A Kiss in the Dark (20 page)

She loved me. A
girl
loved me – or at least
thought
she did. She was obviously a lesbian – one of those really boyish ones who buy men’s clothes and never sit with their legs crossed. Not that I knew anything about lesbians. All I knew was that the boys at school thought there was nothing hotter than two women together. But of course the women had to be blonde and skinny with huge, over-inflated boobs and loads of make-up. Astrid told me they weren’t
real
lesbians. They were just actresses (if you could call them that)
who did whatever they were paid to do. It made me nauseous just thinking about it.

I had liked kissing Alex. No. I had
loved
kissing Alex. I couldn’t imagine that there was anyone better at kissing in the whole wide world. That was Astrid’s one complaint about Justin; she said she had to teach him how to kiss the way she liked it. It was like training a dog, apparently. Astrid gave me a withering look when I told her Alex was the perfect kisser. When I’d ignored her and gone on to talk about how soft his lips were, she’d said ‘Yeah, well, it’s not as if you have anyone to compare him to, is it?’ That had shut me up. Astrid has always been an expert at cutting people down to size; it’s her special gift.

It suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world to me: my heart had been broken and I had been lied to and betrayed in the most unimaginable way, but now I had something to focus on. A single, concrete goal.
Astrid must never, ever find out about this
.

It didn’t go down too well, me telling Mum I just wanted to forget all about it. She’d made blueberry pancakes for breakfast; she only made them on ‘special’ occasions, like the morning after Dad left. It turned out she wanted to talk things over. And if I didn’t want to talk to her, she thought I should talk to Someone. She said it like that – as if it had a capital letter. I had no idea who this Someone was but I was sure I didn’t want to find out. I told Mum I needed some time to think – some breathing space – and she backed off, but not before telling me she just wanted to make sure she was doing the right thing by her little girl. I hadn’t been her little girl for years.

I only managed to choke down half a pancake in the end – I threw the rest in the bin when Mum wasn’t looking. It felt like my stomach had shrunk to the size
of a golf ball overnight. Dad liked to play golf. He probably still does.

I turned off my phone after getting two more texts from Alex. It didn’t matter that I’d deleted her number because I knew it off by heart. The second text asked me to tell her if I wanted her to stop bothering me, which made no sense at all. Surely the fact that I was ignoring her was enough to show that I didn’t want anything more to do with her. It was like she was trying to trick me into talking to her, but it wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t let myself get sucked in. I pulled my desk chair over to the wardrobe, climbed on the chair, stood on tip-toes and pushed the phone out of reach. The top of the wardrobe was dusty; Mum never bothered dusting things she couldn’t see.

Half an hour passed before I realized that I couldn’t possibly cope without my phone; Astrid would probably text me and if I didn’t reply she’d know for sure that something was up. She was due back from skiing tomorrow and no doubt she’d want to comfort me after my terrible break-up. (And by ‘comfort’, I mean ‘be patronizing and probably gloat a bit’.) I had to use my tennis racket to coax the phone to where I could reach it and I nearly fell off the chair and broke my neck in the process. When I turned my phone on there were no texts from anybody.

Mum spent most of the day sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away on her ancient laptop. It was almost as if last night hadn’t happened. But there were certain things that made it obvious something had changed. Mum didn’t nag me once about piano practice
and
she suggested a walk on the beach after lunch (which I hadn’t eaten). We never went for walks on the beach – not since Dad left anyway. She didn’t put up much of a fight when I said I didn’t feel like it. I had no idea how long it would last, Mum treating me like a human being whose opinions were valid, but I wasn’t complaining. It was just a shame that something really awful had to happen in order for her to be nice to me. She made me my favourite toasted sandwich for dinner, with a tomato salad on the side. I nibbled at the crust, ate half a cherry tomato and binned the rest when Mum’s back was turned.

I sat with Mum for a bit in the evening, just so she wouldn’t worry. I pretended to read the book she’d got me for Christmas while she watched one of the yawnsome antiques programmes she insists on recording every single day. For some reason she seems to really care whether a couple of strangers wearing matching red fleeces make a profit on some ugly vase they’ve bought. She didn’t seem to be enjoying it as much as usual this time though; out of the corner of
my eye I kept on catching her glancing over at me. Usually if Mum has something to say she comes right out and says it – she never bothers about upsetting or offending people. These timid glances were new – and quite irritating.

I didn’t need to fake my jaw-cracking yawn before saying I wanted an early night. I got up and leaned down to give Mum a kiss on the forehead and she said ‘Night, night, sleep tight’ which she’d said every single night since I was little. I realized then that she’d forgotten to say it last night.

I was just picking up my book and empty mug when she cleared her throat and said, ‘I’m sorry this happened to you, Kate.’ Her eyes hadn’t left the TV screen.

‘It’s OK … I’ll be OK, you know.’

She shook her head and looked at me. ‘What that girl did to you … it’s disgusting. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. She can’t be allowed to do it to anyone else.’

‘I don’t think she’d … I mean, I don’t think she’s some kind of … predator.’ I had to be careful here.

‘How do you know? You don’t know anything about her, do you? For all we know you might not be the first girl she’s …
abused
.’ Mum grimaced.

‘Please can we just leave it? I really don’t want
to think about it anymore. I want to forget she even exists and just get on with my life.’ I found myself staring at the piano. It gave me an idea. ‘You know … I was thinking of entering that competition this year. It would be good to have something to focus on.’ I said this casually, like it was no big deal.

‘Oh.’ She sat up straighter. ‘Now that sounds like a very good idea. Only if you want to though – no pressure.’ That was a laugh. She’d only been trying to get me to enter the Young Pianist of the North competition for the last three years, ratcheting up the pressure until hardly a day went by without her mentioning it.

‘No pressure,’ I echoed. ‘Maybe you can help me choose which pieces to play?’

She looked so hopeful, as if a pointless piano competition could really fix everything that was wrong. ‘I’d like that. Now off you go to bed. And don’t you worry about a thing, OK? Everything’s going to be fine.’ She almost sounded convinced.

*

The next day I woke up to a text from Edward, sent at 2.34 a.m.:
Happy New Year! A new year seems like the perfect time to dump that boyfriend of yours, don’t you reckon?

Great
. Just what I needed. I couldn’t say Alex and I were still together because Mum was bound to say
something to Mags, even if she didn’t tell her the whole truth. I replied:
As a matter of fact I have dumped him. Too busy for a boyfriend at the moment
. Hopefully that was enough to get him to leave me alone. His jokes about us getting together had become a lot less jokey recently, and the looks he gave me made me uncomfortable. I’d tried to talk to Mum about it but she said he was just teasing me – that Edward would never be interested in a schoolgirl. She had no idea.

I’d lied to Alex, saying Edward had a new girlfriend. I hadn’t wanted to lie but Alex kept on asking questions about him, clearly jealous. It was a harmless lie – a white lie, definitely. It made Alex feel better and it made me feel less guilty for fancying Edward last year just because I’d had an embarrassing dream about him. That was how much I cared about Alex. I didn’t want anything or anyone to make him (HER) feel bad. His happiness was my number one priority.

Edward replied straightaway even though he must have only had a couple of hours sleep:
That’s the best news I’ve heard all year. Call me if you’re feeling lonely
. I had no idea what had happened to him. He never used to be sleazy like that. Going to university had turned him into some sort of wannabe lothario and it really didn’t suit him. If he really
was
expecting
me to call, he’d be waiting a very long time.
I’ve had enough of boys for the time being
. That was what I thought when I read Edward’s text. It was almost laughable that I still couldn’t get it into my stupid head that I’d still had nothing whatsoever to do with
any
boys. My brain couldn’t come to terms with it yet. Every time I thought about Alex, the words HE and HIM and HIS were there instead of SHE and HER and HERS. Simple pronouns were confusing to me all of a sudden. But Alex
had
been my boyfriend, even though he had technically never existed.

It would be better if Alex had died – maybe hit by a bus while skateboarding. Then I would get to be the grieving girlfriend and I’d be safe from the knowledge that it was all a lie. Astrid would feel sorry for me and the girls at school would look at me differently – they’d think I was brave and tragic and
interesting
. Mum would take care of me and probably let me off the hook about piano for a while. And maybe she would call Dad and he’d turn up on the doorstep one day and he would say sorry for being such a terrible father and he would move back to Edinburgh and I’d see him at least twice a week.

This little fantasy imploded as soon as I really thought about it. I would only know about Alex dying if it was in the papers or on the internet, and of course
they
would know she was a girl. So I would be in the same position I am now, except I’d feel conflicted about hating her, because it was wrong – not to mention pointless – to hate a dead person. The girls at school would still look at me differently, but they’d be looking at me thinking I was a total freak. So all in all it was better that Alex was alive.

There were no more texts from Alex overnight. Perhaps she’d finally given up. That would be a good thing … wouldn’t it?

*

Mum was acting weird at breakfast the next morning, flitting around the kitchen like a sparrow with ADHD. I managed to eat a few cornflakes even though I still wasn’t hungry. The last thing I needed was Mum jumping to the conclusion that I was developing some kind of eating disorder. She’d probably march me straight to the doctor and have me sent away to a clinic in the middle of nowhere (after she’d made sure there was a half-decent piano available for me to play).

‘So!’ Her voice was too loud, too bright. ‘So … what are you up to today?’

I shrugged even though shrugging is one of her pet hates. She finally stopped flitting and sat down next to me at the table. ‘When’s Astrid getting back?’

At that exact moment my phone buzzed with a text from Astrid and Mum looked down and saw her name on the screen. ‘Speak of the devil!’ I read the message, angling the phone away from Mum. Astrid was back and she wanted me to go round to her house to keep her company while she unpacked. She didn’t bother to ask how I was doing. ‘If you want to get out of the house for a few hours, that’s fine by me.’ Mum’s smile was almost convincing. She didn’t like Astrid – never had. I shrugged again just to see what she would do; she didn’t even flinch. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, ‘I think you could do with a friend right now. It’s all very well talking to me but I think you’d be more comfortable talking to Astrid, don’t you think?’

‘Mum! I’ve already told you! I don’t want anyone knowing about this … It’s … private.’

She held up her hands in surrender. ‘I know, I know, but … Astrid knows that you and Alex have … um … broken things off, doesn’t she? The very least she can do is provide you with a bit of tea and sympathy. She doesn’t need to know the rest.’

‘I don’t need tea and sympathy! I need … God, I don’t even know!’ I pushed my chair back and stormed over to the sink, slammed down my cereal bowl, sloshing milk on to the clean dishes on the draining
board. I grabbed my phone from the table and left the room before Mum could shout at me.

Tea and sympathy?
As if that would fix anything. What I really needed was the last few months of my life not to have happened. I needed my heart to be unbroken.

I needed Alex –
my
Alex – to be real.

I was sitting on Astrid’s bed, watching her rummage through her suitcase for the present she’d supposedly bought me. Astrid had never bought me a present back from her holidays even though I always made sure to get her something. But sure enough she turned around brandishing a Toblerone like a sword. ‘It’s been scientifically proven that chocolate is, like, the official antidote to break-ups. I’m pretty sure that if you eat that all in one go you’ll forget about that bastard.’

‘I’m pretty sure if I eat that all in one go I’ll vomit.’

‘Exactly! And you’re not going to be thinking about him with your head down the toilet, are you?’

I couldn’t help laughing. My laughter didn’t sound quite right to me though – there was something hollow about it. It was an echo of real laughter. Still, it was enough to make Astrid smile. She’s beautiful when she
smiles. Normally there’s something pinched about her features, something you could interpret as meanness. Astrid always says that people need time to warm up to her, and she’s right. If you saw her walking down the street, not smiling or laughing or anything, you’d probably come to the conclusion that she’s a bitch. And she
is
a bitch a lot of the time but she can be nice too. It’s just that she tends not to let people see that side of her.

Astrid made me tell her the whole break-up story in minute detail – she even wanted to see the texts Alex had sent but I told her I’d deleted them. She approved of that.