Lost for Words (5 page)

She leaned back on her elbows and said, “Why?”

“I don’t even know. She’s always done it. Even when my sister was still around. I think even when my dad was alive, but I can’t really remember. She has gloves and a couple of socks, which are disgusting, and she’s really proud of her single earrings. It’s so weird—no one in the WORLD collects stuff other people have lost.”

“What happened to your dad and your sister?”

I couldn’t believe she didn’t know about Emily. My insides became a fist. “Dad died when I was little. He had cancer, but I was too small to really know him. I was only two. It was always just me and Mum. And Emily…” I had to pause before I started the next bit. I said, “My sister…” I didn’t finish.

She was quiet. I heard a rustle as she lay back completely. She said, “Look up.”

I copied her and lay down. The sky spun with my dizziness.

She said, “Can you see the stars coming out? You don’t get so many stars in London.”

I said, “I miss her all the time.”

“Are you okay?”

I stared straight up, blinking back tears. “I think so. I’m fine.”

“What else does your mum have in her collection?”

“Newspaper articles about stolen babies and about people who’ve gone missing. There’s a gold medal, and I don’t know what else. I haven’t been in there for ages.”

Rosa-Leigh said, “I wonder what my mom was like.”

“How did she die?”

“She was hit by a drunk driver. I wish that I could remember her. Joshua and Jack talk about her sometimes. That’s how I could write the poem.”

“It was really good.”

“Thanks. It makes me feel better when I write.”

I didn’t say anything. It started to drizzle. When we sat up, the rain looked liked slivers of glass in Rosa-Leigh’s hair. Eventually we were so cold, we decided to pull each other from the ground and finish the walk home.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1
^ST

Mum went out tonight to some support group thing that she suddenly announced she was joining, smiling at me like I’d be pleased. I still haven’t forgiven her for yelling at me the other day, so I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised.

After talking about her collection with Rosa-Leigh, I wanted to go and sneak a look once Mum had gone. I opened the door to her office. She used to have all her interior design work on her desk, but now her collection has taken over most of the room. I couldn’t even see the
desk for the jumble of things. I swear she didn’t have that much stuff before. The room is TOTALLY full. It’s chaos in there. Scattered everywhere are raggedy bits of clothing. A teddy bear with one eye lies on the floor, and a jar full of pennies sits on her chair. Mum is obviously losing the plot.

I can’t stop thinking about what the Haywoods said. They said we should go and stay with them. I don’t know if that would help Mum. Should I be worried about her? Maybe the Haywoods should know that her collection is getting out of control. I closed the door behind me and hurried down to the living room.

I fell asleep on the sofa while watching TV. I dreamed I was in a small dark space with a fire coming closer and closer. I couldn’t get out. I woke sweating.

Mum still wasn’t home. I clambered up the stairs to my room. My head felt like it might explode. I have to stop myself thinking about anything. If only I knew how. At least our half-term holidays start tomorrow. I couldn’t face going to school.

FRIDAY, MARCH 3
^RD

Abigail called and told me Dan called HER last night. She was so excited—just gushing. I’m too depressed to write. And JEALOUS. Why would he call her and not me? Although he told her he wasn’t coming to her party so maybe that’s a good thing, right?

I’m just about to go to Abi’s house for her birthday thing. I’m staying the night. I’m going to have to listen to her going on and on about him all evening.

Abi gave me a huge hug when I arrived and pulled me upstairs to her room. She whispered that her mum had been drinking. “Even though she promised she’d go out, she’s in bed sleeping.”

“Are you okay?”

She pulled a face and said, “I’m fine. What are you going to wear tonight? Do you want to borrow my black jeans?”

I fingered through her clothes and listened to her chatter. I tried on her jeans and decided I didn’t like how they looked, so I took them off and put my own jeans back on. She smoked and the air in her room grew thicker. She kept saying how skinny I was and how great I looked. In the end I just gave her a look to tell her to stop.

She said, “What?” but she stopped. She put on loads more makeup than she usually does. Zara came in. I was surprised because it was still early and Zara is always late. She wore a black hat and a fantastic purple dress that would make anyone else look overdressed. I wish I could wear hats and look cool but I can’t.

So, Zara came in and said, “I had to come early because I had to get out of my house. My mum is crazy.”

I wanted to say that if she thought her mum was crazy, she should try mine, but I didn’t say anything.

She took a cigarette from Abi’s pack, lit it (apparently she smokes now), and continued, “My mum caught me and Alec”—they’re back together; she’s forgiven him—“in bed
together.” She blew a smoke ring. “She’s furious.”

I was glad I hadn’t said anything, because Zara obviously meant crazy angry, not crazy
crazy
like an insane person. Then she went on for ages about stuff she’d done with Alec. I both wanted her to shut up and to tell us more. Everyone has done it EXCEPT ME—even Abigail, but she used to say she regretted it. Now she acts like she knows EVERYTHING. She shared all these knowing looks with Zara.

Zara said, “Where’s Megan?”

I shrugged.

Abi said, “She’ll be here.” She smiled at Zara. Because I felt so excluded, I ignored them. Then Abi got it into her head that we had to make cupcakes for the party. Zara and I were like, “We’re not five years old,” but Abigail insisted. Then Zara decided it was a good idea (which surprised me because usually she’s so cool and aloof), so we went downstairs and whipped up this mix and made cakes and put them in the oven. It was kind of fun, but by the time we had to ice them, we’d had a couple of drinks. I ended up icing all the cupcakes by myself, because Zara and Abigail went outside to smoke pot. I felt kind of tipsy and didn’t want to get stoned, too. I poured myself another vodka. Then Megan came in from the back. I didn’t know she’d arrived. She said, “You’ve been making cupcakes.”

I nodded.

She said, “God, I wish I could have one.”

I said, “Have one. I don’t know if the icing has set yet, though.”

Megan shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. “I don’t think so.”

I finished covering the cakes with this neon yellow icing, and I scattered sparkly sugary things over them. People started showing up, but no one ate any of the cakes, so it had all been a waste of time. I got into a conversation with Zara, which never happens, and she talked about boys—surprise, surprise—and was midway through telling me a story about Alec when her phone interrupted.

I went outside. There were some guys there, and I stood around watching them smoke a joint but refused it when they passed it to me because I was still feeling a bit drunk. I wished for a moment that Dan were there. I remembered his blue eyes and his smile. I went back inside because it was freezing outside and saw there were some more boys smoking pot inside.

I went to let Abigail know. Her mum is pretty laid-back—or just doesn’t care—but she won’t let anyone smoke pot
inside
her house. Just as I found Abigail, her mum appeared at the top of the stairs all bleary-eyed and wobbly. She used to be a ballerina, and she’s very elegant and thin. She normally wears her black hair in a bun, but because she’d been sleeping, it was loose and frizzy, sticking up on one side. Her red lipstick was smeared. She started yelling, “Get everyone out! I can smell marijuana. Abigail, get them
out
.” It would have been
funny if it was on TV, but it was really happening. Everyone stared.

Abigail yelled at her mum, “How could you do this to me on my birthday?” and she was crying.

“This isn’t a drug den, it’s my home!” Abi’s mum screamed. The muscles in her skinny throat tensed and her collarbone was sharp and angry.

Then they were both yelling. People emptied out of the house like rats leaving a sinking ship. There was no one left, not Zara, not even Megan. I stood there unsure what to do with myself. Abi turned to me and said, “Please go. I don’t want you here. This is so embarrassing.”

I felt tears springing to my eyes, and I turned away before she could see. I got my coat, but then she grabbed me and said, “I’m sorry. Please stay. I need your help.” She gestured at her mum, who was now sitting slumped on the bottom step. We got her up to bed, which was like leading a staggering foal, all long limbs and falling over.

When we finally got to bed, I wanted to talk to Abi, but she went straight to sleep. I lay there for a long time, unable to drift off.

SUNDAY, MARCH 5
^TH

DAN EMAILED ME!!! I thought, since he hadn’t called back, I wouldn’t ever hear from him again. Maybe he sensed I was thinking about him!

It says:

I like it because he hasn’t cut any of the words short like people do in emails, as if they’re not really words. (Why do I care about stuff like that? What’s wrong with me?) His email makes me want to know so many things. Like, how did he get my email address? Did he just email me or did he email everyone else? No, definitely just me: he says it would have been good to see me! He wouldn’t have written that to everyone. Abi would know, but I feel weird asking her right now. Yesterday morning she was distant. She didn’t eat breakfast, although I made us both eggs on toast. She said she was too hungover and depressed. I wanted to tell her she had nothing to be depressed about: at least she still has her sister around.

I wish I hadn’t just written that.

TUESDAY, MARCH 7
^TH

Lynda asked me what I’d written about Emily recently. I didn’t answer. She told me I had to take the diary seriously to stop me blocking out what had happened. I felt heavy, and I couldn’t look at her. I said, “I’m not blocking anything out.” The sentence emerged like I was in a room filled with thick smoke, each word hurting my lungs.

THURSDAY, MARCH 9
^TH

Half-term over and back to school today. Yuck.

I went to sit on the roof after I’d done my homework tonight. Normally you can’t see many stars from up there, but tonight the sky was full of them, like little needle marks in a swathe of black fabric. It made me remember something that happened with Emily years ago, and I was glad I’d brought my notebook up with me so I could write and write.

I remember the sky was punctuated with stars that night, too. We were out somewhere, we’d gone to watch fireworks, and Emily had just said she was hungry. Mum said to her that we should all get baked potatoes. Emily must have been thirteen. She seemed to have forgotten her hunger and was making eyes at a boy. Mum, oblivious to Emily primping her lips, pulled us toward the food stand.

A man was hunched over, busy opening hot potatoes wrapped in silver foil. Someone shouted through a loudspeaker that the Catherine wheel was about to start. The man asked if we wanted something, impatiently tapping his fingers. He clearly thought we’d want to watch, but all three of us thought Catherine wheels were
boring
, the way they stay fixed to a fence or tree and just spin around and around shooting out sprays of sparks. Most of the time they don’t even work! Even Mum thought they were boring, although she always said, “Only boring people get bored.”
We paid, and the man turned his attention to the thronging crowds, reaching up on his tiptoes to see the Catherine wheel (probably) sputter and die.

I took my potato, filled it with butter and cheese, and mashed the insides with a plastic fork. Emily got hers and did the same thing; so did Mum. Sometimes we were so alike. The air was cold, and the potato warmed my palms. I breathed the smoky smell of bonfires and rotting leaves.

The loudspeaker announced that the fireworks were about to start. The three of us rushed over toward the front row of the firework display, dodging between groups of teenagers and families bigger than ours. I put a forkful of hot potato to my mouth, but before I got any, someone knocked my elbow. My potato fell to the ground. I hadn’t eaten a bite. I looked at it lying there, muddied. I chucked away my fork in frustration.

We didn’t have time to get back to the man selling food before the fireworks started. We got to the front row. As the first firework exploded in the sky with a bang, tears welled in my eyes. I wanted that potato so badly. Emily looked at me; I felt her gaze. The last thing I needed was some smart comment from her. Without a word she gave me her potato.

I took it, feeling the warmth through my fingers. She passed me her fork. I didn’t look at her. I ate the whole thing, never saying thank you.

I should tell Lynda I don’t need help and stop going to our appointments. She said writing it down would help. I feel worse right now. Worse than ever.

FRIDAY, MARCH 10
^TH

This evening I saw Mum go into Emily’s room and close the door. I felt as lonely as an empty plastic bag. It took me ages to get my breathing under control.

SATURDAY, MARCH 11
^TH

I went to Rosa-Leigh’s house. When we arrived her stepmum gave us a cup of tea, and we chatted with her for a few minutes. Andrew was at a playdate, so she wasn’t running around after him. She said, “I remember when I was your age and the whole world felt like it was opening up to me. It was—” Her phone rang, so she didn’t finish the sentence.

If there had been time, I’d have told her the world wasn’t opening up, rather closing like a flower when the sun goes down. I’d have said the world sometimes feels completely closed, like Emily’s bedroom door.

Rosa-Leigh elbowed me in the ribs and said, “Cheer up.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Come and help me finish unpacking.”

“You haven’t unpacked yet? It’s been months!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

We ran up to her room in the attic. It’s like a tree house up there, perched at the edge of the last step. Rosa-Leigh has painted it cream. Since I was last there, when we watched
Familia
together, she’s painted a mural on one of the walls. It’s a street scene with people and animals walking along.

“You really painted this?”

She nodded.

“My sister would have loved it.”

She was quiet. Then she said, “I’m glad. Now, help me with all these boxes.”

MONDAY, MARCH 13
^TH

Rosa-Leigh gave me a magazine called
The New Yorker
, which is American (obviously). She wanted me to read the poems. There were two. I’ve never seen a magazine with poems like this. One of them is all about a train stopped at a station. The poem describes seeing into someone’s open front door from the train window. It’s also about cornflowers, which are blue. The whole poem makes me feel like I can see blue cornflowers inside a woman’s front door. And like I’m waiting for something.

After I read it, I wanted to write a poem myself.

I know it doesn’t make sense, because in an empty ocean there can’t be any fish, but I like how it sounds—all deep and cold. I don’t really think it’s finished. Maybe the last line would be better if it said, “Small silver fish
can’t
swim.”

When I write a poem, I feel good for the whole time it takes. The rest of the time, I don’t know what I feel. I don’t want to feel anything at all, really.

Mum just pushed open the door and asked if we could talk. I was surprised, but so awkward with her, I didn’t know what to say. “What?”

She said, “Are you all right, Sophie?”

“Why?” I said. If I even feel normal for a minute, she wants to ruin it. Anxiety bubbled up in my stomach like acid, so I had to take a slow breath.

She said, “You can talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. Not to you. Not to anyone. I’m fine. I’ve got loads of homework, so…”

She sighed heavily, and after a long UNCOMFORTABLE pause she left. I lay on the bed for ages trying not to think about anything. I fell asleep in my school uniform. I peeled my clothes off in the middle of the night because I was in a cold sweat. Maybe I’ve got a virus.

THURSDAY, MARCH 16
^TH

School boring. Mum’s giving me a lift over to Abigail’s for dinner. I wouldn’t have accepted the lift from her because things are so strained right now, but I didn’t see any other way of getting there. At least Abi’s older brother is home for a couple of weeks, back from traveling in Peru or Ecuador or somewhere. He’s always got an interesting story, and even though Abi’s sister is away at university, it’ll be good to hang out at their family dinner. Hopefully her mum doesn’t drink too much.