The Art of Not Breathing

by Sarah Alexander

  I slide back under the covers. As he leaves he says, “By the way, you’re grounded for a week.”

  I hate him.

  Another question spins around my mind. Does Tay know about Eddie? Would it be so bad if he did know? Yes, I answer myself. Because if Tay knows about Eddie, he’ll always be wondering about the bit of me that’s missing.

  3

  The week passes slowly. Mum cries a lot, but she doesn’t offer me any more gin. Dillon leaves the house before I’m even up so he can walk all the way to Lara’s and walk her to school. He doesn’t even come home for dinner. I’m not allowed out, because of the gin, but my father works late and has no idea that I go to the harbor after school every day. I wait for Tay in the boathouse, but he never shows up. I know he’s been there, though, because I find a pair of goggles and diving boots and a smelly towel on top of my cupboard. I’m sure that by now Danny has told him everything and he doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s always the same. No one wants to be friends with the girl whose brother died. What if she cries? What if she wants to talk about it? What if she’s all weird and morbid? I long to be in the water again, to remember more, to recreate that moment where nothing hurt.

  On Friday Mum goes to work and I skip school to avoid a maths test. In the morning I get supplies for Mum from Superdrug and pile up the goodies on Mum’s bed when I get home. Mocha lipstick and several colors of nail varnish. A mascara, too. I’d taken the nearest one because I was in a hurry, but it turns out to be a volumizing one, which she could do with. For lunch I eat a plastic-cheese sandwich with extra pickle and butter on both sides of the bread. I find the Veet I’d taken in my jacket pocket. My legs dangle over the bath, covered in white foam, while I smoke a cigarette. When I’m done, I wash the foam and my hair down the plug hole, clean the sink, bleach the toilet, and spray the room with lemon scent.

  Next, I move to Dillon’s room. Even after all these years, it feels funny to be in here. I don’t know how Dillon copes with it, with the big space by the window where Eddie’s bed used to be.

  I lie on the floor and shimmy my head and shoulders under Dillon’s bed. There’s old food down here, encrusted into the carpet and smeared along the wall above the skirting board. It makes my stomach turn. There are boxes of books and magazines and moldy socks, but Dillon’s old wetsuit isn’t here. I try the wardrobe, and it smells bad too. The top shelf is empty and thick with dust, and the bottom shelf is filled with neatly lined-up shoes. I pull out the hoodie he always wears and search the pockets for money. My fingers get covered in something sticky—macaroni cheese. I heave silently as the stale cheese smell wafts into my mouth. I almost cry.

  But then I see it. The wetsuit hangs right in the corner, and I sniff one of the arms. It smells damp, like old boots, but I run to the bathroom and yank it on. It’s so tight, it hurts my fingers when I try to stretch it over my hips, but as I finally pull the zipper up at the back the fabric folds around my body, holding me in place, and I feel warm and glad. I hold my breath. At thirty seconds, my arms start twitching, and at forty-nine I exhale loudly. All the times I’ve held my breath when I’ve been upset or angry—I must have only managed about twenty seconds. I take in a few deep breaths and try again, feeling my face go red as the seconds tick by. I make it to sixty. Just. I’m too exhausted to do it again.

  That evening, my parents go to the pub. They always go on Fridays because Mum feels better by then—well, better enough to talk. A debrief, Dad calls it, and he always sighs when he says it.

  I walk past Dillon’s room and hear creaking. I peer through the keyhole and see Dillon in bed with Lara.

  They’re mostly under the covers, but Dillon is on top and I can see his shoulders and the small muscles in his back contracting and relaxing. They’re very quiet. Dillon grunts a bit, but the noises are mostly just breathing. When they’ve finished, I see Lara’s breasts, which aren’t anywhere near as big or wobbly as mine. They’re small and perfect. Dillon lies beside her with his eyes closed, breathing lightly, hardly moving. Lara takes Dillon’s hand and places it on her breast. He smiles but doesn’t open his eyes.

  I wonder if this is Dillon’s first time. I wonder if it’s Lara’s first time. If it were me, I wouldn’t choose to do it in my parents’ house. I would find a dark, secluded place. The boathouse, maybe.

  The girls at school talk about sex a lot. They group together in the playground to look at magazines. I’ve never seen what’s in them, but they talk about Positions of the Month, and the boys talk a lot about girls’ anatomy. A few months ago a naked picture of Fifi Kent was sent to everyone in our year by her boyfriend’s best friend. I didn’t see it, though, because I don’t have a mobile phone—it would be too depressing to have a phone that no one ever called, and anyway, I want to be left alone. Some nasty things were said about Fifi Kent, and now she eats lunch alone too. Sometimes I think about sitting with her, but I suspect that she wouldn’t want to talk to me.

  One last glance before I head downstairs. Dillon is propped up on one elbow staring longingly at Lara, twirling a strand of her mouse hair. I shouldn’t spy on people. I see things I don’t want to.

  4

  As soon as the weather starts warming up, or even before, the Black Isle teenagers have parties down on the Point by the lighthouse. I’ve never actually been invited, but sometimes I follow Dillon down there and hide in the shadows. Today is the first one of the year, even though it’s not quite May yet, and Dillon has tried on three different shirts. He finally settles for a really ugly brown one. His hair is perfectly gelled and spiked. I hover by the door as he lies to our parents and says that he’s going to Lara’s house. He makes a point of saying that her parents will be there and they’re all having dinner together. I wait for them to go back into the kitchen, then go after him.

  The party is in full flow when I finally arrive, having gone the long way around to avoid the cemetery. It’s mostly S5s and S6s, but there are a few kids from my year too—the ones who have older boyfriends. Everyone takes their own blankets to sit on, and cooler bags full of beer and vodka. Marty Jenson, the school DJ, stands in the middle with his decks, one hand spinning records and the other fist pumping the air. A crowd of girls cluster around him, showing him their best dance moves (which are pretty crap), and he drools over them. Lara is sprawled out on a rug next to Ailsa Fitzgerald. She calls Dillon over and he sits down between them, putting his arm around Lara. Ailsa hands him a tin, but Dillon shakes his head and instead takes a small bottle of something from his pocket. Vodka, probably. Or gin. He once told me that they were the least caloric alcoholic drinks. The music gets louder.

  I head up onto the bank and sit next to Eddie, my hoodie zipped up so it covers my mouth and the midgies can’t get me—they seem to have arrived early this year. I wish I’d poured some of Mum’s gin into a water bottle. At least it would keep me warm. If anyone looked up from the beach, they’d probably see that someone was up here, but they wouldn’t know it was me. No one looks up, though. They’re all too busy hugging each other and swigging their drinks. From my vantage point I can see couples getting it on in the long grass and behind the big boulders along the beach. I try not to look. Instead, I scan the crowds on the beach for familiar faces. For Tay. For Danny.

  I don’t have to search long. Tay is right there, walking toward me.

  “Elsie Main,” he says, looking down at me. He pulls his hood down, and I pop my chin out so I can talk.

  “How did you know it was me?” I ask, shivering. Also, how did he know my surname? Alarm bells start ringing. He must know.

  “Just a hunch. Can I join you, or are you having your own party?”

  “You can if you want,” I say, already feeling defensive. “But the party is down there.”

  Tay looks down at the beach and frowns.

  “I know. I just came from there, and it’s the worst party I’ve ever been to. It stinks as far as parties go.”

  “What’s your idea of a good party, th
en?” I ask him.

  He shrugs and sits beside me—in between me and Eddie. I think about moving away from this spot, but I can’t come up with a good enough excuse.

  “So, what did Danny say?” I ask.

  “About what?” Tay starts rolling a joint. “Smoke?”

  “No, thanks. About the other day. Did he say anything after he’d dropped me home?”

  “Nah, haven’t even seen him.”

  “Oh,” I say, relieved. Danny must have decided to keep quiet about Eddie, for some reason.

  “I went to the harbor a couple of times but you weren’t around,” I say.

  “I know. Mick said he saw you sneaking around.”

  Damn. I should have been more careful.

  “I wasn’t sneaking. I’ve been going to the harbor since long before you turned up.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. Glad you know.”

  “Fine.”

  “So, what have you been up to, then?” I ask

  “Why?”

  “Just asking. You know, making conversation, like people do.”

  “Not much. This and that.”

  I sigh. “Okay. Fine.”

  This isn’t going well. I don’t know why we’re acting like we’ve had some kind of fight.

  “If you don’t want to talk to me, then why did you come up here?” I ask.

  “Easy,” he says, putting his hand on my arm, smiling. His eyes soften, and I instantly dissolve. How can this person who is so difficult to talk to make me feel like liquid inside?

  “I came to see if you were okay. After your suicide mission. I would have called, but I don’t have your number.”

  “I don’t have a number,” I say. “I mean, I don’t have a mobile phone.”

  “Phones are for losers,” Tay says, not missing a beat. He pulls his mobile from his pocket and lobs it toward the sea: a second later, it makes a small splash. I stare at him open-mouthed.

  “Did you just throw away your phone?”

  “Aye. Got no one to call. So, are you okay?

  “Well, I’m fine, no thanks to you,” I reply, pretending I’m still annoyed, but also wondering if he just threw away an expensive phone—if he did it to impress me, or whether he always does crazy stuff like this.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d jump,” he says.

  The smoke from his joint gets in my throat. We sit in silence for a bit, and I watch Dillon and Lara. She is practically on top of him, kissing his neck. And then I notice Ailsa staring at him with a fat bottom lip. Everyone fancies Dillon. There must be something about him. Something that I don’t have. There’s a break in the music, and I hear the faint shushing sound of the sea washing over the pebbles. The wind is giving me a headache, and I feel a bit sleepy. I yawn loudly.

  “Cold-water shock,” Tay says.

  “What?” I feel alert again.

  “You have tiny temperature receptors in your face. When your face hits cold water, your heart rate slows down and your blood vessels shrink. Your body saves oxygen for your heart and brain and stops you inhaling. That’s what happened when you jumped.”

  “Oh, great. You could have told me before I jumped,” I reply.

  But his explanation sounds familiar. I think I read something about this once when I was doing some biology homework. The human body—the only interesting thing we learn about at school. I did a project about babies and how they can survive extreme conditions. Like being in cold water.

  “The mammalian reflex?” I ask, impressed that the phrase has come back to me. “That’s what helps otters and dolphins stay under the water for so long.”

  Tay grins at me as he unfolds himself and stretches his long legs out.

  “Exactly,” he says. “It’s just that us humans aren’t so good at it.”

  He scoots a bit closer, and then he looks at me intensely, making me nervous.

  “Look, I really am sorry,” he says. “There’s something I should tell you.”

  God. Here it comes. He’s about to tell me that he knows who I am and that he doesn’t want anything to do with me. I feel a huge weight of disappointment roll around in my stomach. I’m going to kill Danny, if I get the chance.

  “Sure, fire away,” I instruct, resigned, ready to jump up and walk away.

  He looks at the ground while he talks.

  “I shouldn’t have asked you to jump,” he starts. “But—and I feel really bad about this—when you jumped, I was actually quite pleased. I thought, hey, this girl’s got balls.”

  “Balls?” I repeat, not quite sure where this is going.

  “Yeah, you know, courage.”

  “I know what ‘balls’ means.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s all I wanted to say.”

  What? This guy has the weirdest conversation style. Part of me wonders if it’s down to the drugs. Or perhaps he just doesn’t like talking. I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to sit here in silence—it would stop me saying something stupid.

  “I had laryngitis for a year,” I say, hoping he’ll interpret what I’m trying to say—that he doesn’t have to talk.

  “Aye?” Tay’s ears twitch and he puts his hand on his throat and gently strokes it.

  “I didn’t speak a word to anyone except my brother for nearly twelve months.”

  Tay nods. He seems to understand.

  “Any other medical problems I should know about?” he asks, smiling.

  “No, you?” I ask straight back.

  He laughs loudly. “Sometimes my shoulder dislocates all by itself. But other than that, I’m a normal, healthy seventeen-year-old boy.” He carries on laughing, and I frown at him.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know why I’m laughing so much. Sometimes I laugh for no reason. It’s an affliction. Anyway, you never gave us your verdict the other day.”

  “On what? Freediving?”

  “No, on the winner of the jumping competition.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. If Danny had told Tay about Eddie, I’m sure Tay would’ve mentioned it by now. I picture Tay’s perfect formations, his taut body flying through the air and the way he emerged from the water hardly breathless. My stomach quivers, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of telling him how great I think he is.

  “Me, of course!” I proclaim. “I think I get extra points for being so dramatic.” I lower my voice. “And, you just told me that you thought I had balls, so I must have impressed you.”

  He smiles and shakes his head and says, “Okay, I’ll give you that one, but I want a rematch.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “Oh, come on. You shouldn’t let one bad experience put you off.”

  “Danny says I can’t come back to the harbor.”

  Tay lights a long piece of grass and then puts it out with his fingers. Then he does it again. His attention span is worse than Eddie’s.

  “Tay?” I prompt gently.

  He snaps his head up and grins at me. I pull my hood down away from my face so I don’t look so much like a boy, even though I know my hair will be wild and I won’t be able to brush it after it gets tangled in the wind. I see him look at my hair briefly, and then he stares into my eyes.

  “Hey, don’t worry about Danny. He just doesn’t like being in competition with girls. He can be a bit of a twat sometimes,” he says.

  “If you don’t like him, why are you friends?”

  Tay snorts. “We’re not really friends. He’s my cousin, so we have to get on.”

  “Oh. But what if . . .” I trail off, remembering I can’t tell Tay the real reason Danny told me to stay away. “My parents are a bit strict,” I say instead. “They worry.”

  “So we stay out of sight, then. Plenty of places we can dive, or jump, without anyone seeing us.”

  He winks, and leans forward slightly, trying to look into my eyes. I feel the ground fall away from me. If he kisses me now, what do I do? I wait, bracing myself for his lips on mine, at the same time thinking that I�
��m crazy for imagining he would want to kiss me.

  There’s a screech and then hysterical giggling. We both look down the bank and see a group of people heading toward us. One of them, a girl, is struggling to get to her feet. I recognize her long straight hair—it’s Lara. Dillon holds one of her arms, and Ailsa holds the other. They drag her upright and she stumbles again. She is wasted.

  Tay gets up.

  “Come on, Elsie, let’s get away from here.”

  But it’s too late. Dillon has seen me, and so has Ailsa.

  Dillon lets go of Lara and runs up the bank.

  “Elsie, what are you doing here?” he gasps. He has to rest his hands on his knees to catch his breath. I can tell he is slightly drunk. He stares at Tay but looks like he’s having trouble focusing.

  Tay grabs my arm and tries to pull me up.

  “Get your hands off my sister,” Dillon spits.

  Tay lets me go and they stare each other out. For a minute I think that Dillon is going to punch Tay, but Lara wails from down the bank and he turns around. Tay takes off and doesn’t look back. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. In a flash he has disappeared into the darkness, before I can go with him.

  Dillon collapses next to me on his knees. He looks like he’s about to be sick.

  “Can you take Lara home?” he calls to Ailsa. “I’ve got to take Elsie back.”

  “You should have left her with her ugly weirdo boyfriend,” Ailsa shouts into the night.

  At least I don’t fancy my best friend’s boyfriend, I think. She makes my blood boil. And right now, so does Dillon.

  “I don’t need you to take me home. I was perfectly happy sitting here,” I hiss.

  Dillon pulls me to my feet, and he’s surprisingly strong.

  “Stay away from that boy,” he says, slurring.

  “Why? What’s it to you?”

  Dillon looks in the direction that Tay ran off in, then drags me onto the path that leads back home via the golf course.

  “Because I’m your brother and I’m looking out for you. Mum and Dad will go bonkers if they find out.”