The Suicide Club (9 page)

THE CRICKET PAVILION
is set back off the road by about a mile and you have to walk down this dark, oak-tree-lined dirt track to get to it. It's totally hemmed in by a river and a forest and if ever a psychopath was going to attack a gang of teenagers cut off from civilization, this was his chance. That didn't happen, obviously. Inside, I was curious as to where the others were. Nobody had tried contacting me, which was strange, and nobody had been online, but my brain refused to entertain the idea that they might have been doing things without me.

Inside the American guys had gone to NO lengths to give the party a Halloween theme. There were no candles, no pumpkins, no paper cut-out skeletons hung on strings, none of that stuff. It was just mounted cricket bats and boards telling you the captains of yesteryear.

I could tell that Craig was terrified being there so I said to him, ‘It'll be OK.' This was the first time he had been ‘out' since his suicide attempt. The music was mellow and the room was full of smoke. Loads of kids were kissing in dark corners and it was stunningly sleazy.

I took one look around the room and my heart instantly slumped about a foot downwards. My mouth dried out and a pang of desperation cracked into my ribs. Over there in the corner, sat in four chairs. The four of them. They had
arranged the chairs so that it was like they were cut off from everybody else. Including me. I hadn't been invited. I was stuck in my tracks, not knowing if I should go over to them or leave the room quickly and pretend I hadn't seen them. I knew that they had planned something like this. That's why nobody had been on MSN, but I had denied it to myself.

I just felt so offended all of a sudden. How could they do this to me? Matthew and Jenny, and Freddy and Clare were in their own little world, laughing their heads off.

Suddenly rage got a little bit of a hold of me and I went over, just managing to stop myself exploding as I arrived.

‘Hi, guys,' I said, as if there was nothing wrong.

It was clearly awkward. I felt so jealous of them. They looked so settled and balanced together. I WCSed them sat around a dinner table when they were forty, all black roll-neck sweaters and thick-rimmed glasses. ‘Oh, remember that boy, what was his name? Richard Harper. I wonder what he's doing now. Oh ha ha ha, how delightful.' FUCKING BASTARDS.

‘Richie,' said Clare. ‘What are you doing here?' She was wearing a big, baggy sweater, like Kurt Cobain.

I nodded my head and pursed my lips. ‘I came down here to bone my new bat in.'

‘Yeah, but I thought you said you were staying in with Craig tonight.'

I laughed like I was saying what the hell are you talking about. I even lifted my hand, turned it palm-upwards as I did it. ‘What are you talking about?'

Clare had on her aloof voice.

‘You said you weren't coming unless Craig was coming and Craig said he didn't want to go.'

‘Oh,' I said, suddenly realizing something. ‘So this' – I gestured in circles – ‘is all
your
doing. I should have known.'

‘Oh you should have known,' she said, doing an impression of me, which was
very
annoying.

I noticed Freddy looking at his shoes, clearly embarrassed. How dare Clare put him in such an awkward situation. ‘Yeah, I should have.'

‘Well, maybe if you didn't treat me like I wasn't there all the time.'

I knew what she was doing – she was trying to drag our argument into the Drama, where we have an over-the-top fake argument, and I wasn't having that.

‘You can forget it, Clare. This is serious.'

‘This is serious,' she said again in my voice.

‘Stop doing that.'

Suddenly, Freddy said,' Rich, I don't think Clare—'

‘You stay out of it, Freddy,' I snapped, losing control.

As I said it I looked at his face and thought that I may have, just for a second, seen a smirk. My brain suddenly accelerated and my insecure side had a massive WCS wherein Freddy was talking about me behind my back. ‘Hey, let's go to the Halloween party, just the four of us,' he said. ‘But what about Rich?' Matthew asked. ‘No, just us.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said.

I made sure I didn't say anything for the next five seconds because I knew without doubt that if I did speak then I would say something incredibly bad.

‘I'm sorry,' I said at last.

‘We're all sorry,' Clare chipped in sarcastically.

As soon as she said it I got angry again. She always had a knack of knowing exactly how to really annoy me. I pointed my finger at her, just about to unleash the big secret about how she had made a move on me in my bedroom and how I had turned her down.

She knew it was coming so she got in first.

‘Well, you're here now.' She looked at Craig and gave him this massive smile. ‘I'm so glad you came, honey.'

I don't think he was even listening. He was just staring at the wall. I'm glad he didn't seem to hear because I was sure she was being patronizing.

I looked at her for a moment, to see if there was anything else she was going to say.

‘I'm going to get a drink,' I mumbled.

I took Craig over to the long table at the back of the room where there was a keg of beer and poured two cups.

‘Can you believe they came here without us?'

‘Did you ask them to meet us?' he said flatly.

‘Well, no, but—' I turned to face him. He had spoken! He had listened to what I had said and formed an answer inside his head that he had then popped into his mouth and spoken out loud. ‘That's a good point!' I exclaimed. They do say that mental people have insight, don't they. I handed him his drink.

‘Does this have alcohol in it?' he asked.

I looked into his cup. It was clearly beer. ‘Er, yes,' I said.

‘I'm not allowed it.'

‘Go on,' I said. ‘One won't hurt.'

‘No, I mean I can't have it. I'm on pills.'

Oh God, I thought. I was such an inconsiderate idiot. I looked at the table and noticed a bottle of Coke, which I guess people were using to mix with things like vodka and gin.

‘Shit, sorry, Craig.' I grabbed a fresh cup and poured him some of the Coke. ‘Here you go,' I said. It actually felt really good, being there with Craig. The conversation was extremely basic but at least it was a conversation.

One of the American kids walked past. I saw that he didn't have a drink.

‘Adam,' I called to him.

He stopped.

‘Whassup, Ricardo?' This was what the American kids called me.

‘Drink?' I offered him Craig's beer, which he took gladly.

‘Thanks, man.' And then he walked off.

I looked back over to Clare and the others. As soon as I did I caught Freddy's eye. He lifted his eyebrows and called me over. The rage that I had felt had already pretty much evaporated, thanks to Craig. And Freddy had that excited look on his face. I tried to force into my head that the WCS I had had about him just now was a complete figment of my imagination. I often get them mixed up with reality, like when you wake up after a dream that you were sure had happened.

‘Come on, Craig, let's go back over there.'

There was music playing in the background and as I walked through the smoky air I felt like I was in a film. I grabbed two chairs and we sat down.

‘Clare says you don't believe in psychology,' said Freddy.

I laughed when he said it. ‘It's bullshit, isn't it?' I looked at Clare. Her eyes were glazed. I hadn't noticed before but she was clearly drunk. ‘We always play-act scenarios where we talk to one another with psychobabble. Oh, you're just angry at your dad, that sort of thing. Don't we?'

Clare smiled at me, keeping her eyes on mine, and nodded.

Freddy took a sip of his beer. ‘It's the whole “motivation” thing in general. I don't believe in motivation, in people doing things purely because of something that happened in their past. You know, like cause and effect. I just don't think it's true when it comes to human beings. People say, oh you're more competitive because your parents split up.'

‘Did your parents split up?' I chirped quickly.

‘Er, no, it's an example.' There was a pause. ‘But I don't want to believe that.' His words were slightly slurred. ‘I can understand it with science, explaining things like earthquakes through science. But not people. You can't explain people with common sense. It's not that simple.' In this dim light, his eyes looked big and black. ‘Surely we can't just be explained away like that. It's so . . . cold, I guess. Do you know what I mean?'

He had a lovely way with words. He didn't speak like he had opinions and those opinions were CORRECT, he just offered up ideas gently and romantically.

‘It's like, there's got to be
something
special about us that can't be defined. It's this whole idea of motivation. You hear it in English all the time – the character was motivated by this or that. If not, then it doesn't ring true. Rubbish! I don't want everything I do to be motivated by something that happened in my past. If I see a pretty girl and tell her I love her, I don't want that to be because of the way I was brought up, I want it to be because I love her.'

‘Like on your romantic adventure,' I said. I must have come across as being sarcastic, but I wasn't.

He smiled at me. ‘Yeah.'

There was a pause. I had inadvertently killed the conversation.

‘I've got a question,' said Freddy, changing the subject. ‘What are those two birds in the sports field?'

‘Burlington and Bertie?' said Matthew.

‘They're the school mascots,' I said.

‘Is that what they are?'

‘They're the fastest birds on the planet.'

‘Well, I think they're bent.'

I laughed out loud recklessly. It was so shocking to hear Freddy say that after his little speech.

‘Burlington and Bertie? You think they're . . . gay?'

‘Yes. Yes I do. I think that they are two male eagles and that they are in love.'

‘Hmm. And what, pray tell,' I said,' do you propose we do about this situation?'

We were both putting on posh English accents.

‘I think that if this scandal were to get out, it would spell the end of our fine institution.'

‘Over four hundred years of history ended in a second.'

‘I deem that something must be done.'

I saw Jenny and Matthew look at each other and smile at our little joke.

‘Go on.'

He stopped talking in the accent now and returned to being normal Freddy.

‘I say we kidnap them.'

‘What?' Jenny gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

‘Come on. How pretentious can you get, keeping two peregrine falcons? We can set them free. We'll be taking them from the real world and bringing them on our big romantic adventure. They can be our first project.' He grinned.

An odd sensation entered me; an old feeling that I used to get when I knew that I was about to do something bad. A rush. It was as if Freddy was knocking at the door of the monster who lived inside me, and asking if he wanted to come out to play. Was he being serious? I didn't know if his actions would match his words.

I mulled over his idea of setting the birds free. I didn't want to get into something like this because my troubled days were behind me. But that odd sensation, creeping up . . . it was very persuasive.

‘I think it's a great idea,' I said.

Actually, do you mind if I quickly jump out of the story and say something here? I get the feeling that the things I'm writing must make me sound like a disaffected youth or something. I think I should point out that that's not like me at all. All of my friends, everyone I've ever met, in fact, is like me to a greater or lesser extent. I'm not mental at all. I know I keep referring back to my past when I did something bad and went a bit off the rails but that was only for a few months and it was a knee-jerk reaction to my parents splitting up. There was my Bad Thing, but that was a one-off. I'll never do something like that again as long as I live. I promise. Please please please don't start assuming that I'm like some sort of anti-hero, a kid who's kicking against the world. Because I'm not that. I love the world. I love all the people in this great big melting pot. I'm just like ALL of my friends. It is imperative that I say this to you now. I admit that what happened afterwards is far from normal but up until all that happened I was as average as any teenager. You know what it's like, it's a time when Things Are Changing, to coin a phrase from those moronic sex-education lessons. But it's true. We're all like this when we're young. A little bit. Right?

The party started to drag and so Jenny came up with the idea of going to the graveyard. I'd always wanted to go to a graveyard on Halloween because it's such a cool thing to do, so I enthusiastically backed her plans. We made our way up the long, tree-sheltered lane from the pavilion in pitch blackness, all six of us holding hands so that we didn't fall. As we went I imagined our hands were a line of golden rope, burning bright, one.

We arrived at the gates of the graveyard and stopped. The tombstones were glowing in the silvery light of the moon, which by this time had broken through the clouds and was sat in the sky as a beautiful white giant orb. There were some
tall trees in the grounds that had lost all but the last stragglers of leaves, which hissed at us like cats. The shadows were sweeping all around us, moving, changing, shifting. They weren't actually, of course, that was all in my head. The clipped lawn beneath my feet was wet and the ivy that burrowed its way out the ground and over some of the older graves seemed to suck light into its leaves. I tried to drink in the gothic atmosphere of the place, to let it all seep into my bones through osmosis so that I would always remember it.