Caught Red-handed

Alex’s phone has a new home. It’s been at the back of my sock drawer for the last three days. I keep expecting her to ask me if I’ve seen it, but she hasn’t said a word. Mum asked her where it was yesterday and Alex just shrugged and said that she’d lost it. This is not unusual: she’s not managed to keep hold of the same phone for longer than about six months EVER – hardly surprising if she goes round throwing them in flower beds when she doesn’t like her text messages. Mum got cross with her and said that she has no respect for her belongings and that she, Mum, is fed up with constantly bailing her out. Alex just shrugged again and said that she didn’t want a new phone anyway.

I keep getting her phone out to check for any updates. It’s giving me something to do and distracting me from the utter terror that is swirling round the pit of my stomach. Alex gets a lot of text messages, mostly from Sara and Finn, but also some from Charlie. The one that upset her that day in the garden was from him.

I’ve read it approximately eighty times so far. To begin with I hoped that rereading it would let me see that I’d made some sort of terrible mistake. Jumped to conclusions. I’m not actually the sort of person who does that – I prefer to gather in all the evidence before I make a decision about something – but I thought that this time maybe I’d got it really wrong. Because that obviously happens, even to people like me who double-check everything. People like me who look twice before they leap.

I have to keep reminding myself of the good news. Alex is not dying. Under normal circumstances this would make me very happy. I’ve not really had time to celebrate though because there’s also some bad news. Isn’t there always? I’ve never really understood that phrase about giving with one hand and taking away with the other, but I sort of get it now.

After a while, I couldn’t pretend that I’d got Charlie’s text message wrong. So then I started rereading it in the hope that I’d be able to work out what to do about it. Because Alex doesn’t seem to be doing anything at all, and I feel like I’m living a complete lie.

We’ve just finished supper and I’ve escaped to my room. Mum’s still mad at Alex about the phone, Alex is barely talking at all and I’m too scared to open my mouth in case everything I know comes pouring out. I’m so worried that I’ll make all of this even worse – that I’ll say something wrong and nobody will ever forgive anybody else ever again. That’s why Alex has to do something soon, before she messes up our family for good.

I lift up my pillow and slide her phone out from its hiding place. It’s on silent: it’d be a bit of a giveaway if it started buzzing every time a text came through. I turn it on and read THE message for the eighty-first time.

Sorry about b4. Don’t know wot 2 tell u xcept i don’t want a baby. Not now. Not ever. Sorry. Charlie

Alex is pregnant. Even if it wasn’t utterly obvious from this text and the way she’s behaving – being sick, moody, hiding her body and wearing baggy clothes – then the texts she’s received since this one make it totally clear.

Sara sent this one a few hours after the one from Charlie:

Wot’s up babe? Where r u? Leaving now – c u at the pub. S xx

Followed by this one:

OMG Alex! Just saw Charlie. Is it true? R u pregnant? Y u not picking up phone? Call me NOW. S xx

This one came the next day:

R u OK? Worried about u. How long u known? Y didn’t u tell me? Wot r u going 2 do about it? Are you keeping it? S xx

Alex is obviously avoiding Sara and hasn’t told her that her phone is missing. Sara sends about ten texts a day, each one getting more and more insistent. She sounds desperate to find out what’s going on – I never knew that she was so nosy. No wonder Alex isn’t bothered about getting a new phone.

Finn, on the other hand, has sent two texts. One of them is checking that Alex would be at band practice that night (she wouldn’t – she’s barely leaving the house; she’s not even been to school this week, although Mum doesn’t know that). The other text was sent the day after and just asked Alex if she was all right. So I’m pretty sure that Finn has no idea about what’s going on. I’d have thought that it’d make me feel good, not being the last to find out as per usual, but actually it doesn’t. I just feel a bit horrible inside.

I badly want to talk to Alex, but she isn’t talking to me. She’s not NOT talking to me – at suppertime she asked me to pass the ketchup – but whenever I try to have a conversation with her she cuts me off and disappears into her room. I asked Mum if she’d noticed anything different about Alex – I think I was hoping that she might start to get suspicious and realize that there’s a problem – but she just gave me a hug and said that Alex is under lots of pressure with her exams and that we all have to accept that she’s growing up and getting ready to leave us.

Mum’s pottering around in the garden and I’m thinking that this is my chance to talk to Alex. I heard her go downstairs a few minutes ago and the sound of water running, so I can catch her in the kitchen while she makes a cup of tea. I’ve got to make her listen to me. I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t talk about it soon. Everything I know is swirling around inside me like a tornado, growing bigger and bigger, and I’m scared that soon it’ll be so big that it’ll spill out of my mouth and I won’t be able to keep quiet any more.

I put Alex’s phone in my pocket and tiptoe downstairs so that she won’t hear me coming. As I walk into the kitchen, I see Alex reaching up for a new box of teabags; her shirt rides up and I see the gentle swell of her stomach over the top of her jeans. Even though I know she’s pregnant, it makes me stand still in shock. There’s an actual baby growing inside Alex. A real, living baby that’s making Alex sick and pale and causing all this trouble. I hate it.

I must make a sound because Alex swings round and looks at me, yanking her shirt down at the same time.

‘Crikey, Izzy, you scared me!’ she says. I just keep looking at her stomach, trying to imagine what she’ll look like when it’s all swollen and fat. She won’t look like Alex, that’s for sure.

‘Izzy?’ she says, sounding worried. She should sound worried. She should have told Mum straight away, not waited until now. ‘Are you OK?’

I’ve waited for days to have this conversation, but now it’s time I can’t think of a single thing to say. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about before. Plus, I don’t really know what I want Alex to say to me. I’m not sure how I feel about her right now. I know that I’m scared about what’s going to happen to her and I’m worried about what Mum’s going to say, but I realize as I stand in the doorway that I’m angry too – angry with Alex.

In the end, with the silence stretching between us like the Sahara Desert, I choose actions instead of words. Reaching into my pocket, I thrust Alex’s mobile phone towards her. She looks confused for a second and then surprised – and then she rearranges her face to try and look pleased.

‘Oh great, you found my phone! Where was it?’

‘In our den,’ I tell her, feeling amazed that she’s still going to try and pretend to me.

‘Weird,’ she says, reaching out and taking it from me. ‘I wonder how it got there.’

‘It’s where it landed when you threw it there,’ I say, my voice sounding flat. I can’t be bothered with pretending any more. Alex looks up from her phone where she’s been frantically searching her messages, finally registering that something is wrong.

‘Izzy?’

‘I read your texts,’ I tell her, feeling surprisingly empty. Her face contorts with anger, but I’m ready for this.

‘How dare –’ she starts, but I don’t let her finish.

‘And I read my letters,’ I say. ‘The letters you wrote to me, but didn’t have the courage to actually give me.’

Alex slumps into the nearest chair, her eyes never leaving mine.

‘I can’t believe you snooped in my room. And stole my phone. Why would you do that, Izzy?’

She sounds completely hurt, like I’VE betrayed HER, and it’s too much for me to deal with. All the fear and worry and nervousness of the last few days come pouring out and I glare at Alex, pinning her to the spot with my anger.

‘Why would I do that? Let me see – because you’ve been acting completely weird and you scared me, and I’ve had to deal with thinking you were on drugs, and then thinking that you were going to die. And now this! All on my own, Alex.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you,’ she mutters, but I can tell that her heart isn’t in it because I can barely hear her.

‘So why were you writing letters to ME!’ I yell at her. ‘And why haven’t you told Mum? You have to tell her, Alex, or I will!’

Alex sits up straighter in the chair.

‘No, Izzy! I’m totally serious about this. You cannot tell her. I’ll never forgive you if you do, not for the rest of my life! And keep your voice down for goodness’ sake – Mum could walk in at any minute.’

I gulp in a deep breath and look at Alex in amazement. She has never spoken like that to me before, not ever.

‘Think about the sister code, Izzy. This is exactly the time that I need you to remember what we promised.’ Alex is looking at me pleadingly and I feel my anger start to disappear.

Alex introduced the sister code when I was about ten and she was fifteen. It started with not telling Mum when the other one had done something wrong – like the time that her favourite mug got broken. I was washing up and Alex was drying and I thought it’d be funny to splash her with the soapsuds. Unfortunately I was a little too enthusiastic with my splashing and I managed to break the handle on the mug. Alex told me about the sister code and hid the broken mug in with the rubbish. When Mum couldn’t find it, Alex didn’t say a word, but on Mum’s birthday she helped me choose a new mug for Mum. The sister code stopped me getting told off and helped me to make something wrong right again.

Since then we’ve used it for loads of things. I cover for Alex when she’s sneaking out to the pub or going clubbing – Mum seems more likely to believe her if I say that I’ve heard her making plans for studying with Sara. As Alex says, it helps her to get some much-needed relaxation so that she can work even harder at school and that Mum is already stressed with her own job and worrying about Grandpa – she doesn’t need to be worrying about Alex. In return, Alex lets me stay up late when Mum goes out and she always tells Mum that I was in bed on time.

The sister code means putting your sister first and keeping her safe, even if it makes you feel a bit uncomfortable at the time. It means trusting your sister to do the right thing, even if you’ve lost almost all faith in her. The sister code means that if your sister asks you to do something then you do it because your sister is the only person who can know you almost as much as you know yourself.

Alex has invoked the sister code and I need to show her that I’m worthy. The sister code doesn’t recognize big sisters or little sisters: it only knows that we are sisters and always will be. I need to be brave for Alex and trust her.

‘I won’t tell her. I promise,’ I whisper to Alex and her face crumples in relief. ‘But I think she needs to know.’

‘She does and I promise I’ll tell her,’ says Alex, getting up and walking across to me. ‘But I need to wait until the time is right, Izzy, or it’ll just make it worse.’

I’m not sure that this is true but, as Alex hugs me, I decide to go with what she says. She knows far more about this than I do after all, and maybe she’s right. Maybe there will be a good time for her to tell Mum. But, as I feel her rounded tummy pressing against me, I wonder how long she thinks she can wait until even Mum can’t ignore the evidence in front of her.

‘You’ve just got to keep it a secret for a little while longer, just until I get everything sorted,’ says Alex, giving me a final squeeze.

‘Keep what a secret?’ says a voice and we spring apart, both looking totally guilty and red-faced.

Finn is standing at our back door, leaning against the door frame. I have no idea how long he’s been standing there, but by the look on his face it was long enough.

Alex strolls over to the kettle and switches it back on.

‘Perfect timing, I’m just making a cup of tea. Want one? Come in and close the back door.’ She doesn’t look at Finn, but he can’t tear his eyes away from her. I feel awkward, but there’s no way I’m leaving Alex now so I sit down quietly on the stool by the fridge and hope they’ll forget I’m here.

Alex busies herself with the kettle, pouring boiling water into two cups. I reach across and open the fridge door, bending down to pull out the milk and passing it to her when she walks over to me.

‘You didn’t come to band practice,’ says Finn. It’s a statement, not a question, and Alex doesn’t reply. ‘What’s going on, Alex?’

‘Nothing,’ she says, pouring the milk into the cups and putting one on the table for Finn. ‘Drink your tea.’ I see her looking anxiously out of the window and I follow her gaze, but it’s OK. Mum is moving around near the shed and doesn’t seem to have any idea of the clouds that are gathering over our house.

Finn looks at the tea, but doesn’t move. He likes his tea as strong as possible, so strong that ‘you could stand a spoon up in it’ Mum always says. It’s something that he and Alex have in common, and they moan on and on if anyone ever makes either of them a weak cup of pale tea. The cup of tea that Alex has made looks more like warm milk than tea; there’s no way that Finn will drink it and I don’t blame him. The storm that’s brewing in our kitchen is stronger than Finn’s cup of tea.

‘Alex.’ His voice is firm, like he’s not leaving here without answers, and I feel cold inside when I see what’s about to happen.

‘Finn.’ She’s trying to make a joke of it, distract him by being silly, but as she still won’t look at him it’s not going to work.

‘What’s wrong, Al? What’s the big secret?’

Alex shakes her head and starts opening and closing cupboard doors.

‘Where’s the sugar? It’s got to be here somewhere.’

I want to remind her that she doesn’t have sugar in her tea, but then I think better of it. This is definitely between Finn and Alex and I don’t think she’s really looking for the sugar anyway, not when I can see it in the sugar bowl, right in front of her on the kitchen counter.

‘Is it true?’ asks Finn in a quiet voice.

Alex stills, one hand reaching into the cupboard and closing round a tin of baked beans.

‘Is what true?’ she whispers.

‘Is it true that you’re –’ Finn doesn’t seem able to say the word and Alex turns round slowly, looking down at the floor. Finn tries again. ‘Is it true that you and Charlie are –’ But he doesn’t need to say any more because Alex has raised her head and is looking at him, and he can see the answer written all over her face. It’s like she wants him to know – that or she just can’t hide the truth from Finn like she could hide it from me and Mum.

‘Oh God,’ groans Finn, running his hand through his floppy hair. I think how ridiculous this all looks: Finn with tufts of hair sticking up at weird angles and Alex clutching a tin of baked beans like it’s going to save her. It’s not how these things happen on the TV anyway. There’s absolutely nothing glamorous or exciting about this moment. It all just seems a bit scary, and a bit messy, and a huge mistake – like we’ve stumbled into somebody else’s story for a while.

‘Finn –’ starts Alex, but he puts his hand up, like he doesn’t want to hear her. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she finishes, ignoring his hand and slumping against the kitchen counter.

There’s silence for a few seconds and then Finn looks at Alex.

‘What did your mum say?’ he asks her. Alex doesn’t answer and, for the first time since he walked into the room, Finn looks over at me.

‘That’s the big secret, isn’t it?’ he says and I nod, not looking at Alex in case she’s mad with me. Finn sighs really loudly and turns back to Alex. ‘You’ve got to tell her, Alex. Now.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You can. You have to. What if she finds out from someone else?’

‘She won’t, will she?’ Alex’s voice has a warning in it that I can hear all the way over here by the fridge.

Finn slams his hand against the door frame and I jump in surprise.

‘So what are you going to do? Wait until she notices? Or have you got other plans?’ He’s angry, but I don’t know why. It’s not his baby after all, so it doesn’t really affect him.

‘Charlie’s sorting something out. I’m just waiting for him to tell me what we’re doing.’ Alex doesn’t sound like her normal self – her voice is wavering and quiet, like she’s unsure about what she’s saying. ‘He doesn’t want me to tell Mum until we’ve got all the details sorted.’

‘Is that what he’s doing now, while you’re sitting here on your own?’ Finn asks her, his voice getting louder with each word.

I feel a bit hurt by this. Alex isn’t exactly on her own, is she? She’s got me and I’m working quite hard to deal with all of this, which isn’t being made any easier by her and Finn having an argument in the middle of our kitchen.

‘Yes, it is,’ Alex tells him. ‘He’s getting everything sorted.’ She sounds trusting, like she truly believes that Charlie is going to save the day, and it’s too much for Finn.

‘Right, so that wasn’t Charlie I just saw in the pub with the rest of his football team?’ he explodes. Alex’s face goes red, but she stays silent.

‘That was Charlie “getting everything sorted”, was it? Because it looked to me like he was bragging about scoring a goal and laughing at some stupid joke made by an equally stupid girl.’

Tears bubble up in Alex’s eyes, but she grips her tin of baked beans even harder and stares at Finn.

‘Come on, Alex! Wake up! Lover boy is NOT going to do the right thing. You know it. Time to deal with that and start figuring out what YOU are going to do. If you wait for him, you’ll be waiting forever!’

‘Maybe he’s worth waiting for – forever,’ Alex says quietly, looking at Finn until he looks away, shaking his head in disgust.

I think this is probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard anybody say. It’s the sort of thing I expect Juliet said about Romeo when the Montagues and Capulets were fighting and yelling at them, and forcing them to stay away from each other. It just seems a bit sad that Alex has said it about Charlie though because I’m sure he’s an OK kind of person really, but I’m not at all convinced that he’s Alex’s ‘forever’ person.

‘Then you don’t need me then, do you?’ Finn asks Alex. This time it really does sound like a question, hovering in the air above the kitchen table. They look at each other for a moment, but then Alex is the first to look away, not answering.

‘You know where I am,’ Finn tells her. ‘Where I’ll always be.’ And then he turns and leaves, and it feels like he’s walking out of much more than our kitchen, and Alex leans her head on the kitchen cupboard and cries and cries and cries until I think that she must have no tears left inside her.