As I finally fall into a loglike sleep, squashed on Nia’s sofa, a wave of optimism enfolds me. Everything’s going to work out fine. I absolutely know it.
I think I’m hallucinating.
I’m in my cave. I hear a noise. Loud. Like thunder, maybe.
I crawl outside like an animal, on my hands and knees. Squint into the sunlight. It’s creeping up behind the night. It lights up like a match, a spark shooting upward. Gunshot. Makes me jump back.
I’m going crazy.
Can’t even gather my . . .
Anyway. Then it’s later.
I’ve worked out what day it is. I’ve been counting. I can’t remember what it was that I was counting. Days, I think. I’ve figured it out. It’s Sunday.
People walk by up there on Sundays. With their dogs.
There’s a family now. On the coast path. Heading this way. Man, woman, two girls?
I hide under the roof of my cave, squint at the daylight. I see them.
A girl breaks off from the others. She’s only a silhouette at the moment.
She’s coming toward me. Clambering down the slippery path that leads into the watery dungeons of my world. My stage. My arena. Where my drama is played out. My tragedy. My comedy that isn’t funny.
The girl calls out. I’m hiding behind a rock. A really big one.
“Joe!” she calls.
It must be her, then. It must be . . .
So I creep out from behind the rock. And it is — it’s her!
“Erin?” I ask, tiptoeing toward her. My mouth feels like the underside of a rock that has been in the desert for a thousand years. When did I last use my voice?
Erin smiles. “Joe!” She picks her way across the boulders toward me.
She’s here. I reach out. I can’t — can’t touch her. My hand slips through her.
Why can’t I make contact with her? What’s happened to me?
“Joe,” she whispers. Her voice breaks. There are tears on her cheeks.
I try again. My fingers reach out, like someone feeling their way through the dark. She holds out her hand. This time it works. We make contact.
Closer. She comes closer to me. Then she’s in my arms, and I am whole again. As whole as I can be.
Her aliveness seeps into my deteriorating body as I hold her, and smell her, and feel the warmth of her skin. “Erin,” I whisper.
She pulls away. “I haven’t got long,” she says, pointing up to the coast path. “My folks said they wanted to go for a family walk. I know it was risky, but I sneaked off. Said I wanted to be alone for a bit, to write a poem.”
“Poems,” I say, like a foreigner trying out a new language for the first time. “I write those too, don’t I? I write — I wrote them. Didn’t I?”
Erin narrows her eyes. “Joe, are you OK?” she asks.
I nod my head vigorously. I don’t want her to know what’s happening. She might not come back if she knows I’m only half here. Maybe not even that much. Maybe next time I’ll be less.
I force a laugh. “Yeah. Just messing around,” I say.
Then I pull her closer again.
She whispers in my ear. “I just wanted to see you. I’ve got lots to tell you. Important stuff. But not now. I haven’t got long enough. Next time, OK?”
“Next time,” I murmur into her hair. I like the idea of a next time.
“But I just wanted to see you. I wanted to check that you’re OK.”
I pull her even closer. “I am now,” I say.
She holds me, too, but it’s not — I don’t know. It’s not the same. Something’s changed. I think. Is it her? Am I losing her? Am I losing everything? Is death finally folding itself around me completely and taking me away? Maybe I was left in limbo for a reason, and whatever it was has been accomplished. Fallen in love — perhaps that was what I was meant to do. Experienced it for the first time. Now that I’ve done that, is this half life finally releasing me for good?
Before I can figure out how to put my jumbled thoughts into a coherent sentence, she’s pulling away. “I’ve got to go, before my parents decide to come after me or something.”
I lean in to kiss her lips — but I’m too late. She’s kissing me good-bye, and her kiss feels so brief.
“I’ll see you soon,” she whispers.
“Yeah, I hope so.”
And then, just as suddenly and as strangely as she had arrived, she is climbing over the rocks and up the path, and out of sight.
Gone.
Did I imagine her?
I’ll see you soon, she said.
Is that enough to keep me here?
Monday morning, Phoebe and I chat and laugh all the way to school. We play stepping between the lines and hopping for one block and all the games we used to play when we were both little.
“You seem different,” she observes.
“Yeah, I feel different,” I reply.
We get to the school gates. “I like it,” she says before giving me a kiss on the cheek and running off to join her friends.
For once I don’t mind; for once I’m not jealous. Because I’m going to join my friends too.
Except I can’t find them. Not immediately, anyway.
They’re usually hanging around in the yard before we go into homeroom.
Maybe I’m late. No biggie.
I get my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Nope, it’s normal time. They’ll be here somewhere.
Then I have a thought. I haven’t really heard from any of them since the sleepover. I mean, it’s only one day, but — well, I sent a group text to them all yesterday morning saying what a laugh it was and how I’m looking forward to doing it again, and other than a quick “Me too” from Nia, I didn’t hear back. I didn’t think about it much yesterday.
To be perfectly honest, I was too busy with my family. And thinking about Joe and Olly. Trying to work it all out in my head.
Anyway. I’m not thinking about that now.
I glance around the yard, looking for them.
Is it my imagination or . . . ?
A couple of younger kids are looking at me. I’m sure they are. They turn away as soon as I spot them, but they’re laughing.
At me?
No. Why would two kids I’ve never met before be laughing at me? Paranoia. Old habits die hard, I guess.
But then it happens again. More than once. In fact, as I cross the yard, it’s as if people are turning to look at me all the way. And laughing. Some more openly than others. They’re sniggering behind their hands.
What the hell is going on?
My stride feels wooden as I reach the doors into the main building.
Two boys walk past me. One of them throws his coat over his head and makes a “Whooooooo!” noise as they pass me.
The other boy punches his arm, and they both slink off, laughing.
You know the expression about someone’s blood running cold? You think it’s a cliché, till it happens to you.
It is as if someone has poured freezing-cold water into my veins. Running through my body, turning me to ice from the inside.
I can hardly walk.
I can barely breathe.
I don’t want to believe it. I won’t believe it. Not till I’m sure.
Which I am, about five minutes later when I walk into homeroom.
The teacher isn’t here yet, but most of the class is.
Zoe is in the center of the room, perched on the edge of a desk. She has her back to me, so she doesn’t know I’ve come into the room.
I don’t think she would care, though.
Her arms are flailing dramatically as she holds court. I don’t hear much of what she says. Partly because the frozen blood in my body is pounding so hard in my ears that I can scarcely hear. Partly because she stops when one of the girls nudges her. But I catch a bit of it. I catch enough.
“So first of all, I come up with this ridiculous story that is so obviously made up, just so she’ll tell us all her secrets in return.
And then she’s, like, ‘OK, here’s the thing. I’m hanging out with a ghost. He’s, like, my best friend. We go for walks together and everything. Me and my ghost boyfriend.’ And we’re, like, ‘Oh, OK, yeah, sure, we believe you.’ Whatever!”
The gaggle of girls bursts out laughing.
Then, one by one, like a row of dominoes, they nudge each other and glance up at me. Some of them look embarrassed; some of them try to hide their giggles behind their hands.
Last to notice me is Zoe.
She turns her head, oh, so slowly, and smiles at me as if I’m in on the joke rather than the butt of it.
“Oh, hi there, Erin,” she says, kicking a chair out from under the desk she’s sitting on. “Come and join us.”
And for a tiny, stupid, delusional moment, I think maybe I’ve got it all wrong and things aren’t as bad as they seem.
And then she adds, “We were just talking about you. It’s dead interesting.”
And the room spins so hard, I have to clutch the door to steady myself.
A couple of the girls laugh as they watch me nearly lose my balance. Yeah. It’s so hilarious.
I don’t care. Not now. Why bother caring about them? Why care about anything? It’ll always end the same way.
I take a couple of breaths as I steady myself against the door.
“No, thanks,” I somehow manage to say.
Zoe shrugs. “Suit yourself,” she says. “We were only hanging out with you to find out what Olly saw in you. Thought there must be something there if he was interested. And it turned out there was.” She grins, a nasty, evil, cold grin. “Just not in the way we thought.”
And with that, she turns back to her flock of worshippers, and I stumble out of the classroom and into the corridor.
As the door closes behind me, I try to block out the laughter still coming from inside. But despite the blood in my ears, I can’t get rid of it.
The laughter. The jeers. The gossip, the whispered comments behind cupped hands. I’ve seen it before. I’ve been here before. It nearly destroyed me.
I just don’t think I can take it if it happens again. I don’t think I could survive it.
I texted Erin this morning to check if she’ll be in school today, and she said she will be. Mum was having a bad morning, though. Not for the first time since Joe died, although they have been getting a bit less frequent. But I don’t like to leave her when she’s like that, so I stayed home longer than usual to be with her till Dad got in from his night shift. Which means I’m late, and I can’t find her.
I can’t start the day till I’ve seen her, till I know we’re cool. So I’m the first out of homeroom, and I take the scenic route to my first lesson — that is, walking up and down every corridor in the place till I’ll “accidentally” bump into her.
I’m walking past the lockers for the hundredth time when I see Nia turn the corner at the end of the corridor. She’s heading my way.
“Hey, Nia!” I call her as she gets near.
“Olly! I was looking for you,” she says. She looks shaken.
“Why, what’s up? Have you seen Erin?” I ask.
Nia glances over her shoulder, like she wants to make sure we’re not being watched. “That’s why I was looking for you,” she says. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about Erin.”
I don’t even know where I’m going. I am half blinded — but by what, I don’t even know. Tears? Terror? Panic? Perhaps the blood pounding around my head is forcing my eyes closed.
I’m stumbling along the corridors, each step cranking the anxiety up another notch. Every corner I turn means new people in the next corridor. Each new person I see means another person who knows my secret, my shame, my humiliation. Means more laughter. More sniggers. More stares.
I’m going around in circles.
I can’t do this. I need to get out of here.
I turn another corner and I see someone ahead of me. It’s Nia. Thank goodness. She’ll help me. At least I think she will. Can I even trust her? Out of all of them, she’s the one who —
And then I see who she’s talking to. Olly! They haven’t seen me. I duck back around the corner and listen in on what they’re saying. They’re near enough. I can’t face Olly. Not right now.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Nia is saying to Olly.
No. Not you, Nia. Please don’t let it be you who’s going to —
“It’s about Erin,” she adds, and the corridor starts to rotate around me. “There’s something you should know — something bad . . .”
Nia. The one person who I thought might have been genuine. The one out of them all who I thought was a true friend, was maybe even my best friend. I thought I could trust her. And it turns out she is the first one to go running to Olly to spill my shame.
She was playing me all along. She played me better than even Zoe did. And she’s cashing in on the prize before anyone else can beat her to it.
Zoe’s words were like a slap in my face, but Nia’s are like a punch in my stomach. You can only be really hurt by someone if you care about them. Or if you thought they cared about you.
Well, there’s no point in caring about any of it now — or any of them. At least I know the truth now: that none of them cared about me. And Olly will soon join the rest of the school in their laughter.
No. He won’t laugh. He’ll just hate me. He’ll think I’m making fun of him and his dead brother. Either that or he’ll think I’m crazy — or a liar. How could he feel anything but anger and disgust either way?
How could Nia be so cruel?
How could I be so stupid?
I can’t risk them seeing me like this. I can’t risk them seeing me at all. I have to stop wallowing and formulate a plan before they come past and catch me here, leaning against a wall, panting, disheveled, and ashamed.
Feeling my way along the wall like a first-time ice-skater gripping the boards, I stumble down the corridor.
Eventually, I find the bathroom. I run into a stall and slam the door shut.
I sit. I try to remember all my strategies.
Breathe. In, two-three, and out, two-three.
No. Can’t do it. Not working. I can’t find the breaths. They’re just not coming. There isn’t enough oxygen in this cubicle. In this building.
Tears are rolling down my face. Panic coursing through my body.
Next strategy. Five good things about the situation.
One . . .
My mind is blank.
I will never trust happiness again.
Next strategy. Paper bag. Dammit. I felt so good when I left home this morning, I didn’t even think to bring a bag to breathe into. I thought those days were finally behind me.
The thought brings it all back. I’ve circled all the way back to the beginning.
Bag Lady.
Do us all a favor.
And that’s when I have the thought.
No.
I don’t want to have that thought. I promised Joe I would never again let anyone make me feel this way.
I can’t put my family through that again.
But once the thought is there, it takes root. I don’t want to hurt them — but I’ll do that anyway once they find out about this. How long will it take? I imagine Phoebe will know by the end of the day — and she can’t keep anything to herself.
I thought I couldn’t feel any more shame than I did already, but the idea of my parents hearing about this takes me further down that well than I realized I could go.
The depths of the darkness that is engulfing me seem to have no limit. No base. No floor. Nothing to stand on, to hold me up.
I’ve got nothing.
I am nothing.
And then it hits me. For the first time since arriving at school this morning, I have a glimmer of hope.
I have got something. I’ve got someone. Someone who loves me for who I am, who will never laugh at me, never leave me, never shame me.
In fact, the more
I think about it, the more I realize the truth: he is all I’ve got.
I know what I have to do. I know how to get away from the bullying and the baying and the laughter, once and for all.
And I finally know how to be with the boy I love — forever.
I feel different this morning. Don’t know why. Like I’m revived, back in the room.
Ha. Room? Yeah, that’s quite a grand title for a dark, damp, cramped, cold cave.
I crawl to the entrance and look out. Sun’s up already. What there is of it. It’s mostly hidden behind black clouds. It’s raining out at sea. From here, I can see the wind blowing a storm across the horizon, darkening the world as it travels from left to right, like a heavy curtain being drawn across the sky.
It’s coming closer, too. The first drops have started dripping just outside the entrance.
I need to get out. I’m getting claustrophobic.
The sea is high today. Only the tops of the boulders are visible, and even those are being washed clean, over and over again, by the waves crashing hard against the rocks at the end of the point.
I carefully step outside my cave and stretch. Every bone is aching. Every muscle is tight. If I could have one wish right now, it would be a comfortable bed. Just for one night.
No. If I could have one wish, it would be that Erin would come. The aching in my bones is nothing compared with the aching need in my heart to see her.
I can picture her more clearly this morning. Maybe it’s the rain, washing me clean as it gets heavier. I stretch my arms right out and tilt my head upward. Big fat drops fall on my face, cleansing me, fall into my mouth, reviving me.
I run my hands through my hair — and a memory comes to me. Standing at the water’s edge, on a beach, up to my knees. Running hands through wet hair. Splashing in the water.
I never liked the sea all that much. It was Olly’s thing. He was the cool one who had all the moves on the water. At the end of every summer, he’d be bronzed, bare-chested, with his floppy hair bleached blond by the sun. Me — I’d be pale and freckled, sitting in the shade with a notebook.