The Things We Do to Our Friends(65)

“I don’t know how not to care,” I said.

“I know,” she sighed. “You just need to try harder. This is far too much.”

She meant I was too much, so I sat and tried not to make a noise while she rested.

Before Adrienne and Dina, while my mother was having one of her migraines, I’d gone into the kitchen and taken each plate out of the cupboard, thrown every single one to the floor, watching them smash against the tiles and delighting in the sound they made, cutting through the silence in the apartment. It’d been a long time since I’d done something like that—that wouldn’t be enough anymore.

I knew that what we had planned would make them notice me. Punish them for the whispers. Punish him too. Impress everyone.

I was excited. Attention all on me as I executed the plan for us. All of it was for them.





54


The first part was the drugs.

My mother was like Minta. When I was younger, she had a whole range of potions crammed on the bathroom shelves. Included in the mix of the hard medicinal and the shiny supplements, there was an anxiety medication. A jar of pills sat among the usual detritus of cotton buds and old creams.

A day or so before the episode, I took the anxiety pills from the bathroom at home. Dina had advised that we would just need two or three; she had questioned why we even needed to drug him at all when we were only meaning to scare him.

I counted eight.

Eight round white tablets.

So big I couldn’t believe anyone could swallow them whole, and I thought I might grind them into a powder and mix them into a glass of water.

“Are you sure?” Dina exclaimed when I told her what we were going to do. Eyes wide, expression fearful.

She wasn’t with me anymore, but I had a plan.





55


I would never have said so. I didn’t even like to think about it, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I had deserved what had happened in the cellar. As night became day after the attack, it was hard not to think that it was all my fault. What he did to me. We’d set it up in that way, hadn’t we? We’d asked for it? I’d asked for it?

Maybe this was my punishment. And it would be an appropriate one. Those jilting, half-formed thoughts, all the ifs and whys and buts, crowded my head like crows circling.

The next day I wrapped a scarf tight around my neck. I felt as stiff as a board that morning, a croaking invalid. I avoided questions from Ashley and Georgia, who tiptoed around me. Shot them a look they knew well, a look that said don’t ask.

Then The Shiver turned up without even letting me know in advance. All four of them. They filed in, a line of them like they were on a school trip, and I could see immediately how wary they were, painfully bright and cheerful, all of them, tiptoeing around me as if I might bite.

Tabitha reacted to my cheap things exactly how I’d expected her to. “Oh, this is just lovely, Clare!” she said with deep sincerity about a chipped yellow mug I’d bought from a pound shop, as she held it up and pretended to take a sip from it.

I was seething under it all. Just about managing not to shout at them. So angry at Ava and Tabitha, who hadn’t bothered to follow me—they’d let me be all alone that night.

I pulled away my scarf slowly, delighting in the act of it. A show. It was always a show with them.

My neck was sore, and I could still feel the hands wrapped around it. Overnight, the bruises had blossomed into a marbled purple, like leaking ink on water—the first color of many before they faded away. Beautiful bruises that I wanted to show off because they were my evidence, and they all looked suitably shocked.

Tabitha cleared her throat and looked so sad, so very sympathetic. “Oh, Clare. Darling, darling Clare. Whatever happened to you?”

“He attacked me,” I said, louder than I intended.

I pulled myself back in a little as I saw them all recoil.

Be quieter. Be meek.

Don’t make a fuss, because people don’t like that. It makes them uncomfortable, and they squirm and look away, and it’s your fault.

Don’t try and be the center of attention—the star—as that can only end badly. Try to blend in, because that’s what everyone wants.

Don’t care so much what people think.

And most of all, above all else, don’t be angry.

To my surprise, it was Imogen who seemed the most concerned, her forehead a knot, but not of irritation for a change, it was worry, I was sure of it, and her voice was shaky. “That’s so awful. Why don’t you talk us through what happened? For Samuel and me, as we weren’t there,” she asked carefully.

Samuel had barely said a word, he just stared at me. Then Tabitha jumped in before I could start. “Yes, do take us through it all, Clare. You disappeared! It was unexpected.”

I took a deep breath. “In the cellar, he led me down there, he did this to me before I could get away.”

They all looked horrified, and I thought of Ava and Tabitha wrapped between the sheets. Me standing away from them at the door, watching them.

“So what happened?” Imogen asked.

“Tell us, Clare, we want to help you!” Tabitha said.

And despite everything, the feeling of having them all listening to me was so good. I couldn’t help continuing. “Once we got down there, he went for me; he tried to strangle me…”