The Summer We All Ran Away

by Cassandra Parkin

  “Letters,” said Priss.

  “We shouldn’t read them.”

  “Don’t be a pussy.” Priss was already unfolding the first one.

  “Why would you use that as an insult? That’s horrible.”

  “Good point. Alright then, don’t be a knob. Doesn’t sound as good though, does it? That just proves sexism’s inherent in fuckin’ everything. Right, listen to this.”

  Jack,

  Alan told me about Mathilda. I’m so sorry.

  I’m coming home to look after you. It’s alright, I’m not expecting anything to happen. I just don’t think you should be alone.

  Evie

  xxxxxxxxxx

  “Love,” muttered Priss, making it sound like a curse. She unfolded the next letter, and a photograph fell out and landed at her feet. Davey looked at it cautiously.

  The girl was all tawny and gold; brown hair, brown eyes, sun-kissed skin. She was pretty in her violet bikini, but her eyes were wide and wary. Priss read the letter out loud.

  Jack,

  I hope you’re having a good summer. I worry about you sometimes. Actually, I worry about you all the time.

  I’m staying here in Corfu. It’s fun, but I miss you. I miss talking to you. I miss laughing together. I miss meeting up at the end of the day and talking about what we’ve been doing. I’ve been trying and trying to understand what happened between us and I think I’ve just realised something important.

  You don’t remember, do you? You honestly don’t remember.

  I know you remember that day in the dining room. You were leaving, and I was crying because I’d just lost my job. They told me that morning. I was being sacked for gross misconduct. You came in and asked me what was wrong, and I said, I’ve been sacked. And you asked why, and I showed you the letter, and it said, inappropriate relationship with a patient, and you didn’t ask any more, you just said how sorry you were and how awful it was. And then you said you’d got plenty of room at your place if I needed somewhere to stay.

  But you weren’t offering out of guilt, were you? You were offering because you’re a nice guy and you didn’t like seeing me so upset. You honestly didn’t remember the patient was you.

  It was that first week you came in. In your first week we checked on you every two hours at least. You were in bits, you were sobbing your heart out. You grabbed onto me and you begged me to stay, you begged me not to leave you. You said you needed me. You said you’d die if I left you. So I stayed.

  It was so good, Jack. It should have been horrible and sordid and awkward, but it wasn’t. You were so sweet and so gentle. And afterwards, you went to sleep in my arms.

  We slept together every night for a week, and then one night I came in to check on you and you were already spark out, so I went away again. But then afterwards we were such good friends I used to look forward every day to seeing you.

  And then, those weeks at your place, it was good, wasn’t it? We were companions. Not lovers, but my God, you were just out of rehab, we tell everyone to stay celibate for a year. I was willing to wait.

  But you don’t remember, do you? And now you’re living with some girl you only met a few weeks ago, and you wonder why we’re all worried.

  I know you don’t feel the same as I do. But, we were happy weren’t we? It was fun. We had a nice time together. We were friends. And you were working, Jack, you were working and it was good, really good.

  “Christ,” said Priss. “There’s pages of this stuff.”

  It’s very quiet here, and I’ve had lots of time to think. And what I’ve thinking is this. Everyone says love is supposed to be a wild, crazy, out of control thing, this mad roller coaster ride that takes your breath away and scares you to death. Maybe that’s what you have with Mathilda right now, I don’t know.

  But really, do you need another roller coaster? You said when we met it had all been too much, the life you’d had before. You couldn’t hear the music any more. But then it was better and you were clean, and you were just starting to work again. Wouldn’t it be nice to live with someone like me, who’ll look after you and take care of you and be there for you when you come home?

  I know right now you don’t agree with me, but I meant what I said. I’ll wait for you, Jack.

  Always,

  Evie

  xxxxxxx

  “Well, she wasn’t completely daft,” said Priss approvingly, tapping the letter against her teeth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “About love. She’s right. Fuckin’ time-waster it is. So. Evie, Jack, and - ” she checked the first letter, “Jesus, Mathilda. Bet she had a hard time at school. Wonder who killed who?”

  “You’ve got no proof that anyone killed anyone! Just because they were, you know - ”

  “Shagging each other?”

  “In love, I was going to say, well, that doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You think this one didn’t end with someone being pissing miserable?”

  “I can see what you’re talking about,” said Davey crossly, “but it’s a bit of a leap from that to, to - to one of them actually k-k-k- ”

  “Kissing their gran. Keying the neighbour’s car. Kicking a ball around at the park. Keeping calm and carrying on - look, it helps me think, okay?” She returned to the first letter. “I heard about Mathilda. Is Mathilda dead?”

  “You’re obsessed, it might not be anything like that, it - ”

  The sudden sound was like a gunshot. Davey jumped, and knocked over a lamp. Priss gave a muffled scream.

  “What the fucking hell was - ”

  The sound came again, a terrible ominous crack that made Davey’s hair stand on end. Crack. Crack. Crack. Was it getting closer? They ran back into the corridor. The hidden door swung on its hinges, slamming itself open and shut as if it was trying to break free. Crack. Crack. Crack.

  “Why is it doing that?” he said. It reminded him of a hungry mouth opening and closing. “Is it because we left the bathroom window open?”

  “Who cares? Just move!” The green duvet slipped from Priss’ shoulders and he stumbled over it. Dust coated his hands and body. Crack. Crack. Crack. Priss was shouting at him, telling him to get up and get moving. He stumbled to his feet. Crack. Crack. Crack. The duvet was still tangled around his legs. He shook himself free. Crack. Crack. Crack. The door slammed shut in their faces just as they reached it.

  Suddenly, everything was still once more.

  “Fuck me,” said Priss, breathless in the darkness. “That was awful.”

  Davey closed his eyes. “Get it open.”

  “Give me a second.”

  Davey heard her fumbling with the door handle. “Hurry up,” he begged.

  “Hang on, I’m trying.”

  Davey felt his way along the wall and found the door, pushed Priss roughly out of the way. “Just get it open!” He tried to turn the handle. It wouldn’t move. He wrestled with it, the cold sweat on his palms making it hard to grip. “Jesus, why won’t it open?”

  “It’s not stuck, is it?”

  “It can’t be stuck, it can’t be stuck, it was fucking open just a second ago, it can’t be stuck - ” He struggled again with the door handle, then kicked blindly at the panels. “Shit, come on, just open, please, just - fucking - ”

  “Davey, just chill, okay? Put the torch on, we’ll have a look.”

  A terrible fist had hold of his heart, squeezing it tighter than tight. He put a hand out in the darkness in front of him, and found nothing but blind empty space.

  “Put the torch on, soft lad!”

  Panic had him by the throat now. This was far worse than the stammer, which merely paralysed his tongue. His hand clutched frantically at something warm and yielding. He couldn’t breathe.

  “Davey, what the fuck?”

  He felt a hand snake inside his pocket, and then there was a beam of light in the darkness and Priss held his hand in hers, her mouth against his ear, murmuring to him.

  “It’s alright, ma
te, look, the light’s on now, okay? Deep breath. That’s it. And again. Okay. Chill out. Have the torch if you like. Look, it’s fine. See? Plenty of room. We’re fine. We’re fine. Just chill out now. We’re fine.”

  The panic slowly receded, leaving shame in its wake. Priss, on tiptoes, was leaning comfortingly against him. He discovered the warm thing he had grabbed was her right breast.

  “Sorry,” he managed, dropping his hand. “I didn’t mean to - ”

  “Oh, give over.” Priss’ voice was surprisingly gentle. “Was it the dark? Or the door being shut?”

  He didn’t want to think about either of those things.

  “Never mind.”

  “I’m not going to fuckin’ laugh at you about it, I know I’m horrible but I have got some standards. But if you’re got a problem with stuff like this, you should have said.”

  “It reminded me of something,” he managed at last.

  “Like from when you were a kid, you mean?”

  He rattled the door again, felt the fear begin to rise. “How can it be stuck? Why the bloody hell did you make me come in here, anyway?”

  “Sorry,” said Priss.

  “Well, so you should be! Because we’re stuck! We’re shut in here and we can’t get out and nobody fucking knows we’re in here!”

  Davey slumped down against the wall, and put his head in his hands. In the near-darkness, it was easier to ignore the dust.

  “I said sorry,” said Priss, after a while.

  In his head, Davey was concentrating fiercely on the picture of a wide, pebbled beach licked by a slate-grey ocean.

  “And that’s supposed to make it alright? Why didn’t you make me stay outside? Just in case anything happened?”

  “Look, I was scared to come in here on my own, okay?” yelled Priss. “I knew this place had to be here, I knew it. And I was scared to come by myself. Happy now?”

  “You could have said!”

  “What good would it do to know we were both fuckin’ terrified?”

  “I might not have come with you if I’d known! Don’t I get a choice?”

  “Yeah, well, too late now, eh?” She sighed. “Sorry.”

  “I thought that was supposed to be my line.”

  “I’m nickin’ it.” She laughed. “Proper little scally.”

  Davey closed his eyes again and tried to picture the beach, but Priss’ gaze was burning through his closed eyelids and melting it away. He murmured under his breath. “Pebbled beach. Grey ocean. Pebbled beach. Grey ocean. Pebbled beach. Grey ocean.”

  “Are you praying?” asked Priss.

  “Visualising.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Not when you keep talking to me.” He stood up again and tugged blindly at the door, which remained stubbornly closed. “Jesus Christ, I just, I need to get out! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  “Give it a minute and we’ll try again.”

  “What’s going to be different in a minute?”

  “I don’t know, it just might be! Stop winding yourself up, I don’t want to be in here with a fuckin’ madman, alright? Sit down and talk to me. Tell me why you’re so scared.”

  Davey laughed hysterically. “Why would I want to do that?”

  She was next to him again, her hands on his arm. He was shocked to realise that Priss, who seemed to feel nothing for him but a kind of cheerful scorn, had nonetheless touched him more in the last few weeks than any girl he’d known. He had a vivid mental flash of her striding down the corridor in her t-shirt and knickers; of her expression as she reached to wash away the spiders. The images, erotic and intimidating, burned through his carefully constructed grey pebbled beach. She was probably the most beautiful girl he’d ever met. What would happen if he kissed her? Did she want him to kiss her? Did he want to? Should he?

  “Christ, you’re trembling,” said Priss, concerned. “Sit down, I’ll give you a hug.” She draped herself around his back, her firm little breasts pressed against him. He was suddenly immensely tired. Her hands on his forehead were like Alice’s sister, brushing away the leaves.

  “Don’t you fucking go to sleep on me.” Priss shook him awake.

  “I’m so tired.” His eyes were closing all by themselves.

  “Stop that. Stop it! Stay with me, Davey, you soft bastard. Are you still awake?”

  “Mmm.” He was limp and relaxed, the aftermath of fear better than any anaesthetic. Priss was so warm and comforting. The dust was like a blanket he could curl up against. It smelled of must and old, used-up time.

  “Don’t you bloody dare.” Priss hit him very hard on the arm. He whimpered, and put his arm over his head. “Oh my God, Davey, don’t you bloody do this to me, stay awake, are you even listening to me, don’t you dare leave me on my own in here while you go to sleep, I need you, alright, I can’t be in here on my own!”

  He could hear the hysteria in her voice, but it seemed far too big a problem for him to deal with. Priss began to wail.

  “Kate! Tom! Isaac! Are you there? Come and get us out!”

  “They’ll never hear us,” murmured Davey, feeling the waves close over his head. “They’re in the other wing. They might look for us at breakfast time. Might as well get some sleep while we’re waiting.”

  “No, they’ll never find us, not in here – they might not even look at all – Davey, stay with me, stay awake, the torch is fuckin’ going out.”

  Davey felt the light strike his eyeballs through his tightly closed eyelids, driving away the comforting lethargy. He sat up. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the door had swung open, and Isaac stood in the doorway. Behind him were Tom and Kate.

  chapter twelve (then)

  Welcome to MSN Messenger!

  Online: Elvisgirl, EdwardBulyerLytton

  hey elvisgirl online at last J how U doin?

  hey ed how RU?

  XLnt as always. so how was it 4U 2day?

  place is fkn shit-hole Ed

  srsly?

  YY

  yr skool is actual den of sodomy?

  LOL no! pedant

  i no soz. so wot u mean ‘shit-hole’?

  BRB.

  “ - a non-selective mixed comprehensive school in the [stranger danger deletion LOL] area of Liverpool. It is ethnically diverse, with nineteen per cent of its population coming from a non-white racial background. Thirty-seven per cent of its pupils are entitled to free school meals. Thirty-nine per cent of its pupils leave the school with at least five GCSEs at A - C grade.”

  u no all that off top of hed?*impressed*

  LOL no. wiki’d it

  U no u cant trust wiki rite?

  ha not trusting wiki. using wiki 2 prove point. oh and 9 staff on long-term sick w stress & supplys keep leaving ’cos we’re a bunch of fuckin’ animals

  snds like tuff place L

  i’ll survive. get GCSEs get out n do 6th form. then world = fkn oyster. besides 1 or 2 good teachers U no? like eng guy. he gave us this fkn wild assignment this wk

  Heavily made up and with their skirts hitched high, the cream of the Year Eleven girls leaned against the corridor wall and preened at the Year Twelve boys, who watched them from outside the History room.

  “You done your assignment?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Only askin’. Don’t have a fuckin’ baby, alright?”

  “Yeah, well, don’t be so fuckin’ nosey, alright? Did you do it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuckin’ swot.”

  “Fuck off. Didn’t take long.”

  The girls glanced slyly at Priss.

  “Bet Priss did it.”

  “Priss lurves Mr Jones. Priss has got a crush on him.”

  “Fuck off, I have not,” said Priss, absently.

  “Haven’t done your assignment?”

  “Haven’t got a crush on him.”

  “Ooh. She’s denying it! It must be true.”

  Priss shrugged. “If you say so. Mind you, Katie that means you must fancy
Harry Fearn. Which would be a bit of a fuckin’ shame, really, since he told his mates he’d rather fuck mud.”

  Katie reddened. There was a collective oooh from the other girls, but Priss had already lost interest. Mr Jones – a professional latecomer who had quit a lucrative sales job to retrain – was making a disorganised passage down the corridor, dropping papers, getting stuck in doors, knocking half-dislodged posters off walls. One of the Year Twelve boys stuck out a foot, but Mr Jones, apparently distracted by a drawing pin on the floor, swerved neatly around, homing triumphantly in on the pin and capturing it in thick fingers. Everyone swarmed into the classroom.

  “Everyone make it here okay?” Mr Jones asked, studying the register. “Who are we missing? Lee-Anne, have we got Lee-Anne? Anyone?”

  “She’s got her period, sir,” said Katie, for laughs.

  “Has she really. Thank you for that, Katie, nice to see a true comic genius at work. Anyone with a sensible answer? No? Okay. Anyone else? Mark, have we got Mark?”

  The boys stuck their tongues in their lower lips and made spaz noises. Mark Asher was in a wheelchair, and had special permission to go into the classrooms before the teacher got there because if he waited outside, he blocked the whole corridor.

  “Locked in the toilet.”

  “Got lost on the way here.”

  “Maybe he’s taking the stairs?”

  “For a bunch of reasonably bright kids, you’re all quite horrible sometimes,” said Mr Jones severely.

  “Mark doesn’t mind, sir.”

  “It’s just for a laugh.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re all princes among men and Mark is eternally grateful for your kind support and understanding. Alright, here he is.” Mark wheeled silently into the classroom. “Any special reason why you’re late, Mark? Never mind, you’re here now.” Mr Jones smiled at the class. “So, I’m sure you all remembered to bring in the piece of writing that made you feel something.”

  U mentioned him B4. mr jones i mean

  so?

  so nothing. just sayin. J shows I listen rite?

  U rnt gonna ask me if I fancy him RU?

  LOL no

  good

  so do U?

  fuck OFF