Undone(5)

‘Sorry, of course, yes.’ I stepped aside to let her pass. She was carrying a big brown envelope.

She rushed into the living room and sat down on the sofa. I couldn’t get over how different she looked with no make-up on.

‘Um . . . do you want a cup of tea or something?’ I hovered in the doorway to the kitchen.

Louise shook her head and didn’t even bother to say, No, thanks.

I perched on Dad’s chair in the corner. As far away from Louise as it was possible to get without actually leaving the room. Trying not to show how antsy I was about her eating into my valuable suicide time. ‘So . . . how are you doing?’ It was a stupid question, but that’s what people do – ask each other stupid things they don’t even want to know the answer to.

She gave me a scathing look. The same look I gave Mum or Dad whenever they asked me that very question. ‘I can’t stay long. There’s something I have to give you.’ She waved the envelope. ‘I don’t want you freaking out about it or anything, OK?’

I nodded. Anything to get rid of her so I could get on with the business of getting dead.

Louise hauled herself up from the sofa, which seemed to take considerable effort. She came over and handed the envelope to me. I turned it over to see the front. Oh God.

She saw the look on my face and said, ‘You promised not to freak out, remember?’ A vague nod is hardly the same as promising, but I said nothing. I had lost the ability to speak. ‘It’s from him.’

I knew that, of course. The handwriting was almost as familiar to me as my own (and a hell of a lot neater).

Louise’s words spilled out, answering all the questions swimming around my head. ‘He left me a note with strict instructions to give this to you today – exactly a month after . . . He said if I didn’t do it he’d come back and haunt me . . . I think that was supposed to be funny. Anyway, I don’t know what’s in it, so don’t even ask. And he didn’t want me to tell Mum and Dad about it. Or the police. So you probably shouldn’t either. Um . . . so . . . I’ve done what he wanted and that’s it.’ Her face crumpled like a scrunched-up piece of paper. ‘I have to . . .’ She practically ran from the room. I heard the front door slam.

I should maybe have followed her to check she was OK, but all I could think about was the envelope, which I was holding like it was the most precious, fragile thing in the world.

JEM (in big purple letters, underlined three times. Purple was his favourite colour).

In much smaller letters underneath was: If Lol hasn’t delivered this on 23rd November, you have my permission to tell everyone at school that she genuinely believes that one day her and Mr Franklin will get married and have babies. And that she’s started working on a top-secret scrapbook of wedding ideas for the occasion. (Mr Franklin’s one of the youngest teachers at Allander Park. He wears his shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie’s always loose. That’s how you know he’s supposed to be cool. I could easily believe that Louise might fancy him or something, but the wedding stuff was clearly bollocks. Kai was always making up silly stories to make me smile.)

Then: If there’s any sign that Lol’s opened this envelope and read the contents you have my permission to tell everyone at school that she once let Barney Jennings kiss her for five seconds as payment for copying his maths homework. (Barney Jennings has horrible teeth, a greasy plate-face and a definite problem with personal hygiene. There was no way Louise would let him anywhere near her.) And then: Laters, Kiddo. xxx

I traced the three kisses with my finger. My throat tightened.

Laters, Kiddo.





chapter three


I sat cross-legged on my bed with the envelope in front of me. I fought against the instinct to ignore it and get on with taking the pills.

I had to see what was inside. I opened it up and tipped the contents onto the bed. There were lots of smaller white envelopes. Twelve in all. Each was marked with a month – the same fat purple pen he’d used on the bigger envelope. The one marked ‘November’ also said: ‘Open this one first . . . obviously!’

I checked inside the big envelope in case there was anything else, and sure enough there was something lodged in the crease at the bottom. A perfect origami bird made from lined notepaper. Written on it in tiny capital letters was: ‘I AM THE TINY ORIGAMI BIRD OF JOY. I AM NOT, I REPEAT NOT, A TOY! I’M HERE TO MAKE YOU SMILE WHEN YOU ARE BLUE. SO CHEER THE FUCK UP, YOU SILLY MOO’. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was so typically Kai.

I brought the bird up to my nose and sniffed it. A silly thing to do, but I was hoping for a tiny reminder of Kai. He always wore this stupidly expensive citrussy aftershave that I adored, and I was suddenly desperate to smell it again. The thought that it had faded from my memory forever made me panic. Unsurprisingly, the origami bird smelled of paper.

I lay the bird on my pillow and picked up the November envelope. There was more writing on the back: ‘Sealed with a big fat slobbery snog – with tongues and EVERYTHING.’ I winced when I broke the envelope’s seal – ripping his words apart.

Inside were two sheets of creamy paper filled with Kai’s impossibly neat handwriting.

I closed my eyes to steady myself and then started to read.

My dearest Jemima,

Hey! Don’t look at me like that! It’s your real name and it’s about time you got used to it, missy. First things first: you’d better be reading this... because if you’re not. ther’s a chance you might have done something stupid. If that’s the case, I’ll be so cross with you. I mean, really bloody cross. I’m pretty sure you WON’T have done that, but you never know, do you? And it’s not like you never talked about it before, Little Miss Morbid. Anyway... I’m here (well, not here exactly) to tell you that you CAN and WILL be perfectly fine without me. So you’d better not be dead, OK? I’ll feel pretty stupid for wasting my time with this little endeavour, and you wouldn’t want me to feel stupid AND cross, would you?