This is my version of our argument and I hope you’ll accept it as an apology. I think it would be a shame if we weren’t ever friends again.
It was just after the European History exam. You came out dishevelled, looking exhausted.
“That was really solid,” you said. “Did you do the question on Nazi Germany? Or Russia? Did you put in about Rasputin?”
You always liked to dissect the paper afterwards to make sure you were right, that you’d put down what everyone else had. I had reasons of my own for not wanting to discuss the paper. I let you witter on. It was French in the afternoon so neither of us had an exam. I wondered if you were going over to the canteen for lunch or were just going to stay in the common room and eat sandwiches.
“This exam’s done my head in,” you said. “I wasn’t able to revise properly because I’ve got problems with Brad.”
“Problems? I thought he was really into you?”
Our conversation was cut short. As we entered the common room we saw there was something big going on. There was a crowd in the corner by the coffee machine and just about everybody else who was in the common room was looking over there. There was someone in the middle of the crowd sobbing. We glanced at each other, both mystified. Only it was impossible not to be a ghoul in a situation like that, so we wandered over.
It was Melissa in the middle of the crowd, Melissa sobbing. She looked genuinely distraught. As much as I loathe her, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Maybe someone had died or something. Maybe she was having an exam panic. I nudged Fliss and asked her what the problem was. Fliss turned to us, glad to able to do her part in relaying the news.
“Last night Melissa’s car was broken into. While she was in it! She was at the lights, just waiting for them to change, and there was like a big explosion and someone had thrown a brick through her window, and took her bag and she had everything in it. Her purse, her mobile, her make-up. It was awful.”
I admit, it sounded horrific. Once we’d come home and someone had tried to break in while we were out but the alarm frightened him off. That was spooky enough.
“But why is she crying now?” I asked Fliss.
Fliss’s tone was hushed, deferential.
“Well, she didn’t sleep at all last night, the police came round and everything. And they said it was unlikely she’d see her bag again. And she had this new phone, a silver Motorola Wings with her initials engraved, and over a hundred people in her address book, and she’s lost all their numbers. And she’s got her French exam now, and she came in early to tell the Head of Sixth, and, like, re-living it all has brought it all back.”
It was mean of me to think that perhaps Melissa was milking it. By now I reckoned she should have come round. It occurred to me that maybe she was acting up so if she did badly in her French there would be an excuse. Then I hated myself for being so uncharitable. How would I have liked to have been in Melissa’s predicament? It was odd how, even though she was such a vile person, so up herself and mean to other people, I still kind of felt sorry for her. I mean, I would have preferred this not to have happened to her. So there must be some good in me. But not a lot, because despite that, I still reckoned she was enjoying the attention. Girls were scurrying around, bringing her drinks, tissues, trying to cheer her up, telling her that her parents would buy her another phone, and hey, what a brilliant opportunity to get a whole new set of make-up!
You pushed through the crowd, didn’t you, Lucy? You paid your respects. You knelt by her and held her hand. She looked at you in mournful gratitude. Poseur, I thought, and again hated myself for my reaction. I was becoming all twisted and cynical. Some of Mel’s friends were saying school should let her sit the French exam tomorrow instead. That it was mean of the Head of Sixth to make her do the paper today. Didn’t the idiots realise it was an external paper and couldn’t be shifted?
It made me want to throw up, the way all the girls were secretly revelling in Melissa’s disaster. It was like they fed off tragedy. It gave them all a chance to get maternal and show how loving and caring they all were. Scoring niceness points. It was such a girlie thing to do. The boys just stood around looking awkward. Brad was there, waiting to talk to you.
In the end I decided to leave the crowd. I wasn’t wanted. I had some crisps in my school bag and helped myself to those. I sat on one of the armchairs by the window looking over the playground. The common room itself used to be a music room, but then the school filled it with easy chairs and coffee tables and gave it to the sixth form. It still felt like an old classroom, and its makeover sat as uncomfortably on it as a pinny on my Dad. The easy chairs were old, anyway, and there was a rumour that they were infested with fleas or something. They were certainly manky enough.
To be honest, I don’t know why I wanted to stay at school. Looking round the common room then I thought it was the place I least wanted to be in the world. But it was familiar. It had in it all the people I knew, who I’d grown up with. They drove me mad at times, but I couldn’t imagine being without them. School was the pits, but pits were hidden away and comfortable and hard to get up and out of. Not being at school was hard to imagine. Like not being part of your family.
One of the teachers came in then and spirited Melissa away. The group surrounding her broke up. Brad went up to you and you had a few words with him, then made your way over to me. He left the common room.
“Oh, God,” you said. “Oh, God. I wish I knew what to do.”
I offered you a crisp. You shook your head. You said you couldn’t eat. I encouraged you to tell me what the problem was. I was kind of curious.
“I wish I knew,” you said. “I think I feel the same way about him, but it’s like, he’s always there and there’s no magic any more. Yeah, the magic has gone.”
“Was there magic before?” I prompted.
“In the beginning, before I was sure he really liked me, and when we were first going out. But now – oh, I don’t know. He rings me every night and then when everyone went clubbing last Saturday he didn’t want to go and I ended up round at his place watching TV with his family and it was like, everybody else was having a good time, and you know…”
“You mean you wanted to go out without him?”
“No! Well, yeah, but not to get off with anyone.”
“You’re finding him boring?”
“No! We know each other really well. I know what he’s thinking sometimes. We’re so close, closer than I’ve been with anyone. Like we’re married or something. Like an old married couple.”
I pulled a face. “So you want to dump him?”
“No!” you said again. “I can’t imagine not going out with him. But, Cath, is it normal to fancy someone else while you’re going out with another person?”
“I should guess so. Otherwise so many marriages wouldn’t end in divorce.”
“Did you fancy anyone else when you were going out with Taz?”
“No.”
“Say you did!”
“Why? To make you feel better?” I know I was being ratty but I had one of those black moods coming over me. Partly because of the exam we’d just had, partly because I hated myself because of my mixed reaction to Melissa, partly because I didn’t feel like playing the role of counsellor just then. And partly because I needed a drink and you wouldn’t leave me alone. I couldn’t think how to get to the toilets and leave you.
“You know Nick Ingram in the Upper Sixth? I was talking to him at the bus stop. He’s cute. But I shouldn’t be thinking like that, should I?”
“You can think what you like.”
“But if my feelings were strong enough for Brad, I wouldn’t notice other guys. I’d be like, totally into him. And then my mum says I should be playing the field at my age, I’m too young to have a steady boyfriend.”
“Playing the field?” I questioned. “It’s not a blood sport.”
You looked at me weirdly. I felt mean, though there was no reason why I shouldn’t be mean. Why do people have to be so bloody nice to each other all the time? Especially girls. I thought you needed a reality dose. It was clear to me you and Brad were past your sell-by date. And that you were using me as a sounding board, or as someone to give you permission to dump him. And I was measuring with my eyes the distance between where we were sitting and the door, from which I could quickly exit to the toilets.
“Only if I finished with him it would break his heart. And Nick Ingram – like, if I was single, would he ask me out? That wouldn’t be why I was dumping Brad, though – but if he didn’t ask me out… But maybe he’s talking to me because I am going out with someone and I’m safe. But I love Brad – it’s not just physical, it’s deeper that that. He wants us to go on holiday together. Which might be cool, only it’s with his parents. Which would be sad, don’t you think? Oh, God, why is life so difficult? Like, first I was desperate for a boyfriend and now there are all these possibilities.”
“I know what you could do with,” I interrupted. “A drink.”
“Too right,” you said.
“I’m serious,” I replied. “Do you fancy one right now?”
“What? You mean go down the pub? But what if a teacher sees us? That happened to Shelley and Rachel. They were in the Wellington and the whole of the Maths department walked in.”
“No. I’ve got some stuff with me.”
You looked baffled.
“Come here.”
You followed me, curious. I took my bag and we went to the sixth form girls’ toilets. Luckily no one was around. Stink of perfume and stale cigarette smoke. Smears on the mirrors. Peeling plaster. I took out my flask, unscrewed the top.
“Vodka,” I said. I gulped some down. “Here. Help yourself.”
But you didn’t. Your forehead creased in puzzlement. Then you began to piece things together, assemble the jigsaw.
“I’ve seen you with that flask before,” you said. “But I just thought it was coffee.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed.
“Cath,” you said slowly. “You shouldn’t be bringing alcohol into school.”
I raised my eyebrows at you being such a prig.
“No,” you persisted. “You’ll get caught. But it’s not just that.”
“What is it, then?” I challenged you.
“You’ve not been drunk in school, have you?”
I staggered around the toilets, playing the fool.
“Cath, be serious! Like, it sounds as if you have a problem!”
A problem! Here we go again. Girls getting off on other girls’ problems. Next thing you’d be going to see Mrs Dawes, telling all our mates. Cath’s got a drink problem! What shall we do? Shall we take her to Alcoholics Anonymous? Poor Cath! I feel so sorry for her!
“No, Lucy,” I said. “No – you’re the one with the problem.”
“Listen to yourself! You never used to be like that. You used to be so nice, so sweet. You’ve changed, you know. And I thought it was Taz and all those moshers you’ve been hanging out with. But now I can see it isn’t. You’ve been drinking secretly. It’s affecting your character.”
“It’s not the bloody drink,” I said, furious. “I’ve bloody grown up. Unlike some people I could mention.” I was vicious, defensive.
“What are you saying?” you asked, trembling. I could see I’d really upset you. You were close to tears – no, I think you actually did cry. Only I can’t say for sure because I was blinded by a red film of anger. How dare you interfere with my drinking, with my life, making out as if you were so much cleverer than me? You seemed just like my parents or the teachers.
“I’m saying just get off my back, Lucy. Don’t meddle with what you can’t understand.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this!”
“You’d better believe it,” I said. “Just piss off, will you!”
You left the toilets in floods of tears.
I stood there paralysed. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I’d dissed you, I’d sworn at you. Believe me – I didn’t hate you really – we’d been best friends for so long. I felt like a vandal. Like one of the blokes who had smashed the window of Melissa’s car, an emotional thug. Me, of all people. It was like my passion for destroying things was getting the better of me. Or that I didn’t know what it was I really wanted to destroy so I chose you, because you were near at hand and a soft target. Or was it the drink? Deep down, I didn’t think it was. The mood came first; the drink was a way of coping. Or was it?
I felt like crying now, only crying was weak. I felt sick, light-headed. I went into one of the cubicles. Then I did cry, big silent sobs. I banged my head against the wall. I felt like hurting myself. I understood then why some people went in for self-harm. I couldn’t bear to think of what I had just done. You see, I hated myself much more than I hated you.
I did text you an apology but you never replied. Brad said you needed time. Maybe if term hadn’t ended so soon we would have had to make friends. I never meant to hurt you. But now in the light of all that happened afterwards, you might be able to forgive me.
Please.