The Suicide Club (23 page)

I was fairly drunk and I stopped at the twenty-four-hour garage, where I bought a packet of cigarettes and some matches. I went to the park and sat on a swing.

I lit a cigarette and only smoked about half because my head started spinning crazily and I whitied out, which usually happens when you smoke too much marijuana and pass out, but it can also happen with cigarettes if you're not used to them, which I wasn't. I managed to get to the bushes before vomiting. My stomach came up in thick waves and scratched at my windpipe as it came. I dry-heaved about ten times before I collapsed on the freezing grass and lay there in a cold sweat, shaking.

It was only ten thirty when I got to my front door and my parents were still up. I scrambled inside and couldn't even be bothered to hide the mess I was in.

When my mother saw me, she said, ‘Oh my God, what have you done?'

I could feel remnants of vomit mixed with saliva between my fingers and I looked at her bleary-eyed. I couldn't focus.

‘You haven't changed at all,' she said.

That would have hurt so much if she had said it at any other time, but after what had happened I just didn't care what she said. I smiled and felt a little bit of dribble bubble up on my lip.

‘You've got sick all down you,' she said. ‘How clever.'

I just sighed and fell against the wall and started laughing my head off. My mother went crazy and said that I had to get out of the house for ever, which was shocking coming from her, but I just slumped further down the wall until I was lying on the floor, laughing.

‘Why don't you just re-laaaax,' I sneered disgustingly.

‘Don't talk to your mother like that.' I didn't even see my father come into the hall.

The whole room was turning like those slow-motion cameras that photograph the stars wheeling in the sky over the course of a whole night. I started feeling hot again as a feeling of impending sickness consumed me. I got on to my knees, crawled to the downstairs toilet and emptied my stomach again. I think my mother was crying, but I'm not sure. I grabbed the toilet door and slammed it shut before sliding the lock across. I then took my top off like I imagine a spastic would and let the cold vinyl of the floor fuse with my skin.

Through the door my father told me not to fall asleep as I might choke on my vomit but my fringe, damp with sweat, was caressing my face and his words meant
nothing
.

I didn't really fall asleep. Rather, I drifted in and out of oblivion. My existence was made up of fractured bouts of sweaty subconsciousness and hyper-reality. I was physically,
mentally and emotionally fucked. Everything was gone. My family hated me, my old life had disintegrated into a void of hatred, the girl I loved not only didn't love me back, but had taken pleasure in humiliating me, and I could see no way that I could ever be happy again.

At around two in the morning I finally got up to my bedroom. The house was cold, quiet and dark. I looked at my mobile and had received ten missed calls, all from Matthew and Freddy. I threw the phone into the wall and it smashed apart, but not as satisfyingly as I would have liked. I lay on my covers and fell asleep, covered in my own vomit.

Somebody was banging at my door.

‘Go away,' I croaked, my throat raw from vomiting and drinking no water.

But the banging continued. I eventually realized that it was Toby and that he wasn't going to go away so I rolled over and opened the door.

‘What?' I said.

‘Are we going into the city today like you promised?'

My eyes were closed so I could just hear his voice. I sighed.

‘What's the time?'

‘Nine o'clock,' I heard him say.

I shook my head, which hurt like hell to do.

‘I thought I said ten thirty.'

‘I thought I should get you up so that you won't be late.'

‘Christ, Tobe, what difference does it make if we're late?'

‘I've got it written in my book,' he answered.

That was just too much so I shut the door and went back to bed.

‘Wake me at ten,' I called.

‘OK, I'm going to Tesco to help Dad clean the car,' his voice said. I heard his feet walking away and down the stairs.

I suddenly remembered the events of the previous night. For about a minute, I had completely forgotten what had happened. But now it all came back to me. It was so hideous that I just smiled and shook my head, but that hurt so I buried my face in my pillow instead.

There was a layer of sweat over the surface of my mattress. My hangover was the worst yet. I must have drunk more than I thought. My stomach was tender and my throat stung. My head was pulsating. Before I knew it, my door was being banged against again.

‘What?' I shouted into my pillow.

More banging. For five minutes. I struggled off my wet mattress and opened the door, reaching for the door handle from my bed. It was Toby again.

‘What now?' I growled.

‘It's ten o'clock,' came his voice through the crack in the door.

I looked at the clock next to my bed. I had lost an hour to fever and torment. My head felt even worse now and I tried to slam the door.

‘Call me at eleven,' I said.

But Toby stuck out his foot before it shut. He came into my room.

‘What the hell are you doing?' I slurred.

I felt his hand grab my ankle and his feeble body try to pull me off my bed.

‘Get up,' he moaned.

It was like a fly was on my leg, not a human being. I kicked out, mildly amused.

‘You promised me, Rich.'

When he said that I suddenly felt bad. I was such a bastard I couldn't stand it. How could I do this to him? I opened my eyes and looked down the end of my bed to where he stood. And you'll never guess the sight which greeted me. Not only
was Toby not wearing a tie, but had clearly had my mother buy him his first pair of jeans and a yellow hoody, which had a picture of a smiling dinosaur on it. His hair was gelled ridiculously into a Mohican and his feet filled a pair of skater shoes. The country-gent clothes were gone. All this and he was still probably less than three feet tall. The effort the poor kid had put in was insane. All he wanted was for me to be his friend. But here I was hungover to hell with the worst broken heart in human history and a humiliation from which I would never fully recover.

‘Mum told me not to get my hopes up,' he muttered sadly.

I had never heard Toby say something like this before and it almost made me cry. His childishness was leaving him and he was beginning the hardening process that Freddy told us about. He was just a kid and here he was feeling upset because of something that
I
had done. Me.

And what the hell was my mother doing anyway? How dare she say that to Toby. She didn't
know
me. She was manipulating Toby for her own gain. She wanted Toby on her side just because I had thrown up and laughed at her last night. Bitch. I should have told Toby that I'd get ready and be down in a minute – that would have shown her. But I didn't. Rather, I decided that if my mother wanted to play games then I'd play. I'd show her that, if she wanted to play with Toby's feelings, then I'd hit her hard. I can't really explain why I said what I said next, but it made sense to me at the time.

‘I'm not going into the city with you, Toby,' I said.

He stopped tugging at my leg. I looked at him. The stupid dinosaur on his sweater, I noticed, was actually doing a thumbs-up and winking as well as having that stupid grin on its face. Some dinosaur. I looked at Toby. My head hurt so much that I could barely keep my eyes open, but I couldn't help but keep looking as I saw my little brother start to cry.
He rushed out of the room, not quite having let go of his emotions, like he didn't want me to see him burst into tears. He pulled the door shut behind him and I heard him scuttling around in his bedroom, no doubt looking for a fucking cravat to pull around his neck or something.

I closed my eyes and almost died with the badness inside me. I felt like my history teacher Mrs Kenna – like I was having layers of tragedy poured down my neck and filling my body from the feet up. Toby was just the latest addition. My own mother was starting a war with me and we were throwing Toby's emotions around like a rag doll – this was a boy who tried to look cool and ended up wearing a sweater with a smiley, happy dinosaur on the front.

The room to my door opened and it was Toby again. This time he was fully crying. Seeing his emotions laid bare like that was a rare sight. Light reflected off his tears that had run messily all over his stupid cheeks and his lips were quivering.

‘I'm not going to listen to you any more,' he said.

With some reserve of energy that I didn't know about I bolted upright. All my rage was in me now, like nuclear fuel, my monster full, and I jumped up off my bed. Everything had finally caught up with me.

‘Don't you ever talk to me like that, you little fucking shit,' I screamed at him.

I grabbed his dinosaur sweater and lifted him bodily off the ground and threw him through the open door on to the landing. The force with which I threw him scared even me. His feet hit the floor but he was off balance and he fell backwards on to the carpet. My chest was heaving up and down and I found my whole body shaking uncontrollably as I loomed over him. I could have ripped his head off right there and then. I was having flashbacks to the night before, to all those kids laughing at me, to Clare ripping my aching heart out through my splintered ribs. And then further
back . . . to the old man in the street. I saw the fear on his old face, fear of me, as I reached down to pick up the metal pipe . . .

I took a malign step towards Toby and he shuffled back towards the top of the stairs, a look of terror on his face.

I stopped myself right there. We looked at each other for a second. What the fuck was I doing? I didn't start crying, like I should have done. I did something worse, something for which I can never be forgiven. More than anything I wanted to pick him up in my arms and tell him that I was sorry, that I was a prick, that my whole world had been torn apart by the atomic bonds that tie everything together. I wanted to tell him that I loved him more than anything in the world, even more than Clare, but I didn't. I didn't do any of that stuff. Instead of doing the right thing, purely because I couldn't stand to do anything else, I leaned over him and spat into his hair before turning round, going back to my room, and locking my door.

IT WAS BECAUSE
of our strong and lengthy history that Clare's humiliation of me was so distressing. She had torn our friendship in half. So many years together and they obviously counted for nothing. Over the Christmas holidays, she rarely left my thoughts and it was the mental image of her laughing at me that made me feel like I had an anchor strapped around my lungs.

Christmas was miserable. My mother had calmed down slightly because she didn't want to spoil her own Christmas by being mean, so that was one good thing. But nobody called me and I didn't call anybody either. Freddy had gone home for the holidays and I hadn't spoken to him since before the school disco. I would have loved to have talked to him and messed around with him, but he was gone – disappeared.

Jenny had gone back to America for Christmas. Back to the old US of A.

I didn't even speak to Matthew over the holidays, which was completely weird because it was the longest I hadn't spoken to him in my whole life (apart from when one of us went on holiday). This may have had to do with me not having a phone because I had destroyed it. Over the weeks I expected him to call me on the house phone but he never did. I assumed he was missing Jenny and that he wanted to
be on his own, or that he wouldn't know what to say to me because what had happened had been so horrendous. I don't know why I didn't get in touch with anybody – probably because I was scared.

So the whole holiday was spent in my house. It was awful. Toby ignored me the whole time and my father told me that he was terrified of me. Whenever I came into the lounge to watch TV and he was in there, he'd stay for about five minutes and then leave without saying anything.

In the nights I'd be up in my room listening to music or watching a film and my dad would come and sit on my bed. I wouldn't say anything to him and he'd eventually go away. I'd hear my mother prowling around upstairs, tidying things. At one point I felt incredibly sorry for her. I thought about what it must have been like to be her. She had a nutcase for a son. Despite all of this, I still acted frostily towards her because I blamed her for my outburst on Toby, which is completely pathetic.

For Christmas, Father Christmas brought me a book on screenwriting. I had no idea why I had been given it because I had never once mentioned to my parents the fact that I wanted to write cartoons when I was older. The only reason they could have had for buying me the book was that they had been snooping around my drawers and come across my notebooks. Because I had been starved of company, I went completely mental and made my mother burst into tears. She started screaming that I had ruined Christmas but she should have thought about that before she started looking through my personal things. I was really starting to lose my grip on sanity at this point and doing and saying things because I knew they would make matters worse.

On one cold, cloudy afternoon I was stood in my bedroom looking out the window at the silver birch tree in our garden. The latticed, spindly branches near the top were
swaying in the wind. I sighed and went over to my desk, where I opened the bottom drawer. I took out the Suicide Club Charter that I had hidden underneath a pile of old
Empire
movie magazines. As I read over it I thought back to the night on the airbase, when we had been sat in the candlelight. I kept getting caught on the words,
the world is run by the mediocre for the mediocre
. A sudden thought that I was cut off from the world struck me. It didn't make me feel emotional; I felt cold, like I had just learnt a fact in science class. I simply didn't fit. A square through a circle. I was trapped. I recalled signing the Charter, sitting in that room. I remembered feeling good being hidden away whilst the rest of the world was going about its business in the mess hall. I remembered looking at Freddy, at his face. I remembered the headmaster's office, us huddled around Craig. I remembered how linked I had felt to my friends. We had skimmed away from everyone else, been sent on a different trajectory, but where could it possibly lead? Freddy's idea of life being an adventure couldn't really come true. We'd soon get old, get jobs, die. The whole idea of living a life of romance led to one place: a brick wall. You weren't allowed to live like that. People would not allow it. They would hold you back.