The Suicide Club (33 page)

Matt and I huddled around the two sheets.

‘It's hard to tell,' I said.

He squinted at the papers and held them up to the light.

‘The ‘t's look the same as Freddy's, slightly angled to the right,' he said, as if he was some stupid detective from one of those TV dramas. ‘Although, it could easily be Craig's writing as well.' He paused and studied some more until he became aware of me staring at him, incredulous. Since when did he become an expert on handwriting? Answer: never.

There was a quick beat and then we both realized how totally moronic we were being before completely cracking up into hysterics and throwing the bits of paper to the floor. It was so strange, us laughing like that, like the good old days. But it felt wonderful, a pure release of pressure that we both needed so much.

Just then my mother came through the door. She was home early and I wasn't in school. I was going to get in trouble. I was so glad that Matt and Jenny were there because then she would see that we couldn't have gone back to school because their faces would tell her the full story.

When she saw me sat in the living room, she actually did a double-take, which I had never seen anybody do in real life.

‘What are you doing home?' she said. Very angrily.

‘Hello, Mrs Harper,' said Matt suddenly, and to my rescue.

She popped her head around the corner and saw his pulpy features.

‘Oh my—' she gasped. ‘What have you done?'

‘Some kids beat us up on the way back from the funeral,' I said, trying to sound shaky. ‘That's why we're not in school.'

My mother stood in the doorway for a moment.

‘What is the world coming to?' She went back into the hallway and picked up one of the cordless phones from the receiver. ‘Who did it?' she demanded.

‘Who are you calling?' I said faintly.

‘The school. Who did this? Give me their names.'

‘Jesus,' I whispered. ‘Mum, leave it. We don't know who it was. They weren't from our school.'

She looked at me like I was lying.

‘Honestly,' I said. ‘They were from the comp.'

Just then Jenny returned from the bathroom and my mother's face went white. Symbolically.

‘Oh my God.' Now she was really angry because she liked to consider herself a ‘strong woman' so she hated it when women were victims. ‘What kind of animal?' she stammered.

Jenny gave her a timid look and slid past, back into the living room. She gave Matt an ‘I want to get out of here' look.

‘Hello?' said my mother. ‘Yes, put me through to the headmaster's office, please.' She looked at me. ‘Hello? Is that Mrs McKinsay? Yes, this is Helen Harper . . .' She left the room and went into the kitchen.

I walked them down the hall towards the front door, which was still open. I could see the top of Toby's head through the glass panel. Just seeing him made me feel better. If he was around, everything would be OK.

We walked past him and I said,' Hiya, Tobe,' but he ignored me so I pushed him playfully into the shrubbery.

But, because he's so frail, he tripped and fell into the mud. I covered my eyes and shook my head because I was such a bastard but also because I hadn't meant him any harm and it was, I'm sorry, funny. He slowly picked himself up by
sticking his backside into the air and walking his hands backwards until he could stand upright. Then he dusted himself down and, without looking at me, went inside and closed the door quietly behind him. Not a word had been said.

I went back inside, just as Toby topped the last stair and disappeared around the corner. I chased him up the steps to say sorry.

His bedroom door was closed so I just barged straight in there. I was just about to apologize when something bad happened. Toby started screaming at me. SCREAMING.

‘Get out! Get out! Get out!'

I stepped inside and shut the door, hoping my mother wouldn't hear.

‘Tobe,' I said, so shocked that I was suddenly afraid. I was scared because this was Toby and this wasn't like him. I didn't think I was going to be able to handle this. It was only supposed to have been a joke.

He picked up the tiny red plastic chair that he sat in to read and hurled it at me. I stuck out my arm to block and the bottom of the leg caught me on the elbow. The pain shattered up my arm and I doubled over.

‘Get out of my room,' he squealed.

My heart sank when he screamed that way because I knew he was crying.

‘I'm so sorry, Tobe, I didn't mean for you to fall—'

‘You killed Bertie,' he screamed at me.

Time stopped. I was in stasis, the universe was in stasis.

‘Who told you that?' I said calmly, my heart racing, elbow throbbing, sweat oozing out of my pores, terror sucking my marrow out.

‘James O'Donnell,' he shouted, like James O'Donnell was some great sage. And then he threw himself on to his bed and started bawling his eyes out.

I took a step forward and put my hand on his back but he
just went crazy. He jumped up like my touch was electric and started trying to punch me. But he was so slow and weak that he either missed me completely or I just blocked him.

I didn't know what to do. Just like I do to everyone in my life, I had broken him. I had finally broken old Toby. The one thing that was a constant source of good was finally corrupted. I had pushed him and pushed him until I had found his limits and then I had pushed him again. He was exceptional and I had dragged him down. And now here he was, down at the bottom. His brother, his idol, had killed an innocent bird. He wouldn't be able to stand it and I knew it. His illusions were shattered like when kids find out there's no such thing as Father Christmas – it's just the worst thing that can ever happen to anybody. Never would he return from this because he had passed one of those life markers that I told you about. I had done to him what I thought everybody else had done to me. Only he didn't deserve it. He cried on the bed and I left the room. Toby was effectively dead.

THE NEXT DAY
at school was really bad. Everybody hated us. You could feel people's anger beaming out of them like ribbons of energy surging from their chests. Groups of kids huddled together, covered their mouths and spoke about us with their eyes not leaving our own. We had to stay together because, if we didn't, something bad might have happened. I don't know what. I had had enough of fighting. In two days I had been in two fights and sandwiched in between that had been Craig's funeral. We were lucky that the kids were utterly insignificant to us and we didn't care about them. I was so glad I had the Suicide Club to keep me going.

Clare's face wasn't as badly beaten as Jenny's and Matt's, but she was still shaken by the whole thing. I told her that I would never let anything like that happen to her ever again. And I meant it. Up until Craig's death, Clare had kept her old friends but now, after Craig, they were distancing themselves, leaving her alone and vulnerable. It was like some of her wonderful essence had been drawn out of her.

Wherever I looked, there were faces staring back at me, but I didn't care. I hated these people. Now there was a clear line: our side . . . and theirs.

At lunch I saw Freddy for the first time since the headmaster's office. I was with Matt and Jenny when he came over to us.

Freddy immediately picked up on something that I hadn't.

‘Are you OK, Jenny?'

She looked at him and I shook with the look they exchanged. Matt didn't seem to see it, that quick glance that told me instantly that Jenny was totally under his spell.

Jenny smiled, but only with her mouth.

‘I'm OK.'

‘Don't let anything get you down. I wasn't even allowed to go to Craig's funeral, but I won't let them beat me.'

Jenny nodded and looked past Freddy's shoulder. I thought she was going to start crying.

‘What happened in the headmaster's office after we left?' Matt said. His black eyes were starting to bruise out on to his cheeks. They actually weren't that bad – they looked kinda cool, like he had goth make-up on.

‘He said I had to apologize but I just couldn't do it.'

‘Didn't you want to go to the funeral?' said Jenny suddenly. She was glaring at Freddy, as if his non-attendance was a personal attack on her.

‘I—' He didn't know what to say. He looked lost. ‘Please don't talk like that, Jenny. You know that—' He cut himself off.

Jenny's teeth bit her swollen lip, restraining her tears.

This was unbearable.

‘I'm sorry,' she said. And then she started sobbing.

Matt grabbed her and hugged her, but she pulled away from him. She used her hands to cover her face, but she was standing on her own. Matt looked at me, as if I could help in some way, but what could I do? That act had made perfectly clear that, although Matt was her boyfriend, she was dealing with this on her own. She was not using Matt for support in any way. Everything that had happened had encroached on her heart and pushed downwards, and she had no one to share it with. Her parents would certainly not have helped,
her old friends had all but deserted her because she had stuck up for me after Bertie, and now, as she had just demonstrated, Matt couldn't help either.

‘Jenny,' he said, and put his hand on her shoulder, one last effort. But she shirked him off again and carried on sobbing into her hands.

I glanced at Clare. She grabbed my hand and pulled me away.

‘Come on,' she whispered,' let's give her some space.'

We wandered some ten yards before turning back to see what was happening. All there was was Jenny, her head bowed and Matt standing in front of her, a metre away, not saying anything.

‘Did you see the way she looked at me?' Matt said.

I didn't know what to say. What could I say to him?

‘She doesn't love me.'

Things were reaching a point now where everything was descending into chaos. We as a group were supposed to be tight, but it wasn't seeming like that. Things were disintegrating. Jenny was fracturing away from us. It was like we were all on a raft out at sea, each on our separate piece of wood, the pieces bound together by rope, keeping us whole. But Jenny's wood was loosening and her section of the raft was drifting away. We were trying to pull her in but she refused to help herself. The gap of water was growing larger, waves were coming up between us and she was disappearing and reappearing from sight. Why wouldn't she listen? ‘Hold on,' we called to her, but she didn't want to. She had given up. For her, holding the raft together was just too hard and she was just too tired. Overhead, it started raining. Everything was geared towards us losing her. ‘Stay with us, Jenny,' we screamed but the sound of the storm was too loud and she couldn't hear us any more. As we watched her piece
of wood drift away to the ocean, we kept looking at her because that was all we could do. We maintained eye contact.

That was how I saw the situation.

But what about Matt as well? Jenny had just broken his heart. Now his rope too was starting to unravel.

‘What can I do, Rich?' he asked.

We were passing the art department, on our way to the first lesson after lunch. The bell hadn't gone yet so the corridors were relatively quiet. It seemed that things couldn't get any worse, but it's funny how the world can always find something to push you even further down. To this day I believe that what happened outside the art classroom was the trigger for Jenny's death, that final event that snapped the twine that had wrapped itself around her heart.

‘Oh my God,' she breathed, just behind us, putting her hands over her mouth. I turned around and her face was in mine; we almost bumped into each other. I watched her eyes swell with water as she looked past me to the wall. I turned to look and the breath left my lungs.

Somebody had ripped her photography project off the wall. She had always been so proud of her photography on display. I remember the day when she found out about it; she hadn't been able to keep still. But now there was nothing but a patch of white paint, a blank void where her pictures had once hung. It was never revealed who had pulled it down, it may even have been the teachers, but whoever it was I hold responsible for what happened to Jenny.

‘Jenny,' I said.

The bell suddenly sounded and kids started trooping in through all the doors like robots. The mass of bodies swarmed past us like bees, the occasional sting coming from somebody's tongue. I saw Jenny getting knocked forward and back, mostly deliberately. How could the kids be so cruel? Somebody called her a stupid American cunt, but I couldn't
see who it was, there was so much abuse, aimed at all of us. Any restraint that had been shown before was now gone. Everything had bubbled over. It was like a feeding frenzy. Jenny's eyes closed when they said that, like she was trying to compose herself. I was hardened to it but I could see Jenny's defences were taking a battering. She was such a gentle soul. She wouldn't be able to take something like this. I wanted to reach out to her but couldn't. Nobody could. I had to stand by and watch as she fell apart, which she did practically in front of our eyes. I was amazed by Matt's reaction. He was just standing there, looking at some first year's crappy pictures of unicorns.

There was a gap growing between me and Jenny as more and more kids jostled for position. I felt like I was being pulled away from her.

After she died, of course, we all got blamed for her death, but it wasn't our fault at all. We hadn't been the ones who had ripped her pictures off the wall, we hadn't been the kids who beat her up in the alley after Craig's funeral, we hadn't been the kids who had shouted malevolent, spiteful abuse in the corridor, we hadn't been the teacher who shouted at her later that afternoon, and we certainly hadn't been her friends who refused to speak to her at all after Craig's death because somebody had to be blamed. Whoever it was, it . . . wasn't . . . us.