Violet Ink (10 page)

I think about what she's written – about feeling ill and tired; about everyone talking about her. She's written about being replaced when she's gone. And it's suddenly shockingly obvious to me what's going on. Alex isn't on drugs: she's dying. My big sister is dying and she can't bring herself to tell me.

I'm not a person who cries very often. I don't like the way it makes me feel so usually the worst that happens when I'm upset is a few tears prickling at the back of my eyes. It feels strange and unwanted to have tears flowing uncontrollably down my face, but there's not one thing that I can do about it. I have to read the rest of the letters. I need to find the letter where she tells me WHY. I need to know what Alex is facing so that I can be prepared, so that I can help her and be brave for her. The thing is, I'm only twelve. Alex is right
when she says I'm just a kid. I'm not sure I can be brave enough to watch her disappear in front of me. I don't want to see her wither and shrink and become frail and pale. Alex is the big sister for a reason – she's braver and funnier and better than me. I don't know if I can be big for her.

At some point I've picked up Mr Cuddles and I hold him tightly to me now as I choose the next envelope and open it, pulling out the single piece of paper with as much fear as if it WAS all the evils of the world coming out of Pandora's box.

14th April

Dear Izzy,

Please don't tell Mum. I know that this is a terrible thing to ask you, but it's really, really important to me that she doesn't find out just yet. I'll try to explain why and I know that I can't stop you from telling, but at least hear me out before you make any decisions.

Mum has got so many hopes for us – for you and for me. She wants us to BE someone, to do something with our lives. She had me when she was really young and life was tough for her for ages. She's always told me that she wants
our lives to be easier than that. Most of all, she wants us to be happy. Finding out about me is going to destroy her. And she's got enough to worry about with Granny and Grandpa at the moment. She doesn't need me adding to her stress.

I want to give her as much time as possible before she knows the truth. I bet you're thinking it's because I'm scared. Well, you're right. I am scared – more scared than I've ever been in my life. And maybe I'm being selfish, but I want some time for me too – time to deal with this before I have to deal with it for Mum. This is not what she'll be expecting. Not one little bit. I need to know how I feel about it before I tell her. Does that make sense?

I promise I'll tell her when the time is right. I won't leave it too late, but I'm just not strong enough to cope with her unhappiness right now. I know she'll be scared for me and I know she'll be disappointed. I WILL tell her, Izzy.

Love you forever,

Alex xx

This is awful. Mum doesn't know? I skim the letter again, trying to make my brain work a bit quicker. It's true that Mum wants the best for us; she was really excited when Alex got offered a place at university (we all went out for a special celebratory meal and she even let us order a pudding, which NEVER happens). The most confusing part of the letter is at the end though. Why would Mum be disappointed? That's a really weird thing to say. I can understand her being scared and sad and miserable, but I'm not sure that people get ‘disappointed' about someone dying. That makes no sense.

I reach for another letter, hoping that this one will help me work out exactly what's going on.

29th March

Dear Izzy,

I know you're not sure about Charlie, but it's not his fault. Not all his fault anyway. He's trying really hard to cope with this – but, like he says, it wasn't exactly what he signed up for. Well, I tell him, it wasn't what I signed up for either, but it's what's happening, so we've got to deal with it.

He came with me to the doctor's when I made the first appointment. We had a bit of an argument about it actually because I didn't know he had a football match after school and the appointment was right in the middle of the match. When I first told him, he said that there was no way he could miss the match so I told him that it was fine. I said that Sara could always come with me. Unfortunately I started crying before I'd finished saying how fine it was that he was happy to put a stupid pig's bladder game before me, his girlfriend, which ruined my independent woman vibe quite a lot.

I tried to march off, but he caught up with me and said that if it mattered that much to me then he'd see if Dev would stand in for him. He said it like there was only a slim chance of it happening, but I know for a fact that Dev is desperate to get a chance to play. I told him that it wasn't about it mattering to ME – it should matter to HIM. He went a bit red then and put his arm round me and said that of course he'd come with me. And after school he bought
me some cheese and onion crisps from the corner shop – I'm totally addicted to them, which is weird when you think about how much we've always hated them! So he is trying, Izzy.

The appointment with the doctor was terrible. I was so scared that I couldn't stop shaking, even though she was lovely. She asked me a load of questions and then confirmed what I was pretty sure I already knew. I'd done loads of research on the Internet so I was fairly sure of what she was going to say. Hearing the words made it seem so real though. Charlie went pale and started tapping his foot on the floor, totally irritatingly. The doctor was really kind and gave him some water. I think he'd thought I was making it up to be honest. She suggested I take Mum to the next appointment – said that Mum was going to need to know soon and it was better to have her support early on. She said I was going to need lots of support.

I asked Charlie if he wants to be there when
I tell Mum, but he just shook his head. He doesn't say much about how he's feeling. I never noticed that before.

Love you forever,

Alex xx

I can't believe she's trying to defend Charlie. I mean, what sort of person puts a football match before supporting their girlfriend? I don't understand why she didn't talk to Mum first though, when she started to suspect that something was wrong. Surely Mum would have been far better than Football-Before-Friends Charlie?

I glance at the time again and realize that I haven't got long – Mum and Alex will be home soon. I open another envelope and read the date. This one was only written a few days ago.

23rd April

Dear Izzy,

I haven't given you any of the letters that I've been writing. I know that this makes my letter-writing completely pointless – that communication is a two-way process and it
only works if I actually let you read what I've written.

The thing is, it's YOU that I'm most scared about telling. That sounds utterly ridiculous even as I write it – you're twelve years old and probably the least frightening person I have ever met in my entire life. You are loving and trusting and I know that when you look at me you think you're looking at the best big sister in the world. I know that you think you want to be like me.

That's why I can't tell you. I don't want to be the person who spoils all of that. You're so innocent – I wish I'd been as innocent as you when I was your age. You wish you were older and more sophisticated, but that's what makes you so special.

I'm sorry, Izzy, more sorry than I can ever put down in words. I'm not going to be around for you in the way that you need me. I'm a useless big sister and you deserve so much better. Thank you for always believing the best about me. Knowing how much you look up to me has helped me to be a bit of a nicer
person (only a bit, obviously – I'm not THAT nice …!!).

I'm mostly sorry that I'm not brave enough to tell you myself. Mum will do a much better job of it than I would anyway. She'll help you to make sense of it. I wish I could make sense of it, but I suppose I will eventually.

Love you forever,

Alex xxx

And that's it. No more envelopes. She isn't going to tell me. This is so typically Alex: create a big drama and then walk out halfway through.

I gaze round her room, hoping that more answers might throw themselves at me, but the only things I can see are signs that Alex left her room in a rush as usual. I sit for a few minutes, unable to move, while I think about everything I've just read. I feel like I've lived my whole life in the last thirty minutes – forced to face things that I never even imagined I would have to consider until I was a grown-up.

I know that I need to move, but it isn't until I hear a key in the front door that I spring into
action. Stuffing the letters back into the envelopes, I bundle them all back into the box and then I hide the box back down inside the laundry basket. I race out of Alex's room and into my own room just in time. I can hear Mum coming upstairs.

‘We're home, Izzy,' she calls, heading into the bathroom. ‘Everything OK?'

‘Fine!' I shout back, collapsing down on to my window ledge, adrenalin coursing through my body and making me feel like giggling. Except nothing is funny any more and Mum has no idea.

I hear the back door open and watch as Alex walks across the lawn. The sound of the shower turning on comes through my bedroom wall and I know that Mum won't be out of the bathroom for at least fifteen minutes. Alex heads towards the flower beds and bends down, parting the leaves of the plants with her hands. Searching for something. I think about how Alex looked when she was sitting on the swing earlier and I suddenly remember her mobile phone. She threw it into the flower bed and I'm pretty sure she didn't pick it up again before she left for the orthodontist.

She doesn't find it though and I see her start to move faster, trampling on some of the plants as she moves further towards the shed. At one point
she straightens up and turns to face the house, peering up at the windows. For some reason I find myself moving behind the curtain, making sure that she can't see me spying on her. I don't even know why I do this; normally I'd wave at her and try to get her attention, hoping that she'd beckon me down to chat to her while she lounged about on the swing. I remember the day a few weeks ago when we sat out there together and Alex told me that she wouldn't always be around to look out for me. This must be what she meant and I had no idea.

The shower is turned off and I can hear Mum clattering about in the bathroom. She'll be out in a minute – Alex hasn't got long. As if she senses it out in the garden, Alex leaves the flower bed and walks across to the swing. She sits down and pretends to throw something and I realize that she's trying to repeat her earlier action when she threw the phone away. She gets up again and starts searching the long grass on the lawn on her hands and knees, but I know for a fact that she's looking in the wrong place. I definitely saw her phone fly across the flower beds and disappear next to the shed. My bet is on it rolling into the little gap between the shed and the big fir tree
where we used to have a den. Alex has probably forgotten all about that place, but I haven't. We used to spend hours in there, hiding from everyone and talking about the cafe that we were going to own when we were both grown up.

I could bang on the window and tell Alex where I think her phone is. Or I could stand here in the shadows, watching her get more and more frantic as she looks in all the wrong places. It's a new feeling for me, being the person who knows. I think I like it. It makes a change from always being the last to find out.

Mum leaves the bathroom and goes downstairs, shouting at me to wash my hands and come and help set the table for supper. I wait for just a moment more though, until I hear the back door open and Mum yelling to Alex that she needs to come inside. The door closes and Alex casts one more longing look in the direction of the flower beds before trudging towards the house, the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky with every step she takes, so that when she reaches the back door the garden is cast into a sudden darkness that makes me shiver.

I'm lying in bed, but I can't sleep. Alex is filling my mind, crowding out every other thought. I've tried counting sheep and imagining lots of cute little lambs leaping pointlessly over a farm gate, but the image of Alex in a shepherdess costume, screaming at the sheep to leave her alone, spoilt it. I've tried to be rational – maybe I've made a mistake – but then I think about those letters, written but not delivered, and I know that I'm right.

It's the same problem as always. I know something, but I don't really know. And now that I know (or don't know) then I need to know it all. I'm completely out of control, dependent on when Alex chooses to fill me in on the whole story. And the not knowing is actually going to make me go mad. Unless I do something about it.

I sit up in bed, my mind spiralling round and round. Everyone thinks it doesn't matter about me. They think I don't understand and that I can wait until THEY think it's the right time to tell me stuff. This is what happened with Dad – nobody actually told me that he was never coming back, I just kind of worked it out for myself. Not this time though. I'm not just going to sit here letting my mind run wild, imagining one hundred and one things that might be killing Alex. And now I know (or sort of know) I can't just act like there's nothing going on.

I swing my legs out of bed and reach across for my dressing gown. Mum and Alex went to bed hours ago, but I don't want to risk waking them so I open the drawer on my bedside table and take out my In-Case-of-Emergencies torch. Turning it on, I quickly check my mood ring; it glows a brilliant gold. Gold is for strength and I know that I can do this. I'm strong enough to find out the truth.

I turn off the torch and pad quietly across my carpet to the door. Our house is old with lots of creaks, but I make it to the bottom of the stairs without hearing a sound from Mum's or Alex's
room. At the bottom I speed up and walk quickly into the kitchen. Opening the back door, I grab my wellies from the welly-tree and step out into the garden, heading straight to where I saw Alex throw the phone.

It's really strange being out in the garden at night. There's a full moon and it makes the night seem almost like day, except the shadows are all wrong and there's an eerie glow around the edges of the lawn that makes it hard to see beyond. I turn in fright when something makes a weird snuffling noise behind me, freezing as still as a statue until I see a hedgehog shuffling its way across the lawn. I wish that darkness-destroying Alex was with me.

Heading across the grass, I avoid the flower bed and step on to the little path that leads to the shed. I can hear something rustling inside the shed and hope that it's a rat or a mouse and not an axe-wielding madman. I half jog past the shed door and then stop and turn back to face the garden. I'm looking straight at Alex's swing and the direction that she threw the phone, and I know I'm in the right place.

Sliding along the side of the shed, I push through
the branches of the fir tree and I'm inside our den. There's an old wooden crate turned upside down that we used to use as a seat and I sit down on it now, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The branches completely hide me from view – nobody would even know I was here.

I can feel my heart starting to slow down and return to its normal rhythm. Now I'm here, safe in the den, it feels quite beautiful to be out at night. It's not that cold and I can hear the wind trickling through the branches of the fir tree. It reminds me of a book that Mum used to read to me when I was little, about three children who lived near an enchanted wood with a magic tree. The part of that story that I loved the most was the other trees in the wood – the way they went
wisha, wisha, wisha
and told each other all the secrets of the wood. I can almost imagine that happening now; that the trees around our old den are whispering the secrets and promises that Alex and I told each other when we came here.

Maybe they're talking about what Alex would tell me about boys – that they aren't to be trusted and they'll never be as important as your family. Or the day that she made me swear we'd never have any secrets from each other – that sisters
tell each other EVERYTHING. Maybe they remember our plans for our cafe – the brightly painted walls and the shelves stuffed with books that our customers could look at while they ate our delicious cakes. We spent hours trying to think of a name and agreed that everyone would be welcome; it wouldn't matter if you couldn't eat a particular food, you'd always find something good on our menu.

Alex won't be around to run a cafe with me now. If I need any boy advice then I'll have to ask Mum, which just won't be the same. And Alex is keeping the worst possible secret from me right now, which is why I'm out here in the middle of the night, the cold, damp rubber of my wellies feeling utterly disgusting against my bare feet. I have to know what Alex is facing so that I can help her.

I look round the floor of the den. There are a few leaves and twigs, but I can't see a mobile phone. Then I spot something tucked against the roots of the tree. It's too big to be Alex's phone, but I know instantly what it is. I pick it up and put it on my knees. It takes me a moment to prise the lid off because it's rusted from all the rain, but then I manage to pull up one corner and the rest
comes away easily. It's our old tin – the tin we used to pass messages to each other.

I get my torch out of my pocket and turn it on, shining it into the tin. The inside is dry and, while the pieces of paper are crumpled and the writing's a bit faded, it's still possible to read what we've written. I pull out a note that I wrote in indigo felt tip when I was probably about eight – even then indigo was my favourite colour although I didn't know then that it means being responsible and faithful. Indigo people like life to be structured and are very organized; that definitely describes me so I suppose I picked indigo because it's such a good match for me. It's very nearly violet, without the dramatic bits.

Hi Alex,

I hate school. Let's run away together and never go to school again.

Love Izzy xxxxxxx

Nothing much has changed there then – that still sounds like a good idea to me. I find a note written by Alex.

Izzy,

Meet me here after supper tonight. I have chocolate and some hilarious gossip from school!

Love you forever,

Alex x

I slip this note into my pocket, remembering how special I felt when Alex treated me like that – like I was someone worth talking to. I don't feel like reading the rest of the notes and I put the lid back on, slipping the tin into its hiding place by the tree. As I do, I see something strange – a weird light flashing on and off behind the trunk of the tree. Alex's phone! I turn off my torch and stretch my arm as far as it will go and just manage to grasp it, pulling it across the dirt and leaves until it's firmly in my hands. The screen is flashing with unread text messages and I stuff the phone deep into the pocket of my dressing gown, worried that the unearthly glow will get me seen if someone just happens to be glancing out of the window.

Finding the phone brings me back to reality
and I remember why I'm out here. Suddenly the den feels creepy and unfriendly, and I start to feel anxious and scared. I bend down low to avoid the branches and duck out of the den, running past the shed and across the lawn until I'm at the back door.

Once inside, I shake off the wellies and creep upstairs. Back in the safety of my room I feel overwhelmingly tired and like I might fall asleep standing up if I don't get into bed this very instant. But Alex's phone can't wait. I've got it now and I can find out the whole truth. Suddenly I'm not at all certain that the truth is what I actually want to know.

I'm not sure what I'm expecting to find. I know what I'm doing is wrong and that I'm invading Alex's privacy in the worst way, but I just can't cope with a single second more of not knowing. I never knew that half knowing something is so totally awful. The truth surely can't be as bad as some of the things that I'm imagining?

I find the last text that has been read – the text that upset Alex so much, and press open. For a moment my eyes look everywhere but at the phone. There's still time to change what I'm doing.
I could turn off the phone and put it back in the den. I remember Pandora again and how a single action can change everything. And then I make my choice.