Beautiful Malice (9 page)

But Ben is oblivious, and I wonder if he has even realized that Alice and Robbie are an item. Alice has certainly done a good job of acting as if Robbie means nothing to her.

“But that’s not it,” Ben continues. “The really kinky bit was when—”

“Thanks, Ben,” Robbie interrupts, his voice loud and cold and sharp with sarcasm. “Thanks for that. But I think we’ve all heard enough now. And thanks, Alice, for asking such an intelligent question. ’Cause that was so interesting, just
so
great to listen to. I didn’t realize, but now I do, that seedy sex stories are what makes a game fun. Great. Thanks for that, Ben. I’ll try to be as … well, as crass as you, when my turn comes.”

Ben blushes a deep red and sucks furiously on his cocktail, and Philippa smothers a horrified, embarrassed laugh in her hand.

“My turn, my turn,” I say, falsely cheerful. I turn to Philippa expectantly, hoping that she’ll help me try to smooth everything out. “Philippa? Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Philippa says obligingly. “I love truths. Don’t you? I think they’re just hilarious. You can find out some brilliant secrets about people. And I really love hearing the questions people ask, too. They often reveal a lot more about the person asking than the person being asked, don’t you think?”

I smile at Philippa, grateful for her chatter. But it’s hard to come up with something to ask her, and I’m silent for a moment, thinking.

“Katherine.” Alice laughs. “You haven’t even got a question, have you? Let me go. Come on. One more. I’ll ask you.”

“But you’ve already had a turn,” Robbie says. “Let Katherine go.”

“We’re not playing properly, anyway. Really, it should be Ben’s turn. So it doesn’t matter, does it?” Alice says. And it’s clear now that she’s drunk. She’s speaking slowly, carefully, trying hard to enunciate each word, but the slur in her voice is obvious. “And since when did you become such an annoying stickler for the rules, Robbie? Since when did you become such a boring killjoy?”

“Killjoy?” Robbie laughs. “There’s not much joy to be killed here, Alice.”

Alice ignores him and looks at me.

“Truth or dare?” she asks.

And I hesitate while I decide. I have so many secrets, so many things I don’t want to reveal, but this is only a game, only a bit of fun. And I know that Alice’s dare won’t be something easy or straightforward. “Truth,” I say finally. “I can imagine one of your dares, and I don’t want to run down Main Street tonight naked.”

“Truth,” Alice repeats, slowly, drawing out the vowel sound as if she’s savoring the word. “Are you sure? Are you sure you can be completely honest?”

“I think so. Try me.”

“Okay.” And then she looks at me curiously. “So. Were you glad, deep down? Were you glad to be rid of her? Your perfect sister? Were you secretly glad when she was murdered?”

And it’s suddenly as if everything is coming to me in slow motion, through a hazy fog. I hear Robbie sigh with irritation and tell Alice to stop being a fool. I sense Philippa looking at me, wondering what is going on, if Alice can possibly be serious. I feel Philippa’s hand on my arm, the concern in her touch.

But I can look only at Alice’s eyes. They are cold, appraising, and her pupils are so large that all I can see is black. Hard and unyielding. Deep. Ruthless. Black.

15

W
hen I wake, it’s still dark. Sarah has left her own bed and crept into mine while I’ve slept, and her warm little body is pressed close against me. Her head is on my pillow, and I’m lying right near the edge of the mattress, so that the entire other side, more than half the bed, is empty.

I slide out of bed slowly, so as not to wake her, and grab my heavy woolen sweater from the chair where I tossed it the night before. It is cold, and I head straight to the living area and turn the gas heater on. It fills the small room with a comforting golden glow and warms it immediately. I make a pot of tea and take it to the corner of the sofa, my legs tucked beneath me.

I started waking early like this when Sarah was a newborn, and I’ve been unable to sleep late since. Sometimes I spend this time cleaning or getting ready for the day while Sarah is asleep, making her lunch, preparing her clothes, but usually I sit and sip tea, enjoy this time for myself. I don’t think about anything in particular; I’ve become very good at not thinking. I avoid making futile plans for an uncertain future, and even more than that, I want to avoid remembering the past. So I go into an almost meditative state, my brain empty, my thoughts focused only on the taste of my tea, or on the regular in and out of my breath. And often, when Sarah wakes around seven and comes out of the bedroom, crumpled and warm and scented of sleep, I’m surprised that two or more hours have passed so quickly.

But this morning I drink my tea and sit for less than an hour. I’m excited about the day ahead and can’t wait for Sarah to see the snow, can’t wait to hear her excited squeals of delight when she rides a toboggan, makes her first snowman. I want her awake and enjoying the anticipation with me, so at six I get up and make Sarah’s favorite breakfast, French toast with sliced banana and maple syrup, and a large mug of hot chocolate. I place our plates and mugs on the table and go into the bedroom to wake her up.

“Are we going to the snow now, Mommy?” Sarah asks the moment she opens her eyes. She sits up, immediately bright and alert. “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet.” I sit on the bed and hug her. “But I’ve made French toast, a big, enormous pile of it, and hot chocolate. I hope you’re very hungry.”

“Yummy yummy.” She pushes the blankets from her legs, stands up, and runs from the room, leaving me there, smiling, alone.

I follow her into the dining room and find her already kneeling on her chair, eating with gusto.

“Are you having some, Mommy?” she asks, her mouth full. “There’s enough for you.”

“I should think so.” I sit opposite and take a piece of French toast from the tray and put it on my plate. “Actually, I think there might be enough for ten.”

“I don’t think so.” Sarah shakes her head and looks serious. “I’m very hungry. I need ten today. French toast is my most favoritest.”

And she does manage to eat an extraordinary amount—and gulp down her hot chocolate between mouthfuls. And as soon as she’s finished, she scrambles down from her chair.

“I’m going to get ready now,” she says. “I think we’ve got a very big day ahead of us.”

I laugh at the way she has appropriated one of my phrases, her attempt to be grown up. “We do. A very big day. But we’ve still got lots of time.”

“I want to be ready,” she says. “I want to be ready before the sun.”

16

A
nd I hear it again. The knocking, gentle but insistent. Whoever it is has been knocking for more than ten minutes and I’m tired of trying to ignore it, sick of pretending that I’m not here.

I go to the door but don’t open it.

“Go away,” I say. “It’s the middle of the night. Go
away.”

“Katherine. It’s me, Robbie.” And his voice is so familiar and comforting, and so filled with kindness, that I almost start crying again. “And Philippa’s here, too. Please let us come in.”

“Is Alice with you?”

“No.”

I sigh and release the dead bolt. I turn and walk away down the hall without greeting them, leaving them to push the door open themselves. I know they mean well, that they are worried about me, but I’m exhausted with the events of the evening and with crying. I want to be left alone. Not to sleep—sleep won’t come—but to be miserable in private.

I head to the living room and sit on the sofa, where I’ve been curled up for the past hour. Philippa and Robbie follow me and sit on the sofa opposite.

“Alice told us,” Robbie says gently. “About your sister.”

I nod. If I talk I’ll start crying again, so I remain stubbornly silent.

“Would you prefer it if I left?” Philippa glances at Robbie and then at me. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I just wanted to be sure that Robbie found you. But I don’t want to intrude.”

I look at Philippa and shrug—she looks dreadful. Her skin is pale and she has deep shadows beneath her eyes, as if the evening has left her shell-shocked.

She sighs. “I’ll stay, then, if you don’t mind. I’m too tired right now to actually go anywhere else.”

It makes no difference to me if she stays or goes, but I’m suddenly very glad that Vivien is away for the weekend, that she’s not here to witness all this.

“Should I make tea?” Philippa says, looking pleased to have thought of something useful to do.

“I’d like some.” Robbie smiles at her gratefully. “Katherine?”

“Sure,” I say. “But I—”

“She likes it made properly,” Robbie explains to Philippa. “The pot and tea leaves are on the shelf above the kettle.”

“Are you okay?” Robbie asks once Philippa has left the room.

I nod and attempt a smile. “What a shitty night that was. I should have listened to you. I should have gone home early, like you said.” I lean forward and whisper, “Philippa thinks Alice is a complete and utter bitch. She thinks she’s got mental problems. Did she tell you that?”

Robbie shrugs. “She really was a total bitch, wasn’t she? Maybe she does have something wrong with her. Who knows? But what difference does it make, anyway? That kind of thing can’t actually be fixed. Maybe Alice is just a rotten person.”

He leans back and sighs, looks down at his knees and picks at a loose thread from his jeans. He looks tired, defeated, and very, very sad.

“What about you, Robbie? Are
you
okay?” I ask him. “You don’t look very good.”

“No. I’m not.” His eyes, which are already red, fill with tears, and he shakes his head irritably, as if to be rid of them. “It was just a crappy night all around, wasn’t it?” He laughs bitterly.

“Yes.” There’s nothing else to say. Philippa returns, and we sip our tea, quietly, without talking, each of us caught up in our own private thoughts, our own fatigue and misery.

By the time we’ve finished our tea it’s four a.m., and I persuade Robbie and Philippa that they should stay and get some sleep. I get Robbie a blanket and pillow so that he can sleep on the sofa, and ask Philippa if she minds sharing my bed. The night has been so draining and Philippa and I are both so exhausted that we are able to lie side by side, beneath the same blanket, with no awkwardness. In fact, I feel comforted by her presence. And before I close my eyes, Philippa smiles at me and takes my hand and squeezes.

“Sleep well,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say. “I think I will.”

When I wake, the sun is shining brightly and Philippa is no longer beside me. But I can hear the soft hum of voices, hers and Robbie’s, coming from next door, and I’m glad that they’re both still here, that I won’t have to face the day alone. I close my eyes again.

The next time I wake, the sun has moved from my window and I can tell by the quality of light that it is afternoon. I can no longer hear Robbie or Philippa, but I can hear the canned laughter and tinny music of the television. I get up and go to the living room.

Philippa is sitting on the sofa, watching a black-and-white movie, and she looks up as I approach. “Good morning! Or afternoon, actually. I’ve just been waiting here until you woke up. I watched this old movie,
All About Eve
. It was amazing! I think you’d like it, you should get it on DVD sometime. Robbie and I didn’t know whether you’d want to be alone today or not. And he had to go to soccer. But he said he’d come back later.” She stops talking to take a breath and smiles warmly. “Feeling better?”

“I’m good.” I sit on the sofa next to her. “Thank you for staying.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She picks up the remote control and mutes the noise of the television. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I am, actually.”

“Great. I bought the ingredients to make a salad. Tomatoes and prosciutto and asparagus and boiled eggs and stuff, my favorite salad in the world, and I got some fresh bread, too. It’s totally delicious. Do you think you’d like some? Should I make it now?”

“Oh. Wow. Yes, please. But only if you’re sure you want to. You don’t have to do all this. I’m fine. Really. But, yes, if you want to, that would be awesome.”

“Excellent.” She jumps up. “’Cause I’m starving.”

I offer to help prepare the food, but Philippa refuses, says that she can’t stand cooking with other people. So I perch on a stool in the kitchen and watch, and when it’s finished we take it out onto the balcony. We eat quickly, both of us ravenous. We don’t talk about Alice, thankfully, or Rachel, or last night, but Philippa is so naturally talkative that there is barely a moment’s silence. She is twenty-three and is getting a master’s in psychology. She tells me how fascinating it is to learn about the way people think, and how much we still don’t understand about the human mind.

“I can’t believe you’re only seventeen,” she says. “You seem much older, much more serious than most seventeen-year-olds.”

“Everyone says that.” I smile. “I don’t know whether to take it as a compliment or as an insult.”

She tells me about her little brother, Mick, and how he’s the drummer in a band that’s starting to generate a real following.

“They’re playing at The Basement on Friday night. They’re terrific. Do you want to come and see them? With me? I’d love it if you would. I love showing them off to people. They really
are
amazing.”

But before I can answer, before I can even think about whether I’ll possibly want to go out and see a band later in the week, there is a knock on the door.

“Robbie.” Philippa sets her fork down and looks inside. “He said he’d come back after his game.”

I go to the door. Just as I’m about to open it, just as I put my hand on the lock, the knocking comes again. Louder, more insistent. And I suddenly know that it’s not Robbie. He would never be so impatient.

But it’s too late to hide, to pretend not to be home; I’ve released the bolt and the door is pushed open. It’s Alice.

She’s holding an enormous bunch of red roses and wearing a clean white T-shirt and jeans. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair is tied back from her face. Her eyes are red-rimmed, as if she’s been crying, but she looks so young and innocent that it’s hard to accept that she is the same Alice that I was with last night. Seeing her now, like this, it’s almost impossible to believe that she could be malicious, that she could be the cause of so much misery.

“I’m sorry, Katherine.” Her lip starts to quiver and her eyes fill with tears. “I’m so, so sorry. I just don’t know what got into me.”

She hands me the roses and I take them, but I don’t say a word.

“I just … sometimes I just … I dunno.” And she is sobbing now, her hands up to her face, her shoulders heaving, her voice thick and broken. “Something comes over me and I lose … I just feel so—so
angry
. As if everyone is, I dunno,
judging
me or something. But I know it’s crazy because I think they’re judging me for what I’m
going
to do—what I know I’m going to do—before I’ve even done it … and then I feel I
have
to do it, to
test
them, to see if they really do care about me. And I know it’s unfair, I know I can’t really expect people to, you know, put up with this, but I can’t … I mean, I know I’m going to do something, or say something really horrible, but I can’t, I can’t stop, and then I want to do it. It’s as if I have this self-destructive compulsion to lash out at people—at the people who love me.”

I feel the hard core of my anger start to dissolve. “Come on.” I take her arm and pull her gently inside.

I get Alice a plate and she sits with Philippa and me on the balcony and we share our food. At first Philippa is wary and cold and watches Alice suspiciously. But Alice is her usual open, warm, and engaging self and she apologizes profusely for the night before. She laughs at herself and mocks her own behavior so candidly and with such self-deprecating good humor—she is contrite and ashamed and amusing all at once—that it is impossible not to forgive her. And I can tell after a while that Philippa is thawing, that despite her mistrust, she, too, is succumbing to Alice’s charm. The three of us stay outside talking and laughing well after the salad is gone and only move back inside when the sun disappears and the air is too cool to be comfortable.

“Let’s get some movies. Order pizza,” Alice says.

“Oh. I don’t know,” I say. “I really need some sleep.”

“We won’t stay late,” Alice says. “And I just don’t want this day to end yet, do you? We’re having too much fun. I don’t want to go home and be alone tonight.” She goes to Philippa and takes hold of her arm with both hands. “Please, Philippa? Let me prove that I’m not really that awful witch you met last night. I’ll go and get the movies. And some food. And you two don’t have to do a thing. Or spend a cent. It’s on me tonight. Please?” She looks at us, imploring. “For me? Please?”

Philippa looks at me. “It’s up to Katherine. It’s her place. She’s probably sick of us.”

I shrug. “I’m actually hungry again, if you can believe it,” I say. “And vegging out in front of a movie sounds good.”

We find a menu for one of the local pizza places and choose what we want. Both Philippa and I offer to go with Alice, to help her carry everything, to contribute some money, but she refuses our offers, insists that she wants it to be her treat entirely and sets off on her own.

When she’s gone, Philippa and I go to the kitchen to wash up the salad plates.

“She’s not as crazy as you thought, is she?” I say.

Philippa has her hands in the dishwater, and she keeps her eyes down as she answers. “She can be very nice. Very likable.”

“Yes.” I elbow her playfully. “But you’re not answering my question. I mentioned the word
crazy
.”

It makes me feel a little disloyal to be talking about Alice, a very close friend, with someone that I’ve only just met. But I like Philippa. She is obviously very smart, but she’s also warm and kind and interestingly quirky, and I hope very much that we’re going to be friends, too. Already I trust her judgment and value her opinion.

Philippa sighs, takes her hands from the water, and wipes them off on her jeans. She looks at me and shrugs. “I still think she might be a little crazy. You know, one of those super-extreme people. The kind of person my dad would call ‘high-maintenance.’”

“But that’s a parent’s perspective.” I laugh gently to soften the impact of what I’m about to say. “And that’s a bit cold, isn’t it? A bit … well, she’s a
person
. And she doesn’t act like that all the time. I’ve never seen her like that before. And she’s my friend. And in lots of ways she’s an excellent friend. Honestly, you haven’t seen how generous and kind she can be. So should I really just dump her? Dump her and run because it’s a hassle to have a friend like that? I think it’s a bit … well, a bit wrong to treat people like that.”

“Oh.” Philippa stares at me. She looks both surprised and sad all at once. “You’re probably right. But that’s a very nice way to look at it. I’m clearly not as nice as you, because I probably would dump her. I’d probably dump her and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction.”

I’m mildly embarrassed by her penetrating gaze and busy myself putting plates and cups away. “It’s just that I know what it’s like to feel … to feel like people don’t want to be with you because it’s all just too hard. After my sister died, I got that feeling a
lot
. From all of my closest friends. They were all concerned and kind and they tried so hard … but it was such a fun time for everyone else. It was the end of the school year and there were dances and parties and all that. No one wanted to sit with me in my room and cry. No one wanted me coming to their party, ’cause they’d have to worry about me, you know, look out for me and try and make me happy. I was just a drag. And I couldn’t blame them. I knew that I was a downer. I knew nobody wanted to think about death and murder and tragedy … but I
had
to. It was my life.” I shrug, surprised by my own words. I haven’t actually thought any of this through before; these ideas are more or less forming as I speak. But they feel real. They feel
right
. “I just think that if you’re a true friend, you have to take people as they are. The fun times and the boring times. The good and the bad.”

“I can see what you mean. I totally get it.” Philippa pulls the stopper and starts to wipe around the sink. “But I still don’t think you should be friends with people who bring a lot of negative crap into your life. I wouldn’t. No way. But that doesn’t mean you should do what I would, does it? I mean, we’re all different, aren’t we? We all have to make our own way in this crazy world.” And I can tell that she’s making an effort to keep her voice warm and nonconfrontational. She wants us to be friends as much as I do.