Playlist for a Broken Heart (8 page)

Liam glanced at his watch then heaved his rucksack over his shoulder. ‘OK. Better get going. Um. Guess I’ll see you around, Paige. Welcome to Bath and er . . . good luck with the
voices.’

Well that went well for a first encounter, not,
I thought as Tasmin beckoned me to get up and go and join her. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Lesson time. We’ll deliver
you to your classroom then see you back here at lunch, OK?’

I gave her a quick hug. ‘I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, Tasmin. It’s very generous of you, especially after I’ve taken up half your room and
everything.’ I felt like I was about to cry. Tasmin saw it too.

She returned my hug. ‘Hey, stupid. Don’t go all wussy on me. I don’t do soppy.’

I sniffed back the tears. ‘Sorry. I won’t.’

Tasmin looked at me with a serious expression. ‘I mean it. You’ve got to tough this out.’

I nodded and Tasmin gave my arm a squeeze.
She has a good heart
, I thought, then felt myself getting tearful again when I considered how I’d disrupted her life and yet she’d
come round so quickly. I wasn’t sure I could have been that generous. I took a deep breath.
A day at a time
, I told myself.
Just get through a day at a time
.

I did get through the day. And the next. And the week. And the next. Uncle Mike took Dad, Mum and I out in the car a few times after school and at the weekends. He drove us
through the city, showed us the famous crescents and the five-storey Georgian houses there, up the steep hills to the outer areas around the rim, then out to picturesque villages and pubs only ten
minutes away in the country. We glimpsed some beautiful old manor houses on the edge of the city, nestling amongst trees in private grounds. I think they were hard for Mum and Dad to see because
they were so like our old home back in Richmond. To begin with, I couldn’t remember which part was where, but slowly, over the weeks, parts of it began to be familiar, particularly the area
where we lived and the centre of town.

At school, Tasmin and Clover did their best to look out for me but, despite their good intentions, I was still the new girl and I was often on my own. Starting a new school after Year Seven is
difficult at any time because all the friendships and cliques get established in the first terms when everyone arrives together from junior school, and then they carry on through the following
years. By Year Ten the bonds are fixed and any newbie stands out like a sore thumb. People were friendly enough to me but no one went out of their way to ask me to hang out or join their group.
They asked a few questions – Where was I from? Why had I moved to Bath? – but they soon left me to myself. They had their own friends to talk to.

I tried to join the drama group, thinking that would be a good way to meet new people, but they were midway through a production so I’d missed the boat there. My one refuge was the art
room, where I spent at much time as I could. I’d started a project on portraits at my last school and took photos of Tasmin and Clover to paint, but it was a solitary activity because the art
teacher insisted on no talking when working, even if after school.

I sorely missed having Allegra to go home with and to gossip about the day over tea and toast, to have those conversations that were so easy with her and that went from the sublime to the
ridiculous and back again in the space of five minutes. We Skyped most evenings and did our best to maintain the closeness we’d always had, but although what was happening at my old school
was of interest to me, my new school wasn’t of the same interest to her, apart from whether there were any decent boys or not. Not that she didn’t ask about my new life – she did,
but it wasn’t the same as talking about people we both knew.

My life felt uneventful. I went to school in the morning, kept my head down and soon slotted into the syllabus. I was happy to work hard because it gave me something to do. I particularly liked
my art teacher, so that was at least something. I did my homework, I ate my packed lunch, then went to the library or art room. I did all the study that was needed, then I went home, often on my
own because I couldn’t follow Tasmin around like a lap dog, although she always invited me to go and hang out with her and Clover. She had her life and I was already taking up enough of it by
living in her bedroom. I wanted to give her space.

I knew I wasn’t being totally honest with Allegra when she asked how things were, but I didn’t want to alienate her either by letting her know that I was sad, lonely, angry and
frustrated. What could she do to change things? Nothing. So I put on my cheery Paige face, making the best of it. Bath is great. School is fine. I’m OK. I’m tough, a survivor. But it
was all an act. Inside, I longed for someone to see beyond my mask, to understand how I really felt and to reach out and rescue me.

One evening after I’d Skyped Allegra, I put on the
Songs for Sarah
CD. I stood and looked out of the window as a soundtrack filled the room.

Spooky. That’s just how I’ve been feeling today
, I thought, when I heard Aunt Karen call that supper was ready. The more I listened to the CD, the more the
songs spoke to me. I’d got into the habit of playing a track every evening when I got home from school if Tasmin wasn’t in. I even copied the CD onto my iPod so that I could listen
during the day. It was weird, like every track I put on seemed to echo my life. I thought of it as a playlist for my broken heart because it always made me feel better and less alone.
I wonder
who made it and where he is
? I asked myself as I switched off the player, then went down the stairs to join the mayhem that was supper time with my cousins. An idea suddenly hit me. Maybe I
could look for him?

‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked Mum after we’d eaten and were alone in the kitchen filling the dishwasher. He wasn’t around most days for mealtimes and I
was beginning to miss him.

‘Out looking to get our lives back,’ said Mum as she cleared uneaten food into the bin. I’d pressed her a few times about when we might get a place of our own but she was
always vague and said that Dad was doing what he could, checking out possibilities. She seemed a bit down whenever we spoke about the future because Dad had been for a few interviews for jobs but
was told each time that he was overqualified. Mum was luckier and had got a job working in the office at the school on the other side of town where Aunt Karen worked as an art teacher. Someone was
on maternity leave so everyone at the school was super grateful to Mum and she seemed to be happy to have something to do and somewhere to go in the mornings.

‘And are you OK working at the school?’ I asked.

‘It will do for now,’ she replied. She always said that. For now, but how long would that be?

‘What about your degree?’ I asked. ‘Couldn’t you use that to do something you might really enjoy?’ Mum had been to the London College of Fashion when she’d
left school and done a course in costume design. She’d wanted to work in theatre but then she met Dad and her life became looking after him, the house and then me.

‘Maybe,’ she replied. ‘But I have no CV. ‘‘Housewife’’ doesn’t count for much.’

‘But what about all the charity events you worked on? You have amazing organisational skills.’

Mum sighed. ‘Maybe one day I’ll use those skills again. In the meantime, the job I have is a godsend. It’s giving me a chance to catch my breath while your dad and I rethink
the plan.’

I gave her a hug. She was putting on her cheery Mum face just as I was putting on my cheery Paige one. I sometimes wondered if the whole world wasn’t going around hiding behind masks.

As we put dishes away, out of the window I noticed that someone had gone into next-door’s garden. It was Niall. On seeing him, I felt a pang of regret that our last encounter had gone so
badly. I hated there to be bad feeling with anyone, even if he was a love rat. Despite my early vow to avoid him, I decided to go and try to make amends, so when Mum made a cup of coffee and went
through to the living room, I took a deep breath, opened the back door and went out.

There was a fence with lattice on the top to the right of the garden but I could see him clearly through it. I went over and called, ‘Hi.’

He almost jumped out of his skin, which made me laugh.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘What are you doing? Lurking in the bushes?’

‘No. Not lurking. I . . . I saw you and wanted to apologise for the other day. I guess I wasn’t very friendly.’

A glimmer of a smile crossed Niall’s face. ‘No. I guess not. But maybe I’m like Marmite. You either love me or hate me.’

‘I like Marmite,’ I said.

Niall grinned. ‘Me too, so at least we have something in common.’

I felt myself blush and cursed in case he’d noticed. I didn’t want him to think that meant that I liked him.

‘At least sometimes I do . . . I . . . no, I’m probably more in the middle when it comes to Marmite, I don’t love it or hate it. I’m . . . indifferent.’ I realised
that I was rambling.
Shut up
, I told myself when I noticed the amused look in Niall’s eye.
He’ll think you’re an idiot
.

‘So, you’re going to Queensmead?’ he asked.

‘Yes. How do you know?’

‘Seen you leave the house with Tasmin.’

‘Oh, been watching me out the window have you?’ I asked, echoing what he had asked me when I met him in town, then I worried that I might have sounded hostile again.

‘Not watching, but I’ve seen you a few times. Can’t help but notice people on the street, can you?’

‘Exactly,’ I said and even I could tell I sounded prissy.

Niall’s mobile rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘Got to take this,’ he said.

‘Probably one of your girlfriends,’ I blurted before I could stop myself.

Niall shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what I’d said. He turned away to take his call and I darted back into the house.

Stupid, stupid
, I told myself as I went upstairs. I am so hopeless at talking to boys. Why can’t I be cool like Clover or confident like Tasmin? Instead I come across as someone
with a permanent case of PMT. It’s like there’s a part of me that’s been held back and is fighting to get out, but when she does get out, what she says is wrong, wrong, wrong.

One evening in my fourth week at Queensmead, I got back to Aunt Karen’s and went up to Tasmin’s room as usual. Tasmin had gone into town to watch a new romcom so I
had the bedroom to myself.

I’d decided I was going to take the series of portraits I’d been working on in London a stage further and develop the faces into masks. I did some research online about different
masks and got completely immersed for an hour or so as images from around the world filled the screen. I found ancient masks as old as nine thousand years, masks from different countries, some
grotesque, some beautiful. I loved the ones from Venice that I’d seen when I was there for the carnival with Mum and Dad a few years ago. I made some sketches and was about to Skype Allegra
when I got a text from her saying that she was going to see the same movie as Tasmin and Clover and that she’d call later.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while but all the angst I was feeling inside immediately came to the fore. Why has this all happened to us? When will we get our own place?
Will I ever fit in at the new school? Will Mum and Dad be OK? I couldn’t relax. Luckily Mum called that supper was ready
.

I went downstairs to find the usual pandemonium that was Aunt Karen’s house at mealtime. It was a far cry from the quiet suppers I used to have with Mum back in Richmond when Dad came home
late most weekday evenings. She’d always have something light. She didn’t do carbs after midday so it was grilled chicken or fish and salad or steamed vegetables. I’d sometimes
have the same, or pasta.

At Aunt Karen’s, there was always a big pot of something like chicken casserole and vegetables or chilli, or a pasta bake from the oven, that was put in the centre of the table and ladled
out into bowls, then eaten with baked potatoes or rice with grated cheese and huge chunks of wholemeal bread. I noticed that as the days went on that Mum was letting go of the no carbs rule and
helped herself to rice or potatoes along with everyone else. Jo, Jake and Simon all talked over each other to get their mother’s attention, particularly Jake, who raised the volume of any
sentence towards the end of what he was saying in order to drown out which ever other brother was attempting to get a word in.

Tasmin was often not there at mealtimes and if she was, she ate then ran, always busy seeing Clover or friends. I didn’t feel as though I could do that without appearing rude. Uncle Mike
liked to have music – country blues – on in the background and he seemed to manage to screen out his sons’ competing voices and listen to the CDs. Dad still absented himself from
these meals saying that he preferred to eat later. I knew he couldn’t handle the noise level either. I often caught Mum watching me across the dining table. She’d smile at me
sympathetically. She knew that I found it hard too.

After supper, I always made sure that I helped with the clearing up. I didn’t want Aunt Karen or Uncle Mike to think that I took anything for granted. The boys were good at mucking in too.
Aunt Karen had them well trained and, as the adults took their coffees into the sitting room to watch the news, Jo and Jake stacked the dishwasher then disappeared fast to play their computer
games. I wiped the surfaces down then went to put out the rubbish for the bin men in the morning.

When I reached the street, I saw Niall was also putting out rubbish. I was about to turn back but it was too late – he was bound to have seen me. I tried to think up something funny to say
about the bins but he turned away before I got a chance to say anything. I knew he’d seen me just as clearly as I’d seen him.
I must have really annoyed him when I saw him in the
garden but he could have at least said hi
, I thought as I went back inside, where the noise levels seemed to have grown.