A cemetery sits opposite Leicester University. An iron railway bridge crosses the ring road next to it; the bridge has a walkway. Max was found on the tracks below. He’d hanged himself – using the same type of rope as Amy had used. It had snapped, which is why he’d fallen. At least that’s what the news reports said.
I was out for a walk, five days after Max’s body had been discovered. My mind was numb, my thoughts haphazard. I crossed Regent Street, passing Oadby Fish Bar and an Asian food store. There was no pattern to my route. I was just wandering really. A Sikh man, his turban bright orange, pulled up to the kerb alongside me. He got out and entered the Desi Meat Shop. He drove a silver Mercedes and his young kids were in the back, fiddling with their phones. A lorry rushed past, heading south on the A6, towards my house.
At the BP garage, I went left up Stoughton Road. Danny’s family lived half a mile away, in a massive detached house with a gated drive and tennis courts. I thought about sending him a text – but couldn’t be arsed. I just wanted to be alone – to think. I’d normally confide in Tilly, but our relationship wasn’t great. Yeah, we were talking, but our recent conversations were played out with an elephant in the room. Besides, she was in town with her mum.
I thought about Kane, but something stopped me from calling at his house. Since Max had been found, Kane hadn’t been over to mine. I still wasn’t sure what was going on between us – if anything even was. I had a mountain of revision too, but I didn’t care right then. I couldn’t get Max out of my head.
The media had been camped outside school all week. They were around Oadby village too – asking about Max. We’d been advised to avoid them again, but it was difficult. They were like ants. The story was even bigger now Max was dead. And the suicide-pact theory was growing more popular. Never mind that Max and Amy barely spoke, or that there was no evidence that they’d planned anything together. Even my mum’s regular newspaper – normally quite calm and sober – was hyping things.
Online, Max had his own memorial page to match Amy’s. Facebook was packed with discussions about him. Like, why had he posted a sick video of himself? And, why did he commit suicide? That sort of thing. There were trolls too – loads of them – making nasty comments. I couldn’t stomach it – couldn’t even click on my Web browser icon. So I hadn’t spoken to Benedict since he’d sent me that picture.
Not that I wanted to. Occasionally I wondered whether I was being unfair – after all, it was only a picture – and I started to feel bad about it. Maybe I was being a killjoy; maybe it was just a bit of harmless fun. Thing is, it didn’t feel that way. It felt wrong, and added to the webcam appearing out of the blue, and the odd messages that I’d shown Kane, I was a bit creeped out by my American friend.
I found a bench, sat down and took out my phone. I went into the Facebook app, but it took ages to update. When it finally loaded, I felt like throwing it away. Benedict had left nearly thirty messages. I blinked when I saw the amount. Blinked again and shook my head. I could have ignored him but I decided to stop being so lame and reply. I thought about how lovely he’d been at first, how I’d started to have feelings for him. So what had changed? Why was he suddenly being so needy and odd? It felt like he was letting me down – throwing away something wonderful – and that made me sad. He’d made me believe in him but now it just felt wrong. And so quickly too – no wonder I was confused.
Hey Benny – that’s a lot of messages.
His reply was instant.
WTF???????
You angry?
No – I’m happy that you’ve ignored me.
Things are bad here – I told you.
I know. We have media too. I read about Max – I’m sorry.
Why? You didn’t know him.
Yeah – well I’m sorry anyway.
I didn’t like that pic you sent.
I guessed. Why not?
Because I’m not that type of girl.
That’s very judgemental. Am I that type of boy?
I don’t know.
Thanks for that. I thought we had a connection, Lily?
We don’t even know each other. Not really.
That’s why I sent the pic. Why I talk to you on here. Thought we were making a connection. Guess I was wrong.
That’s not fair.
How could he say that? Making a connection was about trusting each other and becoming better friends. It wasn’t about showing each other naked selfies. Well, not in my world, anyway.
What’s not fair? That I spend time on you, and you don’t reciprocate? That I send you pics of me and you don’t return the favour? Thought you liked me?
I do like you. I just don’t send pics like those. I’m not Molly Cooper.
I can see that.
I felt myself grow angry. What could he see? That I wasn’t half naked and posing for a webcam?
Meaning?
Meaning you’re like a nun, Lily. At least girls like Molly know how to have fun.
So message her instead.
I was fuming now – really hot and wound up. If he’d been sitting next to me, I would have screamed at him.
I already have.
What?
Well – did you think I’d sit around waiting for you? I’m not some asshole needs to be treated that way.
Why are you being so mean?
Me? I’m not mean. You’re the mean one.
Is that all you wanted – some slutty pics?
The thought made me feel ill. It upset me too. Was that all I meant to him?
I wanted to be your man. I could have any girl in the world, Lily. I chose you though. Big mistake, I reckon. Molly wouldn’t have treated me this way. She knows how to enjoy herself.
The anger came back and my grip grew tighter around my phone. Who did he think he was? He knew I was insecure and he knew that his words would bother me. He had to know. All the things I’d told him about – like my self-confidence issues, and how I felt about my looks and even my dad . . .
I had trusted him and he was a dickhead. He had told me I was special, nearly convinced me, and now, with a few words, he’d taken it all away. I wanted to cry but I forced myself to be stern. I forced myself to be more like Tilly.
Love yourself much?
See? You are mean. I was just being honest. I’m a teenage boy, Lily. What’s with the old-timer attitude?
My friend just died?
I know – all the more reason to let off steam.
I can’t.
Well, I’m not sitting around waiting. You wanna play – wanna live your life – let me know. Otherwise, I’m done with this crap. I’m not being ignored by no girl.
Mum sensed my mood immediately. I hadn’t even stepped inside. Part of me was gutted by Benedict’s words – the way he’d just reinforced so many in securities. Yet I had a sense of relief too. Like I was getting away from something. I can’t even explain what or why. It was just how I felt.
‘What’s up?’ asked Mum.
I shrugged. ‘Just thinking about Max,’ I told her.
Mum shook her head. ‘There’s more, Lily – I can see you’ve been crying.’
I had. Only my tears had been about Benedict, and not my dead friend. And knowing that brought on guilt, which led to more tears. I was angry with myself for caring what Benedict thought. For wasting my tears over him. He was just some anonymous boy online. He wasn’t real, not like Kane. He wasn’t Max.
‘Nothing, honestly,’ I insisted.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, ‘but I’ll let it go. For now.’
‘Great,’ I replied. ‘Nothing like the third degree when I get home – cheers me up no end.’
Mum glared at me. ‘Dave’s here,’ she told me, ‘so lose the attitude.’
‘Yeah.’
Mum shook her head. I could see that she was annoyed with me. I was being spiky and I knew it. ‘Just come and say hello to Dave. He’s staying for dinner.’
‘Did I hear my name?’ asked Dave from the living-room door. He looked tired and his face was pasty. The dark green Leicester Tigers top he wore didn’t help.
‘Hey, Dave,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful.
‘Lily,’ he replied. ‘I’m ever so sorry about Max – I know you were close.’
I ran upstairs before any more tears came.