Lost for Words (6 page)

Dinner was a disaster. When I arrived, Abi’s mum was knocking back vodkas, already totally hammered, struggling to focus but still managing to make really dirty jokes that weren’t funny. I was amazed there was food on the table, but she seemed to have managed the cooking all right. I wondered for a moment how Abi felt with her mum in such a state. She must be embarrassed. Then Abi told me
her brother wasn’t EVEN THERE. After we’d eaten, Abi and I went upstairs to her room.

She stood in front of her shelves and pulled out the white shirt I like. She said, “You can have it.”

“Thanks.”

“It wouldn’t fit me now anyway.” She put her hands on her hips and sighed.

“What do you mean? You’re thinner than you’ve been for years. It’ll totally fit. It’ll look good.”

“God, Sophie, you’re so—”

“So what? I’m so what?”

“Just, you know.”

“I told you the shirt would look good on you.”

“You don’t understand what’s going on. You never do.”

I said, “Give me a break, Abigail,” which I think is what Rosa-Leigh would have said.

“I’m always giving you a break nowadays.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Just take the shirt and forget I said anything,” she said.

I threw it on the floor. “I don’t even want your stupid top.”

“Get over yourself, Sophie.”

“You have no idea what it’s been like,” I mumbled.

She hissed, “How am I supposed to have any idea what it’s been like? You won’t even talk about it. What do you
want me to do? It’s sad and horrible and awful, and I don’t know what else to say. And you won’t help me out.”

“Help
you
out? What do you mean help
you
out? How can you be such a bitch? I’ve always been the one who helped you out. I’ve always supported you and been there for you, and you just can’t do it for me.”

“Is that what I am? A bitch? And what about you? When have you got time for anyone else? You don’t even know what’s going on.” She started crying. Mascara ran under her eyes like smears of black ash.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me. I can’t believe you’d be so selfish!” I cried. “You have no idea what it’s like. ALL THE TIME.”

“I can’t handle it anymore.”

“Can’t handle what?”

“You!” she yelled.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not doing anything,” she said.

“You’re screaming at me. TYPICAL. Abi, you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you’re so selfish. You’ve always been like this. You’re always the one we have to worry about and talk about, and now that all this has happened to me, you can’t handle it because you’re so SELF-INVOLVED. Nothing bad has EVER happened to you. You don’t have ANYTHING wrong in your life, and you can’t handle that I might need a bit of support.”

“Bad things are happening in my life, not that you’d
notice. And how am I supposed to support you when you won’t let me? You won’t even TALK about it!” she screamed.

“I don’t WANT to talk about it. I don’t even want to THINK about it.” I was crying now, and I grabbed my bag and ran downstairs.

Abi’s mum was hovering in the hallway. She said, completely slurring her words, “What’s going on?” She wiped her black hair from her face and smiled sympathetically at me.

“I’m going home. I’m sorry.” I was really crying.

She called upstairs, “What have you done, Abigail?”

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Bykov,” I said. “I just want to go home.” I opened the front door and ran outside. It was dark and cold. I ran to the train station at the end of Abi’s road. I got to the ticket kiosk, and I started shaking. My body trembled all the way through. The man behind the ticket window said, “Where are you going?” The fluorescent lights made everything a terrible grey, the grey of a morgue.

I heard a train rumble onto the platform. From where I was standing, I could see it pulling in. Nausea rose at the back of my throat. I looked back at the man. I couldn’t breathe.

He said, “Are you all right?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, trying not to drop it, my hands were shaking
that much. I said, “Have you got a number for a cab?”

“I’ll call you one,” he said.

I felt momentarily grateful, and then so shaky and sick I could hardly think. The whole cab ride was a blur. When I got home, I called out a quick hi to Mum and went straight to my room. My mouth was so dry that I thought drinking water would help, but I only felt sicker. I thought I was dying. I wanted to scream to Mum that I was having a heart attack, that something terrible was happening to me, but I was too frightened to call out. My heart was hammering like a woodpecker in my chest, in my neck, in my throat, and it was the loudest thing in the world. Even with my fingers in my ears, I couldn’t block out the sound. I moaned a little and curled up on the bed.

Hours later—or was it minutes? I have no idea—my breathing slowed down, and the crazy thoughts stopped whirling through my mind. I don’t know what had even happened to me. Am I going mad?

FRIDAY, MARCH 17
^TH

Dan CALLED this morning, but I missed his call, and I’m too shy to call back—what would I even say? I got to school, and Abigail wasn’t speaking to me but I don’t even CARE. At least my heart is beating normally now.

SATURDAY, MARCH 18
^TH

I slept badly last night. I was having the worst dreams. I
dreamed I was giving birth to these horrible creatures all made of fire, and they screamed as they were born. I woke up, and I was having my period. I hate periods. They just seem the most stupid, pointless thing for someone who’s sixteen. I don’t want to get pregnant (not that there’s any chance of that, even if I did want to). No sixteen-year-old in the universe wants to get pregnant, so WHY do we have periods? Some girls start when they’re ten. Why does a ten-year-old need to have a period? Mine is so irregular I can never predict it, which is a nightmare.

I had bad cramps, and I lay there with a hot water bottle, watching TV. My weekends used to be so full and busy. I’d go to trampoline class first thing on a Saturday, then judo, then drama on Saturday evenings. After, I’d go to Abigail’s or she’d come to mine. Then Sundays we’d wake up together and make breakfast, and we’d hang out or go shopping or something, and then we’d do homework until it was time to go home. But Abigail didn’t call today and I’m not going to call her.

I watched an episode of a soap I’ve never seen before. I cried when someone called Ness broke up with this cute guy Martin because she had cancer and was dying. Then I switched channels and watched a DISGUSTING documentary about female bodybuilders.

After the bodybuilding thing the news was on, and there was another suicide bomber in Afghanistan. Twenty-five people murdered. Just like that. Because that’s how it
goes: people die and there’s nothing that can be done. The edges of the world seemed suddenly darker. My heart slammed against my ribs. How can the world be like this? Why do people do such terrible things? It doesn’t make any sense. I couldn’t breathe. I threw up. Even that didn’t make me feel any better.

We’re going to the Haywoods’ for the rest of the weekend. Katherine must have taken pity on us because, when she called just now, I answered the phone and I was really bored and down and Mum probably sounded no better. She invited us straightaway.

SUNDAY, MARCH 19
^TH

We’re just back from the Haywoods’. I spent most of the time spinning like a third wheel with Lucy and Kai. Seeing them together made me think about Dan, which is completely stupid. I wish I had someone, though. I wish it were Dan. I haven’t heard from him since I missed his call. I wonder if I should call him back.

This weekend I found out Lucy has a blog. It’s strange that she tells the whole world everything that happens to her while she can’t seem to find the words to tell me anything. I can’t imagine writing a blog and putting all my secret thoughts out there for everyone to read. I did create my own blog once but I couldn’t write a word. It was like
someone was holding my hands behind my back; the idea of all those people out there being able to read it just killed me. Loads of people do it. I know annoying Megan does, but hers is
so
ridiculous that it makes me want to pass out. She has stupid pretend names for everyone, and it’s all this stuff about her boring life. She once wrote something about Abigail (using the name Annabel), and Abigail went mad.

It’s weird not being friends with Abigail.

Lucy’s blog is better than Megan’s. She won an award for it, and loads of people read it. I’ll try and remember to take a look.

Mum spent lots of time with Katherine. They went to a Pilates class, followed by lunch. Mum even smiled once. No one said anything about us moving in with them. I don’t know if I was happy about that.

TUESDAY, MARCH 21
^ST

I climbed out on the roof tonight. It was chilly and lonely, but I settled myself down and started writing.

I remember Emily holding my hand one time, maybe two and a half years ago. We were on a family holiday in Greece, and Mum was off looking at some old ruin. Emily and I were sitting close together in a café on the beach. She talked about a cute boy walking past. She’d taken my hand without thinking, it seemed. She let go when the food arrived. We ate a Greek salad—Greek salads smell of Greece
to me: all fruity tomatoes and sharp feta and the warm smell of fresh basil; she had the olives because I hate them—and saganaki, a fried cheese that we both adored.

Later we sat on the beach for the final moments of the day. We both loved sunsets. The sun melted into the sea. The light bounced off the water, making the surface of the ocean look like the scales of a fish. I wondered aloud what it would be like to be a mermaid. Emily laughed at me but not unkindly. I moved closer to her on the sand. I reached for her hand, but she brushed me off. The next day we left for home.

THURSDAY, MARCH 23
^RD

ABIGAIL IS STILL NOT SPEAKING TO ME. I tried to make up with her today by writing her a letter to say I was sorry about the stupid fight. She spread it out on the table and read it OUT LOUD to Megan and Zara. Rosa-Leigh came in, saw what was happening, and steered me out of the lunchroom. I’m so ridiculous, I started crying. I kept apologizing to Rosa-Leigh for being so upset, but she said I shouldn’t apologize for being sad.

The afternoon went by really slowly. I wish more than anything I hadn’t taken Art. I hate it. I wish I could have done Creative Writing instead. On the bus I showed Rosa-Leigh the poem I wrote a while ago about silver fish. She smiled, in a good way. She showed me some poems
she’s been working on, and we talked about them. She sent me some music this evening: it’s a Canadian band she likes a lot. The singer is a woman, and she has this weird, cool voice.

SATURDAY, MARCH 25
^TH

Just as I’d given up hope, Dan emailed and this is what it says:

I’ve read it a million times. Now I have to work out what to wear. I really hope Abigail’s NOT THERE. I called Rosa-Leigh to see if she wanted to come with me. Her dad’s giving us a ride. I pressed the phone against my ear, suddenly wanting to cry, even though I had nothing to be sad about.

Rosa-Leigh wore a black short dress over jeans. Her hair was loose, and she looked amazing. I wore a silky blue top and jeans, and Rosa-Leigh said I looked awesome, too. She gave me these earrings made of jade to borrow, just little and green, but they went really well with my eyes.

Her dad dropped us off at Dan’s. Through the curtains, we could see the silhouettes of people packed in the front room. I knocked on the door and someone yanked it open.
It was one of those houses where the front door leads right into the living room. All the excitement I’d felt on the way over just disappeared. I was like a balloon with all the air coming out, except I didn’t make that noise. Because Abigail was at Dan’s. Along with Megan and Zara.

Abi saw me with Rosa-Leigh and gave this laugh and then leaned in to talk to the other girls. They all huddled together so I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Dan sauntered into the room. He came over and hugged me. My stomach danced and tingled. (Also, I was pleased because Abigail was watching and so were all the others.) He lightly kissed my cheek, and I could smell beer really strongly. He pulled back and tried to look at me. His eyes were red and fuzzy from drinking, but he was still really cute.

He said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

I nodded, my heart skipping, and introduced him to Rosa-Leigh. Rosa-Leigh said a quick hello then led me through into the kitchen. It smelled of sticky punch and of sweat. She leaned against a laminate counter filled with bottles, and pulled a
he’s-the-guy?
face.

“What?”

“He’s drunk. Really drunk.”

“I like him.” I realized as I said it that I
really
like him.

Abigail came into the kitchen and saw us. She went straight back out and then came in again with Dan, her arm through his. She flicked her frizzy hair, pouting up at him, and COMPLETELY IGNORED ME. While she
started pouring drinks for the two of them, he stumbled over. “How’ve you been?” he asked.

“Um, okay,” I said. I’m so pathetic.

He smiled and my silly heart flopped about like a fish out of water. He tried to say something, but he got lost in his words because he was a bit too drunk. And then, I SWEAR, Abigail squeezed between us even though he was trying to talk to me, pushed herself up against him and started kissing him RIGHT THERE.

Dan raised his eyebrows like he was shocked, but it didn’t stop him kissing her back. A jealous ache went right through me; I wanted so badly for him to kiss me like that. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I wanted to burst into tears, or pull her off, or say something, but I didn’t do anything. Rosa-Leigh had her hand pressed against her mouth and I could tell she was going to die from horror if we didn’t get out of there. She seemed to realize that kiss was like a knife in my back, so she pulled me into the living room.

I said, “I can’t believe Abi just did that.”

She said, “I can’t believe Dan did. Let’s get out of here.”

We were going to leave, but Zara called me over and said she thought my top was adorable, trying to be nice, I guess. Then Abi came in smirking and pulled Zara off to one side. By then there were loads of people in the house.

Rosa-Leigh came over and whispered in my ear, “I’ve got a better idea. Really, let’s go.”

Out in the cool night the sky was crisp. We could see our warm breath, cloudy in the orange glow of the streetlights. I could hear the hum of traffic, the wailing of a faraway police car.

“What’s your idea? Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“We’ll catch the tube to Camden. I know this place.”

My heart stopped. I didn’t say anything.

“What?” she said.

“I can’t get on a train, Rosa-Leigh.”

She looked at me, and even though it was dark, I could see this light in her eyes. She
knew
. Someone must have told her. She said, “Sure you can,” kind of slow.

I took a deep breath. I said, “I can’t.”

She waited.

“I just can’t.”

Rosa-Leigh said, “Let’s do something else instead.”

“I want to go home.” I sounded like a whiny child, but I knew if I waited in the road another minute, I’d throw up. Suddenly my heart was beating madly and the cold was freezing the edges of my brain. I started hyperventilating.

She said, “Take a deep breath. You’re all right. Just breathe.” I could hear she was scared: her voice was higher than usual, tight. I sat on the curb and tears streamed down my face.

I said, “I’m dying,” but it came out like a whisper.

She sat on the ground next to me and gave me a hug. And then she waited until I said I felt better. We got a cab to her house, where I stayed over.

SUNDAY, MARCH 26
^TH

When I got back from Rosa-Leigh’s this morning, I clambered onto the roof. It was sunny and quite warm, so I curled up with a cup of tea and Fluffy, who deigned to sit next to me.

I remembered Mum, Emily, and me shopping together once in Soho. I must have been eight or nine. Mum walked ahead in shopping mode. Emily and I trailed behind, annoyed at having to keep up. The street was pretty, old buildings crowding along it like gossiping women and little boutique shops peeping out. I pointed out a shop to Emily. In the window was a beautiful golden globe. We looked at it for a moment, and then, without telling Mum, we went inside.

An old woman was sitting on a chair in the back of the room, her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap. Emily said something to her, but the woman didn’t answer. We took another step closer, and I knew, I just knew, something wasn’t right. The woman’s head was lowered and she was sitting very still.

I said Emily’s name, but she didn’t hear me or she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, because she walked right up to
the woman and put her hand on her shoulder. She pulled her hand away fast.

I looked at the old woman peacefully sitting there.

Emily whispered, “She’s dead.”

And then the old woman jerked her head up and her eyes sprang open. The pair of us screamed. We fled the shop and thundered down the street. Soon we were in narrow lanes that we didn’t recognize. I started crying. I looked around and Emily wasn’t there. I screamed, “Emily! Emily!”

Emily ran up to me and seized my hand. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going anywhere. I was just behind you.”

“I didn’t know where you were.” I sobbed.

“It’s okay.”

“Was that woman dead? How did she come back to life?”

She had her arms around me. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.” She sounded like Mum.

“Where are we?” I said.

“It’ll be all right. Don’t worry, Sophie.”

“But where are we?”

Emily shushed me and put her arm tighter around my shoulders. She sat me on a bench. She said, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to leave you. Mum will find us.”

Mum came around the corner then, frantic. She grabbed hold of me and then of Emily. I’d forgotten that: she grabbed hold of me first.

“I’ve been out of my mind,” she said.

“We got lost,” Emily replied. “We thought this woman was dead. She can’t have been, though.” Looking back, I realize that the woman must have just been sleeping. The dead don’t come back to life.

Mum squirreled her eyebrows together. “What woman? What are you talking about?”

I tried to say something, but I had a sudden urge to giggle. Now Mum was over being relieved, she started telling us off. I squeezed my sister’s hand. Even as Mum was yelling, Emily whispered to me, “Told you it’d be all right.”

But it’s not all right. Not at all.