Entangled (9 page)

I kissed the photo and put it under my pillow. Then I phoned my perfect boyfriend and left a long, rambling message that didn’t make a whole lot of sense (as he took great pleasure in telling me the next day).

day 18

I feel good today. Slept well, no dreams to speak of. Mum reckons she never dreams, but what would she even dream
about
? Row upon row of shoes as far as the eye can see?

Ethan was sitting on the bed when I emerged from the bathroom all ruddy and wrapped in a towel that just about covered everything a good girl would want covered. There was a chocolate croissant and a big mug of tea on the table. I tore off a bit of croissant and popped it into my mouth, licking the oozing chocolate from my finger.

‘Want some?’

Ethan quickly shook his head.

I shrugged and continued to eat, saying nothing. When I’d finished, and sucked every last bit of chocolate from my fingers, I sat down next to him on the bed. The towel just about managed to hang on for dear life.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ I teased him.

‘Good morning, Grace. You look … different today,’ he said.

‘Most people do without their clothes on.’ He looked confused. His eyes frantically searched mine, as if he could look deep enough and see the truth of me. I held his gaze. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

‘Ethan, I …’

He brought his finger to my lips to silence me. He tucked a few damp strands of hair behind my ear and whispered, ‘Drink your tea.’ And then he was gone. Just like that.

I flopped back on the bed and sighed. Confused and frustrated.

Then I did as I was told.

I lay on the bed for most of the morning, not really thinking about anything in particular. Not unhappy. Just sort of being. Before I knew it, Ethan was here again with lunch. I was strangely ravenous for someone who had done fuck-all. When he came to take away my plate, I was licking the last drops of gravy from my knife. Mum would be appalled. Ethan seemed pleased. ‘Was that good?’

‘Mmm. Roast chicken is my favourite. You can’t beat a proper Sunday lunch.’ A memory popped into my head of Mum dishing up roast potatoes at the table. She always gave me and Dad loads, and only took a couple for herself. And every week, without fail, Dad would say, ‘These are the best roast potatoes I have EVER had,’ and Mum would roll her eyes and say, ‘But you say that every week, Jim!’ And you could tell she was secretly pleased. And you could tell that he really meant it. And you could tell they really loved each other.

Ethan was saying my name, and I knew from his tone that it wasn’t the first time. And just like that, the memory was gone.

‘What?’ I said, annoyed. My brain wasn’t exactly brimming over with happy memories like that one.

‘I was asking about your family.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m curious.’

‘Why?’

‘I’d like to know why you are the way you are.’

‘And you think that’s the answer? My family? What about
your
family? What’s made
you
the way you are?’

He looked at me with those stormy eyes and said softly, ‘We’re not talking about me.’

‘Why not? Why do we have to talk about
me
all the time? I’m not that interesting, you know!’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Grace.’ He sounded as if he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. And then he looked me square in the eye and said, ‘Do you miss your father?’

‘Every day. I miss him every day.’ I swallowed, determined not to start bawling. Ethan must have realized that I wasn’t really in a sharing kind of mood. He said nothing more, just cleared up my plate and left. But not before he’d given my shoulder a reassuring (fatherly?) squeeze.

It wasn’t until the door closed that I realized I haven’t told Ethan about Dad. How did he know? How could he possibly know?

Why am I the way I am? What a weird question. Why is anyone the way they are? Nature or nurture? A bit of both? Maybe for some people it’s neither. Maybe they were supposed to turn out a certain way, but then something terrible happened. And maybe nothing was ever the same again. Maybe.

day 19

At least, I
think
it’s day 19. It must be by now. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I CAN’T SLEEP. I’ve tried every trick I know: reciting all the kings and queens of England (but I always get a bit mixed up with the Henrys), trying to remember the names of everyone in my class at junior school (but I got stuck on the name of the boy with the permanently snotencrusted nose). I’ve even stooped so low as to try counting sheep. I don’t know who thought that one up – it turns out I can count pretty high.

May as well get on with this as long as I’m up. It’s not as if I can pop downstairs for a glass of hot milk. Hot milk? Gross.

Things were good with Nat. But I was sort of waiting for something to go wrong. Something
had
to go wrong. It was surely only a matter of time. I could never fully shake the feeling that I didn’t deserve him. He was too good for me. And too good
to
me. He listened to me when I talked, instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. He bought me a little green monster finger puppet, which made me laugh. He put his arms around me and I felt right.

I went round to his house for the first time one afternoon. His mum was at work and we were messing around in his bedroom. We still had most of our clothes on, and I was trying to determine just how ticklish he was (very, as it turns out). I had him pinned down on his bed, both hands above his head, gripped by one of mine. We were both giggling like maniacs, Nat begging for mercy. And the door flew open and there was Devon – clearly not expecting to see me there. He stuttered an apology, and Nat said something like, ‘It’s OK, Dev. Wait a minute!’ But Devon legged it, his face flushing bright red. I laughed and resumed my assault on Nat. But he wasn’t laughing.

‘Grace, stop for a minute.’

‘What? Why? It’s no big deal!’

‘I know. It’s … I don’t know. It feels a bit weird.’ He sat up and pulled on his shirt. ‘Let me go and talk to him.’

A suspicion suddenly dawned on me. ‘You
have
told him about us … haven’t you?’

Nat’s silence said it all. ‘Shit! Why haven’t you told him? No wonder his eyes nearly popped out of his head!’

Nat had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry. I just … I wasn’t sure if he’d be OK with it. You know … cos you two know each other.’

‘So
what
if we know each other?’ I said, with added sulk.

‘Well … I just didn’t want him worrying about us talking about him. That’s all.’

I weighed this up while straightening my top. ‘So it’s not cos you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?’ This came out a little more poutingly than I’d intended.

‘As if! Just look at you!’ He pulled me towards him for a deep, long kiss.

‘Flattery will get you everywhere, Nathaniel. But not right now. Come on. You’ve got some explaining to do. Go and talk to him. I’ll wait here.’

‘Are we OK then?’

‘Yup. Now scoot!’ Nat jumped up from the bed and left the room. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. There was a crack in it. I tried to tell myself that it was OK. Nat’s reason for not telling Devon was perfectly plausible. And anyway, I hadn’t told my mum about us either. But that was different. You need to be in the same room as someone for more than five seconds to have a conversation. And I’d made sure that hadn’t happened since her little attempted heart-to-heart the night I’d met up with Soph.

As I lay on Nat’s bed, surrounded by Nat’s things, wrapped up in Nat’s world, I couldn’t help but think that this might be it – the first tiny little crack I’d been waiting for. A crack that would widen into a great big gaping fissure, which I would tumble into – never to be seen again.

Nat came back after a few minutes and sat on the side of the bed.

‘Well?’

‘He’s gone out. He’s pretty pissed off and I can’t really blame him.’ Nat sighed and stared at the floor.

‘Hey, come on now. You haven’t done anything wrong. So you didn’t tell your little brother about your new girlfriend? It’s hardly the crime of the century.’ I reached out and stroked the back of his neck, where his hair was short and fuzzy. He twisted his head away.

‘Don’t, Grace.’

‘Don’t what? Come on … Devon’s gone out. Let’s just …’ My hand crept up his thigh as I spoke.

‘Stop it!’ Nat leaped up from the bed and paced away. I was too surprised to say anything for a minute or two. He stood against the wall, his fist at his forehead.

‘Okaaaay, I’m just gonna go.’ I hastily stood and started to gather my stuff together, telling myself that I wasn’t going to cry I wasn’t going to cry I wasn’t going to cry. I was halfway to the door before Nat turned to face me.

‘Grace, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’ He took a step towards me, put his hands over his face and exhaled loudly. When his hands slid down, he looked at me sadly. ‘I’m sorry for being such a twat. It’s just that things with Devon are kind of … complicated. They always have been. I just need to speak to him properly, and I’m sure it will all be fine.’ Nat came closer, and reached out for my hand with his. His fingers wrapped around mine and squeezed them gently. I looked up into his eyes and searched for the truth in his words. I wasn’t sure if it was there or not, but he looked so sad and so hopeful that it didn’t seem to matter. I hugged him.

‘Talk to Devon. Call me whenever. It’s fine.’ I was very impressed with myself for being such a big person about it. I felt terribly mature.

‘You sure?’

‘Yup.’ Breezy as breezy can be. I kissed Nat quickly on the lips, said a cheery goodbye and left his room without looking back.

I was at the bottom of the stairs when Nat called to me, ‘Grace!’ I looked up and saw his face peering over the banisters.

‘Thanks for being so amazing. I mean it. You’re really … I really care about you. I just wanted you to know that.’ I wanted to run back up the stairs and show him just
how
amazing I could be, but I was ever so taken with the ‘new mature me’ (even if she was only temporary), so I rewarded Nat with a winning smile and a quiet ‘I know’. And then I was gone, out the front door and down the street. Trying my hardest to remember Nat’s parting words, rather than the weirdness that had gone before.

Managed to get back to sleep for a while after all. It must be early though. Ethan hasn’t been in with my breakfast yet. I’m starving. I hardly ever eat breakfast at home, much to Mum’s annoyance. When I was fifteen I tried starting the day with a cup of black coffee. I must have been going through a ‘disaffected youth’ phase. I hated the taste; it was all I could do not to grimace each time I took a sip. It was worth it though, cos it annoyed Mum so much. She was all ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day’ and ‘A girl your age shouldn’t be drinking that’. Which was clearly the wrong way to go about getting me to do what she wanted. Mothers can be so dense. Just act like you approve of what we’re doing. We’ll soon do the exact opposite, just to spite you.

Anyway, I’m just going to have to ignore my gurgling stomach and try not to think about crispy bacon on white bread, splattered with ketchup and dripping with fat. Or a boiled egg and soldiers …

The day after the Devon Debacle, something surprising happened.

Sal texted me: ‘Need to talk to you. Please?’

I had no idea what to make of it. The message filled me with hope and dread and everything in between. I had half a mind to let Sal sweat for a couple of days, but since I was being so very mature I texted her straight back, with a simple ‘OK’. I certainly wasn’t going to give anything away if she wasn’t. I only had to wait a couple of seconds for a reply: ‘Thanks. At the swings? Nine?’ God knows why she wanted to go back there again.

It had been almost two months since our fight. It was hard to believe that I hadn’t even laid eyes on her since that ridiculous night. I’d always kept an eye out for her when I was out and about, especially when I was with Nat. Half hoping that she would see how happy I could be without her. And half hoping that just being face to face with her again would magically fix what was broken.

It was only just starting to get dark by the time I went to meet Sal. A few people lingered in the park, playing Frisbee, drinking beer and pretending they weren’t getting cold. A couple of fourteen-year-olds were on the swings, ramming their tongues down each other’s throats.
Nice
. I sat on a bench a little way away, looking at my watch every couple of minutes. 9.09 and still no sign of Sal.

And then there was a tap on my shoulder and a quiet ‘Hey’. Sal rounded the bench and sat down next to me. I returned her ‘Hey’ and studied her in the fading light. She looked different. She’d had her hair cut, and it really suited her. But she looked so thin. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and the dark circles under her eyes stood out a mile. I was shocked at the difference a couple of months could make. I was pretty sure I just looked like the same old Grace to her – apart from a mammoth spot that was threatening to erupt on my chin any moment.

I was the first to speak. ‘So … how have you been?’ I couldn’t help but laugh nervously at the absurdity of the question. Sal even cracked a smile. ‘I mean, well, I suppose I don’t really know what to say.’ I scuffed my trainers on the gravel under the bench, waiting for Sal to say something.

‘Grace, I’m so, so sorry.’ Well, that was a start at least. I waited for her to go on. ‘This has all been a complete nightmare. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to pick up the phone and ring you …’ She trailed off and I could tell that she was fighting back the tears – unsuccessfully, as it turned out. ‘I’ve missed you.’

And she looked at me with those Bambi eyes brimming with tears and quietly said, ‘Do you think we can ever …?’ before trailing off again. She stared at the ground, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. I just wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be OK. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Grace, you
have
to believe me. I was an idiot. I don’t have any excuses, but I was scared and angry and I didn’t know what to do.’

‘So you took it out on me?’ It had to be said.

Sal nodded. ‘I just wanted someone to blame, and somehow that ended up being you. I don’t know why. You were the one person who was there for me and I messed it up completely.’

‘Why now?’ I found it hard to look at her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s been two months. Why are you coming to me now?’

‘I just … I thought you wouldn’t talk to me before. Especially after what I said. About the cutting.’ As if I needed reminding. ‘Grace, I didn’t mean it. You know I don’t think that. I just lashed out with the first thing I could think of.’ She reached out for my hand. I didn’t pull away. ‘It was a terrible thing to say and I know how it must have made you feel.’

‘I don’t think you do. When the person you love most in the world says something like that …’

‘But it’s not true!’ Sal squeezed my hand.

I shrugged. ‘Maybe it is.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Grace. If you did it for attention, do you not think that maybe you wouldn’t hide it quite so well?’

Another shrug from me. I wasn’t going to make this easy for her. ‘And the boy stuff? You as good as called me a slag.’