Torn (21 page)

‘Did you call him or did he call you?’ The words are pointed, sharp. I’m staring at her now, daring her to lie to me.

‘I phoned him.’

‘Why?’

She gets up from her chair and starts packing things into her bag. ‘I … needed some advice about my bike. I need to get the gears fixed, and since your father’s such a keen cyclist I thought he might be able to tell me the best bike shop in the area. He said that there’s a really good one on Essex Road …’ She’s talking so fast my ears can’t keep up. She looks up at the clock over the whiteboard. ‘I think that’s enough for today, don’t you? Same time next week? I think this has been useful. Yes, very useful.’

‘We’ve still got ten minutes.’ I smile sweetly.

She looks at her watch – an utterly pointless gesture. ‘Actually, I’ve got a meeting with Mrs Flanagan. I completely forgot – how silly of me! Right, Alice, I’ll see you next week. Same time, same place. And of course I’ll see you in class … Yes. Right. Bye.’ Her spindly legs can’t carry her out of the room fast enough.

Well, that was interesting.

And disconcerting.

My head is full of disgusting Daley/Dad thoughts as I leave the classroom. I don’t see the ambush coming (which is kind of the point of an ambush, I suppose).

‘Why are you avoiding me?’ Cass. Shit.

‘What are you on about?’ I start walking, and Cass has no option but to walk with me.

‘Um … let me see. You haven’t been round to my house, you never reply to my texts and you’re nowhere to be seen at break and lunch. What the hell is going on?’ I was kidding myself if I thought I could avoid this conversation forever.

I look around to check we’re alone. We are. No one in their right mind would still be roaming the corridors at this time. ‘Look, in case you hadn’t
noticed, we did something pretty terrible, and maybe I’m finding it a little hard to deal with, OK?’ I can hardly bear to look at Cass. I want to punch her and slap her and scream in her face, ‘THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!’

Cass shakes her head in disbelief. ‘And you think I couldn’t care less, right? This isn’t affecting me at all. Yeah, I’m totally fine, couldn’t be happier … Thanks, Alice. Thanks
a lot
for being such a great friend.’ Her voice wobbles slightly, but she holds it together.

I feel nothing. I say nothing.

‘You blame me, don’t you?’ A small voice that doesn’t sound like it belongs to her. Her eyes search mine for an answer.

This is the moment. One of those moments in your life where the words you say could change everything. Lie or tell the truth? Lie. Truth. Lie. Truth.

I say nothing. But it does the job.

She shakes her heads and walks away. And suddenly I feel bad. Suddenly I have to say something to make this right. She’s my best friend.

‘Cass, wait! Please?’

She’s halfway down the corridor before she turns. ‘Don’t talk to me. Just … don’t. Oh, and by the way, I know all about you and Jack. Polly told me.’ What?! No. Not possible. There’s no way. ‘Yeah, that’s right.
Clearly you’re not so good at keeping secrets after all. Bodes well, doesn’t it? I hope you know what you’re doing. For all our sakes. Because if you don’t …’

The unsaid words hang in the air long after she’s gone.

Jack and I are lying on my bed. Dad’s out on one of his epic bike rides and Bruno has been banished to the kitchen.

I’m trying my best to focus on Jack – the feel of his mouth on mine, his hand running up and down my spine, the promise of what could be about to happen. But I can’t. I keep coming back to Cass and Polly.

‘Jack … can I ask you something?’ It’s hard to talk in between kisses.

‘Mmm?’ His tongue delves into my mouth again. It’s nearly enough to kick any other thoughts right out of my head.

Nearly. ‘This is important!’

‘So’s this …’ Tiny feathery kisses down my neck and I almost lose all power of thought and speech and everything.

Almost. I push his chest, none too gently either. ‘Jack!’

He sits up, his face serious, his hair all over the place. His lips red and tempting. He rubs his chest. ‘Ow.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I think my heart might be bruised. You should probably kiss it better.’ He starts to pull up his T-shirt. I throw a pillow at his face.

‘Did you tell Polly Sutcliffe about us?’

‘Polly? Nope. Why?’ He props himself up on his elbow, finally ready to listen.

‘Are you sure you didn’t say
something
?’

‘Er … I’ve talked to the girl twice in my whole life – and that was only to sort out the gig.’

‘That’s weird, because she knows we’re seeing each other.’

‘And?’ The so-what look on Jack’s face could not be any clearer.

‘
And
… I don’t like people knowing my business.’ I sound like the rubbishest gangster in the hood.

‘You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, are you?’ He’s laughing and then suddenly he’s not. ‘You
are
, aren’t you? It’s the age thing, right? God, I knew this would happen.’ He runs both hands through his hair and looks away.

Jack is precisely one month and four days younger than me, but he’s not in the same year as me. He’s right – some people
might
think it’s weird, me going out with someone who’s not even in sixth form. I couldn’t give a toss. But I’d rather he thinks it’s
that
than the truth – that I hadn’t wanted Cass, Polly and Rae finding out about us. Still, I don’t want to hurt Jack’s feelings (or his manly pride).

‘No, it’s not that …’ I say in a way that makes it clear that it
is
that.

‘Look, if you don’t want to go out with me, just say …’ His pout is so cute I want to take a picture.

I dive on top of him and straddle his legs. His face is a mixture of surprised, pleased and still a tiny bit pouty. ‘I don’t care what anyone thinks, Jack. I really … really … really … like you.’ The words are punctuated by kisses, and I can tell by Jack’s response that it’s working. His hands snake around my waist and pull my body closer to his.

Later we decide to go for a wander down by the canal. Dad’s due back in an hour or so, and I don’t think I’m quite ready for The Talk. A couple of years ago, he tried to talk to me about boys. I ran from the room with my hands covering my ears, shouting, ‘La la la,
I’m not listening.’ I think he got the message. But now that there’s an actual real live boy on the scene, God only knows the heights of awkwardness Dad will be able to achieve. Best that I keep him in the dark about Jack for as long as possible. Hopefully for as long as this relationship lasts.

Jack and I sit on a bench watching the ducks dipping their heads in the water and waggling their bums in the air. I can’t even begin to imagine what they’re looking for. Hypodermic needles and broken shopping trolleys?

‘I never had any idea that it was possible to miss someone this much,’ Jack says quietly. I squeeze his hand and say nothing. ‘It’s overwhelming – the sadness. It’s there
all the time
. You’d think it would get better after a while, but it’s getting worse. Alice, how can it be getting worse?’ His eyes are imploring.

‘It
will
get better, I promise. But it probably won’t be anytime soon. You’ll still feel sad, but it’ll be a different kind of sad. Less painful, not so sharp. I’m sorry. I wish I could take away some of the hurt, even for a little while.’

Jack smiles sadly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to. Being with you is the only time things feel normal. Better than normal even. I know we haven’t been together
all that long, but I … I don’t know how I’d cope without you.’

I hug him hard and I don’t want to ever let go. Maybe some of his sadness can seep into me if I hold him for long enough. I can handle it. Just add it to the guilt and worry and scrunch it up into a little ball. Store it somewhere so that Jack and I can be happy for a little while.

We sit in silence as a couple of sweaty joggers pass by. I’m hyper-aware of everywhere my body touches Jack’s. I’m hyper-aware of everything about him. The knees of his jeans are worn and faded. There’s some faint writing on the back of his right hand. He wears all these bits and pieces round his wrists. Strips of leather and fabric. I’ve never really looked at them before, but now I try to imprint them on my brain. Suddenly it seems vital that I memorize everything about him, and I can’t work out why until panic wells up in my gut.

I’m going to lose him. It’s unavoidable.

I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder. His unruly hair tickles my forehead, but I don’t care. He leans his head towards mine, so now we’re basically holding each other up.

‘Why did you and Tara stop being friends?’

I was hoping it wouldn’t come up. It’s something I try not to think about. And definitely something I don’t want to talk to Jack about. There is no way to describe what happened without me sounding like a horrible person.

The truth of the matter is that I realized I didn’t want to be friends with her any more. My reason was simple: she was holding me back.

Tara was
so
quiet. A group of us would sit in the cafeteria at lunchtime and she would never say a word. If someone asked her a question, she’d mumble the shortest possible answer, hardly even looking up from her plate. Everyone stopped bothering after a while. I’d sit there watching her, willing her to say something, willing her to act normal.

It was fine when we were younger. I didn’t mind that Tara didn’t talk to anyone but me. In fact, I liked
it a lot. But things were different at senior school. You had to fit in. Being weird was not an option – not if you wanted to survive.

The final straw was when I found out that Tara and I were the only girls in our class who weren’t invited to Stephanie de Luca’s birthday party. It wasn’t just any old party either. Her dad (who was loaded, obviously) had rented one of those old red London buses to ferry everyone round for the day. And his whole restaurant (well, one of his
five
restaurants) was closed to paying customers for the evening and the chefs cooked all of Stephanie’s favourite food. There were ice sculptures and an enormous chocolate fountain.

We heard all about it on Monday. Everyone went on and on about how it was
the best day EVER
. They didn’t even care that Tara and I were within earshot. They didn’t even
notice
.

At break, Tara and I meandered round the school playing field, exactly like we did every single break time.

‘I can’t
believe
we didn’t get invited! Even Maddie Fletcher got invited … Maddie Fletcher! Can you believe it?’ Now I was stomping rather than meandering.

Tara shrugged. ‘I’m not that bothered.’

‘What do you mean, you’re not bothered? Everyone was invited except for us – EVERYONE!’

Tara bent down to pick a dandelion. ‘So? Stephanie de Luca isn’t a very nice person.’ She twirled the dandelion between her fingers and I wanted to grab it and rip it to shreds.

‘It doesn’t matter whether she’s a nice person or not. She’s
popular
. As in “has more than one friend”.’

‘What’s wrong with having one friend?’ Tara was genuinely confused.

I would have pitied her if I wasn’t so angry. ‘God, Tara, don’t you get it? We’re the lowest of the low at this school.’

‘Why does it matter so much to you?’

I sighed theatrically. ‘Why
doesn’t
it matter to you? You can be so weird sometimes. You know that, don’t you?’

Tara shied away. ‘Sorry.’

I rolled my eyes and sighed again. ‘Come on, let’s go back. We
have
to sit on Stephanie’s table this lunchtime though, OK?’

Tara smiled a very sweet smile through her braces and put her arm through mine. ‘OK. Did I tell you what Jack did the other day? It was
sooo
annoying …’ And she was off on yet another irritating-little-brother anecdote. But I was only half listening; I was already plotting.

The first step was to separate myself from her in
everyone else’s eyes. I needed to not sit next to her in every single lesson. Ideally I needed to not sit next to her in any lessons. I didn’t want to hurt Tara’s feelings though (yeah, I was all heart). So I stayed behind after school one day and told Mrs Hodgson that Tara was distracting me and I was finding it hard to concentrate, but I didn’t know what to do about it because she was my best friend. Mrs Hodgson was brilliant. She arranged for us to sit apart in every single class. I’d really laid it on thick about wanting to study law at university. She didn’t seem to think it was weird that a twelve-year-old was worried about getting into uni.