Undone by Cat Clarke
But she told me anyway.
I screamed. A raw, animal sound that I would never have imagined could come out of my body.
Then I blacked out.
When I woke up he was still dead.
chapter fifteen
I nearly chickened out of going back to school the day after Fernando worked his magic on me. Mum was extra nice to me at breakfast; she made me a cup of tea and poured cornflakes into my favourite bowl. I sipped the tea and watched the cornflakes turn into a soggy milky mush.
By some unspoken agreement Mum gave me a lift to school. She chattered the whole way, trying to keep my mind off the ordeal ahead. I couldn’t stop staring at my reflection in the wing mirror. I was looking at a complete stranger – a blonde stranger who went to school with her mum. What had happened to the blackhaired girl with her satchel slung over her shoulder, meandering down the street arm in arm with her favourite boy?
We arrived just as the bell was going for register, so there was hardly anyone milling around outside. I think Mum must have planned it that way.
She hugged me and told me everything was going to be OK. I didn’t believe her.
It was brutal. If I thought it was bad showing my face the day after people saw the video, it was a hundred times worse now. Everyone looked at me when I walked into my classroom. Mr Donovan’s sad eyes looked extra sad and his droopy moustache looked extra droopy. He squeezed my shoulder so hard it actually hurt.
I kept fiddling with my hair, running my fingers through it, tucking it behind my ears. I wanted to know if people were staring because of Kai or staring because of the stupid new look. Probably a bit of both. I kept my head down, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye. Not wanting to see the sympathy or curiosity or disdain plastered across their faces.
Time crawled by. I went to the canteen at lunchtime because it seemed sensible to get the hard stuff out of the way first. My hands were shaking as I paid for a packet of prawn-cocktail crisps. No one was sitting at the table – our table. I sat in my usual chair and focused every last bit of my attention on the crisps. I forced myself to eat slowly, determined to brave it out for as long as possible. I kept my gaze away from his empty chair. Then I folded the packet into a tiny little square and stood up to leave.
I could feel them watching the whole time. All of them watching, judging. But I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they were getting to me.
The route to the bin took me past Team Popular’s table. They were quieter than normal too, or maybe that was just my imagination. Max and Louise were nowhere to be seen, so the ranks were depleted.
Lessons were just about bearable because I didn’t have an empty chair next to me, reminding me of what was missing. Kai had been in the top set for everything, so we hadn’t shared any of the same classes. Somehow I managed to focus on equations and past participles and neutrons, taking notes and trying to keep my handwriting as neat as possible. Two teachers kept me back after class to tell me that they were ‘here for me’, like I was supposed to find that reassuring. A couple of girls came up to me to say they were ‘sorry’, which was nice of them, I guess.
History was the last lesson of the day. I’ve sat next to Jasmine James in history for two years and I’ve known her ever since primary school. She’s a nice girl, but we’ve never really been what you’d call ‘friends’, not exactly. More ‘people who talk to each other in a friendly manner but would never dream of seeing each other outside of school’. Mum had long since given up on nagging me about being friends with her.
When I sat down next to Jasmine she said a timid ‘hi’, followed by, ‘It’s good to see you,’ then finished off with, ‘I’m really, really sorry about Kai.’ It was the first time I’d heard his name all day and it very nearly broke me. I thanked her and stared straight ahead, hoping she’d get the hint without thinking I was a hideous bitch.
At the end of the lesson she rummaged in her bag (the type of rucksack you might take on a Duke of Edinburgh expedition) and handed me an envelope. For a bizarre, heart-stopping moment I thought it might be from Kai, but then she said, ‘I . . . er . . . wrote this a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been carrying it around because I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. Um. OK, see you tomorrow, bye.’ Then she scarpered.
The envelope was dog-eared and the blue ink that my name was written in was a little smudged. It was a card with white flowers on the front. The words ‘With sympathy’ were embossed in gold flouncy lettering. Inside Jasmine had written, ‘Jem, I know we’re not exactly best friends or anything, but I just wanted you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone, or just sit beside someone and not say anything, or copy someone’s homework, I’m available for any of these things. And if you don’t want any of these things, that’s OK too. I’m sorry about Kai. He was a good person.’ She’d written her mobile number at the bottom of the card.
The classroom was empty by the time I scrunched up the card and envelope and put them in the bin.
It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the sentiment, and the effort she’d gone to; I just couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t deal with this girl who I’d never really made an effort with, other than to talk vaguely about the TV we’d watched at the weekend. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being nice to me.
The first day back was the hardest, but every day after that was awful in its own way. Being at Allander Park without Kai was suffocating. I sank into some kind of altered, robotic state where I didn’t let myself feel. I went from lesson to lesson to lunchtime to lesson with one thought in my mind: the letters. I just had to get through each day until I could open his next letter. That was all that mattered.
I saw Louise a few times, but she was always with Max – never the rest of Team Popular. If I’d been a better person I would have stopped her and asked how she was doing. But I didn’t. And it would have been pointless because anyone with eyes could see she wasn’t doing well. She didn’t look good. She’d lost weight, her roots were really bad and she just looked washed-out and exhausted. She didn’t swan down the corridor like she used to; she just walked like a regular person. I felt bad for her, but there was nothing I could do to help her, just like there was nothing she could do to help me. We had to bear our grief alone. At least she had Max. All I had was Kai’s letters, but I clung to the thought of them so tightly there was no room to think of anything or anyone else.
Mum and Dad gradually stopped treating me like I was going to break and by mid-December they’d even started nagging me about chores and homework. Noah stopped watching me carefully and being so quiet and polite. And he never missed an opportunity to tell me he hated my new hair (‘You don’t look real!’), but it was oddly reassuring that he’d resumed his role as annoying little brother.
Everyone thought that things were getting back to normal. They had no idea that normal didn’t exist for me any more. Normal had been smashed on the rocks beneath the bridge.
chapter sixteen
I opened the second letter two days before Christmas.
Jem,
Are you decking the halls with boughs of holly? Are you jingling those bells? Are you feeling goodwill to all men?
Hmm. Maybe not. Nevertheless, I would like to wish you and your family a very happy Christmas. I hope Noah gets lots of presents, I hope your mum isn’t too stressed, I hope your dad doesn’t get drunk like last year, and, most of all, I hope you get everything you wish for left in peace, I guess.
I can’t help wondering who sang the solo at the Christmas concert and whether it was as brilliant as the time Melanie Donkin sang the whole of Away in a Manger (ever so slightly flat, remember?) before she realized her skirt was tucked into her knickers. Last year was good though, wasn’t it? I know you said you hated every minute, but I could tell you liked it a little bit because I saw you smiling whenever you thought I wasn’t looking. I hope Melanie gets a chance to redeem herself before we you leave school. It’s not fair that all anyone can think about when they look at
How’s the whole ‘geting on with your life’ thing working out for you? Better, I hope. And did you blondly go where no Jem has ever gone before? I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you DID... in which case: YAY! Thank you. I bet you look fantastic and I bet you love it even though you tell yourself that you don’t care and you only did it because it was practically my dying wish (no pun intended).
The whole emo look was perfectly lovely, but I never quite thought of it as YOU, you know? (I’m so glad I’m not there for you to hit me right now.) And all that kohl around your eyes really doesn’t do them justice. So here’s your next mission: try going easy on the eyeliner for a while. Let’s be clear ... I’m not forbidding you to use the stuff – I’m not a total monster! You are fully within your rights to ignore everything I say and I promise I won’t come back and haunt you. I won’t even send one of my new poltergeist chums to freak you out by moving stuff around your room.
This is your life and you can do whatever the hell you like with it. But I am BEGGING you to live that life and try to enjoy that life and try to see the good in people when they’re making an effort to be nice to you in that life. This is most definitely a case of DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO.
But if you are up for a challenge, why don’t you try going the next month without the emo make-up? Just until my next letter. And if it hasn’t worked out for you, by all means go back to plastering on the kohl. But let me tell you this: it makes it really very hard to tell how pretty your eyes are. And you do have very pretty eyes, my dear. Forgive the amateur psychology here, but you know what I think? I think that’s the whole point. You don’t want people to notice how pretty your eyes are. You don’t want people to notice you at all. But maybe now you need people to notice you, you just don’t know it yet. Jem, I want people to notice you, and I want them to see you for who you really are, not for who you pretend want them to believe you are. I was lucky enough to see you and know you and my life was so much better for it.
Anyway, I’d better get on. Ten more letters to write and my wrist is starting to hurt already. Email would have been so much quicker, right? But there’s something so lovely about a good old-fashioned handwritten letter in an envelope. An unopened envelope holds a certain promise. Anything could be in there ... anything at all. Well, anything as long as it’s a letter. But the letter itself could say anything! It could be a declaration of love or an apology or a get well soon card. I suppose these letters count as all three.
I hope Father Christmas is good to you, but don’t let him anywhere near your chimney – he’s such an old perv.
I love you, kiddo.
Kai
xxx
This one was easier to deal with. It still hurt, but there was something comforting about it too. It was like hearing his voice. And I missed hearing his voice so much I found it hard to breathe sometimes.
I had no idea who’d sung the solo at the Christmas concert, because I hadn’t gone. He should have known that I wouldn’t have gone without him.
As for the ‘mission’, it was all getting a bit like one of those TV makeover programmes I never watched. I was sort of pissed off that it seemed like he was trying to change me, but he was right about one thing: I did like the new hair. It suited me. I’d even booked another appointment with Fernando to sort out my roots before I went back to school in January.
The truth is, I’d already realized that the heavy-on-the-kohl panda eyes didn’t exactly look good with my new hair. They didn’t match somehow. So either the hair had to go back to black or the make-up had to change. Neither was a particularly appealing prospect.
The first time Mum ever saw me with the eye make-up she burst out laughing and asked if I’d been in a fight. It didn’t amuse her quite so much the second time or the third time or all the times after that. It’s not like we argued about it – not exactly. But I knew she hated it, and that was enough to make me want to keep it. The hair was more of an issue with her – probably because hair is the one thing she’s vain about. She goes to the most expensive salon in town every four weeks. If she’s a week late because of a holiday or something, she gets really antsy. It’s pretty funny.
Christmas wasn’t as awful as I’d expected. I mean, it was awful, but I’d steeled myself for it to be excruciating. The hardest bit was Christmas Eve, when Kai and I always used to exchange presents. I had a tiny fake Christmas tree on my desk and we’d put each other’s presents under it about a week before Christmas. Kai had made this super-cheesy Christmas playlist that we had to listen to every year without fail. I didn’t play it this year. And when Mum brought my little Christmas tree down from the attic I told her to put it in Noah’s room. For a second there I thought she was going to protest, but she said nothing.
Some of Kai’s wishes came true at least. Noah did get a lot of presents and I did get left alone – for the most part. Mum didn’t get stressed, even though the turkey turned out to be even more overcooked than usual. But Dad did get drunk. Still, three out of four wasn’t bad.
It was a sort of tradition in our family that you opened your best present last. Of course the problem was, you didn’t know which was the best present, so you had to rely on parental advice. Mum kept aside this big box for me to open after everything else. Big boxes were usually a good bet. Soft parcels were rarely good because soft parcels meant clothes. Mum’s idea of the sort of clothes I should wear and my idea of the sort of clothes I should wear had been mutually exclusive since I was ten years old.
When she handed over the parcel, she was smiling. She was proud of herself, which both annoyed and worried me. I hated having to pretend I liked things – summoning up that fake enthusiasm never came easily.
It was a fancy gift box from some crazy-expensive cosmetics company. Nestled among red tissue paper were tubs and pencils, brushes and bottles and things I couldn’t even identify. It must have cost an absolute fortune.
‘Mum, this is . . .’
‘Do you like it? Oh, I do hope you like it! I had such fun choosing it all. I must have been in the shop for hours!’
I couldn’t get over the timing of it. For a mad second there I thought she must have read Kai’s letter, but of course she hadn’t. I didn’t know how to feel. I was sort of annoyed that she was trying to change me too. And horrified that she’d spent so much money. And, more worryingly, I was a little bit excited. But I’d never have admitted that to anyone in a million years.
When I took my presents up to my room after lunch, I took each item out of the box and lined them up on my desk. Then I took out the ancient pencil case that had served as make-up bag for the past couple of years (covered in Tippex, holes punched through with a compass, complete with bits of pencil shavings). There was some cheap foundation that was two years out of date, my trusty kohl and mascara, and some blusher I’d never used. That was it. My make-up collection in all its glory. It was truly a pathetic sight.
Without even thinking I chucked the whole thing in the bin, kohl and all. Then I came to my senses and retrieved the pencil case (sentimental value) and the kohl (just in case). When Mum emptied my bin the next day she didn’t say anything, but she definitely noticed the new make-up lined up on the desk. It was there again – that almost-smile that made me want to punch something. I wanted to shout, JUST COS I’VE THROWN OUT SOME CRUSTY OLD MAKE-UP, IT DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING’S CHANGED! IT DOESN’T MEAN I’VE CHANGED.
Kai had it all wrong with his amateur psychology. If I hadn’t wanted people to notice me I would have probably gone for no make-up at all and my natural baked-mud hair. That would have been the best way to blend in with all the others. They wouldn’t have called me freak or goth or emo then, would they? No. There’s no deep, dark reason for the way I looked. It seemed like a good idea at the time, that’s all. And once you do something like that, it’s pretty much making a statement: this is who I am. And once the statem
I spent a fair chunk of the Christmas holidays messing around with the new make-up. It was all subtle and muted and understated, but that’s not to say it looked good straight away. Far from it. I looked like some strange version of myself whose skin didn’t exactly look like skin any more. But the more I experimented the better I got. I’d always liked art at school and this was sort of similar. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of embarrassment. It felt shameful to be wasting all this time on something so meaningless. And I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was using the make-up to plaster on a shiny, happy face so no one would know I was drowning. I don’t think that was quite what Kai had in mind.
chapter seventeen
On New Year’s Eve we watched the usual crap TV. Noah was hyper because he was allowed to stay up till midnight for the first time. Mum let me have a couple of glasses of champagne and we all hugged each other as the fireworks erupted over London on the telly.
As she was hugging me, Mum whispered in my ear, ‘This year will be easier, sweetheart. I promise.’ She had no idea that this time next year I wouldn’t be here. I’d be dead. Just like him.
There was only one thing on my mind as the minutes after midnight ticked by, stretching the bond between me and Kai even further. Suddenly, he was last year. The way I saw it, I had a choice: I could sleepwalk my way through the days and weeks and months between Kai’s letters, or I could do something.
I’d wasted so much time already – two whole months of self-indulgent grief had got me precisely nowhere. It was time to put all that aside (or at least bury it deep enough so that no one else could see it). Somehow I’d allowed myself to forget that I’d wanted revenge even before he died. Kai’s humiliation was enough to make me want to hurt someone. But his death had forced me into some kind of suspended animation.