Saving Silence (26 page)

‘Nice one,’ Imogen smiled. ‘The colour’s great. Thanks! That was really thoughtful.’

We reached Imogen’s front door. As she reached into her pocket for keys, we noticed something hanging above our heads. Something which, judging by the way Imogen’s jaw dropped,
hadn’t been there when she left.

‘What idiot hung that up?’ Imogen broke the silence. We stared at the mistletoe, its fat berries gleaming. I peered over my shoulder, checking that no one was watching from the
window.

‘Well,’ I started, ‘you know what they say . . . it’s really bad luck to ignore mistletoe.’

‘Sam, be serious. We are not having a snog. Not, like, ever, and definitely not, like, here, and most certainly not, like, because of some stupid Christmas tradition. Because that is
lame.’

Imogen talked lots when she was wrong-footed, I’d noticed. For once she didn’t look so certain. In fact, she was the one that was blushing while I wasn’t. I felt weirdly at
ease as I said, ‘I must be pretty lame then.’

I leaned forward. When our lips met, warmth flowed through me, and there was a pounding feeling in my chest that was brilliant and scary at the same time. I leaned in to kiss her a second time,
then felt Imogen’s hand on my chest.

‘Samuel –’ to my delight she was smiling – ‘one kiss per berry, remember?’ She reached up and plucked off a berry and waved it at me.
‘Memento?’

Then the door opened and Imogen’s mum appeared.

‘Oh, so you found the mistletoe I put up then,’ she said smoothly.

I coughed and looked at my feet.

Imogen made a huffing noise. ‘Since when were you such a perv, Mum?’

‘You were the one who complained there wasn’t enough love in the house. I was just trying to create some.’ She went back inside, laughing, leaving the door open.

Imogen stepped in, muttering angrily, ‘I bet she was watching. Ugh!’

‘Hey, Imo.’ I caught her arm. ‘I do like you, just so you know. More than just friends.’

Imogen looked down at my hand on her arm.

‘You might be moving to America,’ she said, her expression unreadable.

‘I don’t think that’ll happen,’ I said. ‘Not now the McAllisters are going down. Tamsin has never been keen on it; she wants her parents around when the
baby’s born. Dad adores her, so I think she’ll get final say on the matter.’

Imogen sighed. ‘Look, Sam, so much is going on in my head right now; I need some time to get through it. You’re a great guy and as far as mistletoe kisses go, well, that was a really
cheesy thing to do. But I did like it. OK?’ She grinned at me shyly.

I beamed. I couldn’t help it. ‘That’s OK. That’s very OK.’

Imogen took off the gloves and carefully placed them in her coat pockets. ‘Maybe next year you can buy me slippers. These ones are rank!’ Then she leaned forward and gave me a very
quick kiss on the lips. ‘Merry Christmas, Sam,’ she said, closing the door.

Next year.

Next year would bring a new court case and new problems. But next year would also bring my new brother or sister and the chance for me to get to know better the new people who’d become so
important to me. After years of feeling so anxious and frustrated I could barely breathe, I’d finally started to live again.

Now was good. So good I couldn’t wipe the silly grin off my face. But next year?

Next year was going to be incredible.

My cousin Danielle was twenty-six when she died. According to the police she jumped from the balcony of her flat, which, in the words of my foster-mother, wasn’t a very
nice way to go. What a stupid thing to say. Is death ever ‘nice’?

My best friend Reece and I were the last people to see Dani alive. We’d been staying the weekend in her Bournemouth flat. I say her flat, but it actually belonged to Danielle’s
friend Fay, who was backpacking around South America and had said Dani was welcome to use it.

‘Come over! It’ll be brilliant.’ Danielle had sounded so enthusiastic when she rang to invite me. ‘Stay for a week, two weeks – I’m right next to the beach.
Loads to do. You’ll love it.’

‘I’ve got school,’ I said. ‘They probably wouldn’t approve of me taking a week out to splash about in the sea.’

‘Oh, yeah, school. Bummer. Well, whatever. Let’s make it a weekend.’

Timewise it wasn’t ideal – it was just after Easter, and GCSE exams were breathing down my neck – but I went anyway. My foster-mum, Julie, was fine with me going – she
said I deserved a break. I hadn’t heard from Danielle in ages, even though until recently she’d been working in north London, where I was living.

So after school on Friday afternoon Reece and I got the train from Waterloo and Danielle met us on the platform at the other end, all smiles and carrying an enormous bag of rum-and-raisin fudge.
She started chattering about the flat and the beach and her new job, which was a temporary one at an IT consultancy. We had fish and chips in town and then went for a walk along the seafront and
tried out the fairground rides on the pier. Danielle knew the people running the air-rifle stand and they let us have a couple of free shots, which they probably regretted when Reece started
arguing about the game’s rules. Reece had always liked the sound of his own voice – Danielle and I found the whole thing terribly funny and couldn’t stop laughing. It’s not
that remarkable, but I’ll always hold on to that moment: a summer night when the light was starting to fade, a warm breeze ruffling my hair, sharing a joke with my cousin.

On Sunday afternoon Reece and I were getting ready to leave when the flat’s doorbell buzzed. Danielle went to answer. I was in the other room at the time, so I don’t know if she said
anything to the caller over the intercom, but the next thing I knew, I could hear footsteps running downstairs.

‘Does she always rush about like that?’ Reece asked.

I shrugged. ‘Pretty much.’

Reece went to the window, pressing his palms to it. ‘She’s talking to some bloke.’

‘He’s probably just selling something,’ I said. ‘Give me a hand with my case, will you? The zip’s stuck.’

Half an hour later Danielle still hadn’t come back. She wasn’t outside the flat or picking up her mobile, so we had no choice but to head to the station. We’d booked two cheap
seats on the 4.37 and I couldn’t see Julie being happy about forking out for a later train.

‘Bit off, Danielle not coming to say goodbye,’ Reece said as we left. ‘She’s a bit of a skitz, your cousin.’

I felt a little disappointed that Danielle hadn’t returned, but it wasn’t as though it was the first time she’d let me down. She’d probably ring that evening, full of
apologies.

Later Reece and I worked out that Danielle must have jumped from the balcony roughly around the time we were changing trains at Southampton. When I got back Julie told me what
had happened.

I didn’t believe it at first. The idea that Danielle could be gone seemed impossible. But when I began to take it all in – well, it was pretty tough. The next few days were terrible
ones I’d give anything to forget. Over the years I’d become very good at blanking out feelings, but I couldn’t ignore this. Dani had been the only person in the world who was
mine, someone who knew exactly what I’d been through. She never judged me. She
understood
. That was something I could never replace.

The coroner was satisfied it was suicide. Danielle had never been that stable, I knew. She’d threatened to hurt herself before, and depression and mood swings ran in the family. Maybe it
had been one of those freak decisions you’d never make if you could go back in time. In the words of the police officer who’d come to tell me the verdict, it was ‘terribly sad,
but it all made sense’.

The whole thing left me reeling, but very slowly I began to accept that there was nothing left for me to do but try to get on with my life – without Dani.

And maybe that’s the way things would have gone if, four months later, I hadn’t found the memory stick.

Summer. Weeks and weeks off school. Sunshine, Cornettos and flip-flops. Holidays abroad for the lucky ones. Muggy days that feel endless, hanging out with friends in the park.
Fun. That’s what summer should be, but this year it just wasn’t working for me.

As well as coping with my grief I felt like I was at a crossroads, that everything was in flux. Everyone was waiting for their GCSE results. The exams had gone better than expected in the end,
but I still couldn’t see myself doing that well – English in particular had been a nightmare. Half of my year at Broom Hill High were leaving to go to colleges rather than staying on
for the sixth form, which didn’t have a great reputation. Lots of the teachers had gone on about how A levels and BTECs were a huge stepping stone and how the subjects we chose now could
determine the rest of our lives. I wasn’t sure I bought the idea that we were taking control; everyone still treated us like kids. Especially me – as a foster-kid I wasn’t allowed
to make my own decisions. I’d had to sit down with my social worker and come up with a ‘Pathway Plan’, supposedly to help me prepare for independent life when I turned eighteen
and left care. Lorraine had strong opinions about what was best for me, and after a frustrated hour of trying to explain I had no idea where I wanted to be in two years, I gave up and let her take
over. Biology, geography and law A levels would be as good as anything else.

Apart from helping out in the Save the Animals charity shop, something I’d been doing on-off ever since I’d come to live with Julie almost a year and a half ago, I had very little to
do. I’d seen my old classmates down the high street. They’d invited me to join them, but after a couple of long afternoons sunbathing in the park I got restless. I’d rather be
doing
something. Hanging out is kind of empty when the people aren’t really your friends; nothing gets said that you remember, and time seems to drag. It was easier for them if I
wasn’t around, anyway; putting up with someone who’d had a family member die was a real downer. It would have been easier if Dani had been knocked down by a car or had some kind of
accident. That it had been suicide seemed to reflect on me somehow – especially as I had a reputation for being a bit crazy myself. The girls were clearly trying to treat me sensitively, but
that just smacked home how different I was from them. It made me feel I would never be a normal teenager again.

I kept wondering how the summer break would have been different if Danielle was still here. Maybe we could have spent the summer in Bournemouth, just us – hanging out in town, clothes
shopping, watching DVDs, the relaxed kind of stuff we didn’t always fit into the weekends and evenings we spent together. Dani could be very inconsistent, sometimes going into moods that
meant I wouldn’t see her for weeks. But the absent patches had been worth it for the good ones, when she would be incredibly sweet, showering me with gifts and affection.

Instead I had my classmates and lots of school gossip I didn’t want to hear. It just reminded me that I’d have to go back to Broom Hill, making me dread the end of the holidays even
more than I was already. It was times like these that made me wish Reece hadn’t left halfway through Year 10. Paloma, a girl who’d been in my class, had asked after him when I’d
joined her gang in the park recently. Everyone still remembered Reece. His run-ins with teachers were legendary. One particular highlight was the time he calmly walked out of a history lesson and
returned with an Internet printout that disproved what the teacher had just said about the causes of World War One. Reece had been excluded for that little stunt.

‘So,’ Paloma said, ‘you still talk? You and Reece used to be totally buddy-buddy.’

‘Yeah, well, that was before he buggered off to posh school,’ I said. I knew I was being a little unfair – Reece had kicked up a huge fuss about being moved to Berkeley School
for Boys, threatening his mother with a hunger strike and other ridiculous things. We’d stayed friends for a while, even arranging that Bournemouth trip so we could spend some proper time
together. ‘I’m fed up with him and his stupid new friends,’ I added.

‘Didn’t seem like he’d changed last time I saw him, a couple of weeks before my party,’ Paloma said. ‘You were matey enough then.’

I started to make a daisy chain, not meeting her eyes. There was more to our falling-out, but I wasn’t confiding in Paloma. I liked her best out of the girls from school because she stuck
up for me – Paloma was sometimes teased about her weight, so she knew a thing or two about fighting back – but she did have a big mouth. Eventually she got the message and changed the
subject, but I knew she’d try to get the full story later. When she invited me to the cinema the next day, I passed. Julie would have bugged me about that if she’d known. She was
worried I didn’t seem to have many friends. It wasn’t true – there were always people for me to hang out with if I wanted – but I just wasn’t close to anyone. Not like
I had been to Dani, or to Reece.

I think maybe the reason I don’t have many friends is that people are always so curious about my life. In the old days kids wanted to know what it was like to be in care, especially as I
sometimes exaggerated the less pleasant bits. More recently I guess people just noticed me because I was different. Once I skived off school and went to Hampstead Heath instead, but I didn’t
get into trouble. Broom Hill’s head teacher thought I was ‘troubled’, so he just sent me to have a long talk with the school counsellor. The other kids really resented that and
said I’d got off easy. I used not to care about gossip, because people said stuff about Reece as well, but it’s not so easy putting on a front on your own. Especially as since
Paloma’s party everyone really did have gossip about me. Horrible, embarrassing, true gossip.