The Drowning (17 page)

“That’s just rubbish, Carl. When people die, they stay dead. Trust me, I know.”

And suddenly I feel a sense of relief. Her words are so blunt, so straightforward. There’s no room for doubt in her mind. When people die, they stay dead. Simple. End of story.

Rain starts pattering on the kitchen window and in spite of what Neisha’s just said, I can hardly bear to look, thinking of his pale fingers, tapping, scratching. I force myself to stand up, walk over to the sink, and face the outside world. It’s just rain, spit-spotting onto the glass.

A memory kicks in again:

Rain pit-patting on the leaves above me.

Crawling through bushes, peering into a clearing.

“Did you kiss him? Did you kiss Carl?”

“No.”

“You did, didn’t you? Is that why you want to end it?”

I hear the smack of flesh on flesh. Neisha’s gasp.

“No. And I don’t want to end it anymore. I said so, didn’t I?”

“You haven’t answered the question, bitch. Did you snog my brother?”

“No! I told you. I don’t fancy Carl. I never have.” She laughs. “He’s … like a brother. A teddy bear. Who wants to shag a teddy bear?”

I spin away from the kitchen window, leaning against the wall, eyes stinging with humiliation.

“Carl, are you there? Are you still there, Carl?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“What are you doing? Where are you?”

“It’s raining, Neisha.”

“They stay dead.”
I want it to be true. I want her to be right, I walk through the hall to the front door, flick the catch, and open it. I step out into our yard, feel the rain on my bare shoulders.

But he’s there, shimmering and half seen for a while, becoming clearer the wetter I get.

The phone’s still in my hand, down by my thigh. Neisha’s voice is a million miles away.

“Carl, Carl! Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“I told you — if I thought she snogged you, I’d kill you both.”

We’re in our room, face-to-face, eyeball-to-eyeball.

And just for a moment, I remember her laughing about me, feel the tears stinging again, and I wish I’d never seen her. I wish she’d never existed. I wish she were dead.

“I didn’t touch her, okay? I don’t give a shit about her. You can hit her as much as you like. Kill her for all I care, but leave me out of it.”

His eyes glitter.

“You want me to kill her? You’re on, mate. You’re fucking on.”

“You won’t do it, Rob. You wouldn’t dare. You beat people up, people smaller and weaker than you, but you’re not a killer. You’re all talk. I hate you as much as I hate her.”

It’s true. Everything he said is true. The last memory has slotted into place and now I know that I’m as bad as he said. I’m the monster Rob’s told me I am.

I’m the person who wanted Neisha dead, who, in the heat of the moment, told Rob to do it, who persuaded Neisha to go to the lake. Okay, so I’m the one who watched and then dived in to save her, too, but what does that make me? Does one good act cancel out the other?

We’re in the yard together, in the dark, in the rain. Me and Rob. Rob and me.

From a million miles away, Neisha’s voice reaches me. “Carl? Carl? Who are you talking to? Who’s there?”

I lift the phone up and turn it off.

C
arl, wot you doing out ’ere?”

Mum’s standing in the doorway. Her face is crumpled and flushed. She’s wearing an old T-shirt and nothing on her legs.

Rob looks past me, right at her.

Mum.

She can’t hear him, can’t see him. But can she sense something? She shivers, clutching her arms across her body.

“Iss freezin’ out ’ere. For Gossake, Carl, get in. You’re soaked.”

I look down. My chest is running with water. My tracksuit pants are drenched.

She darts out from the shelter of the porch and grabs my elbow.

I stumble backward, still facing Rob as he mouths,
You and me. You and …

I’m back inside and the door’s firmly shut. Mum’s toweling my hair dry roughly. She’s got another towel wrapped around my shoulders. Rob’s fading. It’s only his voice now, on repeat, getting fainter.

You and me …

He’s drowned out by Mum, firing questions at me.

“What were you doin’ out there? Why were you up the school thissevening? What the ’ell’s goin’ on with you, Carl?”

She doesn’t give me time to answer, which is fine by me.

And then she stops. She stands back, with the towel in her hands, and she looks at me. Her eyes are still red from the booze, she’s not too steady on her feet, but she means business. She wants me to talk.

“So wass goin’ on?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on, Mum.”

“Don’t gimme that. Why’d you go mental thissafternoon and hit me? Why’d you run off?”

“That was an accident. I’m sorry, okay? I thought you were …”

“Who? Debs? You thought it was all right to hit your Auntie Debbie?”

“No, ’course not. I thought it was …”

“And then you go off up the school an’ set fire to it! I mean, what the fuck, Carl? I thought you might have learnt something from all this. I thought you might have realized you can’t keep acting like a … like a thug, but you’ve learnt nothin’. Nothin’!”

She’s shouting now, ranting, and from upstairs a bleary voice calls down, “You all right, Kerr? Wass goin’ on?”

“Iss nothing, Debs. Go back to sleep.”

“How long’s she going to be here?” I ask.

“
She? She?
She is my sister, and she can stay as long as she likes. She’s here to help me. To help me get through, because I dunno how I’m gonna do it, face the next coupla days, God help me. Thass wot I need, Carl. I don’t need you actin’ up.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”

“You’re just takin’ the piss now. You let me down today. Big-time. I wan’ you to think ’bout what I said, Carl. You can’t go on like this.”

She wobbles off into the kitchen and I take the chance to escape upstairs. I close my bedroom door, but I can still hear her plodding up and into her room as I peel off my wet track pants, and then Debbie and her picking me to pieces. I slip back into my sleeping bag and try to tune out their words, let their voices become just another sound, a background noise, but there aren’t just two voices, there’s a third, a low-level whisper. It doesn’t take long for the booze to put them back to sleep again. Their voices get quieter and there are bigger gaps between their exchanges. And soon enough the snoring starts up again.

And the whisper is there. The third voice. And even as I strain to catch the words, I recognize the tone, the rhythm, the pitch.

You and me, Carl. You and me …

I sit up and grope for the light switch, shielding my eyes until, little by little, they can cope. The light reaches every corner of the cramped room. There’s nowhere to hide. There’s nothing to see. Except two mattresses, heaps of clothes, a couple of fishing rods, and the damp patch of mold in the corner. But it’s not just in the corner now. It’s bridged the gap between our beds, spreading to my side of the room. Its ragged edge reaching forward, grasping, stretching. I put my hand on the wall, not two feet from the tip of the dark patch. The surface is damp, cold, and clammy.

Kill the bitch.

He’s here. In this room. He’s never going to leave me alone.

Wherever I go, whatever I do, he’ll be there.

My fingers find the fragments of the photo in the pocket of my jeans on the floor. I take them out and hold them in the palm of my hand. There’s an eye looking at me from the piece on top. Deep brown. Dancing with light. Neisha. My Neisha. And I think of those other photos, the ones on his phone.

I crawl across the floor and fish the phone out of the jacket pocket. I page through the screens — menu, gallery — to the photos. This time I’m not looking at her body, I’m looking at her face, the pain behind her eyes.

“He hit me.”

I go through each image in turn. Delete. Are you sure you want to delete? Yes. Until they’re gone. I put the phone back in the pocket.

I would never hurt her. I would never let anyone else hurt her. Except that I did. I made everything worse — with my lies and my jealousy and my childish resentment. I wound him up and set him off. That last time, it was just an argument, a row like a million other rows. It ended the same, too, with him battering me. And I never thought … I never imagined …

It’s got to stop. But how can I stop him?

This room is full of him. It’s infected and so am I. He’s wormed his way into my head. That’s what he is, a worm in my brain.

It’s this place — I’ve got to get out of here. But he’ll come with me, won’t he? I bring him with me. In the park, in the street, in the school.

He. Comes. With. Me.

And now I know what I’ve got to do. Neisha’s dad is right. But it’s not the place that’s toxic, it’s me. I’ve got to get out of here. Leave and take Rob with me, away from this flat and away from this town. Away from Neisha.

I’ve got to go. Tonight. Find a place where I’ve never hurt anyone, or broken anything, or broken in anywhere. See if I can start again. Just me and my shadow. Me and him forever.

You can’t leave. I won’t let you.

He’s still here. He knows what I’m planning to do. Of course he knows. I spring away from the wall and stand up.

I said I’d fucking kill you and I will.

I scan around the room, looking for things to take with me. I pull on some boxers, socks, and a pair of jeans, and reach for a T-shirt, stuff it and a couple of pairs of underwear in my coat pocket. There’s room for my book, too. It’s the only thing here that means anything to me. There’s nothing else. No reminders or souvenirs. I just want to leave it all behind. Except for the picture. My torn-up girl.

Neisha.

How can I just leave her like this? Will I ever see her again? When I figure out how to get rid of Rob for good — maybe then I can come back.

I can ring her tomorrow, when I’m far enough away. Try and explain. She’ll understand, won’t she? Maybe she’ll even wait for me.

I don’t know, but I do know this is the right thing to do.

The wind’s picked up outside. It whines as it hits the corner of the flats, but I can’t hear any rain. I want there to be rain.
I need it on me, on my hair and my skin, in my face. As long as I’m wet I’ll be able to drag Rob away with me.

I peer out through the curtains and I think,
This is the last time I’ll look out of here.
It feels good, like I’m on the right track.

Right on cue, big fat raindrops start flicking against the glass. This is it. Time to go. I tie the coat around my waist, hesitate in the doorway, and look back at the room. The stain on the wall is turning it into a dark, damp cave. If I stay here, I’ll suffocate. It’s time to go.

The snoring has died down to a low rumble in Mum’s room. I wonder how long it will take her to realize I’ve gone. She’s not going to be happy when I miss the funeral. I should leave a note. Something to stop them from looking for me, raising the alarm. I turn back and rip a page out of an old school notebook, then scrabble through the heaps on the floor looking for a pen or pencil.

I’m stuck. All I can think of to say after fifteen years, and I’m not even sure about the
Dear
.