Rebecca is Always Right (7 page)

Is it really wrong that I feel a bit relieved that the whole drum situation was sorted out before this happened? If Tom had broken up with Rachel before then, it would still all be hanging over me. Not that my drumming is as important as Rachel being broken-hearted. But still.

Oh, it is wrong to feel relieved about any aspect of this. I feel bad for even writing that earlier. Poor Rachel. I can still hear her crying. I hate Tom. I actually do hate him. If he turned up at the house right now, I would hit him, even though that is against all my principles. Well, I wouldn’t actually hit him, but I would really want to. How dare he make her feel like this? Horrible smug goon with his stupid perfect presents.

It’s half twelve in the afternoon and there’s been no sign of Rachel. I don’t think she’s even been out to go to the loo, which is a bit worrying. At least, I haven’t heard her. Mum says she’ll be fine and not to hassle her and that Rachel will come out of her room in her own time, but I heard her sneak upstairs earlier and try to persuade Rachel to come out and have some breakfast. It didn’t work though.

Surely hunger will drive her out eventually. When the first really embarrassing picture of me was in the paper last year I refused to come out of my room for ages too. Mum ended up leaving scrambled eggs outside my door in the morning, but that could only keep me going for so long so I eventually ended up having to go downstairs and scavenge for food (actually, I think I just made more scrambled eggs. They’re the only things I can cook properly).

Rachel is definitely awake, though, because I heard her talking on the phone earlier. I couldn’t hear what she was saying (not that I was eavesdropping or anything), but she sounded upset. I tried knocking on the door again after she got off the phone, but she just yelled at me to go away.

‘Come on, Rach,’ I said. ‘You can talk to me about it. If you want.’

‘I don’t want to talk to anyone in this house,’ she said, and she just put some more loud, sad music on. So I had to give up. I just yelled, ‘Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am’ over the music and left.

It all feels very wrong. Usually I’m the one being all angsty in my room and she’s the one being irritatingly sensible. In theory it should be good to have the tables turned, but it actually just makes me feel sad and weird.

She finally came out of her room. I actually got a shock when I saw her. She looked awful. I don’t mean it in a nasty way. She just looked like she had been really sick. She was very pale and her eyes were all red and sore and her nose was a bit red too. I was in my room when I heard her come out, so I opened my door and peeked out.

‘Hey,’ I said.

She looked at me and sighed.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Are you …’ I began, and then stopped. ‘I know you’re not okay. Sorry. Tom’s a stupid dickhead anyway.’

And I meant it, but I wish I hadn’t said anything about Tom, mean or otherwise, because as soon as she heard his name Rachel’s face sort of crumpled up and she started to cry. I didn’t know what to do because we are not very huggy sort of sisters usually, but I couldn’t bear to just stand there watching her cry so I gave her a hug.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I said into her shoulder. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘I wish I could think he was a dickhead,’ she said. ‘But I can’t. I just … I just don’t understand anything. I don’t know why he did it.’

She sat down on the landing and leaned against her bedroom door. I sat down next to her.

‘But what did he say?’ I asked.

She took a deep sort of shuddering breath.

‘He said he was really sorry, but it didn’t feel right anymore,’ she said. ‘And he couldn’t help it.’ She rubbed between her brows with her fingers.

‘Were there, I dunno, any signs?’ I said. ‘Looking back?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really. Not at all. I keep thinking there must have been, but I really thought everything was okay.’ She
looked like she was going to start crying again for a moment, but then she swallowed and went on. ‘He just doesn’t want to go out with me anymore.’

I couldn’t think of anything to say. But then I remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours.

‘Would you like some toast?’ I said.

Rachel looked at me in surprise.

‘Um, okay,’ she said.

So I went downstairs and made her some toast. When I went back upstairs, she was lying on her bed staring into space and listening to Neil Young singing about everyone going out and having fun while he was sitting at home having none and being lonesome.

‘Here you go,’ I said, and handed her the toast.

‘Thanks,’ she said. She took a bite out of it. ‘I keep thinking it can’t be true,’ she said. It was almost as if she was talking to herself. ‘I mean, obviously I know it is. True. But I can’t totally believe it deep down. I keep thinking he’s going to change his mind. Do you think he could?’

I’m not really used to Rachel talking to me like this. Usually it’s me who’s having some sort of emotional issue and she’s the one offering her great advice like a wise woman of the world. So it felt very weird.

‘I suppose he could,’ I said. ‘Maybe he was just having some sort of mental crisis and soon he’ll realise it’s all been a terrible mistake.’

Rachel sighed.

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But … no, he won’t. He seemed pretty sure. Oh God, I don’t know.’ She looked like she might cry again for a moment. ‘Do you mind leaving me on my own for a while?’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Thanks for the toast,’ she said.

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘Let me know if you need more food.’

And then I left her, still listening to Neil’s wailings. I wish there was something I could do. Maybe Tom really will change his mind? I mean, they seemed so happy together. And I suppose he really was nice, even though he was a bit boring and perfect (though not all that perfect, clearly). And Rachel might sometimes be an annoying big sister, but she’s basically a decent person. Why did he change his mind about her? It’s not like when I realised what a selfish goon John was. How can you suddenly decide you don’t want to go out with someone who is a nice person when you’ve been with them for so long? It doesn’t make any sense.

I rang Alice (on the landline – I actually feel so rattled by the whole thing that text or IM weren’t enough for me) and told her about what happened. She was shocked as well.

‘And Rachel really had no idea?’ she said.

‘She says not,’ I said.

‘Poor Rachel,’ said Alice sadly. ‘Maybe we could do something to cheer her up?’

This would be a great idea, but I can’t think of anything that would make her more cheerful at the moment. Neither could Alice, really. She eventually suggested writing a song for her, but I don’t think that would do the trick. I wrote her one for her birthday and I think she was more amused than touched. But hopefully we’ll manage to think of something better.

At least Rachel isn’t on her own now. Jenny came round earlier. She’s been up in Rachel’s room for ages so I hope she’ll make her feel better. Or if that’s not possible (and I’m afraid it might not be at the moment), at least make her leave her room and have a shower. And eat something. She didn’t come down for dinner; she just had more toast instead. Which means she’s had nothing but toast for twenty-four hours, and even I
couldn’t live on that. And I really do love toast.

Rachel didn’t want to go to school today, but Mum and Dad were very firm about it.

‘I know you’re upset, love,’ said Mum. ‘But you can’t hide away from everything.’

‘And you can’t afford to miss school,’ said Dad. ‘Not in your Leaving Cert year.’

You’d think that this would be the one time when he could have avoided mentioning the L-word, but I suppose, at this stage, he and Mum are so used to mentioning our stupid exams every five seconds that they don’t know how to stop.

‘Just one day won’t make any difference,’ said Rachel, taking a bit of toast (her sole diet for the last few days). But my parents didn’t care and sent her off to school. I saw her at lunch – she was surrounded by her mates and I presume everyone is fussing over her. I hope that’s what she wants. Knowing Rachel she might prefer if people just left her alone for a while.

Anyway, she got through the day okay without breaking down in floods of tears or running out of the classroom, so
that’s something, especially when I remember what she was like on Sunday morning. I don’t want to sound like my parents, but, to be honest, going to school probably was the best thing she could do. I mean, otherwise she’d just have been at home crying and listening to incredibly miserable music again. And at least she’s eating properly now. Mum made a particularly delicious roast chicken in a cunning ploy to make sure Rachel ate, and it worked – no one (apart from vegetarians, obviously) can resist my mum’s roast chicken. Every time I have considered vegetarianism, I have just thought of that chicken. And sausages. And rashers. I don’t think I would be a good vegetarian at all, really.

Rachel is meeting Tom tomorrow. Apparently he agrees that they ‘have to see each other’. Maybe he has realised that he’s made a terrible mistake and will tell her he wants to go out with her again. People sometimes do stupid things and regret it afterwards. I mean, I once told Mrs Harrington that my mother was going to put her in a book. Obviously dumping your girlfriend is not the same as telling a pointless lie to a
teacher, but surely it is possible to break up with someone and then regret it afterwards. Maybe he really was having some sort of life crisis about going to college next year, or something, and broke up with her in a moment of madness. I do hope that’s what it was. She is still so miserable.

And my parents aren’t helping. It was, of course, their musical rehearsal tonight and they almost didn’t go because they were worried that if they left the house, and Rachel wasn’t under their constant supervision, she would, and I quote, ‘sit around moping’ instead of doing her homework.

‘We do understand how awful it is for you,’ said my mother, though I’m not so sure about that. ‘But you’ll actually feel better if you sit down and do some work.’

‘Moping’ is possibly my least favourite word ever, because when I was so miserable after Paperboy went to Canada I got accused (by my own best friends, among others) of moping all the time and I hated it. And if anyone actually has an excuse for doing some moping at the moment, it’s Rachel. Not that I would call it moping. I would call it ‘being heartbroken’.

‘She’s not moping, Mother!’ I said. ‘It’s not fair to accuse someone of moping when they have just been dumped by their boyfriend who they were going out with for years!’

‘Thanks for the reminder, Bex,’ said Rachel, but she didn’t
sound angry. In fact, for a moment, she almost sounded like her usual annoying sarcastic self.

Anyway, Rachel promised them she would definitely do her homework.

‘You can check it and sign it if you want,’ she said crossly.

‘That’s not necessary, love,’ said Mum. ‘We don’t want to nag you.’

Ha! News to me. Nagging both of us is their favourite thing to do after taking part in amateur musicals.

‘We just think you need to keep yourself busy,’ Mum went on. ‘And I know we keep going on about it, but you can’t let things slip this year. If you stay on top of schoolwork now, things will be much easier next June.’

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m going off to do it now.’

And she actually did. I thought I might as well show solidarity and do mine too. Also, I wanted to get it over and done with so I could laze around for the rest of the evening and watch whatever I liked on the big sitting-room telly before Mum and Dad came home and took it over with one of the ten million crime dramas they love so much (in fact, crime dramas are possibly their fourth favourite thing after musicals, nagging and going to garden centres).

Rachel eventually came down to join me and admitted that
doing her homework had kept her mind off things.

‘It’s a sad state of affairs when I have to turn to Leaving Cert Irish to cheer myself up,’ she sighed.

And I had to agree. I do wish there was something I could genuinely do to make her feel better. I wish she’d taught me how to make her own famous special hot chocolate so I could make some for her, but she hasn’t, so I made her a cup of tea instead. And I made a peppermint one for myself. We both curled up on the couch with our tea and watched a reality show in which people had to make outlandish outfits which was quite fun.

When it was over, I said, ‘What do you think will happen with Tom tomorrow?’

‘Nothing, probably,’ she said. ‘He was pretty definite on the phone on Sunday. I just need to see him. I don’t think it’ll really sink in until I know what it’s like to see him when we’re not … when we’re not going out anymore.’

She looked really sad. I wondered if she was hoping he’d changed his mind. I know I would be, even if I knew it was stupid. Sometimes you can’t help how you feel, even if your brain knows it doesn’t make sense. I am hoping he made a mistake myself.

Anyway, that was when our parents came in, singing ‘On the Street Where You Live’ (even though neither of them are
singing that song in the production). I must admit that even though they can be very boring when they start going on about what the director suggested and what song they learned that evening and all that sort of thing, sometimes it does make me a bit nostalgic for my own school musical days. I sort of wish we could do it again this year, but they don’t let people who have big exams that year take part.

Poor Rachel. Tom hasn’t changed his mind and he doesn’t think he’s made a mistake. He doesn’t want to get back together with her. I think a part of her really did hope this could happen, because she was so upset when she came home. It was like she’d been freshly dumped all over again. She went up to her room, looking like a ghost, and then she was on the phone to Jenny for ages. When the only thing I could hear coming through the door was miserable music I knocked on it.

‘I’m not really in the mood for talking’ came a leaden voice from within.

‘Okay,’ I said. I paused. ‘I hope it wasn’t too awful. Meeting him, I mean.’ I didn’t even want to say his name, because
when you do she looks like she’s going to burst into tears.

I could hear Rachel getting off the bed and walking across the room. Then the door opened. Her eyes and nose were really red and it was obvious that she’d been crying.

‘It was pretty shit,’ she said. She leaned against the door frame and ran her hand through her hair. ‘He was really sad and upset and that kind of made it worse. I mean, it shows he really means it and he didn’t do it lightly, you know what I mean?’

I did. If Tom is really upset about it, he must have thought about it a lot. But then something struck me.

‘Is there a chance he’s upset because he realises what a terrible mistake he made?’ I said.

Rachel actually laughed, in a reluctant sort of way.

‘No, I don’t think there is,’ she said. ‘He’s upset because I’m so upset.’

‘But that shows he cares about you!’ I said.

‘He does care about me,’ she said. ‘But not in the right way. Not anymore.’

And she looked so sad I felt like I wanted to kill Tom.

‘I hope he gets run over by a bus,’ I said.

She almost laughed again. ‘I never thought I’d thank anyone who just wished Tom would be run over by a bus,’ she said.
‘But … thanks.’

And then she went back into her room and put the music back on. Music is very good when you’re miserable. There’s something about hearing someone, someone who might even be dead by now, singing about exactly the same things you’re feeling right now that makes you feel like you’re not alone. Like someone else gets you, even though you don’t know them and you never will.

I wasn’t in the mood for miserable music myself this evening, though. I needed some cheering up after talking to Rachel, so I went down to the kitchen and put on one of Mum’s Northern Soul compilations and had a bit of a dance. It was very cheering, even when Mum and Dad heard what I was playing and came in and started doing some ridiculous moves. They can actually be quite funny sometimes when they’re not being annoying or embarrassing. I almost felt guilty strutting around downstairs when Rachel was up there crying along to the sound of miserable wailing, but her sad music was on so loudly she couldn’t have heard us.

Mrs Harrington started talking to me about her book after class today. Apparently she is sending the first few chapters off to an agent who she hopes will sell the book to a publisher.

‘How long do you think I’ll have to wait before I hear back?’ she asked, and I had to tell her I didn’t know. I think she thinks I am some sort of publishing expert because of my mum. It’s not like she’s looking for favours, or is trying to get my mum to read her book or anything, but she seems to think I know all about it. Which I don’t. I mean, if Mum was an engineer she’d hardly ask me about pipes and bridges and things, would she?

Rachel is still spending most of her time in her room. This evening I was putting stuff in the recycling bin in the utility room, and when I opened the bin I saw the giant Valentine’s card Tom gave Rachel back in February. It had been torn to pieces. It was weird to see it because I have very strong memories of when she got it – I felt all jealous that day because I was still really sad about Paperboy.

Anyway, I don’t blame her for taking out her sadness as rage on Tom’s card, but I can’t help thinking it’s a good sign that she went to the trouble of recycling the card. I mean, if she
was totally deranged with grief she wouldn’t have thought of sorting her waste in a sensible, environmentally aware fashion, she’d have just chucked the bits of card in the general bin along with Bumpers’s old cat litter and stuff.