Authors: Sharon Sant
‘I mean
properly.’
‘Yeah.
Haven’t you?’
‘I’ve never
kissed anyone,’ she says. ‘Not ever.’
I think she
expects me to laugh, but I don’t. ‘How were you going to make me remember
then?’
‘I was hoping
you could do the memory thing to me instead.’
‘Ok, I’ll try. I
probably won’t be as good as you though.’ I screw my eyes up and think. ‘When
you feel their lips on yours it’s really soft and warm,’ I begin. I look across
and she’s still staring at the sky. ‘Hey,’ I laugh, ‘if we’re doing this then
close your eyes and do it properly.’
She smiles and
closes her eyes.
‘Your stomach
feels like it could wriggle away all by itself. And your whole body is
filled with excitement, running through your veins, right to the top of your
head, as if it could pop your hair right out. And if they’re just the
right person it’ll taste great and they’ll smell good…. Are you there yet?’
‘Yes,’ she
whispers, eyes still closed and a smile on her face. ‘Are you?’ she asks.
I close my eyes and
think for a moment. ‘Yes.’
‘Is it nice?’
‘It’s
nice.
How about you?’
‘It’s lovely,’
she says.
We lie in
silence. I imagine kissing Bethany.
All the times I thought about kissing Ingrid, it never felt like this.
I’m not sure how
long has passed when Bethany
speaks. ‘How do I taste?’
I open my eyes
and she’s rolled onto her side to look at me. ‘Like cherry bubblegum,’ I tell
her.
Her face
wrinkles into a giggle.
‘How about me?’
I say. ‘What do I taste of?’
‘Cheese and
onion crisps,’ she snorts and her giggle gets louder and I can’t stop myself
from laughing with her.
She rolls onto
her back. ‘Let’s do it again.’
‘One
snog
is usually enough,’ I say. ‘I must be getting better
at it.’
‘I’ve got low
expectations,’ she teases.
The first
snowflake drifts down and lands in Bethany’s
hair. ‘You were right,’ I say. ‘It’s starting to snow.’
‘Told you.’
‘Should we head
back?’ I ask. ‘You must be freezing.’
‘I’m ok for a
while,’ she says. ‘It’s not much yet.’
‘But you’re
right about that cloud. Now that I come to look at it there is loads of
snow in it.’
‘Dad goes to the
pub on a Sunday afternoon. We’ll wait until he’s gone and then head
back.’
I sit up and
look across the churchyard to see a figure standing where my grave is.
‘Bethany,
get up.’
She does and
follows my gaze across the stones and crisp grass. ‘Is that your mum?’
‘Yes.’
Mum kneels down
by my grave and starts to sort through the flowers, putting all the old ones in
a pile by her feet. She takes a vase from a bag and then starts to arrange
some fresh flowers in it.
‘She has lovely
hair,’ Bethany says.
‘She’s cool,’ I
say.
She turns to me.
‘You miss her loads.’
I shrug. ‘I do.
But it’s hard to see her cry so much all the time too, so I stopped going to
see her.’
Bethany
is quiet for a moment. ‘I miss my mum like crazy, every day. I’d give
everything I owned just to talk to her for one last time.’
‘I suppose at
least I can still see my mum. I must be lucky that I can talk to her.’
‘But she can’t
see you. And you can’t get her to answer you. That almost seems
worse.’
Mr Allen, the
school caretaker, trudges up the path dragging a fir tree. It’s all bound up
tight with string and sweeps the path behind him leaving a trail of pine
needles. Mr Allen is the school caretaker but he also helps out at the church.
Everybody does a bit extra of everything around
here,
it’s just the way it’s always been.
‘They must be
putting the Christmas tree up,’ Bethany
says, nodding at him.
‘It’s a bit
late, isn’t it?’
‘I think the old
one got vandalised or something. But then the landlord of the Hope and Anchor
had a raffle and gave them the money.’
‘How do you know
all that?’
‘Dad told me.’
Mr Allen stops
for a moment and waves a greeting to my mum. She looks up and nods,
smiling politely, but then carries on with her flower arranging.
We watch for a
while longer. When Mum is done she gathers up all the old bits and shoves
them into the carrier bag. She stays on her knees for a while, just
staring at the stone. Then she straightens up with a hand to her back and pulls
her coat more tightly around her.
‘She should be
careful on this ice,’ I say. ‘It’s dangerous for her to fall over.’
‘She looks so
lonely,’ Bethany says. ‘Shall
I go and talk to her?’
‘What would you
say?’
‘What would you like
me to say?’
I don’t answer
straight away. This is what I have wanted Bethany
to do since I first hooked up with her, but, suddenly, it doesn’t seem like
such a good idea.
‘I really don’t
mind going over, if you want me to,’ she says. ‘I’d like to help.’
‘Ask her if
she’s ok.’
‘That’s all?’
I nod. ‘I’m not
sure she’s ready for the rest.’
Bethany
starts to walk towards the grave and I follow.
As she draws
near Mum spins around, drying her eyes, and stares at Bethany
with a question in her face.
‘Hello,’ Bethany
says as she draws level.
Mum nods
shortly. ‘Hello…’
‘Bethany,’ Bethany
smiles. ‘I’m in David’s year at school.’
Mum frowns for a
moment.
‘I didn’t mean
to disturb you,’ Bethany says. ‘I
just wondered if you were alright.’
‘Oh. Thanks.’
Mum tries to smile back. ‘Did you know David well? He never mentioned
you, as far as I remember.’
‘Not really,’
she says, ‘I feel like I do now, though.’
Mum glances at
the grave, and then back at Bethany.
‘Have you come to see him?’
‘Tell her you’ve
come to see your mum’s grave,’ I say. ‘She might think it’s freaky if you’ve
come to see mine.’
Bethany
throws me the tiniest puzzled look. ‘Yes,’ she says to my mum, ‘and no.
My mum is buried here too.’
Understanding
suddenly lights Mum’s face. ‘Bethany Willis?’
‘That’s me,’ Bethany
smiles.
‘How long has it
been since you lost her?’
‘Nearly a year.
I know how you’re feeling right now,’ she
says, nodding her head towards the earth in front of them. ‘But it’s not always
bad.’
Mum nods. ‘Then
you’ll also know that I’d rather be alone right now, if you don’t mind.’
Bethany
glances at me.
‘Just ask her if
she’s ok and tell her that it’s not her fault,’ I say.
Bethany
hesitates before speaking. ‘David wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for what
happened,’ she says. ‘And he’d want you to be alright.’
Mum looks at her
sharply, her politeness gone. ‘What would you know about it? You just said you
didn’t know him.’
‘I knew him a
bit.’
‘He never even
mentioned you,’ she says, her voice like ice. ‘How could you know what he would
want?’
Bethany
begins to back away. ‘He… I just wanted you to feel better.’
‘I don’t need
scum like you to make me feel better.’
Bethany
eyes widen and her mouth falls open.
‘She means your
dad, Beth,’ I say quickly, ‘she doesn’t mean you.’
‘My dad’s not
scum,’ Bethany says to me, tears
starting to fall.
Mum glances
across at where I am and then stares at Bethany.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘Please, don’t
cry,’ I tell Bethany, ‘I didn’t
mean your dad was scum, I’m just saying what Mum was thinking.’
‘Everybody
thinks I’m like him but I’m not.’ Bethany
growls at me.
‘I know
that. I can’t help what the rest of the village thinks.’
‘Is that why you
were so vile to me at school?’
‘I wasn’t… I
didn’t do anything to you.’
‘You didn’t do
anything to help me either.’
‘Who are you
talking to?’ Mum asks, staring at her.
Bethany
turns and runs away down the path.
Six: The Beginning
‘Beth, just let me explain.’
She’s lying on her
bed with her face to the wall. She’s still huddled in her coat and I can see
that it’s cold again in her room by the way her breath curls into the air. It
took me a few minutes to decide whether to go into her house uninvited, but
then I figured she was mad enough at me anyway so I might as well.
‘Please, we’re
friends, yeah? Don’t do this to me.’
There is only
cold silence and she doesn’t move.
‘I need you,’ I
say quietly.
Then she turns
around. Her face is all swollen from crying. ‘And I needed someone but why did
it have to go and be you… stupid, dead you?’
‘Beth, I…’
‘Get lost,’ she
spits. ‘I didn’t ask you to come in.’
‘I’m a ghost,’ I
say. ‘It’s vampires that need permission to come in.’
She stops crying
for a moment, staring at me. Then she smiles a little. ‘You’re an idiot,’
she says, sniffing.
‘My mum didn’t
mean what she said. She’s in a really bad place right now. You know
how that is… right?’
‘I didn’t go
around insulting people when my mum died.’
‘No, but I bet
you weren’t really yourself for a while?’
Bethany
sighs and sits up, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them. ‘She’s only
saying what everyone around here thinks.’
‘She doesn’t
think that, she always tries to see the best in everyone. She was sad when she
heard about your mum. You caught her at a bad time today.’
‘You’re just
trying to make me feel better.’
‘Well, yes, I
am. But I’m also telling you the truth.’
I pause,
wondering how to tell her the next thing I need to say. It’ll make me look
bad, there’s no way of getting around that. But maybe it’s the only way to help
Mum.
‘We had a
massive row the night I died, just before I left to do the papers, and I said
some crappy things to her. She said some crappy things to me too. I
don’t think she’s dealing with that very well.’
‘We all say
things we wish we hadn’t to our parents. That’s just the way it is. They
don’t really believe we mean them.’
‘I think she
did. I think she believed me enough to hate me right then. The night I died,
she could have saved me. She could have come to look for me when I didn’t
come home from papers and if she had, I’d be alive now, because it took nearly
all night for me to die on
Bethany
stares at me. ‘Oh my God, that’s awful. You must have really suffered.’
‘I don’t care
about that. Beth, my mum’s really not right… in the head, I mean. I think…
she’s doing stuff to herself.
Sort of in punishment.’
‘Like, painful
things?’
I nod.
‘Horrible things.
I went round one day to see her and
she was hurting herself. Her arms are covered in cuts; I can’t even look. Roger
tries to keep an eye on her but he can’t be there all the time. And she
needs to look after herself now. There’s something else too…’
‘What?’
I still can’t
bring myself to say it. ‘She just needs to take care,’ is all I manage and hope
that Bethany will understand.
‘You’re really
worried for her?’
‘Yeah.
I never really thought about her feelings
before, but now, just when I can’t tell her, there’s so much I need to
say. I want her to know that the stuff we said to each other… well, the
stuff I said anyway, I didn’t mean any of it.’
She looks at me,
deep in thought. ‘You want me to tell her this, don’t you?’
‘After all that
happened this afternoon, I understand that you wouldn’t want to see her now.’
‘I don’t, to be
honest. And she wouldn’t talk to me anyway.’
‘She doesn’t
really think you’re scum. When your mum died she felt sorry for you, she
said so, loads of times. I bet she’s feeling bad right now about what she
said to you earlier. I reckon she’d be glad of the chance to apologise.’
‘Even so, how am
I going to have that conversation with her?
Excuse me, I just had a
chat with your dead son and he asked me to tell you not to stress about him
…’
‘I know.
Maybe there is another way of doing it?’
‘How?’
‘Like… we could say that Raven told you.’
‘Raven?
So that wouldn’t be weird at all, me
consulting a medium about a boy from my class.’
‘No, you say you
went to see her about your mum and I came through instead.’
She holds me in
a steady gaze. ‘I suppose that could work.’
‘You’ll do it?’
‘I’ll
think about it,’ she says. She’s quiet for a moment but when she speaks again
she looks doubtful. ‘If I do this, what if that’s your unfinished business
finished?’
‘You mean my mum
is happy and I leave?’
She nods.
I think about
what she’s said before I reply. ‘I’m pretty sure I’m not here for that.’
‘You don’t still
think you’re here to look after me?’ she asks, raising her eyebrows.
‘Yeah, I do.’
‘Why? We
never had anything to do with each other before. Why aren’t you looking
after Ingrid? She at least meant something to you when you were alive.’
I shrug. ‘I
don’t know. Maybe Ingrid doesn’t need looking after.’
‘And I do?’
‘Roll back your
sleeves,’ I tell her. She stares at me. ‘Roll them back,’ I repeat.
‘No,’ she says,
pulling the fabric of her sweatshirt further over her wrists.
‘It doesn’t
matter anyway,’ I say calmly. ‘I can see a bruise on your neck.’
‘I bruise easily,’
she says, pouting at me.
‘You must do,’ I
say.
‘Because you’re covered in them.’
Her mouth works
for a moment but no sound comes out. ‘I have to wash up,’ she finally
tells me and I watch as she flips off the bed and
leaves
me alone in her bedroom.
I cross to the window. The snow is coming down as powder, barely
filling the cracks of the paving slabs on the front path, but the sky still
looks heavy. The road is deserted, other than the horse hanging his head
over the wall of his field as he tries to pull at a long weed growing on the
other side. I’ve decided to call him George, he sort of looks like a George. Bethany’s
dad’s seething tones carry up the stairs. I can hear Bethany’s
voice too, but it’s much quieter and he gets most of the exchange. His
voice gets louder and louder. I hear a thud, like an object being thrown
at a wall. Then, something that sounds like a slap reaches me, followed by a
sharp squeal. I get into Bethany’s
wardrobe and crouch down behind her clothes, covering my ears in the
darkness. Some guardian angel I am.
Bethany
takes a deep breath and glances at me before turning back to the door. Her face
is in shadow, apart from the muted glow of the lights showing behind the
curtained window of our living room.
‘What if she won’t
talk to me?’ she whispers, still staring at the doorbell.
‘She will,’ I
whisper back. I’m not even sure why I’m whispering. ‘She’ll always hear
people out.’
Bethany
frowns. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Just remember
the story: you went to see Raven about your mum and she told you that I wanted
to get a message to my mum. Then you tell her that I don’t blame her and
I’m sorry for what I said.’
‘You think that
will be enough?’
‘I don’t know.’
She gives a
short nod and then reaches up to ring the bell. We hear the faint chime
and then the sound of a door opening inside and footsteps echoing along the
wood of the hallway floor.
Roger opens the
door, his huge frame almost blocking out the light from the hall.
‘Yes?’
‘Um… I just
wondered if I could talk to David’s
mum?
’
‘What do you
want her for?’
Bethany
hesitates.
‘It’s ok,’ I
tell her. ‘He looks scarier than he is.’
‘I need to tell
her about something,’ Bethany says.
‘She can’t come
to the door right now.’ Roger goes to shut the front door.
‘It’s kind of
important,’ Bethany says in a small
voice.
The front door
stops and Roger looks at Bethany
more closely. ‘Are you the girl that was in the churchyard earlier?
Willis’s daughter?’
Bethany
glances at me. ‘Yes, but –’
‘She came home in
a right state after seeing you.’
‘I didn’t mean
to upset her.’
‘Well, you
did. So I think you’d better go.’
‘Tell the
mono-browed lump of lard that you need to talk to my mum about what Raven
said,’ I say to Bethany.
‘I just have to
see her for a couple of minutes,’ she says, ‘to tell her about something that
the medium in the village told me.’
‘What did the
medium say?’ Mum’s voice comes from behind Roger.
He turns in the
doorway so that we can see her standing behind. She has a bobbled old
cardi
pulled tight around her and her face is pale, though
her eyes are red and swollen.
‘It’s about
David,’ Bethany says, glancing
behind at the empty street. She turns back to Mum and Roger.
‘Step into the
hallway a minute,’ Mum says, ‘Say what you need to say and then go.’
Bethany
goes in and I follow. Roger closes the door behind. Bethany
takes off her hat. She pulls her hair down over her ear but I can still
see the red marks that look like fingers on the side of her face. She
looks nervous as Roger and Mum stare at her.
‘Don’t worry,’ I
say. ‘Just remember the story.’
Bethany
swallows. ‘I went to see the medium in the village yesterday.
About my mum.
But she didn’t tell me about my
mum. While I was there David spoke to her and wanted me to give you a
message –’
‘Is that right?’
Mum interrupts, folding her arms. ‘I went to see Raven this afternoon,
right after I’d bumped into you at the churchyard and do you know what she told
me?’
Bethany
shakes her head slowly, her eyes wide.
‘When I asked her
to reach David for me she said she couldn’t. She said she’d never spoken to him
since he passed on. So, whatever sick joke you’re playing you can stop now.’
‘It’s not a
joke,’ Bethany cries.
‘Then you’re a
nutter
?’
‘No!’
‘Leave it,
Beth,’ I say. I reach for her arm but my hand goes straight through.
‘Beth, let’s go.’
She turns to me.
‘I said I’d tell her and I will.’
‘What’s wrong
with you, you little freak?’ Mum shouts. ‘Stop talking to thin air.’
‘David’s here,’ Bethany
says, her voice beginning to crack. ‘He wants me to tell you that he doesn’t
blame you for how he died, he doesn’t want you to carry on being sad… he wants
you to stop hurting yourself.’
‘What did you
say?’ Roger steps forwards.
‘She doesn’t
have to cut herself. David hates it; it’s making him miserable,’
‘You little
bitch!’ Mum spits. ‘How dare you make up such vile
lies.
’
‘I’m not lying,’
Bethany begins to sob. ‘Tell them,
David,
tell them I’m not lying.’
I try to think
of something, something that only
me
and Mum would know.
‘When I was four I asked Santa for a dog, even though I’m allergic to them,
tell her that.’
‘He says when he
was four he asked Santa for a dog.’
‘Get out,’ Roger
says, opening the door.
Mum’s eyes fill
with tears. Her fingers creep beneath her cardigan sleeves and I see her
scratch at her arms.
‘Tell her I used
to sleep with one of her jumpers when she wouldn’t let me in her bed.’
‘When he was
little he… he used to sleep with one of your jumpers…’
Roger pulls Bethany’s
elbow and begins to drag her to the door and I go too, like we’re joined by
elastic.
‘I didn’t mean
what I said about the baby!’ I shout. ‘I was angry that night but I didn’t mean
it.’
‘He didn’t mean
what he said about the baby…’ Bethany
squeaks as she fights back her tears and Roger shoves her out over the
doorstep. She opens her mouth to speak again but the door is slammed shut.
Bethany
slides down it and puts her face in her hands. Her shoulders are shaking
as she quietly sobs on the doorstep.
‘I’m sorry,’ I
say.
She draws a deep
breath and swallows her tears as she looks at me. The snow is falling
faster now, the flakes like feathers against the ochre sky, and the garden
disappearing under it.
‘They’ll tell my
dad, won’t they?’ she whispers.
‘No, no they
won’t.’
‘I’ll be in so
much trouble.’
‘You won’t,
it’ll be ok,’ I say, though I really don’t believe it myself.
‘I can’t do
anything more for you,’ she says, pulling herself up to her feet. ‘I have to go
home now. Don’t follow me, please.’
She pulls her
flimsy coat tight, wedges the hat back on her head and starts to trudge down
the path.
‘Can I come
tomorrow?’ I call after her.
She looks at me.
‘I don’t think so,’ she says quietly. She turns back to the path without
another word, and walks away.
From inside the house, I can hear the muffled sound of Mum sobbing.
Roger’s voice is strong and calm and I can tell that he’s trying to soothe her,
even though I can’t hear what he’s saying. I think about going back
in. It’s not something I’m strong enough to face, though. Without Bethany,
I have no purpose again; already I can feel myself fading.
Raven’s low roof is heavy with a
glittering blanket of snow. I let myself in and wander down her dark hallway,
through the beaded curtain and into the living room where she’s sitting in her
armchair bent over some cards spread across a stained coffee table. What’s the
point in this stupid rule I set myself about not going into people’s houses
when I’m no more noticeable than the spiders under their floorboards? If
I’m about to disappear from existence, what does it matter?