Authors: Lisa Williamson

The Art of Being Normal (27 page)

‘I wonder how the real ball is going?’ I muse.

‘Did you know I was meant to take Alicia, once upon a time?’ Leo says, fiddling with the ring-pull on his can.

‘Really?’

He nods and looks really sad for a second.

‘For what’s it’s worth, she tweeted that she was boycotting it this year,’ I say.

‘Doesn’t make much difference though really, does it?’

‘I suppose not.’

I pause. Leo is looking deep into his Coke can.

‘You still really like her, don’t you?’

He shrugs and looks away.

Just then the music stops abruptly, resulting in a collective groan from the Goth kids on the dance floor. It takes me just a few seconds to recognise the introduction to the next song. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ – the Nat King Cole version. It’s the first proper slow number of the night and quickly kids start shyly partnering off.

‘Your favourite Christmas song, right?’ Leo says.

I nod.

He jumps down on to the surface of the pool.

‘Wanna dance then?’ he asks, holding out his hand.

‘Seriously?’ I ask, glancing around me.

‘No one is looking,’ he lies. ‘C’mon.’

I let him help me down on to the dance floor. Even though we’ve shared a bed, and hugged and held hands, and told one another some pretty personal stuff, somehow negotiating where our hands should go while we are dancing is suddenly the most awkward thing in the world. Eventually we get into position and begin to sway back and forth with the music. I keep my eyes on Leo in an effort to drown out the whispers and nudges coming at us from every angle. Not that I blame them in some ways, it’s kind of a scoop; the two of us slow dancing together.

‘I’m sorry I’m not Zachary,’ Leo says as we reach the second verse.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, your fantasy? Dancing with a boy at the Christmas Ball? I’m kind of guessing this wasn’t quite what you had in mind.’

I look up at Leo and smile.

‘You’re right, it’s not. But this is better. One hundred times better.’

And I swear Leo, king of the poker-face, is blushing.

It’s as we’re dancing to the final chorus I notice her; standing on the side of the pool, combing the packed dance floor, her face all tear-stained.

Livvy.

‘Excuse me,’ I say to Leo.

He frowns but lets me go.

‘Livvy!’ I call. When her eyes finally latch on to me, there’s a moment of confusion before her face melts into recognition.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask as I climb up the ladder on to the side of the pool.

‘I got a taxi,’ she replies.

‘But why? Why aren’t you at school?’

She looks at her feet.

‘Cressy and I had a fight.’

‘What about?’

‘She started it,’ she says. ‘She danced with Daniel Addison. She doesn’t even like him! And she knows how much I do, I’ve told her so like a million times.’

Her eyes start to well up with tears all over again.

‘Come here,’ I say.

She lets me hold her.

‘I’m sorry, Liv,’ I say, stroking her hair. ‘That’s a sucky thing of Cressy to do.’

She nods fiercely, a bubble of snot protruding out of her right nostril.

‘Here,’ I say, passing her a napkin from the refreshment table.

She blows her nose hard.

‘How was the ball apart from that?’ I ask.

She shrugs. ‘Not like I imagined it.’

‘Yeah, they’re kind of like that,’ I say.

‘The snow machine didn’t work,’ she says. ‘It snowed for
about three seconds then got clogged up. When I left, Harry Beaumont was outside screaming about it to someone on his mobile.’

I grin. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Liv.’

She nods and looks out on to the dance floor.

‘I like your dress,’ she says, peeking at it out of the corner of her eye.

‘Thanks, Liv. I like yours too.’

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling.

‘Why don’t you come dance?’ I say.

‘I don’t know. I might just sit and watch,’ she says, motioning to the fold-down seats behind her.

‘Don’t be stupid. Come on, dancing will make you feel better, I promise. Only you’d better take off your heels first.’

And this is how I end up spending most of the ball dancing with my baby sister.

It’s almost the end of the night when I hear the opening chords of a familiar song. And for a moment I’m back in the Mermaid Inn, Tripton-on-Sea, high on life, as Leo nervously shuffles about the tiny stage in front of me, clinging to the microphone and looking like he would quite like to kill me.

‘I’ll be back, Liv,’ I say.

She waves me away, happily dancing with a group of Year 8 kids. I wade across the dance floor, scouring the bobbing heads for his. As the chorus kicks in, I swear under my breath. I turn round in a slow circle. He’s got to be here somewhere. Then I see him, fighting his way across
the dance floor towards me. I break into a grin and push my way through the crowd. We collide in the middle of the dance floor.

‘It’s your song!’ I yell.

‘No it isn’t,’ Leo yells back. ‘It’s ours.’

Essie and Felix join us then. We put our arms round each other and jump around in a circle, bellowing the lyrics in each other’s ears.

Right now, the time is ours

So let’s fly higher

Light the stars on fire

Together we’ll shine

And even though I know that there’s a ton of stuff ahead I’m so terrified about I can’t breathe sometimes, tonight I can’t help but feel like no matter how hard it gets, everything might just be OK in the end.

It’s Boxing Day. Amber is round at Carl’s house. Mam and Spike, in matching onesies, are passed out on the settee, crumpled paper hats perched wonkily on their heads. In front of them on the coffee table are the remains of lunch – turkey sandwiches, Pringles, pickled onions and mince pies. Tia is sitting cross-legged on the floor watching
Brave
on DVD, a pair of glittery fairy wings on her back. The living room is still a mess from yesterday, wrapping paper and pulled crackers strewn all over the carpet, and dirty glasses and bowls of crisp crumbs dotted on every surface.

It was an all right day in the end. It turns out Spike is half decent in the kitchen, so he took care of Christmas dinner while Amber and Tia made a huge raspberry trifle for dessert. The jelly layer hadn’t set properly so it was a bit runny, but it still tasted nice. Mam was in a good mood and even agreed to a game of Tia’s Junior Monopoly after lunch (we let Tia win). In the evening Auntie Kerry and her boyfriend and a few mates of Spike’s came over. One of them brought his ukulele with him and played loads of Christmas songs on it,
Spike joining in by drumming on the coffee table. We all joined in the choruses and Mam sang so loudly she lost her voice. When we did ‘The Fairytale of New York’ I thought of being in the Mermaid Inn in Tripton with David. It feels like years ago. Whenever I think of Tripton now, it’s this stuff – winning at the bingo, splashing around in the freezing cold sea, holding back David’s hair as he threw up in the en suite of the B&B – that pops into my head. The other bits, the bad stuff with my dad, I keep buried. Jenny reckons I need to work through it. And I will. But for now, I just want to forget him and move on.

The letterbox rattles. I glance at Mam and Spike but they’re comatose. I sigh and heave myself out of the armchair.

It’s Kate, bundled up under loads of layers. She’s wearing make-up and I can see her wig peeking out from beneath her green bobble hat.

‘Hey, someone cut the grass,’ she says, gesturing at the lawn behind her.

‘Oh yeah,’ I say. ‘Spike and a couple of his mates did it the other week. Took them the whole day.’

‘Looks good.’

‘Yeah. We’ve got an actual front path again.’

‘I almost forgot, Merry Christmas,’ she says, doing jazz hands.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I reply.’ ‘You, er, want to come in or something?’

‘Best not, everyone’s waiting,’ she says. Over her shoulder I can see her mum and dad and Livvy in the car. They wave. I raise my hand in greeting back.

‘So, how’s your Christmas been?’ I ask.

‘Weird but good. We told my gran yesterday.’

‘Wow. And? How’d she react?’

‘Um, OK, I think. Shocked. I’m pretty sure she almost choked on her Christmas pudding. She clearly thinks it’s a phase but, hey, she hasn’t disowned me yet so that’s something, right?’

I nod and laugh.

‘Oh, and guess what else?’

‘What?’

‘My referral to the clinic in London was accepted. The letter came on Christmas Eve, would you believe.’

‘That’s wicked news,’ I say. And I mean it.

‘I know,’ Kate says, beaming. ‘It still might be another three months before I get an appointment, but it’s a step in the right direction. I feel like things are finally happening, you know?’

‘Definitely.’

‘And we’ve got an appointment to see Mr Toolan in the new year, to maybe talk about me coming to school in role, maybe even as early as Easter.’

‘Wow.’

‘I know, right? So far so terrifying.’

She’s grinning ear-to-ear though.

‘Anyway, the real reason I’m here is to drop this off,’ she says, reaching inside her coat and pulling out a slim package wrapped in silver paper. She thrusts it into my hands.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘Duh. What do you think it is? It’s a Christmas present.’

‘But I don’t have anything for you.’

‘That’s OK. It’s only small. Well, aren’t you going to open it?’

‘You want me to open it now?’

She nods.

I rip off the paper to reveal a paperback book. I turn it over and study the front cover.

‘Alan Turing: The Enigma
,’ I read aloud.

‘He was a really amazing mathematician apparently,’ Kate says. ‘He cracked codes during the Second World War and then went mad.’

‘I think I’ve heard of him,’ I say, flicking through the pages.

‘It got loads of good reviews on Amazon,’ she adds.

‘It’s great, thank you,’ I say, closing it.

‘You’re not just saying that? I was worried it might be a bit boring.’

‘Nah, it looks brilliant.’

She smiles and relaxes back on her heels.

‘What about you? How’s your Christmas been?’ she asks.

I glance behind me, at the scene of relative peace in the lounge.

‘It’s been … OK actually.’

‘Have you heard from Alicia?’

‘No. I think that ship has definitely sailed,’ I say, smiling tightly.

There’s a sudden gust of cold wind. I zip up my hoodie all the way to my chin.

‘For what it’s worth, she’s really missing out,’ Kate says, not quite looking me in the eye.

‘Yeah, well, that’s life I guess. You don’t always get what you want.’

‘You can say that again,’ she says.

Her dad beeps the car horn.

‘I’d better go. We’re going to see
The Nutcracker
at the theatre tonight. Family Boxing Day tradition.’

‘Nice. Enjoy it.’

‘Blokes in tights! What’s not to enjoy?’ Kate quips.

‘Thanks again for the present,’ I say, clearing my throat and holding the book up. ‘I might read some tonight.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ she replies. ‘So, see you next year?’

‘God yeah, see you next year.’

‘Harry’s going to have it in for us big time, I bet.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. What’s he going to do though? Realistically?’

It turns out the snow machine failure was the very least of Harry’s problems on the night of the ball. After a massive overspend on the budget, poor attendance has left the ball planning committee in debt to the school. Not that any of this was our fault directly, but I have no doubt Harry is going to find a way to place the blame on us. It was worth it though. One hundred per cent.

We stand there for a moment, smiling, not really needing to say anything.

Kate’s dad beeps the horn once more.

‘You better go,’ I say.

‘Yeah, you’re right.’

She hugs me hard, before dashing down the path.

I stand on the doorstep in my socks and watch as the car disappears down Sycamore Gardens.

About an hour later, just as it’s getting dark, it begins to snow. Mam and Spike have headed out to the pub for the night, and Amber is still round at Carl’s, so it’s just me and Tia at home.

As soon as she sees the snow she goes mental, tearing around the lounge and begging me to come out into the back yard and make a snowman with her.

‘There’s not enough snow for that,’ I tell her.

‘Snowballs then!’ she says.

In the end I watch from the doorway. Not enough snow has fallen yet to scrape up a decent snowball, so after a few failed tries Tia just stands there instead, her arms outstretched and her head lifted up to the sky, trying to catch snowflakes in her sticky little open mouth.

‘Get your coat at least,’ I call after her. But she doesn’t listen. It’s like the snow has put a spell on her.

I quickly get cold just standing there watching, so I pull the door to and go back inside. But Tia’s outside for another ten minutes, just in her crocs, jeans, T-shirt and fairy wings. When she eventually comes in, her face is bright red and her teeth are chattering. When I touch her hands, they’re like ice-blocks, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. Sometimes I do wonder if Tia is wired up right. I make her some cocoa and leave her curled up on the sofa watching
Beauty and the Beast,
an old picnic blanket draped over her tiny body.

I head upstairs and sit up on Amber’s bunk where I watch the snow fall through the window, the flakes getting increasingly fat, settling fast. As I’m watching them fall, faster and faster still, I get this weird feeling, sort of like déjà vu, of being in the snow with Jimmy, when I was really, really tiny. Of course I now know this is impossible; just my mind playing tricks on me. In the past I would have tried to cling to this thing that may or may not be a memory, but tonight I let it dissolve into nothingness, just like the snowflakes on Tia’s tongue.

As I look out of the window, if I blur my eyes a bit, I can imagine that I’m not in Cloverdale at all – but somewhere far, far away instead. It’s funny how snow changes that, takes everything ugly and grey
– the dustbins and piles of rubbish and rusty cars – and hides them all under a sparkling white blanket. It won’t last. By tomorrow night the snow will have turned slushy and stained. But for tonight, with not a soul in sight, it’s perfect. I push open the window a crack and listen to the absolute stillness. I shimmy down the bed so I’m lying on my back, and all I can see is the sky, the falling snowflakes lit up in orange by the street lamp outside the window.

I don’t know how long I’ve been lying there like that, when I hear someone knocking at the door. It’ll be Mam I expect, having forgotten her keys. Or belated carol singers out for a few quid.

I sit up and listen as Tia opens the letterbox and calls, ‘What do you want?’

A few seconds later she yells my name up the stairs. I climb down the ladder.

‘It’s for you,’ Tia says, blinking up at me from the hallway, her fairy wings all crooked from where she’s been lying on the settee.

‘I gathered that,’ I say impatiently. ‘Who is it?’

She just shrugs and wanders back into the living room.

I pad down the stairs. Behind the glass of the front door, there’s a shadowy figure. I open it.

It’s Alicia. She’s wearing a purple coat and fluffy white earmuffs. There’s snow on her shoulders and in her hair. I stare at her. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open.

She takes a deep breath.

‘I want you to know it wasn’t me,’ she blurts. ‘I didn’t tell a soul about what you told me, I wouldn’t have. But then Becky went digging on the internet and blabbed. She’s not my favourite person right now, if that’s any consolation. Look, what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. For everything, but mostly for taking so long to say so.’

She says all this quickly, her eyes wide and startled, as if she’s surprised she wound up on my doorstep in the first place.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I should have told you from the start, I shouldn’t have let things go that far.’

She puts her finger to my lips to silence me and looks into my eyes.

‘Leo, can I ask you something?’

I nod.

‘Can we please forget about all that and, I don’t know, start again?’

‘Start again?’

‘As friends.’

‘Friends,’ I repeat.

She holds out her hand and takes another deep breath.

‘Hi. I’m Alicia Baker. Nice to meet you.’

I hesitate before taking her hand in mine and shaking it.