Torn (32 page)

‘I know. I wanted to, but I liked you so much. I just wanted you not to feel sad any more.’

He shakes his head. ‘All this time … you lied to me all this time. This whole relationship was based on nothing.’

‘That’s not true. I’ve never felt this way about anyone either. I love you, Jack. That’s why I had to tell you.’

‘You don’t know anything about love. You’re a stupid, scared little girl.’ He sighs. ‘I suppose I’m
meant to be grateful that you’ve finally told me? That you finally had the guts to give the ring back? Well, thanks a lot for killing my sister.’ His normally open features are closed and narrow and hooded. He wants to hurt me. And I can’t blame him. I don’t look away. I
deserve
to see this.

Jack rubs his arms and I notice that he’s shivering. I scoot over and grab his T-shirt from the bed. He takes it without a word and pulls it back over his head, inside-out.

‘You’re right. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done. It doesn’t matter that it was an accident. We should have gone to the police.
I
should have gone to the police. Or I should have told you sooner. I should never have let anything happen between you and me. I can say sorry a million times and it will never be enough. But you have to know that my feelings for you were –
are
– real. If there was anything I could do to make this better, I would.’

‘So would I.’ Some of the hatred on his face melts away, unless I’m just imagining the slight softening to his features. He rolls the ring between his fingers.

‘Are you going to tell your parents?’

Jack shakes his head slowly.

‘Are you going to tell the police?’

Another shake of the head.

‘But … I don’t get it. Why not?’

‘Because you are.’

Oh. ‘Jack, I can’t. Please don’t make me do this.’

His eyes burn a hole into my brain. ‘You can. And you will. It’s the right thing to do. And even after all this, I think … I
know
you’ll do the right thing.’

That kills me. I’d rather he blackmailed me or threatened me or called the police right this second.

‘I have to go. I’m sorry. Dad doesn’t know I’m out.’

Jack nods and slowly gets to his feet. He holds out his hand to pull me up. I hesitate before taking it.

We trudge downstairs. The house is too quiet, too dark. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway is the only sound. Jack opens the front door and steps aside to let me pass.

I turn to face him. His T-shirt is Day-Glo bright in the darkness, his face shadowy. ‘I’m sorry this happened. I’m sorry I did this to you.’

‘I know.’ For a split second I think he’s going to hug me. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

The driveway gravel crunches under my feet. I turn around and he’s still standing in the doorway. I can’t tell if he’s watching me. All I can make out is the bright white inside-out T-shirt.

The bus is busy and loud. People are talking to each other, or talking on their phones, or listening to music. How can their lives be so normal when mine is falling apart? Why does no one look at me? Can’t they sense something’s wrong with me?

I felt the same way after Mum died. I hated being around strangers who didn’t know what had happened. I thought that everyone should know and everyone should behave differently. No one should be allowed to laugh and joke. It didn’t seem right.

I shouldn’t have told Jack. Polly was right. Jack isn’t any better off for knowing the truth. He’ll never be able to stop picturing what happened. And he’ll never be able to shake the image of his sister lying broken at the bottom of a well.

Dad finds me sitting on the sofa in the dark, a blanket over my shoulders because I can’t seem to stop shaking. He flicks on the main light and stumbles back into the door. ‘Jesus, Al, you scared me half to death! I thought you were a ghost or something – the Lady of the Green Blanket!’

He’s drunk. Not completely wasted, but far from sober. He kicks off his shoes and slumps down next to me, reeking of cigarettes and beer. ‘So what are you doing sitting here in the dark? Meditating? Where’s Bruno?’

I haven’t seen Bruno. I have never once come into this house without Bruno bounding to greet me. Maybe he knows to stay away from me now. Maybe he knows I’m toxic.

Dad takes a second to look at me properly. Mum would have looked at me like that straightaway. Mothers know instinctively when something is wrong with their daughters. Fathers, it would seem, do not. Especially when they’ve been drinking. ‘Hey, kiddo, what’s up?’

Every molecule of me is screaming
NOTHING! I’M FINE
. That’s all I have to say and Dad will turn on the TV to watch
Match of the Day
. It’s very simple. Three little words. Say them, go to bed. Speak to Jack in the morning. Beg him. Do whatever it takes to make him keep this a secret. Forget this ever happened. Get on with your life. Tara and Rae are dead. Get over it.

‘I have to tell you something. It’s bad.’

‘OK, shoot.’ He glances towards the clock on the mantelpiece and I can tell he’s itching to switch on
the TV. He doesn’t believe that what I’m going to say is truly
bad
. He thinks it’s going to be I-got-a-D-inan-exam bad, or I-broke-your-favourite-mug bad. He has no idea. I am going to break him.

He listens quietly for the most part. He tries to interrupt a couple of times but I beg him to let me finish. I watch his transformation from relaxed and tipsy to worried and tense. By the time I’ve finished, he’s sitting on the edge of the sofa with his head in his hands.

‘Dad? Say something, please?’ I sound like a scared, stupid little girl. Just like Jack said.

‘Let me … I’m thinking.’

‘Dad? It’s going to be OK, isn’t it?’ I start to cry. I really didn’t want to cry, but I suppose it was inevitable.

He says nothing for a moment or two, then jumps up from the sofa and starts to pace. He always says his brain works better when it’s on the move. I count thirteen trips from one end of the room to the other before he speaks. ‘OK, Alice, I don’t want you to
worry about this any more. You made a mistake – you all made a terrible mistake. But that’s what it was – a
mistake
. You didn’t mean any harm.’ Apart from Polly. I didn’t tell him what I know about Polly. I’m not sure why.

My tears have settled into the occasional sniffle. ‘I’m going to call the police. DI Marshall said we should contact him if we had any information.’

Dad’s head snaps towards me. ‘No!’

‘I have to, Dad. You know I do.’

He kneels on the floor in front of me, grasping my hands in his. His hands are sweaty. ‘No, Alice, you don’t. I don’t know much about this sort of thing, but I don’t think it’ll just be a slap on the wrist for something this serious. It’s
manslaughter
, Al. Someone is
dead
. Two people, if you count Rae. You’re sixteen years old – you’d go to prison. And I am
not
going to let that happen.’ His face is fierce, but the fierceness isn’t aimed at me.

‘But think about her family – never knowing the truth. It’s not fair.’

‘I don’t care about her family! I care about you. You’re all I’ve got, Alice.’ He starts to cry and I can’t watch. When Mum died he was careful not to cry around me. I’d often come into a room and find him sitting there, red-eyed. He would cough and mutter
something about contact lenses, and I’d say nothing. It was better that way for both of us.

‘Please don’t cry. I have to do this. What if it was me? What if I was the one who died? You’d do anything to make sure I had a proper burial, wouldn’t you? A proper resting place where you could visit and bring flowers. Like we do for Mum.’

He sobs, but I can tell he’s trying to pull himself together. Trying to be the strong one like he’s always been. ‘If it was you, I wouldn’t want to know that you’d been lying at the bottom of a well all that time. It would kill me to know that.’

He’s right. But so am I. ‘Mum would agree with me.’ It’s a low blow, but it’s all I’ve got.

Dad shakes his head fervently. ‘You’re wrong. Your mother would do anything to protect you, just like I would. I promised her I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.’

‘That’s not a promise you could ever have kept. You’ve done everything right, but you could never have stopped this from happening. You do understand that, don’t you?’

He hangs his head and I know that he blames himself for this. That somehow I wouldn’t be in this predicament if only he’d been a better father. Or that this wouldn’t have happened if Mum was still alive.
Nothing I can say will make him think any different. His shoulders are slumped. ‘I can’t lose you, Alice.’

‘You won’t lose me. Whatever happens. I’m still your daughter and I still love you.’

He won’t look at me. ‘Please hear me out. No one has to know about this. It’s just you, Cass and this Polly girl, isn’t it? And from what you’ve told me, they don’t want this getting out either. There are four of us, Alice. Four people can keep a secret. The police investigation is closed. No one has to know.’

‘That makes you an accessory.’ I don’t know why I’m even bothering. He’s never going to agree to this. I should just tell him about Jack. That will stop him in his tracks.

‘I don’t bloody care what it makes me! I’m your father, Alice. Some day you’ll have children and you’ll understand what it is to be a parent. That’s if you’re not banged up in some women’s prison!’ he shouts.

I’ve heard enough. I get up from the sofa and head for the stairs.

‘Alice King, you get back here right now. I haven’t finished talking to you yet!’ If I close my eyes it could almost be six or seven years ago. I can almost imagine he’s cross with me because I’ve refused to eat all the carrots on my plate.

‘Let’s talk about this in the morning. We’re both exhausted.’

He gets up and rubs his face with his hands. ‘You’re right. Come and give your old Dad a hug, will you?’

There was a time when I thought that Dad’s hugs had magical properties. They always made me feel better when I was scared or worried. They even made me feel a little bit better when I was ill.

There’s something final about this particular hug. I wonder if Dad feels it too, because he whispers, ‘I’ll always love you, Alice. Never, ever forget that.’

‘OK, Dad.’

‘Promise me?’

‘I promise.’

The last thing he says to me before I leave the room is, ‘You’re a good girl.’

I don’t know who he’s trying to convince.

Bruno is lying on Dad’s bed, illuminated by a shaft of light from the hall. ‘Here, boy! Come here!’ I whistle, but the sound doesn’t come out right. He raises his head and looks at me. He puts his head back on his paws and closes his eyes.

My bedroom is cold.

I turn on my laptop and search through my desk drawers while it’s booting up. There’s a photo I need to find. It used to have pride of place on my bedside table. Until I put it away because I couldn’t bear to look at it.

I find it wedged in the back of the bottom drawer. It’s slightly torn in the corner. I should have taken better care of it.

Grumps took the photo on my eighth birthday. There’s a cake on a table in the background. A cake with eight candles. I’m wearing a blue and green
stripy dress and standing in front of Mum and Dad. I’m cowering and laughing because Mum has just started tickling me. No one’s looking at the camera: Dad’s looking at Mum and Mum’s looking at me and I’ve got my eyes squeezed shut from laughing so hard. It’s a bit of a rubbish photo really. The composition’s all wrong, and we’re ever so slightly out of focus. But it’s the only one I have.

There are loads of photos of me and Mum, or me and Dad, or Mum and Dad. But this is the only one I have with all three of us. I don’t know why that is. I’m sure there must be others, maybe on Dad’s computer. I wish I’d thought to look for them before.

I carefully fold the photo and put it in the back pocket of my jeans.

My ancient laptop has booted up at last. I sit on the floor with it balanced on my thighs. It takes me a while to find what I’m looking for. I don’t know how long I sit there staring at the screen.