Birdy (13 page)

After that, things with Bert seemed to get back on an even keel for a few weeks. It’d been similar after the locker graffiti incident really – it was like Bert was actually better after these little wobbles. It was a shock at first for her, to discover that not everyone around her was as lovely and honourable as she’d like, and that there were situations where she’d have to tread carefully, but once she’d accepted that, she bounced back to her old self, albeit with a bit more caution than before.

I suppose I might’ve been a bit insulted that she was only back to normal with me once a little fright had reminded her that she still didn’t entirely fit in at school, but I decided not to dwell on that thought. I wasn’t exactly in a position to start getting fussy about those kinds of details. And anyway, wasn’t that what friends were for? Being there to support each other when other people had let them down?

As March crept on, the weather got warmer, little buds started to appear on trees and everything had a hopeful, new-beginnings feeling about it. Things were easier at home for a while. Granddad was always better when the days were longer and lighter. Sometimes he’d sit on his bench in the garden instead of staying holed up in the lounge all day. He’d still keep his blanket over his knees, but he’d lean back and look up, letting the sun fall on his face. He looked peaceful like that. He stopped seeming so agitated. He didn’t call me Bridget or say anything else obviously muddled for over a week and that had a positive impact on Nan, too – she was less frantic, less snappy.

I tried to make myself relax and enjoy things, to tell myself that this was as good as it was likely to get in my life – Granddad calmer, Bert and I as tight as ever – but I had this nagging, foreboding feeling constantly in the back of my mind. I suppose I was just all too aware of how precarious everything was. Tomorrow, the clouds could gather and rain could come. Granddad could blurt out something random or call me Bridget and Nan would spin into a frenzy, cleaning, shouting, trying to control the little things to make up for the fact she couldn’t control the big things. Bert could … I don’t know. Bert could do anything. That was the thing with Bert – you never knew what was around the corner. I suppose it was what made her interesting, but it also made it very difficult for me to relax. And as things turned out, I was right to be worried.

One Friday afternoon, I suppose it must’ve been around mid-March, we were unpacking our books into our lockers and I asked Bert if she wanted to come up to the high street with me on the way home. It seemed a nice evening for a stroll and I thought we could even share a can of Coke in the park afterwards, maybe get a trashy magazine and have a laugh at some of those stories about people who accidentally marry their brothers or believe that their goldfish is a reincarnation of their grandmother or whatever.

But Bert shook her head. ‘Sorry,’ she said, flicking through a textbook like she was looking for something. ‘Mum and Dad are getting the lounge decorated at the weekend so I’ve got to get home to help them shift the furniture about.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘OK.’

I was disappointed, not so much because she’d declined my invitation, but because she hadn’t even bothered to look at me when she’d done it.

There had been a time when if she’d had to let me down she would’ve looked truly pained, rubbed my upper arm and said, ‘Sorry, Birdy. Next time, I promise. For absolute sure.’ This time though, she hadn’t really looked sorry at all.

‘You ready?’ I said, closing my locker and turning to head towards the door at the back of the science lab, the exit we always took before we cut across the field and made our way home together.

Bert hung back. ‘Uh … I’m not walking today,’ she said. ‘Dad’s picking me up on the way back from the paint shop. He wants us to get cracking straight away.’

‘Oh, OK then.’ I nodded and waited for Bert to offer me a lift – they’d be driving practically past the end of my road after all – but she just rummaged in her bag, and then headed off in the opposite direction, calling, ‘See you later,’ and giving me a distracted wave over her shoulder.

I just stood there in the middle of the corridor for a minute. The whole conversation had seemed odd and left me with an unsettled, uneasy feeling but I couldn’t really put my finger on why. I tried to tell myself I was being silly – she was allowed to get a lift home for God’s sake – but I still felt a bit flat. I suppose I’d expected that Bert would jump at my offer of a lazy afternoon strolling around town so I was disappointed to find myself on my own, at a loose end.

I toyed with the idea of going up to town anyway, but that seemed a bit pointless. It’d be no fun without Bert. Instead, I decided to stay behind at school and head to the library to make a start on some of the week’s homework. I figured it made sense to get all my chores out of the way tonight when Bert was busy anyway, so I’d be free for any possible get-togethers over the weekend. I told myself I was being stupid to feel so put out by her rejection and tried not to think about it.

As it happened, I didn’t hear from Bert at all that weekend and I didn’t contact her. I assumed she was busy helping her parents and I didn’t want to ask to see her again only for her to turn me down. I might have relented by the Sunday afternoon when I was really bored but I knew that she had an extra show rehearsal that evening so she was busy anyway.

In the end, I decided to go for one of my walks to get some fresh air and wait out the last of the weekend. I read my book in the park for a while but it started to get cold so I ambled over to Flo’s Cafe for my usual mug of hot water to kill a bit more time before heading back for dinner. As I sat down at my usual table I noticed that there were two boys from my year in there – from the same crowd as Gary Chester and Matt Pereira and all those other popular types. One of them was a boy I’d known since St Paul’s called Billy Carr. The other one I didn’t know well, but I’d heard people calling him Hoover. I didn’t know the reason for that for sure but he certainly seemed to be living up to his nickname now as he attacked a huge fry-up. I casually listened in to their conversation, just for something to do really. I worked out they were talking about some party that Jac Dubois had hosted on the Friday night, upstairs in his parents’ bistro.

‘Imagine that though, seriously,’ Hoover was saying as he slurped up beans. ‘Having, like, an actual bar of your own. Man, I’d be pissed twenty-four-seven. I’d have a party every day of the week. At least.’

Billy laughed. ‘Totally, mate. Totally. I reckon old Jac will be in for a right earbashing from his old man when they find out though. Especially when they see what’s happened to their fancy French brandy.’

‘What, did it all go?’ Hoover asked. ‘Did we get through the whole lot?’

‘Oh, mate, and that’s not even the worst of it. When Jac started freaking out and throwing a hissy fit about it, Gary was all like, “Don’t worry about it, mate, I’ll take care of it. I’ll replace it. I’ll sort it right now.” Ten minutes later he comes back and it’s topped up and he just puts it back on the shelf, all like, you know, no dramas.’ Billy laughed again, shaking his head.

‘What?’ Hoover asked. ‘What was it, like some old cheap shit or whatever?’

‘No, mate. Not quite. It was piss! The dirty bastard had pissed in it, then just slipped it back on the shelf, calm as you like.’

‘Oh, man.’ Hoover was laughing too now. ‘That
is
dirty.’

Over in my corner I rolled my eyes and shuddered at the thought of the reaction of the customer who next ordered a French brandy at the bistro.

‘Still,’ Billy went on, ‘well decent party, wasn’t it? Not often we get a blowout like that.’

‘Totally,’ Hoover agreed. ‘And do you know, everyone’s saying he put the whole shindig on just to get that Alberta chick to come over to his?’

Billy frowned. ‘That posh girl in 10KS?’

Suddenly I was all ears. I leant forward, anxious to make sure nothing was drowned out by the sound of clinking mugs and sizzling bacon.

Hoover nodded. ‘Yeah. Been after her all year, he has. Think he set the whole thing up just to get her pissed.’

‘And did it work?’ Billy asked. ‘I think I saw her … she did look quite wasted, actually.’

Hoover nodded and grinned. ‘Absolutely, mate. She was smashed, I reckon. I heard her talking to Megan and Ella and all that, telling them about aborigine spiritual festivals or some shit.’

‘So did Jac get a go on her then?’ Billy asked.

I found myself pulling a face at the way they were talking about her – like she was a merry-go-round.

Hoover thought for a minute as he chewed on a sausage. ‘Not sure, to be honest. I saw him having a good go, giving her all the lines and that, but she didn’t seem to be having none of it, when I saw. Mind you though, they love all that fighting-them-off act don’t they, women. Treat them mean, keep them keen and all that. And I didn’t see her later on, so either she went home early or else …’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Or else they were doing the business.’ Billy grinned and nodded. ‘God, it’s always the posh ones, innit. They’re always properly filthy, those ones. Get
in
, Jac lad.’

They both laughed loudly and Flo had to ask them to keep it down.

I looked down into my hot water. I felt sick. Not only had Bert lied to me to get out of spending time with me but she’d gone to a party. A party I didn’t even know anything about. And she’d got drunk and now Jac had … who knows what Jac had done to her. I was angry of course and I felt stupid that I’d just accepted her lie, but I tried to bury that and focus on the constructive emotion here. I was worried. Bert’s judgement wasn’t great at the best of times. I dreaded to think what kind of trouble she might get into if she got drunk, especially with people like Jac Dubois hanging around. She was just so … ‘exuberant’, as her mum would say. She just ran headlong into things and didn’t think about them properly. And even if she’d gone into this with Jac with her eyes open that night, did she have any idea about what it was doing to her reputation? Reputation is everything at school. Bert wouldn’t have learnt that yet. And I really didn’t want Bert to have to find that out the hard way.

I sat for a moment, trying to think clearly, to work out what I could do, if anything. I badly wanted to go and find Bert and demand to know why she’d lied to me but I knew that would make me look bitter and petty and, anyway, that would be missing the point. I’d had enough of listening to Billy and Hoover’s sniggering and I noticed my drink had a fly floating in it so I didn’t want to finish it now anyway. I slipped out of my seat and headed home, still going over and over the boys’ conversation in my head. When I was nearly at my road, I stopped abruptly. I stood for a second, not moving, just squinting into the distance. In the end I told myself something I often try to remember when I’m feeling torn: there’s no way to really know if you’re making the right decision. You just have to go one way or the other and hope for the best.

I turned around and started walking quickly in the other direction. Doing something was better than nothing, I reasoned.

I stood on the doorstep, not moving for a moment. I suddenly felt a bit nervous. I’d been imagining the scene all the way here, rehearsing.

Charlie would open the door, I thought. Genevieve often didn’t hear the knocker when she was in her studio. He’d look down at me, his ginger hair tousled as usual. He’d look surprised to see me, but still quite pleased.

‘Frances!’ he’d say with a smile. ‘What a lovely surprise – long time, no see. Bert’s not here, I’m afraid.’

‘Actually, Charlie,’ I’d say, in a low, clear voice. ‘I’m not here to see Bert. I’m here to see you. You and Genevieve. May I come in?’

Charlie would look confused but he’d nod and show me in. We’d sit at the kitchen table, the three of us, Charlie’s greeny-grey eyes fixed on me, Genevieve leaning forward, her hands clasped in front of her. I’d tell them everything. I mean, I’d make sure I phrased it all a bit more sensitively than Hoover had. No parents want to hear about some slimy teenager boy ‘having a go’ on their daughter. But they did need to know that it was like Richard all over again – the lying, the bad decisions. Knowing Genevieve, she’d probably take my hand and get all emotional like she does and say, ‘I’m so glad Bertie found a friend like you, Frances,’ or something like that.

I rang the doorbell and waited. I could hear sounds on the other side of the door. Lots of sounds actually – thumps and scrapes and shouts of words I couldn’t make out. But no one came so I rang again, holding the button down for a good few seconds. This time the door was flung open almost at once.

In front of me was a man I didn’t recognise. He was youngish, I thought. Maybe twenty-something. He was unshaven and a bit on the fat side. He was wearing navy-blue overalls spattered with paint and he had a tool belt fastened around his bulging belly.

‘All right?’ he said, looking me up and down.

‘Uh … hi,’ I said. ‘Are Charlie and Genevieve here?’

The man nodded once but didn’t say anything. He let go of the door and it swung back, almost closing in my face.

‘Charlie!’ the man called, stomping back down the hall into the house. ‘Some kid here for you.’

Charlie appeared a moment later. He too was wearing navy overalls, his cheeks were pink and there was sweat on his forehead.

He frowned. ‘Oh, it’s you, Frances,’ he said. ‘Is Bert OK?’

I was thrown by this question. How could he possibly already know that Bert was in trouble? Was it just some kind of parental sixth sense?

‘She’s at rehearsal tonight, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘First run-through with the band or something, she said?’

‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ I said. I wanted to get these preliminaries out of the way so he’d get on with asking me in to talk properly.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought. Good. So …’ he said, looking down at me, obviously waiting for me to announce the purpose of my visit. I decided to plough on with my script.

‘Actually, Charlie,’ I said, trying to make my voice sound serious but actually sounding a bit like I was trying to do a voice from a movie trailer. ‘I’m here to see you. You and Genevieve. May I come in?’

Charlie hesitated for a moment. He rubbed the back of his head.

‘Um … it’s not a great time right now … we’ve got the decorators here and there’s furniture and paint cans and God knows what else all over the house. Can you just give me whatever message it is now, and I’ll make sure I let Gen know too?’

I blinked a couple of times. I hadn’t imagined having this conversation on the doorstep. I thought about leaving it, telling Charlie I’d come back another time, but I realised there was a good chance he’d mention to Bert that I’d called round and then she’d want to know why. And that would mean my subtle, under-the-radar, word-in-your-ear approach would be all messed up.

‘Uh … OK,’ I said. ‘Well, it is about Bert actually. I’m worried about her. About what she’s been doing … and there’s this boy. A bad influence, you know.’

Then I told him about what Billy and Hoover had said – about how Bert had gone to a secret party and how she’d been way too drunk and that Jac had been all over her.

Charlie scratched his stubble. He was frowning. ‘Well, I knew she was a little worse for wear at the party, that’s for sure.’

‘You mean you knew she was there?’ I was surprised. I’d assumed she’d snuck out, told them some lie about where she was going. I suppose I forgot that Charlie and Genevieve were nothing like Nan.

‘Oh yes, we knew all right,’ Charlie said. ‘She was sick all over the back seat of my car. It’ll take days to get the smell out. Still, she’s been paying for it all weekend.’

‘Oh, so you’ve already punished her?’ I asked anxiously. I hoped I hadn’t said anything that was going to get Bert told off any more than she already had been. I wasn’t meaning to get Bert in trouble with her parents here; I just wanted to stop her getting into a situation with Jac. Apart from anything else, if Charlie started giving her a hard time about Jac, Bert would want to know how Charlie had found out about him and he’d be bound to tell her it was me who’d reported it.

‘We didn’t need to,’ Charlie said, his eyebrows slightly raised. ‘The hangover’s been quite punishment enough.’

‘Oh,’ I said, feeling a bit silly. That’s what he’d meant by ‘paying for it’.

I hesitated for a moment. I wanted to ask Charlie what he was going to do about Jac. I guess I just wanted reassurance that someone else was going to look after things now, that I didn’t have to worry. But I didn’t want to keep going on about it. Charlie might think I was questioning his parenting skills or something. I decided not to labour the point. I’d said what I’d come to say.

‘Right, anyway then, Frances. Thanks for letting us know your concerns. I’ll talk to Bert when she gets in. Make sure everything’s OK.’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘No. You can’t say anything to her. She’s so terrified of worrying you. She doesn’t want you to think that she’s making a mess of things at school. She knows you think that she’s silly sometimes, manages to get herself into trouble. You know, after what happened with …’

Charlie nodded. I didn’t need to say Richard’s name. We both knew what I meant.

‘But it’s not Bert’s fault, really it isn’t. She didn’t bring it on herself. It’s this boy – Jac – he’s well known for it. He’s got quite a reputation. And you know what Bert’s like – so trusting, always wants to be nice to everyone – she … well, she sometimes gives the wrong impression.’

‘Right,’ he said, his brow so furrowed that his eyebrows almost met in the middle. ‘I see.’

‘It’s him,’ I said again. ‘Jac. He’s the one who needs the talking to.’

‘Yes,’ Charlie said, with another sigh. ‘Quite.’ He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his face with his hand. Then he stood upright, his hand on the door, and said, ‘Thank you, Frances,’ in rather a brisk way.

Then he shut the door in my face.