Torn (18 page)

‘Please stop this, Tara. I’m begging you.’ I’m not even sure if I say this out loud, but she hears it anyway.

‘Why?’ Her voice is quiet. More thoughtful than usual. Or perhaps I’m reading too much into a single word.

‘Because I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. I feel like I’m going mad.’

‘Maybe you are.’

‘Maybe I am.’ I burrow deeper under the duvet and try not cry. The trying is a waste of time.

In English the next day Daley keeps glancing over and I do my best to ignore her. I concentrate on drawing hundreds and hundreds of tiny squares in the margin
of my notebook. Towards the end of the lesson I realize that the nib of my biro has torn a hole in the page, ruining everything.

Daley keeps me behind after the lesson – again. As everyone else files out, Danni turns in my direction. Our eyes meet for maybe a second or two and then she’s gone.

Daley’s fussing around, putting papers back in her bag and pens in the desk drawer, waiting for the room to empty. I’ll give her that. At least she’s not broadcasting the fact that she’s forcing me to have after-school lessons/counselling sessions for Special People. She wants to know what day is best for me. She can’t do Thursdays apparently, as that’s ‘salsa night’. I try to picture her with a flower in her hair, wearing a stupid black dress and dancing with some Latin god. The picture evaporates in my head as soon as she says that she goes with Miss Schuman, my German teacher. I bet they end up having to dance with each other when there aren’t enough blokes to go round.

I must have been smiling slightly, because Daley says something about me seeming a lot brighter today. I wipe the smile off my face immediately. I will not give her the satisfaction of thinking she’s helping me somehow.

We settle on Tuesday afternoon. At least that way I’ve got almost a whole week before I have to face it.

On my way to history I see something that stops me in my tracks. There are flyers everywhere. And I mean
everywhere
. They’re all different colours, but they all say the same thing:

The Tara Chambers Memorial Dance
Friday, 12 November
Special guest band: Blackdog Sundays Please see Polly Sutcliffe for tickets – £5 each
All proceeds to the Tara Chambers Memorial Society

People are rushing past me, jostling me with their bags. I’m a rock in the middle of a raging torrent. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I can’t even begin to understand what she’s playing at. Blackdog Sundays is Jack’s band. He’s the guitarist (or the bass guitarist … something involving guitars anyway). He told me about them at the weekend – somewhat reluctantly. He didn’t mention anything about this though.

I am going to kill Polly Sutcliffe. I mean, I knew the proceeds of the dance were going to her little society, but I didn’t think they’d
rename
the thing –
it’s been called the Bransford Bop for something like fifty years. I don’t know what I’m angriest about: the dance itself or the fact that she’s getting Jack’s band to play. I feel hot and cold at the same time. My hands ball up into fists and I swear I’m about to punch something.

‘Weird, isn’t it?’ Danni is standing behind me, a little bit too close.

‘Um … what’s weird?’

‘
The Tara Chambers Memorial Dance?!
Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? If Tara was around to see this, she’d have a fucking fit. Here, hold this.’ She shoves her bag into my arms and starts tearing down flyers. People are stopping to watch. They’re staring at me like I’m an accomplice. She rids one whole wall of flyers before she turns to me. There are tears in her eyes.

‘What on earth is going on here?!’ It’s Daley. Of course it would
have
to be Daley. And she’s looking at me. God knows why, when Danni’s the one standing there with bunches of scrunched-up paper in her hands.

‘Um … nothing.’ Very convincing.

‘Alice, Danni, come with me.’ Great. Just great. I wait for Danni to explain that I haven’t done anything wrong. She doesn’t. She just grabs her bag and follows
Daley down the hall, dropping the flyers as she goes. For the first time I notice Rae standing in a doorway, a purple folder clasped against her chest like a shield. Our eyes meet and she turns away. I should talk to her. I keep meaning to talk to her.

Daley leads us to her classroom and makes us sit down while she hops up onto her desk. She looks like a small child playing at being teacher.

‘Now, does one of you want to tell me what that little scene was all about?’

I look at Danni as pointedly as possible. Tears are trickling down her face and she’s not even trying to stop them. She says nothing.

‘Danni, I realize you’re upset, but that’s no excuse for vandalizing school property!’

Vandalizing? That seems a little extreme, but I know when to keep my mouth shut.

‘Danni? Talk to me, please.’

‘That fucking dance,’ she says quietly.

Daley doesn’t even flinch at the swearing. ‘What about the dance?’

‘It’s twisted! Tara’s dead, for Christ’s sake. We shouldn’t be having a fucking party! Who does Polly Sutcliffe think she is anyway? She wasn’t even friends with Tara.’ I couldn’t agree more.

Daley’s sitting there nodding as if she agrees with
everything Danni says. But she’s just biding her time, formulating her argument in her head.

‘I can understand how you feel, Danni. But
you
have to understand that people grieve in different ways. And just because Polly wasn’t necessarily friends with Tara, that doesn’t mean she’s not hurting too. I think Polly’s doing a wonderful thing, dedicating so much of her time. I think Tara would appreciate that too, don’t you?’ Her eyes are big and wide and full of sympathy and I can tell she’s so sure that she’s saying exactly the right words.

Danni’s expression is disdainful to say the least. The tears have dried up. ‘No offence, miss, but you didn’t really know Tara either.’ I snort with laughter and try to mask it with a cough.

‘Well, of course, you’re right. But I—’

‘Please can we go now? We’re already late for history … Look, I promise I won’t take down any more flyers. Polly can do whatever the hell she wants.’

Daley sighs. ‘You can go. Just … remember, I’m here if you need to talk, OK?’ I nod, half-heartedly. Danni does the same.

The hallway is deserted. Neither of us speaks, until the silence gets too awkward and Danni says, ‘Listen, do you want to grab a coffee or something? I don’t think I can face history right now.’

I look at her to see if she’s joking. The idea that Danni Carrington would want to spend time with me out of choice is more than absurd. But she’s not joking. And I have to say yes.

We leave school through the front gates, in full view of Mrs Cronin’s classroom. Danni struts confidently, not even a little bit worried about being spotted. I sort of scurry, head down. I’m not used to skiving; Danni is clearly a pro.

She leads the way, and we end up in a tiny Portuguese cafe on some dodgy-looking side street. The waitress saunters over and Danni starts chatting to her IN PORTUGUESE. I don’t know why I’m so shocked. Lots of people can speak foreign languages. I’m just surprised Danni’s one of them. They babble away for a few minutes and I try my best to look perfectly at ease with the situation. Eventually the waitress heads back into the kitchen, laughing and shaking her head at something Danni said.

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for both of us. Tara used to love it here – the custard tarts are
to die for.’ Her smile falters, and it’s obvious she’s regretting her choice of words. I know exactly how she feels. I was the same after Mum.
OMG! It was so embarrassing – I almost died. Aw, man, I am SO dead.
My heart would squeeze itself up into a hard little lump every single time.
She’s dead. Gone.

I decide to help her out. ‘A custard tart sounds perfect.’

Danni makes a visible effort to pull herself together. ‘So … how annoying is Daley? As if anyone would ever talk to
her
about anything. Just how desperate would you have to be?!’

‘She means well.’ This is a stupid thing for me to say, because a) only old people talk like that, and b) why the hell am I defending Daley when she seems intent on making my life a misery?

‘If you say so. I suppose you think the same about Polly Sutcliffe?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘You know the band she’s booked to play the dance? The Blackdog Sundays? That’s Jack’s band.’

‘I know.’

I fully expect her to ask
how
I know. But she doesn’t. ‘Do you think you’ll go?’

‘Dunno. Will you?’ This is my number-one conversation strategy. Always throw a question back
at the other person. Put the focus back on them. It works every time.

Danni sighs a huge sigh. ‘Probably. It’ll be
expected
. I can’t not go, can I? I’m Tara’s best friend.’

‘I think people would understand if you didn’t feel up to going …’

She stops suddenly and turns to face me. ‘You have no idea what it’s like. Having people watching you every minute of every day. I can’t even smile any more in case people think I’m over it.’

I start to say something vaguely reassuring, but she cuts me off. ‘No, I mean it. I have to be in Grieving Best Friend mode ALL the time. There’s no escape from it, not even at home. My parents are driving me crazy. We never have conversations about anything
normal
any more – it’s all “Do you want to talk about it?” and shit like that.’

‘I know what it’s like. My mum …’ I don’t need to say the actual words before she gets it.

‘Ah. Yeah. Sorry.’

I shrug.

‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’

I nod.

‘It’s like, I
do
want to talk about it – but not like they think. Not some therapy-style bollocks. It’s just … the whole thing doesn’t make any sense.’

‘What doesn’t make sense?’

‘Tara going for that
early-morning swim
everyone keeps going on about.’

My breath catches in my throat and my stomach turns inside out. Luckily the waitress chooses this exact moment to bring our coffee and tarts. There’s more Portuguese chatter, which gives me the chance to concentrate on the food instead of what Danni just said. My stomach rights itself and I take a bite. Perfectly flaky pastry. Smooth, creamy custard. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve wolfed down the whole thing. And they haven’t even finished talking. There are some crumbs left. Not for long though.

When the waitress leaves, Danni gives me a knowing look – a very Tara sort of look. ‘Do you want another one?’

I shake my head and surreptitiously wipe a crumb from the corner of my mouth. Danni proceeds to sip her coffee and nibble her tart in a much more ladylike fashion.

‘So, as I was saying. Tara would have never gone swimming. I told the police, but that Marshall idiot doesn’t seem to want to listen.’

‘Why wouldn’t she have gone swimming? Tara loved swimming … didn’t she?’

Danni snorts and chokes on her coffee a little
bit. ‘You have GOT to be kidding? She bloody hated it.’

‘But she was still on the swimming team.’

She looks at me as if my stupidity is beyond comprehension. ‘So?! I’m on the debate team, but you don’t see me arguing about euthanasia in the pub, do you? She’d have given up swimming years ago if it wasn’t for her parents. They’re
all
about the trophies.’ Tara’s parents have never struck me as particularly pushy, but I say nothing.

Danni looks around furtively, as if someone might be listening in. ‘Can you keep a secret?’ I nod, even though I’m pretty sure I could do without hearing whatever it is she’s about to say. ‘I think Duncan might have had something to do with it.’

If I had any coffee left I would probably be choking on it right now. ‘What?!’

‘Think about it. It makes total sense. You know something was going on with him and Tara?’

‘I thought she was making that up.’

‘She’d never lie to me about something like that.’ I’m pretty sure she’s wrong about that. ‘So anyway, what if Duncan is some psycho rapist or something?’ Like the psycho rapists we pretended to be that night? Christ.

‘I don’t think Duncan is a psycho rapist. He
seemed … nice.’ Apart from the whole inappropriate-liaisons-with-schoolgirls thing.

‘Yeah, he
seemed
nice, but maybe that’s how he lures in his victims?’ Danni’s eyes fill up with tears.

I reach across the table and touch her arm. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

The tears spill over and trickle down her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more. I told the police my theory about Duncan, and they said they were “investigating all possible avenues”, but then they were on the news saying she’d drowned, and I just … can’t believe she’s gone. How can she be gone?’ And then she loses it completely, and I jump up from my seat and sit next to her and put my arms around her.

Danni was ridiculously grateful to me for ‘being so nice and understanding and everything’. She hugged me again when we said goodbye. She even asked for my mobile number. And I asked for hers too, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Anyone would have thought we were actual friends. It’s too weird to think about – how death seems to rewrite all the rules. People who never talked to each other can suddenly cry together. People who used to be close can hardly bear to be in the same room. Or maybe that’s just this particular death. It’s hard to tell.