Lost for Words (9 page)

I woke in the middle of the night and I could hear Emily. I could HEAR her. It was as if she were sitting on my bed whispering in my ear. And she said, “Why did this happen? It’s not fair.” And she said it over and over until I put my hands over my ears and couldn’t hear her anymore. Oh God, I feel like I’m falling from a great height and no one can catch me.

THURSDAY, APRIL 13
^TH

Rosa-Leigh called just now and was asking how I was. I didn’t really want to talk to her, but she said straightaway, “I know you’re mad about what I said about your mum’s friend.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“I just can’t think about her now.”

“That’s fine, then. And I know you’re mad about Abigail’s thing. I only said I’d go because I thought you’d go with me.”

“She hasn’t even asked me.”

“So what? It’ll be fun.”

I pulled a face and then happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, sitting on my bed feeling sorry for myself. I started to giggle. Rosa-Leigh started giggling down the phone line, too. She said, “I’ll pick you up on the way there.”

“You could come over first,” I said. “We can catch the bus.”

“I thought you were never going to ask me over.”

“My house is not the most pleasant…”

There was a moment’s silence and then Rosa-Leigh said, “My brother thinks you’re cute.”

“Which brother?” I blushed.

“Joshua. But you cannot date my brother.”

“He really thinks I’m cute?”

“You cannot date my brother.” She was laughing.

I said, “What time are you coming over?”

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

I somehow have to make my house a better place to be by then. Perhaps I can pretend Mum’s not even in, so Rosa-Leigh doesn’t have to meet her properly. Things are so tense and unpredictable between me and Mum, and I know a lot of it might be my fault, but I just can’t handle being around her right now.

FRIDAY, APRIL 14
^TH

Rosa-Leigh arrived and we stayed in my room. I didn’t go and tell Mum she was here or introduce them, even though I knew I probably should. Rosa-Leigh and I were sitting on my bed and talking and laughing when there was a knock at my door and it swung open. Mum stood there looking as full of hope as a child at Christmas. She
stared at Rosa-Leigh sitting on the bed.

She said, “You girls sound like you’re having fun.” She looked over at me, and she was so pleased, it was pathetic.

Rosa-Leigh got up and said, “I’m Rosa-Leigh. We met at my house the other week. Nice to see you again.”

“Hello,” Mum said. “Good to meet you…. Would you girls like something to eat?”

“We’re all right, Mum,” I said. I wanted her to go away and stop being so embarrassing.

“No. Let me make you something.”

“We’re fine. We’re going to Abigail’s.”

“How’s Abigail?” she said, and she smiled this fond smile. I thought she was going to come and sit down on the bed. I stood up and said, “We’ve got to get ready.”

She said, “Let me give you a lift there.”

I paused.

Rosa-Leigh said, “That would be great, thanks.”

“We need to get ready now,” I said.

Then Mum looked at me and, like a slow moon rising, comprehension shone from her face: she knew I didn’t want her there. She said she’d be ready when we were and left.

I felt bad. I took a slow breath. I said, “Sorry about her.”

Rosa-Leigh shrugged and said, “She’s really nice. You should—” She stopped herself from saying anything else, and I was grateful.

Mum drove us to Abigail’s. When Abigail opened the door, she looked terrible, really thin and pale. I said, “Hi.” I wanted to ask her why she hadn’t asked me to the party herself now we were supposed to be friends again, but I just smiled like nothing was wrong.

She looked as if she momentarily didn’t recognize me, then with a big smile said, “Hi” back.

I was suddenly glad I’d come. I needed to talk to Abigail. I needed to make up with her properly. She is my best friend and I miss her. We used to have such a great time together, her coming up with wild ideas and me listening and laughing along. I thought for a moment she might hug me, but someone jostled past. Dan appeared and put his arms around her waist. I wondered what it would be like to have him enveloping me like that. I looked at Abigail’s face, expecting to see her smiling. Her jaw was clenched. Even though she seemed uncomfortable with Dan, I was jealous. I wanted to be held like that.

I felt suddenly like there was a hedge between Abi and me. Not a wall—that would be too solid—but a hedge with thick, leafy branches. I could still see my best friend through the gaps between the leaves but I couldn’t touch her.

Dan smiled at me then, and my body gave a little jolt, which I wished it hadn’t, and I blushed. He’s so sexy and his eyes are stunning. God, I really like him.

We went inside and got drinks. It was weird because
there were loads of people there I didn’t know, whereas once Abi and I together would have phoned everyone to invite them. Who were all these people?

Megan was talking really loudly in the middle of the room and she was obviously already drunk. I talked to Zara for a bit, even though I remembered that during that stupid game she wrote I’m clingy. I tried to be cool and not clingy—even though I’m not clingy at all. Then I started wondering if it even had been Zara who wrote that. Fortunately her phone rang so I didn’t have to think about it anymore.

I wandered over and sat and talked for a bit with this boy sitting next to me who was not cute AT ALL. I felt a bit sorry for him.

It was late by then. Everything was dark, and the house was full of people. For a moment I pictured more and more people pouring into the room, looming and fading in a crazy crush of bodies. It would be so easy to be trampled to death in a dark, crowded room. I imagined lying on the floor, blood pouring out of me, my limbs at strange angles, my lungs struggling to get air in after someone had accidentally stamped on me. I took a deep breath, made my mind change the subject. I wondered where Abigail’s mum was. I’d never really seen the house like this; it felt like a house of strangers, not a house I’d spent so much time in, not a house I knew so well I could walk around it with my eyes closed.

I wanted to go to the bathroom, but the downstairs one was being used. I slipped upstairs, although Abigail had been putting all the coats on the steps to try to stop people going up there. The upstairs corridor was dark. I tiptoed along, remembering how even last year this house felt like my own home. Then, out of the dark, someone put his hand on my wrist.

I jumped.

A voice said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Dan?” I spluttered. “What are you doing up here?”

“I just wanted to get away.” He was standing in the doorway to Abi’s room. His fingers were a bracelet around my wrist.

“Where’s Abigail?”

He shrugged. “Come and talk to me a moment.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No, I mean it, Sophie. I want to get to know you better.”

“You and Abigail,” I said, feeling nothing but the warmth of his hand.

“She’s not up here, is she?” he said.

“I’m going back downstairs.” I was saying it, but my stomach was fluttering with pleasure.

He bent closer, and a little light played on his face so I could see his eyes. I could smell his aftershave. “Don’t be like that,” he said.

“I should go.”

“Don’t go.” He held my wrist tighter: a manacle.

“Dan,” I said, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.

He kissed me then, and I was so surprised—No, I’m lying. I knew he was about to kiss me. I wasn’t surprised at all. And my mouth opened. I thought how easy it was for everything to change. How easy it was for me to change. Then I pushed against him. He slid his hand up into my hair. My skin tingled. I didn’t want him to stop. I managed to pull away.

I said, “I can’t do this to Abigail.” I looked at him. My body shuddered. “I’m going now,” I said.

“Stay.” He leaned forward.

“I can’t do this to her.”

He lowered his head and kissed me again. His mouth was warm and his lips soft. I couldn’t stop myself kissing him back. He ran his hand along my spine, lower. I tangled my hands in his hair and pressed against him. And then, just as he started to slip a hand under my top, I thought of Abigail, the shock on her face if she knew. I stepped back, my hands on his chest to steady myself. I didn’t let myself look at him.

He said, “Sophie,” but I turned from him and ran downstairs, nearly falling on the way down.

I sat next to Rosa-Leigh, who gave me a beer. She was talking with these two guys. And it was as if nothing had happened. Except my face was hot and I kept looking up to see if Dan was coming into the room. I thought about him upstairs in the dark.

I’m ashamed to say, after about five minutes, I figured he must still be waiting and I decided to go back to him, but just as I got up, Rosa-Leigh said we should go home. It felt like a sign or something, so I followed her out of the house, looking around one last time for Dan. I didn’t say much to her in the cab so she asked if I was okay.

“I’m just tired,” I said.

“I’m really sorry about what I said about your mum and her friend—it has nothing to do with me.”

“I wasn’t even thinking about it.” And it was true; I wasn’t thinking about Mum or Emily or anything. Then suddenly I wished Emily were in the car with me, that she were the one asking me if I was okay. I’d tell her all about Dan. She’d tell me what to do. I had to look away from Rosa-Leigh so she didn’t see the tears fill my eyes. I swallowed them back.

My head is STILL SPINNING. I can’t believe I kissed the guy my best friend’s with, even if she isn’t really my best friend anymore. But kissing him made me feel so good. It made me think about him and how he tasted and how he touched me, and for a moment I really did forget everything else. The worst of it is I want to kiss him again.

SATURDAY, APRIL 15
^TH

Mum was out. Katherine called. Mark’s definitely much better from his heart attack, although he’s a bit quiet. I could hardly concentrate on anything she said; twice she asked if I was all right. All I could think about was Dan, and his intense blue eyes. I pretty much thought about Dan all day. Rosa-Leigh emailed me a poem by E. E. Cummings, who doesn’t like capital letters and punctuation. I’m not sure about someone who doesn’t use capital letters. I don’t
know; I’m weird like that: I like sentences to look neat. I’d never tell anyone that at school, not in a million years, but it’s true. Anyway, I read the poem, and I
swear
it’s about me and Dan. Here’s the end of the poem.

I had to read it more than once. It’s true about hugeness shutting quietly. Kissing Dan was the only time I haven’t thought about Emily in forever. And I know I should feel bad about that but I don’t.

SUNDAY, APRIL 16
^TH

I got up for breakfast, and Mum had put all these chocolate eggs out on the table. She’d made scrambled eggs and bacon. She smiled at me. I hardly looked at her. I made myself a cup of tea.

When I sat, she said, “Happy Easter.”

I didn’t reply.

She said, “We need to talk, Sophie.”

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t talk to her. Rage filled me up like I was a hot-air balloon about to burst. What’s wrong
with me? Why can’t I sit and have a nice breakfast with Mum? I got up and walked out. I didn’t want her to see me start crying. She called after me, but I slammed the door to my room and sat against it so she couldn’t get in. She tried to shove it open, and she banged on the wood a couple of times. Then she said, “I love you. You know that, right?”

I didn’t answer.

She said, “What should I do?”

But I’m not supposed to know the answer to that question. She is. But she doesn’t because she still hasn’t gone back to work or got her life together or anything. I reached for my iPod and jammed the headphones in my ears, turning the volume up high.

TUESDAY, APRIL 18
^TH

Dan hasn’t called. And I forgot to see Lynda today. I only remembered when Rosa-Leigh and I were on our way to go shopping and I got this feeling like I’d left something behind. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what I’d forgotten, and then I just had this sinking feeling like a ship was foundering in my stomach. Rosa-Leigh asked if I was okay. I didn’t tell her where I was supposed to be; I just changed the subject, which was hard because my mind was full of Dan and now full of Lynda. Lynda would have wondered where I was. Not that we ever have anything to talk about. I haven’t told her anything, really, nothing about
the panic attacks, nothing about the past, but we keep up the charade.

I’d like to hear from DAN. I don’t know if I should email him or call his mobile or wait for him to call me or what. Maybe kissing didn’t even mean anything to him, but the way he’d looked at me, I SWEAR I COULD SEE INSIDE HIM. I swear with that look he was saying to me that he’d made a mistake with Abigail and that he wanted to be with me. And being with him would be so great. He’s so cute and kind and such a good kisser. I can’t believe how much I like him. I wish he’d call.

Mum was humming today. I heard her in the corridor. I stuck my head out of my room. She stopped and looked guilty, but then she smiled, all tired and weary looking, and started humming again. I smiled back. Just quickly.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19
^TH

Mum just came into my room. Apparently, Lynda called about me forgetting our appointment and I have to go and see her tomorrow. Why isn’t Lynda on her Easter HOLIDAY?

Mum asked, “Why didn’t you go?”

I just shrugged.

Mum sighed and said, “Sophie,” and her voice was gentle.

“What?”

“You have to talk to me.”

“I just forgot to go, all right? There’s nothing to say.”

“What about how we’re getting on? Why couldn’t you have Easter breakfast with me? We need to talk about that.”

“I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know because you weren’t there. You have no idea what it’s like, what I see in my head when I close my eyes. Sometimes I’ll be in a room, like at a party, and I’ll imagine everyone in there being crushed to death.”

She pressed her mouth together as if she were physically hurt for me. She said softly, “Tell me more. I want to be here for you.”

“It happens when I least expect it; these images come into my head. I don’t WANT to go into it. It’s never going to get better, and there’s nothing you can do. If I hadn’t had to tie up my STUPID SHOELACE, everything would be different. Don’t you understand it’s my fault?”

“Of course it’s not.”

“What do you know? You act like you’re over it, but you haven’t gone back to work even though you’re making me go to school. I can’t deal with it.”

“I am going back to work.”

“When?”

“Monday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.” Mum folded her arms across her chest. “You haven’t been very easy to talk to.” She said it softly, as if she was being kind, but that just bothered me more.

I took a step back. I tried not to yell, but the words came out loudly. “
I
haven’t been easy to talk to. What about
you
?”

“Sophie,” she said again.

“You always had time for her. You never had time for me. It’s because you were the same—she was just like you. I’m different and awkward and nothing like her. You don’t want to make time for me. You just want her back.”

“Let’s not start screaming at each other,” she said steadily. “We have to make room for dialogue.”

“You’re not my stupid therapist, and you have NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.”

She stepped forward and I stepped neatly around her. She said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going back to work. The doctor finished my compassionate leave a while ago, and I don’t want to use all of your father’s life insurance to keep us going. That money’s for you.” She spoke calmly and slowly.

“I don’t care that you’re going back to work.”

She said, “And I never want you to compare yourself to her.”

“You can’t even say her name,” I hissed, and backed up to my bedroom door. “I’m going out,” I said.

“We need to talk.”

“Stop all the stupid
make room for dialogue
crap and leave me alone.” I fled from my room and flew down the stairs and out the front door before she could say anything else.

I ran up the road until I reached the high street, where cars roared, beeping at one another. A group of people tumbled out of a café into the dusk. The orange interior light spilled over the street. I imagined the flames of a huge fire flaring from the open door, people fleeing—the men coughing and dribbling with fear; the women, their eyes wide as those of dead fish, stumbling blindly in the smoke; the wail of ambulances. I leaned against a wall and took several deep breaths.

Mum is going back to work. She’s over it. I should have been pleased, but anger surged inside me like lava in a volcano. She’s good at her job—our house is evidence of how good; everyone used to say how beautiful it is inside. Everyone being our family friends, friends who don’t come around anymore. Not that they didn’t try to come around after the funeral.

THURSDAY, APRIL 20
^TH

When I sat down for my rescheduled appointment with Lynda she asked me repeatedly if I was okay. She wanted
to know why I’d forgotten to go last time. I ignored her. Each visit, it gets easier to sit in silence, pretending she’s not even there.

She wanted to talk to me about Dad today. I didn’t have anything to say about him; I was so little when he died. I thought instead about Mark Haywood. I remembered Mark drinking too much one night and deciding to go swimming in the lake near their house. It was dark outside. Mum and Katherine were telling him not to be so stupid, that he’d freeze to death. Mark swam across the whole lake. When he came back in, he was shivering cold but he was FULL OF LIFE. Not dead, nowhere near it.

Mark continues to get much better from his heart attack, although apparently he’s very shaken. Adults say that a lot: “shaken.” It doesn’t seem the right word to me to describe how you feel after something bad’s happened. Shaken is how you feel when you’ve been on a roller-coaster, all lively and buzzing. Shaken is how Mark felt when he swam in the lake that night, I’m sure. I could see in his eyes how he was all shaken up inside, happy, excited. When something bad’s happened, you feel numb, like it’s not real. You feel dead on the inside. Not shaken at all.

I had a nap and dreamed that huge hands tore up a photograph of Emily, Mum, and me strip by strip. It was a heart-stopping dream. I woke up sweating and tiptoed to
Mum’s collection room and opened the door. There was even more stuff in there than last time, but I wasn’t looking at her stuff. I was looking for the photographs. I found our birth certificates in the desk, along with all our passports and legal documents. The passport picture of Emily made me swell with tears. I tried to remember where Mum keeps the photo albums.

I riffled through the shelves. I didn’t feel calm anymore or sad; instead I was panicky and disorganized. My breath was ragged. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. It was like I’d gone crazy. I pulled down all these gloves and scarves and a beautiful gold necklace with a red stone surrounded by silver petals. I shuffled through a little pile of papers that turned out to be letters that Mum must have found lying around over the years.

Then I saw an album beneath. It was full of photographs of me and Emily. I started crying. I took the album with me as I left the room, hurried to the bathroom, and slipped out the window onto the roof. I looked at the photos until my heart felt like a badly bruised apple.

At the back of the album is a photograph of us outside the house we lived in when I was really little. I touched the photograph. Mum is standing in the middle holding me in her arms, and Emily is on her right. Emily is wearing red plastic boots and is waving at the camera. I wonder if Dad was taking the picture—he died when I was two, and in the photograph I’m only a baby. I’m smiling up at
Mum. I turned the photograph over. On the back it says
18 Bowood Road
in Mum’s handwriting.

Suddenly I felt like I know why she keeps lost things in her collection. And I felt like I wanted to go to our old house on Bowood Road and be back in that place where everything was still good. All I wanted to do was go back. Back to the moments before it happened when everything was okay.

Sitting on the roof makes me feel calmer. It gives me a view of the world below, lets me take a breath. I stroked Emily’s cheek in the picture. She was so happy.

I remembered that morning last summer. It feels so long ago, yet it’s all terribly clear in my head. I woke really early.
Emily is home for the rest of the summer.
The thought popped in my mind, and I launched myself out of bed and into her room. She wasn’t there. I went into the kitchen, and she was sitting at the breakfast table.

“Hi,” I said. “How did you sleep?”

“Good.” She didn’t look up; she was reading the paper.

I said, “Where’s Mum?”

“She’s gone to work already—a client needed her house done first thing.” She folded the paper and said, “So, little sister, wanna do something today.”

“Sure? What?”

“I want to see this exhibition at the National Gallery.”

“Where’s that?”

“Just next to the National Portrait Gallery,” she said.
I must have looked blank, because she rolled her eyes. “Trafalgar Square. We’ll get the train.”

I nodded. “What’s the exhibition?”

She passed me a brochure with the details and got up. She went to the counter. “Coffee?” she said.

“Since when do you drink coffee?”

“Since always.”

“I’ll have tea.” I glanced at the brochure and then turned over the paper to the news. Emily sat back down with her coffee.

She said, “I was reading that.”

“Where’s my tea?” I said.

She put her hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “Sorry,” she said sarcastically.

“And to think I was looking forward to you coming home.”

“Don’t be like that, Soph. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t be bothered to make tea. You can have a coffee, though; it’s ready.” She passed me her cup.

“No, thanks,” I replied, and pushed the cup back across the table.

I got up and made myself tea and some toast with peanut butter. Emily told me about her boyfriend. Turned out I hadn’t met him. The room was warm. The kitchen table was bright from the sun pouring through the window. The light made everything look angelic. I told Emily this. She laughed. Told me my imagination was on overdrive and I
should get out of the house more. She jumped up. “Come on,” she said. “We should go.”

“It’s still really early.”

“Teenagers,” she said.

“You’re still a teenager.”

“Only just. Hurry up.”

I didn’t answer; instead I read the back cover of a book I’d borrowed from the library. It was about three generations of women in the same family, all adventure and tragedy—the sort of book I liked to read during the summer holiday.

Fluffy came in and prowled around the food bowl, and Emily got up to feed her. The cat danced around the bowl in anticipation. Emily’s phone rang and she went to talk to whoever it was. She gestured at me and at her watch. I fed Fluffy, who crunched away with pleasure. I wondered if Em was speaking to her boyfriend. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and wiped the counter free of crumbs. Emily always left a mess: clothes lying around, paintings and bits of fabric all over the house.