I can feel my heart starting to slow down and return to its normal rhythm. Now I’m here, safe in the den, it feels quite beautiful to be out at night. It’s not that cold and I can hear the wind trickling through the branches of the fir tree. It reminds me of a book that Mum used to read to me when I was little, about three children who lived near an enchanted wood with a magic tree. The part of that story that I loved the most was the other trees in the wood – the way they went wisha, wisha, wisha and told each other all the secrets of the wood. I can almost imagine that happening now; that the trees around our old den are whispering the secrets and promises that Alex and I told each other when we came here.
Maybe they’re talking about what Alex would tell me about boys – that they aren’t to be trusted and they’ll never be as important as your family. Or the day that she made me swear we’d never have any secrets from each other – that sisters tell each other EVERYTHING. Maybe they remember our plans for our cafe – the brightly painted walls and the shelves stuffed with books that our customers could look at while they ate our delicious cakes. We spent hours trying to think of a name and agreed that everyone would be welcome; it wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t eat a particular food, you’d always find something good on our menu.
Alex won’t be around to run a cafe with me now. If I need any boy advice then I’ll have to ask Mum, which just won’t be the same. And Alex is keeping the worst possible secret from me right now, which is why I’m out here in the middle of the night, the cold, damp rubber of my wellies feeling utterly disgusting against my bare feet. I have to know what Alex is facing so that I can help her.
I look round the floor of the den. There are a few leaves and twigs, but I can’t see a mobile phone. Then I spot something tucked against the roots of the tree. It’s too big to be Alex’s phone, but I know instantly what it is. I pick it up and put it on my knees. It takes me a moment to prise the lid off because it’s rusted from all the rain, but then I manage to pull up one corner and the rest comes away easily. It’s our old tin – the tin we used to pass messages to each other.
I get my torch out of my pocket and turn it on, shining it into the tin. The inside is dry and, while the pieces of paper are crumpled and the writing’s a bit faded, it’s still possible to read what we’ve written. I pull out a note that I wrote in indigo felt tip when I was probably about eight – even then indigo was my favourite colour although I didn’t know then that it means being responsible and faithful. Indigo people like life to be structured and are very organized; that definitely describes me so I suppose I picked indigo because it’s such a good match for me. It’s very nearly violet, without the dramatic bits.
Hi Alex,
I hate school. Let’s run away together and never go to school again.
Love Izzy xxxxxxx
Nothing much has changed there then – that still sounds like a good idea to me. I find a note written by Alex.
Izzy,
Meet me here after supper tonight. I have chocolate and some hilarious gossip from school!
Love you forever,
Alex x
I slip this note into my pocket, remembering how special I felt when Alex treated me like that – like I was someone worth talking to. I don’t feel like reading the rest of the notes and I put the lid back on, slipping the tin into its hiding place by the tree. As I do, I see something strange – a weird light flashing on and off behind the trunk of the tree. Alex’s phone! I turn off my torch and stretch my arm as far as it will go and just manage to grasp it, pulling it across the dirt and leaves until it’s firmly in my hands. The screen is flashing with unread text messages and I stuff the phone deep into the pocket of my dressing gown, worried that the unearthly glow will get me seen if someone just happens to be glancing out of the window.
Finding the phone brings me back to reality and I remember why I’m out here. Suddenly the den feels creepy and unfriendly, and I start to feel anxious and scared. I bend down low to avoid the branches and duck out of the den, running past the shed and across the lawn until I’m at the back door.
Once inside, I shake off the wellies and creep upstairs. Back in the safety of my room I feel overwhelmingly tired and like I might fall asleep standing up if I don’t get into bed this very instant. But Alex’s phone can’t wait. I’ve got it now and I can find out the whole truth. Suddenly I’m not at all certain that the truth is what I actually want to know.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find. I know what I’m doing is wrong and that I’m invading Alex’s privacy in the worst way, but I just can’t cope with a single second more of not knowing. I never knew that half knowing something is so totally awful. The truth surely can’t be as bad as some of the things that I’m imagining?
I find the last text that has been read – the text that upset Alex so much, and press open. For a moment my eyes look everywhere but at the phone. There’s still time to change what I’m doing. I could turn off the phone and put it back in the den. I remember Pandora again and how a single action can change everything. And then I make my choice.
Bolt from the Blue
I wake up late the next day, my night adventures feeling more like a bad dream than anything real. Reaching my hand under my pillow makes everything zoom into focus pretty quickly though. Alex’s phone is still there, filled with secrets and truths and goodness-knows-what-else. I have to make sure that I won’t be discovered with it. Alex would go mad if she knew what I’ve done.
It’s Saturday, so as soon as we’ve finished breakfast I’m going to be free. Mum tells Alex that she needs new clothes and that she thought they’d go into town for the morning. Alex didn’t react like she normally would though; any other time she’d have almost bitten Mum’s arm off in her enthusiasm for a shopping trip, but today she just snarls a bit and says that she can’t be bothered. That makes Mum get cross and she tells Alex that she can’t keep wearing clothes that are too small for her – and has Alex looked in the mirror lately and seen her shirt buttons straining to stay closed? It’s not decent, Mum says.
‘Are you calling me fat?’ Alex suddenly shouts at Mum and the atmosphere at the breakfast table drops into white, arctic temperatures. I look hard at my cornflakes, hoping that my face isn’t going red. I should have stayed in bed this morning; it’s too hard having to be around Mum and Alex, knowing what I know.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Alex,’ says Mum. ‘I’m just pointing out that you’re still growing and it’s time you had some new clothes. It was supposed to be a nice thing for goodness’ sake!’
‘Well, I’m sorry that I don’t want to go shopping with someone who thinks I’m FAT,’ says Alex, and she and Mum glare at each other across the box of cornflakes.
‘You can buy me some new clothes,’ I say in an attempt to lighten the mood and distract Mum from Alex. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Shut up, Izzy,’ mutters Alex viciously. ‘I can live without your “perfect daughter” routine this morning.’
‘Alex!’ snaps Mum. ‘That’s quite enough. We’re going out and that’s the end of it. No more arguing.’ She gets up and starts slamming the breakfast dishes into the sink, so hard that I’m amazed nothing smashes. ‘Be ready to go by quarter past.’
Alex slouches out of the kitchen without looking at me. Mum turns round when she’s gone.
‘Do you want to come with us?’ she asks me, her voice sounding much gentler than it did when she was talking to Alex.
‘I’d rather stay here,’ I say, hoping that she’ll let me. ‘I’ve got homework to do and Alex is in such a grouchy mood.’
That does the trick. Mum nods at me and dries her hands on a tea towel.
‘No, it probably won’t be a fun morning,’ she murmurs, half to herself. ‘If you’re sure you’ll be OK then you can stay here, but don’t open the door to anyone except Finn and call me if you get even a little bit worried.’ She walks past me, stopping to drop a kiss on top of my head. ‘She won’t stay grumpy forever, you kno
w,’ she tells me and then she goes to get ready. I’m not actually sure that’s true – now I’ve read her text message I think it’s entirely possible that Alex could stay in a foul mood for the rest of her life. But I can’t go shopping this morning. I need to figure out what to do about Alex and her problem.
When Alex and Mum have gone, I run upstairs and retrieve the phone from under my pillow. Then I go back downstairs and head into the garden. It looks totally different this morning to the way it looked last night – not frightening at all. I walk towards Alex’s swing and sit down, pushing off with my feet so that I’m swaying to and fro. I do this for a few minutes and then I turn on the phone and scroll through the menu until I find the recent messages. I can see that there are a few unread messages, but it’s not them that I’m interested in. I want to read the message that I read last night because part of me can hardly believe that it’s true. Maybe there’s still a chance that I read it wrong?
I read the message again several times just to be certain. That’s not because it’s got difficult words. It’s because my brain is refusing to accept that what I read last night was correct. Because in all of my wildest imaginings I was absolutely, categorically NOT imagining this.
Caught Red-handed
Alex’s phone has a new home. It’s been at the back of my sock drawer for the last three days. I keep expecting her to ask me if I’ve seen it, but she hasn’t said a word. Mum asked her where it was yesterday and Alex just shrugged and said that she’d lost it. This is not unusual: she’s not managed to keep hold of the same phone for longer than about six months EVER – hardly surprising if she goes round throwing them in flower beds when she doesn’t like her text messages. Mum got cross with her and said that she has no respect for her belongings and that she, Mum, is fed up with constantly bailing her out. Alex just shrugged again and said that she didn’t want a new phone anyway.
I keep getting her phone out to check for any updates. It’s giving me something to do and distracting me from the utter terror that is swirling round the pit of my stomach. Alex gets a lot of text messages, mostly from Sara and Finn, but also some from Charlie. The one that upset her that day in the garden was from him.
I’ve read it approximately eighty times so far. To begin with I hoped that rereading it would let me see that I’d made some sort of terrible mistake. Jumped to conclusions. I’m not actually the sort of person who does that – I prefer to gather in all the evidence before I make a decision about something – but I thought that this time maybe I’d got it really wrong. Because that obviously happens, even to people like me who double-check everything. People like me who look twice before they leap.
I have to keep reminding myself of the good news. Alex is not dying. Under normal circumstances this would make me very happy. I’ve not really had time to celebrate though because there’s also some bad news. Isn’t there always? I’ve never really understood that phrase about giving with one hand and taking away with the other, but I sort of get it now.
After a while, I couldn’t pretend that I’d got Charlie’s text message wrong. So then I started rereading it in the hope that I’d be able to work out what to do about it. Because Alex doesn’t seem to be doing anything at all, and I feel like I’m living a complete lie.
We’ve just finished supper and I’ve escaped to my room. Mum’s still mad at Alex about the phone, Alex is barely talking at all and I’m too scared to open my mouth in case everything I know comes pouring out. I’m so worried that I’ll make all of this even worse – that I’ll say something wrong and nobody will ever forgive anybody else ever again. That’s why Alex has to do something soon, before she messes up our family for good.
I lift up my pillow and slide her phone out from its hiding place. It’s on silent: it’d be a bit of a giveaway if it started buzzing every time a text came through. I turn it on and read THE message for the eighty-first time.
Sorry about b4. Don’t know wot 2 tell u xcept i don’t want a baby. Not now. Not ever. Sorry. Charlie
Alex is pregnant. Even if it wasn’t utterly obvious from this text and the way she’s behaving – being sick, moody, hiding her body and wearing baggy clothes – then the texts she’s received since this one make it totally clear.
Sara sent this one a few hours after the one from Charlie:
Wot’s up babe? Where r u? Leaving now – c u at the pub. S xx
Followed by this one:
OMG Alex! Just saw Charlie. Is it true? R u pregnant? Y u not picking up phone? Call me NOW. S xx
This one came the next day:
R u OK? Worried about u. How long u known? Y didn’t u tell me? Wot r u going 2 do about it? Are you keeping it? S xx
Alex is obviously avoiding Sara and hasn’t told her that her phone is missing. Sara sends about ten texts a day, each one getting more and more insistent. She sounds desperate to find out what’s going on – I never knew that she was so nosy. No wonder Alex isn’t bothered about getting a new phone.
Finn, on the other hand, has sent two texts. One of them is checking that Alex would be at band practice that night (she wouldn’t – she’s barely leaving the house; she’s not even been to school this week, although Mum doesn’t know that). The other text was sent the day after and just asked Alex if she was all right. So I’m pretty sure that Finn has no idea about what’s going on. I’d have thought that it’d make me feel good, not being the last to find out as per usual, but actually it doesn’t. I just feel a bit horrible inside.
I badly want to talk to Alex, but she isn’t talking to me. She’s not NOT talking to me – at suppertime she asked me to pass the ketchup – but whenever I try to have a conversation with her she cuts me off and disappears into her room. I asked Mum if she’d noticed anything different about Alex – I think I was hoping that she might start to get suspicious and realize that there’s a problem – but she just gave me a hug and said that Alex is under lots of pressure with her exams and that we all have to accept that she’s growing up and getting ready to leave us.
Mum’s pottering around in the garden and I’m thinking that this is my chance to talk to Alex. I heard her go downstairs a few minutes ago and the sound of water running, so I can catch her in the kitchen while she makes a cup of tea. I’ve got to make her listen to me. I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t talk about it soon. Everything I know is swirling around inside me like a tornado, growing bigger and bigger, and I’m scared that soon it’ll be so big that it’ll spill out of my mouth and I won’t be able to keep quiet any more.
I put Alex’s phone in my pocket and tiptoe downstairs so that she won’t hear me coming. As I walk into the kitchen, I see Alex reaching up for a new box of teabags; her shirt rides up and I see the gentle swell of her stomach over the top of her jeans. Even though I know she’s pregnant, it makes me stand still in shock. There’s an actual baby growing inside Alex. A real, living baby that’s making Alex sick and pale and causing all this trouble. I hate it.
I must make a sound because Alex swings round and looks at me, yanking her shirt down at the same time.
‘Crikey, Izzy, you scared me!’ she says. I just keep looking at her stomach, trying to imagine what she’ll look like when it’s all swollen and fat. She won’t look like Alex, that’s for sure.
‘Izzy?’ she says, sounding worried. She should sound worried. She should have told Mum straight away, not waited until now. ‘Are you OK?’
I’ve waited for days to have this conversation, but now it’s time I can’t think of a single thing to say. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before. Plus, I don’t really know what I want Alex to say to me. I’m not sure how I feel about her right now. I know that I’m scared about what’s going to happen to her and I’m worried about what Mum’s going to say, but I realize as I stand in the doorway that I’m angry too – angry with Alex.
In the end, with the silence stretching between us like the Sahara Desert, I choose actions instead of words. Reaching into my pocket, I thrus
t Alex’s mobile phone towards her. She looks confused for a second and then surprised – and then she rearranges her face to try and look pleased.
‘Oh great, you found my phone! Where was it?’
‘In our den,’ I tell her, feeling amazed that she’s still going to try and pretend to me.
‘Weird,’ she says, reaching out and taking it from me. ‘I wonder how it got there.’
‘It’s where it landed when you threw it there,’ I say, my voice sounding flat. I can’t be bothered with pretending any more. Alex looks up from her phone where she’s been frantically searching her messages, finally registering that something is wrong.
‘Izzy?’
‘I read your texts,’ I tell her, feeling surprisingly empty. Her face contorts with anger, but I’m ready for this.
‘How dare –’ she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
‘And I read my letters,’ I say. ‘The letters you wrote to me, but didn’t have the courage to actually give me.’
Alex slumps into the nearest chair, her eyes never leaving mine.
‘I can’t believe you snooped in my room. And stole my phone. Why would you do that, Izzy?’
She sounds completely hurt, like I’VE betrayed HER, and it’s too much for me to deal with. All the fear and worry and nervousness of the last few days come pouring out and I glare at Alex, pinning her to the spot with my anger.
‘Why would I do that? Let me see – because you’ve been acting completely weird and you scared me, and I’ve had to deal with thinking you were on drugs, and then thinking that you were going to die. And now this! All on my own, Alex.’
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