Haunt Me

  I reach out to grab her arm, but she pulls away.

  “Erin, I —”

  “I can’t do this,” she blurts out, waving a hand to ward me off. “I — I’m sorry, Olly. I want to help you — I do. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve told me. And I’ll be your friend. But I can’t be more than that. I can’t.”

  I’m out of my seat, too. “Erin, wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Please, come back, let’s talk.”

  Erin shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Then, before I have the chance to say anything else, she’s pushed her chair under the table, grabbed her coat, and practically run out of the café.

  And I’m left sitting on my own at the table as the darkness gathers outside, wondering why the hell I couldn’t have kept the words locked up inside me, along with everything else.

  I can’t believe what I’ve done.

  There have been times in my life when I’ve had a pretty low opinion of myself, but they’ve never come close to how much I hate myself right now.

  I’m in love with Joe. What the hell was I doing, kissing his brother?

  And what the hell was he doing, telling me he loves me? He has no right to love me. I never said he could. He doesn’t know me. He knows a lie. A pretense.

  What would he think if he knew the truth?

  What would anyone think?

  I don’t need to ponder for too long. The answer is obvious. They’d think I was crazy.

  In love with a ghost?

  I can feel familiar sensations creeping around my body as I stumble home along the cobbled backstreets. My heart rate speeding up, hands shaking, breath catching in my throat. I can’t let it happen. Can’t start panicking now.

  But how can I do anything else but panic? I have literally no one I can talk to about this. After the betrayal I just played out with Olly, I certainly can’t talk to Joe. Not yet, anyway. I’ll have to find a way to tell him all this — not the kiss, but the details of how he died. But I need to think of a way of doing it without telling him how close Olly and I have gotten. That would hurt Joe more than anything else I could do to him. I’ll tell him soon. Not yet. Not till I’ve figured out how to do it without tearing him apart even more.

  What a mess.

  Eventually, I make it home and stagger through the door.

  Mum’s in the kitchen. She comes into the living room when she hears the door. I’m leaning against the wall.

  “Hi, darling. I wasn’t expecting you home so soon,” she says. Then she looks more closely at me. “Erin?” She takes a couple of steps toward me. “Are you OK?”

  I wave her away and stand up straighter. I just need to act for a couple more minutes. “I’m fine, Mum.”

  Big wooden smile.

  She’s giving me that look. The one where it’s as if she’s trying to pry inside my head to weed out the truth.

  “Honestly, Mum. I’m fine. Just a bit breathless from the hills.”

  Mum narrows her eyes. “You’re sure?”

  Then I have an idea. A plan. A way to avoid everyone for a couple of days.

  “OK, to be honest, I’m not feeling all that great. I think I’ve caught a stomach bug. There’s one going around at school.” The lie comes so easily. The more I tell, the better I’m getting at it.

  “Oh, sweetheart. Shall I make you some oop?”

  Oop. Mum’s special tomato soup that she’s always made for me when I’m sick. Just the word is enough to make me want to break down, throw myself on the floor, and cry myself dry.

  “That would be lovely,” I manage to croak.

  Mum takes another couple of steps toward me and opens her arms. I fall into them and she strokes my hair.

  “Oh, sweetheart, you poor thing,” she says, kissing the top of my head. “Go on upstairs and I’ll bring you some oop when I’ve made it. It’ll make you feel better.”

  I drink in her comfort, trying to pretend to myself that a bowl of tomato soup really can make me feel better. It has done so many times in the past.

  I’m not sure anything can help me this time.

  I’m fading. I can feel it happening.

  I can’t remember when I last saw Erin. It’s been days, I know that. Maybe two. Three? I’m losing her. I’m losing everything. This is it — I know it.

  I sleep at the wrong times. I sleep all the time. And then I wake disoriented, confused. I don’t think I slept before. Did I? Maybe I did. I no longer know anything for sure.

  Each time I wake up, it takes so much energy to remind myself where I am, who I am, what’s happening, that by the time I’ve done all that, I’m ready to go back to sleep again.

  I haven’t got the energy to clamber over the rocks anymore, so mostly I stay in my cave.

  I sit.

  I watch the sunrise. When I remember. When I am awake.

  I say her name, over and over.

  Erin.

  Erin.

  Erin.

  I wait.

  She’ll find me. When she comes.

  I hope she comes.

  I manage to convince everyone that I’m sick enough to stay out of school for two days. Mum fusses around me, bringing me comfort food, playing Scrabble in bed with me. Dad pops his head in from time to time, to check if I’m OK. Phoebe hurls herself through my bedroom door when she gets home from school, giving me the usual running commentary on her day.

  Olly sends texts. I reply to half of them. If I ignore him, I’m scared he’ll just turn up at the door. As far as I know, he still doesn’t know where we live, but what if he finds out? What then? I can’t even think about how I’d explain that one to him, so I give him the same line I’m giving everyone else.

  So sorry. Had to leave. Got a stomach bug. Home in bed. See you soon. x

  I can’t face Joe. I want to see him so badly, but I can’t — not till I’ve figured out what’s going on with Olly and how I feel about him.

  So I divide most of my time between wanting to hide away from the entire world forever and wishing there were someone — anyone at all — I could talk to.

  Every day I summon an inner army to fend off the rising panic. I’ve only got myself to get through this. Every coping strategy I’ve ever had, every piece of advice that’s ever helped — I need them all now. I can feel myself slipping down into the dark well, and I need to find a light from somewhere, or a stepping-stone to help me out. I need a reason to want to get out. The darkness of the well feels too inviting right now.

  I have to fight it. But I need something — or someone — to help me. I need someone to talk to, someone I can trust.

  I’m in the middle of wondering if I could ever consider telling my parents any of this, and deciding that the answer is a definite no, when my phone pings with a text. It’s an unknown number.

  Hi. Heard you’re sick. Hope you’re better for the weekend. Sleepover at my house on Saturday? x

  Another text comes through half a minute later.

  Forgot to say — it’s Nia. Got your number off Olly. Hope that’s OK. Missing you at school. x

  I stare at the text for about five minutes. Then I read it again. And again.

  Nia cares. She wants to see me. She’s missing me. She texted just when I needed someone.

  Suddenly I don’t want to hang around in bed any longer. I’ve had enough of moping. And no, I have no idea where this will lead, what I’m going to do, who I will ever be able to talk to about any of it — but I am feeling something mostly unfamiliar to me. Hope.

  I might not have a clue how to unscramble my screwed-up head and my messed-up love life, but I’ve got something that I’ve never had before. I’ve got a group of friends who actually want to hang out with me. I might even have a best friend — who knows?

  I don’t want to hide away in my bedroom any longer. It’s time to shake myself out of this and figure things out. I’ve got friends. And if anyone’s going to make me feel better about all of this, it’s them.

  So I
text back.

  Yeah. Stomach bug. Nearly better now. Yes please to Saturday

  And then I get up. I’m ready to face up to my life again and see if I can at least focus on the one tiny corner of it that is going right.

  I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to worry. Not going to sweat it.

  She’s not feeling well, and she doesn’t want to see me, and that’s fine. Maybe that’s why she ran out of the café so suddenly. Maybe she was going to be sick or something. It’s not exactly what you want to happen the first time you’ve kissed someone new.

  Especially if it was the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life. Which it was — for me, anyway.

  It crosses my mind just to turn up at her house with a bunch of flowers, and then I remember I don’t know where she lives. I asked her in one of my texts, but she must have missed it, because she didn’t reply. For a second, I even consider asking the admin ladies at school. They’re not meant to give that kind of information out, but one of them has a soft spot for me, and I think she might tell me if I asked.

  But that’s maybe a shade too stalker-ish.

  So I’ll wait till she’s better. I’ll try not to text her ten times a day, try not to keep checking my phone to make sure I haven’t accidentally muted the volume and missed a text from her.

  And I’ll try to remember that in some vague corner of my mind, there was a time when I used to coast through life. I’ll try to remember to be cool.

  Even if I have just told my deepest, darkest secret to a girl I didn’t even know existed two months ago.

  And even if she is the only thing I can think about, every minute of the day.

  Cool, Olly. Play it cool.

  Yeah, right.

  “Here — your glass is empty.” Zoe nudges me to hold out my glass for her and tops it up from the bottle she sneaked into the house past Nia’s parents.

  I take a few quick gulps and enjoy the feeling of it going to my head.

  “Someone’s thirsty!” Kirsty says with a laugh.

  I laugh back and hold my glass out for another top-up.

  “I think this has been the best night of my life,” I announce, barely caring that my words are coming out slightly slurred.

  And it’s true. Or at least it feels like it is. The four of us had dinner with Nia’s parents. Her mum made us an amazing Kenyan curry, which we took up to Nia’s bedroom and ate like a picnic on the floor. Family recipe, apparently. All I know is that it was a bit hot for me, which meant that I gulped down my first pint of beer fairly quickly.

  I’m not sure what number pint I’m on now. Three? Maybe four.

  Which, for someone who barely drinks, is quite a lot.

  So my inhibitions are at an all-time low when Zoe announces that we should play a few rounds of Truth or Dare. “I’ll go first,” she adds.

  “OK, truth or dare?” Kirsty asks.

  Zoe rubs her chin. “Hmm. Let’s think. OK, I’ll start off with a truth.”

  Nia looks around at us.

  Kirsty smiles slyly. “I know.” She turns to Zoe. “How far did you go with Olly Gardiner when you were going out with him?”

  I bury my face in my glass and take another hefty swig. I don’t want any of them to see my reaction. I don’t even know what my reaction is going to be.

  Zoe grins brazenly. “On a scale of . . . ?” she asks.

  “One to ten,” Nia suggests.

  Zoe screws up her nose. “Well, let’s see. That would have to be an eleven, then. We did everything. And I mean everything!”

  I drain my glass and let the booze cloud my thoughts. I don’t want to have any thoughts. Or feelings.

  We continue, going around one by one. Kirsty chooses a dare, and we make her stand in the window and lift up her top for five seconds. Nia chooses a dare, too, and we make her go downstairs and sneak a couple of bottles of wine back to the bedroom without her parents finding out. We open the first one and fill our glasses.

  And then it’s my turn.

  Zoe looks me in the eye. “So. New girl,” she says. She’s smiling, but something about her smile is a bit off. A bit false. Unless it’s just the alcohol, which it could well be. I’m not sure I’d trust my own judgment about anything right now.

  “Truth or dare?” she asks.

  To be honest, I’m terrified of being dared to do anything. My worst fear would be to make a complete fool of myself with them before I’ve properly cemented myself as one of the gang. So I have no choice.

  I take a big slug from my wineglass. “Truth.”

  I drain the rest of my glass as the girls huddle together to discuss what they most want to know from me. The room is starting to sway.

  “We barely know you,” Kirsty says. “So how do we know what to ask you?”

  Nia wags her finger. “OK, I know. How about this. Tell us a secret that you have never told anyone!”

  Her question turns me cold inside. And terrifies me. And excites me.

  Can I do it? Can I tell them?

  All this time with Joe, I haven’t been able to talk to a soul about him, and here’s my chance. I feel like I’ll burst if I don’t. But then, if I do and they laugh at me, what then? I couldn’t bear that.

  Zoe reaches out for my hand. “We’re your friends,” she assures me, giving my hand a squeeze. “You can trust us.”

  “What’s said in Nia’s bedroom stays in Nia’s bedroom,” Kirsty adds. And even though she pronounces bedroom “bezhroom” and is slightly swaying as she says it, I believe her. I want to believe her.

  Zoe waves her arm at Kirsty. “Fill Erin up,” she instructs her. “Her glass is empty.”

  Kirsty lumbers toward me and pours me a huge glass of wine. I take a gulp of it, and then another.

  “Tell you what,” Nia says. “To make you feel better, how about one of us has to do the same thing first?” She looks around at the others. “Tell the rest of us something you haven’t told anyone.”

  “OK, I’ll do it,” Zoe says. She takes a swig of her drink and wipes her mouth. “But this is a serious secret, and you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

  We all promise.

  “OK, so you remember that substitute we had for PE in year eleven?”

  “The fit one?” Kirsty asks. “What was his name?”

  “Mr. Barratt, wasn’t it?” Nia adds.

  “That’s the one,” Zoe confirms. “Nathan Barratt.”

  “What about him?” I venture, taking a slug of my wine. My glass is nearly empty again. Zoe waves at my glass and Kirsty tops me up yet again. The wine sloshes over the top as she pours. I don’t know if it’s from her pouring or my drunken swaying.

  “Well, let’s put it this way: he had me working out a lot more than I’m used to. . . .”

  Nia claps a hand over her mouth. “You didn’t!” she exclaims.

  “Oh, yes, I did. First time I’ve ever enjoyed physical education in my life!”

  Kirsty leans across me to high-five Zoe, and my glass spills a bit more. I can’t believe it! Zoe’s just admitted to having sex with a teacher. She could get expelled for that. He could go to prison!

  OK, that’s it. I’m telling them.

  I drain my glass. “I’ve seen a ghost,” I declare.

  Everything stops as the three of them turn to look at me. I can’t breathe. Oh, God, have I made a mistake? Should I tell them I’m joking? Then I think about Zoe admitting something so serious, and I feel like I’ll be letting her down if I back off.

  Zoe grabs the wine bottle from Kirsty and leans in farther as she tops me up again. “Tell us more,” she says slowly.

  And I do. I tell them everything. Or most of it. I tell them about moving into the house, about seeing Joe in my room, talking with him, getting to know him. I tell them about that awful woman coming over to expel him from the house. I tell them I’ve seen him since then out on the coast path.

  I stop short of two things. I don’t tell them exactly where he is now, and I don’t tell them t
hat we’ve kissed or said we love each other. But other than that, I tell them pretty much everything.

  When I finish speaking, I swear they all have the same expression on their faces. Jaws wide open, eyes so wide and round that I’m a tiny bit worried they’re going to pop out of their sockets.

  Nia is first to speak.

  “That is incredible!” she says. “I mean, God, it’s amazing. Wow! I mean — wow!”

  She turns to the others to see if they agree. Zoe shakes herself and answers first. “Yeah,” she says carefully. “You swear that’s true? You’re not just, y’know, trying to make fools of us?”

  I shake my head and try to ignore the sloshing feeling inside my head. “You told me to tell you a secret,” I say, swaying slightly. “And I have. That’s my secret. I haven’t told a single soul till this moment. And I’ve told you pretty much every bit of it. That’s it. That’s my secret.”

  Kirsty is unscrewing the top from the wine that Nia sneaked upstairs. “This calls for a refill,” she says. She fills all our glasses, and we hold them together in a toast.

  “To sleepovers!” says Kirsty.

  “To sharing,” adds Nia.

  “To secrets,” offers Zoe.

  They all look at me. As I clink my glass against theirs, I say, “To meeting the best friends I’ve ever had.”

  And then we knock back our drinks in one.

  Nia throws an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “I’m so glad we’re getting to know each other,” she says, while the other two go off to choose some music. Zoe’s decided we’re going to have a disco. “You’ve made this group ten times better than it was before you came along.”

  Her words warm me up inside even more than the glassful of wine I’ve just swallowed in one.

  And for the first time in weeks, I feel as if I’ve taken the weight off my shoulders. I’ve told them what’s going on — and the world didn’t end. The sky didn’t fall in. They didn’t laugh me out of town.

  As I laugh and drink and dance and sing the rest of the night through, the outside world melts away. All of it. Joe, Olly, everything and everyone beyond this room. Just for this one night, just for these few hours, I am a normal girl, hanging out on a Saturday night with her new best friends.