Reasons She Goes to the Woods (11 page)

Fee is in love. She goes on and on about it, flapping her hands to emphasise certain important facts. Pearl half listens, looking at Fee’s little face, how happy her toothy mouth seems, her freckled nose glistening. The boy is older than Fee. Do you think that matters? she asks Pearl. I mean, he probably thinks I’m still a child. Is that weird? Is what weird? Pearl says. Her mind is on other things. Age, my love, says Fee. Do age gaps matter when you’re mad about someone? No, Pearl says. She is lying on a blanket in Fee’s garden, her hair fanned out, the skirt of her dress crumpled at the tops of her legs. Age is nothing if you really, really love a person, she says drowsily. Fee gets up and goes into the house. Yes, but how do you know that? she asks when she gets back, handing over an ice-lolly casually; Pearl doesn’t like to accept food from people. Fee can see she is concentrating on something, so she watches for a moment as Pearl pushes the tip of the yellow lolly in and out of her mouth; then she lightly touches Pearl’s hand and says, you’re right, of course. You know most things. Then she lies down on the blanket, happy Pearl is licking her lolly, and snuggles up. The truth is, Pearl states, shifting her arm to embrace Fee, absolutely nothing matters when you love someone. What? Fee asks, making small slurping noises, nothing? You can’t help it, Pearl whispers. You can’t be blamed, if you love someone. Five years, ten years, blah, blah, blah. Who cares? Not twenty though, Fee says decisively, that’s beyond. Especially twenty, Pearl tells her. Especially.

Pearl is still thinking about Will. About how sweet he always was. The way he made her feel wrapped up in the most comforting blanket ever. Since she finished with him, she’s been chilly; trembling and starting at any little thing. As if a layer of skin has been pulled off. Now I don’t feel so clever, she thinks, gazing from her window, or so brave. But that’s stupid, she realises. I’ve always been brave and clever. Nothing changes me. Still, she feels empty and weightless, and she doesn’t like it. Fee comes round and they sit on the floor, up against the chilly radiator. What’s the matter, my love? Fee asks, holding Pearl’s hand. Nothing, Pearl says, shaking herself free. It’s not too late to say you were wrong, Fee says, twizzling her thin red hair around her fingers. Why don’t you just go and tell him you made a mistake? Pearl is suddenly restless. She’s tired of being squashed into her room, and of Fee’s body resting against her. Fee with her stupid freckles and teeth. I don’t remember asking your advice, Pearl states. Fee is startled. I only mean you could have been wrong, Fee says again. Pearl stands up and looks down at her. She hates the way Fee always leans her head to one side and tries to cover her teeth with her top lip when she’s thinking. You should keep your mouth shut, she says in a louder voice. If I have been wrong, it was about you. Fee puts her hands to her cheeks and stares up at Pearl. I’m sorry, Fee says. Please don’t be angry. Pearl opens her bedroom door and says softly, Fee, you can go
now.

No matter what she does, it’s impossible for Pearl to shake off the feeling that there’s a raw, weeping patch growing on her heart, and someone is pressing on it. It’s not as if I care about stuff, she thinks, but tonight, the burning starts the moment she lies down, and chews away until she jerks herself out of bed and runs to the open window. Below her the tight-shut buds of the red climbing rose look black, and the flouncy squares of night-scented stock near the house wilt under their own petalled breath. Moonlight has spread a clean cover over everything. Further away Pearl can see the woods, cool and indifferent, darker than the dark and sparkling sky, and she thinks it might be possible to sleep there. Wearing her trainers and a jumper, she descends the stairs, closes the front door and drifts along the garden path. The gate creaks, so, resting her hand on its top bar, she leaps over. The night is thick with the smell of plants and sleeping earth. Pearl wades through a knee-high mist that’s hovering inches above the field. A breeze lifts her hair and licks her eyelids. Soon she’s amongst the trees, and their silvery trunks sway to make space for her. She goes further in, searching for somewhere to rest. When she’s walked for a long time, and the trees are unfamiliar, she stops. There, in the crook of an oak’s roots, is a spot where she could lie down. But as Pearl settles herself and closes her eyes, she sees Fee’s hands flying to her mouth, and hears, threading through the calm, unknowable woods, Fee’s shaky voice calling out that she’s sorry, and the burning begins again.

Pearl and Honey are shopping in town. What I really want, Honey says, is a freakishly stunning cossie. So they go to the swimwear section of a huge store. Pearl is silently amazed at the hundreds of different swimming costumes. Hers is an ancient Speedo, with a worn, transparent patch that shows the ghostly cheeks of her bottom. Until now she’d thought it looked great on her. Try some on, Honey says, her arms full of slithery scraps of fabric. It’ll be a hoot. But Pearl doesn’t answer. Come in with me anyway, Honey calls. So she sits in the changing room and passes items, watching as Honey poses in all sorts of costumes, slapping her bare bottom each time Honey bends over. Ow, Honey says, on cue, after each soft slap. Well? What do you think? she asks at last, posing in a splashy-patterned floral number. Pearl looks Honey up and down and turns her round for inspection. Yes, she nods finally, her hands still on Honey’s shoulders. I would even say this one’s freakishly stunning. Okay, Honey says, that’s decided. Don’t you want something to wear this summer? she asks, putting her knickers back on. You’ve got a gorgeous body. We could go to the lido together. She jiggles her purse. I’ve got loads of moolah, if you want some. But Pearl just shakes her head, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans. On the way home on the bus, Pearl watches the people rushing past and thinks about the black bikini she saw, with its eyelets and laces between the breasts and on the front of the panties. And how much she wants
it.

Pearl is having one of those nights when she repeatedly dreams the same thing; there is the same party going on, with the same music, and she’s pushing through the dancers, looking for someone. Then there is a loud series of knocks, and she knows that something unstoppable and terrifying is about to begin. Her father is suddenly by her side, dragging her by the hand while the music howls and the dancers laugh and point. Pearl screams, No! Daddy, no! But her father flings open the door. There, doffing his hat, is a man with a huge head and a tiny body. He doesn’t have a real mouth, just a painted smile on his egg-shaped face. I’ve come for her, he says, pointing elaborately at Pearl with a white-gloved finger. Can’t you see what’s happening? Pearl screams, struggling to hold onto her father, but he laughs, shoving her out into the dark. As the door slams Pearl wakes up with wet cheeks. Each time she falls asleep the dream starts again. Finally, she gets up and silently darts across the landing into her parents’ room. She clambers onto their bed and eases herself in between them. Pearl’s mother mumbles for her to get out, but her father shifts to make room. Let her stay, he says. Let her stay. Pearl is safely wedged between her parents, with only her sharp nose out in the cold. As her feet grow warm she becomes aware of her mother’s naked thigh, glassily smooth and cool, pressing against her. Pearl shrinks from her mother’s flesh, towards her father. She takes a fold of his pyjamas between her thumb and finger and rubs the silky fabric until she falls asleep.

Pearl squats on the back door step and contemplates how boring the whole Fee thing is. Each time she’s come round, Pearl has refused to see her. In school she behaves as if Fee is a stranger. Every time Fee tries to slip in beside her in class, Pearl slings her bag on the chair. Fee’s little sagging shoulders and pink eyes leave Pearl unmoved. When Fee tries to say how sorry she feels about what she said, Pearl sings her two-note song. Digging a thumbnail into the soft wood at the bottom of the doorframe, Pearl wonders if friends are worth the trouble. She gazes down the garden to the hedge they used to play under. Pearl thinks about those times. Everything was simple then, she tells herself, even though she knows it’s not true. Suddenly she gets up and walks across the lawn. The gap they crawled through is overgrown, but she squeezes in and rearranges the branches, hugging her knees in the tiny space, remembering how it felt to be in the hedge’s heart. She pictures Fee, snivelling as she chewed mud cakes stuck with insects, her mouth smeared with gravel. She remembers Fee’s thin wrist, and her silence when Pearl gave her a Chinese burn. Pearl closes her eyes, and sees her friend Fee smiling. She can almost hear her saying hello, my love. Something is stuck like a half-swallowed wodge of gum in Pearl’s throat. She gulps hard and opens her eyes. There on the dry earth is a shrivelling bunch of fern tips and campion, with a scrap of paper from Fee that she hadn’t noticed before. I suppose I will forgive her, Pearl decides, looking at the bouquet through stinging eyes. Even though she doesn’t deserve
it.

Pearl starts to disappear from school at lunchtime. Fee and Honey are watchful, but one minute she’s, say, swinging her bag at someone, and the next, poof! she’s gone. Or just as everyone’s struggling into the canteen, bang! they realise she’s not there. In afternoon class, Fee steals looks at Pearl, trying to work out where she’s been. But Pearl’s profile tells her nothing. Her straight nose is concentrating on the teacher and without looking at the page she doodles her favourite fern and fish shapes as usual. Once, she turned her strange, light eyes on Fee and pinched her hand with an understanding look. Fee and Honey are so puzzled they finally decide to split up and search everywhere. After a first sweep they meet on the field. I think you should be the one to ask her, Fee states, shuddering. She’s been angry with me recently. I certainly will not, Honey says, giving her thick hair a shake. Pearl never answers questions. You know how she is. I don’t understand what you mean, Fee says, carefully covering her jutting teeth with her top lip. Honey sighs and drops onto the daisies. Don’t pretend Pearl’s like other people, she says. It’s just not true. She’s, well, a bit weird sometimes. They sit facing each other and fall silent. Now I feel guilty, talking like this, Fee says, thinking about Pearl, her determined aloneness. And me, Honey answers, and gets up. See you, she calls as she runs off. Weeks go by and still Pearl is nowhere to be seen at lunchtime. Then, just as suddenly, she’s back. A little thinner, Fee thinks, and maybe happier. As if something she’s wished for has come
true.

Pearl is in Will’s kitchen. After a long month she has agreed they can still be friends. Let’s make a picnic, he says. We can go anywhere you want. Pearl sits on the table, swinging her bare legs. So, what’s your favourite food? he asks. Pomegranates and black grapes, she says. Will is disappointed. Anything else? he asks, stroking her arm, smiling brightly. She considers. I like chicken, if you must know. And peaches. And cheese. Will looks carefully at her. Really? he says. I only ask because that’s what I have here. Perfect then, Pearl answers, tapping him lightly on the nose. We’ll take this wine, Will goes on, pulling a bottle out of the fridge. My mother’ll never notice. He packs a rucksack. Follow me, Pearl says. She leads him across the field, through the ferns, down to the stream. They take their tops off and stand in the water with their arms by their sides. Pearl makes her new breasts, with their tiny nipples, nudge Will’s chest. You are beautiful, Will whispers. Pearl stoops and splashes him, and her laughter seems to intensify the sunlight glinting through the trees. They hold hands and she takes him deeper into the woods. They come to a clearing covered with dry, rust-coloured beech leaves. A golden silence lies over every surface. Will spreads a blanket as Pearl takes off her shorts. Me too, he says and strips quickly. They spread out on their backs in the sunshine, swigging the chilly white wine and eating peaches. Wood pigeons call throatily to each other. Now and then a breeze strokes the trees above. This is nice, Pearl says. Time to turn over. We have to do both sides.

Pearl’s mother is pretending to make a cake. Some of these, she says, accurately flicking eggs still in their shells into a big bowl. Puffs of flour spurt as each egg breaks. And some of these, she laughs, emptying a bag of dried onion pieces on top. Especially nice, she explains to the empty room, because they’re like scrunched-up insects. Pearl has been watching from the hallway. As her mother shoots a stream of tomato ketchup into the bowl, she walks into the kitchen. Watcha doin’? she asks, tapping her mother briskly on top of the head. Trying to kill us all? Her mother freezes, hands clasped around the plastic bottle. She looks cornered, but Pearl takes juice from the fridge and drinks it from the carton, ignoring her. Don’t, her mother says, licking her lips: it’s not nice. Who says? Pearl asks. Her mother is shuffling her feet, and craning to see something on a shelf above Pearl’s head.
She
did, she announces, and points the bottle towards the cover of a cookery book. Just visible is the face of a smiling woman. Oh, really? Pearl asks. Is she your friend? Her mother folds into a chair and puts the bottle down. I suppose she gave you this brilliant recipe, Pearl says. Her mother is whispering behind her hands. I don’t think she can hear you, Mother, she tells her loudly. Speak up! Her mother points again. This is a girl whose name is Pearl, her mother calls to the photograph. I don’t know what she’s doing in this house. Pearl does an elaborate flourish and indicates her mother to the book. And this is a madwoman no one wants, she says. How we all wish she’d disappear.