Good Me Bad Me(82)

‘Is that okay with you, Milly?’

‘Yeah.’

I imagine him taking me to the cinema, his freckles turning pink as he kisses me goodnight, but then I remember what kisses lead to and I don’t like the thought very much any more.

I offer to clear up, tell Mike and Saskia to go and relax in the snug. I look in as I pass, they’re sitting on the same sofa. Saskia’s body is turned, her back against the arm, her feet tucked down the gap between the cushions in the middle. Mike sits beside her, his hand on her shin.

‘We should light the fire soon, Sas, we usually do in December.’

‘I can’t believe it’s December already,’ she replies.

They stare at the unlit fire, both thinking about the same thing, the same person. I leave them like that, go up to my room and call Morgan. I haven’t seen her much since Phoebe’s accident, I’ve been focusing on Mike and Saskia, on filling their void and making friends at school. I’m doing okay, I think. Offering to help fundraise for the senior common room was a wise move, instantly elevated me. A phoenix. Messy. But rising.

When she answers she tells me she has to be quiet, her little sister’s asleep next to her, asks me what I’ve been up to. Not much, I tell her, just school and helping out at home. I miss you, Mil, she says, can you tell me a story. Okay, close your eyes first though. I tell her the names of the stars, the planets. There’s water on Mars. I tell her about the catacombs in Paris, a cemetery of skulls underground. Sounds amazing, she says, I’d like to go, maybe we can go one day. Maybe, yes. We arrange to see each other next weekend and after I hang up I open the fortune cookie. The message reads: IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING GOOD IN YOUR LIFE, DON’T LET IT GO.

I look at the watch on my wrist and think, I don’t plan to, whatever it takes.





39


We receive a standing ovation for our performance of Lord of the Flies. I played Phoebe’s part, the narrator, am pushed forward by the girls at the end of the show. You were amazing, take another bow, go on. I look out into the audience, see Mike and Saskia clapping. Mike’s looking at me strangely, doesn’t take his eyes off me. Doesn’t smile either.

After the play’s over I offer to help tidy away the props. Clondine and I leave at the same time. She stops and looks up at the sky.

‘It’s so sad.’

‘What is?’

‘It’s the Christmas dance this Friday, it was Phoebe’s favourite. She loved all the fancy dresses and wearing Saskia’s fur.’

I say it’s sad too, because it is.

Walking home, I look on my phone at the BBC news page. Nothing about you for weeks but this evening, a headline. Our house is to be demolished, a community garden planted. Nine trees. You don’t come to me in my bed any more, you shed your skin. ‘It’s time,’ you said. I understand now what you meant, that I didn’t need you any more. A mixture of happy and sad. Mostly I’m coming to terms with the things I’ve done. I did them to be good, I promise, even though they were bad.

I’ve been practising what to say, in case you ever come back.

This is what I’d say.

I never asked for a mother who wolf-whistled at me, who laughed in my face when I tried to say no. I’d tell you, you were wrong when you used to stand behind me at the mirror in your bedroom and say nobody will ever love me but you, because I think Mike and Saskia might grow to. I’d tell you, you were right, my insides do look different to everybody else’s.

A curious, twisted shape.

The shape you made me. The shape I’m learning to live with.

The night of your arrest, I nodded at you. You knew what I meant. I was telling you I was leaving you. I was ready. But you weren’t, were you? You never liked it when a game ended, you always wanted to keep playing. The game you made me play, going to court, more public than we’d ever done before. A last fire of the gun, a parade of how well you’d taught me. It wasn’t a walk in the park, no, nor was it checkmate. It was like turning my face to the sun. Blinding. No shade.

Your voice, to me, was a morphine drip. Sullied, not able to provide relief and comfort, but fear and temptation instead. I’m glad I no longer hear you or see you in places I know you can’t be, like standing at the bus stop by school.

The things you did, the things you made me do, broke my heart.

You broke my heart.

You broke my.

You broke.

You.

And me.

Because of that, I have secrets, so many secrets.

I am not who I say I am.

Folie à deux – a madness shared by two.

Deny.

Manipulate.

Lie.

Mummy, I thought I could choose.

It turns out, I’m just like you.

Only better.

Being good doesn’t interest me any more.

Not

??Getting Caught Does





40


I know something’s wrong as soon as I open the front door. It’s where Mike’s standing, in the middle of the tiles where she landed. Why is he standing there when for the past week or so he hasn’t been able to look at them, never mind stand on them.

‘I need you to come to the study. Right now,’ he says.

He doesn’t ask me to sit down when we get there, he stands closer to me than normal, looks into my eyes. I don’t think he likes what he sees because he walks away, sits down at his desk, mutters to himself. There’s a bottle of whisky, over a third empty, a glass on his desk. He drains the measure already poured, pours another one right away. I sit down in silence on the armchair that has become mine over the past few months. And wait.