Another sunny day wasted at school. All I’ve done is look out of the classroom windows all day. I can see the athletics fields and stuff, and all that green makes me think of yesterday and being with Sylvia in the woods and by the brook.
Of course the school wanted to know where I’d been yesterday and I just told them I’d felt sick and gone home. I said that in case anyone had noticed me in the library. And because of what happened with Eddie, some dumb-ass kid may have said something about seeing me before the bell. So I made this stuff up about being sick and forgetting the note from my mom. There is no such note of course, and I’ll have to forge one tonight to bring in tomorrow. I’ve done it before and it has never failed, so I’m not stressed about it.
I hung around the yard when I got here this morning, looking out for Sylvia, but she never showed. I have to say that I was very disappointed. Really, I was. I thought about cutting school again and going down to that brook, as if she’d be there again. But I’m smart enough to realise just what a stupid romantic fantasy that is. I just hate people who live their lives as though things should be how they want them to be and not the way they really are. People like that are just deluded morons, and it’s because reality has a habit of intruding on their romantic notions that they are so easily rendered unhappy.
All I want to do now, really, is just sit here, staring out of the window, thinking about Sylvia and that incredible laugh she has and her hair and her smile. And the scars on the inside of her arm. What the hell is that all about? I want to spend all my time thinking about Sylvia, for sure. But I can’t. Because there is also Madeleine. I’m worried sick about Madeleine. She said she’d talk to me today, but I didn’t see her this morning – which is very unusual – so I guess I’ll have to wait until I get home. I’m hoping it’s nothing. Girls can get weepy about things sometimes. It just makes me mad and sad to see girls getting upset. It breaks my heart, it really does.
So this is how I spend my Thursday, daydreaming until the home-time bell. I don’t think I’ve spoken more than a dozen words the whole day. I’ve been in my own world. Even Eddie has been ignoring me. Not a word, not even a scowl. I wonder if he’s cooling down and realising that I’m not perving after his kid sister. It would be nice to think that things could get back to normal with old Eddie, but it’s not the most important thing on my mind as I sit alone on the bus home.
When I get home the driveway is clear, so Mom’s not back and I’ll be able to talk to Madeleine. But the house is as empty as the drive. No Mom, no Dad. No Madeleine. So I shower and change, and I lie in my room and I wonder where they are, the two most important girls in my life right now.
I’ve been lying here for an hour or so, turning my phone over between my fingers. I’m wondering whether I should call them, find out where they are, how they are doing. I haven’t as yet, because I’m disturbed by how strong the feeling is for me to do this. It makes me seem needy somehow. I don’t find that an attractive quality when I notice it in others and I sure as hell don’t want to find it in myself. But before you know it, I’m hitting the speed-dial for Madeleine’s cell phone. It rings and it rings and then after some mechanical clicking, there she is.
‘Hi. You’ve reached Maddie’s phone. I’m not talking to you right now because I’m either not available or I just don’t like you. Feel free to leave a message after the tone. Or don’t, as the case may be. Maybe I’ll get back to you, maybe I won’t. No guarantees.’
She sounds cool in the message, but I know that Madeleine would just love you to leave a message. She’d hate to think she’d missed out on anything.
I listen to Maddie’s message all the way through, even though I’ve heard it plenty of times before, just because I’m comforted by the sound of her voice. I don’t leave a message of my own though. I can’t imagine where Maddie might be, but I don’t dwell on that; not when I can be calling Sylvia.
I don’t have Sylvia’s number assigned to a speed-dial button yet, so I have to browse through the phone’s address book to find it. I find it and punch in the numbers. It rings and it rings.
‘Who the hell is that?’
Right away I’m thinking of the slob again, the slob I imagine to be Sylvia’s dad. I can hear the sound of a television blaring in the background this time, which only reinforces the image I’ve created.
‘Can I speak to Sylvia please?’
‘Christ, another one of you. She’s not here.’
And the phone is slammed down. And I’m just holding my own phone against my ear. I’m not shocked at the rudeness – come on, you know me better than that. I’m just wondering what he meant. Another one of you. Another boy? Is Sylvia seeing someone? A gazillion possible scenarios are racing through my head – most of them ones that I do not like at all.
I have to tell myself that I have only known Sylvia for a day, so it shouldn’t matter. But it goddam does matter. It really does, and I hate myself because it does. Why the hell can’t Madeleine be home? Christ, even Mom or Dad or both would be better than the empty house right now. Goddam girls. It’s absolutely impossible to like girls, I swear to God.
And I just know that I am going to continue ranting to myself like this and making myself feel worse and worse, when the little miracle happens. I hear a car pull into the drive, and before you know it, the front door opens and closes again. Mom’s home.
I throw on some cotton Dockers and a Ralph Lauren Polo shirt and go down to greet her. I find her in the kitchen. She lives in the kitchen.
‘Hi. I didn’t think anyone was home. None of the lights are on.’
And that’s true. I hadn’t thought about it, but I’ve been lying upstairs for ages and while it isn’t really dark, we’re certainly well into dusk.
‘I’ve just been lying in my room, doing some reading for school and watching TV.’
I can lie as casually as that any time I need to. It doesn’t do any harm and it gives Mom no reason to ask any questions.
‘Have you eaten anything? Do you want me to fix something for you?’ She’s saying this as she’s making herself a cup of coffee and not really looking at me.
‘No, I’m fine. I had a burger and fries at the mall on my way home.’
‘Oh, so you were at the mall. Buy anything nice?’
She still isn’t looking at me but she is at least interested now. She likes to see the clothes that Madeleine and I buy. She’s a fashionista herself, is Mom.
‘No, I was just looking… Do you know what time Maddie will be back tonight?’
It’s worth asking; she just might know, if Madeleine has spoken to her over breakfast this morning.
‘She might not be back at all. She was going to spend the day with Kirsty. Then they were going out tonight. She said she might stay over. Why, do you need her for something?’
Jeez, Mom. If you want to pry, at least try to disguise it a little. I want to say that, but I don’t.
‘No, nothing important. I just wondered where everyone was tonight.’
‘Well, your father is having dinner with clients. He said, remember?’
I don’t remember, but I don’t say anything.
‘And I’m going to have to shut myself in the study. I’ve got tons to do, so you’ll have to entertain yourself this evening.’
Now she turns to look at me.
‘Will you be alright on your own?’
This is too much. It’s not like I’m five years old or anything.
‘Mom, I’m not five. Give me a break. I’m going back to my room.’
‘I know. Sometimes I forget though. You’ll always be my little boy, Tom.’
Oh, I can’t even look at her when she’s coming out with drivel like this and I turn away in disgust. If she wasn’t my mother…
‘I’m going.’
‘Well, I’m going to be busy in the study. It’s really important that I get this work done before tomorrow, so don’t disturb me unless the house is on fire, will you?’
I can only shake my head as I turn to head back to my room.
‘Sure, Mom. If the house is on fire.’
As I climb the stairs, I wonder just what the nature of this work might be. She does this from time to time – locks herself in the study and asks not to be disturbed. Sometimes she’s on her own and sometimes she’s in there with Dad. And that’s strange because I can’t see them in there working together. They are in totally different businesses. And I have my suspicions. I have been into their study when I’ve been home alone, and I’ve fired up their computer. And I’ll tell you, what I found in the history drop-down of their web browser actually shocked me. No really, it did. Sometimes I think I’m still traumatised by it. They visit sites for swingers. I guess that’s an old-fashioned term, but I like it better than wife-swappers. I can’t be certain that they go through with it, but something tells me that they do. There are Saturday nights now and then when they go out and stay out overnight. It isn’t often, but what do you think? Yeah, I think so too. I wonder if Eddie would think of them as goddam perverts.