Good Girls Don't (9 page)

Lucy calls me up again on Sunday, which is unusual in that we can generally manage for more than twenty-four hours without talking. There’s a part of me that suspects there’s something she wants to tell me and meant to yesterday but couldn’t, maybe to do with her and Andrew. Then again, she could just want to see me, but I have a feeling that isn’t the case.

I look at the date and realise that it’s two years to the day since the accident. I should have remembered. Everything happened at around the time of her sixteenth birthday, which fell on Holy Thursday, if I recall correctly. She was in the hospital two days later. I remember praying, even though I hadn’t prayed properly in years. We pray in school, of course, but everyone sort of mutters the words and doesn’t think about what they’re saying.

Maybe that’s it, maybe that’s what she wants to talk about. Only she’s never been that good with remembering dates. I had to remind her of when her anniversary with Andrew was.

I could be overreacting. She told me once that those few days in her life were blurred together for her now, and that she doesn’t remember much of it, especially not what she was feeling. Maybe that’s a good thing.

She comes over and we go to my room and sit on the bed. She looks at the photo from my birthday party and says, “We all look so
young.”

“We are young,” I remind her.

“Yeah, we are, aren’t we? See, that’s what I thought, we’re still young, we have our whole lives ahead of us, don’t we?” she says, sounding stressed.

I nod. “Does this have anything to do with Andrew and the whole being tied down thing?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You know the way you said birthdays make you think about that sort of stuff?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you know what else makes you think about that sort of stuff?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Marriage proposals.”

I gape at her.
“What?”

She nods. “I know! It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? He thinks it’s time to take the next step in our relationship. We haven’t even finished school and he’s talking about getting married.”

“When?”

“Oh, not soon, after college, I think, but he wants us to be engaged. To be able to say, yes, we’re serious about each other and we’re going to get married and have two point four kids and a dog and a goldfish and a dishwasher and a white picket fence.”

“It’s a bit scary,” I say.

“A
bit?”
she shrieks. “I’m still revelling in the idea that I can buy alcohol legally now and he’s saying, ‘Hey, let’s plan out the rest of our lives.’”

“Haven’t you talked about the future before, though?”

“Well, yeah, of course, but only vaguely. Like what we’re going to do in college, and what jobs we’d like to have, and maybe where we’d like to live and what we’d call our kids, but I never really took it seriously, you know? I mean, you and Barry talk about what names you’d pick for your kids, and you don’t mean it.”

“Yeah, but we’re not going out, and did you really think we’d inflict names like Ophelia and Horatio onto innocent children? We were trying to be all intellectual and . . . stuff.”

“Still. You know what I mean. I never thought that Andrew was serious about it. But now he’s all, ‘Ooh, let’s show everyone how much we really care about each other and how mature we are’.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I’d think about it. What else could I say? It was after we got home on Friday night, and we were sitting in the car talking, and he brought it up. And I was going right, okay, what’s going on, have I stepped into an alternate universe or something? He’s really pissed off with me for not saying yes right away, though. He got all huffy. So I haven’t spoken to him all weekend.”

“Oh, Lucy, you should have said something yesterday. Me going on about Declan when you had this to think about.”

“Yeah, but I was kind of hoping he’d call around and say he didn’t really mean it and he’s sorry for bringing it up. Now that I think about it, though, he’s been hinting at this for a while. And it’s so ridiculous, isn’t it? I mean, I can’t be engaged!”

“I know, I know.” There’s a sense of
déja vu
about this, and I suddenly remember what comes next.

As I suspected, the girl in Boots didn’t even blink when she saw that I was buying a pregnancy test. I found myself imagining what it would be like to be actually buying it for myself, though.

Lucy hadn’t even had her sixteenth birthday yet and she might be having a baby. A child. She was going to be a mother and have to worry about whether her kid was wearing mittens and getting enough vitamins and all that stuff.

***

Back then I hadn’t even thought about whether I wanted kids or not. It was never really an issue. Weird, that, considering that sex leads to babies and that while I was aware of the connection it had never really sunk in. I worried more about diseases, really. It’s awful and politically incorrect and even statistically incorrect to say it now, but I’d always associated HIV with gay men, and the first guy I ever slept with had been with one or two guys before me. And I wasn’t stupid; I knew that with all the stuff our crowd got up to, we were at risk for contracting pretty much everything there was. So I was always careful, and because of that, pregnancy had never been a real possibility. And I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have it be.

***

She was waiting for me to arrive. The door was open before I’d even walked up the driveway. I held up the bag, and she smiled.

“Oh, God, Emily, what would I do without you?” she said.

I asked if she’d told Andrew yet.

“I can’t,” she said. “I just can’t face him right now.”

“You’ll have to eventually,” I reminded her.

“I know, I know,” she said, chewing on her hair distractedly. She had it in two plaits and she looked so young. This couldn’t be really happening, could it?

She took the bag from my hands and burst into tears. “Oh, God, Emily, I’m so scared.”

“Shhh, shh,” I soothed her, putting my arms around her. At that moment all I wanted to do was make everything okay. Never mind that we hadn’t had a proper conversation in weeks or that I was only starting to get over her – this was my friend and I needed to do whatever I could, even though I felt completely helpless.

She dried her eyes and took out the test. “Well. Here we go.”

***

It was positive. Forget about that little sliver of hope that we’d both had, that maybe it was all a mistake and she wasn’t really pregnant. This was the real thing.

***

We sat on her bed, her talking, me listening.

“I don’t know what I’m going to,” she said. “And Andrew – oh, god. I don’t want to lose him, Em. I really don’t. I don’t know how I’d cope. Just the thought of it hurts me.”

“You’re not going to lose him,” I reassured her. “He’s crazy about you.”

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” she said. “This whole thing . . . I can’t be pregnant. I just can’t.”

“I know,” I said softly. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“Make it go away. Please. Make everything just be back to normal.”

And then she kissed me.

“I just – oh, I don’t know. Can’t you just make it all go away? Make everything be normal again?” She smiles.

“What am I, your fairy godmother?” I laugh.

“You always seem to make things better,” she says. “Make me forget . . .”

“Forgetting isn’t always a good idea,” I say, but she’s already incredibly close to me. How did that happen? And she’s running her fingers along my lips and I know what’s coming next, because we’ve been down this road before.

Lucy, you have to understand, is quite skilled in the art of kissing. Which is why I’m too distracted by this for a few minutes to even contemplate the idea of pushing her away.

It’s not until the door swings open and Janet sticks her head in, asking, “Emily, do you know where –” that we stop.

“Do I know where what is?” I ask.

“What?” she says.

“Whatever you barged in here looking for,” I remind her. “Speaking of which, don’t you ever knock?”

“What, so you and your little
friend
can pretend that you’re not up here
kissing?”
Never have I heard the word “kissing” used with so much disgust.

“No, because it’s common courtesy!” I say.

“Don’t try changing the subject, Emily,” she says.

“And what exactly is the ‘subject’?” I ask, exasperated.

“You! And
her!
Kissing!”

“Her name’s Lucy,” I remind Janet.

“Lucy?” Janet looks closer at her. “Does your
mother
know about this?”

“There’s not really a ‘this’,” Lucy says.

“Oh, so what’s going on here, then?” Janet demands. “Did you ever plan on telling us that you’re batting for the other team, Emily?”

I roll my eyes at the euphemism. “There’s nothing going on between me and Lucy,” I say honestly. “Now, if you don’t mind, tell me what you’re looking for and then get the hell out of my room.”

“I’m telling Mum,” she says.

“You’re
telling
on me?” I say in disbelief, and then shrug. “Fine. Tell her. I don’t care.”

Janet looks at me in frustration. Clearly this is not the right response. I should be begging her to keep my ‘secret’. But I don’t care. Honestly.

“Do you want me to go?” Lucy asks me quietly.

“No, it’s okay, stay,” I say. “Janet, is there anything else you want?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she snaps, and storms out.

Lucy looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “Well. That was pleasant.”

“She’s just the greatest older sister, isn’t she?” I say.

“Do you think she’ll really tell your mum?” Lucy asks, looking worried.

I shrug. “No idea.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really, no,” I say. “It’s not like I’m trying to keep anything a secret. It’s just – well, you know my parents. They don’t have much interest in my life, and that’s the way we all like it.” I think about Lucy and her mum again, friends and not just mother and daughter.

“Sounds kind of lonely,” she says softly.

I smile. “Nah. Not really.”

“Still,” she says, “you deserve, I don’t know, parents who appreciate what an amazing person you are.”

“Lucy, stop it,” I say, because once again I know where she’s going with this.

“It’s the truth,” she giggles, moving in to kiss me again.

“Lucy,” I say more firmly. “No, stop.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I don’t even know where to begin with that one. It’s the same thing that’s always been wrong. The fact that she’s never had any real feelings for me, no matter what she says.

It reminded me of a dream, a dream that I’d had over and over again while sitting in school or lying in bed at night, only it was real. I was scared to blink in case I missed a single moment, in case it ended.

***

Lucy was the second girl I slept with, after Izzy. And I hadn’t particularly cared about Izzy; that had just been an impulsive fling. It hadn’t meant anything.

Lucy – Lucy meant something. Lucy meant something because I’d been crazy about her for months and because now, now she’d initiated it, and it had to mean something.

***

Her stomach was still flat. You could pretend that there wasn’t really anything growing inside it, and that’s what we did.

***

I didn’t think about Andrew. Not then. Not until afterwards. I don’t know if she did. I don’t know if she’d cheated on him with anyone except me. She might well have. But I wanted to think I was special.

***

And she made me feel special. And loved, and peaceful, and happy.

***

And it meant absolutely nothing. To her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks again.

“It’s just – not this again, Lucy,” I sigh.

“Oh, come on. It’s just fun . . . you know that.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not ‘just fun’,” I say. “It’s you cheating on Andrew. It’s me starting to think about all these feelings I used to have for you. It’s not a good idea.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t – I don’t want to mess around with you, Em, you know I don’t. I just thought that you didn’t mind.” She always thinks I don’t mind.

“I wouldn’t, usually,” I say. “But it’s
you.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” she giggles. “Not that I’m really repulsive or anything.”

I smile. “You’re not. Definitely not.” Definitely, definitely, definitely not.