by Holly Bourne
Mr Simmons was pacing the carpet and jolted me back into my Media Studies lesson.
“Right, so it’s time for you to start thinking about your Critical Research coursework this year.” He turned on his heel and made his way back. “The aim of this module is to teach you how to research an academic topic independently, to help prepare you for university.”
Alice made a scared face and I tried to make one back.
“So you need to pick a part of the media to critically analyse. It can be anything. But try and keep it specific.”
Another turn. Another trek across the chewing-gum-stained carpet.
A guy, George, put his hand up. “So we get to do whatever we want for the whole school year?”
“Nice try,” Mr Simmons said. “I think you’ll find this harder than me teaching you what you need for an exam. Most of you will find picking a topic the hardest part.”
Alice put her hand up and her nails sparkled.
“Yes, Alice?”
“Can you give us some examples?”
“Of course, of course.” He picked up a stack of sheets and passed them out. I took one and looked down at the photocopy of someone else’s handwriting. “So, the only real criteria is you examine some part of the media with an academic eye – the news, TV sitcoms, Hollywood movies, it can be anything… Last year a student examined the coverage of women’s sports on major news channels compared to male sports. Another looked at product placement in James Bond films. Another measured the amount of screen time given to actors of colour in Oscar-nominated films. Now…” Mr Simmons sat down and took a sip from his coffee mug. “I know it’s a bit overwhelming so let’s spend ten minutes jotting down areas that interest you.”
Alice and I looked at each other blankly. “Any ideas?” she asked.
“None. You?”
“I dunno.” She began doodling spirals in the margin of her notepad. “I guess I could do something about women’s magazines?”
“That sounds perfect. And it would look good on your CV when you apply for work experience.”
Alice had wanted to write for a glossy magazine since she was seven. She lived in a perpetual state of despair that print journalism would be dead before she got the chance to realize her dream.
“I’ll do that then.” She sat higher in her seat and wrote down women’s magazines.
I kept tapping my pen and watched everyone scribble around me. George was the only other person looking perplexed and we grinned at each other. Then I remembered George was one of Milo’s best friends and panicked that he knew what had happened. I blushed, feeling vaguely sick, and looked down at my empty page.
What could I spend a whole term researching?
Surely nobody cares about anything that much?
Mr Simmons must’ve sensed my hesitation because he came over and crouched next to my desk. “Having trouble, Audrey?”
My face screwed up at the strong smell of coffee on his breath. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Well, what are you interested in?”
I shrugged, feeling exposed with everyone listening. “I don’t know.”
“How about films or TV? With all the acting you’ve done in the school plays?”
I flinched as he said it. He may as well have spat in my eye. I shrugged again. “I like films, I guess.”
“Brilliant, yes.” He acted like I’d just solved an impossible equation, rather than saying the most basic of things. “What sort of films do you like?”
I wasn’t sure what I liked any more. I wasn’t sure why I was here. Why I was taking Media Studies on to upper sixth instead of Drama. My favourite subject – my only subject really – and I’d dropped it. I’d dropped Drama… I’d basically just sleepwalked through my own life this past summer – surviving each day, counting them off, even though I wasn’t sure what I was counting down to. Making momentous decisions based on what would require the least effort, bring me the least pain. I had no energy left for anything else after what Milo had done. When it did flare up, it was as a cold-but-simmering anger that pulsed through me, that showed no signs of draining out.
“You like romantic films, don’t you, Audrey?” Alice spoke for me and jolted me out of my malaise.
“Oh, is that right, Audrey?”
I felt my face go red.
“She’s named after Audrey Hepburn.”
“Is that true?” Mr Simmons asked and I half managed to nod.
“Well, she’s certainly an icon. Maybe you could do your research about her?”
I gave him my best no-way-in-hell look.
“Oooooor, maybe not. So you like romantic films?”
I shook my head hard. “I did. But I don’t any more.”
Not taking my hints, he pressed on. “I see, and why not?”
“Because they’re full of unhelpful lies.” It spat out of my mouth before I’d even noticed myself saying it. I heard George snort and I slumped in my seat, cringing at my own outburst.
At the very least, it shut Mr Simmons up for at least thirty seconds. Alice giggled to try and combat the awkwardness and I felt a rush of hate for her too, even though she was doing nothing wrong.
“It’s true,” I insisted. “Romance films ruin people’s real-life relationships. They offer this idea of love that isn’t sustainable in normal life. It’s dan…” I was about to say “dangerous” before I looked up to see literally the whole class listening in. My fists clenched. I reached for a lesser word. “It’s…pathetic?”
My teacher smiled, in a feeling-sorry-for-you way and I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and leaned forward so my hair covered my face.
“Sounds like you’re onto something, Audrey,” he said, quietly. “At least write that down. Have a think about where you can take that idea.”
“She works in a cinema,” Alice chipped in brightly. Still my unofficially appointed speaker for today. “At Flicker.”
“Is that right?” Mr Simmons stood up. “Well then, I’ll be looking forward to a great proposal, Audrey – with access to all those free film tickets.”
“I don’t know if I even get to watch the movies yet,” I said, but Mr Simmons’s back had already turned.
I looked at my notepad.
I’d written:
I called Dougie at lunchtime, perched outside on the school wall. My bum was already getting damp but the common room was too noisy. That, and I’d seen Milo saunter in holding hands with Her.
It rang off. I tried again. It rang off.
Dougie picked up on my third attempt. “Audrey, what the hell?” His voice was gruff with sleep. “You woke me up.”
“Shouldn’t you be in lectures?”
“It’s first year. Everyone knows first year doesn’t count.”
I shifted so a different part of my arse sat against the wet brick and bit my lip, knowing he was about to flip. “I’m calling about Dad.” There was a long pause. “Dougie?”
“What’s he done now?”
I heard shuffling and clicking and then loud music echoed down the line. Dougie’s way of drowning out the world.
“He’s…he’s… He wants Mum to sell the house.” I’d bent over on myself just to get the sentence out – like admitting it out loud finally made it true.
Another painful pause. “You’re kidding, right?” he said, finally.
“I don’t think so, no. Mum told me last night.”
“How was she?” he asked quickly, worry lacing his voice. Dougie was very protective of Mum. Though I always found it a bit half-arsed. He’d spent most of last year – her really bad year – staying out all night with his band. And he hadn’t once come home to visit this term, even though it was only an hour’s drive. He overcompensated with words and rage and strops at Dad – chucking fire down the phone, hurling insults through his keyboard. It made Mum adore him even more. While I was the one dealing with the actual physical situation. I was the one forced to play bad cop. Forced to say no to her. Forced to go and see
Dad and the kids and play peacemaker as Dougie refused. Forced to keep the house clean in her bad weeks. Forced to call in sick for her. And no thanks, no hero badge for me. Just “Why can’t you be supportive, like your brother?” – as if words were more what she needed, rather than stopping her dying from scurvy or getting fired for being hungover at work.
“She was…” I pictured her flopping onto my bed like a corpse, the disappointment washing over me like I’d been doused with icy water. “How do you think she was? All the progress she’s made has just…imploded.”
“He can’t do this. Surely he can’t do this?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to go see him, I guess.”
“Tell him if he does this, I never want to see him again.”
I looked up at the crisp blue sky, the autumn sun making the bare twigs of trees sparkle. The sky had cleared up since this morning, but everything was still damp. The hum of lunchtime noise echoed through the cold air.
“Tell him yourself.”
“Don’t be like that, Audrey.”
I dug my fingers into the wall. “I’m just saying, it would be useful if you’d help, Dougie. I don’t know what to say to Dad either. You know how he’s all…weird now.”
“Just pretend he doesn’t exist, that’s what I do.”
“Don’t you see, I can’t ignore him. Not if both you and Mum are. Someone’s got to keep us vaguely talking. Plus the twins are our siblings!”
The music in the background inched up a notch. “Half-siblings,” he corrected. “And the shit half.”
“Dougie…”
“And he can’t take the house. It’s ours. What does Mum’s lawyer say?”
“I’m not sure. She was too…” drunk “…ill last night to make much sense.”
“Well, get her to ring her lawyer.” The screechy plucks of his guitar now. He would hang up this phone call and not have to think about it any more. Whereas I, freezing, exhausted, had to go home to a hungover, confused mother with no option to ignore this.
You’re angry at Dad, not Dougie. You’re angry at Dad, not Dougie.
“Hey, do you know anyone called Harry?” I asked, changing the subject to save me from my own anger.
More scratchy chords, a riff of a new song echoed down the line. “There’s Harry Lipton. How do you know him?”
“I started working at Flicker Cinema last night,” I said. “He said he knew you. He’s very…umm…friendly.”
“Did he try it on with you?” Dougie’s voice was harsh again.
“Yes, Dougie.” I rolled my eyes. “He pinned me against a wall and declared his undying love the second I put on my new name tag. Why would he try it on with me?”
“He tries it on with everyone, that’s all. He’s a good guy apart from that though. We hung out a bit in Music Tech. I just don’t want him hitting on my little sister. He’s into films, isn’t he?”
“Well, he works at a cinema, I don’t think that means he’s definitely into films.”
“No no, he is. He makes them. Weird ones. With loads of fake blood and zombies and stuff. Anyway, he’s all right. A bit lost…”
Because you aren’t, I found myself thinking, then felt guilty the moment I’d thought it.
“But be careful. He’s a dick when it comes to girls. Like…”
“Like Dad?” I suggested. The line fell quiet.
“He’s not as bad as Dad,” Dougie eventually replied.
The girls were waiting for me when I got back to the common room – displaying a respectable amount of animosity for the presence of Her. It made me feel guilty for having nasty thoughts about them earlier. I spent a lot of time feeling guilty. I wondered how much the world would change if the people who should actually feel guilty in life did feel guilty.
“I hate her new haircut,” Charlie said, instead of hello, as I slumped next to them on the squishy sofa. I was trying to keep Milo and Her out of my eyeline but they were with the rest of the Drama people – being loud and obnoxious. It was like they couldn’t un-learn how to project their voices. And you can, I would know.
Alice gave me one of her hugs that always last a tiny bit too long. “Her fringe looks deranged,” she stage-whispered into my ear.
“She can’t pull it off,” Becky confirmed, nodding her head seriously.
I gave a thin smile, trying to see this for what it was – good friends comforting another friend. I couldn’t understand why they were still being friendly this term when I’d spent the whole summer mostly ignoring their calls and closing the curtains on the sunshine. But I said, “Thanks, guys,” in my numb voice. The one I wished wouldn’t keep seeping out of me when I was around them. When I was around most people actually.
Charlie moved her chair, blocking my view of the Drama lot and – for that at least – I was grateful. Charlie was pissed off with her new boyfriend, Nick, who went to the big college, because he hadn’t replied to her last message and it had been almost twelve hours. I found myself nodding, responding, listening. But more like I was a TV and someone had pointed a remote at me and punched the NOD! RESPOND! LISTEN! buttons. They dissected every single possible reason why Nick hadn’t got back to her – from the state of his Wi-Fi signal to, eventually, how his family treated him in childhood.
“I think it’s because his mum has always been tough, you know? So he finds it hard to show love.”
Or Nick is a bit of a cock…
I didn’t say that. I just played with my long hair.
“Audrey? Audrey?”
“Huh?” I looked up. The three of them stared at me, wearing the look they always wore these days. The look that said I Wasn’t Joining In and therefore they were Worried About Me.
“What do you think, Audrey?”
“Umm, sorry, I wasn’t listening properly,” I admitted. I saw a twinge of pain cross Charlie’s face – at my not caring, at my zoning out, at me not being the Audrey they’ve known for so long.
“I didn’t mean to bore you,” she said.
My stomach twisted in on itself, guilt, guilt, guilt – Jesus Mother of Crapcakes, was it my curse to always feel guilt?
Becky coughed, Alice blushed. The awkwardness fell like sleet from the ceiling.
I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m distracted.” I tried to smile, and Charlie tried to smile too. Tight ones we didn’t mean. “I didn’t sleep much. My mum, well, she didn’t have a good night. I think she’s having a relapse or something, if that’s the right word.” Charlie’s smile grew fatter and she moved over in her chair. Ready to be a friend. A friend I didn’t deserve.
“Oh, Audrey, why didn’t you tell us?” she asked. “What’s happened? You shouldn’t just let me drone on about Nick.”
“No. You weren’t droning on. It’s nothing.”
Guilty about using Mum as an excuse. Guilty that I was being a dick in the first place. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Charlie’s empty space meant I could see Milo and my eyes went straight for him, like they always did. He caught my eye, just for a second. And, in that second, we were in my bedroom, with my music on and my clothes off and my mum not in and his hands were tracing down the sides of my waist and he was whispering that I was beautiful…
Becky came in for a hug too. I could smell the chemical tang of her hairspray. “What happened? Is it something with your dad?” she asked.
“It’s…it’s…”
I didn’t want to be here. In this stuffy common room, in this stuffy school, in this stuffy sixth form stuffed with people too scared to go to the proper college. I didn’t want to give the girls a reason for me being difficult, I just wanted to be difficult. I was so fed up of being amenable to everybody. I didn’t want to tell them about the house. I didn’t want them to ask me questions about what that meant when I didn’t know the answers. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me when they should be feeling angry at me for being such a judgemental bunch of crap to hang out with.
Just then, Leroy sauntered through the doors, hand in hand with
Ian. I stood up.
“Audrey? Where you going?” Becky asked.
“Audrey, you can tell us,” Alice said.
“Sorry, it’s just…Leroy. I have to talk to him about something.”
I didn’t say goodbye, just sort of left and walked over to Leroy. I let the guilt burst the dam and flow through me, feeling like the world’s worst person. And Leroy, sensing it, greeted me by kissing me on both cheeks.
“Leroy, seriously, calm the gay down. I’ve said hi to you already.” I gave Ian a quick hug hello.
“I’ve told him a million times that he does nothing to challenge the stereotypes of Drama Club,” Ian said, and I laughed. He and Leroy had been together since A Midsummer Night’s Dream last Christmas – where Leroy played Puck and Ian the understudy. “But I was the one who got to under…study him,” Leroy always joked. I’d played Titania; Milo was Oberon, of course. God, it had been the happiest of winters. High on love, snatching kisses between scenes. Just as I was reminiscing, feeling my heart get heavier with each beat, Milo and Courtney (Her) sauntered past us, his arm over her shoulder.
