Something Wicked Read online

  There was a beat, and Ritchie said, “I saw him the other day.”

  “Yeah?” I encouraged him.

  But Ritchie’s face had darkened into an ugly scowl. I backed off. I could see I’d accidentally soured the atmosphere, and that was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Let’s drop all this shit,” Ritchie interrupted. “I’m not a loser – even though you think I am.”

  “I don’t,” I said.

  But the atmosphere had changed, unmistakably. We both left the bench and walked on along the side of the lake for a while, saying nothing. A few clouds had appeared, though it was still a nice day. I tried to lighten up by telling him about school and trying to make him laugh. And I succeeded, and he told me about the books he’d been reading and about the punk tapes he collects, music from the seventies. He liked The Clash and The Adverts. He said just because he hadn’t gone to school didn’t mean he was braindead. He read the papers when he could. The more we were talking, the more I was beginning to see that Ritchie was my superior – he’d lived more and even read more. He’d had tough choices and he’d thought about things. I felt shallow in comparison. But that wasn’t a bad feeling. It made me determined to be more like him – that wasn’t a conscious determination. It was just his influence working on me.

  We sauntered all the way to the gates at the other end of the park, which happened to be near my side of town. I knew I ought to offer to go, and I did. I asked Ritchie if he’d be in school tomorrow. He shook his head and I felt a rush of disappointment.

  “Why?”

  “It isn’t right for me. Maybe when I’m older, but not now. I’ve got to get my head straight first. But, Anna, I owe you some money.”

  I was glad. It was a bond between us.

  “Meet me at the shops near school at four. By Music Zone.”

  I told him I would, and meant it. He turned and went back through the park. I began to walk in the direction of my house but I found I didn’t want to go home. I would have like to have stayed with Ritchie. This had been the best afternoon I’d had for ages. I wanted his life, not mine. Only we were so different – but were we?

  I had a lot of thinking to do.

  When I got home, I could tell my mum was feeling bad again. Sundays often got her like that – Sundays are pretty depressing for anyone, but my mum beats herself up about being off work and how it’s all her fault. She was sitting in the kitchen when I found her, cradling a cup of tea, her voice nervous and weepy. She asked me whether I’d managed to get any shoes and for a moment I hadn’t a clue what she was on about, until I remembered that was what I was supposed to have borrowed the money for.

  “No,” I said. “I’m going to carry on looking.”

  “I should have gone with you,” she said. “I’m such a bad mother.”

  I told her she wasn’t. She disagreed, and said the proof was that she was off work on sick pay. I tried to argue with her but it was no use. In this mood, she keeps knocking herself all the time. Like a dog tied to a pole, she goes round and round in circles, treading the same ground. Dad left her because she wasn’t good enough for him, she ought to work on her self-esteem but what is there to like about her, life was just a black pit and she was at the bottom, what could she do to get out?

  This might sound dreadful to you and maybe you’re feeling sorry for both us, imagining I get upset when my mum gets upset. I did in the beginning, but now I find I cut myself off and I don’t feel anything. It scares me sometimes, that I don’t feel anything. I just wait for her to stop. I do try to tell her positive things but I know from experience she won’t listen. Sometimes I feel resentful and I want to scream: “I’m only sixteen – what do you expect me to do?” Or I start thinking traitorous thoughts, like, you could help yourself if you want to. For example, Mum won’t take antidepressants because she says they’re drugs and she’s scared of being dependent on them. Instead she does all this therapy stuff.

  But she was crying now so I knew I had to do something. I gave her a hug and said she ought to ring Julia and have a chat. That shows how desperate I was. I can’t stand Julia. Mum met her at the therapy group. She’s got more money than sense and too much time on her hands, as her husband is rolling in it. She doesn’t go to work, and her hobby is working on herself. She not only goes to the group therapy sessions, but she’s in private analysis with the therapist, and is in training to become a therapist herself. It’s a nice little business. A lot of money changes hands.

  I realised I was starting to think like Ritchie. But he was right – he was so right. Here was my mother, ill and in need of help, and – hey presto! – here were lots of people eager to help her: her therapist, her hypnotherapist, her masseuse, all charging piles of money, feeding off my mother’s problems. Julia didn’t charge Mum anything, though. She just encouraged my mother, which is in some ways worse. But that night I wanted time alone, and I thought that Mum might as well ring Julia and let her listen.

  I brought Mum the phone, went upstairs, and decided to run a bath. I love soaking in the warm water, preferably with a layer of bubbles. What I do is stare hard at the bubbles and the rainbow colours in them, and imagine each little bubble is a world in itself, with millions and millions of inhabitants no bigger than atoms. I’ve done that since I was a kid. Then I smash the bubbles like a vengeful god.

  I lay back in the water, replaying all the things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. But I’m not really one for thinking about the past much; I’m more interested in the future. I was glad I’d be seeing Ritchie again. Then asked myself, why? Do you fancy him? I moved some of the bubbles over my exposed body.

  I liked him, definitely. I felt we were very similar in some ways. The fact he operated outside the law was frightening and exciting at the same time. I also suspected he had opened up to me in a way that he didn’t with his mates. Opened up. Yeuch! A phrase of my mother’s. I mean, we talked a lot, and it was good. And, yes, I liked his face, and I had to admit, he wouldn’t have had this effect on me if he was a girl. Which might mean something. But now all I wanted was his friendship, and I wasn’t going to risk that by introducing all that stupid boyfriend/girlfriend stuff. Like he said, we were mates. And that was more than good enough. Anyway, it felt all wrong, me and Ritchie dewy-eyed, in luuurve. That wasn’t what it was all about.

  The water was cooling now so I heaved myself out of the bath, took the largest towel and wrapped myself in it. School would be bearable tomorrow because I had something to look forward to at the end of it. I debated whether to get straight into my pyjamas even though it was only five, and spend the rest of the night chilling. But that seemed a bit of a slobby thing to do, so I went back to my room and got back into my jeans and a sweater.

  It was lucky I did, because when I got downstairs, Julia was there.

  “Anna darling! Come here. Let me kiss you. No – both cheeks. You look gorgeous. Anna – your poor mother. What shall we do with her? I thought rather than speak on the phone I’d come straight round and be here for her.”

  I forced a smile.

  Julia was sitting on the sofa with Mum, holding both her hands. It made me feel a bit sick – jealous, even – and so I let a sarcastic comment out.

  “How’s your non-specific anxiety disorder, Julia?” This is what she claims to be suffering from. In plain English, that’s worrying needlessly.

  “Thank you for asking, honey. I’m making progress. I understand now that it comes from caring too much – it’s the result of a caring overload.”

  Oh, puh-lease!

  “Anna,” my mum said. “Can you make Julia a drink?”

  Grudgingly I asked the traditional questions. Tea? Coffee? Milk? Sugar?

  “Do you have anything herbal?” Julia asked. “Camomile would be a joy.”

  I was waiting for the kettle to boil when my ears picked up the tune of Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. I was puzzled for a moment or two, until I realised it was Julia’s mobile ringtone. I made
a retching motion to myself. Then I heard her chatting to Geoff, her husband, confirming my suspicions. Julia’s voice was loud and brash, and it carried. When she finished the call, she carried on making my mum feel better.

  “It’s not at all surprising you feel the way you do. It takes a long time to recover from a failed marriage. Years and years and years – sometimes a lifetime. And the pressure you were under at work – I never understood how you managed to cope at the best of times. But Monica – I’ve been thinking – do you think you might have an underlying medical condition, like ME? Your immune system is probably depleted. Mine is, you know. I’ve been seeing a wonderful nutritionist who’s advised me on the best vitamin combinations and food supplements. You ought to try her. Hang on.”

  I could hear another mobile ringing. What was this? This one played some pan pipes New Agey tune.

  “Kathie? Darling! Yes, of course I can make bridge on Wednesday. But, honey, I can’t talk now. I’m on a mercy mission. Ciao.”

  Bitch, I thought. I walked towards Mum and Julia with a tray of tea and biscuits. And yes, just as I thought. Julia had not one but two mobile phones. I caught her explanation to Mum.

  “One is a private line for me and Geoff. The other is my public phone.” She took her tea from the tray and turned her wide eyes on Mum. “Now, Monica, tell me all about it. You know I’m always here for you. Don’t hold back, honey. Let it all come out.”

  I couldn’t stand another moment. I could feel myself getting into a pretty bad mood. It was impossible to stick around. I went back upstairs, stomped into my room and set about making it Julia-proof. I put on some music and got out my geography coursework. I always liked to be on top of things at school. There was less trouble if you were, and I didn’t mind the work. The kind of stuff we had to do at GCSE came pretty easily to me, but I wasn’t a swot. I did what I had to do. Which is kind of my motto, I suppose.

  I did what I had to do.

  Even through my Green Day tape I could hear Julia’s voice, because she was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Now remember what I said about positive thinking and Bach flower remedies. And ring me any time of the day or night, honey. Do you know, I think I’ve done you the world of good. You look so much brighter since I came in. Keep it up!”

  Then I heard my mum’s voice, and she did sound brighter. I was both pleased and annoyed about that.

  “Anna! Julia is going now.”

  I knew that was a coded request for me to come down. There was no escape. I didn’t have a choice – I had to go down and be nice to Julia whatever I might be thinking about her and the way she used my mum. So I made my way slowly down the stairs and saw Julia with her jacket on, her bag over her arm, standing by our front door. She kissed us both effusively and we watched her walk down the front path to her silver baby Volvo. My mum had always taught me it was polite to wave visitors off. Julia got in the driver’s seat but then my mum shouted to her.

  “Julia! I forgot to give you the book I mentioned, Believe and You’re Halfway to the Stars.”

  “Don’t come out!” Julia called. “I’ll come back and get it. Anna – keep an eye on the car!”

  Julia ran past me back into the house, and being allergic to her presence, I strolled out to her car, noticing she’d left the keys in the ignition and the door slightly open. Silly woman, I thought. You should always lock a car if you’re leaving it, even just to post a letter. A thief could be in and out in a second.

  Which made me think of Ritchie and I smiled.

  There was Julia’s bag on the passenger seat. A Louis Vuitton, would you believe? Her bag was even unclasped, and you could see her two phones on the top. Two phones. And Ritchie didn’t even have one. Seeing both of them lying there made me think how easy it would be to take one of them – say, the Nokia with its silver cover. I could see my hand as if in a diagram, reaching into the car, lifting the phone, and inserting it into my jeans pocket. Not that I’d ever do anything like that – it was just that I could see how it could be done.

  I wondered if I had the guts to do it.

  Quick as a flash there was the cool weight of the phone in the palm of my hand, and then its neat pressure on the side of my thigh. I still stood by the car, but now my breathing was shallow and my heart was pounding. My knees were weak with fear. I heard Julia’s voice again.

  “Thank you for this, honey. You’re right – I’m sure it will help me. I do need to work on my affirmations. I must dash now – as I said, dinner party this evening!”

  We passed each other on the garden path. She gave me a conspiratorial grin. Something made me stand there and watch her get into the car. If she noticed one of her phones was gone, then that would be it. The game would be up. But she didn’t bother to look at her bag at all, just drove straight off.

  The fear that had been semi-paralysing me now dispersed like ice melting. I felt an exhilaration like I’d never experienced before and also, though this will sound crazy to you, a sense of justice accomplished, as if I was right to have done what I had done. That Julia deserved to have her phone nicked, and that I had taken something that belonged rightfully to me. I have to admit there was an insistent pressure in my mind, a voice asking me, What will happen when she finds out the phone is missing?

  “I feel much better now,” my mum said. “Thanks for suggesting I ring Julia. I tell you what, I’ll go and make something for us to eat – how about an omelette?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “That’ll be nice.” Then I thought, if I act at all odd, my mum might suspect something. That was when I discovered the first rule about being a successful criminal. Act innocent. Don’t give a thing away.

  “Yeah – I’d love an omelette. Have we got any ham and cheese to put in it, otherwise it’ll be a bit plain? I know there are some oven chips left.”

  “That’s a good idea,” my mum said, grinning at me. “I’ll put the oven on right now.”

  “I need the loo,” I said.

  I did. It was true. My stomach was tied in knots. But I didn’t feel guilty. There wasn’t space. I was so wild with fear and excitement, I couldn’t tell which was which.

  All I knew was that my life had just become a lot less boring.

  You don’t want to hear about my day at school, about the girls fussing around me and asking what happened on Saturday night. I made light of it and didn’t bother to comment that one of them should have rung me yesterday if they were that worried. You also don’t want to hear about my Monday timetable, how I overheard one of the deputies mentioning to the Head of Year that she’d noticed Craig Ritchie hadn’t turned up and ought they to check. You might want to know that the Nokia was in the internal zipped-up compartment of my school bag, and that I kept my bag close to me all day.

  After school I went to the shopping precinct near school and stood by Music Zone.

  They call that precinct The Broadway – I suppose to make it sound like something cool, some place you would find in the US of A. But really it was just like every other shopping precinct in the country. It had: New Look, Top Shop, Marks and Spencer, Greggs Bakers, Woolworths, Martins Newsagents, Dorothy Perkins, Etam and so on and so on. In the centre was a square, with one side giving on to a covered market, which was open three or four days a week. In the centre of the square was a statue of an old bloke pointing towards Music Zone. There was a low wall around the statue with quite a few people sitting on it. There was one dreadful moment when I thought Ritchie might not be one of them, but thankfully that moment was short-lived, because there he was. The waiting was over and my life was beginning again.

  He smiled when he saw me and moved along so I could sit by him. The stone was cold and my feet didn’t quite touch the ground. It was weird: even though I’d been thinking of little else but Ritchie and stuff all day, now I was with him my tongue was tied. I couldn’t decide what to say to kick the afternoon off.

  So it was Ritchie who spoke first. “I’ve got something for you,” he said,
reaching in his jacket pocket. He brought out a handful of money, a couple of fivers, some pound coins – I didn’t see how much and didn’t bother to count it. It embarrassed me, receiving money from him.

  “I’m only taking this from you,” I said, “because I borrowed it off my mum. Anyway, where did you get it from?”

  Ritchie’s lips curled into a smile and I knew there was a story attached.

  “Last night I went to this pub I know – I don’t have trouble getting in because I can look eighteen all right. I waited till closing time and there was this bloke pissed out of his head. So I told the bloke behind the bar I’d help the drunk off the premises. He was stinking with booze. He asked me to get him a cab and I did.”

  “So he paid you for that?”

  “No. I went through his pockets.”

  For a moment I was shocked. A beat later, I felt an illicit thrill. Anyway, I was just as bad, and was about to prove it.

  “I’ve got something for you,” I told Ritchie. I delved into my bag, got out the phone and presented it to him. He looked puzzled at first and asked me if it was mine.

  “No,” I said. “I nicked it.”

  I loved the look on Ritchie’s face then – incredulity, admiration, appreciation. He held the phone in his hand and considered it while I gave a brief account of what happened with Julia.

  “She rang my mum when she got home,” I ended, “to ask if she’d left her other phone at our house. Me and Mum had a good look for it. Julia said it must either be in the car or else – because she’d left her bag open – it must have dropped out and she hadn’t noticed. Either way, she told my mum, it was only a material possession. It was replaceable and she wasn’t going to let its loss activate her non-specific anxiety disorder. She’d just ask Geoff to buy her a new one.”

  “Cool!” Ritchie said.

  “We just need to check if it’s unlocked and if it is, we can get a new SIM card for you.”