“Anna.”
“Anna,” Jack repeats, sounding surprised but delighted. “Anna, hey?” Despite everything, I bask in his admiration, flushing the color of Mum’s wine and feeling as alcoholic as it too. I’m twelve point five percent drunk on this moment. The rest of me is sober.
“You ready?” she asks. The answer is no, but I need to get closer to Henry if I’m going to get closer to Mr. Richardson. I pick up my phone from the coffee table and drop it in my bag.
Mr. Goldfish yelps. “Are you trying to knock me out?”
“Where are you going?” Mum asks.
“Into Manchester,” Anna replies.
“To do what?”
“Go to a bar.”
Mum laughs. “That’s ridiculous! You’re underage!”
“Let them go, Hels,” Jack says. “This is a good thing for Tess.”
“Wrong!” shouts Mr. Goldfish. “She’s walking into some sort of trap!”
“A really good thing.” He grins at Anna. “Have fun.”
“Jack, have you lost your mind?” Mum says as I start to leave. “Tess isn’t going anywhere.”
“Don’t embarrass the poor girl.” For once I agree with him. Anna’s looking from Mum to Jack, a smirk on her face. “Let her go. She’s practically sixteen.”
“She’s only just fifteen, actually. And you have to be eighteen to go to bars. She’s staying right here. At home. With us.”
Anna shakes her head just once. “No.” The cold wind blows into the living room and whistles through the hollow o of that word, hanging in the air.
“What do you mean, no?”
Anna changes tack immediately, giving Mum a beautiful smile. It scares me, how easily she can turn it on, and I think back to a similar grin in the bus lot after she had dismissed Connor.
“It’s an underage night. At the bar we’re going to. No alcohol or anything, so you don’t have to be eighteen to get in. Everyone from school will be there.” She says this last bit to Jack.
He snaps his head toward Mum. “Hear that? Come on now, Helen. It’s such a positive sign that Tess wants to go out. With other people. To mingle with her friends. Let’s not deny her the opportunity, eh?”
“Deny it!” Mr. Goldfish urges, peering out of the bag. “Deny it!”
Mum blows out her cheeks. “Fine. How’re you getting home?”
“My mum will pick us up at eleven.”
“Okay then, Tess. You’ve got your phone, haven’t you? Don’t wander off out of that bar. What’s it called?”
“Visage,” Anna replies.
“Lie!” Mr. Goldfish bellows. He swims up to Anna and thrusts his fin in her face. “You’ll get found out.” She won’t though. I bet if I looked, or if Mum did, for that matter, there really would be a bar called Visage hosting its very own under-eighteen event this evening because Anna is that good.
I pass over the threshold, stepping out into the gray fog of the night. It’s fierce and wolflike, biting my skin, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck and making me shudder.
“Jacket!” Mum hurries after me with a brown winter coat, not exactly suitable for this type of evening. “Keep warm. And safe. Safe most of all.” She pulls me into a hug.
“I’ll look after her, Mrs. Turner,” Anna says.
“That’s what I’m worried about.” There’s a glint in Mum’s eye that for once Anna seems unable to return. She uses Henry’s car as an excuse to look away, nodding at the blue vehicle parked down the road. “Come on, Tess.”
Mum lifts a hand, but she doesn’t wave. Her fingers are outstretched, sort of pressing against the night, like maybe she’s trying to ward off all its dangers for as long as possible before I disappear out of sight.
31
Even the back of Henry’s neck is divine.
“You just used the word divine,” Mr. Goldfish whispers as we pull into a depressing parking lot surrounded by iron fences complete with signs shouting out in big red letters that we are leaving the vehicle at our own risk. They don’t need to tell me that. I know it’s dangerous to step out of the safety of this backseat where I’ve been hidden away for the past thirteen minutes. Anna and Henry have been talking in the front, and a boy who I think is Finn has pretty much ignored me in the back. There were no formal introductions, just a nod of two heads as I climbed into the car.
“I know I did.”
“You sound about forty years old.”
“I know that too,” I say, but I can’t seem to help myself. The back of his neck is divine, sculpted muscles I didn’t know existed rippling above the collar of his T-shirt—the black collar of his black T-shirt.
“Like father, like son,” Mr. Goldfish says in a warning tone that more than kills the mood.
In the parking lot, I stare determinedly at my feet, trying hard not to notice the musky scent of Henry’s aftershave as he appears at my side.
“Nice boots.” He lights a cigarette and the world shrinks to the size of that fiery dot.
Mr. Goldfish tuts. “Lung cancer, that’s all I can say.” Smoke drifts from a pair of perfect lips and joins the fog of this misty night. It swirls around me, clinging to my hair and my face and my body, seeping into every crevice. I blush. “You won’t be blushing like that when he’s hooked up to a ventilator. And did you know that smoking makes men impotent?”
We wait for Henry to move because he’s in charge of this evening, not Anna. I’ve never seen her like this—quiet, sort of cowed by someone else’s presence. He lazily points the cigarette in the direction we need to go.
“Shall we?”
Anna buys cocktails for the girls but a pint of beer for me.
“I thought you looked quite thirsty.” She rubs my arm in the oh so considerate manner of a very good friend as she holds out the pint. “Hope you like it.” I stare at the drink without moving. Maybe it’s the dress shimmering with the strength of one hundred women, but I feel different. It might have wrong-footed me at first, this little dance between sweet and sinister, but I’ve got Anna’s moves nailed now.
The sequins on my dress glitter dangerously, all these glinting eyes watching Anna watch me with a new expression on her face. She’s on her guard. The silky black material hardens like armor against my skin as she puts the pint on a tall circular table in the middle of our group. Henry watches the whole thing, studying me closely.
The girls buy a second round, and a third, but the beer remains untouched.
“Lemme take a photo of you, Tess,” Sarah says, slurring her words. It takes her a while to find her phone even though it’s just in her bag. Clumsily, she pulls it out then waves it above her head. “Photo time! Just because you’re really pretty. Everyone, tell Tess how pretty she looks because she must feel so uncomfortable in that dress.” She points at my face that doesn’t go red, and then at my feet, which stand their ground. “Boots.” She giggles then hiccups. “Very girly.”
“You are such a girly girl, Tess. You are. Totally. The picture of femin… femim… femiminity. That’s why you should hold this for the photo,” Tara says, lurching for the pint and sloshing beer over Anna’s blue stilettos.
“Watch it!” She snatches the glass out of Tara’s hand then tries to force it on me. We’re back here again, but this time it feels more threatening. She’s drunk now, careless and aggressive, shoving the glass toward my chest. “This drink cost me four quid, you know. Don’t be so rude. Take it.”
Henry’s still staring. I’m not the only one to notice the intensity of his gaze. Anna’s tuned in to his frequency, same way I am, like we’re both able to read his micro-expressions, the slight shifts in his mood, the irritation evident only in his knuckles as he grips his drink more tightly. He’s angry, and I don’t think it’s with me.
Anna shoves the glass into my hand then glares at Henry.
“Look at you, staring at him. I mean her.” She pretends to gasp. It’s an ugly movement, a palm flattening against pretty much her whole face. Swaying a bit, she picks up a
cocktail glass smeared with purple lipstick then clinks it against mine. “Cheers, Tess. Chin, chin.”
The girls collapse.
“Chin!” Tara cries in delight. She leans closer, studying my face. “It really is massive, Tess. No offense.” The girls giggle. “And look at that! She actually does have a mustache!” Three pairs of wild swan eyes fix on my upper lip. It takes more willpower than I knew I possessed to hold my head aloft. “There, in the corner.”
Anna points at her own mouth, smearing her top lip to one side. “If it was me, I’d wax it off, but then, that’s the difference, isn’t it? I’m female. Not like Balls, here.” It’s a shock to hear her call me this, because even now, even though it’s completely ridiculous, I want to believe that she was on my side against Connor in the bus lot.
“When are you going to accept the truth, Tess?” Mr. Goldfish whispers. “It’s all been a game. She’s Blaise, isn’t she? It’s so obvious.”
I think he might be right. Anna pats my cheek and tweaks my nose so hard I take a step back, splashing beer over my boots.
“Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?”
“Getting away from you!” Mr. Goldfish snarls, but Anna has taken hold of my arm, her nails digging into my flesh.
“We love you, Tess, even if no one else does, okay? And we know you’re a girl. We’re on your side, right? Tara? Sarah? It’s not us writing stuff on Twitter. It’s the other freak. Isabel, in case you haven’t figured it out yet.” Their nods are so exaggerated, I’m surprised their heads don’t topple off their necks. I don’t believe them, and the knot in my stomach eases slightly to think that Isabel might not be involved. “We don’t call you Tess-tosterone, do we, girls? We know you’re—what’s that female hormone called again?”
“Say again? That female what?” Sarah asks, pointing nowhere near her ear.
“Hormone!” The quiet, slow drawl has vanished now. Anna’s voice is out of control. “Tess is full of that female hormone. What’s it called. Est—something?”
“Estrogen.” It’s Henry who says it.
Anna wheels round. “Trust you to come to Tess’s rescue. If you think she’s so full of estrogen, why don’t you do something about it?”
“You’re drunk, Anna.”
“I’m sober, to be honest with you. I can hold my alcohol better than any man in this room. Actually, I was making a very good point if you would just let me speak for once,” she slurs, stumbling on her stilettos. “What I was saying was—if you think she’s so special then go for it.” She downs the last of her cocktail, the ice clinking against her teeth then smashing to the bottom of the glass. “You’re welcome to her. Him. It. Why don’t we find out once and for all?”
Discarding her drink, Anna clutches my dress and starts to pull it up, exposing my knees. My thighs. I try to push her away but she’s strong. People are looking. Some are laughing. And then Henry grabs her by the arms and practically lifts her away.
I smooth down my dress with trembling hands, my heart thumping against my ribs.
“Fat bitch.” Anna glares at me with an expression of pure loathing, her true feelings revealed at last.
“You don’t have to listen to this,” Mr. Goldfish urges. “Go!”
She rounds on Henry. “If that is your type then go nuts. With her nuts. You know the rumor about her, right? That she’s got balls? There’s photos and everything.”
“And who started that rumor?” Henry asks, sounding almost weary. “You?”
“High five!” She holds up an unsteady hand that he ignores. She looks at Henry hard as she can when her eyes won’t exactly focus. “Go on, then. Take her. I dare you.”
She doesn’t think he’s going to do it. Neither do I, so it’s shock for both of us when Henry puts down his glass. It taps softly against the table in a matter-of-fact sort of way, like it’s no big deal, how he’s walking away from his friends toward the luckiest girl in the room who just so happens to be me.
“Fancy getting out of here?”
“All right, you’ve made your point,” Anna says, and she tries to laugh with Tara and Sarah, but they’re staring at Henry in disbelief. “You don’t have to take her anywhere. I wouldn’t subject you to that. Talk about an—”
Henry puts one hand on each side of my face and kisses me suddenly.
32
“I’m guessing now isn’t the time to remind you that he could be your half brother?” Mr. Goldfish asks as Henry pulls away.
Our hands are still touching. There is nothing in this bar apart from the tips of our fingers and the heat passing between them.
Mr. Goldfish clears his throat. “There is also me. I am in this bar. Right here. Talking to you.” He appears over Henry’s shoulder, waving a bright orange fin. “Hello? Hi? Remember me?” He jabs a fin at Henry. “Remember him? Your maybe-relative? Your quite-probably half brother?”
My fingers go cold. Unbelievably, I am the one who breaks contact, but Henry doesn’t seem to mind. He nods like together we’ve made the decision that it’s time to go. I am dazed, disembodied, gazing down at a girl leaving a bar with the best-looking boy ever to have set foot inside it. I can’t resist glancing back at Anna and Tara and Sarah, who haven’t moved since Henry put his hands on my face where I can still feel them burning. The girls are completely still, mouths open—three horrified swans and one triumphant turkey, strutting out the door.
It’s foggier than ever, as if the essence of Henry has thickened in the atmosphere because this boy, sighing at the murky sky, is the opposite of bright and clear and simple. He’s no Mercury. He’s cool and dark and mysterious. A Pluto, if ever I saw one, just like me.
“This is getting really weird,” Mr. Goldfish mutters. I almost turn him off. I reach into my bag to flick his switch but stall at the last second. I need him, because, yeah, this is all becoming a little bit confusing, like I want to run away from Henry and also stay by his side forever, and these two competing forces go to battle in my limbs that freeze as he disappears down the road.
I follow.
Of course I do. I’m human, high on adrenaline, and Henry is impossible to resist.
I don’t know what I expect to happen when I catch up to him, but it’s something incredible. Henry doesn’t take my hand, even though it’s readily available, swinging at my side. He doesn’t look at me either, or speak, just trudges to a food van to get a hot dog.
He asks for fried onions and plenty of ketchup. I try to find the romance in this, but it’s impossible when ketchup is squelching out of the bun onto his chin.
“Want some?” He holds it out, half-eaten, the hot dog glistening with fat and spit.
It takes Henry precisely two minutes and seventeen seconds to finish eating, and I know this because I counted it out, the agonizing passing of time where nothing happened apart from that mouth, chewing that hot dog. He wipes his hands on a napkin, screws it up, then throws it away.
“I didn’t even want that. But that’s consumerism for you. Capitalist bastards making us buy things we don’t need.” He kicks at a Styrofoam box. “So much unnecessary packaging. Drives me insane. It’s no surprise the planet is dying, right? You want a ride home?”
I glance at The 312 in the distance, wondering if Anna is expecting me to return, loving the thought of vanishing into the night.
“You’re going back in there?” Henry asks, misinterpreting the reason for my stare. He pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “Why are you friends with those girls, anyway?” His face glows orange in the flame of his lighter. “Same reason I am, I suppose.” He laughs sardonically. “They’re hot, aren’t they? Nice to look at? Popular? At least that’s what Finn keeps telling me. He’s into Anna for some strange reason.” He inhales deeply then blows smoke at the sky. “Superficial bullshit. None of us is immune. It’s pervasive, the sickness at the heart of our society.” He stoops over the bin, and for a second I think he might vomit, but then he reappears with something held delicately between his thumb an
d forefinger. It’s a brown half-eaten apple that he spins like a globe. “There is something rotten at the core of our world.”
“Is this what they call foreplay?” Mr. Goldfish whispers, sounding uncertain.
“Something broken at the heart of everything, on every level. Think about it. The planet—broken. Society—broken.” Henry points at the apple, roughly where the United Kingdom might be. “And us”—he glances at me—“the individuals, two little specks of nothing in all this madness…”
“Broken?” Mr. Goldfish guesses, filling the long, strange silence.
“Totally and utterly screwed.”
I wouldn’t speak in the car even if I could speak in the car. There are no words. Henry doesn’t mind the silence. In fact, I think he quite likes it, driving along with even an engine that seems muted. It purrs quietly as we trundle at forty miles an hour down a road where the speed limit is sixty. He almost touches my knee every time he goes for the gearstick, which is a lot, because he can’t make up his mind whether to stay in fourth or fifth. We drive and we drive and we drive and then we stop at a red light.
Mr. Goldfish crosses his fins then nods at the clock on the dashboard. “Good thing we’re not in any rush. Walking would be quicker than this. Does he realize the light’s turned green?”
Evidently not, because we don’t move. The van behind us revs its engine to make a point that Henry ignores. He’s fixated on a stray dog running down the street, tail between its legs. That’s how he looks too—woeful and lost and defeated by something, I don’t know what. He would no doubt say the world but I wonder what it is in his world, or who it is that’s responsible. Let’s be clear, no one has a face like that over too much Styrofoam packaging.
The van honks. Henry blinks so slowly I think his eyes have closed for good. They open eventually, the rims pink and raw as he yawns in the darkness. He’s in no rush to get home, and that’s a surprise when I think about the smiling boy in Mr. Richardson’s wallet. Something’s happened to him, and it comes to me in a great flash of realization that almost makes me groan at my stupidity. Of course that’s what it is. It makes total sense. I have to fight the urge to grab Henry’s fumbling hand as it fiddles with the gearstick and we finally start driving once more. He lost his mum, and ever since that tragic day he’s been struggling to find direction—in this car and also in this life that has no meaning, not anymore. There’s a hole where his mum used to be, a black gaping hole that only a new sister could fill.