Someday Find Me (23 page)

There was a rift in the clouds. An icy blue puncture in the grey fug that had surrounded me; a tear in the trust and the softness that had kept me briefly still. I heard her on the phone that morning.

I’d slept in, kept up late by thoughts and feelings all cut loose. I’d slept in until the sun was shining through the clouds and through the window. I got up slowly, hearing Stevie moving about downstairs. I needed to shower away the night, clean away the thoughts, so I went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water. There were no towels hanging on the rail so I went back out onto the landing, to the pile of clean washing on the chair at the top of the stairs. And I heard her.

I stepped down onto the first stair at the sound of her voice. Something stopped me. Something made me crouch there and listen very carefully.

‘No,’ she was saying. ‘No, that’s fine. I can do something nice with her today, keep her busy. She wants to take pictures, I think.’

There was a silence as she listened. Through the gap in the banisters I could see her winding the plastic flex around her finger.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Seven is fine. How far is the place? Will they be able to admit her that late?’

More silence.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Great. You can text me if you’re going to be late. We’ll be here. A what? … Oh, okay. Where can I get those?
And how will I get her to take it? … No, no, I understand. I’ll try and keep her calm.’

She listened a minute longer. ‘Right. I’ll be ready for you at seven … No, there’s just the front door. The back one’s always bolted … Okay, Pippa. See you then. Safe journey.’

And she put down the phone.

Everything hung silent and still in the air after the click of the receiver going down. I felt as if I was breaking into a million pieces, disappearing into dust. Then time snapped back and the blood rushed to my face and I was up and making for the bedroom as quickly as I could.

Soon after that she came up the stairs. I was sitting on the bed, already running in my mind. When I heard her steps on the landing, I reached for the file and pretended that all there was to fix was a broken nail.

‘Morning, lazybones.’

‘Morning.’

‘Brought you a cup of tea.’

She came and sat next to me on the bed, setting the mug on the little table. ‘You sleep okay?’

‘Yes, thanks. Really cosy.’

‘Good. Look, I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk. I know you’ve had enough grief from your parents. I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you but I went and made a hash of it as usual.’

I handed her the nail file and smiled. ‘It’s all right. I’m used to it. Don’t worry about it, it’s forgotten.’

She put an arm round me and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Good. Right, I’m taking you out today. Something fun. What d’you want to do?’

I thought, trying to get some words to surface in the sea of noise that filled my head. ‘I don’t mind. I’d quite like to go down to the water.’

‘Yeah? The docks? Or the beach?’

As if it mattered. ‘The docks, I think.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea. There’s some lovely places round there to eat or drink as well. We could stay on for a bit.’

‘That’d be nice.’

‘You could take some pictures? For your art?’

‘I don’t have my camera.’

‘That’s okay, you can use mine.’ She stood up and opened a drawer in the little desk. ‘Here y’are.’

‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

‘Me too. Okay, so me landlord’s coming round in a bit – or so he says. They’re doing something to the alarms. Spiders keep setting them off. So once he’s gone we can go out, yeah?’

I made myself smile. ‘Yeah.’ Behind her, tucked in a corner, I saw Lulu’s backpack waiting for me.

The steam filled the room and curled upwards towards the light. I stood watching, feeling the spray from the shower catch my face, and wished I could follow it. After a minute, which seemed to go on for days, I stepped over the edge of the bath and pulled the curtain shut behind me as I let the water rain down.

It was over. I had no place to go and no place to belong. All the dreams I had were gone away. I felt as if there was an end coming, as if I was standing on the beach watching all the footprints be washed away, waiting to walk into the water and walk and walk until the waves closed over my head.

What’s the point in living? Beauty is like a tiny golden butterfly, always flickering just out of reach. If you catch it in your fist and trap it to you, it’s crushed. Everywhere you look there is sadness disguised as happiness, or happiness waiting to be sadness, and it made me so tired. All I wanted was to be with him, for everyday to be sunny parks and doodled shoulders, always to see the world through heart-shaped sunglasses and always to have his laughter in my ear. And everything was nothing without that.

I didn’t know where I could run. I didn’t know how it would ever stop. I looked down and I saw the silver blades of a razor gleaming back at me.

I could never have done it. Perhaps I cared too deeply about Stevie to leave such a smudge on her clean life. Perhaps I was just too afraid, when it came down to it, too weak.

The landlord left just as the sun had reached its highest point and was beginning slowly to sink down towards the opposite terrace far below. I heard him speaking to Stevie and then I heard the front door shut. I went downstairs and tried to hold my face in its place. When I opened the door to the living room, Stevie was putting a folder into her bag. Her coat was on.

‘All right, bird? Sorry about that. He likes to natter on.’

‘It’s okay.’ I pulled my jumper round me and sat down. ‘Are you going out?’

‘Yeah, got to drop an essay at uni. You wanna come? Then we can go straight down the docks and you can get snapping. Or I can just come and pick you up on the way back. Up to you.’

‘Just charging your camera. Okay to get me on the way back?’

She zipped up her bag and hung it on the crook of her arm while she fiddled with her hair in the mirror. ‘Course it is. Won’t be long. Put something warm on, gets nippy down there, even in the sun.’

As she left, I felt as if something very important was leaving with her. I had to stop myself calling out after her. But when the door closed behind her, I turned and ran. I ran up the stairs and
into the bedroom, and I knew then that I would always be running.

My bag felt empty, even with all of my things stuffed back inside. Everything was empty now. I put the razor in last. There was a blister pack of painkillers on the bedside table. I took those as well and zipped the bag up. I had one last look around at what my life could have been, and then I put the bag over my shoulder and ran down the stairs two at a time. The front door opened in a blaze of bright light. And there he was.

The sun was shining down between the shingle roofs, and the grubby trainers hanging on the wires were dancing in the breeze. The car door was still gaping open as he loped across the road and onto the pavement and up to the gate and it seemed as though it only took him one step to reach me. The car radio was still playing, the engine still running; I looked over to the gang on the corner but even they were standing watching, all of them and their dogs as well, all watching with their heads cocked on one side. He took my hands awkwardly and looked into my eyes. He was trying to say something, his bottom lip moving and Al Green winding down on the stereo. But there were no words left. I looked into his eyes, all framed with fluffy eyelashes and the faint dent from his pound-shop Aviators and suddenly the gate was flung open and my arms were round his neck and we were spinning, spinning round in circles among the cobbles and the dog shit and the chip wrappers.

‘It’s me and you, Saf,’ he whispered in my ear, and it is. It always is.

My feet touched the ground and we stood, my arms still wrapped around his neck, and his tight round my waist. We were laughing, even though nothing was funny, and my eyes were filled with hot and happy tears and my heart was racing against his. Marvin Gaye started to play from the car radio and we started to dance, just like in the kitchen that day, as though nothing had changed and it had all been one horrible dream.
I leant back in his arms and looked up at the sky through the web of wires and washing, antennae and trailing laces and lolling tongues, and for the first time since I’d arrived, there was not a cloud in sight. There was nowhere left to run.

(BECAUSE ALL ENDS ARE REALLY BEGINNINGS)

We pulled up to the place and I looked at Saffy sat next to me, and I remembered what it was like, looking at that empty seat all the way around the world and back again to get to Liverpool and picturing her sat there, and how that was what had kept me going, and now she was going to be gone again and I was going to let her be gone, and then I wanted to turn the car around and keep driving and driving for ever. And it already seemed like her actually really officially being sat next to me was a dream, even though it wasn’t, and if I wanted to I could reach out and touch her, which I actually did then, as I parked the car, just reached out and touched some of the blonde hair that was lying on her shoulders with their freckles, and it felt soft and magic, like angel hair lying on clouds. I turned off the engine and we both sat quietly and watched the double doors opening and closing with a little
sssh
as people went in and nurses came out and stood outside and smoked cigs. Over in the corner a girl was being bundled out of a car by two big blokes in girly pink uniforms and she was trying to bite them and all her hair was in her face and her little parents were following along behind looking around a bit embarrassed to see who was watching.

I could feel Saffy breathing next to me in slow, calm breaths, so quiet you wouldn’t hear them if you weren’t me, but I heard every sound she made and saw everything she did because when Saffy was around she was everything, she was the whole world.
I reached out and touched her again just to know she was real, and then I said, ‘You okay? You sure you want to do this? You don’t have to, Saf, I won’t make you, we can go home and be just the two of us and I’ll look after you I’ll keep you safe I promise.’ I was touching her shoulder, touching each of her freckles one by one to make sure they were all there and that I would remember exactly where each one lived, and she laid her cheek against my hand and we could both feel my fingers shaking against her lovely soft skin.

‘Yes,’ she said, looking at the double doors through the windscreen. ‘I’m sure.’ She turned her head for a second so that her face was resting on my hand and closed her eyes, and her lovely long lashes kissed my fingers just once, and then she sat up and unclipped her seat belt. ‘I want to do this,’ she said. ‘I’m going to do it for you.’ And she looked at me with her eyes dry, even though mine were all shiny and blurry, and then she opened the door and got out of the car. She stood outside for a second with the door open and I could just see her little legs and her tiny waist in the open space and then she leant back down and kissed her fingers and reached in and pressed them against my face. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For coming to find me.’ And then she shut the door and she walked across the car park and into the building without looking back and the doors slid shut behind her
sssh
.

Lisa Baker, who was my very first reader and whose unwavering belief in the story carried it all the way through. Jo Unwin, genuinely the best agent ever, whose unfailing ability to make you feel enthusiastic about ‘one more draft’ should be bottled and sold in shops. Clare Reihill, who really, truly just ‘got it’ right from the start. The dream team: Claire Lewzey, Hilary Fawcett, Hayley Richardson and Sasia Lee, who I’d be lost without. Archana Rao, the consummate flatmate, for her wisdom, wine and company. Lee Brackstone, who has seen the book change in a hundred different ways, but who never lost sight of the story at its heart. And to everyone else who has offered support, advice or alcohol along the way: Ian Ellard, Lizzie Bishop, Emma Jamison, David Sanger, Jason Cooper, Richard Milward, Jenny Forrest, Liz Woabank, Jonny Bradford, Sam Richards and Katie Lee. And lastly, to my lovely family whom I love to bits – thank you.

NICCI CLOKE was born in Cambridgeshire in 1986. Shegraduated from the University of Liverpool in 2008 and currently lives in Brixton, where she spends her time reading, writing, dreaming about travelling and watching really awful television.
Someday Find Me
is her first novel; she is working on her second.