Torn (22 page)

When the desk move happened, I pretended to be as confused and hurt as Tara was. It was easy. After that, it was a simple matter of a gradual phase-out over the next few months. A few unreturned phone calls. Making up excuses as to why I couldn’t go round to her house after school. Trying to become Stephanie de Luca’s shadow. It was pitiful. Tara got the hint eventually. She never confronted me – she wouldn’t have dared. I felt guilty about the whole thing, but not quite guilty enough to change my mind.

Then one day it happened. Everything I’d ever wished for. Stephanie invited me to a sleepover at her house. I’d made it.

The day of the sleepover arrived and I was so
excited I quite literally could not sit still. Mum had been out all morning. Dad was in the garage working on his bike. I was busy packing my bag and worrying whether my pyjamas were too babyish. Mum called me downstairs. She looked different, but I wasn’t sure how. She made me sit on the sofa, then sat down next to me, holding my hand. Bruno jumped up and tried to muscle his way onto my lap despite being at least three times too big. Mum pushed him off, none too gently. She said there was something she needed to talk to me about, something important, something serious, and there was no easy way to say it. Then she said the words. The worst words in the world.

‘The cancer’s back. It’s bad.’

I didn’t go to Stephanie’s party.

I didn’t infiltrate the in-crowd.

Mum died.

Tara transformed.

My mind has never been able to separate Mum’s illness from my treatment of Tara. It’s not like I thought the cancer came back because I’d been such a terrible person. OK, I
did
think that for a while. But near the end I knew it couldn’t be true. When I saw her ravaged by pain, her face pinched and sallow, her
skin paper-thin, I knew. No God would ever inflict such suffering on her to pay for my crime. No God would allow such a terrible thing to happen to our family. God did not exist. Obviously.

I stopped blaming myself for Mum’s death; I didn’t stop blaming myself for the way I’d treated Tara. But by the time I’d worked up the courage to apologize, she was at least three rungs above me on the social ladder. Slowly but surely she’d reinvented herself. She’d stopped coming to school with wet hair (which was now streaky and blonde). Her skirts were shorter. She’d started wearing make-up. I swear she made one tiny change every day, so that no one really noticed what was going on.
I
noticed though. The transformation in the way she looked was enough to get her in with the in-crowd, and the transformation in the way she acted was enough to cement her place. They never even realized that it would only be a couple of years before the girl they’d so graciously invited into their hallowed circle would
own
them.

The reinvention of Tara Chambers was so dramatic, so all-consuming, that it erased the memories of the girl who’d been my best friend. I’d tried talking to Cass about it once, but she claimed not to remember a time when Tara hadn’t been the Tara she knew and hated.

Sometimes I feel like I
created
Tara the über-bitch. Then I tell myself not to be so egotistical. But there’s no denying the fact that Tara was a good person, a nice person, until I abandoned her.

In some parallel universe Tara and I are still best friends and neither of us cares in the slightest that no one else seems to like us. We’re both happy. And more importantly, we’re both alive.

I tell Jack that Tara and I drifted apart after we stopped sitting together. We both agree that it was a shame, but
just one of those things
.

I don’t feel bad for not telling him the truth. The truth would hurt him.

And it would hurt me.

It’s Monday morning and Mrs Cronin is subdued. Normally her energy levels are inexplicably high after the weekend, but today she puts on a DVD about Stalin and sits quietly at the back of the classroom (sparing us the usual running commentary).

That new teacher whose name I can never remember knocks on the door and scans the darkened room before spotting Mrs Cronin. Everyone turns and watches their huddled conversation, because anything’s got to be more interesting that whatever Stalin’s up to on-screen. I tell myself I’m just being paranoid when I catch Cronin and Teacher X glancing my way, but then they do it again and I know I’m right to be worried.

They know. Oh my God, they
know
. They’ve found the body. This is it. I knew it would happen sooner or later, but this is definitely sooner than I thought.
Adrenaline shoots through my body and saliva floods my mouth. I fight the urge to bolt from the room, because what good would it do, really?

Mrs Cronin doesn’t even bother to pause the DVD. ‘Alice, please could you make your way to Miss Daley’s classroom?’ Daley’s classroom seems an odd choice for the interrogation. I pack my books and pens away with shaking, clammy hands and try to ignore everyone staring at me. My ruler clatters to the floor, but I don’t bother to pick it up. It’s not like I’ll be needing it.

Gemma stage-whispers to no one in particular, ‘Uh-oh … someone’s in TROUBLE.’ A couple of girls giggle. Danni tells her to shut up. I catch Danni’s eye and she actually looks sympathetic – the way a friend might look in this situation. She won’t be looking at me that way when she finds out what happened. I doubt anyone will ever look at me that way again.

The empty corridor stretches out before me and I walk on legs that feel like they don’t belong to me. I peer through the window of each classroom I pass. Rows and rows of normal girls, sitting at their normal desks, living their normal lives.

I turn a corner and someone’s coming towards me. It’s Cass. The tiny part of me that hoped this whole thing is unrelated to Tara is crushed.

Daley’s classroom is exactly halfway down the corridor, so Cass and I meet in the middle. I wonder if I look as scared as she does. I expect so. We don’t speak. There’s nothing left to say.

I follow Cass through the open door and Daley’s at the front of the room, pacing back and forth. The pacing stops as soon as she sees us. She beckons us forward but doesn’t say anything. Her face is red and blotchy and her mascara’s a mess.

Polly’s leaning against a radiator on the far wall, twisting her hair round her fingers. She doesn’t look scared; she looks like she’s waiting for a bus. Rae’s not here yet.

There is no one else in the room. Not quite what I’d expected. Maybe the police are going with a softly, softly approach, letting Daley explain the procedure before they swoop in with the handcuffs.

I drop my bag on the floor and slump into a chair in the second row. Cass takes a seat a couple of desks to my left.

Daley takes the deepest of deep breaths and lets it out somewhat shakily. She closes the door and Cass and I exchange confused looks. Why isn’t she waiting for Rae? A horrible idea creeps into my brain: maybe Rae told the police. Maybe she’s brokered some kind of deal to protect herself? We are well and truly fucked.

Daley wipes away a tear and takes yet another deep breath. ‘Girls,’ she pauses to look at each one of us in turn, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’ Yes. We
know
.

‘Rae Morgan … um … Rae passed away on Friday night.’

No.

Polly’s eyes widen. She stops twisting her hair.

No.

Cass shakes her head ever so slightly.

No.

And then I say it out loud. ‘No.’

Daley turns to me, pity oozing out of every pore. ‘I’m sorry, Alice.’

Polly speaks up. Her voice is strangely calm. ‘How did she die?’

Daley winces. She looks at the door as if the answer might come strolling in at any moment. ‘I … You have to promise me that this will stay between us. The family doesn’t want rumours flying around. I’m sure you understand.’ She waits for nods from each of us before continuing, ‘Rae took her own life.’

No. This cannot be true.

‘How did she do it?’

I want to strangle Polly for being so crass, but I want to know too. I need to know.

‘I really don’t think that’s important, Polly.’

‘I think we deserve to know.’

Daley’s eyes flick towards the door again. ‘She overdosed.’

‘So they don’t know for sure that she meant to kill herself? She could have done it by mistake,’ says Cass. There’s so much hope wrapped up in her words.

‘I’m afraid they
do
know – there was a note.’

I pray that Daley doesn’t notice the look of pure panic that flashes between Cass and me.

‘What did the note say?’ Again, Polly is the only calm one in the room, asking the questions that we so desperately need answers to.

I don’t breathe again until Daley answers. ‘“Sorry.” It just said, “Sorry.”’ She shakes her head at the tragedy of it all.

I can’t help but let a sigh of relief escape. Sorry. Sorry could mean anything. Sorry is vague, ambiguous. Sorry is whatever you want it to be.

‘There’s going to be a special assembly this afternoon. Everyone else will be told then. We just thought that you girls should know now. After what you went through together in Scotland, I thought … you might have become close to Rae. Now, can you tell me who else she was friends with? None of the teachers seems to know.’

The other two look at me. ‘I … um … Rae didn’t really have many friends. I mean, she probably had friends outside of school that we don’t know about.’

Polly chips in, ‘She kept herself to herself really.’ This pisses me right off. It’s the kind of thing you hear on the news when some old lady’s being interviewed because her apparently normal neighbour has just massacred a bunch of people. But Rae
did
keep herself to herself. I genuinely thought she preferred listening to music to talking to people. Well, if I’m completely honest, I never really gave Rae much thought at all up until the Scotland trip. Or after, for that matter. I never even thought to check how she was doing. Maybe there’s something I could have done. Maybe I’m kidding myself.

I think Daley is going to cry over the thought of Rae not having any friends, but she manages to get a grip. ‘Right, I’ve got a meeting with Mrs Flanagan now. You girls can stay here as long as you like. All your teachers have been informed. If any of you wants to talk about anything, you know where I am.’ She hovers for a second or two, and I’m sure she’s going to hug each of us. Luckily she comes to her senses and settles for a watery smile mostly aimed in my direction.

I think Cass sums up the situation perfectly as soon as the door closes behind Daley. ‘Shit.’

Polly moves from her radiator perch to sit behind Daley’s desk. I let my head fall forward onto the desk in front of me. Cass swears under her breath.

‘I can’t believe she actually
did
it.’ Polly sounds a bit in awe. Which is more than a little bit disturbing.

‘What do you mean?’ My voice is slightly muffled by the desk.

‘I thought she was
joking
.’

I don’t like what I’m hearing.

‘You talked to her about this?’ Cass sounds as incredulous as I feel.

There’s no answer, so I can only assume that Polly shrugged or something. I really should get my head off the desk and see what’s going on. But I don’t want to look at these people. I’m afraid of what I’ll see in their faces.

‘Since when were you such good friends with Rae?’ asks Cass.

‘I’m not. I wasn’t. We talked sometimes. About … you know.’ Of course we know.

‘And she said she was thinking about topping herself?’ I wish Cass would choose her words more carefully.

There’s a pause and I wonder if Polly is working out how much to reveal.

‘She thought we should go to the police. I managed to talk her out of it, thank God.’

‘And now she’s dead.’ I finally manage to look up to find Polly staring right at me.

‘Yes, she’s dead. Don’t look at me like that, Alice. It’s not my fault.’

I sigh. ‘I didn’t say it was your fault. I wish there was something we could have done, that’s all. This whole situation is completely out of control. Maybe we
should
go to the police. Maybe Rae was right.’ I can’t believe I am talking about Rae in the past tense. How many more people am I going to have to talk about in the past tense?

‘NO!’ Cass’s voice is unnecessarily loud and the word echoes around the room. ‘We are
not
going to the police. Alice, you promised, remember? Rae’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it. There’s no point ruining
our
lives as well.’

‘Cass is right.’ It’s like that night all over again.
Polly and Cass ganging up on me and Rae. Except there’s no Rae.

‘Two people are dead! And it’s our fault. Doesn’t that mean anything to you two?’

Cass says, ‘It was an accident,’ at exactly the same time as Polly says, ‘It’s not our fault.’

I shake my head and get up to leave. The room tilts slightly and I have to steady myself for a moment. ‘You’re wrong.’

Cass pushes her chair back so hard it topples over. She’s in my face before I know what’s happening. ‘OK, fine. You go to the police. But make sure you explain everything to your boyfriend first. I’d like to be a fly on the wall for
that
conversation.’