The Dare, page 15
‘You can keep it if you want,’ she says. ‘I’ve got doubles of them.’
‘I’d love it, thank you. I only have one of her.’ But then I remember. It was the one on the front of the Order of Service card for her funeral. The card I tore up into little pieces. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t even know why I did. It seems wrong. Almost sacrilegious.
‘If we’d been young now, we’d have probably been obsessed with taking selfies, wouldn’t we?’ I say, hoping she won’t notice the guilty blush that’s just crept into my face. ‘I’d have had loads of photos of the two of us.’
‘True,’ Catherine says.
She takes the album back and eases the photo out of the plastic wallet. Her fingers remind me so much of Alice’s: long and slender with neatly filed nails. She turns a few pages and extracts another photo. Then she hands them both over and I see that the second one is of Alice and me sitting on the swing chair, deep in conversation. It makes my heart lurch seeing the two of us there, so young and innocent. So blissfully unaware of what was to come.
Sheena Dawson is also in the photo – the back of her, anyway. It must have been one of her good days, because she’s chatting to the neighbour over the fence and wearing a pretty summer dress.
‘Look at the two of you,’ Catherine says. ‘Thick as thieves.’ She chuckles indulgently. ‘Remember that time the two of you bunked off your geography field trip?’
I hold my breath, unsure how to respond. I had no idea she even knew about that. Alice must have told her. Or maybe she overheard the two of us plotting.
I nod and smile, hoping it’s a passing comment and that she won’t say anything more about it. Because if she knows the details, if she knows how we bunked off, what it was we did in order to get away with it, then that might explain why she doubted my story about what happened the day Alice died. But Alice would never have told her what we did. It was our secret.
‘Are you sure I can keep them?’ I ask her.
Catherine nods. ‘Of course. Look at Mum in this picture. She looks so well and happy. So young.’
I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s changed the subject. She probably thinks we just skived off.
37
Then: Before
Sunday, 1 July 2007
The sun is hot on our bare legs and the soles of our feet are filthy where we’ve been running around on the dry, dusty grass in Alice’s garden. I promised Mum I’d be home by five o’clock at the latest, because I’ve got to have a bath and hair wash and get my stuff ready for the boring geography trip tomorrow. A visit to a sewage-treatment works. Yippee.
Except I won’t be going on the trip, and nor will Alice. We have a plan.
‘This has to work, Lizzie,’ Alice says. ‘There’s no way I’m going to spend the day looking at rivers of poo. It’s gross. I don’t care how interesting Mr Rutherford says it is.’
‘Fancy having to eat your lunch in a place like that,’ I say. ‘It’s going to be really hot tomorrow, too. Can you imagine the smell?’
Alice pretends to gag into her hand.
‘Right, let’s go over it one more time,’ she says. ‘Because if we end up on that coach to Shitsville, I might have to slit my throat.’
We put our heads together and take it in turns to whisper exactly what we’re going to do, from the second I get off my bus, right up until the moment Alice gives me the sign. If we stick to the plan, we’ll be able to spend most of the day lounging around in the garden and listening to music.
But as I’m walking home, I start having second thoughts. I’ve never pretended to have a seizure before. Why would I? It’s wrong, so very wrong. And it’s the worst feeling in the world, lying on the ground with a crowd of faces peering down at me as if I’m some kind of freak. It’s embarrassing. Humiliating. It’s like being stripped bare in public. Why would I put myself through that on purpose?
Because I’ve promised Alice I’ll do it. That’s why. Because I still feel bad about what happened after the disco and that awful, awful thing I said. This is my chance to really make it up to her. If I lose her friendship, I lose everything. And anyway, I don’t want to go on that smelly geography field trip any more than she does.
Mum does her usual fussing around the next morning.
‘Don’t wander too far from the teachers and parents, will you?’ she says. ‘And remember to drink plenty of water to keep yourself hydrated. Oh, and make sure you put your factor fifty on.’
I roll my eyes behind her back.
‘I wish I’d offered to help,’ she says.
I send a silent prayer of thanks to old Mrs Samuels down the road. She and her hospital appointment are the reason Mum isn’t going to be one of the parent helpers today.
She hands me my packed lunch and watches me stuff it into my rucksack. Then she kisses me goodbye and the feeling of unease that’s been fluttering away inside my belly ever since I woke up swells and swells till I think I’m going to be sick. Suddenly, the prospect of a day out at a sewage plant doesn’t seem quite as bad as what Alice and I have planned, but I can’t wriggle out of it now. Alice will be cross and I don’t think I can bear it if we start arguing again.
Sometimes, I wonder whether it’s only a matter of time before Alice drifts away from me and starts hanging around with Melissa and Bethany instead. I’ve seen her gaze over at them in the classroom from time to time, as if she wishes she were sitting with them, a proper, paid-up member of the cool girls’ gang.
My bus is packed when it pulls up, and I squeeze down the middle and cling on to the pole near the doors. A boy near me is eating Cheesy Wotsits and what with the smell of them and the coating of orange dust on his mouth and fingers, which, for some reason, I can’t stop looking at, even though I don’t want to, and the continual stopping and starting of the bus, it’s a wonder I don’t throw up.
At last, it’s time to get off and, as planned, Alice is there at the bus stop, waiting for me.
‘All set for the trip?’ she says, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. It’s all right for her. She’s not the one who has to make a fool of herself.
I nod. The closer we get to school, the more nervous I get. My armpits are already wet with sweat and I’m embarrassed about the spreading stains on my school blouse. I want to get this over with as fast as possible.
We slow down till the big group of chattering Year Sevens overtakes us, and that’s when Alice gives me the sign we’ve agreed on. She pauses to re-tie her shoelace and I start to stagger around for a bit, pretend to fall over, which is a lot harder than I ever imagined. I should have practised more in my bedroom. I did try, but I didn’t want Mum and Dad to hear me crashing around and come rushing in to see if I was all right.
Now I’m lying on the pavement, jerking my limbs, doing exactly what Alice did when she showed me what I looked like when I’m having a seizure, because, of course, I’ve never actually seen it. I feel stupid and self-conscious. I’m not doing it right. It must be obvious to anyone watching that this isn’t real. I can’t believe I’m actually going through with it, but I’m doing it now, so I can’t stop.
I’m aware of some of the Year Sevens turning round and edging closer, hear their comments. ‘Look at that girl on the pavement!’ ‘OMG, she’s having a fit.’ ‘What the fuck’s she doing?’ ‘S epilepsy, innit.’ ‘Yeah, she’s in my sister’s class. She’s always doing it.’
Alice kneels down beside me and places my head, tenderly and carefully, in her lap.
‘Can you get a message to Mr Rutherford?’ she says to one of the Year Sevens. ‘He’ll be outside the gate by the coach. Tell him Lizzie Molyneux’s had a seizure on the way to school and that Alice Dawson’s looking after her, till her mum gets home.’
Two women on the other side of the street come rushing over, but Alice reassures them. ‘It’s okay,’ she says. ‘My friend has epilepsy. There’s no need for an ambulance. She’ll come round in a minute and I’ll take her home. This happens all the time.’
‘Are you sure?’ one of them says. ‘Maybe we ought to call one just in case.’
I open my eyes and blink rapidly, as if I’ve started to wake up. I went on a St John’s Ambulance casualty simulation camp once and was told my ‘coming round after fainting’ performance was one of the best they’d ever seen. I pull out all the stops to re-create it now. The last thing I need is an ambulance. If I’m taken to hospital, they’ll know I’ve been pretending. There must be ways they can tell if someone’s had a seizure or not. I’ll be in the most awful trouble.
‘Hello, Lizzie,’ Alice says. ‘You’ve had a little seizure, but you’re fine now. Just rest here for a while.’
I must say, she’s playing her part to perfection. I must be, too, if the look on these women’s faces is anything to go by.
‘Can I phone your parents?’ asks one of them. I shake my head.
‘I’m fine now, honestly.’ I sit up, slowly and gingerly. ‘I just need to go home and rest. Alice will take me.’
Alice helps me to my feet and grabs hold of my rucksack.
‘Come on, Lizzie. Let’s get you home to your mum.’
‘You will tell Mr Rutherford, won’t you?’ she calls back to the Year Seven girl, who nods and races off towards the school with her friends.
Alice links her arm in mine and the two of us walk slowly back the way we’ve come, crossing the road to catch the next bus home. We don’t say a word about what’s just happened till we get off at the stop at the bottom of my road. Then, at last, we collapse in a fit of shocked giggles.
We did it! We actually did it. Now all I’ve got to worry about is pretending to be tired and forgetful when Mum gets home from taking Mrs Samuels to the hospital, and with any luck that should be ages yet, because she said she’s going to take her to lunch afterwards, and when Mum and Mrs Samuels get together they can chat for hours on end.
A bit like me and Alice.
38
Now
It’s Monday morning – the day of my scan – and Ross and I are about to leave for the hospital when his phone rings. I know straightaway that it’s work and that something urgent has come up. I can see it in the sudden droop of his shoulders, hear it in the resigned tone of his voice.
‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie,’ he says when he’s finished the call. ‘One of my terminally ill patients is close to death. I’ve got to attend.’
I try hard not to let my disappointment show, because I know it can’t be helped and of course he must go, but I’ve been so looking forward to this scan and I really wanted Ross to be there with me. He’s been unusually quiet and out of sorts since Catherine moved in, even though she’s kept out of our way as much as possible. Apart from a couple of evenings where she’s sat and watched the telly with us, and the odd encounter over breakfast, most of the time she’s either been out or studying up in her room.
Ross grabs his bag and jacket from the study and heads for the door. ‘I’ll text you as soon as I’m done and, if you’re still at the hospital, I’ll pick you up. Okay?’ He looks at his watch. ‘You’d better phone for a cab to take you there. It’ll take too long if you go on the bus.’
It’s only when the front door has closed behind him that I release the sigh I’ve been holding inside. I know he’s only being a good GP and that I should be proud of him for rushing off to be at one of his patients’ sides, but I can’t help thinking that he didn’t try hard enough to see if anyone else could go in his place. I also can’t help thinking that he doesn’t seem as disappointed about this as I am, but then I’m probably just imagining that. Ross doesn’t show his emotions as easily as I do. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.
‘Lizzie? What’s wrong?’ Catherine is coming downstairs and is staring at me quizzically. She’s still in her dressing gown, because it’s her day off today. Her skin is flushed from the shower and her hair is still damp.
I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye and pull myself together. ‘It’s fine, honestly. Ross has got to attend a dying patient so he can’t take me for my scan. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘Oh, but that’s so disappointing for you both,’ she says. ‘The mid-pregnancy scan is a real milestone. You can’t possibly go on your own. Why don’t I take you?’
I hesitate. If Ross can’t be there, I’m not sure I want anyone else. She’s right, though. It is a milestone. Why doesn’t Ross realize that? Although, of course, he was there when I had the first one, the night he took me to A & E. Not that I can remember much about it – I was so wiped out.
‘Let me drive you there, at the very least,’ she says.
Then again, it might be good to have her there. If they find anything they’re worried about, will they tell me if I’m on my own? I doubt they would. And I so need the reassurance this scan can give me.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re outside on the street. The sky is a whiteish grey, but the air is warm and humid. Climbing into Catherine’s little red Peugeot is like stepping into a greenhouse. Hot and stuffy. Airless.
Before I can sit down, she has to scoop up a nursing journal, a pair of sunglasses, some lip salve and an old baseball cap and toss them on to the already cluttered back seat. I’ve never seen so much junk in one car.
‘Sorry about the mess in here,’ she says, brushing what look like crisp crumbs off the seat and into the footwell. ‘One of these days I might actually clean it up.’
‘Ross would have a fit if he saw this,’ I say, grinning. ‘He treats his car like the inside of a temple.’
Catherine smiles and puts the car into gear. She opens the windows as we drive off and a welcome breeze wafts in.
‘The gel might feel a little cold at first,’ the sonographer says.
The lighting in the ultrasound room is low and the screen is angled away from me at the moment. The sonographer needs to concentrate and take all the necessary measurements first. I scrutinize her face for any signs of concern: a narrowing of the eyes, a flicker of dismay distorting her features. But whatever she can see on that screen, she’s giving none of it away.
I glance at Catherine, who has, I now notice, shifted her chair further back so that she can get a better glimpse of the screen. Now I’m scanning her face, too, my chest tight with anxiety, but she’s wearing the exact same expressionless mask as the sonographer. The one all health professionals seem to adopt.
‘Okay, all the measurements are fine. Exactly what we would expect at this stage.’ I breathe a huge sigh of relief. ‘Bladder and kidneys working well,’ she says. ‘And there’s a very healthy heartbeat. Do you want to have a look now?’
The sonographer turns the screen towards me and, at first, I can’t make anything out. Gradually, as my eyes become accustomed to the grey, speckled blobs floating against a black background, I see the unmistakable evidence of a baby. Not that I need to see it. I only have to look at my expanding waistline or sense the tiny shifts and flutters of movement that I’ve been feeling more and more this last week to know that a little person is growing inside me.
‘Can you see the baby’s spine?’ Catherine says, leaning forwards excitedly. ‘Some people say it looks like a delicate string of pearls. Look, it’s pointing right towards the scanner.’
I follow the direction of her finger with my eyes.
‘And the stomach looks nice and full.’ She points to a small black bubble that has just come into view as the baby twists into a different position.
The sonographer glances at her when she says this, and Catherine tells her that she’s a nurse. I wondered if she would.
‘No malformations, you’ll be pleased to hear,’ the sonographer says, adjusting the screen again so that only she can see it.
I look at Catherine, suddenly aware that the person I most want to have beside me right now to hear this good news and to celebrate this moment isn’t here. Catherine notices the slight wobble in my lower lip because she reaches out and squeezes my wrist.
Back in Catherine’s car, I can barely peel my eyes away from the grainy photograph in my hand.
‘I thought you might ask her if she could tell what sex it was,’ Catherine says, as she reverses out of the parking space and drives towards the exit.
‘I didn’t like to. Why? You didn’t see anything, did you?’
She shakes her head. ‘You can’t always tell, and as soon as I mentioned I was a nurse she tilted the screen away. Did you notice?’
Catherine slows down to let a woman with a pram cut in front of the car. ‘Anyway, I think you’re probably right about it being a girl. I certainly didn’t see anything that looked remotely like a penis.’
I laugh. ‘I could just about recognize the head and the arms, to be honest.’
It feels good to be laughing with her like this. I’m so glad she came with me.
‘Shall we stop off for a celebratory coffee and cake somewhere?’ she says. ‘My treat. And you can tell me what names you both like.’
‘Give me the chance to talk to her, Ross,’ she’d pleaded. ‘It’ll be the perfect opportunity for the two of us to really bond.’
Christ knows what she’d have done if I hadn’t agreed. When she rang my phone and impersonated Lucy on reception, I almost grew a pair and said, ‘Sorry, but I really can’t miss Lizzie’s scan. You’ll have to ask Andrew Smethers if he can go in my place.’
But I’d have paid for it later. I always did.
It used to be worth it because of what came after. Let’s just say, Catherine’s requirements in bed were far from vanilla-flavoured and I enjoyed the temporary illusion of being the one in control.
But things were running away with me now. It was like I’d stepped on to a moving walkway and the only way off was to keep going until I reached the end.
The trouble was, I no longer knew what the end looked like.
39
‘Poppy Murray,’ Catherine says, savouring the name I’ve just suggested. It’s one of the ones I’ve been considering for the last few weeks. ‘That sounds nice. I like it.’
