Honest Page 4

  His little girl? Hardly. Everything about that nightdress was sick. He was sick.

  Right before my party, while dad was laying out the party rings and fairy cakes on paper plates, I stuffed the nightdress up the chimney breast in the living room, as far as it would go. When I pulled my arm out it was as black as the material from all the soot.

  Even while they sang happy birthday, with Peter’s eyes glowing behind the flames of the candles, I thought of that nightdress and felt sick, sick to my stomach. I couldn’t handle this thing between me and dad getting worse. This thing we had was maturing as fast as I was.

  He was even dressing me like her now. I didn’t remember much about my mum, except her moods and her migraines, and her long brown hair. I knew we looked nothing alike.

  Everything about it made my skin crawl, and I felt so hollow inside that I just wanted to squash that feeling at any cost.

  That’s why, when dad was in the living room with Dennis and David’s mum, I took the birthday cake up to the bathroom. David and Peter were downstairs in the hall talking, but they quietened down as I ascended the stairs with the cake in my hands. I didn’t care if they knew. I just wanted that awful feeling to disappear.

  I’d eaten two thirds of the sickly sweet sponge when they appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me. I was crouched by the toilet, my hands coated in icing, swallowing a chunk when I saw them.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said David, his eyes bulging in disgust.

  ‘Mind your own bloody business,’ I said, spraying crumbs, my eyes filling with tears. ‘Just piss off and close the door.’

  I wiped my mouth as the tears fell, but David wasn’t budging. ‘Why are you eating it like that?’

  ‘Just fuck off!’ I cried.

  Peter hadn’t said a thing. He’d just watched me with his big green eyes. He had such wild hair, and his skin was a pale creamy brown from his dad’s side of the family. Looking back, it was no wonder I’d never looked twice at David before. Not when there was him.

  ‘Let’s leave her alone,’ Peter said to David, nodding at the door. ‘She’s upset.’

  David looked from me, to the cake, and then to my grubby hands smeared with frosting. He wrinkled his nose. I understood why, of course I did: I was a disgusting sight. But he didn’t understand that the really disgusting thing was hidden in the chimney breast, and even if I’d explained why I was so upset he’d never understand me. I was just trying to squash that feeling in my belly, that was all.

  ‘I’m going downstairs,’ said David, pushing past Peter.

  When David was gone, Peter crouched down beside me and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his forehead creasing up with worry.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ I croaked, wiping my mouth. I was crying harder by this point, and apparently I didn’t even care that the most amazing boy I’d ever seen had caught me looking like that. I was beyond that point.

  ‘I won’t,’ he promised, giving me a smile. ‘Ignore David, he’s a dickhead but he’s all right really. Do you want me to leave you alone?’

  In truth, I didn’t. I would have loved to sit on that bathroom floor for hours, just me and Peter, and in weeks and years to come we would do just that. But now wasn’t the right time, and the fact I couldn’t even voice myself, or defend myself about the cake, just set me off crying again.

  I shrugged. Salty tears mingled with the sugary icing around my mouth, but Peter didn’t even wrinkle his nose. Instead he unravelled a length of toilet tissue and softly dabbed my face, his hand so close that I could smell the scent on his skin. He smelled faintly of soap and rain. Peter’s hand was the softest thing I’d ever felt in my life.

  ‘My mum gets upset sometimes. Don’t worry, I know it’s a girl thing,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I spluttered, my cheeks flushing bright red. All of a sudden I seemed to wake up to the fact that I was caught in the most humiliating situation, with cake all over my face, like some bloated pig on the bathroom floor.

  ‘Nah, don’t,’ said Peter. ‘It’s too late for sorry. I’ve seen the worst of it.’

  My eyes met his and I couldn’t help laughing. That was the first of many magical laughs Peter induced in me, even when all the world seemed dark and pitifully empty.

  In three years time, when I would finally confess why I’d been so upset the day I met him, I would realise just how grateful I was to have someone like Peter who could make me laugh. Happiness never lasted. It couldn’t, because the world found ways to wipe it away; that was one thing I could always count on. And in three years, when Peter found out my secret, we would never share laughter again.

  When Peter finished wiping my face, he asked again, ‘Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?’

  This time I said yes.

  When the door closed, I shoved the last of the cake aside and crawled on all fours to the toilet, where I methodically lifted the seat and stuck two fingers down my throat.

  I wish I could explain how such a disgusting first meeting could be so magical, but I couldn’t. It just was.

  Chapter Five

  Dad had already gone to work when I woke up the next morning. When I checked my watch it was already eleven, but by the gloom outside anyone would think morning hadn’t broken at all.

  I panicked, grabbing my stick and throwing the bed covers off with haste. I didn’t have time to fill up the tub, so I hobbled out to the bathroom to give myself a quick sponge bath instead. David would be arriving soon, and I wanted to look my best. Not for him, necessarily, but for Peter too.

  The bathroom was as dimly lit as it had been the day before, and the light switch wasn’t working. I turned the taps and almost screamed when nothing came out. I tried again and again, the knobbly rusted tops pressing red indents into my skin, but it was no use. It seemed like the bathroom was determined to leave me filthy.

  Cursing, I turned on my heels and staggered back to my bedroom, where I combed my thin blonde hair and tied it up, before picking out something to wear. It was raining out, but the air had been humid lately. I glanced at a couple of my summer dresses, wondering if I should just go the whole hog despite the rain. Yes, I decided. What kind of a woman didn’t dress up when she was meeting a man?

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  Besides, if I was going to meet this Lauren, I needed to show her that having a bad leg didn’t mean I couldn’t look good. As my eyes wandered over the summer dresses, something even better caught my eye. I couldn’t remember why I’d brought it with me. It was a strapless white dress with a netted skirt, with two large embroidered poppies on the front. I’d worn it to my cousin’s wedding back home.

  I doubted Lauren would be wearing a dress fit for a wedding. I snatched it off the hanger and tugged it on, tying the ribbon around my narrow waist. I hadn’t brought matching shoes, only my sandals, some flats or a pair of trainers. I went with the sandals. Next I chose a black cardigan — I didn’t want to ruin the impact of my dress by wearing a coat — then I took myself downstairs in the stair lift.

  It was half past and I wasn’t nearly ready. Keep calm, I told myself. Women always made men wait when they picked them up for dates, didn’t they? David would understand. I could bet that Lauren kept him waiting hours while she got ready, and I could bet that she never apologised for it either.

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  When the stair lift halted I swung my stick down off my lap and hurried to the kitchen, where I boiled the kettle and filled the sink. I dunked a clean tea–towel to wash my face and armpits, before squirting a little washing up liquid to get myself as clean as I could. I realised I should have brought the soap down from the bathroom, but I was in too much of a panic to think.

  I slathered my face with the frothing tea–towel and squealed when my eyes began stinging. My stick fell to the kitchen floor in a clatter as I staggered sideways, scrunching up my eyes, groping around to turn the tap on.

  When my f
ingers blindly sought the tap, I turned it. Nothing came out. It had worked when I filled the kettle and now nothing.

  ‘No!’ I cried, turning it and turning it, biting my lip against the stinging behind my eyelids. I didn’t have time for all this. David would be coming any moment, and I was in such an awful state.

  Alarmingly, a car horn tooted outside.

  I plunged my hands in the water and scooped it over my face, blinking furiously, all the while fishing around with my foot for my stick.

  The car tooted a second time, and by then I was rubbing my face with the dry end of the tea–towel, my eyes red raw. But as I re–focused my sight and looked blearily around the kitchen floor, I couldn’t see my stick anywhere. I ducked and peered under the table, looked around the skirting, twisted and turned so much my skirt fanned out around me.

  The stick wasn’t there. The car horn tooted again.

  I swung myself around and held the counter top for support. I decided my chair was my only other option unless I wanted to risk a fall, and was about to move when something came crashing down from the ceiling. I screamed, falling back against the sink unit as the thing clattered and rattled on the floor, until eventually it stopped moving and lay still.

  My stick was now in the centre of the floor.

  My knees shook as I glanced slowly up at the ceiling where I was so sure it had fallen from. Nothing looked untoward. I stuck out the foot of my good leg, hooked the stick and drew it towards me, my blood running cold. I hobbled in a daze from the room to the front door.

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I couldn’t explain what had happened, not even to myself who had experienced the whole thing. But I just told myself that David would know, and he’d reassure me, and he’d make me feel safe again. He had to.

  I grabbed my bag from the table in the hall and flung myself out the front door. The car had already pulled away and was ambling down the hill, its windscreen wipers going.

  I panicked, my hands trembling. All I could think was that I had to get David’s attention or else he’d never see my dress and know I was better than this Lauren girl, and I’d miss seeing Peter’s grave, and I’d be stuck in that house all alone, and before I knew it It’d be night time and I’d hear that rapping on my bedroom door.

  ‘David!’ I called out, waving my free hand up in the air. ‘DAVID!’

  I put a wet hand over my brow and squinted through the rain, which was soaking my lovely dress, and I could swear that the car was actually driving faster now.

  I realised, then.

  He just couldn’t hear me.

  I had no choice but to start hobbling after him, waving my free hand, hoping beyond hope that he would spot me just in time. My knee began to throb but I didn’t care, and I didn’t even care about the rain hammering down on me, or the waves crashing against the harbour wall. I threw my stick in front of me faster and faster, half walking half staggering, until I came within shouting distance.

  I lurched down the final few yards, stubbing my toes on the cobble stones, until I was finally within reach.

  ‘David!’ I cried, waving frantically.

  The lights came on. The car was about to pull off.

  I slapped the back of the car repeatedly, huffing, my lungs heaving inside my chest. Relief came over me when the passenger door was opened. I laughed and hurried around to it, soaked through to the skin, knowing everything would be okay now. I was alone with David, in his car, and he could help me.

  I slammed the door and tucked the sopping wet strands of hair behind my ears. David gave me a nervous smile, his hands glued to the wheel.

  ‘You nearly went off without me!’ I said, laughing a little too shrilly for such a small space. I was so worn out and shaken that I almost forgot what I’d been so afraid of before, back in my kitchen.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought you must have been out.’ He looked me up and down. He was admiring my outfit. ‘You’re soaked,’ he said.

  ‘I know, silly me, I didn’t want to wear a coat today. I hope it hasn’t gone all see–through.’

  ‘It hasn’t,’ he said, going pink. His fingers tapped the steering wheel. He watched the road and took an opportunity to pull out, before snaking the car down the lanes and out onto the road towards the cemetery.

  I sighed, wiping the rain from my face. ‘David,’ I began, trying to make my voice sound less shaken and more upbeat. Thinking about the incident with the stick in the kitchen was making my hands shake again. ‘Have you ever seen a ghost?’

  He frowned, keeping his eyes front. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s no such thing.’

  ‘Oh. It’s just the funniest thing happened back at the cottage. Well, a few funny things actually. Something’s wrong with the taps,’ I said, my voice quavering. I cleared my throat. Keep your composure, I told myself. You’ll make him think you’re weird.

  ‘Sounds like it might just be a plumbing problem,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘That’s what my dad said, but you know, he knows nothing about plumbing. Anyway, just before I came out the weirdest thing—’

  ‘In old houses they tend to get all sorts of problems. He should probably ring up the landlord and get it sorted that way,’ said David, cutting me off. He frowned and I noticed him pressing his lips together so tightly that they became a thin line across his face.

  ‘Well, perhaps you could come and have a look at it. It sounds like you might know what you’re talking about,’ I gushed.

  ‘No, not really,’ he said.

  We drove on. I exhaled loudly and looked down at my hands. ‘Are you all right, David?’ I said.

  He huffed. ‘Ellen, I’m just going to come out with it. Was it you who kept ringing my house last night?’

  I blinked. ‘Ringing? No. Of course not. I don’t even have your number.’

  ‘Our house number hasn’t changed. Your dad had it noted down in his diary from when we used to arrange those fishing trips with Pete, do you remember?’

  ‘Oh that,’ I said, remembering. ‘That was years ago.’

  David nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I suppose it was a long time ago. It’s just somebody kept calling and when I answered, I could only hear a few breaths and that was it. Nobody answered when I called back. I looked up the number online and got this area code. I was just thinking it might be you.’

  My mouth had gone dry, so I cleared my throat again. I didn’t know what else to tell him.

  ‘So it definitely wasn’t you?’

  ‘Can’t have been,’ I said, smiling. ‘Well, I might ring up just for a natter, you know, just to see how you are from time to time...’

  ‘But last night wasn’t you?’

  ‘Course not,’ I said, slapping him on the arm. He flinched, like a wary cat. I thought perhaps he wasn’t used to being alone with a girl in such a short dress. He’d never been a very forward kid in that department years ago, and I bet he hadn’t changed.

  We drove the rest of the way to the cemetery in silence, and it took a short while to source out Peter’s grave amongst the thousands that lay buried there. The rain had seized up by the time we found it, nestled up near some bushes and a memorial bench.

  I got out the car, still soaked, but now my knees were quivering for a different reason. Peter’s grave, white marble with a dove in the corner, was overgrown with weeds. Even his picture, which was behind a glass case inside the headstone, was obscured by the overgrowth.

  ‘What is this?’ I said through gritted teeth, clenching my fists. I felt David’s presence behind me like a spirit passing through, sending a chill down my back.

  ‘His mum moved away about a year ago, somewhere far, so nobody comes here to sort the grave out much,’ said David. I heard a clicking sound, and when I turned he was lighting a cigarette.

  ‘What the heck are you doing?’ I said, turning to face him. ‘Don’t you dare smoke near Peter’s grave!’

  David frowned as he took a drag and pocketed his lighter. He was a long way off from th
e David I’d met at my twelfth birthday party; the weedy boy who shadowed Peter. He was bigger now, and there was no Peter to follow. ‘He’s dead. It’s not like he’s actually—’

  ‘That isn’t the point!’ I shoved him in the chest with my stick.

  ‘Jesus, calm down,’ said David, holding his hands up in protest, smoke streaming from the cigarette. ‘Don’t hit me with that.’

  ‘I’ll do worse,’ I warned. He cursed under his breath, but he did as he was told and stubbed the cigarette out on the grass. He picked it up and re–inserted it into its packet.

  He’d obeyed me. That was promising.

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  ‘Good,’ I said, turning back to the grave.

  David sighed. ‘I’m only doing this because Pete would...look, I know you’re upset, but don’t go thinking I’m just going to let you—’

  I held up a hand to silence him. He carried on.

  ‘—walk all over me. Don’t do that. Jesus.’

  I bent as low as I could, my stick sinking into the earth, and began snatching up all the weeds. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face like the rain on David’s windscreen.

  ‘Are you crying? Oh come on, it was only a smoke.’

  I threw the first lump of weeds in his direction. I heard him laugh as he dodged them, as if my boyfriend’s grave was just a big joke. Well, I’d show him who was in control soon enough.

  ‘You were always an arsehole to me,’ I said, tugging up another clump. ‘Always talking down to me.’

  ‘That was a long time ago. Pete’s death hit me hard too.’

  ‘No it didn’t,’ I snapped. ‘You don’t know what went on between us. You couldn’t understand. You’re just as bad as they are for letting his beautiful grave turn to weeds.’

  I heard him sigh again, then the sound of his trainers padding over the slushy grass toward me. I looked up. ‘You’re just as weird as I remember,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. I didn’t say anything back as he helped me pull up the weeds, taking twice as much in his large hands.