I back away from the door. I don’t feel like telling him I’m scared any more. He told me to stop bottling things up, but how can I talk to someone who I know doesn’t want me here.
When Morgan arrives on my balcony the sight of her moves me. Is home a place or is it a person? We sit on the bed, she asks me how I’m feeling but not to see the scar. I ask her how she is too, she was injured the last time I saw her, the swelling around her mouth gone, the scrape on her forehead healed.
‘You know how your favourite book’s Peter Pan, Mil?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, it’s also my sister’s favourite movie. We watched the DVD last week and you know how Peter gets something for Wendy to say thanks? Well, I got you something.’
She takes it out of her pocket, hands it to me. It’s a small gold locket similar to the ones I’ve seen at the antique stalls in the market. I open it, no pictures inside.
‘I thought maybe one day you could put my picture in one side and yours in the other.’
Both of us smile and I realize how much she means to me and that I don’t have to hurt her to keep her safe. She’s doing okay as she is. She lies down on the bed, I ask if I can sketch her. I want to start a new series of portraits, one where I don’t have to smudge the faces.
36
I found my first couple of days back at school difficult, the noise in the canteen louder, the collisions in the corridors harder. The perpetual fear of Phoebe spreading the word. I’ve tried my best to stay out of her way, hoping as if by magic she’ll forget who I am. Who she thinks I am. The waiting is worse – not knowing why she hasn’t told anybody yet.
When school ends today I go down to the locker room to collect my stuff and she’s there with Marie, who asks her to go to Starbucks. Phoebe says no, there’s some stuff she needs to do at home.
‘I’ll walk out with you though if you give me a minute, I just need to read this email.’
She smiles as she looks at the screen of her phone.
‘Who’s it from?’ Marie asks.
‘Nobody,’ she replies, glancing over at me. ‘It’s just about something I’ve got planned for tomorrow.’
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
On the way up to the Great Hall I send Mike a message, remind him I’ll be set-building for the play until seven. He replies saying not to worry, both he and Saskia will be at his office celebrating the refurb completion, they’ll be back a similar time to me. Keeping busy is the trick, I focus on painting and building, and halfway through the evening I offer to go to the shop just by school, buy snacks for everybody, a much-needed sugar hit. I realize when we finish just after seven, with a good bit of the set built, I enjoyed it, a welcome distraction.
I walk out with MK, tell her I’ve started a new series of portraits. She’s pleased, time to move on, she says. Yes, I agree. It is.
‘Will you be all right getting home?’ she asks.
‘Fine thanks, I live super close.’
‘Okey-doke. See you tomorrow, Milly.’
‘Bye.’
I’m halfway home when my phone rings. Mike’s name flashing on the screen and when I answer he says, ‘Where the hell are you?’
‘I’m just walking home, I’ve been –’
‘You are not to come home, do you hear me?’
His voice is forced, strained. So different from normal.
‘Go next door to Valerie’s and stay there until I say so.’
‘Mike, you’re scaring me, what’s happened?’
‘Do as I say. Do not come home, do you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
As I approach the house it looks normal. I don’t want to go to Valerie’s but she’s waiting for me on the road, hurries me inside to hers.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask her. ‘Mike scared me.’
‘We’re not really sure at the moment but it’ll be okay. Come on in, out of the cold.’
Every time I’ve heard those words – it’ll be okay – it never has been.
It doesn’t take long. I hear sirens first, screaming to a halt outside our house. Valerie takes me into the living room overlooking the garden, not the street, asks me if I’d like something to eat or drink.
‘I want to go home, I want to know what’s happened.’
‘Not just now, sweetheart.’
I don’t get to go home for almost two hours. Valerie puts the TV on, does her best to look normal. Relaxed. But when David, her husband, comes home I can tell from the looks they exchange. News is bad. Bad news. The doorbell goes, David answers it, I hear him talking to Mike, brings him into the room. When I see him I burst into tears because his shirt is stained, all over the front, and I know what kind of stain makes that colour. He looks down and says in a monotone voice, ‘I should have changed, I didn’t think.’
His voice is slow, his face terrorized. Aged. He’ll see red too now, a member of the same club as me.
‘Valerie, perhaps we should give them a minute,’ David suggests.
‘Of course, take as long as you need.’
They close the door behind them, the atmosphere in the room serious. Charged. Mike sits next to me. I notice his hands are shaking. Normality, that’s what he’d been hoping for, the conversation with June.
‘I’m frightened, Mike, what’s going on? Please tell me.’
He can’t get the words out, keeps starting and stopping. Mouth. Struggling to release the ugly it knows it has to. Finally, he says, ‘An accident, a terrible accident.’
He covers his face with his hands, also stained, all over his fingers. I want to reach out and touch him but I don’t want any of it on my skin.
‘What do you mean?’
He doesn’t answer initially, shakes his head, looks down at the rug under our feet. Disbelief. I’ve seen it before in the detective I gave my first statement to. Mike takes his hands away from his face but immediately brings one back up to cover his mouth after saying her name. Hyperventilating. He finds it easy to calm other people down, it’s his job, but when it comes to himself he’s lost.
‘What sort of accident? Is she okay?’
Breath laboured, hand reaches up at the tie he’s wearing. Tries to pull it loose. It won’t help I want to tell him, nothing will.
‘No, not okay,’ he says.
But he doesn’t say she’s dead, so much red on his shirt though. So much red.
‘What do you mean not okay? Can I see her? I want to see if she’s all right.’
He pulls at his hair, pulls at his shirt, hands won’t stay still, can still feel the shape of her body. He begins to rock, mutters to himself.
‘Mike, please, talk to me.’
‘She’s gone, the paramedics have taken her away, the police are at the house.’
‘Gone where?’
He turns to look at me, grabs my knees. Hands like claws. The ‘don’t touch Milly’ rule gone out the window. I want to move away, close my eyes. I don’t want to see the look in his when he says what I think he’s going to say next.
‘She’s dead, Milly, my Phoebs is dead.’
Then he starts to cry, removes his hands from my legs, hugs himself. Arms crossed over his chest, he begins to rock again.