Not Everything Is Black Or White
‘Izzy, have you seen Alex?’ asks Mum, running into the kitchen. ‘And where’s my bag?’
I put down my science book (all I ever seem to do these days is schoolwork) and look blearily up at Mum. I don’t know why she’s asking me. She knows I’ve been sitting here for the last hour.
‘No,’ I tell her.
‘No to which one?’ she says, bending down and dragging her bag out from under the kitchen table. ‘How on earth did it get there?’
‘No to both. I haven’t seen Alex and I didn’t know where your bag was until you just found it.’
‘You were virtually sitting on top of it,’ mutters Mum, sounding grumpy. ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen Alex?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ I say, closing my book. I’m feeling completely distracted now and I’ve done enough for today anyway. Hannah’s coming over in a while and we’re going to start working on our history assignment.
‘What time’s Hannah getting here?’ asks Mum, looking at her watch. ‘Will you be OK on your own until she arrives?’
‘Mum! Stop worrying. She’ll be here in about half an hour. I’m going to read my book while I wait for her.’
I give Mum a quick hug and head upstairs.
‘Tell Alex to hurry up if she’s up there,’ Mum calls after me. ‘Mr Fanley won’t wait if we’re late.’
Alex hates going to the orthodontist. She calls him ‘Mr Fanger’ and moans like mad when she’s got an appointment. She says it’s embarrassing and that she’s the only girl in her year with braces (except she calls them train tracks). Mum tells her that she’ll be glad she had the chance to make her teeth perfect and that she wishes she’d had this opportunity when she was younger. I think Alex has got lovely teeth, even with the braces. They’re sparkling white and all neat and even. She’s got film-star teeth.
Not like me – mine are all clumped together in a muddly crowd, some hiding behind the others. Mum says not to worry and that I’m still growing. She says that my mouth is too small for my teeth at the moment, but that it’ll grow. Alex moans when she hears Mum say that and says that I talk too much as it is. I’m on the waiting list to see Mr Fanley, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Alex always makes such a fuss about it that maybe I’d be better off with crooked teeth.
I walk into my bedroom and pick up my notebook from the window ledge. Glancing out of the window, I see Alex, sitting on her swing and swaying to and fro in the April sunshine. I’m about to bang on the window to get her attention, but stop when she pulls her mobile out of her pocket. She reads something on the screen and then her face screws up. For a second she looks angry and I watch as she throws her phone across the flower beds and towards the garden shed, as if it’s said something nasty. The angry look disappears and is replaced by a different emotion – maybe sadness or worry or fear. I’m too far away to tell and, before I can decide whether to call to her, I see Mum appear on the lawn below me. She shouts to Alex and then goes back into the house.
Alex gets off the swing and walks towards the back door. She looks slow and ill, like something is really wrong.
Mum calls goodbye to me and then I hear the front door slam as they leave. This is it: my chance to find the evidence I need to confront Alex. She’s not OK, that’s really obvious. I’m just surprised that Mum hasn’t spotted that there’s a problem. If I can find proof that Alex is taking drugs then I can show Mum and she can deal with it.
I throw my notebook on my bed, race out of my room and then stop, my hand on the handle of Alex’s door. It feels wrong, like snooping. I know she’d hate the idea of me spying on her things, but I have to do this. It’s for her own good. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and walk inside, closing it quietly behind me.
It’s hard to know where to start. Alex’s room is a mess as usual. My other slight problem is that I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Drug stuff. That’s what they said in that citizenship lesson. Finding drug stuff in their bag or bedroom. I know that some people use needles to take drugs, but I can’t really imagine Alex doing that. She hates needles. She makes a really big fuss if she ever has to have an injection and once she even fainted. Also, she cares a lot about her appearance and I don’t think she’d like having lots of little holes in her arms.
So I’m going to have to keep an open mind. I’m looking for anything suspicious – anything that shouldn’t be here. I start under Alex’s bed, but I’m sneezing so much after thirty seconds that I have to stop. It doesn’t look like anything’s been moved under here since the last millennium so I don’t think her secret stash can be kept here. Next I try the bottom of her wardrobe; that doesn’t take long because most of her clothes are on the floor. Nothing in there.
I stand in the middle of her room and look around. If I was Alex, where would I put something that I didn’t want anyone else to find? I close my eyes and try to think like her, but it’s no good. I’m nothing like Alex and I just can’t imagine things like she does. I wouldn’t be any good at hiding something secret, not like her. I suddenly feel really stupid. What was I thinking, imagining that I could second-guess Alex? Imagining that I could help her, be cleverer than her. She’s always going to be older and more exciting and more everything than me. If Alex doesn’t want me to know something then I won’t know it – not until she decides to tell me.
The thought makes me feel pathetic and small. It also makes me feel like I have no control: I just have to wait until other people choose to fill me in. I’m suddenly angry. It’s totally unfair. I’m a part of this family too and I should be listened to. I kick something lying on the floor by my foot and watch as it sails across the room, landing behind the empty laundry basket. Mr Cuddles!
Hurrying across the room, I pull the basket out a bit further and reach down behind it to retrieve poor Mr Cuddles.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him as I stretch my arm down into the gap. ‘It’s not you I’m mad at.’
My hand brushes against his soft, furry head and I pull him out. As I do, I catch sight of Alex’s T-shirt lying in a crumpled heap on the floor and, in an attempt to make up for invading her privacy, I pick it up and open the lid of the laundry basket. But there, at the bottom of the very empty basket, is something that doesn’t belong there. I reach down and pull out a wooden box.
Heart racing, I drop Mr Cuddles on the floor and sink down next to him. Could this be it? The evidence I’m looking for? Now it’s in my hands I’m not sure if I actually want to open it, but then I remember Alex, sitting on the swing and looking so utterly unhappy. I can do this for her. I can show her that I’m here for her – that she can rely on me, even if I am only twelve.
The box is really beautiful. I’ve never seen it before. It’s got swirly silver patterns across the top and it latches shut with a tiny little clasp on the front. It’s the right size to rest on my knees as I kneel on the floor, and it smells like Alex’s favourite patchouli incense sticks.
As my fingers fumble with the clasp, I have a sudden moment of wondering. I wonder if I’ll always remember this second – if I’ll be glad that I opened the box or if I’ll forever regret finding it. I think about a Greek myth that we heard at school, about a girl called Pandora and a box that she was given by Zeus, the King of the Gods. He told her to look after the box and to never, ever open it. In my opinion, that was a stupid thing to say to her. It’s like telling someone NOT to think about elephants or NOT to look behind them: it’s virtually impossible not to do it. If Zeus didn’t want the box opened then he shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it – he just made Pandora curious. Anyway, she opened the box (no surprises there) and inside were all the evils of the world. They all flew out and spread round the world and it’s why bad things happen now apparently. The only thing left inside the box was hope, which I suppose means that, even when awful things are going on, good stuff can still happen. Or something.
I remember our English teacher telling us that there are only a few different story plots in the whole, entire world – quests and adventures; forbidden love and escape; rescues and riddles; growing up and sacrifice. I wonder if it’s true and I wonder if I’ll share my story with Pandora. It seems a bit strange that I, a normal, boring girl from England, could have anything in common with a beautiful woman from Greek mythology. I really, really hope that I don’t end up like her, with all the evils of the world being unleashed in Alex’s bedroom.
The clasp gives way and I lift up the lid. Inside the box is not what I expected. It doesn’t look like anything to do with drugs and it doesn’t look particularly evil either. It looks like envelopes. Lots of envelopes with my name written on the front in violet ink.
I tip the box upside down and empty the envelopes on to the floor. I don’t know what to think about this. I hesitate for only a second because that’s MY name written on the front and if something’s addressed to you then it’s fine to open it. I’m sure that’s the rule at the Royal Mail anyway.
Grabbing the nearest envelope, I carefully ease the flap open, just in case I need to reseal it later. Inside is a letter, written to me.
6th April
Dear Izzy,
I’m sorry I haven’t spent much time with you lately. I really want to, but you know now why I’ve needed to have a bit of space. I just need time to get my head round all of this. I’m sorry if that sounds selfish – I know you’re worried about me.
I THINK I’ll be fine. I’m not a hundred per cent sure about that, but people usually are fine, aren’t they? It’s what we always say, ‘Yeah, fine thanks’, when someone asks how we are. That’s why I don’t bother asking. What’s the point? Everyone says the same – that they’re fine, even when they’re shrivelling up and dying on the inside.
I have to believe that I’ll be fine. That things can go back to how they were. That my whole world isn’t about to cave in. I lie in bed at night and send myself to sleep chanting the same thing over and over again.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
Only it is.
Love you forever,
Alex xx
I put the letter down and then straight away pick it back up and read it again. I don’t understand. What’s wrong with Alex? What doesn’t she want to happen? Why would she say that I know NOW why she needs some space? None of it makes any sense.
Grabbing another envelope, I rip it open, not bothering to try to keep it neat this time. I scan the top for the date and realize that this one was written before the last one. They’re not in any kind of order so I’ll just need to read them all to work out what’s going on.
Dear Izzy,
Why does everyone assume, just because I’ve got a big mouth, that it means I’ve got no feelings? I’m really sick of it – people acting like they can say anything to me and it won’t matter.
Stefan really wound me up tonight at band practice. I can’t believe he thinks I’m only interested in getting all the attention. I’ve only ever been interested in what’s best for On the Rocks. And, to be honest, I’m totally over being the centre of attention. Which is a shame because, when everyone finds out, I’m going to be the closest thing to a celebrity that anyone has ever seen around here. For all the wrong reasons.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to the band when I’ve gone. Maybe they’ll replace me. That’d be awful – I don’t think I could bear it. What if they got another singer and she’s prettier and better than me? Maybe everyone will say that I’d held them all back and they were lucky I was gone. I think that’s why I got so upset with Stefan – I just want it to be perfect while I’m still a part of it. I suppose I’ll have to apologize to him.
I’m probably done with the band anyway. I feel so ill right now and I just want to sleep all the time. I’m scared that people are going to start talking about me. Funny – that’s never bothered me before.
Love you forever,
Alex xx
The doorbell rings, startling me back into right now. For a minute I panic, thinking that Alex and Mum are back, but then I remember that they’ve got a key and wouldn’t need to ring the doorbell. I look at my watch and realize that it’s probably Hannah, come to work on our history assignment. Nothing could be less important to me right now so I stay sitting on the floor, while she rings the doorbell, and then listen as she gives up and walks away.
My legs are aching so I uncurl them and sit down properly, stretching them out and then crossing them in front of me. I sweep the pile of letters on to one side so that I can keep track of which ones I’ve read. My brain is whirring and I can feel little prickles of sweat under my armpits. These letters are not good. I’m starting to think that I was wrong about Alex – I don’t think she’s on drugs at all. I think it’s a whole lot worse than that and I’m not sure I’ve got the strength to read the rest of the letters. But I must. Because Alex is using these letters to tell me something that she just can’t tell me in person. Alex had to be strong to write these words and I need to be strong enough to read them.
I think about what she’s written – about feeling ill and tired; about everyone talking about her. She’s written about being replaced when she’s gone. And it’s suddenly shockingly obvious to me what’s going on. Alex isn’t on drugs: she’s dying. My big sister is dying and she can’t bring herself to tell me.
I’m not a person who cries very often. I don’t like the way it makes me feel so usually the worst that happens when I’m upset is a few tears prickling at the back of my eyes. It feels strange and unwanted to have tears flowing uncontrollably down my face, but there’s not one thing that I can do about it. I have to read the rest of the letters. I need to find the letter where she tells me WHY. I need to know what Alex is facing so that I can be prepared, so that I can help her and be brave for her. The thing is, I’m only twelve. Alex is right when she says I’m just a kid. I’m not sure I can be brave enough to watch her disappear in front of me. I don’t want to see her wither and shrink and become frail and pale. Alex is the big sister for a reason – she’s braver and funnier and better than me. I don’t know if I can be big for her.
At some point I’ve picked up Mr Cuddles and I hold him tightly to me now as I choose the next envelope and open it, pulling out the single piece of paper with as much fear as if it WAS all the evils of the world coming out of Pandora’s box.
14th April
Dear Izzy,
Please don’t tell Mum. I know that this is a terrible thing to ask you, but it’s really, really important to me that she doesn’t find out just yet. I’ll try to explain why and I know that I can’t stop you from telling, but at least hear me out before you make any decisions.
Mum has got so many hopes for us – for you and for me. She wants us to BE someone, to do something with our lives. She had me when she was really young and life was tough for her for ages. She’s always told me that she wants our lives to be easier than that. Most of all, she wants us to be happy. Finding out about me is going to destroy her. And she’s got enough to worry about with Granny and Grandpa at the moment. She doesn’t need me adding to her stress.
I want to give her as much time as possible before she knows the truth. I bet you’re thinking it’s because I’m scared. Well, you’re right. I am scared – more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. And maybe I’m being selfish, but I want some time for me too – time to deal with this before I have to deal with it for Mum. This is not what she’ll be expecting. Not one little bit. I need to know how I feel about it before I tell her. Does that make sense?
I promise I’ll tell her when the time is right. I won’t leave it too late, but I’m just not strong enough to cope with her unhappiness right now. I know she’ll be scared for me and I know she’ll be disappointed. I WILL tell her, Izzy.
Love you forever,
Alex xx
This is awful. Mum doesn’t know? I skim the letter again, trying to make my brain work a bit quicker. It’s true that Mum wants the best for us; she was really excited when Alex got offered a place at university (we all went out for a special celebratory meal and she even let us order a pudding, which NEVER happens). The most confusing part of the letter is at the end though. Why would Mum be disappointed? That’s a really weird thing to say. I can understand her being scared and sad and miserable, but I’m not sure that people get ‘disappointed’ about someone dying. That makes no sense.
I reach for another letter, hoping that this one will help me work out exactly what’s going on.
29th March
Dear Izzy,
I know you’re not sure about Charlie, but it’s not his fault. Not all his fault anyway. He’s trying really hard to cope with this – but, like he says, it wasn’t exactly what he signed up for. Well, I tell him, it wasn’t what I signed up for either, but it’s what’s happening, so we’ve got to deal with it.
He came with me to the doctor’s when I made the first appointment. We had a bit of an argument about it actually because I didn’t know he had a football match after school and the appointment was right in the middle of the match. When I first told him, he said that there was no way he could miss the match so I told him that it was fine. I said that Sara could always come with me. Unfortunately I started crying before I’d finished saying how fine it was that he was happy to put a stupid pig’s bladder game before me, his girlfriend, which ruined my independent woman vibe quite a lot.
I tried to march off, but he caught up with me and said that if it mattered that much to me then he’d see if Dev would stand in for him. He said it like there was only a slim chance of it happening, but I know for a fact that Dev is desperate to get a chance to play. I told him that it wasn’t about it mattering to ME – it should matter to HIM. He went a bit red then and put his arm round me and said that of course he’d come with me. And after school he bought me some cheese and onion crisps from the corner shop – I’m totally addicted to them, which is weird when you think about how much we’ve always hated them! So he is trying, Izzy.
The appointment with the doctor was terrible. I was so scared that I couldn’t stop shaking, even though she was lovely. She asked me a load of questions and then confirmed what I was pretty sure I already knew. I’d done loads of research on the Internet so I was fairly sure of what she was going to say. Hearing the words made it seem so real though. Charlie went pale and started tapping his foot on the floor, totally irritatingly. The doctor was really kind and gave him some water. I think he’d thought I was making it up to be honest. She suggested I take Mum to the next appointment – said that Mum was going to need to know soon and it was better to have her support early on. She said I was going to need lots of support.
I asked Charlie if he wants to be there when I tell Mum, but he just shook his head. He doesn’t say much about how he’s feeling. I never noticed that before.
Love you forever,
Alex xx
I can’t believe she’s trying to defend Charlie. I mean, what sort of person puts a football match before supporting their girlfriend? I don’t understand why she didn’t talk to Mum first though, when she started to suspect that something was wrong. Surely Mum would have been far better than Football-Before-Friends Charlie?
I glance at the time again and realize that I haven’t got long – Mum and Alex will be home soon. I open another envelope and read the date. This one was only written a few days ago.
23rd April
Dear Izzy,
I haven’t given you any of the letters that I’ve been writing. I know that this makes my letter-writing completely pointless – that communication is a two-way process and it only works if I actually let you read what I’ve written.
The thing is, it’s YOU that I’m most scared about telling. That sounds utterly ridiculous even as I write it – you’re twelve years old and probably the least frightening person I have ever met in my entire life. You are loving and trusting and I know that when you look at me you think you’re looking at the best big sister in the world. I know that you think you want to be like me.
That’s why I can’t tell you. I don’t want to be the person who spoils all of that. You’re so innocent – I wish I’d been as innocent as you when I was your age. You wish you were older and more sophisticated, but that’s what makes you so special.
I’m sorry, Izzy, more sorry than I can ever put down in words. I’m not going to be around for you in the way that you need me. I’m a useless big sister and you deserve so much better. Thank you for always believing the best about me. Knowing how much you look up to me has helped me to be a bit of a nicer person (only a bit, obviously – I’m not THAT nice …!!).
I’m mostly sorry that I’m not brave enough to tell you myself. Mum will do a much better job of it than I would anyway. She’ll help you to make sense of it. I wish I could make sense of it, but I suppose I will eventually.
Love you forever,
Alex xxx
And that’s it. No more envelopes. She isn’t going to tell me. This is so typically Alex: create a big drama and then walk out halfway through.
I gaze round her room, hoping that more answers might throw themselves at me, but the only things I can see are signs that Alex left her room in a rush as usual. I sit for a few minutes, unable to move, while I think about everything I’ve just read. I feel like I’ve lived my whole life in the last thirty minutes – forced to face things that I never even imagined I would have to consider until I was a grown-up.
I know that I need to move, but it isn’t until I hear a key in the front door that I spring into action. Stuffing the letters back into the envelopes, I bundle them all back into the box and then I hide the box back down inside the laundry basket. I race out of Alex’s room and into my own room just in time. I can hear Mum coming upstairs.
‘We’re home, Izzy,’ she calls, heading into the bathroom. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Fine!’ I shout back, collapsing down on to my window ledge, adrenalin coursing through my body and making me feel like giggling. Except nothing is funny any more and Mum has no idea.
I hear the back door open and watch as Alex walks across the lawn. The sound of the shower turning on comes through my bedroom wall and I know that Mum won’t be out of the bathroom for at least fifteen minutes. Alex heads towards the flower beds and bends down, parting the leaves of the plants with her hands. Searching for something. I think about how Alex looked when she was sitting on the swing earlier and I suddenly remember her mobile phone. She threw it into the flower bed and I’m pretty sure she didn’t pick it up again before she left for the orthodontist.
She doesn’t find it though and I see her start to move faster, trampling on some of the plants as she moves further towards the shed. At one point she straightens up and turns to face the house, peering up at the windows. For some reason I find myself moving behind the curtain, making sure that she can’t see me spying on her. I don’t even know why I do this; normally I’d wave at her and try to get her attention, hoping that she’d beckon me down to chat to her while she lounged about on the swing. I remember the day a few weeks ago when we sat out there together and Alex told me that she wouldn’t always be around to look out for me. This must be what she meant and I had no idea.
The shower is turned off and I can hear Mum clattering about in the bathroom. She’ll be out in a minute – Alex hasn’t got long. As if she senses it out in the garden, Alex leaves the flower bed and walks across to the swing. She sits down and pretends to throw something and I realize that she’s trying to repeat her earlier action when she threw the phone away. She gets up again and starts searching the long grass on the lawn on her hands and knees, but I know for a fact that she’s looking in the wrong place. I definitely saw her phone fly across the flower beds and disappear next to the shed. My bet is on it rolling into the little gap between the shed and the big fir tree where we used to have a den. Alex has probably forgotten all about that place, but I haven’t. We used to spend hours in there, hiding from everyone and talking about the cafe that we were going to own when we were both grown up.
I could bang on the window and tell Alex where I think her phone is. Or I could stand here in the shadows, watching her get more and more frantic as she looks in all the wrong places. It’s a new feeling for me, being the person who knows. I think I like it. It makes a change from always being the last to find out.
Mum leaves the bathroom and goes downstairs, shouting at me to wash my hands and come and help set the table for supper. I wait for just a moment more though, until I hear the back door open and Mum yelling to Alex that she needs to come inside. The door closes and Alex casts one more longing look in the direction of the flower beds before trudging towards the house, the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky with every step she takes, so that when she reaches the back door the garden is cast into a sudden darkness that makes me shiver.