But anyway! Drums forever! I am so happy, even though I now have to write a very boring fake e-mail for German homework about booking a place in a youth hostel.
I have found out why Mrs Harrington has been so quiet lately. She is writing a book! Apparently, she has been writing for hours every night and is too tired in our classes to do anything but actually teach us, which is fine by me. God knows how much time she wasted last year going on about my mother’s books. Usually I am all for teachers wasting time talking about other things besides the subject we’re meant to be studying, but not when they’re raving about my mother. Though of course Mrs Harrington hasn’t forgotten about Mum, because she is her great inspiration!
It all came out at the end of class today. I was walking out of Room 7 and looking forward to eating my ham and salad sandwich when Mrs Harrington said, ‘How’s your mammy’s writing coming along, Rebecca?’
Sadly, I couldn’t ignore her, so I said, ‘Oh, fine.’ And then I thought of something that might cheer Mrs Harrington up. ‘She’s finished writing the book with Patricia Alexandra Harrington in it!’
Months ago, in a moment of madness, I told Mrs Harrington (whose full name is Patricia Alexandra Harrington) that my mother was going to name a character after her. Of course, then I had to make sure my mother actually did it, which was much easier said than done. But she did it, in the end, so it all worked out, but it was very stressful at the time. Still, all’s well that ends well. And Mrs Harrington looked delighted when I mentioned it.
‘Oh, I can’t wait to read it!’ she said. ‘Me, in a Rosie Carberry book!’
‘Well, just your name,’ I reminded her. ‘I mean, Patricia Alexandra is the villain.’
‘That makes it even more fun,’ said Mrs Harrington happily. ‘I can’t believe my name has inspired your mammy.’ Then she looked at me pointedly. ‘And actually, she’s inspired me!’
‘How?’ I said nervously. Was Mrs Harrington going to start dressing like my mother in a scary stalker way or something? I wouldn’t totally put it past her, given her behaviour in the past.
‘I’m writing a book!’ said Mrs Harrington.
What is it about my English teachers and writing books? The reason we got Mrs Harrington as an English teacher in the first place was because our original teacher went off to write one! Though she actually had a book deal, which is how she could afford to leave her job. It turns out Mrs Harrington is writing one just for fun and it’s all down to, well, you can guess.
‘Your mammy made me realise the power of stories,’ she said, which is a bit worrying considering she’s an English teacher. I would have hoped she’d been aware of the power of stories before she started reading my mother’s books. ‘And now I want to follow her brilliant example.’
So I presume Mrs Harrington’s book is all about a cosy little village with a bakery and a smiling granny and some Irish-dancing kids in it. That more or less sums up most of my mother’s books. Then Mrs Harrington told me that she’s been working on it for three hours every night, which is pretty impressive. I have never spent so much time on my homework, even though it’s Junior Cert year.
Anyway, I told my mother about it this evening and, to my surprise, she was absolutely delighted.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘Tell her I wish her the best of luck.’
I will pass this message on to Mrs Harrington. Maybe she really will become a best-selling author. In fact, maybe she’ll become more popular than my mother. Bet Mum wouldn’t be so pleased then.
Before I went to bed, I asked Mum how she would feel if Mrs Harrington became more successful than her by copying her and she just laughed. She has never taken my interest in her career seriously. I don’t know why I bother, especially as she reminded me today that the sequel to her teen book about Ruthie O’Reilly will be out in a few months.
‘I know the last one took you by surprise,’ she said. ‘So I thought I’d give you lots of warning.’
The new book is called Ruthie’s Rules for Life (what a ridiculous title), and Mum swears that she will make it very clear this time that Ruthie has nothing in common with me or Rachel. And she has promised that she has not ‘borrowed’ any more real-life incidents from our lives. I was hoping she might just not do any interviews at all, but she says that she can’t afford to turn down any publicity requests. Anyway, it can’t possibly be as bad as the last time. At least I know she’s not going to let any newspapers print pictures of me as a kid dancing about in ludicrous pink shorts. I still feel a bit sick when I remember that.
Oh my God. Something awful has happened. Not to me, and no one has died or been hit by a car or anything, but it’s quite awful and I’m kind of surprised at how upset I am. And I still can’t totally believe it’s true.
Tom broke up with Rachel.
I know! Saint Tom the Perfect Boyfriend! It’s shocking. I genuinely thought they would stay together forever and get married or something. Well, maybe not get married – as someone, possibly my mother in one of her rare moments of wisdom, pointed out when Paperboy went off to Canada, most people do not stay with their first boyfriend or girlfriend for the rest of their lives. But I really couldn’t imagine them breaking up. I mean, they’ve been together for nearly two years! I was barely thirteen when they got together and now I’m practically grown up. I just can’t believe it. But it’s definitely true.
I don’t know exactly how or why it happened, or anything like that, because I haven’t actually seen Rachel yet. I was in Cass’s house this afternoon and stayed there for dinner, so it was quite late when I got home – her mum gave me a lift. As soon as I came in the door, I just sensed something was wrong. I called ‘Hello?’ and no one answered, but Mum and Dad were in the kitchen talking quite seriously when I walked in.
‘Oh, hi love,’ said Mum, in a distracted sort of way. ‘I thought I heard someone come in.’
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked, because she didn’t look upset enough for, you know, a sudden death, but she did look a bit stressed. ‘Where’s Rachel?’
‘She’s in her room,’ said Dad. ‘But she’s quite upset.’
‘About what?’ I said, starting to feel nervous. All sorts of things immediately sprang into my mind (though not the actual truth, as it turned out – the thought that Tom might have dumped her didn’t even occur to me). What if Rachel had a terrible illness or something? But I knew surely if she did, my parents would look more worried themselves.
Mum and Dad looked at each other.
‘It’s Tom,’ said Mum. ‘He’s, well, he’s broken up with her.’
‘Tom?’ I said, and I must have kind of shrieked it because Mum immediately went, ‘Sssh! Not so loud.’
‘But why? How?’ I said. I felt stunned, and I still do, really. Tom and Rachel were (and even writing ‘were’ there looks weird. Like their relationship is now officially in the past) so … solid. One of those things that never change, like Miss Kelly going on about natural disasters in geography class, only more boring and less scary. I just took them being together for granted. I never actually thought about it much, apart from when Rachel was annoying me (like last week) or when I was feeling bitter after Paperboy went to Canada. Rachel going out with Tom was always just … there. A fixed thing in my world. And now it isn’t.
‘I don’t know any details,’ said Mum. ‘I just know she was meeting him this afternoon and she came back in a bit of a state.’
‘But what did she say?’ I said.
‘Not much, Bex,’ said Dad. ‘And we really didn’t want to push her. So don’t go up to her. She’ll talk to us when she’s ready.’
‘But why?’ I said again. An awful thought struck me. ‘Is there someone else?’
But they really didn’t know anything more. And there wasn’t anything I could do. I went upstairs and I was going to knock on the door, but I could hear her crying and it made me feel all weird and awful. I’m used to Rachel being, well, sorted, especially in comparison to me. In
fact, sometimes it’s kind of annoying, when she’s being all wise and sensible. But her being really upset is much worse. I feel terrible for her. I’m almost taking it personally, in a strange way – like, how dare Tom do this to her? Who does he think he is?
Oh God, I can’t just ignore her, even if she wants me to. I’m going to go and knock on her door and see what happens.
Well, not much happened. I could hear Rachel sniffling in there when I knocked on the door, and then the sniffling noises stopped and she said ‘Go away!’ in a choked-up voice.
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’ I know it was a stupid thing to say because clearly someone who has shut herself up in her room and is still crying is not okay, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
‘No!’ cried Rachel. ‘And I don’t want to talk to anyone.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I wasn’t exactly surprised. ‘Okay. Well, um … I’m sorry. About … whatever happened.’
I paused for a second in case she changed her mind and decided she wanted to see me, but she didn’t say anything. A second later, she put some sad-sounding music on, so I gave up and came back here. I want to go downstairs and watch telly – there’s a good film on tonight – but I feel a bit guilty enjoying myself with my big sister sobbing away upstairs. There’s not really anything I can do, though, is there? I feel really rotten. Stupid Tom. So much for him being the perfect boyfriend. I think I might hate him now.
Is it really wrong that I feel a bit relieved that the whole drum situation was sorted out before this happened? If Tom had broken up with Rachel before then, it would still all be hanging over me. Not that my drumming is as important as Rachel being broken-hearted. But still.
Oh, it is wrong to feel relieved about any aspect of this. I feel bad for even writing that earlier. Poor Rachel. I can still hear her crying. I hate Tom. I actually do hate him. If he turned up at the house right now, I would hit him, even though that is against all my principles. Well, I wouldn’t actually hit him, but I would really want to. How dare he make her feel like this? Horrible smug goon with his stupid perfect presents.
It’s half twelve in the afternoon and there’s been no sign of Rachel. I don’t think she’s even been out to go to the loo, which is a bit worrying. At least, I haven’t heard her. Mum says she’ll be fine and not to hassle her and that Rachel will come out of her room in her own time, but I heard her sneak upstairs earlier and try to persuade Rachel to come out and have some breakfast. It didn’t work though.
Surely hunger will drive her out eventually. When the first really embarrassing picture of me was in the paper last year I refused to come out of my room for ages too. Mum ended up leaving scrambled eggs outside my door in the morning, but that could only keep me going for so long so I eventually ended up having to go downstairs and scavenge for food (actually, I think I just made more scrambled eggs. They’re the only things I can cook properly).
Rachel is definitely awake, though, because I heard her talking on the phone earlier. I couldn’t hear what she was saying (not that I was eavesdropping or anything), but she sounded upset. I tried knocking on the door again after she got off the phone, but she just yelled at me to go away.
‘Come on, Rach,’ I said. ‘You can talk to me about it. If you want.’
‘I don’t want to talk to anyone in this house,’ she said, and she just put some more loud, sad music on. So I had to give up. I just yelled, ‘Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am’ over the music and left.
It all feels very wrong. Usually I’m the one being all angsty in my room and she’s the one being irritatingly sensible. In theory it should be good to have the tables turned, but it actually just makes me feel sad and weird.
She finally came out of her room. I actually got a shock when I saw her. She looked awful. I don’t mean it in a nasty way. She just looked like she had been really sick. She was very pale and her eyes were all red and sore and her nose was a bit red too. I was in my room when I heard her come out, so I opened my door and peeked out.
‘Hey,’ I said.
She looked at me and sighed.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Are you …’ I began, and then stopped. ‘I know you’re not okay. Sorry. Tom’s a stupid dickhead anyway.’
And I meant it, but I wish I hadn’t said anything about Tom, mean or otherwise, because as soon as she heard his name Rachel’s face sort of crumpled up and she started to cry. I didn’t know what to do because we are not very huggy sort of sisters usually, but I couldn’t bear to just stand there watching her cry so I gave her a hug.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said into her shoulder. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘I wish I could think he was a dickhead,’ she said. ‘But I can’t. I just … I just don’t understand anything. I don’t know why he did it.’
She sat down on the landing and leaned against her bedroom door. I sat down next to her.
‘But what did he say?’ I asked.
She took a deep sort of shuddering breath.
‘He said he was really sorry, but it didn’t feel right anymore,’ she said. ‘And he couldn’t help it.’ She rubbed between her brows with her fingers.
‘Were there, I dunno, any signs?’ I said. ‘Looking back?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really. Not at all. I keep thinking there must have been, but I really thought everything was okay.’ She looked like she was going to start crying again for a moment, but then she swallowed and went on. ‘He just doesn’t want to go out with me anymore.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. But then I remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours.
‘Would you like some toast?’ I said.
Rachel looked at me in surprise.
‘Um, okay,’ she said.
So I went downstairs and made her some toast. When I went back upstairs, she was lying on her bed staring into space and listening to Neil Young singing about everyone going out and having fun while he was sitting at home having none and being lonesome.
‘Here you go,’ I said, and handed her the toast.
‘Thanks,’ she said. She took a bite out of it. ‘I keep thinking it can’t be true,’ she said. It was almost as if she was talking to herself. ‘I mean, obviously I know it is. True. But I can’t totally believe it deep down. I keep thinking he’s going to change his mind. Do you think he could?’
I’m not really used to Rachel talking to me like this. Usually it’s me who’s having some sort of emotional issue and she’s the one offering her great advice like a wise woman of the world. So it felt very weird.
‘I suppose he could,’ I said. ‘Maybe he was just having some sort of mental crisis and soon he’ll realise it’s all been a terrible mistake.’
Rachel sighed.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But … no, he won’t. He seemed pretty sure. Oh God, I don’t know.’ She looked like she might cry again for a moment. ‘Do you mind leaving me on my own for a while?’
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Thanks for the toast,’ she said.
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Let me know if you need more food.’
And then I left her, still listening to Neil’s wailings. I wish there was something I could do. Maybe Tom really will change his mind? I mean, they seemed so happy together. And I suppose he really was nice, even though he was a bit boring and perfect (though not all that perfect, clearly). And Rachel might sometimes be an annoying big sister, but she’s basically a decent person. Why did he change his mind about her? It’s not like when I realised what a selfish goon John was. How can you suddenly decide you don’t want to go out with someone who is a nice person when you’ve been with them for so long? It doesn’t make any sense.
I rang Alice (on the landline – I actually feel so rattled by the whole thing that text or IM weren’t enough for me) and told her about what happened. She was shocked as well.
‘And Rachel really had no idea?’ she said.
> ‘She says not,’ I said.
‘Poor Rachel,’ said Alice sadly. ‘Maybe we could do something to cheer her up?’
This would be a great idea, but I can’t think of anything that would make her more cheerful at the moment. Neither could Alice, really. She eventually suggested writing a song for her, but I don’t think that would do the trick. I wrote her one for her birthday and I think she was more amused than touched. But hopefully we’ll manage to think of something better.
At least Rachel isn’t on her own now. Jenny came round earlier. She’s been up in Rachel’s room for ages so I hope she’ll make her feel better. Or if that’s not possible (and I’m afraid it might not be at the moment), at least make her leave her room and have a shower. And eat something. She didn’t come down for dinner; she just had more toast instead. Which means she’s had nothing but toast for twenty-four hours, and even I couldn’t live on that. And I really do love toast.
Rachel didn’t want to go to school today, but Mum and Dad were very firm about it.
‘I know you’re upset, love,’ said Mum. ‘But you can’t hide away from everything.’
‘And you can’t afford to miss school,’ said Dad. ‘Not in your Leaving Cert year.’
You’d think that this would be the one time when he could have avoided mentioning the L-word, but I suppose, at this stage, he and Mum are so used to mentioning our stupid exams every five seconds that they don’t know how to stop.
‘Just one day won’t make any difference,’ said Rachel, taking a bit of toast (her sole diet for the last few days). But my parents didn’t care and sent her off to school. I saw her at lunch – she was surrounded by her mates and I presume everyone is fussing over her. I hope that’s what she wants. Knowing Rachel she might prefer if people just left her alone for a while.