Violet Ink (8 page)

I don't know what to do. I start to stand up, but Finn stops me.

‘Wait a minute, Izzy. I'll just go and check on her.' He races out of the room and Stefan and I listen as we hear two pairs of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Then a door slams hard and a minute later Finn appears back in the doorway. He doesn't look at me and the feeling of fear that started in my stomach when Alex began yelling spreads to my chest.

‘Might as well call it a day,' he tells Stefan, who nods and then picks up his phone to ring his dad. I don't know what he says to his dad, but I bet it's the Polish for ‘a crazy girl has just ruined our evening and you need to come and collect me before she totally loses the plot'.

‘He's on his way,' he tells Finn, hanging up the phone. ‘Sooner I get a car of my own the better.'

Together, they pack up the drums and take
them out to our front hall. Stefan keeps glancing nervously towards the stairs, but Alex doesn't appear. I stay in the armchair and I think they've forgotten that I'm there until Stefan's dad has arrived and Finn has helped load up the car. Then Finn comes back into the living room and stands over me.

‘You going to be OK until your mum gets back?' he asks me.

I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. It's totally disgusting – a huge, wooden, swirly thing with a very annoying tick. It was a wedding present to Mum and Dad and Mum hates it. I asked her once why we've still got it and she looked surprised and said that she had no idea, but she still didn't get rid of it. Alex tried to put it in a bag of stuff to go to my school jumble sale once, but it somehow found its way back on to the mantelpiece and has stayed there ever since. We're stuck with it.

‘I'll be fine,' I say to Finn. ‘Mum'll be home soon.'

Actually, I have no idea when she'll be home, and Alex is obviously going to be rubbish company. I can feel my skin starting to feel prickly and itchy because I've lied to Finn, and if there's one thing I try really hard not to do it's to lie. That's not
because I'm a goody-goody or anything – it just makes me feel really horrible inside if I lie so I mostly tell the truth because it's easier. If I was being honest, I'd ask Finn to stay and we could get our game of Scrabble out from the cupboard under the TV and sit at the kitchen table, eating biscuits and laughing about who can make up the most bizarre word. I like words: knowing what they mean and the power that they have makes me feel a bit more in control.

I don't want Finn to think that I need looking after though, so I don't say any of this and he leaves, this time without ruffling my hair or giving me a high five.

I plod upstairs and knock on Alex's door. No harm in trying, I suppose.

‘Go away,' she shouts.

‘It's me! Izzy,' I call back, worried that she might think it's Finn or Stefan come to annoy her.

‘I know. Go away.'

I can hear her start to cry again and wish, with every bit of me, that I knew what to do. That I had some good words to make her feel better. I stand outside her door for a little while, but no words come to me, so I trudge across the landing and go into my own room. I've done my homework
and I finished my book yesterday, so I have absolutely nothing to do. I wonder for a minute if I should make Alex some hot chocolate, but then I remember how she sounded and decide that an early night would probably be a good idea.

I clean my teeth and put my pink pyjamas on. I'm not mad keen on pink, but it's a calm, caring colour and I could use a bit of that right now. Then I turn out my lamp and sink into bed, hoping that tomorrow Alex will laugh about her daft mood and this will all just be a silly misunderstanding.

Alex and I walk home from school together most days at the moment. We've never really made actual plans to meet up, but by the time I get to the school gates she's usually there, chatting to people and laughing. Waiting for me. The aggro boys won't come anywhere near when she's with me. They sometimes shoot me nasty looks in PE lessons, but I try to keep out of their way and I'm hoping they'll get bored of the whole thing. They're bound to move on to terrorizing someone else before too long anyway.

Today the sun is shining and it feels quite warm, even though it's only the end of March. Alex is moaning though.

‘This country is so ridiculous,' she says. ‘It's hot now when we'd all totally accept it being wet and
cold and then it'll get to August and we'll all be shivering in our winter woollies.'

I laugh. ‘Yeah, someone should do something about it! Maybe it's the government's fault.'

Alex sighs. ‘I just wish it'd make its mind up. Imagine living somewhere that had real weather.'

‘What's not real about our weather?' I ask her. ‘It feels pretty real to me.'

‘Oh, you know what I mean,' she says, waving her hand dismissively at the sky. ‘Snow in the winter, sun in the summer. Crisp autumn days with red falling leaves and fresh spring mornings with flowers and birds singing.'

‘We have singing birds,' I point out. ‘There are some pigeons living in the tree in our garden. I think they might be building a nest.'

‘Don't you mean the “pigeon of peace”?' teases Alex, and I feel myself blushing. One Christmas, when I was little, I saw a Christmas card with a dove on the front and Mum told me that it was a bird that meant peace. A few months later, I got really excited when I saw a pigeon and loudly told everyone that it was the pigeon of peace. Alex has been calling them that ever since, even though it's not even funny any more. ‘And pigeons don't count,' she adds.

I can't even pretend to know why she's suddenly so cross with the weather, especially when it's actually nice today. She's been like this for a while though – funny and brilliant one minute and then grouchy and complaining the next. I wish her exams were sooner and then she could stop stressing out. It's hard work not knowing which Alex is going to come down to breakfast every morning.

We get home and Alex opens the front door.

‘Hi, girls,' Mum calls from her study. ‘Did you have good days?'

‘Hi, Mum, my day was OK,' I yell back, hanging up my school bag on a hook in the hall.

‘How about you, Alex? Good day?'

‘Just peachy,' mutters Alex, throwing her bag on to the floor and walking through to the kitchen. I follow her, stepping over her bag and sticking my head round the study door to see Mum.

‘What's up with her?' asks Mum, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

‘The usual,' I tell her. ‘Grouchy, grumpy, illogical.'

‘Ah,' smiles Mum. ‘Nothing to worry about then!'

Then she raises her voice and calls towards the door.

‘I baked! Don't faint in surprise! Cut yourselves a nice large piece and I'm in here if you need me.'

‘Thanks, Mum – I'm fine,' Alex calls back, sounding a bit happier.

‘The magic of cake!' Mum mouths at me and I giggle. She's pretty good at dealing with Alex, which is a good job because I haven't got a clue what to say to her when she's in a bad mood.

I walk into the kitchen in time to see Alex cutting two huge wedges of cake, the buttercream oozing out of the middle like lava. My tummy rumbles and I suddenly realize that I'm starving. Alex hands me a plate and opens the back door.

‘Coming out?' she asks, grabbing one of the pairs of wellies that are hanging on the welly-tree outside the back door, her plate balanced precariously in one hand. When she's out of the way, I follow her, although my sense of balance isn't as good as Alex's so I have to put my plate down on the step while I tug on my wellies. Then I pick it up and walk across the lawn to where Alex is settling on to the swing.

‘So how was your day really?' she asks me. I look at her and she's staring at me, looking right in my eyes and giving me her full attention. She does this: when she's busy with something else, it
almost feels like she's forgotten about me, but when she turns her laser focus on to me I feel as if nothing in the universe is more important to Alex than I am.

I sit down gingerly on the grass, patting at it with my hands to check it isn't soaking wet and I'm not going to stand up in a minute with a drenched backside. It's surprisingly dry though, so I relax and start munching on Mum's cake.

‘It was OK,' I say through a mouthful of vanilla sponge. Mum's cakes might look a bit odd, but they taste delicious.

‘What about those boys?'

‘Oh, they're not a problem! They won't come anywhere near me while you're around!' I grin up at Alex, expecting her to smile back. But she doesn't. She's swinging gently and frowning – she looks worried. ‘Really, Alex, they're terrified of you! You don't need to worry about me.'

There's silence for a few minutes while we eat our cake and then Alex puts her plate down on the grass.

‘You need to be able to stand up for yourself, Izzy,' she says.

I laugh. ‘Why? Nobody's going to bother me while I've got a darkness-destroying, monster-menacing
ninja of a big sister, are they?' This is a joke we've had since I was tiny and afraid of the dark. Alex would creep into my room and shout at the monsters who I was sure were lurking in my wardrobe. Then she'd lie down next to me and tell me stories – always stories where the dark ended up being a good thing. Mum used to find us when she came up to bed, all snuggled up and fast asleep, with Alex's arms wrapped tightly round me.

‘I won't always be around to rescue you, Izzy,' Alex says in a quiet voice. I look at her, feeling puzzled. We're a family – of course she'll always be here.

Then I remember. I've done such a good job of pretending that it isn't going to happen that I've actually managed to forget about it. University. In September Alex will pack her bags and Mum will put them in the car and then they'll drive for hours and hours. And then Mum will come back with an empty car and no Alex.

I stare at the tree in our garden, trying to imagine our house without Alex. It will be so QUIET. I don't think it'll feel like home at all. School will be different too, knowing that there's no chance of bumping into her in the corridors or
the library; well, actually, to be totally honest there's absolutely no chance of bumping into Alex in the library NOW because she never goes there. I'm not sure she even knows where it is. And Grandpa – I need Alex to help me be strong for him.

‘But you'll be fine, Izzy.' Alex is talking to me and I can tell she's trying to cheer me up. ‘You just need to stand up to boys like that. Tell them where to go.'

And where's that? I want to ask her. The library? But I don't really feel like making a joke of it. Not having Alex to watch out for me is no laughing matter, especially not now when I seem to have become public enemy number one.

‘And tell Mum if it gets worse,' she adds. This time I do laugh – loudly and right at her.

‘I can't believe you said that!' I tell her. ‘When have you ever got Mum to sort out your problems? Never – that's when!'

Alex finally smiles. ‘Yes, but you're not me,' she says, pushing off from the ground with both feet and swinging high into the air.

And just like that I feel terrible. Because Alex has said exactly what I've always known. I'm not her. I'm nothing like her. I'm the person who needs
other people to fight my battles because I've never been a battle-fighter. Nor am I a monster-menacer or a darkness-destroyer. It's a good job that Mum didn't have any more children after me because I would have been a rubbish big sister.

I get to my feet and gather up both our plates.

‘I'm going in,' I tell Alex.

‘OK,' she says, and I walk inside, leaving Alex swinging higher and higher in the garden as the air gets colder and the sky turns overcast and grey.

I'm late for school, which is something that I really, really hate. I'm not sure how it happened, but when my alarm clock went off I just hit the snooze button and rolled over and went back to sleep. I NEVER do that. Now I've got no time to sort my hair out properly and for some reason I don't seem to have any clean pairs of socks so I've had to wear one brown sock and one black sock, and that's going to make me feel fidgety all day because they're the complete opposite of each other.

I've managed to eat some cereal, but my bowl will have to stay in the sink until I get home later. Mum left earlier – I have a vague memory of her calling goodbye up the stairs – and there's no sign of Alex. She was out really late last night and told Mum that she was studying at Sara's house, although I saw her when she left and she wasn't
dressed like she was going to spend the night reading a textbook. She put her finger to her lips though when she tiptoed down the stairs and when I went into my room she'd left a note on my bed, asking me to tell Mum that I'd heard her and Sara planning their revision timetable.

This has been going on for a few weeks. Ever since that awful band practice actually. She's never home and I keep finding notes, written in violet ink, asking me to cover for her with Mum. I don't know what's going on, but it doesn't feel like it's anything good.

She must be around somewhere. There's no time to look for her though and, as I run upstairs, two at a time, I wish that our house didn't seem quite so empty.

I push open the bathroom door and race inside, only to screech to a standstill as Alex spins round, grabbing a towel and holding it in front of herself.

‘Get out!' she yells, sounding really angry.

‘I just need to clean my teeth,' I tell her, reaching for the toothpaste.

‘I SAID get out, Izzy. I mean it. Leave.' Alex's voice is hissy and I look at her in surprise. She's clutching the towel tightly as if she doesn't want me to see a single millimetre of her body. This is
weird because she's normally got no problem with sharing the bathroom with me.

I don't want to make her mad, but I really am late and the thought of having to walk into my maths class alone makes me brave.

‘I'll be thirty seconds,' I plead with her, squeezing the toothpaste on to my brush. I normally brush my teeth for a full two minutes – I really don't want to get any fillings – but I suppose I can make an exception this morning. I'll just have to add the time on tonight and brush for longer.

I shove the brush in my mouth and brush frantically, ignoring the fierce glares that I can see Alex shooting me in the mirror. As soon as I can feel minty freshness flooding through all parts of my mouth, I rinse my toothbrush and put it back in the cup on the sink.

‘I'm going now,' I tell Alex.

‘Good,' she mutters, looking out of the window.

‘Aren't you going to school?' I ask her, suddenly curious about why she's still not dressed.

‘Back off, Izzy!' she explodes, rounding on me. ‘It's got exactly NOTHING to do with you so get lost. For your information, I feel really sick so, if it's OK with you, I'll be staying at home today. ALL RIGHT?'

I can feel tears springing up behind my eyes and I blink furiously in an attempt to stop them. Why is Alex being so mean to me? Have I done something wrong and forgotten about it? Quietly I turn round and walk out of the bathroom, but as soon as I reach the landing I start running – down the stairs, through the hall, pausing only to grab my school bag, out of the front door, slamming it hard behind me and out on to our drive. I only stop running when I reach the school gates and then I walk in with the last of the stragglers, making it to registration by the skin of my teeth. I'm sweating and panting for breath, but even that isn't enough to get the memory out of my head – the memory of Alex looking at me like she hates me.

Now I'm sitting in my worst lesson of the week – citizenship. There are some things that you really shouldn't be forced to talk about with other people and anything to do with personal, social or health issues is definitely included in that category. Hannah and I sit as near to the back as humanly possible and spend most of the lesson praying that we won't be forced to say anything. Last term my report for citizenship said: ‘Izzy
could improve her Attitude to Learning scores if she would make an effort to contribute in class discussions.' That is NEVER going to happen.

Today we're learning about drugs. I have absolutely no intention of ever taking an illegal substance. I hate the idea of not being in control of what I'm doing – why would anyone want to feel like that? Mrs Wallis is showing us a PowerPoint presentation about people who take drugs. We're supposed to be working out which of the people on the display are drug users. The first picture is of a homeless man sitting in the street with a mangy-looking dog curled up next to him.

‘It's Simon's dad!' calls out Matthew and everyone sniggers. Simon goes bright red and thumps Matthew on the arm, and then Mrs Wallis tells us all to be quiet or she'll make us write an essay on why drugs are harmful. That shuts everyone up and she goes on to the next slide.

I feel bad for Simon. We were at primary school together and I remember him in Year 3 when his dad left home. He came into school and cried in the role-play area every day for half a term. Then he stopped crying and just got on with it, but I've never forgotten the sight of him sitting on a tiny chair in our pretend cafe, surrounded by cups and
plates and plastic food, and sobbing on his own. Matthew didn't go to our primary school so I guess he doesn't know about Simon's dad.

The next picture is of a hippy-looking student with long, dreadlocked hair. This is followed by a picture of a man in an office, a teenager on a bike, a nice-looking nurse and an old man digging his garden.

‘So, which of these people uses drugs?' asks Mrs Wallis, turning off the projector and putting the lights back on.

We're given a few minutes to talk to our partners.

‘Definitely the homeless man,' says Hannah to me.

I think about it for a moment. ‘Did she say we could choose more than one? Because that student looked like she'd take drugs, don't you reckon?'

‘Maybe,' Hannah says. ‘D'you think I should get my hair cut? Really short, I mean – something totally different.'

‘I'm not sure,' I tell her, putting my head on one side and squinting, trying to imagine her with short hair. Hannah has got the longest hair of anyone I know and I'm not sure she'd look like
her
if she cut it. I don't really like it when things
change too much so I'm about to tell her that long hair suits her much better when Mrs Wallis calls us all to stop talking and face the front.

‘So,' she says, once the boys have finally turned back to their desks. ‘What do you think? Who are the drug users?'

A few people at the front of the class put their hands up and suggest the same pictures that we thought. The homeless man. The student with dreadlocks. Mrs Wallis smiles, like we've said exactly what she expected us to say.

‘What would you say if I told you that they ALL use drugs?' she asks us and the classroom buzzes with surprise. ‘All kinds of people use drugs,' she says and for the first time this term she has the complete attention of the whole class.

‘Even that old man in the garden?' asks a girl sitting a few rows in front of me.

‘Why not?' says Mrs Wallis. ‘You can't make assumptions about people based on their appearance or age. People use drugs for different reasons. And today we're thinking about the effects that taking illegal drugs can have. Does anyone know how to spot signs of drug abuse?'

‘Drugs make you high!' shouts out Matthew and everyone laughs again.

Mrs Wallis claps her hands to make us all be quiet. ‘Yes, that's one effect and it's one of the reasons that people take drugs in the first place. Certain drugs make you feel happy and like you can do anything – for a little while. But then the effect wears off and you're left feeling miserable and unwell. So you take more drugs to feel happy again; that's where the addiction part comes in.'

She perches on the front of her desk and looks at us. ‘But how can we tell if someone's taking drugs?'

We're all quiet for a moment, not really sure of the answer. Then Simon puts up his hand.

‘They might start to look pale and get sick,' he says and Mrs Wallis beams at him.

‘Well done, Simon. Yes, drug users don't tend to look particularly healthy. The drugs might make them sick and they might lose a lot of weight. Drugs can affect your appetite too, so someone on drugs might change their eating habits.'

‘Drugs make you moody!' calls someone else.

‘Excellent!' praises Mrs Wallis. ‘Mood swings are a major effect of drug use. Happy and cheerful one minute, depressed and angry the next. Anything else?'

‘Being secretive cos they're scared of being found out!'

‘Drug stuff in their bag!'

‘Doing badly at school or bunking off!'

‘Spending loads of time in their room!'

The class is on a roll and I sit quietly, listening to what they're saying. And with every new suggestion my stomach folds in on itself a little bit more. Moody, secretive, sick. Pale, angry, missing school. The class is describing my sister. The more I think about it, the more I know it must be true.

Alex has started taking drugs. That would explain why she got so cross with Stefan at band practice and why she hasn't gone to a single band practice since then. It would explain why she shouts at Mum and me all the time and why she wasn't going to school this morning. With a thudding heart, I realize that she didn't want me to come into the bathroom this morning because she didn't want me to see her body. Maybe it's all wasted and thin or maybe she didn't want me to see her arms. I start to feel dizzy and put my head down on my desk, imagining Alex injecting drugs into her body with a needle. I think I might actually be sick and I've never felt so scared in my life.

‘Izzy? Are you OK?' whispers Hannah, but I can't answer her. I don't want to talk to anyone,
but she's prodding me in the side and when I don't respond she calls Mrs Wallis.

‘Mrs Wallis? I think Izzy feels ill.'

I want to tell her to be quiet, but my head is thumping and my heart is racing, and I don't think I can look up. I hear footsteps and then Mrs Wallis is speaking into my ear.

‘Izzy? What's wrong?'

The bell rings and twenty-five chairs scrape across the floor.

‘Leave quietly!' calls Mrs Wallis although nobody seems to hear her. I keep my head down and hope that she'll leave me alone. ‘You can go to your next class,' she tells Hannah, who I can sense hovering nervously behind me. ‘I'll send Izzy along when she's ready.'

I hear Hannah leave and then it's just Mrs Wallis and me.

‘Are you unwell?' she asks. I shake my head as much as I dare. ‘No, I thought not,' she says. ‘Try to sit up, Izzy – you'll be fine.'

Her voice is kind but firm and I carefully raise my head until I'm sitting up in my seat. I don't look at Mrs Wallis though. I don't know what to say to her and I don't want to lie.

‘Was it the lesson that upset you?' she says.

‘Yes,' I whisper.

‘Don't worry, Izzy, it's an upsetting subject and hearing about all of that can have a funny effect on people – particularly at your age. It's nothing to worry about, but next lesson try to focus more on the mechanics of what we're learning. Think of it like science instead of something emotional. That might help a little bit.'

She smiles at me and she's being so kind that for a second I nearly tell her. I nearly betray my own sister. But then I take a deep breath and hold it in. I smile back at Mrs Wallis and tell her that I'll get a drink of water before I go to my next lesson and that yes, I'm actually fine now and I feel a bit silly. I don't tell her that my big sister is addicted to drugs and that I'm the only person who knows. I don't tell her that this will tear my family apart and that nothing will ever be the same again. I don't tell her that I'm more scared than I've ever been – and that I'm worried that if I don't get home soon then Alex will have done something really stupid. People die from taking drugs, don't they?

I don't tell her any of this. Instead, I get up, calmly push my chair under the table and walk out of the room, looking on the outside like I'm
perfectly in control, but feeling on the inside like my whole world has just collapsed.

The day drags on and on. Hannah tries to ask me about what is wrong, but I fob her off. I check my mood ring every few minutes and every time it's turquoise. It's NEVER been turquoise since Alex bought it for me. At lunchtime I race into the library and use one of the computers to Google colour meanings. Turquoise represents secrecy, unreliability and deception. I know that I have to get home as soon as possible and the minute the final bell rings I'm racing out of the door, sprinting as fast as I can for the second time today.