“Like what?” He looks alarmed.
“I don’t know. It’s probably just some rubbish.”
Tay doesn’t laugh or say I’m crazy. He tells me to swim to the wall and wait by the ladder.
“Off to do my environmental bit,” he says, and dives down.
He takes forever to come back up. The rain has lessened a bit, but the sky is still thick and low. I keep telling myself that it wasn’t a shoe, and even if it was, it wouldn’t be Eddie’s. Why would Eddie’s shoe be in the harbor?
Tay bursts through the water.
“One moldy trainer.” He holds it up by the laces for me to see.
My eyes adjust. A white trainer.
But it isn’t Eddie’s. It’s far too big—I see that now. The leather tongue is green from the scum at the bottom. Some kind of shelled creature falls out, and I feel bad that we’ve destroyed its home.
I want to ask if he saw anything else down there, but my teeth are chattering and I just want to be warm. My arms feel weak as I climb the ladder, but Tay is behind me pushing me up, and I don’t even care that he’s touching my backside.
“Come on—in the boathouse. Let’s warm up.”
“I want to go home.”
My voice shakes with cold.
“You know, fifty seconds isn’t bad for your first attempt. Well, it’s kind of your second attempt.”
He slips an arm loosely around my shoulder and does a sort of ministroke of my arm before pulling away.
Only fifty seconds? Time is playing tricks on my mind again. Those memories of Eddie struggling against me seemed to last forever.
“Are you okay?” he asks, finally noticing that I might not be.
For one crazy moment I want to tell him everything. But if I do, he might not take me back in the water, and I can’t stop now. Even though the things I’m remembering about that day aren’t good, at least I’m remembering. Now I know that Eddie and I were arguing before he disappeared.
“I have to get to school,” I say.
“Skip school. Spend the day with me.” I love the way he says it, like it’s the most natural thing to suggest.
“Another time!” I shout back as I start for home, my thoughts racing. Tay wants to spend the day with me.
The house is empty when I get back. In the shower I lather myself in lime and tea tree oil shower gel, and let the cool water cleanse every inch of me. I shake the new memory from my head and instead concentrate on how good the water felt before I saw the shoe. I pretend I’m falling down a waterfall, imagining my hair fanning out the way Lila Sinclair’s does in that poster at the clubhouse. I imagine Tay’s arms around me as I lean back into him. I think about the water on his eyelashes, and the way he shakes his hair off his face. By the time I get out of the shower, my fingers are wrinkly but my skin is glowing and tingling.
9
It’s not until I hear the entire English class sniggering that I realize I’ve been asked a question by Mrs. McIntyre. There’s no way I can fake the answer: I switched off as soon as we entered the classroom. I decide to be honest. I use my mother’s technique.
“Sorry, I was miles away. Can you say that again?” I wave my hand from side to side as an apology and give a little smile.
There’s more cackling, and someone to my left slides a piece of paper in front of me with something scribbled on it. I scrunch it up and shove it in my pocket. McIntyre isn’t amused. I get my second detention of the week for not listening.
As I leave the classroom, Lara taps me on the shoulder.
“Why didn’t you read my note? It had the answer on it.”
Before I can answer, she’s pulled away by a blond frizzy-haired girl, another one of Ailsa Fitzgerald’s sidekicks. “Don’t bother trying to help her,” whispers the sidekick. “She’s such a loser.” The girl steps toward me and I feel a sharp jab in my side. She flashes her geometry-class compass at me as she strides off, dragging Lara with her. Blood oozes through my white school shirt and makes a dark stain on the inside of my blazer. I press the wound with my thumb to stop the sting and the flow of blood. On the way home I’ll swing by the Co-op to get some stain remover, but I’ll have to wait until that busybody Mrs. Harys has finished her shift. She watches too closely, and she does the head-tilting thing and says my name loudly in front of all the customers, which results in more head tilting.
I feel for the screwed-up paper ball in my pocket and open it up. “Soliloquy” it says in Lara’s neat, round writing. I drop it on the floor and remind myself that aside from a few revision classes, lessons are nearly over for the summer. Just exams to get through now, and at least compasses are banned in most exams.
At lunchtime I walk to the back of the school field so I can smoke. Lara is sitting down in my space cross-legged on her coat, which has a red satin lining. I start to move away to find a new spot, but she calls me over.
“I don’t know where Dillon is,” I say.
“He’s in the library.”
“Oh. Then what do you want?”
I wonder if Dillon has dumped her, but she doesn’t look upset. I can’t help looking at her chest—her blouse is open enough for me to see the curve of her perfect cleavage. She folds her arms.
“Can I have a cigarette?” she asks. It sounds odd, like she’s saying the word for the first time.
“Sure,” I say. I suddenly feel cool, more grown-up than her.
She makes space for me on her coat, but I lay my own out and sit next to her, leaving a sliver of grass between us. As we smoke, I pluck strands of grass from the ground and sprinkle the little green pieces on my coat. She does the same, but hers are in neat little piles and mine are spread everywhere.
“I know you watch us,” she says. She stares straight ahead.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, feeling my palms sweat.
She turns to me. “I don’t mind. You can watch if you want.”
I think about Dillon’s shallow breathing. I think about how I watched them at the party.
“You know there’re places you can go if you’re into that sort of thing,” I say, lifting my head slowly.
“I’m not!”
“Yeah, loads of places—Dillon told me about them. I’m surprised he hasn’t taken you there yet. He takes all his girlfriends to the woods on the other side.” I smile to myself as she squirms beside me.
She asks me if I’ve been to the other side, and I tell her no. She asks if I’ve ever had sex, and I tell her yes.
Lara hugs me, pushing her small, perfect breasts against me. When she lets go, she says she won’t tell anyone. About what? I want to ask.
10
“I love the rain,” Tay says, breathing out smoke.
“I wish it would stop raining,” I say, reaching for the joint. “Then we could go out on the boat.”
“Soon,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He rolls over and props himself up on his elbow—his face is inches from mine. He holds his cigarette out to the side so as not to cloud me in smoke.
“Were you okay after our dive in the harbor? It was only when I got home and thought about it that I realized you’d bolted when you saw that shoe. Why did it freak you out?”
Part of me still wants to tell him everything. About Eddie, about Dillon, about my father. But then I imagine myself talking, and it sounds ridiculous. How do you just come out with something like that? Oh, I thought it was my dead twin brother’s shoe, and I think my dad and my older brother are hiding something about the day he died.
What if I cry in front of him? And anyway, I don’t want to share Eddie. It would feel like giving part of me away.
“I wasn’t freaked out,” I reply. “I just wondered what it was.”
Tay flicks ash onto the floor, then rolls onto his back. I watch him smoke. He watches me.
“There’s so much trash in the sea,” he says. “It’s careless, some of the things that people lose.”
I’m one of those careless people
.
“I’ve found all sorts,” Tay continues. “Wallets, dolls, keys . . . mobile phones.” He stops to give me a wink. “Cushions, laptops. Even a hairbrush once, covered in hair. I mean, how do you accidentally drop your hairbrush in the water?”
“I dropped my Barbie in the water when I was a kid.”
Tay smirks. “I didn’t think you were the Barbie kind of girl.”
“I’m not,” I say, reaching for the joint. “That’s why I threw it off the bridge. My mum went nuts.”
My turn to interrogate.
“Tay, can I ask you a question?”
“You don’t always have to ask me if you can ask me something.”
I play-punch him on the arm, and it feels nice to touch him.
“I do, because you don’t always answer. And I’m just being polite.”
He rolls in close to me again and licks his lips. It takes every effort for me not to grab him and pull his face to mine, but I have no idea if he wants me to.
“Why did you leave the Black Isle? Where did you go?”
It’s the wrong thing to ask. His smile disappears and he sits up.
“Can’t we just be in the moment?” he grunts. “Why do we have to talk about the past?”
He fumbles for his cigarettes, and when the lighter doesn’t work, he throws it across the floor.
“Sorry,” I say. My cheeks get hot. “I wasn’t prying. You don’t have to tell me anything.” I say this even though I want him to tell me everything.
“No, it’s fine.” His eyes lighten up a bit, and he seems to accept my apology. “It’s just not that interesting, that’s all.”
I wish I had just kissed him instead of talking. I never learn to keep my mouth shut. I give him the lighter from my pocket. He says thank you. Then he opens up.
“I didn’t choose to leave. My dad didn’t want me around. He thought I was trouble, and he wanted to work or hang out with his mates, not look after me.”
I nod this time so I don’t risk saying anything stupid. Tay keeps talking.
“I was always in trouble, little things like skipping school, getting into fights, breaking stuff around the house. Stealing. The police picked me up a couple of times—it was never serious, but you see, my dad’s a cop and I was destroying his reputation. He didn’t want to deal with me, so he ignored me. And then one day, he snapped and said he’d had enough. I came home from school and he had my bags packed. He drove me straight to the bus station and sent me off to my mum’s. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to anyone. The bastard.”
“That’s shit,” I say. “So you were with your mum all this time?”
“Yeah, she lives in Dornie.”
“Where?”
“West coast. It’s pretty remote.”
Tay seems small and vulnerable now, and I’m responsible for making him feel sad. I put my hand on his leg to show that I care, and he shocks me by taking my hand and squeezing it.
“I’ve stolen stuff too,” I say.
He grins. “I knew you were badass. What kind of stuff?”
Hardly badass. I blush when I think about the packet of condoms I stole. “Makeup, mostly,” I confess. “Hair spray, razors. Noodles.”
Tay lets go of my hand and slaps his thigh when I mention the noodles.
“What? What’s so funny? What do you steal?”
He laughs harder.
“I don’t do it now, but bikes were my thing.” He can barely get the words out.
I try to ignore his hysteria. “What kind of bikes? Like, bicycles? Didn’t you have your own?”
“When I was eleven, I stole a moped—the idiot left the keys in the ignition and I thought I’d just take it for a ride and bring it back. But then . . .” He carries on laughing and it’s contagious.
“I crashed it,” he finally finishes. “Broke my arm. That’s why my shoulder dislocates sometimes. My dad had to pay for a new bike.”
“Oh my God. So that’s why he sent you away?” I ask, half shocked about the moped, half impressed.
Tay wipes his eyes and clears his throat. “Actually, no. A year after my broken arm, I stole another bike. A bicycle this time. And that was the final straw, apparently.”
He looks sad now and doesn’t say anything else.
“So what made you come back?” I ask. I seem to be on a roll with the questions.
“My uncle invited me back. He said he was setting up this dive school and would train me to be an instructor in return for a bit of help with the club. Diving was my thing in Dornie. Nothing else to do. My mum was happy to pass me back to my dad again. She’s given him instructions to make sure I don’t stay out all night. He even searches me and confiscates anything I shouldn’t have. It’s not cool having a cop as a dad. I thought that it would be good to come back, to hang out with Danny and Mick again, but this place is still a shithole. And Mick’s hardly ever free to go diving.”
“And Danny?”
“He thinks he’s the boss—always telling me what to do, who to speak to.”
“Ignore him. He doesn’t own you,” I say.
Tay smokes silently. “No, he doesn’t,” he finally says.
“What’s wrong with this place, then? I think it’s okay.”
“The people. You know—small place, small minds.”
“Oh, thanks.” I suppose I’m one of those people.
“Apart from you, of course.” He turns to face me. “Noodle girl.”
And then he’s kissing me and I kiss him back. He tastes like cigarettes and weed and strawberry lip balm, and his lips are soft and smooth. Our mouths work together, and there’s no crashing of teeth like with the last boy I kissed. I’m living in the moment, I think to myself. And then Eddie pops up and tugs on the inside of my rib cage, and he wants to play chase. Not now, Eddie. But he pulls me away.
“You okay?” Tay whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back, trying to lean in again.
“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “They’re so green.”
“Yes.”
“It’s late.” Suddenly he turns away.
He gets up to go.
“Wait,” I call. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shakes his head and lingers at the entrance.
“No, of course not,” he says, his voice all gravelly. “I just don’t want to make my dad mad.”
Then he disappears. My lips tingle, like he’s still there, and when I close my eyes, the tingles go right to my toes.
When I crawl out of the boathouse an hour later, I see Danny down on the harbor wall, staring out to sea. Giddy from the kiss and the smoke, I decide to confront him. Before I’m even halfway along the wall, he turns around.
“I thought I told you to stay away.”
His hair looks shiny in the moonlight and rustles gently in the breeze. One of us is swaying slightly. I think it might be him.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do. It’s not really any of your business where I go or who I hang out with.”
He walks closer, and I smell beer on his breath.
“No, but if you had an ounce of sense, you’d listen to me. Tay is not good for you to be around. He doesn’t know what he wants. He’s reckless, and he probably won’t even be here for long.”
“He’s here to help you and your dad, you know.”
I feel myself getting hot, but I want to have my say—someone needs to stick up for Tay. Danny’s too close. I take a step back.
“Watch out,” he says sharply as he grabs me by the shoulders. For a second I think I’m going to tumble into the water, but then he pulls me to him. “You were too close to the edge,” he says.
“Christ, I can look after myself,” I say, releasing my arm from his grip. “My mum said you were odd—she saw you the day you dropped me home. She said you looked untrustworthy, and I think she’s right.”
Danny snarls. “That’s rich coming from her.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
I feel tears b
uilding up and quickly blink them away. I hate it when strangers say stuff about my mum when they’ve never even met her. Tay’s right: this is a small town.
He looks out across the bay and folds his arms. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I just know that she’s had a few issues. Look, are you okay to get home? I can drive you if you want.”
“No,” I say. “You’ve been drinking.”
I make my way back down the wall and across the road. When I finally turn back, he’s still standing on the wall, and I feel a tickle in my throat. Tay’s kiss keeps me warm on the way back, but the nice feeling is tainted with Danny’s cruel words. Eddie stays quiet all night. He doesn’t want to talk to me.
11
There’s chewing gum in my hair. A nasty off-white color against my black mop of curls. In the toilets, I cut it out with scissors I took from the art cupboard, along with the curl it was stuck to. The first chance I get, I spit on the gum and slip it into Ailsa Fitzgerald’s bag. I get caught and have to spend lunchtime in the library under supervision.
Dillon is in the library too, doing a bit of last-minute studying before his Business Studies exam. He’s hunched over the desk with his head in his hands, and his pens are neatly lined up beside his notebook.
“What’s happened to your hair?” he says, grabbing the small tuft on top of my head.
“Ailsa and chewing gum.”
“Oh, that sucks,” he says.
I sit beside him. I don’t tell him that his amazing girlfriend watched the whole thing and didn’t do anything about it. I don’t even care, because there’s only one thing on my mind.
“I’m going to be a freediver,” I whisper.
He looks up and stares as though I’ve just told him I’m going to the moon.
“I’m going to fail,” he says.
I glance at his notepad. In his writing it says:
FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL
Each “FAIL” on the page is underscored heavily in red and black and more red. I grab the pad, rip the page from it, and screw it up. With the black pen I write on the next page, “I am Dillon. I am brilliant at everything.”
He tears off the part of the page I wrote on, scrunches it up, and puts it in his pocket. The detention supervisor tells me to sit in the corner.
The Art of Not Breathing Page 9
