Undone (23 page)

He’s chipping away at my heart with every letter and he doesn’t even know it. Wishing he wasn’t gay. That’s not Kai. He didn’t think that way. He
didn’t
. Not until they humiliated him anyway. They will pay for making him think that way.

He knew how I felt about him. He
knew
. I don’t feel the hot flush of embarrassment that I would have expected. I’m actually glad. I’m glad he knew that someone loved him like that. It must be nice to know that. He knew I adored him in every possible way. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t feel the same. (
Why
couldn’t he have felt the same? WHY?) I can’t help feeling sad that no one will ever love me the way I loved Kai. I’ll never, ever know what that feels like.
Still, it didn’t exactly do him any good. It wasn’t enough to keep him here.

This kind of thinking really isn’t helping. Even though everything I’m doing is for Kai, thinking about him really, really doesn’t help. If he could see me now . . . I can’t even . . .

Yes, I’ve done all the things he asked me to, but I’m kidding myself if I think he’d be happy about what I’m doing. He wouldn’t have wanted
this
. But I can’t let myself think about that. All I can do is hope that he would understand why I have to do this. Why I have to take them down.

Looks like the Dinner of Awkwardness might have to be postponed. I’m ill. Like, properly ill in a way I haven’t been for years. Never in my life have I been glad to feel so bloody awful, but it feels like this virus or whatever is a gift from God.

I wonder if the thought of being Lucas Mahoney’s girlfriend is so horrific that my immune system has revolted against it. Maybe this illness is my body rejecting Lucas like an organ recipient rejects a donated kidney or something. Whatever it is, it feels like someone’s been at my throat with a cheese grater and my brain is suddenly two sizes too big for my skull.

Mum comes in before she goes to work and does the old feeling-the-temperature-of-my-forehead thing that mothers always do, complete with a look of serious concentration. ‘Hmm … I think we should call Janice.’

My panicked ‘No!’ is followed by a strangled coughing fit.

Mum purses her lips so tight they disappear from view, then checks her watch. ‘She’ll be coming off shift now and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind … just to put my mind at rest, you know.’

I sit up in bed and somehow manage to ride the undulating wave of extreme dizziness that crashes over me. ‘Mum, I’m fine. It’s just a cold or something. Please don’t bother Mrs McBride. She’s always knackered after her shift.’ I can tell she’s wavering. ‘Besides, she’ll just say it’s a virus. They always say it’s a virus, don’t they? I’ll just rest up today and I’m sure I’ll be fine by the time you get home.’

I say a silent prayer to the god of mother–daughter interaction. The thought of having to talk to Mrs McBride, having to see her sad pale face … I briefly consider leaping out of bed and doing star jumps to prove I’m fine.

Mum sits on the edge of the bed and takes my clammy hand in hers. ‘OK … but I worry about you, Jem. If anything happened to you, I can’t even …’ She shakes her head and takes a deep shaky breath. I reckon she might be about to cry.

‘Mum, nothing’s going to happen to me! It’s just a cold. Now stop fussing and get yourself to work. If it’ll
make you feel any better, you can text me on an hourly basis or something.’

She squeezes my hand but says nothing. This is getting a little weird. ‘You’re right. I’m just being silly because … yes. OK, I’m off, but you’d better reply to those texts – unless you’re asleep – but try not to leave it too long …’

And then she’s gone. Finally. I pull the duvet over my head, feeling twice as exhausted as when I’d woken up. It wasn’t as if she had to spell it out. There’s only one reason for her new-found concern/paranoia: Kai.

The crazy thing is that she’s right to be concerned. She’s right to be paranoid. Just not about me getting ill.

In the end, Mum stays home from work for the next two days to look after me. It isn’t just a cold – it’s some hideous killer virus from hell which has basically killed a good chunk of my summer holidays. On the plus side, it means the awkward Lucas dinner hasn’t happened yet. On the negative side, I feel like crap and can only eat ice cream and soup and melon. (The ice cream should probably shift over to the plus side.)

Lucas wanted to visit me, but there’s no way I’m letting him see me like this – unwashed, pale and
clammy. I don’t want him to think I’m vulnerable, someone who needs looking after. And I definitely don’t want
him
seeing me in my pyjamas. I texted and said I’d let him know as soon as I’m back in circulation, fit for public viewing. He made some crap joke about coming over to play doctors and nurses; all I could muster up in reply was a smiley face. He texts me every morning to ask how I’m doing; it’s kind of irritating.

By day 15 of my confinement I’m starting to feel better. Technically I’ve been feeling a little better since day 9, but I kept my mouth shut. I was starting to enjoy the extra attention from Mum. The soft, sympathetic voice, the blissful lack of nagging.

On Saturday I’m whiling away the afternoon flicking through the pages of one of the many, many magazines Mum bought me … Fashion! Boys! Makeup! More boys! Once I’m over the initial does-she-know-me-at-all revulsion, I actually manage to find a couple of almost interesting articles. Shameful.

The doorbell goes and I figure it must be one of Noah’s mates. It’s not until the timid knock at my bedroom door twenty minutes later that I get suspicious. Mum never bothers to knock (she reckons she
forgets
) and Dad’s knock is a machine-gun-like rata-tat-tat which always scares the crap out of me.

‘Come in?’ Definitely a question rather than a statement. I’m really not sure I want this person who is most definitely not a member of my family to come through that door. The only person I ever
really
want to see will never walk through that door again.

A plate laden with cupcakes is the first thing I see. Not quite what I was expecting. The hands holding the plate are dainty and perfect and everything you’d want hands to be. It’s Sasha, looking prettier and healthier than ever.
Crap sandwich
.

‘You poor thing! Why didn’t you call me?! I could have come round and kept you company!’

I clear my throat. ‘Um … I wasn’t really up for company, I guess.’

She perches on the side of my bed, a little too close for my liking. ‘Silly! What do you think friends are for?! I could have made you chicken soup or something.’ She sets the cupcakes on my bedside table. The frosting’s bright pink – it really doesn’t look like something you should put in your stomach. ‘Never mind, I’m here now. With cupcakes.’ She looks at me with her big brown eyes, all expectant and caring.

‘You made cupcakes.’ A stupid thing to say, but I’m struggling here. I look like shit. My vest has holes in it. There’s a spot on my chin the size of a golf ball. And worst of all, I’m not wearing any make-up.

‘I bake when I’m bored. And I have been
majorly
bored. Here, have one.’ She puts the plate under my nose and I manage not to puke on it.

‘That’s … um … really kind of you. OK if I have one later though? I feel a bit rough right now.’

‘Of course! Your mum said you’d been off your food, and now I look at you, you
are
looking kinda skinny. Maybe that’s what I could do with the rest of my summer – get ill, lose a few pounds.’

‘Yeah, like
you
really need to lose weight.’

She smiles sweetly at me because that was exactly what I was supposed to say. ‘So anyway, your mum is so nice! And your dad too. You’re so lucky – my parents are just so blah, you know? And Noah’s just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. He managed to sweet-talk me into giving him a cupcake – he’s super smooth, that one.’

‘Yeah,
so
smooth. It runs in the family. So … what were you and my mum chatting about?’ Trying to sound like I don’t really care, like I’m just making conversation. But the thought of Sasha talking to Mum makes me feel uneasy. I’d dodged a bullet by getting ill and avoiding Lucas coming over, but I hadn’t anticipated one of Them turning up unannounced. I guess that’s just the kind of thing you do when you’re popular – assume that people will be glad to see you.
Assume there’s nothing they’d rather do than see your pretty, perfect face when they’re looking like utter shit.

‘Oh, this and that. You, obviously. And she was asking me about Lucas.’ She sees the look on my face and rushes on, ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything bad. She just wanted to know more about him – said you’d been all secretive.’

‘Oh God.’ I pull the duvet up over my head.

Sasha yanks the duvet right back down again. ‘Chill! All I said was he’s a good guy. I didn’t tell her he was my ex or anything – didn’t want her asking anything too … er … intimate. Anyway, how are you feeling?’ She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer. ‘So … I hear you two are, like, official and everything. How does it feel?’ She’s got so much energy she’s practically bouncing on the bed.

‘Um … good, I guess?’

‘You don’t sound so sure.’ She scrapes some frosting off a cupcake with her index finger. Her nail varnish is the exact same colour pink. She licks the icing off her finger with feline delicacy.

‘I’ve been a bit preoccupied with fever, phlegm, vomiting … that kind of thing.’

‘Soooooo … you two haven’t done the nasty yet?’

I shrug. ‘You seem to know everything else about
me and Lucas – surely you know that too.’ I don’t quite manage to hide the edge in my voice.

‘As if I’m going to ask Lucas if he’s had sex with his new girlfriend! Give me
some
credit … But I’m well within my rights to ask
you
. It’s, like, the law of girl talk.’ Sasha tilts her head and narrows her eyes like she’s considering how to draw a picture of me. ‘You know you can trust me, don’t you? You can tell me anything. I’m really good with secrets … unless they’re lame secrets that shouldn’t even be secrets in the first place.’

I open my mouth to tell her that no, Lucas and I have most definitely not had sex. But she holds up her hand to silence me. ‘It’s OK, you don’t need to say anything. You haven’t done it yet, I can tell. I swear I have a sixth sense about this kind of stuff. You’re going to do it soon though, right? Once you’re not so … mucustastic of course. I mean, Lucas is patient, but he’s not going to hang around forever …’

She witters on and on and on. I want her to leave; she’s more than I can cope with in my weakened state. I congratulate Sasha on her
amazing
intuition and admit that I have not ‘done it’. Then I fake a coughing fit that somehow turns into a real coughing fit and ends up with me nearly choking to death. That does the trick. Sasha leaves with promises to come back
with more cupcakes soon. I even get a hug, despite my protests that I’m probably highly infectious. I can’t help noticing the overwhelming coconutty aroma of her super-shiny hair. It makes me crave a Bounty bar.

All I can think after she leaves is,
Sasha Evans was in my bedroom
.

The timing of the family holiday to Spain couldn’t be better. I’ve just about recovered enough to have a decent time. I try not to dwell on the fact that it’s my last family holiday (or ‘halliday’ as Dad insists on calling them). Noah will have a room to himself next year.

Once we get back I become the master of excuses, avoiding everyone as much as possible. Mum and Dad seem to have forgotten about having Lucas over for dinner, which is a massive relief. I need to buy some time; I can’t make my next move until we go back to school.

The last few weeks of the summer holiday go pretty quickly. Before I know it, texts are flying around comparing GCSE results and celebrating or commiserating accordingly. Lucas did better than expected, Sasha did worse and the rest of them
performed very much as predicted. Stu’s annoyingly smug about his A in biology, making some crap joke about being very familiar with the female anatomy (yawn). Nina’s been texting me from New York, pretending she’s not checking up on Stu. I’ve been replying, doing my best to keep her paranoid while trying to make it look like I’m being a supportive, understanding friend. It helps that she’s not exactly over-endowed in the brain department. It’s good that I’m still able to do
something
to keep the Plan moving forward – even something small.

I manage to avoid a party at Lucas’s house the day we get our results. I tell him Mum and Dad had planned this big family dinner, when in actual fact I had to beg them to take me and Noah out. Mum wanted to know why I didn’t want to celebrate with my ‘friends’. There was no point in telling her that I don’t have any friends any more. My
friend
(singular) is dead. I eventually convince her that I’m not missing out on anything, that everyone else is celebrating with their families too. Dad arrives late at the restaurant, then insists on embarrassing me by making a toast to his ‘little brainbox’. Since when has mostly Bs been enough to get you labelled a brainbox? Still, I’ll take it. I suppose I get a little bit of dispensation for Kai
being dead. Mum as good as said so the night before my results.

On 23rd August I wake up early and go downstairs to make a cup of tea. My favourite mug’s in the dishwasher so I use Noah’s instead. I take the tea upstairs and get back into bed to read Kai’s letter. Only two more after this.