Innocence (7 page)

I see Dad out the corner of my eye, looking for us maybe, and nudge Jay to put his can down in the grass out of sight. But Dad doesn’t even notice, just nods as he passes as if in acknowledgment of our being there.

I look at Jay as if to say “See, it’s not so bad being here,” but behind him, walking away from the fire and into the dark, I catch a glimpse of Finn, his arm round Pixie, and my face sort of collapses.

Whatever thoughts I had of confronting him disappear like the wood smoke rising up into the dark night sky. I grab Jay’s arm, spilling his beer, and pull him away in the opposite direction. I head towards the vans, feeling a little sick, but it’s better in the dark—cooler—and I can hear the heady warm sounds of the guitar again, being played for all it’s worth. Old songs, songs I half remember, or maybe that’s just what it feels like when you come across something that you recognize as so similar to something inside you—the echoing sentiments, the powerful refrain.

I stay outside the circle of light provided by the caravans. Malachi sits on the step to his van, strumming the guitar in his lap and singing. Maisie sits obediently by his side, unchained. I didn’t notice his voice before, I was too far away, but now that I do I hear, his tone is low and sweet, hitting me with longing and filling my gut with restless heat.

He has an audience, but they’re not too close, as though his music needs space to spread out and breathe and grow.

Jay starts to speak, but I put my hand over his mouth. I need to listen. I am mesmerized, weakened to do anything else. I swallow the rest of my beer down in one gulp and lean dizzily against the nearest van. Jay sinks down and sits on the grass, picking a few long stems and weaving them in and out.

When I glance down at him, he makes a show of looking bored and sulky.

“He’s at least twice as old as you.”

I feel myself flush.

“Fuck off,” I hiss, as though the thought had never even crossed my mind. “I just want to listen to the music.”

“No, you just want to stare at
him
,” he hisses back, gesturing angrily at Malachi. “This is why we had to come, isn’t it?
Because Christopher fancies some guy he met on the building site
.”

While I’ve never really hidden it or denied it to him, the fact that I like boys has never come up before, and I’m stunned by the venom in Jay’s tone. It’s not like him at all.

“No, that’s not why we had to come! I thought you might want to meet some of the people I work with.”

“So introduce me!” he spits, knowing I won’t, knowing me too well for me to be able to lie to him. “Actually, don’t bother. I’d rather be on my own.” He glares at me icily before turning and running off into the dark.

“Jay!” I call after him, shocked by the suddenness of his departure and not really sure what just happened.

Sighing, I start to walk after him. I don’t think he’ll go far. He’ll probably be sat in Liam’s van.

“Christopher?”

I halt midfootstep. Jay was right. Even the way he says my name makes me feel the way I do watching the swallows as they circle the sky, all fluid and soaring.

I turn round. Malachi has stopped in the shadows between the vans, his guitar on a strap round his neck, his wild hair blacker than the night. He holds out a bottle to me. It smells like wine. We share it for a moment, and all I can think about are his lips around the bottle in the same place mine have been. Malachi clicks his fingers, and Maisie bolts towards me, tail wagging so hard her body almost bends in half.

“She’s taken a real shine to you,” he says.

“Finn thinks you don’t look after her.”

I’m not sure why I bring up Finn, only that I want someone else to bad-mouth him too and to be on my side. But now I’ve made myself sound like some kid telling tales.

“Finn, eh?”

He takes a long draught of the wine, his eyes never leaving me. Maybe it’s the music he was playing, but his mood is quiet and pensive. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

Feeling out of my depth and needing a distraction, I crouch down and make a fuss of Maisie, rubbing her tummy when she rolls onto her back.

“What were the songs you were playing?” I ask, pulling faces at Maisie because I can’t look up at him.

“Old songs.”

Swallowing, I nod. “It’s like I’ve heard them before, and when you played, I remembered them.”

A low wind rushes through the grass, sparks whirl around us like fireflies. The flames of the bonfire flare against the ground and snap back as the wind passes. Someone calls out, and it sounds like the howl of a wolf.

“Maybe you have, a long time ago,” he says, a little distantly.

I don’t know what he means, and it bothers me—like it bothers me that he knew my mother, and I want so desperately to ask him how, but right now I need more alcohol to get the courage to.

“Have you got any more wine?” I ask, gesturing at the empty bottle in his hand and standing up.

“You should go find your brother.”

“He’ll just be sat in Liam’s van feeling miserable. He didn’t want to come in the first place.” I dig the toe of my shoe into the hard ground, wondering how much of our conversation Malachi could have heard, then realizing he was playing and he probably just heard me shout Jay’s name when he ran off.

“Well… I’ve got some more songs to play,” Malachi says, inclining his head in the direction of his van.

“Okay.” I don’t know what to say to keep him talking to me.

“Watch Maisie for me if you want,” he calls as he walks away.

I nod as I pat my side, watching as she bounds happily along after me.

I was right about Jay. He’s in Liam’s van, feet up on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat, swigging from a bottle of wine.

He nearly has a heart attack when I open the van’s door and say his name in my best approximation of Dad’s gruff voice.

Maisie wags her tail furiously at him, and despite what Malachi says, I don’t think she’s particularly discerning when it comes to making friends.

“Where did you get this?” I ask as I take the mostly empty wine bottle off him and drink deeply before handing it back.

He shrugs, looking as miserable as ever. “Was lying around.”

“You’ll be sick if you drink so quickly.”

“Like you care.”

“What the fuck is wrong?”

Whatever is going on, it’s not just me.

I motion that Maisie jump in the back and shove Jay over and sit down next to him, shutting the van door.

For a while he doesn’t say anything, and I watch in silence as he finishes the wine. It’s as though we’re in our own little bubble, separate from the rest of the world.

“I’m scared you’re going to leave me on my own,” he whispers eventually.

“I promised you I wouldn’t,” I say, trying to remain patient.

“I don’t mean tonight.” He edges away from me into the driver’s seat, leaning his head back against the door, his hand absently fiddling with the switches on the dash. “You have friends, and people you like more than me, and… I don’t have anyone.”

He looks out the windscreen, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Hey,” I say, my finger under his chin, tilting his head towards me. His eyes are full of tears. “There is no one more important to me than you. No one,” I repeat emphatically.

“I want friends, but no one sees past this.” He points to his face. “They just look at me and write me off as a freak….”

“They’re not worth it. If they can’t see the real you, then you don’t want them as friends.”

“No one sees the real me!”

“I do.”

Jay sighs, restless and upset.

His focus is a little wandering—he really shouldn’t have drunk so much wine. I pull him into a loose embrace, my hip wedged painfully against the gear stick.

“I’m going to be sick,” he groans suddenly, pushing me roughly off him and opening the car door.

He stumbles out into the dark, and the sound of him retching pushes me over, and I know I’m not going to keep the contents of my stomach down any longer either.

Somewhere in the dark of the field, I let go and sink down on my knees. I throw up, then find myself sobbing into the grass, my heart thumping dully in my chest, heavy and pulled out of shape. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I don’t know if this is about Finn, if I’m sad for Jay, if it’s more than that, or all of that. Nothing makes sense.

Maisie stays with me, not too close but there, watching, one eyebrow raised, waiting for me to be done. It makes me think I’m not the first person she’s seen break down like this, but it’s just a feeling. After, I lie on my back in my coffin of grass, staring up at the stars, the sparks, and forever. My head begins to bang when I try to take it all in, all that space. I want some water, and for the first time in a long time, I want Dad to come and get me, to show me something familiar and anchor me in this strange, strange sea.

I
WAKE
up on a lumpy couch, sunlight slanting through the gaps in the curtains, my head throbbing. Without moving too much, I squint at the room, trying to work out where I am. I remember little after lying down in the grass last night… only a dreamlike recollection of someone carrying me.

I work out it’s a caravan and the furnishings are quite retro—velvety cushions, wood veneer in the kitchen, bauble-patterned wallpaper. It wouldn’t surprise me if the color scheme turned out to be muted brown and orange.

Inexplicably, I feel safe. And I know I shouldn’t, especially as I have no memory of how I got here.

It’s not until I notice Malachi’s twelve-string guitar stood next to the door and a row of empty bottles lining the kitchen counter that I know for certain where I am. Relief, apprehension, and some other, more secret, emotion churn within me.

With painful clarity I realize I’m going to throw up.

Shakily I get up, willing my legs to move towards the bathroom, but I don’t know where it is and panic makes the sickness harder to control.

I fling open the first door I come to and, unable to hold it in any longer, I stumble forwards and throw up on the end of Malachi’s bed.

Utterly mortified, I collapse to my knees, completely spent.

I hear Malachi groan as he wakes, and I remember how indifferent he was to me the morning after I drove home.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” I mumble thickly, my throat tight. “I’ll clean it up. I didn’t know where I was going.”

“Crap,” I hear him mutter. He must see the mess on his blankets, me crouched pathetically on his floor.

The bed shifts as he gets up.

“That’s one sobering wakeup call, kiddo.” He sounds tired and resigned but not angry or disgusted, which surprises me.

I glance up just as his arm comes around me and he helps me to my feet and down the hall into the small bathroom next door. He reaches into the tiny shower cubicle and turns it on, holding his hand under the spray until it warms.

“That should be okay,” he says. “Think you can manage to clean yourself up?”

I nod weakly, swaying as he releases his arm from round my back.

Running a hand through his wild hair, he looks a little uncomfortable. “Need me to stay with you?”

“I’m okay,” I say, trying to sound certain. “I’m sorry.” I feel I should be repeating the word over and over.

“It happens,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I should’ve left you with a bowl or something.”

After he closes the door, I strip off my sick-splatted clothes and pile them in the corner. I can’t stand up any longer, so I sit on the floor of the cubicle and let the water wash over me, the gentle spray soothing my head and my stomach a little.

The water turns cold after a few minutes, and I crawl out and wrap myself in the one towel I can see hung on a plastic rail next to the sink. The fixtures on our boat are mostly wood, and I like the way wood feels, the color of it, how no two pieces are exactly the same. Plastic like this feels so temporary, but it’s clean and white and cold. Wedging myself between the toilet and the sink, I close my eyes.

“Christopher? You okay in there?” When I don’t respond right away, Malachi knocks on the door.

I reach my hand up and pull the handle and the door opens into the room. Peering at me wryly, he asks, “You want to stay there for a bit?”

I nod.

“Okay.” He looks like he wants to say something else but changes his mind and leaves me.

I’m dozing again when someone thumps on Malachi’s front door.

It’s Dad. I can’t hear anything he says, just the low, pissed-off grumble of his voice. I really don’t want him to see me right now. If he knows I’m hungover like this, he will make things as unpleasant as possible for me. He will think it serves me right, and maybe it does, but I’m not a masochist. The door finally shuts, and I don’t know whether or not to let myself feel relieved.

“That was your dad.” Malachi leans against the doorway, hands in his pockets. “He’s leaving now with Liam. I told him you were sleeping and I’d bring you back later. He seemed to think Jay would be with you.”

If they’re driving back now, they should have found Jay in the van and know he’s not with me. My stomach drops as though I’m in a lift that’s descending too fast.

“I left Jay in Liam’s van,” I say, a shudder running through me. “He should be in Liam’s van.”

“Maybe he went for a walk?”

I shake my head, scrubbing my face with my hands. I need to get it together. “He wouldn’t. He worries about going to new places on his own. He has no depth perception because of his eye. He just wouldn’t. And where would he go out here?”

“He’s what… fifteen now?”

“Yeah.” I feel hollowed out.

“He’ll be okay. We’ll ask round the camp in a bit, see if he crashed with anyone, alright?”

Holding on to the wall, I stand up. Jay’s hangover has got to be just as bad as mine. I don’t want to think about how drunk he was last night after I passed out, what he might have done. This is my fault.

“Come on, I’ll see if I can find you some clothes to wear.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, pulling the towel higher up my skinny chest.