My Name Was Eden, page 22
Charlie barely says a word for the entire car journey. She obviously isn’t fooled by my fake enthusiasm and eventually I lapse into silence. In the rearview mirror I can see my handbag—carefully zipped up this time—bobbing about as an unwelcome moving image of what’s taken place on the back seats. Fucking hell. Fucking hell. After everything we’ve been through, I was right. And yet, I wish I’d kept quiet, I wish I hadn’t confronted James over the phone like that. I should have kept quiet and bided my time. Created an action plan. Because I don’t know James anymore—perhaps I never did, not properly—I don’t know what’s going to happen now. The future scares me. I see it rolled out ahead: my bank card suddenly being rejected at the till, gadgets and furnishings gradually and mysteriously disappearing from the house, my mobile phone contract falling into arrears. I am not a materialistic person—I can get the job in a supermarket that James always said was beneath me, I can live in a bedsit if need be, I can stretch my meager earnings to make sure we scrape by, month to month. I will do whatever it takes to support Eli. None of that bothers me. But James won’t see it that way. Underneath his jovial, couldn’t-care-less persona, he is a man who will not lose.
And that’s what scares me most of all.
When I get home, my car is missing. Eli comes to the front door and greets a less-than-enthusiastic Charlie with a bear hug. I ask him where James has gone.
“I don’t know. He just swore and said he was going out.”
“Do you want me to hang up your coat?” I ask Charlie. She shakes her head. It occurs to me, now that I can see her in the harsh kitchen spotlights, that she isn’t just quiet—there’s something else. No makeup. Unpainted nails. She’s not even wearing the sparkling, figure-of-eight studs that are usually pressed into her ears. “A drink?”
“Mum, stop fussing,” Eli says, weaving his arm through Charlie’s. He’s sliced all the pizzas into eight pieces and laid them out on plates, with the tortilla chips decanted into Mexican bowls beside them. He seems to be almost fizzing with positive energy. I leave the two of them in the kitchen and head upstairs to call James.
It goes to voicemail.
My eyes fall to James’s trousers, strewn inside out on the bedroom floor, along with a dog-eared book and discarded eye mask. Fuck you. Why am I even surprised? He’s never shown respect for anything. I want to throw his things out of the window, set fire to them, cut them to ribbons. And yet, if I’m honest, I’ve been complicit in this. I’ve allowed him to treat me like this for years, thinking that it’s better to keep the peace than let Eden see her parents have the briefest of disagreements. I’ve been so scared of losing them both, but now I’ve lost them anyway. I’ve lost Eden. I’ve lost James.
I will not lose Eli, not again.
I go to the bathroom and cry quietly, holding a tissue over my face to absorb the tears. Downstairs, I can hear the clink of plates and glasses and, despite everything, I wish I could rewind the evening, right back to James cuddling me in the kitchen. I feel so desperately hurt. I look at the tiny speck of black between the tiles above the bath that never comes out, no matter how hard I scrub, and I feel my chest heave in small, tight spasms. Come on. I’m stronger than this; I have to be. The smell of pizza drifts through the open door, reminding me of the program we were watching that night Eli came back from the hospital after the accident.
Do you want this? If not, what the fuck are you doing here?
I flush the toilet and rinse my face with cold water. Then I go downstairs to join Charlie and Eli.
“What?” Eli asks, when I open the lounge door. The two of them are sitting on the sofa, slices of pizza fanned out on plates in front of them. Charlie’s head is bowed over her phone, and on the far wall the TV is playing a film about a group of teenagers who venture into a labyrinth of underwater caves.
“Nothing. Just came to see how you were doing.”
“We’re good, aren’t we, Charlie?”
Charlie looks up and nods.
“Okay. That’s . . . that’s great then. Have you got everything you need?”
“Yes. Have some pizza, Mum, there’s plenty in the kitchen. We saved some for you.”
You. Not you and Dad. I barely register the oddly formal language; I’m too busy thinking about the fact that there will be only me from now on. I should have canceled the sleepover, because I cannot see beyond what James has done. Like the night sky, it is above me, around me, casting dark shadows over everything. I go into the kitchen and nibble mindlessly at a tortilla chip before throwing it in the bin, then try James’s mobile again. A cheerful woman’s voice greets me confidently in a tone that sounds infuriatingly similar to Tia’s:
Welcome to the O2 messaging service . . .
Has he gone there now? Is that why his phone is switched off? Is she sitting there beside him in her shimmery green top, listening as he tells her how hard I am to live with, the nutter who can’t let things go? Or are they fucking like wild rabbits, right at this very minute?
I need a drink. I need a drink, and yet there is no drink in the house, because I poured it all away when James told me he was depressed and promised to give it all up for me. I could go out and buy a bottle and, while I’m at it, drive past Tia’s house and see if he’s there.
I glance up at the clock: 8:30 p.m. James mentioned once that she lived at the Mallards—if I’m quick, I can get there and back in under forty minutes. Eli and Charlie will be alright. Won’t they?
A leaf scurries past the partially open blinds. The wind is getting up; a storm is finally coming. Across the field, I can see the dark hole of the lake where Eden drowned. No. I will not take that risk.
And the way I’m feeling now, there’s no limit to what I might do.
I put James’s keys back on the hook.
Eli and Charlie spend another hour downstairs and then retire to Eli’s room. I hear Eli offering to braid Charlie’s hair, and after that he emerges periodically to collect drinks and bowls of sweets to take upstairs. I keep trying James’s mobile. It’s almost ten o’clock and I’m just locking up when Eli comes downstairs with a handful of glasses and empty bowls.
“How’s it going?”
“Very well, thank you. Charlie liked the ham and pineapple pizza.”
“Oh. Good.”
“I told her she’d like it if she just gave it a go. You should, Mum. Honestly, it’s so nice.” He puts the glasses on the kitchen side and peers out of the window. “Is Dad back yet?”
“No, but I’m sure he won’t be long.” I put a tablet in the dishwasher and slam the door closed.
When I turn around, Eli is standing so close, I can smell the sweetness of the pineapple on his breath. I touch him lightly on the arm. “Go and get ready for bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”
It’s not the silence that’s deafening, it’s the loneliness. Twenty minutes later, I go upstairs and check on Charlie and Eli, then remind them to brush their teeth and not to make too much noise. An attempt at normality. In bed, I listen until the hum of their toothbrushes falls silent and eventually their voices too, then break a sleeping tablet in half and try James one last time.
Still no answer.
I switch off the lamp and listen to the wind feeling its way around the cracks and gaps of the house, searching for a way in, quietly at first then building slowly and insistently in sound and strength. Fuck you then, I think. Fuck. You.
Despite the pill, I don’t expect sleep to come. I think I’ll never sleep again. But maybe the wind lulls me into slumber, because I wake with a start, the rain lashing against the window with such force that I’m shocked by the brutality of it. But it’s not just the rain that’s woken me.
Someone is banging on the door.
42
Charlie
I used to love coming to Eden’s house.
I can still remember the first time Mum brought me here—we were driving up the track and this house appeared out of nowhere, all big and yellow with massive high windows, and Mum was like “Oh, imagine if that was Eden’s house.” We both had a laugh about it until we saw Lucy’s car outside and Eden waving from the window, and then it felt like stepping into Narnia or something. There was this big kitchen that smelled of fruit cake and hot buttery toast, and you could literally fit our whole house into the massive hall. We played a cushion fight in the lounge with the cream cushions Eden pulled off the sofas, and I loved it that she didn’t give a shit, even when her mum went mad that she’d messed everything up after she spent all morning tidying. It was brilliant, at first. It was brilliant for years.
I don’t think Mum even remembered to say goodbye when Eden’s mum came to pick me up tonight. She was flapping about in her orange makeup and the air was thick with Matt’s disgusting aftershave, and she threw a duty kiss on my head but I don’t think she said anything. And then in the car, Lucy wouldn’t stop talking in this voice that sounded like she’d been sucking on helium, and she was driving too fast; she nearly went through two red lights. Everyone’s so weird. Or maybe it’s just me. Isn’t there a saying: if everyone around you is the problem, maybe you’re the problem? Something like that.
I can feel the hair on my legs scratching against the inside of my jeans. I haven’t shaved them for a few weeks now, probably not since Alex died. Eden is trying so hard to make sure I have a good time and starts going on about the food and how she’s got a film ready, but she might as well be talking about politics or something, because I can’t feel any enthusiasm. The smell of warm cheese and garlic bread has invaded the whole house, and I pretend to nibble a slice of ham and pineapple pizza to keep Eden happy. Her mum goes upstairs and Eden comes and leans against the kitchen worktop beside me. “My dad’s gone.” She smiles.
“Gone where?”
“Who cares?” She takes another bite of pizza and laughs; that weird, snapping sound that I still haven’t got used to. “He doesn’t deserve my mum, and I don’t need him in my life. He doesn’t believe I even exist.”
She says something else that sounds like framed the loser, but she’s half turned away, covering her mouthful of pizza, and it could have been anything. I can’t tell if she’s putting a brave face on or whether she genuinely doesn’t care. It’s weird, ’cause she and her dad used to be close, and she told me all the time how much she hated her mum.
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Triangulation.”
“What?”
She’s been doing this lately. Like, she comes out with some totally random word that makes no sense at all. Sometimes I reply with a random word of my own but today I can’t be bothered. Triangulation. Strangulation. I find myself thinking again how strange death is, that people literally just disappear and can only be kept alive inside people’s heads. It’s been less than a month and already school has gone back pretty much to normal. There’s been nothing else in the online news about Alex. He’s been replaced by stuff about traffic lights being put on a roundabout, a drug dealer being jailed and some new coffee shop promotion in town. I guess eventually he’ll vanish completely. Like a melted footprint in the snow.
We watch a film. The main character is a girl who’s strong and sassy, as well as having cheekbones that could cut glass and thighs that don’t wobble when she runs. You never see a strong girl character that’s ugly, do you? To be honest, I’m not really watching it, not properly. Like, I’m taking in the moving colors and the doom, doom, doom of the music when it gets to a creepy bit, but I couldn’t tell you what happens. It seems to take forever to end. All I can think about is my bag, shoved into the corner of Eden’s room upstairs, and how badly I want to get at what I’ve stuffed inside.
After we’ve brushed our teeth, when we’re lying side by side in her massive bed, I tell Eden I’m sorry. Earlier, she drew me another picture and gave me a present too: a black leather-scented candle that she’d added a few drops of Alex’s favorite aftershave to, so that I will smell him and remember him whenever I light it. It’s an amazing thing to do, the sort of thing only a best friend would do, yet still I couldn’t appreciate it. I must be a total bitch. The world will be better off without me.
Eden doesn’t reply. The blackout blinds are pulled shut against the storm and I can’t see her face, I can only feel the gentle caress of her breath against my cheek.
She’s asleep.
I stare at the ceiling until my eyes find patterns in the dark. Mum and Matt are probably laughing in a restaurant somewhere right now. Mum might be sad for a bit, but after that she’ll probably be relieved. Teenagers. I’m such fucking hard work. Well, she won’t have to worry about having a teenager anymore, will she? I just don’t know why it’s taking so long. Eden said it took a few minutes, and I’m not sure if I’ve done it right, if I’ve taken enough. The only thing that feels different is my heart—it sounds like a hammer, pounding nails into my skull. I feel pretty sick too, but that’s hardly surprising when I’ve taken nearly two whole packets of pills. Maybe I should have walked into the water like Eden did, because this is boring. I’m not getting funky colors or a feeling of being pulled out of my body, and I definitely haven’t got the overwhelming sense of something bigger shifting in the universe. I’m not spiritual or superstitious or anything like that, but I thought I might even get a sense of Alex being close.
It’s been hours now. I can’t stand it, just lying here. I want it to be over.
I push the duvet cover off, ever so gently so that I don’t wake Eden, and then I realize my whole body is shaking. I can hardly put my feet on the carpet, and when I do, there’s an eclipse of stars. I suddenly feel very cold. This isn’t what I thought it would be like, and now I’m scared. I’m going to die right here in Eden’s house and I’m never going to see Mum again. I thought that was what I wanted, but now I don’t know. I don’t think it is. It’s too late. I stumble to the edge of the bed, grasping for my phone, but my foot connects with something hard and then I fall, my head slamming with a sharp crack into the corner of Eden’s desk.
43
“There’s no time to call an ambulance. You’ll have to drive.”
I look down at my phone. “Oh God. Oh God, yeah, you’re right. Help me take her to the car. No wait—a cold washcloth. Go and get a cold washcloth.”
Blood is running from a gash at the corner of Charlie’s forehead into her eyes. So far, I’ve managed to establish that she’s taken an overdose and hit her head, but she’s crying so hard I can’t understand her properly. Eli runs to get the flannel and I press Charlie gently into a chair. I want to ask her why, but that will have to wait. Instead, I kneel down beside her, and take her cold hands, telling her everything will be alright. Eli comes back with the damp flannel and Charlie’s coat, which I help her to put on. “Can you get her shoes? And yours. It’s pouring with rain out there—we can’t go barefoot.”
“I’ve already got them,” Eli says, and he lifts Charlie’s bare foot to slide on one thick black sock, followed by her left trainer. It sounds as though the rain has eased slightly, but I can hear the sound of water rushing into the drain outside. I hope the farm track is passable. I’ll have to take James’s car again and I don’t know how well his electrics will cope with driving through floodwater.
“There.” Eli stands up. So far, he’s said very little and I can’t help noticing how mottled and pallid his skin looks. Perhaps it’s shock.
Or perhaps not.
“Is it just Charlie that’s taken these tablets?” I ask, presenting the empty blister pack from my pocket. “You haven’t had any?”
“No. Of course not. Why would I want to harm myself? Why would you?” He glares at Charlie.
“I feel sick,” Charlie says. “I feel really sick.”
“Right. We need to go now.” I grab a bucket from under the sink and then we each take one of Charlie’s arms to support her to the car. The wind lifts my hair and tosses it insolently around my face; Eli lets out a gasp as he steps into a puddle. Charlie is moaning softly now, and in the orange flash of the car’s indicators I can see that her wound is drying in diluted pink streaks down her cheek. Jesus. Whatever happened here tonight, I was supposed to be the responsible adult; I should have kept an eye on them. Were there signs? Charlie had been quiet, but could I have done more, talked to her more? Eli had mentioned that she’d been quieter lately, but . . . shit. Another thought slams into me: did Eli tell her about what I did to Alex?
I glance at Eli in the mirror. He’s staring out of the back window, his face half-covered in shade, yet still as white as bone. Bex. I’m going to have to call Bex.
The road isn’t flooded. Thank God. I bounce over the cattle grid at the end of the lane and then Charlie vomits violently, missing most of the bucket.
Charlie wants her mum. That’s all she keeps saying in the waiting room, over and over again, until the woman with the scarlet neck bruise looks up at us over her book, the baby pauses from rattling her mum’s keys, the tattooed man at the vending machine glances over his shoulder. It’s too warm. The fan heater above the electric doors seems to be pumping in a smell of cats and fish and stubbed-out cigarettes, and it rattles like the lungs of a forty-a-day smoker. I tell Charlie that I’ve called her mum, that she’s on her way, she’ll be here soon, but she’s inconsolable. Nothing I say seems to help.
“Why do you need your mum?” Eli says, eventually. “We were having a sleepover. Didn’t you enjoy it?”
He looks at Charlie beseechingly, but I recognize the flinty blade of hurt behind his eyes. His sister drowned, I want to tell Charlie. Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you do it on purpose?
I take Eli’s hand and squeeze it. I can’t make sense of anything tonight. Charlie’s eyelids are pink and fat from tears, and there’s a tiny red fleck of tomato puree at the corner of her lip. A doctor calls her in, and five minutes later the electric doors slide open, stirring the stale odor of cigarettes and depositing a frantic-looking Bex into the waiting room. She leaves Matt standing at the entrance as she rushes over. “Where is she?”
