Lost for Words (13 page)

SUNDAY, JUNE 4
^TH

I got home from a walk. Robin and Mum were sitting together looking at photographs. I leaned over. There were pictures of them aged about nineteen, hugging each other, sitting on his motorbike, generally looking happy. I said, “When did you two meet?”

Mum gave Robin a quick look and then smiled at me. “We went out together in school. We traveled to Calcutta on his bike when we were twenty-one.”

I was so astounded that I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know that Mum has been to India. She showed me pictures of her in these crazy, beautiful places. I wished Robin wasn’t there, because I felt kind of close to her for the first time in forever. But he was there, and he started telling stories about having no money and sleeping at the sides of the roads. Then he went into great detail about one day when he was robbed in Nepal. I wanted to scream at them, asking why I’d never even heard of Robin. Instead I listened and looked at the pictures. I blurted out, “Why haven’t we met before?”

Mum said, “Robin came back into my life, as a friend, six months before Emily died.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard her say it out loud. That Emily has died. It caught me in the stomach, her saying it like that, caught me like someone was pulling me backward.

I was about to reply, but my mobile rang. It was ABIGAIL asking if I wanted to come over on Friday night. Even though we’ve been so distant recently, I know I have to help her with the whole bulimia thing so I said yes.

I was going to ask how she was, but she was in a hurry. When I got off the phone, Mum looked at her watch and said they had to go; they were meeting friends. There was no time to ask any more questions. She looked at me like she felt guilty or sorry or something, but I sort of smiled back to let her know I didn’t mind her going out.

I’m lying here trying to imagine Mum and Robin with their friends at some pub or somewhere, and I realize I can’t picture them at all. I can’t remember what Robin looks like even though I saw him earlier today.

I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I’ve got Art first thing. I wish I hadn’t chosen it. I’m the worst artist in the world.

THURSDAY, JUNE 8
^TH

Mum made me go to this Boxercise class with her tonight after school. It’s not something she’s ever even mentioned before, but she wanted us to try it together. She
thought it would be good for us
.

We got there, and Mum said hi in a trying-to-be-friendly way to a couple of the other women standing around in the badly lit big gym, and I realized she’d been there before. The instructor came in: a huge man called Wayne. He gave us all huge gloves and showed us some moves.

We had to pair up and hit our partner—well, not hit her but hit this red padded thing our partner held. Mum was my partner, and she seemed really focused. She even laughed at one point. It was kind of fun.

Then, in the car on the way home, I suddenly wished Emily were there so badly that my heart hurt. I turned my head and looked out the window as the silent streets slipped by.

FRIDAY, JUNE 9
^TH

I wrote a letter to Eleanor Summerfield at 18 Bowood Road today. I wrote that I’m sorry I bothered her. When I finished the letter, I went to post it, and I felt briefly happy. It’s been so long since I was happy that I hardly recognized the feeling—then I felt guilty for being happy. And confused.

I’m just about to go to Abigail’s now. Robin’s giving me a lift there, which is nice of him, I suppose.

When I got to Abigail’s, her brother was home. He dragged me off to the living room before she even knew I’d arrived. He said, “What’s wrong with Abigail? She looks awful.”

I wasn’t going to say anything—I felt really disloyal—so I changed the subject and said, “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Sophie, she’s so thin.” He stared right at me.

“She’s fine.”

“What’s wrong with her? You must know.”

“We’re not really that close anymore,” I said.

“Sophie,” he begged.

He looked so desperate, I had to tell him. I spoke softly. “I think she’s bulimic.”

He paused. “When you throw up after eating? That?”

I nodded.

“Why haven’t you done something? Or said something?”

“I didn’t even realize myself until recently. I’ve been, um, distracted, I guess.”

He stepped back, releasing me with his eyes, and said, “Bulimic. Are you sure?”

Then I saw Abigail was standing behind him. A tear slid down her cheek, and I knew she’d overheard. She said, “I don’t know what to do,” really quietly.

Her brother took two strides over and seized her in this big hug. I looked at the floor. I heard him say, “I’ll help you, Abi. Just tell me what to do.” He let her go. “I’ll let you two talk.” With that he left the room.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO UNCOMFORTABLE IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. Abigail and I stared at each other. I could almost feel the river between us, wet and rushing past.

She said, “I’m so sorry about Emily.”

I swallowed.

“I really am sorry. I can’t believe what it must have been like being there. I can’t even imagine it. And you must be so angry with the bombers, and you’ve seen such terrible things, and I’ve been such a bitch to you. It’s so fucked up.”

“I miss her all the time,” I said. “Do you remember how she always bossed me around? I was always saying I hated her.”

“Not always.”

I swallowed and said, “I wish I wasn’t so frightened all the time. And so angry.”

Abigail repeated, “I can’t even imagine.” She took a deep breath. “I wish I’d been a better friend to you. I didn’t really know how.”

“I didn’t make it easy for you. I didn’t know how to talk to anyone about what happened. It wasn’t just you. I’m sorry. Really sorry.” And then I stepped forward and hugged her. I decided never to tell her about Dan—I realized that sometimes even best friends don’t have to know everything about each other.

She said, “Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I want to be okay, but I’m not. Not even close.” I paused then said, “I probably won’t be okay for a long time. Over Easter I went to where my family first used to live.”

“Where’s that?”

“Bowood Road. Doesn’t matter. I don’t even know why I’m telling you.”

“What was it like? Did you remember it?”

“I couldn’t remember anything. I don’t even know why I went. I suppose I wanted to understand better. I wanted to know what it was like before.”

She said, “I get what you mean.”

“I know what’s happening with you because I overheard you talking to Megan in the bathroom. You two were making yourselves sick.”

“Oh God. Everything’s felt so out of control. I couldn’t cope with what had happened to you, and to Emily last
summer. And Mum’s drinking is out of control, and I didn’t know how to handle it, and then suddenly I was losing weight. I felt better, and I looked good, and I had some control, I suppose, over things going on around me.”

I took a deep breath.

Abigail said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can help.”

“No. I think I need proper help.”

I felt like everything was spinning. I said, “So do I. I was going to this therapist called Lynda who drove me insane. I went to another one recently because I’m so crazy. I have panic attacks. All the time.” I went to sit on the sofa. “How did we both end up such a mess?”

“Speak for yourself,” she said, but she was joking. When she put it like that, it was kind of funny, and I burst out laughing. She sat next to me.

I said, “And we seemed so together last year.” And it might not sound funny written down, but she laughed and I laughed and then we were both laughing really hard.

Her brother came in and said, “It’s not
funny
,” and that made us both laugh harder. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll talk to you both later.”

TUESDAY, JUNE 13
^TH

Too much homework. Rosa-Leigh told me that school finishes for the summer much earlier in Canada. She
can’t believe how many weeks we have left before the holidays.

FRIDAY, JUNE 16
^TH

Very dull week at school. Mum said we’re going to the Haywoods’ tonight to stay over. ROBIN IS COMING WITH US. She’s already told me TWICE. I wanted to ask her where Robin is going to sleep; is he going to sleep in her room there? What is going on with them? But I couldn’t look her in the eye.

SUNDAY, JUNE 18
^TH

We could tell we were early because Katherine still had an apron on when she opened the door. “Come in, come in,” she said, wiping her hands down her front. Then she gave Robin a BIG HUG. Before me or even Mum. She took both of his hands, smiled, and said, “We’re so glad to see you, Rob.”

Then Katherine hugged me. Just before she let me go, she whispered into my ear, “He’s a good person.” Then she stepped back, giving me a
significant
look. Every time I think I’m getting closer to being an adult, one of them goes and does something that makes me feel like a child. Katherine got even more annoying. She made this sound like someone had stepped on her foot, and tears spilled out
her eyes. She hugged Mum hard.

I was glad to get to Lucy’s room. She was sitting on her bed, all breathy and red-faced. “Kai and I have broken up,” she said. “I thought I didn’t love him, so I dumped him and kissed his friend.” She burst into tears. “He won’t take me back now.” She looked up at me guiltily. “God, I’m sorry to go on about me like this when you’ve been through so much.”

“It’s fine. Have you spoken to him?” I said.

“He won’t answer his phone. I haven’t even been writing my blog; I feel so miserable.” She played with her duvet and went all quiet.

The twins shrieked into the room. “You’ve got the lurgies,” Molly cried.

“Get out! This is MY ROOM!” Lucy screamed.

Mark came in and yelled at everyone. Everyone went quiet, because we were all thinking that he’d had a heart attack and he could have died. Well, that’s what I was thinking anyway. Then the twins ran out.

Lucy said, “Sorry, Dad.” And then to me, “Should we go and find the others?”

I nodded, and the both of us went into the kitchen, where Mum and Katherine were trying to teach Robin to make a roast dinner.

Mum was obviously happy—not insanely happy, but a bit happier. I know I should be pleased for her, but I just feel weird about the whole thing between her and Robin,
even though they didn’t sleep in the same room because Mum told Katherine they are just friends, for now…I overheard her.

I don’t know how I feel about any of it. Am I supposed to like him? I hardly know him. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Mum happy like this that I know I should be nice to him, but then he does something annoying, like putting his hand on Mum’s arm, which he MUST know is completely awkward for me. And how does Emily fit into the whole picture? She never met Robin and isn’t part of this new family. Are we a new family? Is Mum in love with Robin? Or are they really just friends?

I wish Emily were around to talk to because…Just because.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21
^ST

Dan texted just now. Unbelievable. He says he’s been thinking about me. He wants to meet. A tiny part of me thought about kissing him, thought about how easy it was, how it made me forget everything else. But the rest of me remembered what a jerk he’s been to Abigail. Sleeping with Megan, fooling around with me while seeing Abi. I’m never going to see him again.

I was going to reply, saying something like “Not now, not ever,” but I figured answering would only encourage
him. I deleted his text. And his number. Exactly what Emily would have done.

FRIDAY, JUNE 23
^RD

Between Art and English Abigail told me she was going to break up with Dan. “He’s not really that nice, Sophie.” She swallowed hard. “I found out he slept with Megan.” She started crying.

I said, “You okay?”

“I didn’t even like him that much. I don’t know. I can’t believe Megan.”

“It was probably just as much his fault.” I tried to defend Megan a little, not because I like her but just because I feel so guilty.

Abi wiped her eyes. “I have other stuff to deal with. I don’t think Megan was very good for me anyway. She…” She swallowed again. “She started the whole throwing-up thing.” She paused. “I’m going to see my doctor tomorrow.”

I didn’t reply, but I was glad because I realized that Abi wanting help is a big step. Abi chatting to me as we walked through the crowded hallways kind of felt like old times. And kind of not. I’m not sure we’ll ever be like we were. I don’t think I mind as much as I did, though. I hope she gets better.

I hope I do.

MONDAY, JUNE 27
^TH

After I finished my homework tonight, I was lying in my room. Mum came in with a rucksack—the rucksack Emily brought home that day last summer, the day before she died. I sat up and looked at Mum. She pulled out some brittle twigs, and it took me a moment to remember they were for Em’s family tree project.

I looked at Mum for what felt like ages but was probably only about two seconds.

She said, “There’s a memorial service. They’ve asked me to say something. I want to make this and I want you to help.” It sounded rehearsed.

I realized how hard she was trying—how hard she had tried. And I knew it was time for me to try a little harder, too. I said, with a little break in my voice, “Help how?”

“I thought we could make something together.”

I paused for a long moment.

She looked down; I could see the hope leaking out of her.

I looked at the brittle twigs she’d laid out. I said, “How do we make it?”

She caught my eye and smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe we should do it differently. We could make it represent her in some way. I don’t know how, though.”

I wanted to cry then, really badly, but I swallowed down the tears. I said, “We could make a tree with the twigs, then
color in paper leaves and write on them to say what she was like.”