Guilt Trip (16 page)

As I
left, I hugged her warmly. She was a kind woman. After all, she had
tried
to help me. And my visit hadn’t been
a total failure. Okay, so I still didn’t fully understand the process of
reincarnation, but I had come away knowing one thing. A definite fact. A
certainty.

Billie
and I were connected somehow.

We shared
something. Something inside us. A life force. Which, to me, made us pretty much
family. Siblings.

And Luke
had been responsible for her accident, somehow. I was sure of it, deep down in
my gut. Some violent, threatening action on his part, meant as a punishment for
destroying the pink bear, had gone too far, leading to her death. And so,
without enough proof to go to the proper authorities, it was up to
me
to avenge her.

It was
time to teach
Luke
a lesson.

Back at
the pub, I crept unseen up to Dad’s room, and tapped on the door, but there was
no answer. But up in my room I found a note which had been pushed under the
door. It was wrapped round two twenty-pound notes. Dad.

‘
Where are you? Why’s your phone off? I think
we should leave tonight - so can’t hang about waiting all morning. Things to
do. See you at dinner.
’

I looked
at my watch: it was only ten o’clock: he hadn’t waited very long. But then, if
we were leaving tonight instead of tomorrow, he’d want to make the most of the
time left to get some last shots. If that’s what he was doing. But something
told me he just wanted to be alone. Poor Dad. Last night had really upset him. And
now he wanted to leave early, our holiday over, so that he could get back home,
to his memories of Mum.

If only I
could explain to him that it was Billie, not Mum, who had come to the
Spiritualist meeting…

In a way though,
his absence was a good thing. If this was to be our last day, then I had a lot
to fit in. So, having finally cleaned my teeth and brushed my hair, with no supernatural
manifestations, I pocketed the money and hurried off to do some shopping.

 
Ignoring most of the proper shops lining
the marketplace, I dived into every charity shop I came across, racing round them
as fast as I could. Next, I made a quick and successful stop at a sports and
outdoor equipment shop. So far so good.

But then,
having carefully chosen a few essential items from the chemist’s, my search
came to a sudden halt. They didn’t sell the other thing I needed. The main
thing. The thing upon which my whole plan depended.

Leaving
the shop, I looked around me desperately. What was I going to do? But then, luckily,
I spotted lots of brightly-coloured outfits and balloons hanging in a bay window
down a side street. A party shop. Worth a try, I thought, dodging traffic as I
ran across the road.

<><><>

It was
almost lunchtime when I got back to the pub with an assortment of carrier bags.

Entering
by the front door, I heard a familiar voice. Luke was busy with some guests at
reception. He finished serving them quickly, and hurried over.

“Mel,” he
said, lowering his voice so that the guests, who were now heading for the bar, wouldn’t
hear. “Finally. Where’ve you been? I’ve been so worried.”

I was quite
taken-aback by his concern, having fully expected him to be furious with me for
screaming and slamming my door on him the night before. However, my absence at
breakfast seemed to have offset that so that last night was all forgotten
about.

“So - your
Dad says you’re checking out tonight?”

Ah. So
that was it. He was upset that his Billie look-alike was leaving early.

I took a
deep breath. It was time to start the ball rolling. To put my plan into action.

I
shrugged sadly. “I feel like we’ve wasted so much time,” I said softly, a small
melancholic smile playing over my lips. “And now it’s almost over.”

At my
apparent regret, Luke moved in closer. “But it doesn’t have to be,” he
whispered, reaching out to fiddle with a lock of my hair. “Don’t leave me, Mel.
Please, don’t go.”

I was
speechless. Had he really just said that? Poor, pathetic man. He must have been
absolutely desperate not to lose this new, living, breathing Billie to even consider
such a thing.

I felt my
resolve crumble a little, weakening as pity squirmed its way into my heart. Maybe
he’d been punished enough…

But then
I was pulled up sharply by his next words:

“I love
you.”

I was
dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe the lengths he was prepared to go to in order
to try to make me do what he wanted. What did he think: that on hearing those
three little words - abracadabra! - I would instantly forget his previous
behaviour and decide to give up Dad and school and stay here ‘happily ever
after’ with a man more than twice my age? That I would simply live out my days
pretending to be his long-dead girlfriend?

And the
worst thing was that only a few hours ago I might have fallen for it…

But not
now. Now I could see through his tricks. His lies. His manipulation. A grown
man playing upon the feelings of a needy, gullible teenager. And it sickened
me.

I wanted
to laugh in his face. I wanted to spit at him. I wanted to teach him his lesson
right there and then.

But I
didn’t. Somehow, with every molecule of strength I could muster, I managed to
hold it all in - all that hate, all that disgust - and stick firmly to my plan.

“Let’s go
somewhere,” I said, smothering my bitterness in syrupy tones. “This afternoon.”
I looked at him, meaningfully. “Just the two of us.”

His face lit
up like a child in a sweetshop. “I’ll just get someone else to cover the
lunchtime service -” he began, already starting towards the bar.

“No - wait.”
I reached out and touched his arm. “Not yet. I have to do something first.”

He
stopped and looked at me, hurt instantly creasing his brow.

“Something
nice,” I said. “For you.” I looked down at the carpet as if embarrassed and
then raised my eyes to him, coyly. “A surprise.”

He
beamed, all sherbet and lollipops again.

I
marvelled at how easy it was to fool him. To play him at his own game.

“So
you
do your lunch service. And I’ll meet
you later.”

“Where?”

“Here at
reception. Let’s say, two-thirty?”

“Two-thirty?
But that’s ages!” he whined.

“Don’t
worry,” I smiled mischievously. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.” Then I leaned
in and kissed him lightly on the mouth, a tiny, secret kiss. A kiss to ensnare
him.

And it
worked.

As I
pulled away, Luke tried to grab hold of me, wanting more, but I wriggled free, giggling,
and headed for the stairs, awarding myself an Oscar for my performance of a girl
in love.

Halfway
up the first flight, I glanced back. Yes - he was still there, watching me. Hating
to see me go.

Caught. Hook,
line and sinker.

I smiled at
him, and he smiled back, almost shyly, brushing his hair back from his face. It
was something I’d seen him do countless times before. A nervous gesture. But while
it was familiar to me - a hand brushing through his hair, pulling it back from
his forehead - there was something odd about it this time. Something different.

It was a
scar, above his right eyebrow, too faded to be new, and yet I’d never noticed
it before. An old scar, in the exact spot where I’d stabbed the young Luke with
the tweezers…

Back in
my room I pulled Billie’s diary out of my bag and quickly turned to the episode
in the bathroom, but of course, most of it was illegible, obliterated by Luke’s
pen. But Billie had also referred to it later, in her last entry, about the
bear. I read that through again. But no - it still wasn’t clear. She talked
about how she’d reacted ‘like that’ to him, but she didn’t explain or give
details. And there was certainly no mention of any tweezers.

But then I
thought about Billie’s face looking out at me from the bathroom mirror as she
endured Luke’s kisses and his violence. It had been passive, expressionless. So
surely
that
was her reaction - a lack
of response - which had angered him.

So there
was no way that Billie had attacked Luke with the tweezers.

But then…
It must have been me.

But how? None
of that had actually happened, had it? Surely - it was only in my head, or
Billie’s memory - whatever those flashbacks and déjà vu moments actually were. And
though the pain had been intense at the time, afterwards I’d felt nothing. As
if it had never happened.

And yet
he
was scarred?

I didn’t
understand.

Was it
something about sharing Billie’s life force? I mean, I guessed it was the same
energy being used to attack him, only it was being used by me instead of her. Is
that how it worked?

<><><>

Sitting before
the mirror, I willed Billie to appear, to tell me that I was doing the right
thing. But still she was absent. I guessed she must have agreed with my plan. That
it had her approval. Her consent.

Rifling
through my shopping bags, I took out a can that I’d bought at the party shop, and
looked at the label. Temporary hair dye: shade - hot purple. It rattled as I
shook it vigorously. And then, very carefully, I selected a few strands of
hair, and began to spray.

I looked
at the effect. Maybe a little bright. But not bad.

Rummaging
through the bags again, I picked out a tiny pot of liquid eyeliner: 24 hour, waterproof
- deepest black. And a new, extra-black, waterproof mascara. Holding the
newspaper cutting from the diary, I studied Billie’s photo. Then I began to
outline my eyes in small, even strokes, building it up and up, and out into a
flick at the sides. A quick brush with the new mascara and then I sat back and
surveyed the results. Yes. Not exactly the same. Not messy enough to be called grunge,
perhaps. But certainly close.

Next, I took
out my thickest, strongest, leather belt and threaded it through the loops of
my jeans. Taking a pair of carabiner clips out of another bag, I hooked them
together, attaching one end through the belt loop at the back of my jeans
making sure that it also went round the belt itself, tucking the rest inside my
jeans out of view.

Then I
shook something out of a charity shop carrier bag: a black and purple striped
long-sleeved T-shirt. In the cutting, Billie seemed to be wearing a striped T-shirt
with a plain long-sleeved one underneath, so mine wasn’t totally right. But it
was all I could find in one morning, and it still gave the right impression.

Taking
some plain writing paper and envelopes out of another carrier, I began copying
some of Billie’s letters from her diary, over and over, moving on to whole
words when I was satisfied that I could manage them in a relatively smooth
hand. Then, taking a clean sheet of paper and rubbing it carefully over the
diary pages in order to transfer some of Billie’s perfume to it, I was ready to
start my note:

‘I’m waiting for you at Hell’s Mouth. It will
be just like before, I promise.’

Then I grabbed
my bag and jacket and, pulling my hood over my newly-dyed hair, I quietly slipped
downstairs, pausing only to leave the sealed envelope propped up at reception as
I stole quietly out of the back door.

Rain
streamed down the windows of the bus as it made its long, tortuous journey all
the way round the outskirts of the Devil’s Lair. It seemed to take an age,
stopping at every village along the way, the driver chatting to any regulars as
they got on or off.

I sat
near the back, keeping my hood up and my head down, trying to calm my growing anxiety.
It was taking so long.
Too
long. Much
longer than the straight route over the fells. It was giving me too much time
to think. To question. To doubt.

Maybe I
should just forget about it. Get the next bus back to the pub. Pack my things. Then
tonight after dinner, Dad and I would leave here forever, and Luke would lose
his Billie again, and be left all alone and bereft. And that would be that. Punishment
dealt.

But it
wasn’t enough. Not for all that he had done.

Not by a
long way.

I got off
the bus one stop after the Hell’s Mouth Show Caves, outside a couple of old
cottages, heading towards them as the bus pulled away. Then, as soon as it was
out of sight, I turned round and hurried in the other direction along the
quiet, winding, country road, my hood still up, trying to protect my hair and
make-up from the lashing rain. All too soon I was soaked through. But I had to
hurry on. Time was pressing. Luke might have found my note by now. He could
already be on his way.

In fact,
as the sign for Hell’s Mouth came into view, I thought I heard the faint hum of
an engine. No! Was he here already? The sound was muffled, but whether by the
rain or by distance I wasn’t sure.

I began
to sprint along the road, running through the car park and charging up the covered
steps to the ticket office. The place was shut on Mondays, but I still peeked
in to make sure that none of the staff were about. No: the place was empty. I
looked at my reflection in the office window, checking to see how badly the
rain had affected my eye make-up. But - thank God for waterproof - it was fine.

Crouching
down, I opened my bag and, pulling down my sleeve, stretching it so that it
covered my hand and fingers, I took out one of two bottles of Coke, unscrewing
the lid, scratching it on the stone step so that I’d be able to recognise it
later. Then I took three pills from my pocket - my new pills - pulling each
capsule apart carefully, emptying their powdery contents into the Coke.

Then,
stuffing everything back into my bag as quickly as possible, I hurried halfway
down the steps where I sat, rubbing my hands together, making a concerted
effort to stop myself shaking.

But I was
just so cold and wet - and hideously nervous. What was I doing? Every instinct
in my body told me to run away, to hide; but I forced myself to stay.

By now
the engine sound was getting louder, and only a few seconds later, a motorbike turned
into the car park.

At first
it headed towards me, but then it stopped abruptly, the rider sitting there, in
the rain, staring.

I guessed
he’d noticed my new look then.

I watched
nervously, wondering what he was going to do.

He sat
there.

I had to
do
something. Slowly and as casually as
possible, I got up and walked down a few more steps, an uncertain smile stuck
to my face and my heart beating wildly against my rib cage. Stopping near the
bottom, looking straight at him, I pulled my hood all the way back, fully displaying
my striped hair, ending with a slight theatrical flourish as if to say ‘Ta da!’

At my bold
move, the bike came forward, pulling up next to the steps, Luke climbing off, removing
his helmet.

He wasn’t
smiling.

He stood,
only one step between us, looking me over: taking in my hair and my eyes.

“What’s
going on?” he demanded, his tone cold. Glancing round, warily, he pulled my
note from his inside pocket and practically shoved it in my face. “What’s all
this about?”

My
stomach tightened. This wasn’t going to work. How could I
ever
have thought it would? But it was too late to back down now. I
had to brave it out.

“It’s for
you,” I said, taking the note from him casually, my voice betraying me with a
tiny wobble. “Your surprise. I thought this is what you wanted.”

“What
would
you
know about what I want?” he
sneered.

“Come on,
Luke,” I said as calmly as my tremulous voice would allow. “Stop playing games.
It’s me. You know it is. You’ve known it all along.”

I took a
step down, moving in close to him. “I know it sounds crazy. And I don’t fully
understand how it’s happened, myself. But…well…I’m back…if you still want me.”

“Stop it,
Mel. I’m warning you…”

“No,
you
stop it, Luke,” I said. “You know
it’s true.” I grabbed the front of his jacket, looking up into his face. “You
knew it the very first time you saw me.” I stared right into his eyes, willing
him to feel that same recognition, that spark.

But Luke
pulled away roughly, turning from me, heading back into the rain, climbing onto
his bike again.

“Look at
me!” I followed him, pulling at his sleeve, trying to make him face me, but he pushed
me away.

But then,
suddenly, my voice changed. And though my lips moved, I was not the one
speaking. It was her, speaking out through me. “It’s me, Luke,” she said. “Inside.
It’s Billie.”

He
stopped and turned, his face white.

 
“Hold me, Luke,” she cried. “Hold me.”

I stared
into his eyes, forcing him to recognise the spirit of Billie within me. And he must
have seen her, for suddenly he gave an involuntary cry and his arms were round
me, drawing me to him, pulling me onto the front of the saddle as he held me
tight in the pouring rain.

“Billie!”

And so
strong were his emotions, that for a tiny fraction of a moment my body yielded,
forgetting all that had happened before, falling deeply into the overwhelming
bliss of being so completely adored. Wallowing in his love. Drowning in it…

Until
suddenly I was back on the swing at the Cauldron, the water crashing down on me,
pouring into my mouth and nose. And Luke the puppet master was pulling my
strings and laughing.

Billie. She
had sent this vision to me. Surely. Snapping me out of my momentary weakness. My
human need to be wanted. To be loved.

Disgust
reared up in me. What was I doing? This man didn’t love me. He was incapable of
love.

And so I
broke away from him, slipping off the bike and heading back to the steps.

“Billie -”
He reached out to try to stop me, but I was too quick for him.

“Come on,”
I said in my own voice now, making a huge effort to smile. “Let’s get out of
the rain.”

Racing up
the steps to the ticket office, Luke unlocked the door with his keys. While he
fiddled about, opening a box on the wall and flicking switches to illuminate
the caves, I checked my appearance in the window again. I was more than a
little rain-damaged now. My hair was wet and tangled, and without my
straighteners, the long layers were beginning to flick out in different
directions. And some of the dye had already washed away so that the stripes
seemed less startling now. Less in-your-face. The eye-make-up had fared a
little better, but even twenty-four hour waterproof couldn’t withstand
that
amount of rain, so that the edges
were now less precise, more blurred: smudged-looking.

In a way,
the rain had done me a favour. I now looked more like Billie.

But now
Luke was rummaging through a stack of CDs on a shelf.

“What do
you fancy?” he asked, smiling at me.

“You
choose.”

I watched
as his hand hovered over one or two; but then he found one he really wanted. He
pulled it out and held it up, grinning. “It’s still here,” he said. “After all
this time.”

It wasn’t
a CD I knew - some kind of compilation, but I smiled encouragingly, and Luke
loaded it into an old, portable player.

Then he
grabbed a couple of hardhats, throwing one to me and keeping the other for
himself, brushing his wet hair back out of the way as he put it on, so that I
caught a glimpse of the scar again. An old scar, from a wound I’d inflicted
upon him in a time before I was even born.

And then,
using another key to unlock the metal gates, he took me by the hand and led me into
Hell’s Mouth.

The caves
seemed even colder than last time, and they were wetter due to all the rain
seeping down from above. The thick, sickly-pale walls ran with water, which
pooled across the flowstone, glistening like slime. And below the metal grid on
which we walked, the stream gushed more loudly than before, overflowing in
places, rising up over the grating so that our feet were splashing through
puddles. Even the air itself felt heavy with damp. My jeans clung to me, unable
to dry out, my hair trickling icy water down my back.

It was as
if we were under the ocean, the more pitted flowstone and coiling helictites resembling
a strange coral reef, the cave draperies like mysterious, deep sea creatures.

I took a
deep breath, trying to get more oxygen to my lungs, but the air seemed thick
and waterlogged.

But now
we had come to Lucifer’s Tongue.
We paused before it,
watching as the water trickled down, building quickly to a visible drip and
falling, down to the stream below us. It was much faster than before.

Luke laughed at my hesitation. “Come on,”
he said. “You first.”

Like last time, I knew it was just a stupid
story, a superstition created for the tourists, but I still didn’t want to
tempt fate. Not right now. So I waited for the right moment, just after a drop
had fallen, and hurried through, pulling Luke after me. But we weren’t fast
enough, the next drip coming almost at once, splashing between us, onto our
joined hands.

I looked at Luke, but he just laughed. “Don’t
worry,” he chuckled. He brought our hands up to his mouth and licked the drop from
them. “The devil doesn’t frighten me.”

But I couldn’t be so blasé about it. It was
a sign. An omen. A reminder that any union with Luke was cursed. And so the
connection had to be severed. Here. Today. By me.

And so we reached
Darwin’s Parade
, where the cave roof was so low we had to crouch down.
Immediately I felt claustrophobic, my breathing becoming even more laboured,
turning to quick panicky gasps, desperate to inhale enough air. It was like
being buried alive. Suffocated. Drowned.

Soon we had reached the other side and
could stand straight again, but my feeling of breathlessness continued as the
Gargle rumbled towards us, louder today, the sound of seething, roiling water
echoing all around us.

The noise
grew louder and louder as we continued, my head becoming dizzy as its deafening
roar caused memories to swirl around my mind. The car smashing down the bank,
the river gushing in; Mum crying out to me, her voice spluttering and choking
as the river engulfed her; my mouth and nose filling up with water as I dangled
in the Cauldron
;
the sound of the Changing
Well, with the water streaming over the flowstone and crashing down to the pool
below, the encrusted teddy bear dancing its voodoo ritual on the line. And I
experienced again Billie’s intense feeling of terror at how Luke would punish
her. A punishment which had somehow led to her death.

And so, gradually,
my mother’s pleas turned into Billie’s inside my head, eclipsing all other
noise: “Help me!” she cried. “Help me!”

And at the
sound of her voice, I came to my senses. I wasn’t here to relive my own harrowing
memories; I wasn’t here to wade through my own pain. I took a huge, calming
breath, exhaling slowly, ridding myself of all other emotions. I was here for
one thing only: to help Billie. To avenge her death.

And so, with
renewed determination, I followed Luke through the narrowing passageway, and
finally onto the viewing platform of the Hall of Teeth.