Lucas is sitting in his usual spot – smack bang in the middle of things. He pats the space next to him and I resist the urge to remind him that I am not, in fact, a dog. I take my allotted seat like a good little girl and nestle myself into the crook of his arm. I try to act like I belong. Like I’m not an imposter.
I can’t help checking Louise’s reaction, mostly because I want to know if she’s been brought up to speed about me and Lucas. She catches me looking, and to my utter surprise, smiles widely. ‘How was your summer, Jem? Looks like you had a good one.’
I smile back and try to make it as genuine as possible. ‘My summer was fine, thanks.’ I don’t say, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? THIS IS MY TERRITORY NOW, BITCH. Because people might think that was a little weird.
Everyone’s acting like nothing’s amiss. Like Louise had never cast herself into the social shadows, and I’d always been glued to Lucas’s side. I guess that’s what it’s like for this lot. Nothing fazes them; they just go with the flow and never even bat an eyelid when things change. Whereas I can’t get over how quickly things can change. One day everyone seems to have forgotten about you, and somehow (HOW?!) the next day you’re back in and you’re laughing and joking and smiling and ruining things for normal, decent people like me.
Lucas squeezes my knee and whispers, ‘You look great.’ This is flattering and irritating in equal measure. Flattering because it’s nice to know that the ungodly early start this morning wasn’t for nothing; irritating because I don’t want him to think I did it for him. Because I didn’t. Not even a little bit.
I sit in the middle of the viper nest that is Team Popular and look out at the real world. The normal kids, doing normal things. No one’s paying us even a little bit of attention. Which is strange, because when I was on the outside I was always watching. Always.
What’s the point of being popular if nobody’s watching?
*
The first chance I get to talk to Sasha alone is at break time. I practically drag her to the science-block toilets.
‘What’s the rush? Did you drink too much coffee this morning or something?’
I give her a look that can only be described as exasperated, but she seems completely clueless. I have to spell it out for her. ‘Er … is there something you forgot to tell me, maybe? About Louise?’
Sasha shakes her head dismissively. ‘Oh. Yeah. She said she’s feeling a lot better about … stuff. The counselling really helped.’ She pouts at herself in the mirror.
‘So now she’s back and everything’s normal again?’
She stops pouting and turns to face me. ‘I guess so. She came over at the weekend and we talked. It was … nice. She really wants to get her life back on track, you know. Things haven’t been easy for her.’ I stare at her until she says, ‘I mean, I know things haven’t been easy for you too. Obviously.’
I get my make-up out, just for something to do. There’s no need; it’s looking pretty damn flawless if I do say so myself. ‘Um … Sasha? You do know that Louise isn’t exactly my biggest fan?’
‘Actually, she told me she was looking forward to hanging out with you. I think she’s really changed. She’s, like, softer or something.’ I’m taking this in, trying to make sense of it. But Sasha’s moved on and is staring at her reflection as if it holds the answer to the meaning of life. ‘Can I ask you something really important? And you have to be absolutely totally honest with me?’ I nod. ‘Do you think my cheeks look fat? I swear I look more like a hamster every day. God, that summer diet was such a waste of time. Why did I even bother? Why can’t I be one of those bitches who just eat what they want and never gain a milligram of weight … Sorry … you were going to say something?’
Sasha and I have had so many variations of this tedious conversation that I know there’s nothing I can say to reassure her. But I’m supposed to say it anyway. ‘No, Sasha, you do not look like a hamster. You are ridiculously gorgeous and I hate you for it.’ That makes her smile.
‘Ah, little Jem, you’re too kind.’ She pats my cheek. She actually pats my fucking cheek. I want to pat/slap her big fat hamster cheek in return. I can just picture it. I’d hit her so hard she’d lose her balance, maybe knock her head on the corner of the sink. Then I’d have to explain to the police how I’d accidentally killed the most popular girl in school, just because she invaded my personal space in the most patronizing way possible.
I spend most of the day worrying about Louise. Sasha’s clearly forgotten that I’ve known Louise a lot longer than she has. I swear she forgets who I actually am most of the time. She probably doesn’t like to think about the fact that she was responsible for bringing a complete nobody into the group.
After a lot of fretting, I realize there’s no other option. I’m just going to have to accept Louise’s reappearance and get on with things. Maybe counselling does work miracles after all. It kind of makes me wonder if I should have had some.
I just have to hope Louise doesn’t get in my way. She’d better not. I don’t want to have to take her down too, I really don’t.
chapter thirty-seven
Lucas invites me over to his house at the weekend, making it quite clear that it’ll be just the two of us. One boy. One girl. One empty house. Doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s on his mind. And I know it couldn’t be more perfect for the Plan, but I can’t ignore the wave of anxiety that washes over me. I just have to hope it will pass.
I haven’t been to his house before but I know exactly where it is. The street is quiet and leafy and idyllic. Until you look over the road at the sprawling graveyard. The spike-topped black railings would be enough to give me shivers. But that’s not what bothers me.
Kai’s there. His ashes are in a box under the ground. Layers and layers of cold, wet, worm-ridden earth lie between him and the sunlight. I can’t even think about it without wanting to throw up. How can it be possible that my Kai is in that place with all those dead people? It’s not right. He should be in a forest or in the ocean or somewhere beautiful. Or with me, alive.
No one could ever call the cemetery beautiful. It’s not one of those ancient, tumbledown ones with ivy creeping up the sides of elaborate Victorian gravestones. No, this place is purely functional. Rows and rows and rows of gravestones, laid out in regimental fashion. As if the neatness and order can make sense of death. As if the manicured lawn is a comfort to anyone.
I haven’t been to his grave. I wouldn’t even know where it was if Mum hadn’t made a point of telling me. She’s been trying to get me to go for months. She thinks I should ‘pay my respects’, which sounds like something out of a Dickens novel. Surely you only need to pay your respects to rich great uncles who live in huge mansions?
I didn’t even feel bad about not going. Not even a little bit of guilt. I know full well Kai wouldn’t give a toss about this sort of thing. But now that I’m walking up the street towards Lucas’s house I can’t help thinking that that’s not exactly the point. And suddenly I need to see it. I need to see what’s written there. See where he is. Check that he’s OK.
A quick look at my phone tells me if I take a detour into the cemetery, I’m going to be late. Lucas can wait.
It’s not hard to find. It’s almost as if my body’s on autopilot, pulling me towards him. My legs slow down as I approach the grave. They aren’t sure that this is such a great idea after all. But I’m not going to turn back now.
The stone is shiny and black and smooth. Granite, I think. The edges have been left rough, which just makes it look as if someone couldn’t make up their mind.
There are some sad-looking red tulips in a glass jar in front of the gravestone. The flowers droop down towards the grass, as if they’re bowing their heads in grief. The water in the jar is murky and greenish.
I feel bad that I haven’t brought anything. It seems like such a waste though, cutting the stems of something alive and beautiful to bring them to this awful place to die. It’s what people do though, isn’t it? I?
??ve seen it on TV a thousand times. They take the flowers and place them in front of the grave, then take a couple of solemn steps back. And that’s when they start talking to the dead person. Ideally there are some tears. And if you’re really lucky, they might fall to their knees.
There are no tears today. I feel nothing. Kai’s not here – he never was. Whatever made Kai Kai isn’t rotting away down there. This place has nothing to do with him.
Kai McBride. Beloved son, brother and friend.
Seeing the word ‘friend’ makes me want to thank Mrs McBride. I bet she chose the wording; Kai’s dad would be useless at that kind of thing. I wonder how long it took her, trying to choose the words. Words that strangers would see as they wandered past, looking at the dates and realizing that Kai McBride was only on this earth for sixteen short years.
There are so few words on the gravestone that it makes me wonder if the engraver charges by the letter. Maybe Mrs McBride wanted to say more. Maybe she wanted to add a poem or something, but the cost put her off. Whatever the reason, I’m glad. There’s a simplicity to this gravestone that makes me not hate it. There’s no way Kai would approve of the shiny blackness though; it looks like something cheap masquerading as something expensive.
I stand there for I don’t know how long. Thinking about him. Missing him. Wanting him to be alive more than anything in the whole world. Wishing that the words in front of me were lies. That the dates would magically change and Kai would have died at the grand old age of ninety-six after the happiest life anyone could ever imagine – jam-packed with adventure and laughter and love.
I turn and walk away. No big melodramatic scene.
chapter thirty-eight
Lucas opens the door and ushers me into his lair. He doesn’t mention the fact that I’m late. Perhaps he didn’t even notice. Maybe he wasn’t pacing around looking nervously at his watch at all. Dammit.
The house is nice. I half expected it to be like a show home, with cushions you’re not supposed to sit on and the dining table all set up for a fancy dinner. It’s nothing like that though. It’s warm and cosy with lots of knick-knacks everywhere. Apparently Lucas’s mum has a ferocious car-boot sale habit.
There are photos everywhere. A few pictures of Lucas’s sisters, who look like goddesses. Loads of Lucas way back before he realized how good-looking he was. My favourite is one of him wearing nothing but a pair of navy-blue pants, standing in the middle of a sandpit, gap-toothed and grinning at the person behind the camera.
I pick up the photo to get a better look. How could the boy in this photo have morphed into the Big I Am, Lucas Mahoney?
He grabs the photo from me and holds it behind his back. ‘Jem, if you want to see me in my pants, all you have to do is ask.’ His eyes are locked on mine and he’s smiling. For once that smile doesn’t look like a smirk.
I make a grab for the picture frame, but he holds it over his head. ‘As long as you’re not wearing navy Y-fronts …’ I hook a finger onto his belt and pull him closer. He chucks the photo on the sofa, where it lands face down. Little-boy Lucas is forgotten and the present-day version is kissing me.
I have to be honest. I sort of like kissing Lucas. Scratch that – I really like kissing Lucas. It took a bit of getting used to at first, and sometimes it still freaks me out a bit, but mostly it seems like a normal thing for me to be doing. But I think that’s because I just like kissing. When I close my eyes and let myself sink into the moment, it’s like slipping into a hot bath (with bubbles and everything). Lucas isn’t Lucas any more, and I’m not Jem. Weirdly, it’s the one time I’m able to forget about Kai and the Plan and the evilness of Team Popular. Even though those are the only reasons I’m kissing him.
I think maybe Lucas is just really, really good at kissing. He definitely had enough practice with Sasha. I don’t like thinking about Sasha and Lucas together; the feeling I get is far too close to jealousy.
Before I know what’s happening, Lucas is pulling my top over my head. And I let him. At least I’m not wearing one of my ratty old grey bras. This one’s purple.
We kiss some more before I realize the curtains are open, and anyone walking past could see me in my purple bra. ‘Um … Lucas … maybe close the curtains?’
‘No need. This is the quietest street in town … unless you count the ghosts from the graveyard.’ His hands are fiddling with the clasp of my bra and he starts to kiss me again. But I’m not sure his brain can cope with doing both things at once, so he stops the kissing for a moment. Then he stops the fiddling and steps back, wincing. ‘Shit. I’m sorry. Your friend’s buried there, isn’t he?’
I feel cold and exposed all of a sudden. ‘How do you know that?’ Guilt. It has to be guilt. Maybe Lucas made a point of finding out where Kai was buried, so he could visit the grave. Perhaps he stood over the grave, talking to Kai. Saying sorry.
Lucas shrugs. ‘It’s the biggest cemetery in town. Pretty much everyone gets buried there. Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m such an idiot. Talk about ruining the mood …’ He picks up my top from the floor and hands it to me. ‘Unless you do want to talk about it? Because we can totally do that.’
I am standing in Lucas’s living room in my bra and jeans. And he wants to talk about my dead best friend. This is beyond surreal. I can’t find any words to say, so I settle for silence.
Lucas sits down on the sofa. ‘You never talk about him, you know? It might help if you did. You must miss him so much.’
WHY IS HE DOING THIS? It makes no sense. Unless he really is feeling guilty. Either that or he’s just going out of the way to prove how sensitive he can be. I’ve never been the best judge of this sort of thing, but he looks genuine. I look in his face and see compassion there. Empathy. Sympathy.
This is not what I was expecting.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m not sure who Lucas is. The different versions of him are clashing in my head.
But the version in front of me is looking up at me with those amazing eyes and there’s only one thing I can do, really. It’s the next step in the Plan, and the Plan is the only thing that matters.
chapter thirty-nine
I’m lying in Lucas Mahoney’s bed. Naked. Lucas Mahoney is also lying in Lucas Mahoney’s bed. Also naked.
There are a couple of odd things about this situation. No. Make that three.
I’ve had sex.
I’ve had sex with Lucas Mahoney.
I liked having sex with Lucas Mahoney.
If I was really going to analyse what happened, it all comes down to a series of choices. Moments in which I could have made a different decision and the outcome would have been entirely different.
I wanted Lucas to stop talking about Kai; I wanted to stop thinking about Kai. Lucas looked surprised and pleased when I let my top drop back to the floor. And he looked like all his Christmases and birthdays and any other celebration you can think of had come at once when I knelt in front of him and started unbuckling his belt.
He even gave me the opportunity to stop. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? You really don’t have to …’
This was when I could have said, ‘No, I am not sure I want to do this. I definitely don’t want to.’ But I didn’t. I went right ahead and unbuckled his jeans.
I didn’t have any idea what I was doing, but he seemed to like it. Low standards, I guess. There was a moment when I nearly burst out laughing at the madness of it all. But laughing would have been difficult, given that Lucas Mahoney’s penis was in my mouth.
A little voice in my head niggled at me, telling me to check for a hidden camera. But I knew I was just being ridiculous.
The next decision was whether to go upstairs. Whether to take things even further. Once again, Lucas presented me with a get-out clause. Once again I refused. It was like someone else had colonized my brain; Old Jem was in there somewhere, cowering in a corner saying, Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. Not with him. New Jem told her to shut the fuck up. r />
Lucas’s bedroom was the opposite of the rest of the house. White walls, minimal clutter. I barely had time to take it all in before I was on the bed having the rest of my clothes stripped from my body.
He had a box of condoms in his bedside drawer. A half-empty box, which made me think of Sasha again. She’d been exactly where I was, doing exactly what I was doing. And if she was to be believed, she’d taught him everything he knew. I tried to block this thought from my mind, but it kept pushing its way to the forefront. Whenever Lucas touched me or kissed me in a way I liked, I wondered if Sasha had instructed him to do it that way. Unfortunately (or fortunately) Lucas kept touching me and kissing me in ways that felt so good I could hardly stand it. And he was so gentle. He kept stopping and looking at me questioningly. He clearly realized it was my first time. I should have been insulted, but instead I was glad.
Afterwards he asks me if I’m OK and I can’t help the smile from spreading across my face. I didn’t quite come but I’m not even that bothered – just relieved I got through it OK.
‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
I shake my head and kiss him. Not strictly true; it had hurt a bit. Nothing like some of the horror stories I’d heard though. Lucas props himself up on his elbow. ‘Um. I’ve been wanting to give you something …’
I elbow him in the ribs. ‘You’ve already given me plenty, don’t you think?’ I inwardly cringe; I honestly have no idea where this stuff comes from.
Lucas doesn’t laugh, which is fine because it really wasn’t funny. He’s unwinding the thin piece of leather wrapped around his wrist. I’ve never seen him without it. ‘I thought maybe you’d like to wear this?’ He looks shifty, worried almost.
‘Marking your territory, are you?’ I’m only half-joking.