Lilah May's Manic Days Page 5

  ‘Bindi’s not pregnant,’ he says. Just like that.

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘How come?’

  I’m shivering inside – not sure whether it’s shock or relief.

  ‘She thought she was. But she wasn’t,’ says Adam. ‘Something to do with a stomach upset.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say again. I can’t think of a single thing to say. Not one. You’d think I’d be pleased, wouldn’t you? And that I could rush round to Bindi’s and reclaim our friendship and pretend that the rubbish last few months didn’t happen.

  But Adam’s news doesn’t change the fact that she slept with him when she knew I liked him.

  No.

  I still feel betrayed.

  ‘Anyway,’ says Adam. ‘Erm – this feels a bit awkward, yeah? I’d better go. See you at school, Liles.’

  Liles.

  The nickname makes me shudder. Jay is the only other person to call me that.

  Two boys that I loved. One won’t speak to me any more. The other went off with my best friend.

  Groo.

  Some Christmas this is going to be.

  The next day it’s Dad’s turn to drag me around the shops.

  ‘Dad,’ I moan. ‘It’s going to be hell out there.’

  He takes no notice but grips me by the arm and steers me into Mum’s favourite clothes shop. He hates shopping even more than I do. Dad looks kind of weird standing in the middle of a department store in his army gear if it’s summer or his lion-taming outfit of khaki combats and big fleece with a cap on top if it’s winter. His hair is shaved so short it looks more like a shadow than a haircut. And he’s about six foot five so he towers over all the well-dressed ladies with their winter coats and strong perfume.

  Just show me what she’d like,’ he instructs me, pushing me into a rail of designer dresses and folding his arms. ‘And hurry up. I can’t take much more of this.’

  ‘Dad, we’ve only been in here for thirty seconds,’ I say, but he’s glaring towards the entrance doors now and looking at his watch so I pick out a short black dress in Mum’s size and drape it over his arm.

  ‘Right,’ says Dad. He marches off to the cash till before I can even say the word ‘accessories’ so I grab a string of black beads and a sparkly black cuff and rush after him, throwing them on top of the dress just as the assistant is about to put it in a bag.

  ‘OK,’ says Dad. He hands over a credit card, punches in a number, grabs the bag off the desk and propels me through the warm crowds of gabbling shoppers and back out into the snowy air.

  ‘Home,’ he says. We walk home at about a hundred miles an hour, Dad’s long legs striding as if he’s chasing an unruly lion.

  ‘Dad!’ I pant as he storms ahead. ‘I can’t keep up. Wait!’

  Dad turns around with an impatient look on his face but he waits for me.

  We’re just trying to walk up the path without ‘sliding on frozen ridges of ice and snow when Jay comes out of the front door bundled up in a black bomber jacket and with a woolly black hat pulled down over his lank hair and almost over his eyes.

  ‘Where are you off to, son?’ says Dad, grabbing him by the arm. ‘It’s too cold to be out in this weather.’

  Jay shakes his arm free of Dad’s large hand and makes off down the path and off in the direction of the shops.

  We stare after his retreating figure for a moment, gathering snowflakes on our eyelashes and the shoulders of our coats until Dad ushers me inside.

  ‘Don’t worry, Lilah,’ he says. ‘Jay will get back to normal, I promise.’

  ‘When?’ I say. I’m aware that my voice is high and sharp but I can’t help it. Every time something nice happens, like me and Dad going out together, even if he hates shopping, then Jay ruins it with his moody silence and strange behaviour.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Dad. ‘But he will.’

  I go inside and take a deep sniff of warm cooking smells. Mum has baked home-made mince pies with puff pastry and we gulp down three each with a squirt of cream on the top and a hot chocolate to go with it and we laugh and joke a bit just like a normal family at Christmas time, except all the time we’re on edge, expecting the front door to open and the other member of our family to come back again.

  Just after three there’s a tap at the door and we all jump about nine foot high, me in particular as I’ve sunk into a chair by the gas fire and am moodily dreaming about Adam Carter and trying not to think about Bindi or to miss her or feel angry.

  It’s Dr Cunningham.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ says Mum. ‘I completely forgot that you were coming!’

  She shovels up armloads of old newspapers from the sofa, whips the curtains wide open and takes Dr Cunningham’s smart, black, military-style coat.

  ‘I’m afraid that Jay has gone out,’ says Mum. ‘I would have tried to keep him in if I’d remembered you were due.’

  Dr Cunningham gives her a flash of lipsticked smile. I can see Dad eyeing up Dr Cunningham’s latest dramatic outfit. She’s wearing a high-waisted grey pencil skirt and white blouse with a thick necklace of orange beads and suede ballerina flats in purple with little flowers on the side.

  I see Dad glance over to Mum and then back at Dr Cunningham. OK, so Mum’s wearing a stained white apron, old black jeans and her cheeks are flushed from cooking all afternoon but I still think she’s loads prettier than Dr Cunningham, so I glare at Dad until he realises I’ve caught him out and then he at least has the good grace to get up and head to the kitchen to make tea.

  ‘Perhaps we can start with you two,’ says Dr Cunningham, settling back into our sofa and crossing her shiny legs. ‘How’s it been over the last few days with Jay back? Do you feel as if you’ve made any progress?’

  I look at Mum and she gives me a small encouraging smile. I know she wants me to tell Dr Cunningham all about the snowman incident. I also know that she does not want me to reveal my true feelings about Jay.

  I look from my mother to Dr Cunningham and I realise that if we’re going to ever get anywhere with Jay ever again, I need to tell the truth, even if it’s not what my family really want to hear.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ I say. ‘But just because we made a snowman doesn’t really mean that things are back to normal, does it?’

  Mum flushes and turns away, gazing out over the front garden where every single plant and tree is bent heavy with inches of snow.

  Dr Cunningham scribbles something into her notebook and then leans forward with her elbows resting on her knees.

  ‘But Lilah, that’s great that Jay helped you with something,’ she says. ‘I’d see that as a breakthrough!’

  Mum is nodding so fast that I can almost see two heads.

  ‘That’s what I think!’ she says. ‘We can’t expect miracles straight away.’

  Dad comes in with a tray of tea. I notice that he’s put on aftershave. I also notice that he’s put out our best china cups, the ones that usually only make an appearance at funerals or weddings.

  Groo.

  I don’t want Dad to like Dr Cunningham.

  I don’t like her much myself. Yeah, she’s all neat and smiling and saying the right things, but I can see through it. She’s just being paid to do her job.

  I grab a chocolate digestive because there are only two on the plate and the rest are all dull plain ones and then I look outside and down the street.

  ‘So if it’s all going so well, where is he?’ I say. ‘Where’s Jay?’

  Dad scowls at me and Mum shakes her head and makes a big thing of standing up and pouring tea, passing it to Dr Cunningham with a shaking hand that makes the cup clank on the saucer.

  ‘Lilah is still very angry,’ she says. ‘It’s one of the reasons we need you here – to help her work through it.’

  I roll my eyes and feel my face going tight. As soon as my parents start going on about my anger, it makes me feel even crosser.

  ‘It’s not my old anger,’ I say. ‘It’s a new one. ‘Cos I thought that when Jay came home I’d be happy
again, but he’s behaving like an idiot so I can’t be.’

  Dr Cunningham is nodding away, as if she’s my new best friend, and, although it’s true that there is a vacancy in that department, I can’t think of anything I’d like less, so I clear my throat and fidget about in my seat.

  Dr Cunningham drains her tea, looks at her watch and gets up. Dad leaps up too, like she’s the queen or something.

  Mum stays sitting down.

  ‘That was a rather short session,’ she says.

  Dr Cunningham gives Mum her professional smile.

  ‘We don’t like to always have long sessions,’ she says. ‘This was just a courtesy call, really. To make sure you’re all hanging in there!’

  She laughs as though she’s been really funny.

  None of us join in. I swear I hear Mum mutter, ‘Rip-off merchant,’ under her breath, but I must have been mistaken. It’s Mum who’s always banging on about how good counselling is.

  She’s glancing down the street now, willing Jay to come strolling back in.

  I’m still trying to make sense of what Adam told me on the phone yesterday so I don’t much care that Dr Cunningham is leaving.

  Dad sees her out and Mum just carries on sitting in her chair and staring down the street so I go upstairs and stare at my mobile for a while and then I do the thing I’ve been wanting to do for over two months and I open up my address book (I’ve deleted it from my phone) and find the number.

  ‘Nothing to lose,’ I mutter to myself.

  It’s true – I don’t have much left to lose. I’ve lost my favourite boy at school, the brother I used to love and the only thing I might be able to save may just still be worth saving.

  I press the little green button.

  The ring tone starts up.

  I sit on the bed and I wait for her to answer.

  The last time I spoke properly to Bindi, other than our horrid encounter in the chip shop and a pretty difficult phone call, was the day she told me about Adam and the baby.

  That was during the summer holidays.

  Since then I’ve gone out of my way to avoid her.

  It’s been really, really difficult, but because Jay’s come home that’s kind of taken the focus away from Bindi in my mind for the last few weeks.

  As soon as her soft voice answers the phone, all the raw feelings and the anger start to rush up to the top of my head again and for a moment I can’t even find the right tone of voice to speak, so I don’t.

  I just gulp and swallow and stare at the posters on my bedroom wall.

  Hello?’ says Bindi again. ‘Who is it?’

  That makes me sad.

  It reminds me of when I used to tease Bindi about not having my name programmed into her phone. She never knew it was me calling until I spoke.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘Lilah. You know – your ex-best-friend, Lilah.’

  I figure I should cut the call dead now before I get into a rage. I can feel the red dots starting to flash in front of my eyes and I don’t much fancy one of Dad’s taming sessions tonight.

  I go over to my window and stick my head out and then pull it back in quick.

  I forgot it was minus three degrees out there.

  ‘Lilah?’ Bindi is saying. ‘Why are you calling me? I don’t know what we have to talk about.’

  ‘Adam,’ I say. I’ve decided I might as well get this all out in the open.

  ‘Oh right,’ says Bindi.

  There’s a small pause.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ I say.

  Another pause.

  I can picture Bindi wrinkling her nose and frowning with her dark eyebrows, wondering what to say or do next.

  ‘I rang,’ I say, ‘to see if what Adam told me is true.’

  The silence takes on a frostier feel.

  ‘Adam spoke to you?’ says Bindi. ‘Oh. I didn’t know that.’

  A small, mean part of me feels pleased when she says that. For a moment I feel as if I might have got a tiny piece of Adam back again.

  ‘Yeah, he did,’ I say. ‘He told me you’re not pregnant. Is that true?’

  Bindi sighs.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Although I don’t really know what business it is of yours.’

  I nearly fall off the bed when she says this. Bindi is never rude. Her parents are forever harping on about good manners. It was one of the many things I used to like about her.

  ‘Well,’ I say. ‘It is kind of my business because I still kind of like Adam.’

  There. I’ve said it – got it out of my system at last.

  And actually, it feels pretty good to be honest about it.

  I’m fed up with lies. My family has had to deal with enough of them over the past few years.

  Bindi gives a small laugh.

  I know you still like him,’ she says. ‘I see you gawping at him every day at school.’

  I feel a flush of familiar heat sweeping up my chest and into my face.

  ‘Maybe you should concentrate on your lessons instead of watching me all the time,’ I snap.

  I regret that as soon as it comes out of my mouth, but it’s too late.

  ‘I don’t think we have much more to say, Lilah May,’ says Bindi in a firm tone of voice I’ve never heard her use before.

  She’s about to hang up but I shout, ‘WAIT!’

  ‘What?’ she says.

  ‘Do you still like Adam?’ I spit out in a garble. ‘Cos if you’re not having his baby then you don’t really have to hang around him any more, do you?’

  Bindi laughs again.

  ‘I’m going to have to go,’ she says. ‘Mum’s calling me. Catch you around.’

  There’s a click and then nothing.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed with a heavy thump.

  So that phone call left me with no answers and a sour taste in my mouth.

  I get up and glance down the street at the ‘piled-up banks of snow where people have tried to dig themselves out of their drives. The snow is starting to make me feel trapped now. My world is getting smaller.

  As I stare down the street thinking about Bindi and Adam, a thin dark figure ambles into sight and lopes up the road towards our house.

  It’s Jay.

  But he’s got somebody with him.

  A girl – skinny with long, lank, blonde hair and a woolly hat pulled right down almost to her eyes.

  And they’re – that can’t be right! – they’re holding hands.

  ‘Mum, Jay’s back with a girl!’ I yell down the stairs and I hear Mum give a big sigh of relief and run to put the kettle on and she tells Dad to ‘act natural’, whatever that means, and he shoots up to his study and puts the PC on, even though he’s been staring out of the window with Mum for half the afternoon.

  Groo.

  We’re all still acting weird in this house.

  When will it ever get back to normal?

  And why has Jay got a girl with him?

  He comes in, stamping his feet from the cold and with bright red cheeks, and Mum comes out of the kitchen, all casual as if she hasn’t even noticed he’s been out, and she stares hard at the girl who is dripping melted snow all over the hall carpet. Mum says, ‘Oh! I didn’t know we were expecting company!’ in this bright, false, high voice and the girl stares her straight in the eye and says, ‘Oh, sorry,’ in a vague, low voice which doesn’t sound very sorry at all.

  Dad comes back downstairs, drawn by the strange voice in the hall.

  ‘Hello,’ is all he says. We’re waiting for Jay to explain who the visitor is but instead he brushes past me and goes into the kitchen to make hot drinks.

  ‘Yes, why don’t you make your guest a drink?’ says Mum pointedly, but they’re still not rising to it.

  I roll my eyes and take a calming breath to avoid my anger bubbling up yet again.

  ‘Look,’ I say, barging past Mum and Dad into the kitchen. ‘We don’t know who this girl is. We are waiting for you to introduce her to us, right
?’

  Jay shoots me a sullen look and pours hot water into mugs.

  ‘A mate, yeah?’ is all he says.

  ‘And does this mate have a name?’ says Dad.

  He’s starting to look a bit annoyed now, too.

  ‘Soz,’ says the girl. She’s followed Jay into the kitchen and is leaning against the kitchen worktop, slurping coffee like it’s the last drink she’s ever going to be offered. Benjie has developed a low, threatening growl since she walked into the house. I’ve never heard him be like this before.

  ‘Soz?’ repeats Dad. ‘What sort of name is that?’

  The girl sniggers.

  ‘‘Snot my name,’ she says. ‘It means “sorry”. And I’m not his mate. I’m his girlfriend.’

  I look at her clothes. She’s wearing shapeless, baggy, khaki trousers and a long black jumper that hangs down almost to her knees. Her thin hands are half-covered by ragged green fingerless gloves and she’s got her nose pierced just like me, except her face is all pale and spotty and her fair hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed for about ten years.

  I notice something, though. She’s pretty, underneath all the spots.

  I notice something else. Jay’s staring at her as though he’s obsessed or something. I haven’t seen him look like that for years – since he lived at home and used to stare down at his guitar with a similar expression in his brown eyes.

  And there’s something else in his eyes. Something I recognise. It makes my heart do little leaps of pain and it makes me realise that Liles, the little sister, has been cut out of the picture.

  He used to look at me like that – when we were close, when he’d do anything to protect me, when we used to gang up on the Olds, when I was upset about some stupid thing at school and he’d promise to go down and beat up the bullies.

  He must love this stranger more than me.

  From that moment on, I hate the visitor standing in our kitchen.

  We don’t get a lot more information out of the girl, other than that her name is Spud, whatever that means.