The Invisible Man from Salem (25 page)

‘Leo,' Dad said, on his way out to work. ‘Is everything okay? You've seemed … different this past week.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Everything's okay.'

‘Sure?'

‘Sure.'

He nodded, disappointed, and took his keys, walked out, and locked the door behind him. An hour later the scene was repeated, with my mum this time. I stayed by the kitchen window, waiting for Grim to call. This time I was going to ask him how Julia was. I needed to know how she was feeling. People laugh for lots of reasons, and the fact that I'd seen Julia doing it didn't mean she was fine.

An hour later he rang, and we brought a football along and kicked it ahead of us on the way down to the rec. Grim didn't like sport — the only thing he'd ever shown an interest in was shooting on television — but he said that kicking a ball as hard as he could was a good feeling. I agreed with him there.

The recreation ground lay deserted, waiting for us. I picked the ball out of the net that Grim had just kicked it into.

‘You know who Tim Nordin is, don't you?' I asked.

‘Tim …' Grim said and frowned. ‘Yes. He was Julia's friend when she was little, but I think he moved away. No one, not even Julia, knows why.' He dropped the ball to the ground. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘I thought I saw him earlier.'

‘What, you know him?'

‘No, no. But a friend of mine went to nursery with him, so I know who he is.'

I never asked about Julia; I couldn't. From tomorrow on, she would be going to the same school as me.

THAT FIRST DAY BACK
, I didn't see Julia at all. Didn't see Grim either. I hung out with my classmates instead, and that felt weird. It wasn't that I didn't like them; it was more that I'd hardly seen any of them over the summer, which had been so long and in which so much had happened. I had lived in another dimension for those long months.

The second day, I had maths in one of the classrooms at the furthest end of the factory-like building. When I came round the corner, the big corridor was empty. I was a few minutes late, and the lesson had already started. Rows of lockers lined the walls; several of them had already been defaced with graffiti tags. A big, black swastika had been painted on one of the locker doors.

The door to one of the toilets opened and closed, and Julia came walking towards me. She had a ring-binder and a stack of books under one arm, her eyes fixed on a piece of paper that flapped in time with her strides. When she looked up, she froze, and it was this — the look in her eyes — that made the world rock underneath my feet.

‘Hi,' she said, without stopping.

‘Hi,' I said, and stopped. ‘How are things?'

‘Confused,' she said. She looked down at her timetable and carried on past me.

I watched her, hoping that she would turn her head, but she didn't. That was the thing that made me feel silly, duped. Crushed. I wanted to cry because this was how it was going to be from now on, and I couldn't see an end to it.

Later that day, I found out that Tim Nordin had come back to Salem because his parents had divorced, and Tim's dad wasn't exactly the kind of person who could raise a child. Tim had to live with his mum instead, and they'd moved back because she missed Salem. I mean, that on its own was enough. He should clearly have refused to move back.

THAT WEEKEND
, there was a big outdoor party at the recreation ground where Grim and I had been a week earlier. Word got around, thanks to scraps of paper pushed into lockers and passed around during lessons. Me and Grim went with a Coke bottle each, half-filled with booze that we had decanted from our parents' drinks cabinets. I'd only managed a few measures of vodka, so I had to dilute it with pop. The bubbles made it taste worse than normal.

‘Do you know if Julia's coming?' I asked.

‘I don't know,' Grim said. ‘I didn't mention it to her, so I hope she doesn't. I can't be arsed keeping an eye on her.'

‘Why do you need to?'

‘It's my sister, for fuck's sake. And she's been a bit weird recently.'

‘I don't get it,' I said, and could feel my pulse rising. I unscrewed the bottle top and took a deep, burning gulp. ‘You can't be so overprotective all the time. She's nearly sixteen, man. She can look after herself,' I went on and then, unable to stop myself, added: ‘Stop treating her like a child.'

Grim avoided eye contact.

‘You don't get it, do you?'

‘What's to get?'

‘She's the only reason we stick together, that our family works. And Mum and Dad can't protect her.'

‘But why does she need protecting? And why does it have to be you that protects her? Social Ser —'

‘It was their fucking fault I ended up in Jumkil. If they take me or Julia, we've had it.'

I took another swig from my bottle. I remember thinking that perhaps one of them had the problem, as opposed to the problem being between them, in the make-up of the family. That the problem wasn't that they risked being pulled apart, but rather that they tried so hard to be a family. I couldn't really articulate the thought.

‘But is it that important? That you stick together? I mean, maybe there's something negative about that, too.'

I just didn't know how to express it.

‘You only have one family,' was all Grim said. ‘Only in good families do people think, “I'd be better off without them.” ' He looked me in the eye. ‘So shut your mouth. You haven't got a clue.'

For the first time, I was scared of Grim, without knowing why. Maybe it was because I was starting to feel drunk, but there was something about his stare. It was a foreboding fear like when you imagine what severe pain might feel like, the kind of fear that instantly makes you feel shaky and insecure for no reason.

THE RECREATION GROUND
was full of people sitting around in groups, laughing, drinking. Music was being played from heavy ghetto-blasters, and some people entertained themselves by climbing up the goalposts and sitting on the crossbar. Grim and I sat with a few people he knew. They asked him about the camp and the guy who'd been stabbed. Grim shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. They asked what he'd done to his hair, and Grim told them that he'd thought it was getting too long, so he'd cut it off. That's when I saw Julia walking towards us, wearing dark jeans and a white T-shirt with the word
JUMPER
written across the chest. She had a Coke bottle in her hand, and seemed to be looking for someone.

I looked at the bottle in my hand. It was dark now, and to see how much I'd drunk I had to hold it up above my head, against the sky. This movement made Julia turn her head. She carefully raised her own bottle to me, and I felt embarrassed. She thought I was waving. Julia smiled like she did when she was a little bit drunk.

Grim spotted her and sighed.

‘I knew it.'

He waved to her to come over and sit with us.

‘What are you doing?' I said.

‘Well, if she's got to be here, it's better if she at least sits with us,' Grim slurred.

She came over and knelt down.

‘What are you talking about?'

A girl behind us squealed as one of the guys who'd been sitting on the crossbar fell down. Everything except the music went quiet, until we heard the guy laugh, still lying there, beer can still in his hand. We laughed, too, all of us.

Julia's knee touched mine, and I found it hard to control my hands. Scenes from the summer, good scenes, whizzed past me and I longed to go back. She took a swig of whatever it was in her bottle, and winced. Nearby, from one of the ghetto-blasters, Radiohead was singing ‘Karma Police', and more people arrived at the recreation ground. Most of the pitch was covered with people from school. Older guys turned up, but soon left again. They just wanted to be paid back for the alcohol they'd bought for people. Some started arguing, but it was soon settled. I wondered what Julia was thinking, wondered if she knew that Tim Nordin had moved back, whether that news would make her happy, whether she'd regretted us splitting up. My head started spinning, and the thoughts led nowhere, just round and round.

‘I need a piss,' Grim said, and looked at me. ‘Are you coming?'

‘No,' I said.

His eyes flitted between me and Julia.

‘Okay,' he said, and headed down to the bushes.

Only then did I notice that Julia was nervous. She was drinking quickly and laughing a bit too much at stuff the people we were sitting with were saying.

‘Good party,' I said.

‘Yep.'

‘Did you come with anyone?'

‘Yes.' She looked around. ‘But I don't know where they are.'

‘I like your top,' I said.

‘Do you?'

‘Doesn't everyone like Jumper?'

Julia didn't answer; she drank. I carried on instead: ‘At school, when we walked past each other … you said you were confused. You meant that you were confused about school …' I looked at her. ‘Right?'

‘Sure,' she said, with a faint smile. ‘If you say so.'

‘I don't say so, I'm asking.'

‘And I'm answering.'

I leant towards her, about to say something, but I was interrupted by Grim, who was back, and who sank down beside us.

A while later, everything started spinning around me, and when I got up to go over to the bushes for a piss, it was like the whole recreation ground was sloping. All the shadows, sitting there with their bottles and cans, went blurry round the edges, and I stumbled on something, but I got up again.

When I woke up, I was lying sideways across a bed. I still had my clothes on. I moved my head to see what time it was and it really hurt, made me close my eyes. I was at home, at least.

My hand reached for something — water — but the bottle on my bedside table was too far away. I rolled over and grabbed it. It was empty. It was then, as I looked at the empty bottle, that I noticed my hand. It was covered in red spots.

I REMEMBERED GETTING UP
to go for a piss in the bushes. I remembered the fear I felt that I couldn't explain. After that, everything was shrouded in mist until I woke up. I looked at my hand and tried to recall whether I'd eaten anything before I went home. The red might be ketchup or tomato sauce. I lifted my hand to my nose to smell it, but couldn't detect anything other than the faint whiff of cigarette smoke that clung to my skin. I got out of bed, and tried to work out whether I had pains anywhere other than in my head. I didn't.

WHEN I CAME BACK
from the bushes, Grim and Julia had gone. I asked someone we'd been sitting with where they'd gone, and he mumbled something about them having fallen out.

‘Why did they fall out?'

‘Fucked if I know.'

I'd gone to look for them, nervous. I remember the track that played again and again that night, ‘I Just Want to Celebrate', and how the nausea twisted up inside me, and how I hobbled away from the recreation ground, with bright spots sweeping across my field of vision, and wondering if someone had put something in my bottle.

I WENT
for a shower. I'd left the window open in my room to let a bit of air in. I wondered where my parents could be, but then I remembered the flyer I'd seen on the kitchen table — something about an August flea market in Rönninge. I was home alone and scrubbing my hands to get rid of the red. Slowly, it dawned on me: it must be blood. Under the water it dissolved quickly, and streaks of red ran down and turned pink against the white bathtub. As I washed my face, my top lip throbbed. It was tender and a bit swollen, and that's how it came back to me.

I'D GIVEN UP
looking for Grim and Julia, and tried to find someone else instead — anyone. A girl was standing leaning against a lamppost not far from the rec, and I walked over to her. I couldn't remember what I asked her, but I could still feel her body against mine. She was small and skinny, like Julia. I must have pushed myself against her. She pushed me away, and I tried again, but this time I got a smack in the face. Maybe from her, maybe from someone else; that sequence was unclear. I fell to the ground, I think, not from the smack, but because of my bad balance. Then: someone laughing, mockingly. Humiliation, how it twisted inside me.

I lay there, ashamed, until they'd gone, and after that I headed home. Somewhere along the way, I met Tim. It seemed like he was on the way home, too. Had he been on the rec? I hadn't seen him.

I stopped him.

‘So you're back,' I slurred.

We stood on the pavement, in the gloom between two streetlamps. Tim seemed sober. He smelt healthy, like fabric softener.

‘Yes.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Home.' He squinted. ‘What's happened to your lip?'

‘Nothing.'

‘It looks like you've been hit.'