Disconnected Page 12

  It was mean of me to think that perhaps Melissa was milking it. By now I reckoned she should have come round. It occurred to me that maybe she was acting up so if she did badly in her French there would be an excuse. Then I hated myself for being so uncharitable. How would I have liked to have been in Melissa’s predicament? It was odd how, even though she was such a vile person, so up herself and mean to other people, I still kind of felt sorry for her. I mean, I would have preferred this not to have happened to her. So there must be some good in me. But not a lot, because despite that, I still reckoned she was enjoying the attention. Girls were scurrying around, bringing her drinks, tissues, trying to cheer her up, telling her that her parents would buy her another phone, and hey, what a brilliant opportunity to get a whole new set of make-up!

  You pushed through the crowd, didn’t you, Lucy? You paid your respects. You knelt by her and held her hand. She looked at you in mournful gratitude. Poseur, I thought, and again hated myself for my reaction. I was becoming all twisted and cynical. Some of Mel’s friends were saying school should let her sit the French exam tomorrow instead. That it was mean of the Head of Sixth to make her do the paper today. Didn’t the idiots realise it was an external paper and couldn’t be shifted?

  It made me want to throw up, the way all the girls were secretly revelling in Melissa’s disaster. It was like they fed off tragedy. It gave them all a chance to get maternal and show how loving and caring they all were. Scoring niceness points. It was such a girlie thing to do. The boys just stood around looking awkward. Brad was there, waiting to talk to you.

  In the end I decided to leave the crowd. I wasn’t wanted. I had some crisps in my school bag and helped myself to those. I sat on one of the armchairs by the window looking over the playground. The common room itself used to be a music room, but then the school filled it with easy chairs and coffee tables and gave it to the sixth form. It still felt like an old classroom, and its makeover sat as uncomfortably on it as a pinny on my Dad. The easy chairs were old, anyway, and there was a rumour that they were infested with fleas or something. They were certainly manky enough.

  To be honest, I don’t know why I wanted to stay at school. Looking round the common room then I thought it was the place I least wanted to be in the world. But it was familiar. It had in it all the people I knew, who I’d grown up with. They drove me mad at times, but I couldn’t imagine being without them. School was the pits, but pits were hidden away and comfortable and hard to get up and out of. Not being at school was hard to imagine. Like not being part of your family.

  One of the teachers came in then and spirited Melissa away. The group surrounding her broke up. Brad went up to you and you had a few words with him, then made your way over to me. He left the common room.

  “Oh, God,” you said. “Oh, God. I wish I knew what to do.”

  I offered you a crisp. You shook your head. You said you couldn’t eat. I encouraged you to tell me what the problem was. I was kind of curious.

  “I wish I knew,” you said. “I think I feel the same way about him, but it’s like, he’s always there and there’s no magic any more. Yeah, the magic has gone.”

  “Was there magic before?” I prompted.

  “In the beginning, before I was sure he really liked me, and when we were first going out. But now – oh, I don’t know. He rings me every night and then when everyone went clubbing last Saturday he didn’t want to go and I ended up round at his place watching TV with his family and it was like, everybody else was having a good time, and you know…”

  “You mean you wanted to go out without him?”

  “No! Well, yeah, but not to get off with anyone.”

  “You’re finding him boring?”

  “No! We know each other really well. I know what he’s thinking sometimes. We’re so close, closer than I’ve been with anyone. Like we’re married or something. Like an old married couple.”

  I pulled a face. “So you want to dump him?”

  “No!” you said again. “I can’t imagine not going out with him. But, Cath, is it normal to fancy someone else while you’re going out with another person?”

  “I should guess so. Otherwise so many marriages wouldn’t end in divorce.”

  “Did you fancy anyone else when you were going out with Taz?”

  “No.”

  “Say you did!”

  “Why? To make you feel better?” I know I was being ratty but I had one of those black moods coming over me. Partly because of the exam we’d just had, partly because I hated myself because of my mixed reaction to Melissa, partly because I didn’t feel like playing the role of counsellor just then. And partly because I needed a drink and you wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t think how to get to the toilets and leave you.

  “You know Nick Ingram in the Upper Sixth? I was talking to him at the bus stop. He’s cute. But I shouldn’t be thinking like that, should I?”

  “You can think what you like.”

  “But if my feelings were strong enough for Brad, I wouldn’t notice other guys. I’d be like, totally into him. And then my mum says I should be playing the field at my age, I’m too young to have a steady boyfriend.”

  “Playing the field?” I questioned. “It’s not a blood sport.”

  You looked at me weirdly. I felt mean, though there was no reason why I shouldn’t be mean. Why do people have to be so bloody nice to each other all the time? Especially girls. I thought you needed a reality dose. It was clear to me you and Brad were past your sell-by date. And that you were using me as a sounding board, or as someone to give you permission to dump him. And I was measuring with my eyes the distance between where we were sitting and the door, from which I could quickly exit to the toilets.

  “Only if I finished with him it would break his heart. And Nick Ingram – like, if I was single, would he ask me out? That wouldn’t be why I was dumping Brad, though – but if he didn’t ask me out… But maybe he’s talking to me because I am going out with someone and I’m safe. But I love Brad – it’s not just physical, it’s deeper that that. He wants us to go on holiday together. Which might be cool, only it’s with his parents. Which would be sad, don’t you think? Oh, God, why is life so difficult? Like, first I was desperate for a boyfriend and now there are all these possibilities.”

  “I know what you could do with,” I interrupted. “A drink.”

  “Too right,” you said.

  “I’m serious,” I replied. “Do you fancy one right now?”

  “What? You mean go down the pub? But what if a teacher sees us? That happened to Shelley and Rachel. They were in the Wellington and the whole of the Maths department walked in.”

  “No. I’ve got some stuff with me.”

  You looked baffled.

  “Come here.”

  You followed me, curious. I took my bag and we went to the sixth form girls’ toilets. Luckily no one was around. Stink of perfume and stale cigarette smoke. Smears on the mirrors. Peeling plaster. I took out my flask, unscrewed the top.

  “Vodka,” I said. I gulped some down. “Here. Help yourself.”

  But you didn’t. Your forehead creased in puzzlement. Then you began to piece things together, assemble the jigsaw.

  “I’ve seen you with that flask before,” you said. “But I just thought it was coffee.”

  “Yeah, right.” I laughed.

  “Cath,” you said slowly. “You shouldn’t be bringing alcohol into school.”

  I raised my eyebrows at you being such a prig.

  “No,” you persisted. “You’ll get caught. But it’s not just that.”

  “What is it, then?” I challenged you.

  “You’ve not been drunk in school, have you?”

  I staggered around the toilets, playing the fool.

  “Cath, be serious! Like, it sounds as if you have a problem!”

  A problem! Here we go again. Girls getting off on other girls’ problems. Next thing you’d be going to see Mrs Dawes, telling all our mates. Cath
’s got a drink problem! What shall we do? Shall we take her to Alcoholics Anonymous? Poor Cath! I feel so sorry for her!

  “No, Lucy,” I said. “No – you’re the one with the problem.”

  “Listen to yourself! You never used to be like that. You used to be so nice, so sweet. You’ve changed, you know. And I thought it was Taz and all those moshers you’ve been hanging out with. But now I can see it isn’t. You’ve been drinking secretly. It’s affecting your character.”

  “It’s not the bloody drink,” I said, furious. “I’ve bloody grown up. Unlike some people I could mention.” I was vicious, defensive.

  “What are you saying?” you asked, trembling. I could see I’d really upset you. You were close to tears – no, I think you actually did cry. Only I can’t say for sure because I was blinded by a red film of anger. How dare you interfere with my drinking, with my life, making out as if you were so much cleverer than me? You seemed just like my parents or the teachers.

  “I’m saying just get off my back, Lucy. Don’t meddle with what you can’t understand.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this!”

  “You’d better believe it,” I said. “Just piss off, will you!”

  You left the toilets in floods of tears.

  I stood there paralysed. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I’d dissed you, I’d sworn at you. Believe me – I didn’t hate you really – we’d been best friends for so long. I felt like a vandal. Like one of the blokes who had smashed the window of Melissa’s car, an emotional thug. Me, of all people. It was like my passion for destroying things was getting the better of me. Or that I didn’t know what it was I really wanted to destroy so I chose you, because you were near at hand and a soft target. Or was it the drink? Deep down, I didn’t think it was. The mood came first; the drink was a way of coping. Or was it?

  I felt like crying now, only crying was weak. I felt sick, light-headed. I went into one of the cubicles. Then I did cry, big silent sobs. I banged my head against the wall. I felt like hurting myself. I understood then why some people went in for self-harm. I couldn’t bear to think of what I had just done. You see, I hated myself much more than I hated you.

  I did text you an apology but you never replied. Brad said you needed time. Maybe if term hadn’t ended so soon we would have had to make friends. I never meant to hurt you. But now in the light of all that happened afterwards, you might be able to forgive me.

  Please.

  To Dave (4)

  It was because I’d fallen out with Lucy I decided to try to trace Jan.

  Not immediately. The summer was making me feel lethargic – I mean, lazy, like crashing out all the time. Maybe it was the effect of the exams, the heat, I don’t know. I found it hard to get up in the mornings, all too easy to fall asleep at night. I only came awake late, in the Gardens. Out there, even on the hottest nights there was a slight breeze, a reminder that summer wasn’t going to last forever.

  Most of the time, during those long, muggy summer days, I didn’t want to do anything. I was overcome by complete inertia. My mother wondered whether I might have ME or glandular fever after all. I was happy for her to think that. Yeah, I was still drinking. Maybe the drink was responsible – I don’t think so. It might have been responsible for me feeling so wretched in the mornings, thick head, heavy limbs. Whatever. Or maybe I found it hard to move because I wanted time to stand still. In August, when my results came through, a bomb would explode. Only I knew I had failed everything. Yeah, a bomb! Even now a Cruise missile is winging its way through the stratosphere ready to wreak total destruction in my life. I’m laughing, but I’m not joking.

  So term ended. I slept more than ever. My mother dosed me on St John’s Wort which is supposed to be for depression. I took double the dose in case they really were uppers, but they didn’t do much. I bought some new clothes with some money I was given, put the rest aside for booze. I don’t remember much except being bored. And lonely. I kept thinking about Jan. I still had her jacket and hadn’t spent her money. I remember her saying she lived behind the Save garage, by the chippie. I know she was about to be more precise, but then we were interrupted. It occurred to me I ought to be able to find her – there can’t be that many Save garages and chippies. I said that to Taz. He reckoned I was right. One night we talked it through. He thought I should look in the telephone directory under Save garages and ask whoever answered the phone if there was a chippie nearby, and if there was, we could go down and check it out. Except he might not be able to come with me because he was working – he’d got a summer job at Next and they were coming up to the sales.

  In fact, I wasn’t bothered if he came or not. Or to be brutally honest, I felt like doing this myself. Jan was my friend. So one afternoon when I had the house to myself I did just what Taz suggested. First couple of garages, the people who answered the phone sounded a bit clueless. The third guy gave me directions to a chippie about half a mile away. The fourth said, yeah, there was a chippie just behind them. I felt sure that was the one. I didn’t bother to ring the other two garages. I felt quite excited – at last there was something I felt like doing. I was going to find Jan. I put her jacket in an old Sainsbury’s bag and her money in my new purse. In a few moments I was out of the house.

  Of course I realised that I didn’t have an address. But I reckoned that the chippie might be open and if I described Jan they might know her. It was a chance worth taking. I felt in a better mood, lighter, happier. I sent Taz a text message telling him what I was up to from the top of the bus.

  The bus stopped just before the garage, which was at a crossroads. The main road was the one I’d just come along. The intersecting road was smaller and had some shops along it. I reckoned it was the intersecting road that I should be going for. I began to walk down it looking for a chippie. There was the Happy Valley Chinese takeaway, and I wondered if that was what Jan meant. But only for a moment. Because on the corner of a road running parallel to the main road was a chippie, an English chippie. The Fryer Tuck. I knew I’d got the right place. But just as I was beginning to feel exultant I realised that one thing had not gone according to plan. The chippie was closed. I wandered over to it. The notice said that the proprietors were taking their annual holiday and the shop would be closed for two weeks.

  So there I was, a stone’s throw from Jan, and no clue at all as to where she might live. It even occurred to me she might not even be living there any more. I fought a growing sense of anticlimax, of foolishness. I looked down the street where I was sure Jan lived. It was pretty rank. Red-brick terraced house jammed together, no front gardens, dustbins waiting to be emptied, washing hanging out on lines stretched across the tarmac – I thought there weren’t places like that any more. No one was about. I decided to walk along the road – Maple Street – while I debated what to do next. I glanced in at the houses as I did so. One or two were unoccupied – I wondered then if Jan lived in a squat. Others had lace curtains in the windows, probably put up by old people intent on guarding their privacy. Others where you could see into the front rooms looked pretty bare. I reached the end of the street and came to a general store which also said it was an off-licence. So I walked in and bought some cans of beer. The lady who served me was short, plump, wearing a sari and head scarf. I described Jan to her and asked if she knew anyone answering to her description. I don’t think her English was very good. She seemed baffled by what I was saying. It made me feel as if I was being weird, as if it was me talking in an incomprehensible language.

  So I went back out on the street. There were a couple of kids there now kicking a ball around, and a tabby cat licking itself in the gutter, totally unconcerned. I wished I had the courage to knock on a few doors, but that would have been rude.

  Just then a door on the opposite side of the road opened and someone came out – a woman in her late twenties or thereabouts, carefully angling the buggy she was pushing so she could get it over the front step. It was one of those baby buggies
with a rack underneath for you to put your shopping on. The woman had dyed blonde hair with the roots showing and I remember thinking she was a bit on the fat side. The baby too – it was one of those babies that looked like it was never going to turn into a toddler but would just get bigger and bigger as a baby, rounder and fatter. It had a dull stare.

  Then my mind clicked into gear. Sally and Kayla. Could it be? Only one way to find out. I went up to them.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for someone called Jan.”

  The woman gave me a funny look.

  “Are you Sally?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, a bit suspicious. She had a thick local accent.

  “She told me about you,” I carried on. “That’s your baby Kayla. You see, I’m a friend of Jan’s. I met her in Victoria Gardens. She went with me to a party and left her jacket. I’ve got it.” I opened the Sainsbury’s bag and showed her. “I just want to return it to her.”

  I could see Sally weighing me up.

  “She’s in now,” she said. “Why don’t you knock on?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Cheers!”

  Success! Sally carried on down the street with the baby. I was feeling lucky. I rapped at the door from which Sally had come. Rapped hard. And sure enough in a moment or two the door opened and there was Jan, still in a dressing gown, bare legs, hair a bit awry, but Jan all right. It took her a moment to place me, but when she did she grinned fit to burst.

  “Cat! I lost your number!”

  “I thought you might have done,” I said, grinning too.

  “Oh, wicked! Come in!”

  I did so. I was really pleased to see her. I hardly noticed the house, just a vague impression that it was a tip, baby stuff everywhere on the carpet, TV playing, yukky baby smell. A white cuddly toy like a polar bear with stains on it.