The Dr Pepper Prophecies (28 page)

I right click on the Messenger icon, for want of anything else to do.  His inbox shows three new messages.  I click on the link.

I won’t
read
them, obviously.  It won’t do any harm just to see who they’re from.  One might be important and I could tell him about it.  Maybe that’ll break the ice on the door that’s frozen shut between us.

Matt ‘Re: I had an idea’, Lucy Knightley (Will's mum) ‘Further to our discussion’, Natalie ‘Arrangements’.  Nothing that screams ‘urgent’.

I close the window, get up and then take my seat at the table.  I rub my spoon against the bottom of my bowl sadly, wondering if Will would notice if I wore a hole in it.

Will comes in, sets down jars of honey and apricot jam on the table and then plants a kitchen-towel-covered pile of toast in the centre.

'There’s more if you want it,' he says and sits down.

Would he notice if I didn’t eat anything?

Would he care?

What’s happened to us?  One minute we’re fine, then I tell him that waking up next to him is really freaky and he goes all silent and distant on me.  I mean, why should that even make a difference to anything?  He must have known what I meant.

'So,' I say, like this is another one of Beth’s blind dates and I’m trying desperately to make conversation. 'How are your parents?'

'Fine,' Will says, buttering a piece of toast.

A little help would be nice.

'Did you find much to talk about on Sunday?' I try again.

'The usual,' Will says, unhelpfully. 'My future, the next generation of Knightleys.  This and that.'

He adds a layer of honey to his toast.  Silently.

I start pouring myself a bowl of cornflakes.  Halfway through I stop and put the box down.

'What about the
website?' I ask desperately.  I’d rather have a lecture on the finer points of HTML coding than this.  'How’s that going?'

'Fine,' Will says and takes a bite of his toast.

'Right,' I whisper and finish pouring.

Several ice ages pass.  During which I add milk and force a spoonful of cornflakes down my throat.  They taste of straw.  But then I suppose they always do.

This is hell, this is torture, this is…

This is stupid.

'Will,' I say, dropping my spoon onto the table with a clatter, 'why are you being so quiet?  We don’t play games, you and I, we never have done.  That’s the greatest thing about being friends with you.  I don’t want to lose that now.  Tell me what I’ve done, so I can apologise and do whatever I need to do to make it up to you.'

Will has stopped with his mouth open, just about to crunch down on his toast.  He closes his mouth, opens it again and seems about to speak.  Then he gives a tiny shake of his head and puts his toast down.  He does speak, but I’m not absolutely convinced that he’s saying what he meant to say at first.

'You’re right,' he says, finally looking at me properly. 'I’m acting like an idiot.  You haven’t done anything wrong and you’ve got nothing to apologise for.'

I haven’t?  That’s new.  Making mistakes is practically my reason for being.

'I must have done,' I say, frankly a little bewildered. 'I said waking up with you was freaky and you went all weird.'

Will pauses.  One of those pauses politicians use while they try to figure how not to answer your question.

'It’s nothing,' he says and I know he’s lying. 'It’s…okay, tired old cliché time…it’s not you, it’s me.  I’ve…got some stuff on my mind right now, that’s all.  Trying to figure a few things out.'

'Tell me,' I say, seeing my chance to be helpful and repair things a little. 'I’m sure I can help somehow.'

Will shakes his head. 'It’s not really the sort of thing you can help with,' he says. 'Or anyone, not just you.  I’m just…having a mid-life crisis, I suppose.'

'You’re about fifteen years too young for that,' I say, cheering up considerably now that we’re talking again.

Will laughs, thank God.

'I’m exaggerating,' he says. 'I’m just…trying to make a few decisions.  Change some stuff.  Think about where I’m going.'

I have a bad feeling about this.

'You’re not turning into
Big Five Accountant Guy, are you?' I ask anxiously. 'Becoming a member of the undead, the people who care who made their furniture?'

Will’s smile is weird.  It’s like he’s amused, affectionate and sad all at once.

'No,' he says. 'I think I can safely promise you never to do that.'

'No matter how hard Natalie tries to convince you?' I press.  Bad idea, but I have to ask.

Will pauses again. 'Actually…' he begins.

The phone rings and we both jump.  Since Will’s nearest, he reaches over to the counter behind him and answers it.

'Knightley,' he says, running his fingers through his hair. 'Oh, Brittany.  What a nice surprise.'

My head, which had sunk as I checked the sogginess of my cornflakes, snaps up.  Why is Brittany calling Will?

'How’s the family?' Will’s saying. 'Good.  Yes, Mel said.  Yes, she is here.  I’ll just pass you over.'

Will holds out the phone to me.  I eye it like it’s a wasp’s nest, but take it reluctantly.

'Brittany,' I say, in the most civil tone I can muster.  There may also be a touch of apprehension in my voice.  I haven’t spoken to her since my outburst at our parents’ house.

'Hello, Mel,' she says.

Weird on two counts.  She used my nickname and the voice that was syrupy is now…I don’t know, jammy maybe.  I’m fairly fond of jam, actually.

Musn’t be taken in though. 
Mustn’t be caught off guard.

'I was wondering,' Brittany says, a little hesitantly. 'If you’re not too busy…'

She’s good.  She sounds really awkward.  I almost trust her.

Almost.

'What?' I ask, squaring my shoulders for the attack.

'I was wondering,' she says again, 'if…maybe you could help me with something.'

Unbelievable.  The nerve.  No apology, no mention of anything I said before.  Nothing.  And yet she expects me to drop everything to help her.

'No,' I say shortly. 'I don’t think so.  In fact…' I smile to myself.  This telling off thing gets easier the more I do it, '…in fact, I’d really prefer it if you’d just leave me alone.'

And then I hang up.

God, it feels good.

I hand the phone back to Will, flushed with triumph.

'What did she say?' he asks
curiously, as he puts the phone back on the counter.

'She wanted me to help her with something,' I say scornfully. 'Can you believe that?'

Will shrugs. 'What?' he asks.

'It doesn’t matter what,' I say
, a little flustered. 'The point is her asking, after all she’s done, after the way she’s treated me.'

'So you didn’t actually ask?' Will says, returning to his toast.

I stare at him. 'Of course I didn’t ask,' I say in disbelief. 'You’re completely missing the point.'

'She is your sister,' Will points out, composedly. 'Surely it couldn’t have hurt to hear her out?'

'She didn’t even try to apologise,' I protest hotly. 'Why should I?'

'Maybe she was trying to apologise,' Will says, starting to b
utter another piece of toast, 'but finding it hard to start.  Making a small peace offering by admitting she has something she can’t fix alone.'

That is, of course, a possibility.  But I don’t believe it.

What?  I know her way better than Will does.

'It’s a trick,' I say resolutely. 'She’ll get me in the middle of something and then laugh at me when I can’t get out of it.'

Will says nothing.

'Well, she will,' I insist, now getting worked up. 'She’s sneaky and she loves to hurt me and I don’t see why I should make it easier for her.  Give me one good reason why I should help her?'

'You’ve ‘helped’ a lot of others who didn’t want your help and didn’t exactly benefit from it,' Will says mildly. 'Maybe you could finally do some real good.'

Inside my heart is the emotional equivalent of a nuclear launch button.  Will just pressed it.

'Oh, that’s right,' I choke, shoving my chair back from the table and heading for the door. 'Poor Mel, failure Mel, laughing-stock Mel who nearly gets her colleague raped and then gets thrown out by her psycho flat-mate.'

I yank on my elephant slippers and turn back towards Will.

'It’s fine,' I say. 'Laugh, enjoy it.  Why not?  You and Brittany can form a club to talk about how crap I am.'

Will gets up from the table and strides over to the door, as I fumble with the dead-lock chain, wiping my eyes on my sleeve, and pull the door open.

'Mel,' Will says, chasing me as I start running down the stairs. 'Mel!  Come back!  What the frell are you doing?'

'I’m going home,' I yell over my shoulder, as I reach the bottom. 'I’m going to go find out if I’m going to be murdered by Beth.  Because right now that sounds pretty great.'

'Mel,' Will says, catching up to me and slamming the door that I’ve half-opened. 'Mel.  I’m sorry, okay.  I shouldn’t have said that.  Don’t go home like this.'

I look up at him, my eyes streaming
, and I sniff. 'You were always the one person I thought I could count on to be on my side,' I choke, 'but I guess even that isn’t true anymore.  So fine.  I’ll get out of your life and you won’t have to bother with your screw-up friend anymore.  Have a nice life.  I hope you figure out whatever’s on your mind.'

Will looks as if I’ve slapped him, so I grab the opportunity to yank the door open and get outside.  Then I start to run.  As fast as I can.  Until my lungs start to burn and, when I look up to see where I am, I realise I’m home.

Where lurks the evil within.

It’s sort of the reverse of Christmas morning when I was little.  Then I tried to creep downstairs from my bedroom without my parents hearing.  Now I’m trying to creep upstairs to
the flat without Beth hearing.  I have Will’s spare key in my pocket, so if I’m really quiet…

I forget about the creaky stair and it makes an agonisingly loud noise.  I freeze, one foot in the air, like I’
m in some stupid movie trying to break into a museum to steal a rare diamond or something.

No alarms go off, no burly security guards appear out of nowhere to arrest me (shame) and no terrifying monster appears at the top of the stairs.  So, very, very slowly, I proceed.

Even the door seems to make an almighty clunk as I unlock it.  It suddenly occurs to me that Beth could have the chain on, thus rendering my key useless, unless I suddenly turn myself into flubber and squeeze through the keyhole or something.  But she doesn’t seem to have thought of that.

I think I’m safe.

I push open the door and tiptoe inside.

'Hello,' Beth says.  She’s sitting on the sofa.

I very nearly dart outside, slam the door behind me and scuttle back down the stairs into the street.

But then what would I do?  Where would I go?

'Hello,' I reply, still holding onto the door.  Worst case scenario, I could use it as a shield.

She looks perfectly calm.  Like normal Beth, except she must be pretty hungover.  But after her dual-personality thing, I’m a little sceptical.

'Come a little closer.'

Said the spider to the fly.

I take a step the length of an ant.

'Seriously,' Beth says. 'Come here.  I won’t bite.'

I move towards her slowly, body poised for the fight or flight reaction. 

I perch gingerly on the edge of the sofa, the furthest possible distance away from Beth.  Then, with the odd sense of calmness that seems to accompany certain death, I turn to her.

'I’m sorry.'

Weird, that didn’t sound like my voice.

Which could be because it wasn’t.

Beth is apologising to me.

'Ummm…that’s okay,' I say awkwardly, feeling rather wrong-footed.  This wasn’t quite what I pictured.

'Really,' Beth says.  She sounds sincere. 'I think I need to explain a few things.'

I shift the tiniest bit closer. 'Uh…okay,' I say.  And wait.

Beth takes a deep breath. 'I’m an alcoholic,' she says.

What?

No, scrap that.  I mean WHAT?

She can’t be serious.

'I’m also an ex-drug-
addict,' Beth continues.

Huh?

'I’ve had sex with over a hundred men.'

I don’t even think I’ve met a hundred men.

'And at one point I thought I had HIV.'

I just…don’t know what to say.

'Uh…okay,' I say again, just the slightest bit mind-blown.

'Obviously I need to elaborate on that a little,' Beth says composedly, like we’re discussing the best colour carpet to buy.