Entangled (17 page)

I nodded and watched as he pulled on his clothes. I wanted to say sorry, to tell him to stop, to stay with me. But the words wouldn’t come.

Nat turned to face me when he reached the door. We looked at each other for the briefest of moments. Here was a last chance for one of us to say something, anything, but neither of us took it. His face was an emotionless mask; tears were still trickling down mine. And then he was gone.

I waited to hear the front door close before slumping on the bed and crying so hard I thought I might never stop. I was angry and sad and confused. I’d made a terrible mistake. I knew full well that I’d taken all my frustration and resentment at Sal for not trusting me and dumped it on Nat. All because he cared enough to ask about it. All because he loved me.

But what was with all the questions? Asking over and over again about what I knew and didn’t know and why I hadn’t told him. I didn’t
have
the answers.

I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Instead, I took the knife from my desk drawer and slowly and carefully re-opened the cuts I’d made on my legs that day. And then I made some more.

I examined the damage the next morning. It was not a pretty sight: like some kind of modern art gone badly wrong. There was so much blood on the sheets – more than I’d have thought possible. The blade of the knife looked rusty.

I couldn’t face it. I pulled the duvet back over my head and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When I woke up, there were a few blissful seconds of not remembering, before it all came crashing back. I replayed things over and over in my head, and kept returning to the image of Nat’s face just before he’d left. He’d looked at me the way you’d look at a stranger on the street. How could you go in a matter of minutes from telling someone you loved them to looking at them like that? How was that even possible?

I knew the whole thing was my fault. It would never have happened if I hadn’t been trying to weasel out of telling him about my past. I could have just lied, or been vague, or told him he was my first. Or maybe not. Maybe I could have told him the truth and maybe he would have understood and maybe I would have felt as if a gigantic weight had been lifted and I could finally breathe again.

I checked my phone, hoping to see the little envelope in the corner of the screen. And there it was!

My heart hammered in my chest and I knew that everything was going to be fine. Until I saw that it was a SIM update from the bastard phone network. Bastardbastardbastard.

I threw the phone on the floor and gave it my best evil stare, considering what punishment to inflict on it next. Then I thought better of it and texted Sal: ‘Come round? PLEASE? Nat’s not here. x’. A few minutes later I got a message back saying she was on her way.

I had a quick shower, trying my best to ignore the pain of the hot water running down the cuts on my legs. I felt much more positive about things as I got dressed and put my damp hair in a ponytail. Sal would know how to fix things with Nat. I couldn’t tell her exactly
what
we’d argued about, but I felt sure I could come up with something plausible. She’d kill me if she found out what I’d told him. And she’d have every right to. Best friends didn’t do that to each other, not ever. I was the worst best friend in the world.

The doorbell rang much sooner than I’d expected. I hadn’t had a chance to put the sheets in the wash. I grimaced as I looked at the state of them. It was OK though, Sal and I would just stay downstairs. Still, I quickly stowed the knife back in the desk drawer and chucked my dressing gown over the bed, somewhat haphazardly. It was the best I could do.

I bounded down the stairs and opened the door to let Sal in, and then accidentally burst into tears before she could sit down. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sal manoeuvred me over to the sofa and let the tears run their course. She hugged me and told me everything was going to be OK, which was nice to hear even though I didn’t believe it. When the crying died down to a mere sniffle, Sal offered to make a cup of tea. I waited on the sofa.

She emerged from the kitchen with two gigantic mugs of tea. ‘Get some of that down you.’ I took a scalding gulp, relishing the pain.

‘Now, what did he do?’

‘What do you mean?’ My brain wasn’t functioning.

‘Nat – what did he do? He must have done something for you to be in such a state. Tell me, and I’ll go and punch him on the nose.’ Just the thought of that made me smile.

‘Nothing.
He
didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.’ I launched into the story of the weekend so far. Sal listened carefully, sipping her tea.

She interrupted only once. ‘He told you he loved you?’

‘Yeah, he did. And I was so happy. Then somehow it all went wrong. We got into a stupid argument and I got really angry and asked him to leave. He didn’t even try to change my mind, even though it was like stupid o’clock and the buses wouldn’t have been running. He just … left.’

‘You got into an argument when he’d just told you he loved you? How on earth did you manage that?!’

My mind raced through the possible lies I’d concocted for Sal’s benefit, before I made a decision.

‘OK, here’s the thing. Please don’t be angry with me …’

‘Why would I be angry with you? Don’t be daft!’ But I could see the first flickers of worry in her eyes.

‘I’m really, really sorry, but I told him what happened with you.’ I cringed, waiting for Sal’s reaction. I must have looked pathetic – like a dog that had just peed on the carpet.

‘You told him about …?’

I nodded. ‘He kept asking and asking about why we fell out, and I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.’ I struggled to meet her eyes.

Sal shook her head slowly. ‘You didn’t know what else to say?! Come off it, Grace. You could have told him anything – you’re the best liar I know. Jesus! I can’t believe this!’ She put her face in her hands.

‘Hey, come on, it’s not that bad. He’s not going to
tell
anyone. But I still shouldn’t have told him. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.’

Sal didn’t look angry or upset – more resigned than anything else. Resigned to the fact that her best friend couldn’t be trusted.

‘So … do you think you can forgive me for being a Class A idiot of the highest order? Honestly, I don’t know why you put up with me!’ My weak attempt at humour drew a scathing look from Sal.

‘I don’t know why I put up with you either.’

‘Because me being such a loser makes you look good?’ That managed to coax a small smile.

‘Yeah, that must be it. Let’s just forget about this, OK? Obviously I wish you hadn’t told him, but it’s done now. As long as you’re sure he won’t tell anyone? Especially Devon.’

Christ, I hadn’t even
thought
about Devon. ‘He won’t tell anyone, I promise. And you have to know that you
can
trust me, even though it might not look that way right now.’

‘But you still haven’t told me why you argued. Why would you telling him about me … why would that start an argument? It doesn’t make any sense.’

There was no point in lying now. The worst was surely over. ‘He asked who you’d slept with and then wouldn’t believe that I didn’t know. And he kept asking, and I told him it was none of his business, and I suppose it just spiralled out of control from there.’ I paused, wondering how far to go down this road. ‘He thought you would have told me. And I think I got so angry with him because … well, I suppose I thought so too.’

‘Oh, I get it. So somehow this is
my
fault now?’

‘No no no, that’s not what I meant at all. I was just trying to be honest with you. The only one to blame here is me.’

‘But you’re still pissed off about it, aren’t you? About the fact that I didn’t tell you.’

‘No, not at all!’ God, this telling-the-truth malarkey wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I continued, ‘Well, maybe I’m a little bit hurt that you won’t tell me. I just can’t see what difference it makes.’

‘Grace, you’re just going to have to get over this. I can’t keep having this conversation with you. I’m trying to forget about the whole thing, and do you know what would really, really help me do that?’

I looked at her expectantly. She laughed. ‘Alcohol!’ I laughed too, relieved that things were still fine between us – at least on the surface. Maybe there was something to be said for telling the truth after all.

I cracked open one of Mum’s best bottles of wine, and over the next hour or so Sal listened to my Nat woes. She tried to reassure me that everything was going to be OK with him, that one little fight didn’t necessarily mean that we were going to break up, that arguing was a perfectly normal thing for couples to do. Eventually I started to believe that maybe things weren’t so bad after all. She persuaded me to text him an apology: ‘I’m SO sorry about last night. I was an idiot – my fault completely. Ring me later? x’

I felt better as soon as I’d sent it, even though I didn’t actually think it was my fault
completely
. Ninety per cent maybe. The other ten per cent was down to Nat’s general nosiness. But I was happy to take the blame if it meant he’d stay with me. He’d said he loved me, for Christ’s sake. I wasn’t just going to let him slip through my fingers.

He texted back about ten minutes later: ‘OK. Am covering a shift at the pub tonight. Might not be able to call. Talk tomorrow. x’

It wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for, but Sal seemed pretty positive about it when I showed her. She managed to convince me that he was probably distracted and busy at work, and that the only thing I needed to take any notice of was the kiss at the end of the message.

She poured me another glass of wine and stood up. ‘How about some food to soak up the vino?’

The fridge revealed a few rashers of bacon, the sight of which was enough for Sal to convince me to create my legendary bacon, pasta and peas. It was her favourite.

Soon the pasta was boiling and the bacon was sizzling in the pan. Sal’s phone rang in the living room. She must have got a new ringtone – some incredibly cheesy song from before we were even born. She picked up the phone and looked at the display to see if it was worth answering. She was almost as obsessive as I was about screening her calls. She didn’t look particularly thrilled at what she saw. She turned and saw my quizzical look. ‘Er … I’ve got to get this. OK if I take it upstairs?’ I vaguely wondered who could be calling and why she didn’t want me listening in, but I was distracted by the pasta, which was threatening to boil over.

Sal ran upstairs and I turned my attention back to the cooker. A minute or so later I was getting the plates out of the cupboard when I suddenly remembered.
My room
. I completely panicked:
Sal must not see the state of my room
. The plates clattered on to the work surface as I rushed out of the kitchen and scrambled up the stairs.
Please let her be in the bathroom or in Mum’s room or in the hall or …

She was standing just inside my room with her back to me. The phone was clasped to her ear. I heard her say in a quiet, weird voice, ‘I’m going to have to call you later.’ She snapped the phone shut.

‘Sal, I …’ I couldn’t think of anything to say. I looked past her and saw that I hadn’t done a very good job of covering the bed after all.

She turned slowly towards me, a look of horror on her face. Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘What have you
done
?’

‘OK, listen, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just come downstairs and we’ll talk about it.’ I reached out to try to take hold of her arm, but she shook me off.

‘Jesus, Grace! Look at this!’ She picked up my dressing gown and dropped it on the floor, revealing the worst of the bloodstains. It
did
look bad – even worse than I’d remembered.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks, honestly. I just … I was in a bit of a bad way last night.’

Sal shook her head slowly, surveying the scene.

‘Sal? Say something. Please?’

Instead of speaking, she grabbed my sleeve and tried to pull it up my arm.

I pulled my arm away. ‘What are you doing?! Stop it!’

‘Show me.’ Her voice was eerily calm.

I shook my head. ‘Come on, let’s just go downstairs.’

‘I’m not going anywhere until you show me.’

‘I’m not going to show you anything, so can we just leave it? Please.’

We stood in silence for a few moments, neither of us willing to budge.

‘I want to see what you’ve done to yourself. Show me your arms. Now.’ I’d never seen her like this before. It was scary.

I did as I was told and rolled up my sleeves. Sal took each arm in turn and examined it for scars. There was nothing to see – nothing new at least. She looked confused.

I spoke quietly. ‘My legs … I cut my legs.’

A look of pure disgust flickered across her face. ‘What is
wrong
with you?’

‘Look, it’s no big deal. I can’t help it – you know that.’

‘But
this
? It looks like someone died here or something.’

I sat down on the edge of the bed. Sal stood there, unable to take her eyes off the scene before her. I was desperately trying to think of something to say – anything that would bring this conversation to an end.