Authors: Abbie Rushton
Unspeakable (5 page)
My eyes snap open.
That last scream was real.
My heart stutters, then starts to hammer, sending pulses of fear through my body. I stumble into the corridor. Moments later, Mum joins me, her face pale without make-up, her eyes groggy and half closed.
‘What’s going on?’ she rasps.
My brain hasn’t quite woken up yet, and I actually open my mouth to say, ‘I don’t know.’
Don’t even think about it.
The words dry up. I shake my head. We hear an almighty crash, followed by a roar of vicious, raised voices.
Mum gasps. ‘It’s coming from next door,’ she whispers. ‘The Morrises’.’
I definitely need to convince Jasmine to stay away from Owen. How can I make her see?
There’s the sound of breaking crockery. Mum jumps and stifles a shriek. Now there are furious bellows. A man with a boozy slur to his voice. Mum clutches my arm as we remain frozen on the landing, our breaths held.
After several minutes, Mum straightens. ‘This is ridiculous. I’m calling the police.’
I grab her sleeve and shake my head.
If they find out it was us …
‘Megan, there are kids in there.’
She shakes me off and patters downstairs. Her bare feet make a quiet sucking sound on the floorboards as she walks across the hallway. Mum picks up the phone.
I bang on the wall at the top of the stairs to get her attention. Mum huffs, but looks up. I point in the direction of Owen’s house. It’s stopped.
Mum hesitates, the phone halfway to her ear. She cocks her
head like a spaniel, then nods once. ‘All right then.’ Mum wraps her arms round her waist and tries to suppress a shudder. ‘I don’t like it, living next door to that lot. They’re dangerous, Megan. You never know what they’re going to do next.’
You think they’re dangerous, Mum. If only you knew what I’m capable of
.
Dear Hana,
I really need you right now. There’s this new girl at Barcham Green: Jasmine. We’re getting on so well, but I’m afraid of messing up again.
The thing is, I think Jasmine and I could become really close. Not that she’d ever replace you or anything. You never have to worry about that.
I’m not sure it even matters. She won’t want to be my friend if she finds out who I really am.
Part of me wants to push her away, to protect her, but I feel different when I’m with her – so much happier. Is it really
selfish of me to want to keep her as a friend, even if I end up hurting her?
I’m going round in circles. I’m sick of being stuck in my own head. I wish you were here to tell me what to do.
I wish for a lot of things. I wish it hadn’t ended badly between us.
I miss you. I’m sorry.
Megan xxx
Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five … Where is she? I can’t wait much longer. We’ll miss the bus. One of my hands taps a nervous rhythm on the back of the door, while the other is poised above the handle, ready to throw it open the second Jasmine rings the bell. The clock continues to tick, counting down every second that makes us more and more late.
Maybe Jasmine’s bored of me. Maybe she’s not coming at all. I’m surprised by how crushed I feel. Are those tears in my eyes?
‘Megan? What are you still doing here?’
I make sure I blink a couple of times before I turn round. Mum’s frowning, her fingers rubbing together as if she’s making a roll-up. I bet she thinks I’m agoraphobic now. That would be all we need!
‘Shall I get the notepad?’ she asks, hurrying into the living
room to rummage through old TV magazines and Sunday newspapers.
The bell rings. Finally! I wrench the door open and catch a brief glimpse of Jasmine’s smile and her flushed cheeks before my eyes lower. She’s breathing heavily and blurts something about her hairdryer breaking and having to fight to use Lily’s. I don’t care. She’s here. I want to hug her.
Mum is at the door in a matter of milliseconds. She seems to have forgotten that she’s wearing last night’s pink eye cream and a dressing gown with a cigarette burn on the sleeve. ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Jasmine. You must be Megan’s mum. Great to meet you.’
Jasmine extends a hand for Mum to shake. Mum couldn’t look more surprised if Jasmine had a tin opener on the end of her arm. ‘Oh … well … I didn’t know Megan had a new friend.’ She shoots me a disgruntled look, then smiles and returns Jasmine’s handshake. ‘Nice to meet you, too. So your family has just moved into the house on Willingham?’
‘Yes, that’s right, but how did you—?’
‘I work in the café. I hear all the gossip! Where is it you’re from? Crete?’
Jasmine needs little prompting to launch into her spiel. ‘Cyprus. My mum’s Cypriot but my dad’s English so I grew up …’ She trails off when she sees me checking my watch. ‘Megan’s right. We’re going to be late. Sorry, Mrs Thomas. Can we chat another time?’
Mum shrieks with laughter. ‘Please don’t call me Mrs Thomas! You make me sound ooooold.’ She rolls the ‘o’ around
her tongue like it’s a boiled sweet. ‘Besides, I’m not married. Call me Angela.’
‘Fine. See you soon!’ Jasmine heads down the road, waving at my mum. Mum waves back, then shuts the door.
Outside the Morrises’, Owen’s dad is standing amongst the mess in his front garden: a deckchair with a hole in the bottom, a couple of wheel-less bikes and a bashed-up car bonnet. He looks unshaven and angry. As we walk past, I keep my eyes trained on the pavement.
I hear the door open, then Owen saying something to his dad. Seconds later, he jogs up to us. His hair looks fuzzy without gel in it, and there are dark circles beneath his eyes, but otherwise, he looks OK. Better than OK, if Jasmine’s expression is anything to go by. He’s wearing a pair of low-slung jeans which hang off his slim hips, and a tight red T-shirt.
‘All right?’ he says, lighting a cigarette.
‘Hi,’ Jasmine replies.
Owen walks beside us. Smoke coils through the air, catching in my throat. I swallow a cough. I don’t want him to think I’m making a point.
‘What you been up to?’ he asks.
‘Not much. Just school and stuff.’
‘You could forget school today. Hang around here?’
Jasmine smiles. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just can’t.’
‘All right. Some other time.’
She gives him a coy smile. ‘Maybe.’
Jasmine and Owen head down Dog Poo Alley. Owen obviously wants to show off his handiwork. I hesitate, then follow. They turn the corner ahead of me and I hear Owen swear. I catch up just in time to see him punch the fence. Jasmine flinches. I take a step towards her, my muscles tensed.
‘Whoever did this is dead!’ he bellows, storming past without even looking at me.
Someone has smothered Owen’s graffiti in dark red paint. It’s been slapped on so thick it’s dribbled down the fence. It looks like blood. I try to swallow, but there’s a lead weight on my Adam’s apple. Who would do this? None of the other graffiti has been touched.
Jasmine raises a shaking hand to her mouth. I grab my notebook and write to her:
Don’t worry. This isn’t about you. Owen isn’t exactly Mr Popular around here
.
Jasmine stares blankly at me. It takes her a while to find the words. ‘Thanks, but you’re wrong. This
is
about me, Megan.’
I want to ask what she means, but the look on her face tells me to leave it.
I stare at the note I’ve just written. My handwriting used to be neat, with round, springy lettering. Now I write fast, trying to match the speed of my thoughts. A scrawled scribble. A hopeless alternative for a voice.
I imagine what it would be like to talk to Jasmine. I wonder how my voice would sound. Probably like a gate with rusted hinges – creaky and stiff. Perhaps I’ve neglected it so long it’s rotted away, and I’ll never be able to use it again.
We hurry to the war memorial, where the bus is just about to pull away. Jasmine flags it down and the driver stops, fixing us with a dark scowl as we clamber on.
Sadie’s out of her seat straight away, blocking the aisle. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nowhere to sit. You’re too late.’
Jasmine grits her teeth. ‘Not today.’
Sadie doesn’t move.
‘You kids need to sit down!’ the driver yells.
‘Please, just let us past,’ Jasmine says firmly. ‘I don’t want a fight.’
Lindsay seems to come from nowhere, her nose inches from Jasmine’s. ‘I do,’ she whispers menacingly.
Jasmine meets her eyes. There aren’t many people who would have the nerve to do that. ‘Right, that’s it!’ Jasmine shouts, trying to push past Lindsay. ‘If you don’t back off, both of you, I’m going to report you. I said I don’t want a fight. I just want to keep my head down and get my exams done, with no hassle.’
‘Well, your family should’ve thought about that before they started stealing other people’s jobs,’ Lindsay snarls.
The driver’s voice booms down the aisle. ‘Sit down or I stop the bus!’
‘C’mon, Linds,’ Sadie says. ‘So not worth it.’
But Lindsay doesn’t back down.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ Sadie hisses, pinching her small fingers around Lindsay’s arm.
Lindsay wrenches her gaze from Jasmine. When she looks at Sadie, her expression is riddled with … what? With a jolt, I
realise what it is. Fear. Why would Lindsay be afraid of one of her best friends?
They let us pass. Jasmine throws herself into the nearest seat and moves over so I can sit next to her. Lindsay and Sadie deliberately take their time to return to their places.
‘I shouldn’t have done that, Megan,’ Jasmine whispers. ‘I shouldn’t have lost it with them. I’ve probably made things worse.’
I scribble
Lindsay?
on an old chewing gum wrapper.
‘Apparently the job my mum got had been promised to Lindsay’s dad. I get why she’s angry, but what am I supposed to do about it?’
I sigh. That is awkward.
Jasmine is quiet for most of the journey. I sit stiffly next to her. I don’t really know what to do. I write to her, ask if she’s OK, but she just shrugs, so I ask her to tell me about her family in Cyprus. Jasmine grins and starts to talk, bobbing up like a cork in water. I try to concentrate on what she’s saying, but I keep noticing a dark, perfectly curved eyelash that’s resting on her cheek.
In the end, I look away so I can listen properly. I learn about Aunt Talia, who is fiercely religious and blesses everything, and spoiled cousins Nikos and Theo, who emigrated to London several years ago. Also
Yiayiá
(Grandma), who lives with a parrot in a beautiful mountain village, miles from anywhere, and refuses to move because she wants to walk to her husband’s grave every day.
*
Jasmine, Luke and I eat lunch together. Jasmine’s picking at a tuna salad that looks like it’s seen better days. I offer to share my crisps, but she just shakes her head and says, ‘I’m trying to be good.’ She gets a wicked glint in her eyes. ‘I’ll probably ruin it all later by scoffing a massive bar of chocolate! The chocolate here is
so
much better than the stuff in Cyprus. And the choice! I probably inhale about a thousand calories by just standing there and gawping at it!’
I smile. Luke and Jasmine start chatting about sailing. I watch them, wondering if he fancies her. Then I realise Jasmine’s talking to me. ‘Sorry, Megan. This is really boring. You probably don’t have a clue what we’re on about! Let’s talk about something else.’
She’s trying to draw me into the conversation, even though I can’t join in. No one else bothers to do that. A trail of goose-bumps prickles up my arm.
They start discussing books that have been turned into films, and I lay my jotter on the table so I can jump in from time to time. Luke and I have a fight about
Always Looking North
. I loved the book, hated the film. He’s the other way round. Luke ends up stealing my pen and scribbling all over my notepad. I gasp, grab the pen back and draw on his arm. His response is to tear out the sheet and rip it to pieces.
‘Stop flirting, you two!’ Jasmine laughs.
I blush and look away. We weren’t. I don’t even know how to flirt. It’s the kind of thing Hana was good at, not me. I remember the time she and Luke started a rubber-band fight on the bus. It was a sunny Friday afternoon, the end of term, and they
were almost hysterical. I ignored them, staring out of the window as I wondered if they were flirting or just mucking around. When I asked Hana later, she brushed it off, saying they weren’t anything more than friends, but I wasn’t convinced that was how Luke saw it.
‘You OK, Megan?’ Jasmine asks, lightly touching my hand. ‘I was only teasing.’ She catches her lower lip in her teeth. ‘You’re not offended, are you?’
She looks so worried. I can’t believe she cares that much about offending me! How could I have thought I might be able to push her away?
You’re no good for her.
But it’s too late to back out now.
I spend Saturday on the sofa with Mum, watching a load of rom-coms and stuffing ourselves with sweets. I wish there were other things we could do together, but the choices are kind of limited, thanks to me.
On Sunday morning, the phone rings. Mum natters for a bit, then finds me in my room. ‘That was Jasmine.’
Jasmine!
‘She says do you want to catch a bus into Bournemouth to do some shopping?’
A smile breaks across my face. Mum grins back. ‘I take it that’s a yes.’
The last person I went clothes shopping with was Hana,
and she only went to trendy, independent shops, definitely no chains. I never had as much cash as her, so I’d be left sitting outside the changing room while she tried on outfit after outfit.
Shopping with Jasmine is way more fun. We play this game where we pick the most outrageous and hideous things for the other to try on. Jasmine is a bit funny about me knowing her size, but she soon gets over it when she chooses a fluorescent yellow tracksuit for me, complete with leopard-print heels and a bright orange sweatband.
When I make her try an over-the-top silver dress, covered in horrible ruffles, Jasmine shyly lets me into her changing room to see it.