Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(53)

‘Who are you?’ Suzanne squinted at him.

‘It’s Tariq,’ Tariq said patiently. ‘I’m in your English class, remember?’ He turned to me. ‘Is she OK?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘She’s out of it. I think we should go.’

‘Go?’ He looked disappointed, which was gratifying.

‘I live really close,’ I said. ‘But I need to find Rosie.’ The easiest thing would be for the three of us to go to my house. We could walk the fifteen minutes or so, which would surely help. ‘Could you just . . . stay here for a sec while I get Roz?’

Tariq looked alarmed. ‘Um . . .’

‘I’ll be right back,’ I said quickly, bolting out of the kitchen before he could protest. I found Rosie in the living room where I’d last seen her, still curled on the armchair with Liam. I hesitated, wondering if she’d ever forgive me if I interrupted this unexpected success for the sake of the complete mess that was Suzanne.

I decided not, and went back to the kitchen without disturbing her. I’d text her instead. Neither Tariq nor Suzanne had moved; she was slumped against the kitchen counter, barely holding herself upright.

‘Sorry,’ I said to Tariq.

‘That’s OK,’ Tariq replied. ‘Um, can I add you on Facebook?’

‘Sure,’ I said casually, trying not to look too thrilled. ‘Ready to go, Suze?’ I tried to remember if she’d brought anything with her except the phone I could see wedged into her pocket.

Suzanne looked at me, and for a moment I thought she was going to say something important. Then she stepped away from me and vomited into the sink.

It’s fair to say I was almost completely sober on the walk back to my house, which took a lot longer than the fifteen minutes it should have done. This was because Suzanne seemed utterly incapable of walking more than five steps without either slumping on to the floor and crying or throwing up into a bush. I had never seen anyone so completely, definitionally wasted.

Between the bouts of tears and retching, Suzanne would talk. She told me she loved me. She told me she was sorry. She told me her mother had once told her she was a disappointment. She told me she’d once tried to step in front of a bus, and had been yanked back by a passer-by, who’d then yelled in her face that she was an idiot. She’d lost her virginity to her best friend’s brother when she was fourteen. She had never told anyone this. She loved me. Did I love her? No one loved her. She was a disappointment. She was sorry.

I gave up trying to respond to these proclamations and revelations when it became clear she was too much in her own head to really hear me. Twice I had to physically hold her up while she sobbed into my shoulder, her fingers clutching my arms tightly enough to bruise.

The walk home took us almost half an hour. I rooted around in my bag for my keys while Suzanne stood blinking under the sensor light. I glanced at her dishevelled figure as I eased my key into the lock as quietly as possible, suddenly remembering the first time she’d stood in my doorway. She’d seemed so together then.

‘Caddy,’ she whispered to me as I guided her over the front step and into the house.

‘Yes?’ I whispered back, pushing the door shut in increments.

‘Nothing.’

I turned to look at her in exasperation. Even in the darkness I saw the wicked, mischievous grin that had spread across her face. I had to laugh, albeit quietly. ‘Do you know how ridiculous you are?’

Before she could respond, there was a creak on the stairs. I froze, clenching my fist around my keys. I’d really hoped I wouldn’t have to face my mother until the following morning, when Suzanne had sobered up and regained some semblance of her charming self.

‘Caddy?’ A whisper from the stairs. ‘Is that you?’

It was Tarin. Thank God.

She turned on the kitchen light and gestured to us to follow her in there. She was still wearing day clothes, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her gaze took in both of us, an odd expression on her face. Was she amused? She didn’t speak for a moment and then said, ‘Christ. What happened?’

‘My life,’ Suzanne said morosely, before I could even open my mouth.

‘Oh, melodrama!’ Tarin said, her eyebrows raising. ‘How lovely!’ She was definitely amused, but there was something else in there too. It might have been sadness.

‘Is it still melodrama if it’s true?’ I asked.

‘Yes!’ Tarin looked at me like I was crazy. ‘Even more so.’

‘Tarin,’ Suzanne said earnestly, ‘I wish I had a sister. I wish you were my sister.’

‘Oh darling, you’re wasted, aren’t you?’ Tarin’s whispered voice softened. ‘You poor thing.’ She said this with no trace of sarcasm. The sincerity was almost painful.

Suzanne and I went up to my room as quietly as possible, Tarin following with a glass of water for each of us. She set the glasses on my beside cabinet and then looked at me expectantly. Suzanne sank on to my bed, pulled off her shoes and then curled herself inwards, umbrella-like, on top of the covers.

‘You should get a bucket or something,’ Tarin whispered to me.

‘I think it’s out of her system,’ I said.

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Tarin said, with the voice of someone who’d learned from experience. ‘Make sure she doesn’t fall asleep on her back. Just in case.’