Entangled (28 page)

My house. Waiting outside, keys in hand. Another door to open.

Mother waiting on the sofa.

‘Where have you been?’ Softly softly, but I could hear the steel.

‘I told you – I slept over at Sal’s.’

‘Hmm … did you have a nice time?’

‘Yeah. We went to a late showing at the cinema. I thought Mr Stewart would be able to drive me home, but he’s away at some conference or something, and I didn’t have enough money for a taxi. Sorry.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ I headed for the stairs.

‘Sit down.’ All steel now.

‘I’m really knackered. I just need to get some sleep.’

‘SIT down. Now.’

Nothing to do but obey.

‘When did you become such a good liar, Grace Carlyle?’ Lips pursed, anger barely contained.

I didn’t even try to argue. Past caring.

‘Sal called last night, asking where you were. She was worried. I’ve been up all night waiting for you, worrying. I nearly called the police.’

A derisive snort from me.

‘Would you like to explain exactly what it is you find so funny? Just look at yourself! YOU’RE A MESS!’ Shouting, spitting anger at me. She grabbed hold of me and hauled me in front of the mirror above the mantelpiece.

‘Look at the state of you. You look half dead.’

I looked. Greasy hair and pale face and dark circles and eyes. Green eyes that looked more like grey. Broken eyes.

Half dead?More than half, nearly all the way
.

‘Are you on drugs?’

A giggle from me, high pitched and manic.

‘Well?
Are
you? Look at me, Grace.’ More manhandling, shaking me. My head clinging on to my shoulders for dear life. ‘Answer me, for Christ’s sake!’

‘No, Mother. I am not on drugs, but thanks for asking. It’s nice to know you care.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘What do you think it means?’ No anger. A voice detached from my body.

‘Of course I care, you stupid little girl. But you don’t make it easy sometimes.’

‘It’s not my job to make it easy. You’re supposed to be the parent, remember?’

She was furious now. Even more so because I wasn’t.

‘Grow up, Grace.’

‘Oh, I grew up a long time ago. Shame you weren’t around to notice. Shame you never thought to ask where I was all those
other
nights.’

That stumped her, if only for a moment.

‘What other nights?’ Defeated, deflated, tired.

A smirk from me. ‘The nights when I was with
boys
, Mother. A lot of boys. Having quite a lot of sex, if you must know.’

‘Grace!’

‘What did you
think
I was doing? Playing with dolls? Having a teddy bears’ picnic?’

‘Be quiet!’

‘You can’t honestly tell me you’re
surprised
? You know what they say … like mother, like daughter.’

‘Stop it! Stop talking NOW!’ Time for tears. But not from me, not yet. ‘Your father would never have stood for this sort of behaviour … he’d be ashamed of you.’

‘Whatever. He shouldn’t have
fucking
killed himself then, should he? If he cared so
fucking
much.’ I felt something then – a flicker of feeling, of caring. I stomped on it, hard.

‘Go to your room. Right now.’

‘Whatever you say,
Mother
.’

She hated me, and I was glad.

Questions. Lots of questions, all fighting for my attention. I hid from them under the duvet, but they seeped in somehow. Drip-drip-dripping poison into my head.

Drip. When was the first time?
Shh, don’t listen
.

Drip. Who made the first move?
It doesn’t matter. Hush
.

Drip. How could they do this to me?
That’s what people do. Hurt
.

I slept. A confused, restless sleep.

Dreamsandthoughtandquestions all mixed up and upside down and the wrong way round.

Cut. Cut them out. Deeper. It’s the only way
.

The poison was stronger than me. I was powerless to resist.
Cut
.

I woke up to a new question: Why did he ask me to come over? He can’t have
wanted
me to see that … can he? Unless that was his own unique way of dumping me?
No. Think harder
.

And then I knew: It hadn’t been
Nat
who’d wanted me to see.

Later. Mum crept in. I pretended to be asleep. She stroked my cheek and her touch made my skin creep and crawl and itch. She stayed a few minutes, and before she left she whispered, ‘I love you.’
Liar
.

Monday morning. Happy sunlight streaming through the window.
Today’s the day
. I smiled at the ghost girl in the mirror. She looked different today. I showered and dressed and put some make-up on and went downstairs.

Now for the tricky bit …

‘Morning, Mum.’

She was sitting in the kitchen with her back to me. She said nothing.

I stood behind her chair and hugged her, like I used to. I whispered, ‘I’m really, really sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean any of it. I was just tired and upset – Sal and I … fell out on Saturday night.’ I kissed her perfectly powdered cheek. ‘I know it’s no excuse, but I’m sorry.’
There. Done
.

She patted my arm and I knew I’d succeeded. ‘I’m sorry too, Grace. I didn’t mean that … about your father. It was just … some of the things you said …’

I slid into the chair next to her and took her hand in mine. ‘I made it up. I just said the first thing that came into my head – I was being a total cow. Sorry.’

She looked into my eyes and didn’t see me. She never did. She believed what I wanted her to believe. Always. ‘Really, Grace. You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Let’s just move on. I tell you what – why don’t we have a girls’ night in tomorrow? Just the two of us. It would be good to … talk. I know I haven’t been around much recently, and things haven’t exactly been easy for us since your father … but I think we should start spending some more time together. What do you say?’ Her face was hopeful. It made her look younger.

‘Mum, it’s OK. I’m a big girl – I can look after myself. And you deserve to live your own life. Things are just fine – don’t you worry about me.’ It was easier than I thought. The words all came out in the right order and my voice was light and soft and … daughterly. ‘But tomorrow sounds good.’
Yeah. Tomorrow
.

‘Lovely! Oh, I nearly forgot. Sal phoned yesterday – quite a few times actually. But I thought it was best to let you sleep. Sounds like she wants to make up though, doesn’t it?’

I plastered on a plastic smile. ‘Yeah. Great. Well, I’ll talk to her at school. It’ll be fine.’ We smiled at each other and I worried that my face would crack open.

After break, double English. Sal was there, of course. The look on her face when I sat down next to her was pretty special.

‘Grace, hi. I didn’t know if you’d be here. I … don’t know what to say.’
How come I’ve never noticed how mousey she sounds?

‘Have you got your
Canterbury Tales
with you? I left mine at home.’

‘
What?
Are you serious?’

‘What?’

‘Grace, we need to talk …’

The teacher arrived and started droning on and on and on and I took notes. I wrote extra neatly and used a ruler to underline all my headings. Sal was scribbling furiously next to me. She tore out a page from her notebook and slid it across the desk to me:

‘I’m sorry. Please can we talk? We NEED to talk about this. I’m so so so sorry about Saturday, but it’s complicated. There are some things you need to know. (
Yes, like when you started fucking my boyfriend
.) This was never supposed to happen, just let me explain. I need you to know that you’re my best friend and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.’

I wrote back: ‘Have you got your
Canterbury Tales
?’

She sighed, frustrated now. Grabbed the paper back from me: ‘Please. Just hear me out. Then if you want nothing more to do with me, that’s fine. I need to explain – about Nat, about Easter, about everything. Lunchtime?’

Me: Can’t today. Sorry.

Sal: Tonight then?

Me: Got plans. Sorry. Free tomorrow night though.
(Yeah, tomorrow’s perfect.)