“No, but I am telling you what she said.” I turned my eyes to Tye, his face was contorted in despair. “Isabella went drinking for what was a ridiculous reason that could be solved so simply. Why won’t you be honest too? It seems as good as time as any to make it clear to your dad that you are never going into the family business.”
“How dare you –” Héctor jumped to his feet.
“Ivy – get out!” Tye snapped, pointing at the door.
The anger in his face was gut-wrenching. My stomach felt like it collapsed in on itself. No nausea. No little people embodying my nerves.
Just a black hole.
I ran from him. I sprinted up the stairs and packed my things as fast as possible before hurrying out of the door.
It was three in the morning, but no one made a move to stop me and neither did I make an argument to stay. I used maps on my phone to walk to the train station. It took an hour and a half to get there. By the time the train to Exeter arrived in the station, the sun had started to rise.
I knew it was wrong, what I said. It had not been my place, yet I couldn’t help myself.
It had to be said.
Chapter 16
If that blackhole were real, it would have consumed the whole of me. Those little people that once sat in my stomach, the embodiment of nerves, were sat at the very bottom of the hole. All throwing balls against the black walls, prisoner style.
Each day I was alone. Even Cara and Ellie were away, so I stood no chance of finding someone to talk to. Instead I was lumped with periodic shifting between the coffee shop, a computer screen for revision and necessary binge-watching tv. I think I forgot how to smile.
I was even nervous about messaging Cara and Ellie. They had undoubtedly heard from Leonora about our argument by now and I didn’t want to know what they thought. They would probably be just as miffed at me.
The only good thing was not having to see Kyle. I switched my hours at the coffee shop just in case he had taken note of them. I don’t know if he had, but he didn’t come in. Leaving me to wallow in misery by myself, but at least without fear.
I was well aware of how pitiful I looked. Part of me wanted to slap my reflection in the mirror – wake up! Yet I never could.
I didn’t just draw ladybugs on my hand anymore. I drew them everywhere. I literally mean… EVERYWHERE. All over my revision notes, on my mirror, across photographs pinned to my wall, further up my arm, on a customer’s coffee cup instead of their name. It was out of control. Instead of thinking in words, I thought in ladybugs. One spot, two spots, three spots, four…
I gave up trying to message Leonora. She never messaged back, even though I could see she had read them. I didn’t even bother attempting to message Tye.
I had seen his cocoa eyes. His handsome face set into such anger directed at me shook me to my very core. That black hole gaped further open. He detested me in that moment. He actually made me leave. All the talk he had given about not walking anywhere in the dark by yourself. Kind of showed how little his care suddenly amounted to when I walked across town to the station at three in the morning.
I know I was way across the line when I lashed out. So far past it that the line wasn’t real anymore, but I snapped. There was so much to hang onto, and I just wanted to make it all go away for Tye and Isabella. I wanted to wipe their troubled path clean. Instead, I’d only cast more rubble onto it.
I wanted to be back in that bed with Tye, our hands entwined and talking of happy things. My stomach ached with the memory.
Only one thing gave me any comfort. Isabella was okay. It must have hurt when I made her throw up. I had gone through the training for it, determined that if it ever happened again, I would know what to do. Strangely, I had never actually expected to use it. At least she was okay.
I ignored every call my dad made.
My mum called a couple of times too on video chat, and I was determined to put on a brave face for her. She actually looked happy – that was too good a moment to dispel. During the second call she said I looked sad, but I lied and said I was just tired, had a rough night’s sleep. Well, I had woken up every night that week dreaming about Rosie.
Rosie.
I just wanted to see her again. Talk to her again.
The blackhole in my stomach opened wide.
As the end of the first week neared, I picked myself up and went to the self-defence class. Partly because I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that Leonora was right about the class, and partly just to think of something else.
It didn’t work. I walked into the class to see I was the only one who had turned up. Everyone else was at home or on holiday somewhere. This meant it was just me and the instructor, Blake. He was a tall man, in his forties, had done military service so certainly knew how to handle himself in a fight.
“Ivy, right?” He asked as I stood alone next to the crash matts in my Lycra.
“Yep. Erm – listen, I can go if you like.” I gestured to the empty room. “This session can hardly be profitable for you with just me paying.”
“I don’t do it for the profit.” He smiled as he rolled up his sleeves. He had a kind face. If it wasn’t for the shaved hair and obvious military stance, he wouldn’t look like a man who had served in the military.
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.” He beckoned me into the middle of the room. “If you like we can make the session a little different though.” He folded his arms, matching my stance – I rather think on purpose.
“What do you mean?”
“You came last week, with Leonora. Scary girl when she wants to be.”
“She scares us all,” I joked, feeling the tug of a smile on my cheeks. The sensation was quite foreign.
“I’m not surprised.” He held my gaze, suddenly turning serious. “It was not difficult to see she dragged you along for a reason. Can I ask what the reason is?”
My eyes shot down to my feet, clad in my running shoes. They were frayed and dirty at the edges, it was a bit like how I felt. Eventually I shook my head. I did not want to discuss it with him.
“Very well. In which case, I’ll give you options of manoeuvres to learn. How does that sound?” His voice was kind, soft so not to scare me. “For example, do you want to learn what to do when someone attacks from the front? The back? Erm…” He thought for a minute. “Maybe if they grab your shoulder, arm, elbow.”
I nodded suddenly. This actually sounded good.
“Arms – that sounds good. It kind of restricts the ability to move.” My voice was quiet. For some reason, this miserable version of myself wanted to be a mouse.
“Okay, that’s good. Over here,” he nodded, pleased he had found something practical to do.
We ran through a lot of positions. He showed me what to do if someone grabbed my elbow, one or both. If they went for just my hands, best to utilise the elbows in that case, straight to the nose. He also went through what to do if tackled to the ground.
It was good. More painful than before, but I didn’t feel so ridiculous this time. It gave me something else to think about.
“Last thing before you go.” He picked up a set of keys off the table where his cash box sat. “These are probably the best weapon you can think of that’s always easy to hand.”
“A set of keys?” I arched an eyebrow as I towelled off some of the sweat. “How?”
“Sharp and pointy,” he smiled wickedly. “Like this,” he demonstrated by putting the point of the key between his fingers. “If you’re in a dark road by yourself, I recommend everyone holds their keys in their hand like this. If someone grabs you, swing round, and that punch is no longer just a punch. You would wound instantly. Head for the face. If you’re truly terrified, I’d even say the eye.”
“Erggh!!” I responded, recoiling at the thought.
“Yeah, yuck. I get it.” He laughed it off as he pocketed the keys. “You may not ever need it and I really hope you don’t, but if it ever comes to the moment where you
’re truly scared. If you think your attacker is truly trying to hurt you, hurt them first. At that point, it’s you or them. You can’t always guarantee they’ll be someone there to help. That make sense?”
I nodded, suddenly very grateful.
“Thank you, Blake,” I pulled my keys from my bag and poked the halls’ key through the gap in my fingers as I made a fist.
“Perfect,” he laughed. “Now you’re practically lethal. Get going before it gets dark.” I hurried to the door, keeping the key between my fingers. “Oh, Ivy?”
I paused in the doorway, looking back at him as he stood by his cash box, consuming the space in the room and emanating a feeling that was both steady and safe.
“Whoever it is you’re worried about,” he didn’t give me chance to interrupt, he just pushed on. “Perhaps think about why they’re worrying you and if they’re going out of their way to do it.”
“Why is that?” I watched him closely, not quite understanding the meaning.
“In my experience, there usually is a reason. Maybe they need help too.”
I nodded at his words yet could say no more. My mind was back on Rosie, my hand used the key to scratch the place on my wrist where two ladybugs were having a fist fight.
The morning after I woke with a sense of purpose. I don’t know what made me plan to do it, whether it was dreaming of Rosie again, the shadows under my eyes or the fact it was now April, I had to do it.
I didn’t bother with makeup. I’m not even sure what I wore; I just threw on something to keep out the sudden cold we were experiencing, then I walked to Exeter Central station and took a train to Salisbury.
From what my mum had said, my dad hadn’t yet left Salisbury for his holiday in Scotland, but I wasn’t going to tell him I was there. It wasn’t the point of my last-minute visit.
I grabbed a coffee as I arrived and walked numbly to the florists. I picked out a red bunch with a few white roses scattered between them. Red like ladybugs.
As I crossed the city centre, passing the tall spire of the cathedral, I imagined myself as a shell of a person. The black hole had grown so much it consumed my entire innards. It was just the hollow shell stepping through the motions now. I headed for a church on the far edge of the city and meandered up the churchyard path as grey clouds set over the sky. I don’t think the sun had ever shone here.
Amongst the overgrown ivy and grass, I found her headstone.
Rosie Clark.
Sixteen was too young to die.
I quickly placed the flowers by the headstone, gutted that there weren’t any already there. It meant neither mum nor dad had placed any there recently. Yet it was the month she had died.
I rested my hand on the mottled grey stone, feeling the cold and the scratchy surface grate at my skin.
“Hi, Rosie.” I whispered into the air, feeling ridiculous. If only I could talk to the real her. What advice would she give for me now? Now that I had messed everything up. I looked around the church yard, but there was no one there. Just me and the empty space where Rosie should be.
I sat down next to the grave and rearranged the flowers for a minute, making sure the red roses all sat perfectly.
“I miss you.” I mumbled eventually, looking at the ladybugs on my hand. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop wanting you here. Mum and dad are being…” I trailed off, not wanting to tell her what it was like. I don’t know why I did that. It’s not like she could actually hear me.
I looked around the churchyard again, but it was still empty of people. After a minute, I laid down on the grass, resting my head amongst the cold grass blades.
It was as good a place as any to be.
As kids, we would often climb into each other’s beds and tell stories. She always read my bedtime stories when I was really little. Her favourite was one about a ladybug. I think it had started her obsession with the little things in the first place.
“And Little Miss Ladybug flew all the way home…” I could practically hear her sing-song voice as my eyelids closed, laying in the grass. “Hop, skip, fly and dance. Wearing the prettiest red dress you can imagine.” Sleep found me. In my dreams, Rosie was reading to me again.
Chapter 17
My body was rebelling against my will, taunting me that I wanted to cry, but I fought it. All the way back from Salisbury and into Exeter station, I won out against it. The familiar lump in my throat was there, but I wouldn’t quite give way to the pressure.
Saturday. Leonora would be back.
My feet wandered back to Lafrowda. Even though it wasn’t quite dark, I held the keys between my fingers as Blake had taught me. Once I reached the halls, my feet didn’t take me to my block. They took me to Leonora’s instead.
I knocked on the door to her communal flat, still fighting the pressure in my throat.
Someone opened it – not someone I recognised. It was a lad, quite short, but somehow, he knew me.
“Leonora!” He called over his shoulder towards the kitchen.
“Yeah?” I could hear her voice call back.
“It’s your weird friend.”
“Weird?” I repeated at the accusation.
“Just kidding,” he said with a smile.
“Which one?” Leonora’s voice came back, but she had stood up and walked to the kitchen of the doorway.
At the sight of Leonora stood there, something cracked. I don’t know what it was, but I could no longer fight the lump in my throat. I felt I was falling down that black hole.
The tears came – big huge gasping cries, the kind that is not remotely Hollywood pretty. Just a complete mess.
Leonora leapt forward into the corridor and shooed the boy back.
“Out of my way,” she threw her arms around me. Suddenly I was crying into her shoulder as she pulled me into the flat. “Right, you’re going to tell me what this is now, okay?” She lifted my chin up. We were at a similar height, making it easy enough.
I nodded, not really knowing what else to do.
“I – I miss her.” I gasped a big breath again. “So much. Nobody else cares.”
“Right, in my room,” Leonora dragged me to her bedroom door, pushing past the boy who was still stood there with his jaw on the floor wondering what had happened. “Who is her?”
She sat me down on her bed, kneeling in front of me with wide eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I ignored the question, needing to apologise desperately. I was still crying ridiculously heavily as she leaned over to her bedside cabinet to get a box of tissues. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just easier not to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to apologise –”
“I do,” I said firmly as I snatched about five tissues, trying to wipe the tears and mascara away. “It’s how I deal with it, Leonora. It is almost as if I don’t talk about it, then I can pretend it isn’t real.”
“What isn’t real, Ivy?” She softly squeezed my wrist, pulling the tissues away to see my face, with all the mascara streaking down my cheeks.
“Rosie’s dead.” I snatched another tissue. “It’s been six years and mum and dad don’t talk about her. I have to bring her up. Now they’re getting a divorce. They’re going to sell the house and throw out her things. It’s like she’s gone for good.” My tears took over once again, and I buckled forward, feeling the agony of it in my stomach.
“Oh, Ivy,” she hugged my head at the awkward angle I had created. “This has something to do with these.” She tapped the ladybugs on my hand. There were so many. Each one doing something different. One was flipping pancakes. One dancing. One reading a bedtime story to another little one. They were all memories of Rosie.
“She loved ladybugs,” I nodded. “Everything she owned was covered in them.” Her backpack, her bed duvet, and pencil case. Even some of her jewellery was ladybugs.
“Okay.” She shook my shoulder, trying to get me to look at her. “Ivy, your hand. Look at it properly. Not at the ladybugs.”
&nb
sp; All around the ladybug doodles there were scratch marks and scars of previous doodles. There was blood too. I had used an ink pen for my latest drawings.
“It doesn’t hurt.” I murmured, realising for the first time what I had done.
“Not yet, but it will if it gets infected. Let me wash it off. Okay?” She was speaking to me softly, as though I were little again. I nodded, unable to reply.
She directed me to stand and pulled me over to her small ensuite. She gently washed my hand clean with soap then dragged me back to the bedroom, prodding me into her desk chair while she fetched out a first aid kid.
“I don’t need that.” I tried to shoo her away, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Don’t be stupid. You do. Now, let me look after you.” She cleaned the grazes with an antiseptic wipe then wrapped the back of my hand with a clean white bandage, tying it neatly into my palm. “All done. See?” She held up my hand. “Cocoa?”
“Yes please.” She knew what I liked.
She returned in just a few minutes with two cups of cocoa and a huge box of chocolate biscuits.
“You look like you’ve been rolling around in the grass, do you realise that?” She pulled a few wayward blades of grass from my hair.
“I erm…” the tears were coming to a stop as I dabbed my face. “I fell asleep in the churchyard.”
“Rosie’s grave?” She waited, seeing me nod ever so slightly. “Right. In the shower. You can borrow some of my clothes. Just try not to get the bandage wet.” I didn’t bother arguing. She was in the capable, mother-hen mode. I loved her for it.
A few minutes later and wearing clean clothes, we were in the bed eating biscuits and cocoa while she soothed me. I still cried every now and then.
“I haven’t cried in years.” I tried to wipe the tears away, relieved I had borrowed one of her facewipes and wiped clean the mascara streaks.
“I never have a problem with crying,” she shrugged. “It’s an outlet for stress. Helps me not to keep things bottled up.”
Distracted By You: Book 1 in The Exeter Running Girls Series Page 15
