Authors: Claire Hennessy
Chapter Seventy-Four
Lose yourself in the beat. Lose yourself in the music and you can forget that your boyfriend’s checking out another girl, I thought to myself.
What did I care, anyway, if he liked Fiona? I didn’t want him to be with me if he didn’t want it, out of some sense of duty. I could have a good time even without him. There were a couple of girls from school there and there was a group of us dancing together, just enjoying the music. I pulled Hugh closer and whispered in his ear, “Look, just do whatever you want, okay?”
He looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been staring at Fiona all night. If you like her, just go for it. I don’t care anymore.”
He stared at me for a moment. “Are you mad at me or something?”
“No,” I said patiently, and then continued to dance, watching Abi and her boyfriend out of the corner of my eye.
***
Somehow, even though I’m not really talking to Barry, I feel better just knowing that he doesn’t hate me. Everything’s going to be okay, it’s not the end of the world, my friendship with him isn’t ruined forever.
It makes me feel like I can face – well, maybe not
anything
, but some things.
And so I’m waiting at Hugh’s door. His dad answers and lets me in, calling Hugh from upstairs.
I feel weird being in this house, like I don’t really belong now that Hugh and I aren’t going out, even though it was almost like a second home to me when I was younger.
“Heya,” he says, looking startled to see me.
“Hey,” I say.
He hovers for a moment, not sure whether to sit beside me on the couch or take the armchair. In the end he opts for the armchair. “So . . .” he prompts.
I give him a small smile. “I just wanted to apologise for last night,” I start. “I was –”
“Nah, I shouldn’t have asked, don’t worry about it,” he says.
We sit there awkwardly for a little while before I ask, “So, how are things with Fiona?”
“Great, great,” he says. He senses this is his cue. Good boy. “I’m sorry, Em. About Fiona, I mean. I know you said it was okay, but I still feel shitty for going off with her.”
“It’s okay,” I say, because that’s what I’m supposed to say. It’s amazing how finally hearing those words can make a difference, though.
“And we haven’t really talked, and – I miss you,” he says.
“I miss you too,” I smile, and I get up and hug him.
“I’m sorry for the other thing, too,” he says, and I inhale sharply. I didn’t know he even realised that that had been an issue.
“It’s okay,” I say again, because that’s as much of an apology as I’m going to get out of him, but it’s enough. Enough for me to let go. Forgive but not forget.
Chapter Seventy-Five
It’s sunny on Friday and we’re sitting outside at lunch-time again. Roisín, Sarah and Fiona are talking about some reality TV show. Abi turns to me and says, “Hey, have you been talking to Declan?”
“I texted him on Monday,” I say. “Not since then, no.”
“He’s starting therapy, you know,” she says.
My jaw drops. “What? Seriously?”
She nods. “Yeah, his dad saw his arms and freaked out about it. At first he thought someone else was doing it, but then Declan told him he was doing it to himself, and actually put a cigarette out in his arm in front of his dad, just to prove it –”
“God, he’s really messed up,” I mutter.
“He has problems, Emily,” she says quietly before continuing. “Anyway, he’s starting next week, I think.”
“Good for him,” I say. “Though I suppose he’ll be going around now acting like we should all be really nice to him because he’s in
therapy.”
“Oh, stop,” she says, but it’s only half-hearted, I think. “He’s not that bad.”
“Did he tell you all this personally?” I ask.
She shrugs. “He texts me sometimes, that’s all.”
“I see,” I say. “When he needs someone to listen to him whine.”
“Nah, not really,” she says. “He thinks I’m more screwed-up than he is, so he doesn’t feel like he can, you know?”
“Still . . . watch out. He can be really draining,” I warn her.
“He is messed up,” she says, “but I still feel – I don’t know . . . like I’m on his side. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, kinda,” I say. “How are you doing?” She knows what I mean.
“Doing okay,” she smiles.
“Good to hear,” I say, and I hug her.
And from somewhere close by I can hear Wendy saying, “God, wouldn’t you think they’d give it a break in school?
“Who?” one of her friends asks.
“Emily Keating and her
girlfriend,”
she says distastefully.
Abi, Roisín, Sarah and Fiona look at me.
“Can we kill her?” Abi mutters.
“Ignore her,” Roisín says at the same time.
I’m already standing up and walking right over there.
“Wendy?” I say sweetly.
She and her friends are smirking. “Yeah?”
“Firstly, Abi’s not my girlfriend. Secondly, I was just hugging her. Thirdly – I’m sorry you have a problem with me and my orientation. I have a problem with your very
existence,
so I think we’re even. But if you ever talk about me in that tone ever again, I swear I will beat the crap out of you.”
She and her friends are still smirking. “Dyke,” she says, as I start to walk back to my friends.
Violence is not the answer. Violence is
never
the answer.
So I only hit her once before going back, very calmly, to the others. She’s not even hurt and she’s too taken aback by it to retaliate until it’s too late.
“I think you got your point across.” Sarah grins.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, and then we’re all laughing.
“Hey, Emily?” Maria calls over. “Way to go.”
“Good aim,” Christine adds with a smile.
“I can’t believe I just did that,” I say, as it starts to sink in properly.
“Sorry you did?” Roisín asks.
I shrug. “Nope. She had it coming.”
Sarah nods. “She really did. She’s a cow.”
We eat the rest of our lunch in peace, after the buzz dies down. I can’t help but feel a little bit proud for standing up for myself. And my kind. Oh, God, political awareness and gay-rights campaigning, here I come . . .
Chapter Seventy-Six
Four things of note happen over the weekend.
The first is that I actually do some of the homework that I’ve been given. I get an Irish essay and French revision questions done.
The second is Janet coming home and telling me that she realises she reacted ‘over-harshly’ to seeing me and Lucy together, and that she should have been more supportive. I tell her that I’m not going out with Lucy. She seems relieved.
The third is that I actually fill out the application for the film course this summer. I figure it can’t hurt, and it feels like another good move, taking a step towards being what I’d like to be.
The fourth is that when I turn on my phone on Sunday morning, there’s a missed call from a number I only vaguely recognise. I don’t have the number stored on my phone, but I’m pretty sure it’s Jeremy’s. It’s weird that he’d call me. I haven’t heard from him in ages, not since he and Barry broke up. I like him, even if his inability to deal with being gay bothers me sometimes and meant that he was a total asshole towards Barry.
There’s no message, and when I call the number, there’s no answer. I’ll call him later. In the meantime, I’m supposed to be going over to Hugh’s house today.
***
When I get there, there’s a few guys in his year there, with white faces, talking about this guy they knew that killed himself yesterday. I hear phrases: “. . . can’t believe he . . .”, “. . . never saw it coming . . .”, “he was a bit depressed, but I never thought . . .”
My heart starts pounding. Oh, God, Declan. “Who was it?” I ask them, panicking wildly. Oh God. He’s done it, he’s finally done it, and I wasn’t able to stop him. I wasn’t there for him. I tried and I tried and in the end it just wasn’t enough, and I can’t help but feel as though it’s all my fault.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
“Jeremy Carter,” one of them says. “He’s – uh, was – in our year.”
Oh. Holy. Crap. No way. My heart starts beating normally for a second, and then returns to the pounding as soon as I remember. The phone call.
“Are you going to be okay?” I ask Hugh, who’s looking pretty shaken. He looks exactly like I feel.
“Yeah,” he says.
“I think – I’d be better off going. I don’t want to intrude, I mean, I didn’t know the guy that well,” I say awkwardly.
Except that we used to talk and he called me last night and my phone was switched off and maybe if I’d actually answered that call he’d still be alive. Oh God.
He nods. “Okay,” he says, and I hold him tightly before I leave.
They don’t even know that he and Barry knew each other. They avoided each other in school even when they were going out, so no one would suspect anything. Part of me understands why, after the Abi scandal. I have to go and talk to him. I’m in shock; I can’t even imagine how badly he must feel.
Shane is leaving Barry’s house when I arrive. “Hey, Emily,” he says.
“Hey,” I say.
“Did you hear?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Does Barry know?”
“Yeah, I came over to tell him. I figured he wouldn’t want to hear it over the phone.”
I stare at him for a moment. “You know about – the two of them?”
He nods. “Yeah. I think I’m the only one Barry told. Apart from you, I mean.”
“Hugh doesn’t even – he still thinks Barry’s straight,” I say.
“Seriously?” Shane says in surprise. “God.”
“Is Barry okay?” I ask.
“I think he’s in shock,” Shane says. “I would have stayed, but he said he wanted to be alone, so –”
“Oh, maybe I shouldn’t –”
“Nah, I think he’ll want to see you.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
We are lying on his bed, fully clothed, with the duvet pulled over our heads, and I am holding him as tightly as is humanly possible.
My shoulder is still damp from his tears. The crying’s over for the moment. Now all I can do is be here for him.
Every so often he will say something about Jeremy, and I will listen, and stroke his hair, and kiss his forehead. I don’t say anything. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make him feel better, and the helplessness makes me frustrated.
I stay the night, because the night’s the worst time to be alone, and when I leave in the morning he says, “Thanks, Emily.”
I don’t feel like I should be thanked. He doesn’t know about the phone call. I need to tell him, but not now. Not yet.
“Call me if you need to talk,” I say quietly, and hug him again before I begin the walk home.
As I walk, I try to tell myself that it is ridiculous to assume that Jeremy’s suicide and the fact that he broke up with Barry because he couldn’t handle being in a gay relationship are not connected.
I tell myself that everyone has problems. Declan’s completely messed up, and he’s straight, apart from a bit of under-the-influence experimentation.
And I tell myself that it is okay that I wasn’t able to answer his call, that I shouldn’t blame myself for his death.
I can’t convince myself.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
I tell him the day before the funeral.
“He called my phone on Saturday night,” I say.
Barry knows right away who I’m talking about.
“It was turned off. He didn’t leave a message. I –” And I’m crying, at the thought of it – at the thought of it being that simple. No one answers the phone, so go and kill yourself. I know, logically, that it’s not my fault, but logic and me have never been particularly great friends and it’s very hard to apply logic to a situation where a seventeen-year-old is being buried tomorrow.
This time it’s Barry who’s comforting me. It makes a change. There’s so few people I’ll let comfort me; I’m used to being the one who tries to make everything better for everyone else.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says.
“But –”
“It’s not up to you to sort out everyone else’s life,” he tells me. “Help out your friends when you can, but don’t let it take over your own life, for God’s sake.”
“I should have been able to stop him.”
“It was his choice, Em.” He sounds like he’s learned this line off by heart, like he’s been repeating it to himself over and over. I’m not the only one feeling guilty here. “Look,” he continues, “you can’t go around trying to save everyone. It doesn’t work. Some people don’t want to be saved. And sometimes you make things worse.”
“Declan,” I sigh.
“Declan,” he agrees.
I know what he’s saying is right. It’s a lesson I’ve tried to learn over and over, but it doesn’t stop me from needing to do
something
if I think it might help.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “for – everything.”
“I know,” he says.
And with that, things are okay again. We’re okay, and that means a lot to me.
It doesn’t make up for not being able to save Jeremy, even though I know everyone’s responsible for their own decisions. It doesn’t make up for all the complications with Lucy or Declan. It doesn’t make up for a lot of things, but it helps. It really does.
I can’t go back in time and change things, and there’s no point wishing otherwise. I’ve always tried not to have regrets, and I don’t want to start now.
What I
can
do now, I guess, is be there for my friends.
And I can appreciate life, the way I told Declan to, only I’m not sure I really understood what that meant until now. I can figure out what I want to do with mine, while I’m waiting for the person of my dreams to come along – if he or she ever does. I can try to be the sort of person I want to be, and hope for the best.
And who knows, maybe someday we’ll all get our fairytale ending.