Don't Ask (18 page)

The bus didn’t come for ages. They never do when you’re in a hurry. Either that, or they sail straight past you, even though you’ve got your arm out and a
pleading look on your face. I think bus drivers are sadists; they love playing power games, especially with teenagers. If you complain, they say you’re lying, or they thought you were going
to cause trouble, or you weren’t going to pay. Who’d believe you over them? I wondered if I should start walking towards the station, but I had too much to carry and I wasn’t sure
of the way. And, if I did, a bus was sure to come, right at the point when I was in between stops.

As I stood waiting, I half expected Alex to come running out of her house after me, shouting, ‘You’re an impostor, Laura Thompson!’ Of course, she didn’t. She was
probably sitting at the kitchen table, eating Cheerios and hoping that her parents hadn’t noticed the stains in the carpet. Save for a few cars, the street was quiet, a Sunday morning
stillness in the air. I looked around me at the unfamiliar road and the unfamiliar houses and the unfamiliar gardens, and everything appeared skewed, somehow, like it was the wrong size or the
wrong colour, or the wrong shape. I felt as if I’d fallen down a hole into another world – like Alice in Wonderland, but without any rabbits or strange people wearing mad hats. Had I
made the world look like this, I asked myself, or had it always been this way, and I hadn’t noticed?

Someone told me that if a butterfly flaps its wings in one place, it causes a tornado somewhere else. I considered if it might be true. Could I have changed the world for ever? Was it possible
that by spending almost a full twenty-four hours as Laura, I had inadvertently made her split off from Lily altogether? Had I changed not just the present, but history too? In some other universe
Lily could be waking up in her own bed, as usual, having spent the previous day and evening with Katie or with Jack. A Katie who wasn’t annoyed with her. And a sweet, gentle Jack who had
never hit anybody in his life, and never would.

The evidence on my mobile phone, still the same as the night before, refuted that. I listened to the messages over and over, trying to find evidence in Jack’s voice of the person I now
knew he was. There was none. The truth was, nothing had changed at all: it was simply that I knew more than I had before. And how I wished I didn’t know. How stupid I was not to have
considered that knowing could be worse than not knowing. All the way along, from the moment I’d first tracked down Alex, I’d thought, if I can find out the truth I’ll be happy.
Knowing was meant to simplify things, not complicate them.

I checked my watch for the umpteenth time. Ten o’clock, still too early to ring Katie. She always lay in on a Sunday. I couldn’t risk calling Jack back before I’d spoken to
her. He’d have been up for hours, he’d be on his way to football training. What time would he start calling me again? Might he he wait until I rang him? I guessed it depended on what
Katie had told him. Oh God, what had she told him?

By the time the bus came and dropped me off at the train station, I couldn’t hold back any longer. If Katie were already annoyed with me, waking her up would merely give her something else
to be annoyed about. As I dialled her number, I felt a bit sick, the way you do when you’re a kid and you know you’re about to receive a serious (and deserved) telling off.

‘Katie?’ I said tentatively.

‘For God’s sake, Lily! Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you ring me back last night?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t get your message till really late. Is everything OK? Did Jack call you?’

‘Yeah, he did.’ My pulse quickened. ‘That’s why I needed to speak to you. He gave me the fright of my life when he called. I didn’t even know he had my
number.’

‘I think I gave it to him once when . . . I can’t remember. Sorry. What did he want?’

‘He just wanted to speak to you. He didn’t say why.’

‘Did you tell him I wasn’t there?’

‘Of course not, Lil. Like I’m going to drop you in it like that? I didn’t know what to say, so I told him you had a headache – a migraine – like my mum gets,’
she said. ‘I said you were asleep and you’d call him this morning. He seemed sort of cool with that. At least, I think he believed me.’

I hadn’t been aware that I’d been holding my breath. It came out noisily, like a deflating balloon. Oh, the relief. Katie was a star. Thanks to her, Jack didn’t know that I
hadn’t been at her house all night. No real damage done. I’d never felt so grateful in all my life.

‘Thanks, Katie, I owe you one,’ I said.

‘Yeah, you do. You owe me about a thousand,’ she said, and it sounded like she meant to make me pay.

‘I know. I appreciate it. Really. If there’s anything I can do for you. Anytime.’

She went quiet and I wondered what dreadful tasks she was dreaming up for me. Doing her coursework for a year? Popping the zits on her back?

‘There’s only one thing,’ she said, her tone grave. ‘I want you to finish all this Alex stuff. I’ve had enough of lying for you and pretending I don’t mind
when you go off to parties and football matches and use me to cover for you. It’s not fair.’

‘Wow,’ I said. I hadn’t expected that. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.’ I hesitated. This probably wasn’t the best time to tell her what I’d
learned about Jack. It didn’t sound like she’d be sympathetic. But I had to get it off my chest, and preferably before I called him. Katie would know what to do, what to say.
‘Listen, Kay,’ I continued, cautiously. ‘Something’s happened and I really need to talk to you. It’s about Jack. Can I come round? I’m just getting on the train,
but I could be there in an hour or so.’

‘No, you can’t. Not now, I’m going out with my mum.’

‘Please, Katie. It’s serious.’

‘I can’t get out of it,’ she said, and it sounded like she was struggling to be firm. ‘I promised her. Look, we’ll only be out for a few hours. Whatever it is,
I’m sure it can wait. Come round later.’

‘OK,’ I said, flatly. There was no point pushing her.

‘What is it about, anyway?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ This wasn’t something I could talk about on the phone, not when she was clearly in a hurry and fed up with the whole Jack situation.

‘OK, fine,’ she said. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that she sounded relieved.

Only after I’d put the phone down did I think that I should have asked Katie how long a migraine usually lasts. Hours? Days? Was it feasible that I might still be tucked up in bed, with
the curtains pulled tight to block out the light? What I really wanted to know was how much longer I could delay calling Jack back. There was more to it than simply not wanting to talk to him
because I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t ring him from the train, not with station announcements and train noises and other people talking in the background. Nothing would be more
certain to convince him that Katie had lied, and that I had deceived him about where I’d been.
‘Sounds like I’m on a train, you say? Yes, it’s the latest cure for
migraine, didn’t you know?’

But what if he didn’t hear from me, couldn’t get Katie and so called my house instead? Mum would pick up. She’d learn about my illness and be so concerned that she’d
probably drive straight round to Katie’s to pick me up. When she arrived, and I wasn’t there, the whole charade would disintegrate. I’d be in trouble, Katie would be in trouble,
and Jack would be so hurt and angry that . . . that . . . who knew what he might do?

Oh my God, I thought, a cold sensation creeping down my spine. Oh my God, I am actually a little bit scared of him.

I briefly contemplated getting on a train – any train – and seeing where it took me. After all, I was carrying half my wardrobe and all my toiletries with me. I even had my sleeping
bag. A quick glance inside my purse revealed I only had fifty-nine pence, barely enough for a bag of crisps. I’m not the park bench type; I wouldn’t have lasted an afternoon.

I would have to face Jack, then, but not yet. There was one thing I could do to buy myself a few more hours before I had to speak to him. I could take the cowardly option: I could text him.

I typed
Srry. Hm bt stl nt wll. Cu l8r. Lxx

Then, switching off my phone, I climbed on to my train, settled back in my seat and closed my eyes, hoping against hope that I would wake up to find it had all been a bad dream.

‘Lily, wake up!’

Mum was standing over me, gently shaking my shoulders. I opened my eyes, then promptly shut them again. Why was Mum on the train with me? And since when did train carriages have duvets and
pillows? I tried to sit up and speak, but my head felt heavy, my mouth dry and uncooperative.

‘Gurr? Wharr? Where am I?’

‘You’re at home, silly, where you’ve been for the last three hours. In your own bed. Where did you think you were?’

‘I was dreaming I was on a train,’ I said, closing my eyes again.

If only it had all been just a dream. Whatever I might have wished for, this wasn’t one of those stories where everyone wakes up and lives happily ever after. Real life isn’t like
that. Not my life, anyhow.

‘Ah, that could signify you’re going to come into some good fortune,’ said Mum, who likes reading books about the meaning of dreams. ‘But it probably just signifies that
you didn’t have enough sleep at Katie’s last night. I don’t know why you call them sleepovers – you never seem to get any sleep at them. Anyway, you need to get up now. You
can’t spend all of Sunday in bed, and Jack is downstairs.’

Any hope that Mum’s dream analysis was right and I was about to experience good fortune vanished instantly. Panic catapulted the fatigue from my body and I sat up so quickly that I banged
my head on the headboard. ‘What? Jack? Downstairs?’

‘Yes, weren’t you expecting him? He arrived a few minutes ago.’

‘No,’ I said, my voice unexpectedly high-pitched. What could I do to make Mum tell Jack to go home? What could I say? Why couldn’t I think of anything? The migraine? Mum would
see right through that. I cleared my throat. ‘Um, I mean, I’m not sure.’

‘Are you OK?’ Mum asked, concerned. She gave me her ‘you can tell me anything’ look and started wittering. ‘Have you had a fight? Jack seems to think you’re
not well. He said something about a migraine, but you didn’t mention that when you came home. I didn’t know you got migraines. Maybe we need to take you to the doctor on Monday. Are you
sure you’re all right?’

‘Just a headache,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s fine. Nothing to worry about, honest.’

She looked at me sideways, as if she didn’t quite believe me. ‘Get dressed and come downstairs then. He’s in the living room. I’ll go and make you both a cup of
tea.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, with a half smile.

She left the room and I looked around me frantically, my eyes scoping out the room like I was in the SAS. Could I climb out of the window and shimmy down the drainpipe to make my escape, like
people always seem to do in movies? Or could I could hide under the bed and hope that I’d remain invisible until I chose to climb out again? It worked when I was six, and a fair bit smaller,
and before I’d shoved clothes and books and magazines under there, rather than tidy them away. Silly, I know, but Jack wasn’t supposed to have come round, unannounced. I’d planned
to prepare myself before I saw him again, to think things through properly. I’d expected him to call me, not just to turn up. To call me . . . God, I’d switched off my mobile,
hadn’t I? Mum said I’d been asleep for three hours. Had Jack been ringing ever since he received my text?

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the chair, where I’d dumped my clothes and bags. My phone was buried at the bottom of my handbag. I turned it on and it
shuddered into life, announcing, after a brief pause, that I had three missed calls, all from Jack, plus a text from ‘Jared’ – Alex. I was relieved to see that she had only sent
one of those generic, round-robin texts that you send to all your friends at once to save time.

Thnks 4 cmng. Gr8 2 c u. xxx,
it read. I tossed my phone on the bed. I would reply later, when Jack had gone and when I’d got my head together.

I put my crumpled clothes back on and viewed my reflection in the wardrobe door. If mirrors could speak, mine would have emitted a large and very deep sigh. I looked dreadful: tired, my skin
blotchy and my hair a mess of tangles. I’d never usually have let Jack see me looking so ropey, but for once, I didn’t care. It’s even good, I thought, I really do look like
I’ve had a migraine. Maybe Jack would feel sorry for me and go straight home, so I wouldn’t have to face him.

As I came down the stairs I could hear him chatting to Mum in the living room. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but my name was mentioned a couple of times. Sick with nerves, I stood
outside the door for a few moments, gathering the courage to push it open. ‘Act normal,’ I repeated to myself. ‘Act normal.’ When, finally, I opened the door, Jack jumped up
out of his seat and rushed towards me, like a charging bull.

‘Lily!’ he said, hugging me overenthusiastically. I went through the motions of hugging him back, but I felt I didn’t want to get too close. ‘Lil,’ he continued.
‘I’ve been really worried about you. How’s your migraine?’