Lost for Words

  The two guys were both older than me. One was maybe just a bit older, maybe seventeen or eighteen, and one looked more Emily’s age, nineteen. They were black haired, like Rosa-Leigh, but with dark eyes. The older one had this twinkle in his expression like he knew stuff. He was laughing about something. The younger one was more serious; his lips were thinner and pressed together.

  Rosa-Leigh said, “Jack and Joshua.”

  I wasn’t sure which one was which. They both said hi, then they reached out to shake hands, which seemed really formal. The younger one’s hands were cold. The older one—Joshua, I think—held my hand for a second too long or maybe I held his hand for a second too long. My stomach did a little skip of pleasure. Then I felt weird because I really like that guy I met at the party, Dan.

  Rosa-Leigh’s stepmum came back downstairs, panting, but with a huge smile. “I keep trying to say hello properly. You must think we’re dreadfully uncivilized!”

  Rosa-Leigh pointed at the little boy in her stepmum’s arms. “Andrew. And upstairs we can hear Aaron, Anthony, and Aiden.” She went to get a hold of Andrew. “Angela and Dad like letter As, don’t they? They’ll run out of A names if they keep having babies.”

  Andrew squirmed out of her arms. His hair stuck up, he had crazy freckles all over his face, and his cheeks were flushed and rosy with sweat. He charged out of the hallway, hotly pursued by Rosa-Leigh’s stepmum, who was laughing.

  The guys went upstairs. Rosa-Leigh and I trailed into the kitchen. The warmth of the house was drying me off. I said, “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Seven. Most are half brothers. Baby Adam’s sleeping again, I guess.”

  Her stepmum reappeared. She shook my hand and said, “I’m Angela. Sorry. It’s a madhouse here.”

  She made us all a cup of tea. She asked about school and then told a story about little Andrew: he sat at the counter earlier in the day, ate a cookie, and said, “This is the life.” She laughed as she told this; then there were shouts from upstairs. “How many times do I have to tell you boys?” she cried. Leaving her steaming mug on the counter, she disappeared out of the room.

  “Your stepmum’s so nice,” I said. I suddenly remembered, “I should tell my mum where I am.” I texted Mum. I didn’t want to actually speak to her.

  Rosa-Leigh was digging in a cupboard, and she called over, “I can show you photos of Canada if you like. I’ll show you photos of my boyfriend.”

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “Not anymore. I told him we’d have to break up when I moved here.” She took some photos out of a drawer and laid them on the counter. One was of her cuddled in the arms of this tall, cute guy dressed in winter sports clothes. She said, “He was a ski instructor.”

  She made us some pasta and sauce, so we ate that while watching a film called Familia, which is some random Canadian film about an aerobics instructor and her daughter moving in with another mother and daughter. Afterward, she showed me a poem she’d written about England and rain. I could picture everything in it, and I told her so. She let me read three more. One was about being in love with her boyfriend, and she told me it was out of date but she still liked it. The next was about them breaking up—it was harsh but brilliant, about a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling of an empty room. In the last poem, which was what she called a prose poem, she wrote about the word love. She asked me about one of the lines. I made a suggestion, and she read the poem out again and liked the change. Prose poems are between prose and verse—maybe I’ll try and write one.

  It was getting late, and I still had homework to do, so I rang Mum because she hadn’t replied to my text. She said she’d come and get me. I was surprised, but I wasn’t going to say no and go back out in the rain and cold.

  When Mum stood in the doorway at Rosa-Leigh’s house she looked like a lost kid, small and wide-eyed. The expression on her face made me want to get out of there as soon as possible. Rosa-Leigh’s stepmum asked us to stay and have a drink, but Mum must have felt the same way I did. Suddenly all the noise and people were too much. Mum said we had to go.

  It was raining and dark when we got out of the car. Our street smelled of wet leaves. Mum said, “The worst time of the year,” and her voice was tight, like it wasn’t the worst time at all, like there were times that were far worse.

  As soon as we got inside, I hurried up to my room. I flicked through the channels on the TV, but there was nothing on. In the end I switched it off. Then this sentence popped into my head about sticks and trees. I had to write it down. As soon as it was on the page, I wanted to write another. Ended up, I wrote a poem.

  The sticks on the trees

  Stand up harsh and bare

  With rings on their fingers

  And knots in their hair

  The silver of winter

  Is smoky with rain

  The witches of sunlight

  Fly low again

  I think it’d be better if there was another verse but I can’t think of one.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH

  Oh my God! Oh my God! Dan, the guy from the party with the blue, blue eyes, just called. He got my number off Megan and he called. Oh my God! He said hi, and then he asked if I wanted to do something on Friday, and I asked him what, and he said come to his house and hang out with him and maybe a couple of his friends. I said, “Yes!” (I tried to sound relaxed and not ridiculously excited.) Then we talked about school and films—I told him about Familia—until Mum made me get off my phone.

  I pulled a face at her and said a quick good-bye.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 14TH

  It’s Valentine’s Day, and I don’t even have a boyfriend—well, not yet, but maybe soon…. I kept thinking about Dan and wondering if he might email or call, even though I spoke to him only yesterday and he’s not my boyfriend or anything. Silly.

  Poor Zara had a horrible day. Alec dumped her THIS MORNING. She was sobbing when I got into school. Apparently he’s been seeing this other girl for SIX MONTHS. Abigail tried to cheer Zara up all day; she was really sweet. Even though she’s loud and bossy sometimes, she has another side where she’s thoughtful and kind. I haven’t seen much of that side of her recently.

  This evening I clambered onto the roof and thought about Valentine’s Day two years ago. Emily was getting ready to go on a date with Ian. She was with Ian for the last two years of school. I was jealous of him because she never wanted to be with me anymore. Then, when she went to art college, she broke up with him anyway.

  She was putting on this blue dress that emphasized her blond hair and dark eyes. I went to my room and searched through my drawer until I found my silver and sapphire necklace. I came back to her room and dangled it out.

  “What?” she said.

  “Wear this. It’ll look good.”

  “What do you know about looking good?” she said, taking the necklace.

  “Granny gave it to me,” I replied.

  She held up the necklace, then put it around her neck and pouted at the mirror. She smiled slightly, and I thought she was imagining Ian’s face when he saw her later.

  Oh God, I wish I could be back in that room with her. I’d give up everything—not that I have anything to give up. I’d cling to her so tightly, she wouldn’t be able to breathe.

  I looked at her. I said, “It suits you.”

  “Why didn’t Granny give it to me?”

  “You weren’t here,” I said.

  And she’s not here now. She’s not here. How is that even fair?

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 15TH

  Everything has gone wrong.

  School was okay; Rosa-Leigh and I hung out. She showed me another poem and we talked about that. We got the bus home and when I got in, Mum had collected supper, even though it was only takeaway pizza. We even talked a bit about school and stuff, although I only told her what I thought she’d want to hear. Then she asked who I’d been speaking to the other night, who’d made my voice go all soppy, and for about half a secon
d it felt like old times when she was interested in me, so I told her that his name was Dan and I was going to his house on Friday.

  She said, “But you can’t. We have a long-standing arrangement with the Haywoods to go for dinner.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “There’s no way you can get out of it.”

  “Just this once?”

  “No, Sophie.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “I’m not starting. I just don’t want to go.” I pushed my plate to one side and stood up.

  “You have to go.”

  “What for?”

  “Do you think we need to argue about this?”

  “I’m not going.”

  “You don’t have any choice.”

  I knew there was no point to it, because once she’d said it was the Haywoods’ house we were going to, there was no way I’d change her mind. Katherine Haywood is Mum’s best friend from school, and they’ve been family friends forever, and their daughter, Lucy, is supposed to be my friend because we’ve known each other since we were little kids. Normally I wouldn’t mind seeing them but not this Friday. I leaned on the table to stop my hands shaking. “Please don’t make me go. Please, Mum,” I begged.

  She shut her eyes. “We can’t go on like this.”

  “Don’t make this into something it’s not. I just don’t want to go to the stupid Haywoods’.”

  Mum said, “I’ll take your phone and cancel whatever plans are suddenly so much more important than your family.”

  “What family?” I yelled.

  “Give me your phone. If you don’t do it yourself, I’ll call.” She was yelling, too.

  “You’re INSANE.” I took my phone, went into my room, and slammed the door. I don’t see why I have to go. They’re Mum’s friends. Lucy Haywood and I don’t even have much in common these days. It’s always uncomfortable when we hang out because we used to be so close when we were little. I even named one of my teddy bears after her when I was five. It’s not that Lucy doesn’t like me (I don’t think) or I don’t like her; more like once we were in the same fairy tale. The story had both of us in it, and all the magical adventures that happened, happened to us both. Now, we’re not even in the same book: her book’s more like a beach novel—conventional, ordered, following a predictable plot (boyfriend, school, great family)—and my book is like, well, it’s not like that, anyway—not a romance, not a fairy tale, not easy reading for a summer day.

  And the worst of it all is that Emily never had to go to the Haywoods’ when she had other stuff to do. But she always got away with everything, stuff I couldn’t get away with if I tried.

  I pressed in Dan’s number. He didn’t answer. I had to leave a message on his voice mail. Then Abigail rang and said she was going to Dan’s house with some people on Friday and was I going? I felt stupid because I hadn’t realized it was a thing—I thought it would be mostly just me and Dan, even though he said his friends would be there. I had to tell her no. Then we had nothing to speak about, because all I could think of was her sitting on the side of the sofa at her party, drunkenly flicking her hair and smiling at Dan.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 16TH

  In Religious Studies today we talked about Muslims and the Koran. Megan, who I happened to be sitting next to, started saying that we should be careful how many of “Them” we allow into the country, and the way she said it was really nasty. And Kalila, who is a Muslim, got upset and said we were all racists. Zara sighed loudly and said we should all think about what we were saying. I wished I wasn’t even in the room. If I could have made myself as small as an almond, I would have shrunk right down and sealed myself in a hard shell.

  Megan said, “I’m not racist. I’m just looking at the facts. I’m talking about terrorists. We’ve got to keep ourselves safe—it’s dangerous for all of us if we don’t.” She nudged my arm, “Sophie, you agree with me?”

  My heart began to beat faster and my mouth went dry. All the colors in the room got brighter. I was thinking about terrorists and bombings and wars, and I wondered how someone could become a terrorist. An ordinary guy, going about his ordinary life, who is persuaded he’ll get to sleep with however many white-clad virgins and live forever in some fluffy cloud if he just does this one thing. One murderous act. It makes as much sense to me as firing bullets into a crowd of strangers.

  Kalila was looking at me, waiting for me to answer.

  I stammered, “I don’t know. Why would I know?”

  Anger sliced through me. Not at bad things in the world like terrorists but at stupid, vicious Megan. I thought I might throw up. I had to run out of the lesson to the bathroom down the corridor. I was sick until there was nothing left inside.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  4

  Is smoky with rain

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 17TH

  Dan STILL hasn’t called me back. I wish he would. I thought he might. I keep checking my phone.

  We’re staying the night at the Haywoods’. I so don’t want to go. I tried to say to Mum that I felt sick and shaky, but she told me to “Stop trying to evade your responsibilities.” I want to go back to bed and sleep, because I’ve never felt so exhausted.

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 19TH

  The times when Emily came with us to the Haywoods’, we filled one whole side of their huge mahogany table that sits in their GORGEOUS room with big windows that look over their cool garden. When Emily was allowed not to go, Mum and I took up only two seats, and the Haywoods spread themselves out to fill the gap like they did this weekend. Trying to fill the gap.

  Their house always smells of fresh baked bread and whatever else Katherine has been cooking—she’s an amazing cook. Mum is much prettier than Katherine Haywood and thinner, and I wonder if when they were at school Mum thought her life would be better than her friend’s. Maybe Mum never thought mean things like that. Katherine has yellow horsey teeth and a nonexistent chin. She tells jokes that aren’t funny, but everyone laughs anyway. She’s like a glowing hearth: she makes anyone who’s near her feel warm. She works as a radio producer. Her husband, Mark, is brilliant and even I think he’s good looking (although he’s at least fifty). He always ensures Katherine has what she needs, even if it’s only the salt. And then, as well as Lucy, there are the twin girls, Molly and Meredith, who are eleven now and SO ANNOYING but who make Katherine smile even more.

  Lucy has bobbed hair, dyed purple right now, and lovely mahogany eyes that she puts perfect makeup around. I want to ask her how she learned to use makeup so well because one day she just seemed to have nailed it. She gets great marks at school and now has this really cute boyfriend called Kai. He was there for dinner last night, so it wouldn’t have even mattered if I hadn’t come. Lucy sat next to him all evening, their hands laced together. She seems to know what to say to guys (all of a sudden), and she’s totally herself with him—I kept looking over and remembering how it was with me that she used to share all those little looks and giggles.

  Mum must wonder why her family went so wrong. She must feel splattered with bad luck. As if there were a person sitting near us on the train journey of our life and this person ate too much from the buffet car. The buffet car on this particular train served up luck, both good and bad (on polystyrene plates). This person sitting next to us ate nothing but bad luck. And then, because he was totally full and because the train jolted going over a particular bump, he vomited bad luck all over us.

  So, we were at dinner, sitting there, splattered with bad luck, and Katherine asked Mum how she was doing. Mum did this funny bright smile, glanced over at me, and said we were fine, much better.

  Katherine looked at Mark and leaned over the table to put her hands over Mum’s. She said, “You can always both come and stay here for a while, anytime—”

  “No,” Mum said. “Thank you, though.”

  I thought about staying in their beautiful house, looking out over their beautiful
garden, hearing the noise of all that family. I said, “I’d rather stay at home.” I didn’t say it loudly or anything.

  Mum flashed a smile my way, but it didn’t hide how tired she looked, like she hadn’t slept in months. I wanted to reach out to her like Katherine had, but there was no way I was going to with everyone else there. Then I remembered that if it wasn’t for Mum, I’d be at Dan’s house, so I turned away.

  Mark said to Lucy, “Why don’t you take Sophie and Kai and show them the pool table?” Lucy jumped up. Then Mark said, “Molly, Meredith,” and he didn’t say anything else, and the twins skittered out of their seats.

  A nerve flexed along Mum’s jaw.

  I said, “I’ve seen the pool table.”

  Katherine nodded. She waved a hand in my direction, but she was looking at Mum. “It’s really wonderful. Lucy and Kai hang out there all the time.”

  Lucy tugged on my jumper sleeve, and I had no choice but to get up, too. My cheeks tingled as I reddened with irritation because I didn’t want to leave. I’m sick of being treated like a kid, and they were so obviously trying to get rid of us. I followed her and Kai out. Just before the dining room door clicked shut, I heard Katherine say my name. I lied and told Lucy I was going to the bathroom.

  She, wrapped up with Kai, went to the cellar. The twins had gone, so I was alone. I pressed my ear to the dining room door. What were they saying about me?

  I couldn’t hear very well.

  Katherine: “You should. Sophie’s obviously bottling everything up. She’s doing a good job of pretending, but she’s clearly not herself. And you need someone to help you.” She said the next bit very gently. “You’re both clearly struggling.”

  Mark: “We’ve talked about this. Let us help, please.”

  Mum: “It’s so hard. I know what you’re trying to do. I’m just so tired. And so alone. And so angry.”

  Mark: “We’re angry, too.”

  Katherine: “Sophie seems completely disconnected. Does she talk to you at all? I can’t imagine it. Poor darling is trying so hard to—Well, I’m not sure what she’s trying to do. It’s as if she wants to pretend nothing’s happened. Have you talked to her? I can’t imagine what this has done to her, but keeping it all inside is going to make things much worse.”