Closer (13 page)

There's a strange kind of comfort in that word ‘we'. Right now, I feel like I need other people, not just our family. It doesn't feel safe even though I want it to. 

“Your mum has agreed to supervise the visits.” 

“I'm going to see if I can go part-time,” says Mum. “If we can afford it. And if I can't I'll apply for something where I can be here more.” 

“But what about the house?” 

“You know, I think the house is fine. It's us that needs attention. I missed that. I'm sorry.” 

She's welling up again and I wish she'd stop. 

“It's okay, Mum,” says Hannah. She doesn't want Mum to start crying either. It'll be like the Wailing Wall in here if she does, she'll set us all off. 

“George will have supervised visits too. It doesn't seem like he's at risk, but we have to be sure.” 

“George, at risk?” I'm gobsmacked. “Dad wouldn't do anything to George. He's not a paedophile for fuck's sake. Or is that what they call him?” 

“It happens.” Sabina hunches up her shoulders and looks serious. “We have to be sure.” She's not answering my question but I decide to let it go. 

“That's crazy,” I say. 

“We have to be sure,” she says again, and Mum looks down at her hands. 

“You have both been great, you and Hannah. The case conference noted how mature you both were. How Hannah's done well in spite of everything, and Mel, how you are progressing at school. Sally Griffin thinks you could go somewhere with your art.” 

I think about the all-black painting and my hands and arms covered in wet, sticky paint. 

“Any questions?” 

“What will happen to Dad?” I say. 

“I don't know. It might take a few months for the court to decide. There'll be lots more reports. He'll have to talk, have treatment. He could go to prison, but not definitely. He'll probably go on the register, he won't be able to go near children.” 

“Andy and Jill say he can stay there for now,” says Mum. “And if I can't be around when you want to see Dad then one of them will do the supervising.” 

“And they all lived happily ever after,” I say, and it's bitter and I know I'm angry. 

“No Mel, it's not like that,” says Sabina. “You'll be happy again, I hope you will. But this is going to be part of your life – not all of it, but you can't wipe it out.” 

I get up and leave the room. I can't take any more of this. Time to have some space. They all just sit there watching me go and I try not to slam the door too hard.

I've been sitting in my bedroom for a while. I went to the good place for a bit, but it doesn't seem to work so well now. I've been thinking, trying to sort everything out in my mind. There's two things. One is, can I believe them? Can I believe what Sabina says? How do I know it's going to work out? That does my head in. 

The other is, maybe it will be all right. I'm thinking about my life before all this happened, before that Saturday night. I'm thinking about Raj, and about Chloe, and about school and art and Sally Griffin and where my life's going. 

Somewhere over the last few weeks I turned off my mobile and threw it under the bed. Raj texted me a few times after I dumped him, asking why, asking what had happened, then a last one saying he didn't care anymore. That's when the phone went under the bed. 

I crawl under the bed in the dust balls and old tissues, and it's there in the corner. I plug it into the charger and it comes up with twenty-one messages waiting, some texts and some voicemail. 

I go for the voicemail first. There's three: the first one's Chloe. 

“Where are you? I heard at school something had happened, but nobody knows. What's the mystery? Give me a bell won't you? I'm really worried about you. And I've got some news – about Raj.” 

I feel bad now, I hadn't even thought how Chloe might be, I've been so wrapped up in myself. 

Voicemail two: “Mel, it's Sally Griffin here. Chloe gave me your number, I hope you don't mind. I just wanted to talk to you, Sabina let me know you've been having a hard time. If you feel like talking, phone me on this number.” 

And voicemail three: “It's Raj. I've been thinking. I'm sorry I sent you that text – I was so confused. Can't say on this message. Can we meet up?” 

The texts are just more of the same. I sit on the bed flipping through them, getting it into my head that these people might still be out there, and that they might care about me even after what's happened. That feels weird. Because it means I've been thinking it's all my fault. Even after Sabina said it wasn't, but what does she know? 

I don't even know what day it is. It's case conference day, that's all. Not a day of the week. It's the day everyone else makes decisions about who I am and what happens to me. I can make some decisions of my own. 

I find Chloe on my contacts and phone her. 

It's time to meet up.

It's strange going out on my own. I've been to the doctor's, to Dad's that time, and to the museum with Sabina, and that's it. My eyes take a while to get used to being outside. It's like I've been hiding for weeks without knowing it. I don't know how long it's been. On my own I feel like everybody's going to be looking at me, and they'll know what's happening, and they'll be laughing. Or sorry for me. Or something. 

Chloe said she'd be at the corner of her road, and I can see her leaning against the wall. I feel like running but I walk slowly, trying to keep my breath steady. 

She sees me and starts walking towards me. She's smiling, and it's so good to see her. 

“Hey,” she says when we're a few feet away from each other. “You don't look so good.” 

“Thanks. I've been – ill.” 

“Mel, I know something's gone on. You don't have to tell me, but don't tell me something that's not true, just tell me if you don't want me to know.” 

I make my mind up. “I'll tell you. If you promise never to talk about it to anyone.” I think again. “But you'll have to tell me about Raj first – your news. You said in your message. He's found somebody else. Is that it?” 

“He came up to me after school last week, asked about you. He was dead worried, I could tell. He said to tell you…” 

“What?” I'm quick to jump in. 

“He said to tell you he's there, if you want to contact him. You know, he's really cute. Now tell.”

On the park the trees' shadows are long and dark. It's nine o'clock, and most of the families have gone home. There are still a few football games, but most of the people around are sitting on the grass talking. A few couples are lying with each other, playing, snogging. 

I'm walking across to meet Raj. I phoned him earlier, after I'd told Chloe, and we agreed to meet up. I'm feeling careful. I'm not sure what to say, how to be. I tried planning it in my head, like rehearsing a play. It started okay, then I had to make up his lines for him and it stopped working. 

He runs up behind me and I jump. I remember flinching away from him when he touched my cheek. 

“Hey,” he says, and I turn round to face him. 

He looks the same. I don't know why, it seems so long ago that I saw him that I expected him to look different. For a second our eyes meet and it's like electricity down my back. 

“Shall we find some shade?” he asks, for something to say I think. He didn't say that in my mind when I planned it. 

“Yeah.” Fine conversation this is. I may have rehearsed, but I've forgotten my lines already and Raj never knew his. 

I walk over with him and there's a place away from the others so we sit on the grass. We're facing each other and I look down at my hands. 

“I need to explain,” I begin, and he says “How've you been?” at the same time. There's a silence then we both laugh and I feel better somehow. 

“This is really difficult, there's things I can't tell you because of other people.” 

“Other people?” 

“It's not what you think. There isn't anyone. I mean…” This is going so crap. Why did I even bother? Might have known I'd never get it right. 

He reaches over and takes my hand. 

“I know something's happened, something bad. Hannah's dropped out of sight too, I realised that. And there were rumours.” 

“Rumours?” 

“You know how people are. Nothing too terrible, don't stress.” 

I'm suddenly embarrassed sitting there in the open with him, thinking about people talking about me. I never imagined anybody would notice I wasn't around, except Chloe and him maybe. 

I look round but they're all busy yakking. I see a boy lying on his back and a girl sitting astride him in the sun. They're laughing and play-fighting. 

“It's all a bit – heavy, you know? In my family. It's about my family, nobody else. And I can't say – because you know Hannah, it's not fair on her.” 

“Hey, I thought you and Hannah didn't even speak to each other.” 

“Yeah well, something happened, and we do now. We've got really close these last few weeks.” 

“That's great. You should be close, she's your sister.” 

I remember the difference between us, in our cultures, and look at our hands, his bigger and brown, mine pale and thin, the fingers curled round each other. He squeezes my hand. 

“Sometimes bad things bring good results.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

“Your hair's grown a bit.” He reaches over and strokes my hair, gently, and then his hand's at the back of my head and I can almost measure the space between us, like the gap is something, not nothing. 

I find myself leaning towards him. Our mouths meet in the middle of the space and we're kissing, and after a bit it's proper kissing with tongues and everything and it's not stupid at all, it's like something I've never felt before and I want it to go on and on and I want to laugh. He's holding me close to him and we kind of slide over so we're lying face to face on the grass, still kissing. 

We're so close I can feel he's hard, and I want to laugh, because it's great that I can make him go hard. 

We stop for a while and I look at him and he looks at me and our eyes meet for ages and it's like he can see inside me. 

“It doesn't matter. Whatever happened, it doesn't matter,” he says, and I realise it's true. It does matter, of course, but it's not all there is to me, it hasn't ruined everything in my life and I won't let it, I won't. I kiss him again.

It's strange going into school after term's over. It's so quiet and empty. I half expect the caretaker to come and shout at me, but there's nobody, just Sally Griffin's old car in the car park. 

I go over to the art room and the door's open. She's inside cleaning out the sink, scrubbing off all the old paint marks, up to her elbows in soapy paint water. 

“Grab a chair,” she says, not looking round, and I wander round the room. All last year's paintings are off the walls in a messy pile, and you can see blutack and masking tape and drawing-pin holes and bits of paint all over the place. I pick through the pile, and find the sheets I used to start the family project, the one I never finished. I'll never finish it now. 

Sally Griffin finishes what she's doing and dries her hands and arms on an old tea towel that's covered in paint. 

“How're you doing?” she asks, pulling up a chair facing me. “I've been thinking about you.” 

“Fine.” 

“Expect me to believe that? Look, it may be years since I was your age, but I don't think fine is an option I'd go for myself.” 

“Don't know what to say.” 

“I've got time.” She folds her arms. I've never seen her still before. I can see the hairs on her arms, black against her skin. Her arms look strong, and I remember her telling me she made sculpture out of stone. She showed us some photos once, huge figures with massive faces and hands. You could tell they were people, but not people like you see them. She saw them differently. 

“I don't know who I am anymore.” 

Sally Griffin sits there, waiting some more. 

“I thought I understood, but I don't. It's all fallen apart. There's Raj, and he's great, but I don't know what I want. I don't seem to have any choices. I didn't think it would be like this.” 

Sally Griffin's still sitting. Then she jumps up and gets a big roll of paper and tears off a huge piece. She lays it on the floor and picks up a chunky felt tip. 

“Lie down on the paper.” 

“What for?” 

“Go on, lie down on the paper, on your back. Then I'll draw round you.” 

Might have known she'd come up with something like this. I go over and lie down on my back on the paper with my arms and legs out. Sally Griffin bends down over me and starts drawing my shape, round my head, arm, body, legs, and back round my other arm to my head. Then she stands up. 

“Okay, get up then.” 

I turn over and get up. There's a drawing of my shape on the paper, like the ones the police draw on the pavement where there's been a dead body. Creepy. 

Sally Griffin picks out some paints and a couple of palettes and some big brushes. 

“You can use paint, or make a collage with anything you can find.” 

“What am I supposed to be doing?” 

“Making your new self, who you are now. Who you want to be. What's important to you. I'll be clearing out the old clay.”