Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(45)

Suzanne laughed. ‘The horror.’ She rolled her eyes, but her shoulders had relaxed and she was still smiling. She looked at me, breathed in slowly and then sighed out a puff of smoke. ‘OK. I wanted to talk to you about earlier, at the Pavilion.’

I nodded, not sure what to say. When she didn’t continue, I prompted, ‘The friend of Sarah’s?’

I saw Suzanne bite down on her lip before moving her head in assent. ‘That wasn’t really the truth.’

‘Right,’ I said slowly. ‘So who is she?’

‘She’s my social worker.’ Suzanne had dropped her eyes to the ground so I couldn’t make out her expression.

‘Oh,’ I said, surprised despite myself. ‘I didn’t know you had a social worker.’

‘Well, no, that’s the point.’ There was a slight edge of irritation in her voice. ‘I didn’t want you to know. I wasn’t exactly expecting her to turn up when I was with my friends.’

‘So you lied?’ I felt a delayed reaction of hurt creep up on me, tinged with anxiety. She’d lied to me. And it wasn’t the first time. ‘Why?’

‘Because it was easier.’ Suzanne crossed her straightened arms at the elbows, pressing the side of her chin into her upper arm. It didn’t look comfortable.

‘Easier?’ I repeated. I thought about how she hadn’t told me about Dylan for so long. What else was she lying about or hiding? How could I know?

‘Don’t be pissed off,’ Suzanne said quickly. She sounded worried. ‘That’s why I wanted to talk to you, to try and explain, you know? I’m sorry. I just . . . didn’t want to get into it there. I hate all of it, having a social worker, having to talk to people about stuff I don’t want to talk about, and how they’re all so professional about it. I hate it.’ Her voice was picking up, agitated and tense. ‘And they won’t leave me alone; it’s just the worst thing. Especially Becca. She tries to be like a friend, and I just hate it.’

‘Yeah, but I’m your friend,’ I said, trying to figure out why I felt so thrown by something that should have been so obvious. Of course she’d have a social worker. Wouldn’t it be more weird if she didn’t? ‘Why can’t you talk to me about that? Complain to me, that’s what friends are for.’

‘I can’t,’ Suzanne said, sounding on the verge of tears. ‘I can’t talk to you about her, because then I’ll have to tell you why I don’t like talking to her, and if I do that, I have to tell you what I tell her.’ Her words were starting to get difficult to follow. ‘And then I’ll have to tell you about getting hit and the stuff I used to do to try and get it all to just stop and trying to kill myself and how my dad used to just lose control sometimes and there was nowhere I could go because where could I go but there and no one stopped him, they just never did, and I don’t—’

‘Oh God, stop!’ I managed to break in, panicked. She’d stood up, the cigarette crushed in her fingers, her eyes wild and wet, her breath coming in frightening short gasps. She turned away from me, raising her arms to her head. I could still hear her trying to breathe and I felt as lost and useless as a child. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tried. ‘I was being stupid. I totally understand why you didn’t explain earlier.’

She didn’t reply, her back still to me, but she’d lowered her arms and was now hugging herself with them. I could see her fingers curled around the blades of her shoulders, squeezing tight.

I tried to think of something to say that wasn’t the worst thing. In the end, I couldn’t help myself. ‘You tried to kill yourself?’

I heard a choked laugh before she turned around to face me again, wiping at her eyes with her sleeves. ‘Oh God, did I say that out loud?’ She blinked a few times, then drew in a long breath. ‘My filter just goes to fuck when I freak out.’ She winced suddenly, glancing down at her hand. ‘Ouch. I think I burned myself on the cigarette.’

‘Suze,’ I said quietly.

She looked at me. ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘Last year.’

I wanted to ask why, but even I could see that was a stupid question. ‘Is that why you moved here?’

She made a face. ‘No. But sort of.’

‘OK . . .’ I said slowly, waiting for more.

She let out a resigned sigh and sank back down on to the seafront wall. ‘Things were really bad. At the time. At home, sure, but at school as well. There was some stuff with my friends. It was just too much, there didn’t seem to be . . . much point, I guess. So I took some pills. But it didn’t work, obviously. My dad found me before they could work properly. Sarah came to live with us after, to help try to make things better. But the short version is they didn’t. Get better, I mean. So now I live here.’

‘Sarah came to live with you in Reading?’ I clarified, surprised.

Suzanne nodded. ‘For about three or four months, I think it was.’

‘Did she know before then?’ I asked. ‘That your dad was . . . ?’ I trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Suzanne didn’t say anything. She’d pulled out a fresh cigarette and was rolling it, safe and unlit, between her fingers, her eyes focused on it. After a long pause she nodded again.

‘And she never did anything about it?’ My heart was starting to hurt.