Undone (30 page)

I kiss him lightly on the lips. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be here before you know it. And we can “talk” then, yeah?’ I raise my eyebrows.

‘Hey! I
do
want to talk, actually. Not sure tomorrow’s quite the right time, but I’ll take what I can get.’

‘There’s a good boy … hmm … I’ve never had sex in the woods before. Better watch out for pine needles.’ I pat him on the bum and leave him standing there, staring after me. I mean, I don’t bother checking, but he’s
probably
staring, right?

I’ve never had sex in the woods before
? I can’t help shaking my head at how lame I sound. Things like that spill out of my mouth so easily these days. I don’t even have to think about it any more. It’s scary.

I was already toying with the idea of paying a visit to Boots on the way home, but this makes up my mind. I should have just enough time before we go for
dinner. Mum won’t be happy. Lucas probably won’t be happy. But I need to do this for me, before I disappear completely.

I look at myself in the mirror and see
me
looking back for the first time in forever. It’s good to be back. Poor Fernando would have a fit if he saw me now.

Mum nearly chokes on her customary pre-dinner gin and tonic. ‘Oh, Jem!’

Noah raises his hand for a high five and I can’t help but grin. Dad doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy watching the news to even notice.

I stand with my hands on my hips. ‘What? WHAT?! I fancied a change, OK?’

Mum takes a sip of her drink and you can tell she’s not sure how to play this. She’s wondering what she can possibly say to make me change my mind. In the end, she goes for silence. A sensible move on her part, I reckon.

I sit down on the edge of the sofa and pretend to watch the news. Some big oil disaster that must have happened a few days ago. The sort of thing I used to care about. I used to watch the news with Dad all the time. It was kind of our thing. I can’t remember when it stopped being our thing. I wonder if Dad even noticed. The look he gives me when I sit down next to
him tells me that he did. And the guilt hits so hard it brings tears to my eyes.

Mum’s the only one who sees, probably because she’s still staring at my hair. ‘Oh, what’s the matter, love? Is it the hair? Don’t worry, I’ll pay for you to go to the salon tomorrow if you like?’

I bite back the snarky comment that would have no doubt completely ruined family night and somehow manage to focus on the TV through my tears. Lucky for me, there are some tarry-looking seabirds flapping around helplessly on a beach somewhere. Not lucky for them, obviously. ‘Those poor birds!’

Dad pats my knee in a vaguely reassuring way, and I can tell Mum’s still looking at me – not remotely convinced. Why is it that fathers are so much easier to fool than mothers?

We sit through a plane crash, a civil war in some country I’ve never even heard of and a house fire that killed a family of five. By the time Dad switches off the telly and grabs his keys I’ve kind of lost my appetite.

We sit at our usual table at Mr Chow’s and everyone orders the same thing they usually do and Noah pretends his veggie spring roll is a cigar and Mum gets annoyed and tells him not to play with his food. Mum flirts a little bit with the waiter, just like she always does. Dad puts up with it and says nothing, just like
he always does. Everyone plays their roles perfectly. Everything is unbearably normal.

I’m quieter than usual, watching, listening, taking it all in. Absorbing the little things they do and say, trying to etch them permanently into my brain. Because it’s only just occurred to me that this will be the last time we’re all together like this. And I’ve only just realized that maybe I should have been spending time with Mum and Dad and Noah instead of wasting my time on this stupid revenge thing. It all suddenly seems a bit ridiculous. Like my priorities have been horribly, obviously wrong, but there hasn’t been anyone around to tell me. That’s a cop-out really.
Kai’s
been telling me, but I haven’t been listening. And it’s too late now.

Mum and Dad have coffee after dinner, and Noah has a hot chocolate. I have nothing. No one noticed that I barely ate any of my food. Mum’s a little bit drunk and is now focusing her flirting energies on Dad. Normally this kind of behaviour makes me want to throw up a little bit, but tonight it’s OK. Tonight I’m glad to see it, because you can tell they really love each other. And I think this means they’re going to be OK when I’m gone. They’re strong enough to get through it, so I don’t need to worry.

Who am I kidding?

Sasha wanted to get ready at my house. I tried to put her off, but she was having none of it. When I finally agreed, she clapped her hands together and said, ‘Our very first sleepover!’ I said nothing. I was too busy wondering how someone coming over to get ready for a party automatically gave them an invite to
sleep
there. It must be another secret girl code no one bothered to tell me about. Anyway, I’m not going to sweat it, since there’s no way she’ll end up coming back to my place tonight.

No school today because of an Inset day (which never fails to make Mum go off on one about teachers being lazy). I spend most of the day sleeping. I can’t help feeling like this is a bit of a waste of my last day as a member of Team Popular, but I don’t want to see any of them before tonight. An hour or so before Sasha arrives I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor and get
to work. It makes me think of Christmas Eve and a giggle bubbles up from nowhere. I think I am losing the plot entirely.

Sasha arrives bang on time and her eyes practically pop out of her head when she sees my hair. She doesn’t have a chance to say anything though, because Mum’s right there asking her how she’s been and blah blah blah. So Sasha spends a good twenty minutes chatting to Mum in the kitchen. She’s so bloody
comfortable
with people. Mum loves her – that’s obvious as anything. She laughs at everything Sasha says, which is stupid because Sasha is not a particularly hilarious person. Even Dad decides to get in on the action by wandering into the kitchen and chipping in to the conversation every now and then. I get the feeling that if I could disappear through the wall I’m leaning on, my parents would be perfectly satisfied with Sasha as a replacement daughter.

The one redeeming thing is that I’m pretty sure Noah would prefer
me
as a sister, because I’m not sure Sasha would be up for beating the crap out of him in the various video games he makes me play. Correction:
made
me play. Thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time he asked me to play a game with him. I always used to pretend I had better things to do, but I never did. I loved it, if I’m honest.
It was the perfect opportunity to teach him some pretty choice swear words to impress his friends with.

I think it’s probably for the best that I haven’t been spending heaps of time with Noah and Mum and Dad recently. If I tell myself this enough times, it might start to come true.

Mum and Dad and Sasha are all staring at me. I’m clearly supposed to say something. I suppose I
could
risk a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or ‘maybe’, but I go for a confused-sounding ‘hmm?’ instead.

Dad shakes his head and laughs in that incredibly irritating
What is she like?
way. At least he doesn’t start singing the old David Bowie song he normally warbles when I’m not listening to him. That would be too embarrassing for words. ‘Sasha was just saying her parents have invited you to their house in Scotland for the weekend … ?’

Um. What? House in where?
This is news to me.
Why is Sasha doing this to me?!

Sasha sees my look of utter bafflement and laughs. ‘Yeah, sometimes my folks take pity on me having to hang out with them in the middle of the Highlands, so they let me invite a friend along … and I thought you … might like to? It’s not for a month or something, so you don’t need to decide now.’ She seems almost
shy all of a sudden, as though she genuinely gives a toss whether I go to bloody Scotland or not. I mean, who even has an extra house in Scotland?! A house in France would be acceptable, Italy would be even better.

I fake my most winning smile, which really isn’t all that winning, and say, ‘Sounds cool, I’d be up for that … Now, we’d better get ready if we don’t want to be late.’ Then I grab Sasha by the shoulders and manoeuvre her out of the room like a shop dummy. There’s zero chance of us being late. We’ve planned to get to the party no earlier than eight thirty and it’s not even six o’clock yet. But Sasha insisted on coming round crazy early; she is
seriously
high maintenance.

I shoo Sasha up the stairs, and as soon as I close the door she says, ‘What the fuck have you done to your hair?!’ Her facial expression is confused more than anything else.

I tug at the ends of my hair, all self-conscious and lame. ‘I just fancied a bit of a change, that’s all.’

She throws her bag and coat on my bed and turns to face me. ‘A
bit
of a change? Moving your parting is a
bit
of a change, wearing your hair in a ponytail is a
bit
of a change … this is an
epic
change!’ Now she’s the one manoeuvring me so that we’re both standing in front of the mirror that’s on the back of the door. She narrows her eyes and looks at me like I’m a painting
and she’s an art critic and she’s not at all sure she likes what she sees. ‘Hmm …’ She starts running her hands through my hair, fluffing it this way and that, and I really, really want her to stop. But I smile and do my best to act like I’m completely comfortable with this situation.

‘It’s going to take some getting used to, that’s for sure. You know … you look kind of
dangerous
. Like you should ride a motorbike and have loads of piercings and drink tequila.’

‘It’s the exact same colour my hair used to be.’ Suddenly I want her to remember that I was a person before. That I didn’t just spring to life the moment she noticed me.

‘Is it? Mmmm …’ Like she’s not really listening. ‘I think it’s going to be fine, you know. We can work with this. Maybe red lipstick? I happen to have the
perfect
colour, if you don’t have any. Has Lucas seen it yet?’

I must remember that it really wouldn’t be OK to punch her in the face. ‘Not yet.’

‘Ooooh, I wonder what he’ll make of it. He’ll probably think it’s hot. It’ll be like having a whole new girlfriend or something.’ Maybe a small punch would be OK … a quick jab to the jaw perhaps.

I shrug off Sasha’s hands, because the touching is
going on way too long for my liking. ‘I’m not all that fussed about what Lucas thinks, to be honest. What I do with my hair really isn’t anyone else’s business.’

I open my wardrobe and stare at the contents so I don’t have to witness whatever irritating look Sasha’s giving me right now.

‘You’re so right, you know. I wish I could be more like you.’

I can’t help it. I snort with laughter and slam the wardrobe doors closed again. ‘Sasha, that may well be the funniest thing you have ever said.’ And for some reason I’m laughing hysterically and I couldn’t even stop if I wanted to. Luckily it feels so bloody good to laugh – to properly laugh like I haven’t done in so very long – that I have no desire to stop. I don’t even care that she’s looking at me like I’ve completely lost the plot.

I’m laughing so hard I can’t even stand up straight. I collapse face first onto the bed. My stomach feels like I’ve done a thousand crunches. Just as I start to get a grip, I hear Sasha start to giggle, and then the giggles turn into full-on proper laughter. She flops down onto the bed next to me and we’re both just lying there laughing our stupid heads off. And I don’t want to admit it to myself, but it feels incredible. It feels like
before
.

‘Oh my God, Jem! Has anyone ever told you that you’re fucking crazy?’

‘It may have been mentioned once or twice. Why do you ask?’ I prop myself up on one elbow and look at her. Sasha looks more normal, more
human
, than I’ve ever seen her. Even when she was crying that day in the toilets. She’s hardly wearing any make-up and she looks something close to beautiful.

‘Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to laugh, OK?’ She looks almost shy.

‘I think it’s safe to say I’m pretty much laughed out for the time being.’

‘OK, this is really lame and everything … and I know it’s the kind of thing you say when you’re, like, twelve … but what the fuck, I’m going to say it anyway. You’re … sort of my best friend. And I just wanted you to know that. I mean, Amber and Louise are fine. I like them, I really do. But you’re different to them. I feel like we connect on another level or something.’ She cringes and laughs. ‘Told you it was lame!’

I’m focusing on the little flash of her toned stomach that’s peeking out above her jeans. And all I can think about is all those times lying here with Kai. My
actual
best friend. No one could ever replace him. Certainly not this girl with her perfect hair and perfect body and
perfect everything. I only have to pretend for a little longer. You can do anything, say anything, when you know the end is in sight.

‘It’s not lame. OK, it’s really quite lame … but I feel the same way so it’s cool.’ You can say
anything
.

I do my best to match the grin that’s spreading across her face. ‘Yay! We’re, like, totes besties!’ I think (hope) she’s being ironic, but it’s really hard to tell. ‘Shall we hug it out? I think we probably
should
, don’t you?’ She hauls herself up into a sitting position and I do the same.

While we’re hugging she says, ‘We should probably get a couple of those BFF necklaces, don’t you think?’

‘Why stop there? Why don’t we get those classy broken-heart pendants … you know, the ones you put together to make the heart whole again? Or matching tattoos, maybe? That would be
such
a good look.’ Sasha starts to giggle, which makes me laugh.

The weird thing is, I can almost imagine a future in which we
are
the kind of friends she thinks we are now. I’m not entirely sure how I’ve ended up in a place where I can imagine such a thing, but I really, truly
can
. We would go and stay at her house in Scotland and steal a bottle of something from her dad’s drinks cabinet and stay up late talking about boys and go
hiking in the mountains the next day. This almost-possible future shimmers in front of me, vanishing whenever I try to focus on it. It’s just as well really, because if I could see it properly it might actually be a future I would want. A future almost worth living for.