokes are swept out by the morning’s papers, what mood will he be in.
‘That is why I did it, Dad,’ I whisper.
‘Morning, you!’ he says. ‘Sleep well?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. He comes up, kisses my forehead and then stands back. ‘Wish me luck out there, hey?’
My eyes are on the floor tiles. He’s going to figure it out. He won’t stop until he does. ‘Good luck, Dad.’
Dad begins to go down the hall but stops. ‘Bloody journalists,’ he says, and turns for the back garden to avoid them.
The doorbell rings. I check first through the hall window, but it’s Megan, so I open it. There are still two journalists hanging around across the street. She stands on her tippy-toes and looks over my shoulder.
‘They’ve both gone out,’ I say.
‘Was it like World War Three here yesterday? God, I would have loved to have seen your dad,’ she says.
But all I see is his bloated smile and puffed-up chest. ‘Picture a peacock,’ I say. ‘He’s doing better than ever because of this.’
‘How?’
‘Because he’s Dad. He can talk his way out of anything.’ I try not to look at the journalists on the street behind her. ‘It’s gotten too big. I didn’t mean for it to get so big.’
Megan leans her shoulder against at the wall.
‘He’s going to figure out that it was me,’ I say.
Megan doesn’t answer directly, instead she winces and grabs my arm. ‘You can stay in my house,’ she says. Which means she agrees with me.
‘For ever?’ I ask.
Megan’s phone beeps and a text pops up. And I see the name. Hazel.
She closes it really quickly, but not quick enough.
‘Hazel?’ I say.
A look brushes over Megan’s face, like a trapped mouse, before she forces herself to look casual. ‘Hazel started texting me last night.’ Megan rolls her eyes like it’s ridiculous. But she can’t stamp out the smile in her voice.
‘Hazel, the girl who has been bullying you?’ I say.
‘I know!’ Megan says and shakes her head at the craziness of it.
But when I say, ‘And you texted her back?’ she stops. ‘What does she want?’ I ask.
‘She wants us to call over there,’ Megan says.
‘And what did you say?’ I ask.
Megan sticks out her bottom lip.
‘Megan?’ I say.
‘I didn’t reply, not really,’ she says. Which means she did reply and she didn’t say, No.
‘You’re not going,’ I say. ‘Are you?’
Megan shrugs and looks away. I step down onto the path and face her so she can’t ignore me.
‘Look, I think we should go over there,’ she says.
I have to force my voice to stay flat. ‘Why?’
‘Because she removed all the comments. I think she probably finally realized the orchestra blog was based on her, and after what happened with Stephen . . . I don’t know. I think she’s learned her lesson.’
I can’t believe what she’s saying. This wasn’t about teaching Hazel a lesson. It was about Megan standing up to her.
‘So now you are going to be friends with her?’ I ask.
‘I didn’t say that, I just said we’d call over.’
‘So you already agreed?’
‘No! I mean, it’s not like that. But, Lucy, I’ve been friends with her for my whole life,’ she says and shrugs. ‘Friends sometimes fight.’
‘But this wasn’t a fight. She was bullying you but now she’s realized she needs you because without Lisette she’ll have no friends when we start school next week.’
‘Maybe she’s sorry,’ Megan says.
‘Who cares if she’s sorry?’ I say. ‘She was cruel. And she’ll do it again.’
Megan looks down the street towards Hazel’s house and thinks. ‘Look, school starts next week. Hazel was nasty, we got revenge, and now it’s time to move on.’
‘What about next time?’
‘Maybe there won’t be a next time.’
‘Of course there will!’ I say. ‘People like her don’t stop.’
‘You don’t get to decide who I’m friends with, Lucy,’ she says.
Mum said that to Dad. But this is different.
‘Yeah?’ I say. ‘Well, I do get to decide who I’m friends with!’
‘So don’t be her friend!’ she says. But then she must feel bad. Or maybe she’s worried that I meant it’s her that I won’t be friends with, because she takes a step towards me and says, ‘Look, let’s just go over there and hang out for an hour.’
Megan’s eyes are pleading and I realize it’s already too late. ‘So she just wins?’ I say.
‘Please, Lucy?’ she says. ‘Please?’
I know she’s going anyway. And I don’t want her going in there alone. Because maybe when she sees Hazel, it’ll hit her. So I follow.
When we get there, Megan rings her doorbell and Hazel answers in her pyjamas. Her hair is a bramble bush. She looks as if she’s had the flu for a week. But she gives us a massive smile and takes us up to her room, and it’s so weird to walk up the stairs and come into the room I’ve snuck into twice. I feel like a thief. A thief who stole Hazel’s thoughts. The photo beside the bed of Hazel and Lisette has been replaced. Now it’s Hazel and Megan, looking at the camera, smiling.
I see Megan noticing. I see the smile that she tries to flatten.
I’m right. Hazel’s won.
‘Never join the city orchestra,’ Hazel says. ‘The people in it would just wreck your head.’ She’s pulling on jeans. ‘I’m so glad that the concert is over.’ She sits in front of the mirror in her room and takes out her hair straighteners. She pulls a face in the mirror. ‘God, what a long summer. I’m so glad I don’t have to go to practice any more. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with Lisette, but I have my own friends too, you know? I just can’t wait for school to start.’
Yeah, I bet you can’t.
She holds a section that’s just been straightened in her mouth and starts on another piece, so at least that shuts her up for a while.
But then it gets awkward because Megan doesn’t seem to know what to say and I’m not about to help her.
Hazel straightens the section, drops it, and takes the piece from her mouth. ‘What have you guys been up to?’
Spying on you.
‘Em, just . . .’ Megan gets stuck because there’s literally nothing that’s not a secret right now.
‘I hear your dad’s in big trouble with stuff online?’ Hazel says with something like glee in her voice.
‘Yeah, well he’s one of those people who always comes out on top,’ I say.
‘Oh, okay, cool,’ Hazel says. ‘Speaking of online, I love your new blog posts, Megan.’
Really? On a scale of one to outright lie, how much would you say you love them? I look at Megan and wait for her to say something like, So why did you write all those comments? Obviously, she doesn’t, because she’s sitting there glowing with happiness.
‘Don’t tell anyone I said this,’ Hazel says, ‘but you totally nailed it. The way the people in the orchestra are so stuck up? It’s perfect. What was the word you used?’
Megan searches the duvet cover for the answer. ‘Affected?’
‘That’s it!’ she says and looks at herself in the mirror. ‘Perfect,’ she says. I don’t know if she means Megan’s writing or her own hair.
She spins around in her chair. ‘And you’r
e getting so popular!’ She throws her hands in the air. ‘I’m best friends with the best blogger in the country!’
Megan laughs like she’s just been handed an Oscar but she’s trying to be modest. ‘Lucy helped me with them,’ she says.
‘The content,’ I say. ‘I helped her—’
‘My last blog has over four hundred views,’ Megan interrupts and throws me a look. I ignore her. ‘And almost two hundred and fifty likes.’
‘I know,’ Hazel says. ‘Oh, I have an idea for the next one. Penny gets a new boyfriend! But it’s not a guy in the orchestra, it’s a first year, when she starts school!’
Megan’s about to reply but I get in first. ‘Megan already has an idea. Penny gets it into her head that—’
‘I’m not using it,’ Megan says.
‘Really, why?’ I say. ‘Because of those comments on your blog?’
‘Oh, Megan!’ Hazel says and starts rummaging in a drawer. She takes out hairspray and poisons us all. ‘Don’t worry about those comments. They don’t mean anything. And I think they’ve stopped now, right?’ She waves her hand through the hairspray like she’s brushing the nasty comments away from everyone’s memory.
And Megan gives me a you see? look.
Hazel’s smiling at Megan in the mirror, pretending she’s not devastated about Stephen and Lisette, and desperate for friends. Megan smiles back, as if one more like will make her life complete.
Neither one says a single thing that’s true, they just pile lies and fake smiles into the empty space between them.
I’ve had enough.
‘You wrote the comments, Hazel,’ I say. ‘And Megan read your diary.’
I turn my back on them and leave the room and run down the stairs and storm out the front door.
CHAPTER 27
So that’s it. Dad wins. Hazel wins.
I’m alone. I’ve no friends. Soon my family will know what I’ve done. And there’s nothing I can do about any of it.
Heading home, I give Megan time to run out after me. She doesn’t.
Back in the kitchen, yesterday’s conversations still zing around, bouncing from polished countertop to sparkling window. Your dad’s not going anywhere. Can’t keep a good dog down. Your daddy’s rich and your mama’s good-looking. It’s never going to change and he’s always going to win.
Through the window, I see Dad in the garden walking fast, like he’s on a mission.
He’s back already. That can only mean one thing. He knows the IP address.
I grab my wallet from the basket in the kitchen and sprint for the front door. It slams closed behind me but now I’m just standing here, because where am I supposed to go?
I try to catch my breath but it comes in spurts. I’m going to cry. Straight across the street is a stupid journalist with his not-so-hidden camera. I can’t stay here. Turning, I run down the street and around the corner, and then I just keep walking, along the streets, through the traffic, into the university.
What’ll he do to me? I’ve never done anything this big before, so I’ve no idea. But I see Mum’s face, wide with fear as his clenched fist came closer and closer.
I pass the big wooden door where Mum met her friend, go under the arch and out into the crowd of happily confused tourists walking in spirals as they stare at the tops of buildings.
The homeless guy is here with his chalk out, writing the last part:
If you can’t spare some change, spare a kind word.
I don’t see the I hope you feel safe all day girl. Where is she? And suddenly, more than anything else in the world, I want to know, is she safe?
‘Morning,’ I say to the chalk guy.
He looks up, then behind him like he’s checking to see if I’m talking to someone else. ‘Morning,’ he says. He goes back to his message.
‘The girl my age who asks for change for the train, is she here?’
He finishes the last letter of word. ‘Haven’t seen her,’ he says. Then he looks at me. ‘Try the station.’ He points across the street.
The train runs right behind the university. I follow the line until I get to the front of the station. It’s busy. I don’t see her at first. But then I notice the dirty runners in a sea of shined shoes.
She’s saying, ‘Spare change?’ to people who don’t care. Then she adds, ‘For the train.’ In her hand are squares of folded paper.
I walk up and watch as people move around her without seeing her.
‘Train to where?’ I say.
She turns. She doesn’t smile, but I can tell that she recognizes me. She shoves her hands, and her bits of paper, into her pockets. ‘Spain,’ she says.
‘I don’t think it goes there,’ I say.
She shrugs. ‘It might if I stay on it long enough,’ she says.
Neither of us says anything for a while. I look around at the people passing. How much money do they give her? Is it enough? And then I know why I ended up here.
‘Wait,’ I say.
I feel her watch me as I go into the station. She stands outside the glass doors as I queue. It takes a while because it’s busy. But she waits for me. When it is my turn, I spend all the money I won from the board games.
Back outside, I hand her the card I bought. She doesn’t take it, she just looks at it like it might be a lottery ticket, but it might be a bill.
‘What is it?’ she asks.
‘An annual pass,’ I say. ‘For the train.’
She steps back like I pushed her.
‘Take it,’ I say.
‘A pass?’ she says.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘For a year?’ she says.
‘Yeah.’
‘To where?’ she says.
‘Anywhere,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Why?’ she asks.
I think about this. About the wish she gave me. I hope you feel safe all day.
‘Because one day is not enough,’ I say.
CHAPTER 28
I walk the streets. In my head, I go through the conversation with Dad a hundred times. Every time, it ends with that look of disappointment and disgust on his face. A look that’ll never go away, no matter how hard I try to explain. I’m sorry, Dad, I only did it because I thought that if you were forced to change, you might— A woman hits into me as she steps out of a shop. She looks at me like it’s my fault, like I’ve no right to be in her way. Then she’s gone. I don’t say anything. What’s the point?
I just wanted to feel safe all day, Dad.
After a while, I end up at the fake nose ring stall. Megan said a bull ring would make me look tough. But I’m not tough. I don’t want to see him. To speak to him. I want to run away.
The tattooed guy who owns the stall appears. ‘Can I help you with anything?’
I shake my head. I can’t speak any more.
‘You okay?’ he asks in a voice that doesn’t match his tattoos. It’s a voice that says he actually cares. I have to turn away because the world goes all blurry. I wipe my eyes and move on.
Dad’s at home. Waiting for me. I feel sick.
But sooner or later, I’ll have to go.
My hand’s on the doorknob and I’m pushing into the hallway.
‘It was from here.’
Mum and Dad are right in front of me.
‘Declan, calm down,’ Mum says.
He grabs her arm. ‘The IP address is ours.’
Mum shakes herself free. ‘For God’s sake, calm down,’ she hisses. ‘It makes no sense. How on earth could I benefit from exposing you?’
She rushes into the kitchen.
‘That email came from this house, Alice,’ he roars. He follows her, but his words climb the walls, searching for me.
He knows. Every part of me wants to turn and run. But I don’t. I force myself to go down the hall.
‘Someone in this house created it, Alice, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me.’
He’s in front of her again.
She looks straight at h
im. ‘Well, it wasn’t me either. But whoever wrote it is not the one that broke the law.’
‘Excuse me?’ He reaches out until his finger is jabbing her shoulder. ‘Don’t make this worse than it already is, Alice.’
‘Mum?’ I say.
And she actually hears me. She holds a hand up but she doesn’t look at me. Neither does he. ‘Go up to your room, Lucy.’
‘Mum?’ I say.
She turns. There’s something in her eyes, and at first, I don’t understand it. But then I do. It’s fear. For me.
She knows.
‘Baby, I need you to go upstairs.’
‘But, Mum—’
‘Lucy, sweetheart, just do this for me.’
She knows. And she’s going to pretend it was her. And he’ll grab her and he’ll . . .
She’s moving into the sitting room and I understand what she’s doing. She’s drawing him away from me.
Dad looks back at me and there’s confusion on his face. He senses something’s up. Then he marches after Mum.
‘What did you do?’ He grabs her hard. ‘What did you do?’
Mum’s eyes go wide. ‘I did nothing.’
He’s shaking her.
‘Dad!’ I say.
‘You did this,’ he says. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That you’d get away with it?’
She’s against the wall. He’s so close to her. I run towards them. ‘Stop,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t Mum!’
The words pop like bullets and are gone. Silence swirls between us. Their eyes turn to me, filled with shock and fear and anger.
‘What?’ His face is as hard as stone.
I can’t move. I can’t look away. I’m shrivelling up. But still, the words bubble up. ‘All I wanted was to feel safe,’ I whisper.
His whole body clenches. His mouth quivers. ‘What did you do, Lucy?’
And the other words, the ones I’ve been carrying for days, slip out. ‘It was me. I sent that email.’ They hang on the air between us. Then they rise. Swirling above us, they circle the room, too high to reach. And the silence they leave is completely empty. No more words come to fill it. There are just mine, hanging above us, waiting.
Dad’s eyes bore into me. You, they say. But my words are sinking down now. They settle on Dad’s shoulders like a soft snow, and beneath their weight, he shivers. His face flinches. His arms drop. ‘What did you do?’ he whispers.
The Words That Fly Between Us Page 14
