Authors: Penelope Bush
I can feel myself going red as she hits on the truth. We had actually had a really good time today, shopping and doing my make-over, but now my ulterior motive has been uncovered it does seem like I was just using Imogen.
Although a part of me feels really bad, there’s another part that is angry. If Imogen was any kind of friend I could have told her about my date. I could have asked her to cover for me and everything we did this afternoon would have been her helping me and supporting me. So it’s not my fault, it’s hers – for not understanding.
OK, so I didn’t tell her what was happening and that I had a date and give her a chance to help me, but somehow I just knew that she’d be dismissive of the whole thing and tell me I was wasting my time with him. It doesn’t help that she would have been right, either. Perhaps I ought to point this out to her. It doesn’t look like I’m going to get a chance, though, because Imogen hasn’t finished yet on ‘the failings of Alice Watkins’.
‘Your mum’s right. You are selfish. All you ever think about is yourself. You’re always going on about how terrible your life is, but you don’t know how lucky you are. If you think your life is horrible, you ought to try mine.’
I know my mouth is hanging open, but I can’t seem to close it. What is Imogen going on about? How could she side with my mum? What does she mean, ‘lucky’?
‘At least you’ve got a mum and dad,’ I say, ‘and you live in a nice house, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.’
‘Big bloody deal!’ Imogen says. ‘You live in a nice house and you have a mum and a dad, they just happen to be divorced. Well, I wish my parents were divorced; then I wouldn’t have to put up with both of them. All they care about is each other. I don’t even know why they bothered having me – I just get in their way. All they do is slobber over each other – it’s sick! I feel like a bloody lodger! In my own home! Except it isn’t a home and we’re not a family and I can’t wait to get out of there.’
Imogen is nearly in tears now and I don’t know what to say. Then I remember earlier when I was thinking about her and her mum.
‘But your mum,’ I tell her, ‘at least you’ve got something in common with her. You know – her being an artist and everything.’ If I was hoping that this would cheer Imogen up, I couldn’t have been further off the mark.
‘My mum’s not a bloody artist,’ spits Imogen. ‘Just because she thinks she is doesn’t make her one. Throwing paint at a canvas doesn’t make you an artist.’ Imogen’s voice is oozing contempt. ‘You know, my mum can’t even draw. She hates the fact that I can draw – she hates the stuff I do – the manga and
my sketch books. She hates ME! I just get in the way of her precious life and her self-obsession.’
I’m amazed. I’ve always been jealous of Imogen’s life; the fact that she doesn’t have an annoying brother and that her parents are still together and that she has such a nice bedroom and everything. But if it’s true about her mum then I don’t blame her for wanting to go away to boarding school.
I’m just thinking about apologising to Imogen and sympathising with her and promising to be a better friend but I don’t get the chance. She’s standing up now and pointing an accusing finger at me.
‘If you stopped to look, you’d see how great your mum really is,’ Imogen is going on. ‘At least she cares about you, and if you weren’t so horrible to her all the time and tried to help instead of making everything more difficult for her, then you might realise that there’s nothing wrong with your life except YOU. Why are you so angry all the time? You’re horrid to your little brother and I don’t know why you hate him because he’s actually really cute. I’d give anything to have a little brother or a mum that cared about me.’ She’s practically shouting now.
I jump up off the sofa and face her. ‘How dare you presume to know what my life is like!’ I yell.
I’m really mad now because she’s supposed to be my friend and she’s starting to sound exactly like my mum. In fact, I’m about to point this out to her when Mum comes back in. She’s obviously been crying about Miss Maybrooke and she must have also had time to think because she says to me, apparently oblivious to the fact that Imogen and I have been shouting at
each other, ‘You still haven’t explained to me where you went.’
Imogen folds her arms across her chest and glowers at me. ‘Yes, where did you go?’
This is too much. Way, way too much.
‘I’m waiting for an answer, young lady.’ I hate it when Mum calls me that. They’re both standing there, staring at me. I really have had enough of people staring accusingly at me for one day.
‘I’ll tell you where I went. I went to meet a
friend
.’ As I emphasise the last word I stare directly at Imogen. She makes a sort of snorting noise through her nose as if to say, ‘Yeah, right!’
‘Friend? What friend?’ demands Mum. I’m not about to tell her, but I decide to let Imogen know what happened.
‘I met my friend, but they were supposed to be looking after their step-sister – who was having a party,’ I explain, desperately trying to avoid the ‘he’ word. ‘Anyway, some
idiot
,’ again I glare at Imogen, ‘advertised the party on the internet and all these gatecrashers turned up and trashed the house and we had to go there and get rid of them . . .’
I’m going to carry on but Mum, as usual, completely misses the point and says in her ‘incredulous’ voice, ‘Are you telling me that you left Imogen here – on her own – to watch Rory, while you went to a
party
?! And didn’t even tell her where you were going?’
‘I didn’t go to a party!’ I yell at Mum. ‘I went to meet a friend. Someone who . . .’ I’m about to say ‘someone who’s really nice to me, and understands me, and likes me and isn’t about to abandon me and we had a really good time’, but then
I remember the bet and the reason for Seth being there and being ‘really nice’ and that’s when I finally lose it and burst into tears. I don’t mean I have tears falling gracefully down my cheeks, I mean great, ugly, gut-wrenching sobs.
‘I knew it,’ says Imogen. ‘You went to meet that boy.’
‘What boy?’ says Mum.
‘He’s in the Sixth Form —’ begins Imogen. That does it. She’s colluding with my mum and I don’t think I’m ever going to forgive her.
‘I hate you! I hate you both!’ I scream. Not very original, I know, but I’m under pressure here. I storm out into the hall and grab my coat. Mum’s followed me out.
‘Where do you think —?’ she begins but I open the front door and yell at her, ‘I’m going to Dad’s. I’m going to
live
at Dad’s,’ and I slam the door so hard that the stained glass rattles. It opens again as I get to the gate.
‘Alice! Come back here —’ I don’t wait for the ‘immediately’. Instead I slam the gate as hard as I can, so the broken latch rattles, and glare at my mother over the top.
‘Never!’ I shout, copying Rory’s favourite retort, and run down the road.
I’m running down the same streets that I ran down earlier with Seth, only then I felt happy and full of nervous excitement. Now I feel . . . I don’t know . . . everything opposite. Angry, very angry. I never want to see Imogen or my mum ever again. I hate them. I don’t care that I’ve argued with Imogen. What does it matter now she’s not going to be here anyway. Maybe I can swap schools when I’m living with Dad. Then I can just start again.
This thought actually cheers me up a little bit. I’m worried
that they’ll be following me, though, so when I get to the hole in the park railings I squeeze through and push my way through the undergrowth. I’m still scared, like I was earlier. It does occur to me that to enter the park at night – alone – is not the action of a sane person, but as I’m not feeling particularly sane at the moment, I don’t care. I’m still so angry. If a pervert jumped out of the bushes and attacked me, I’d very probably kill him.
All I have to do is ring Dad and get him to come and pick me up. The only problem is I’ve only got his home number and it’s half past nine on a Saturday night so he’s bound to be in the pub. As I get my phone and dial his number, I pray that married life has changed him and that he’s sitting cosily at home with his new wife.
I’m expecting the phone to ring and ring but it’s snatched up immediately.
‘Gary? Is that you?’ It’s Trish and she sounds funny.
‘It’s Alice. Is Dad there?’ A stupid question really. Obviously he’s not there or why would she think he was ringing her?
‘No.’
I wait for her to expand on this, but there’s just a silence on the other end.
‘Will he be back soon?’
Again, ‘No.’
‘Can you give me his mobile number?’
‘No.’
This is getting weird. I really don’t need this. I just want my dad.
‘Trish, I really need to talk to him. It’s an emergency. Just
give me his mobile number . . . please.’
‘There’s no point. He hasn’t got it switched on.’
‘But I really need to talk to him.’ I’m squeaking now.
‘You and me both. I haven’t heard from him for two days.’
‘What do you mean? Has he gone away on business?’
Trish starts laughing. I hold the phone away from my ear, but even from there I can hear the hysterical note in that laugh. All the time I’ve been talking to her I’ve been walking and now I’ve reached the playground. I perch on the edge of the roundabout and put the phone back to my ear. There is a strange sound coming from the other end. The laughing is punctuated by sobs and then there is no more laughter, just sobbing.
‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.’ Trish is raving. I don’t think she’s even talking to me, she’s just going on. ‘I should have known . . . I mean, I know he hates kids . . . I knew that . . . The way he’s always complaining about the ones he’s got . . . Why didn’t I listen . . . I thought it would be different . . . I thought it would be all right if
we
had one . . . and now look . . . he’s left me. He said he thought I didn’t want a baby . . . that I was too taken up with my career . . . but I did . . . I do . . . I do want this baby . . . I thought it was going to be OK . . . I mean he married me, didn’t he? And then when I started buying things for the baby . . . he just . . . and now he’s GONE.’
‘What do you mean he’s gone? I need to talk to him!’
‘Haven’t you been listening? I’m pregnant, and he’s left me.’
‘Yes, but where is he?’
‘I DON’T KNOW!’
Now I’m crying as well. I was going to go to Dad’s and now
he’s not there. I can’t go home. No way.
‘Trish? Can I come over?’
‘What?’
‘I was going to ask Dad if I could come and live with you.’
‘What!’
‘The thing is . . . I can’t live at home any more . . . I could help you with the baby . . .’
‘What, like you
help
with Rory?’ I don’t like the way she says ‘help’, like I never do. That is so unfair.
‘But this will be different . . .’
‘How will it be different? I’ll tell you how it will be different. I’ll be the single mother of two. Not only will I have to look after a baby on my own, I’ll also have a selfish, self-obsessed teenager to cope with as well.’
‘But I’ll help you!’
‘You don’t know the meaning of the word! The only person you’ve ever helped is yourself. You’re just like your dad. Well, I’ll tell you something. I don’t want to have anything to do with him any more, which means I never have to see you again, either. I never want to hear the name Watkins again. I’m going to give the baby
my
surname. If you want to go and live with your dad, fine! You deserve each other. That is if you can find him! Don’t you dare come here. I won’t be here anyway. I’m going to my mum’s.’
And she hangs up on me! The cow. Why was she saying all those horrible things to me?
I’m still crying. I just sit there letting the tears roll down my face. It’s very quiet. I’m not so scared any more, though. Nobody in their right mind would be out in the park tonight.
It’s freezing. Of course, I’m not in my right mind, which is why I’m here.
I’m surprised the tears aren’t freezing on my face. I haven’t got any gloves. I’ll probably get frostbite. In fact, I’ll probably freeze to death, because I’m not going home. I’ll just have to stay here in the park. They’ll find my frozen body in the morning. Then they’ll be sorry.
I hate them all. I hate my life. I hate me. I hate Seth. Sitting here on the roundabout where I got my first proper kiss, I think back to how it was. He ought to get an Oscar for his performance. I really thought he liked me. I thought we were having a great time together. How could he have kissed me like that and not meant it? I feel so humiliated.
It was a great kiss, though. I jump off the roundabout and start to push it round until it’s going as fast as I can get it. I hop on and sit there trying to remember the kiss. I shut my eyes.
He leant in and our lips met. His lips were lovely and warm even though his nose was cold. Mmmm. It was nice. Bastard!
Suddenly I’m aware that the roundabout isn’t slowing down. It ought to be. I open my eyes and twist round to see if someone has sneaked up on me and is pushing it. For a moment I almost expect to see Seth – grinning at me.
There’s nobody there, but the roundabout is getting faster! I think about jumping off, but I daren’t. I’m clinging on to the rail trying not to get thrown off. And then a seriously freaky thing happens. The roundabout stops spinning. I know this because I don’t have to hold on any more as I’m not being pulled towards the edge by the force. The only problem is
everything else continues to spin. The park and the sky and the moon and the stars are all spinning madly around the roundabout. I’m beginning to feel sick. And then the roundabout starts spinning again in the opposite direction to the rest of the world, and I’m taken by surprise at how fast it speeds up. I don’t get a firm enough hold on the rail and I’m slipping and I can’t hold on. I feel myself being flung off the roundabout and I’m waiting to hit the ground only it seems to be taking forever, and while I’m waiting I’m seeing all the people that I hate – Mum and Imogen and Rory and Seth and Sasha and Dad and Trish – and then
nothing.
The first thing I notice is that it’s daytime and sunny. It should be dark. I mean, it was about nine-thirty in the evening when I got into the park. Now I’m lying on the ground under a blue sky and the sun is shining. Was I knocked out? Have I been lying here all night?