Goose (15 page)

‘So this is why you always come to bed later than me?'

‘Babe  …  '

‘Stop FUCKING saying babe. I'm not your babe. Have you got any idea what the last week has been like for me?'

He goes to hug me, but I don't let him. His penis is hanging out the bottom of his T-shirt. I don't want it anywhere near me. Urgh, it strikes me that this is why it always smells of soap in the mornings. Urgh. Urgh urgh urgh  … 

‘You're a disgusting person,' I tell him, and I'm surprised at how calm I sound.

‘Renée, don't overreact,' Dean says, and then he yawns loudly. ‘Let's try to be grown-up about this, shall we?'

‘Fuck off, Dean.' I turn my gaze to Meg. ‘And what kind of cow are you?' I ask her.

Meg can barely open her eyes. Her body is completely floppy. She's totally wasted. She manages to hold her head up long enough to say, ‘I'm just paying my rent, babe.'

‘You are both disgusting.' I grab my bag from the floor. ‘So disgusting. What was I thinking? Of course this was happening. You fuckers!'

I slam the front door behind me as I leave. I can just hear Dean shouting, ‘Babe, babe!' He doesn't come after me, though. I don't even want him to.

Out on the street I don't know where to go. I have no car, and my arm is so sore. I'm still blurry from waking up. I don't have the energy to do anything. I see a phone box. I find a ten-pence piece in my bag. I manage to dial. I am so relieved when she answers.

‘Please come and get me.'

Then I sit on the floor and wait.

‘What did Dr Burrington say?' I ask Renée as she comes out of the doctor's.

‘That it will take a few weeks for some of the results to come in and that if I have anything she will tell me when I call. It's so gross being tested. She basically put a giant metal hand up my vagina and cranked me open.'

‘You mean she gave you a smear test?'

‘Yeah, that. She gave me that and she took my wee and she scraped me with something else. I might never have sex again if that is what you have to do.'

‘Or you could just use a condom and look after yourself a bit better?'

‘All right, Virgin Face, all right.'

That's the first thing she's said that has sounded like the old her since the accident. Insulting as it is, it makes me happy.

‘Shall we go to the Vazon caff, get chips and walk along the beach?' I ask her, knowing what the answer will be.

‘I'd love that,' she says. ‘I have to be home by six, though. Aunty Jo has a date.'

On the beach we sit against the wall, a portion of chips on each of our laps. It's so peaceful and beautiful.

‘I'm going to miss Guernsey so much,' I say, wondering if Nottingham will be as pretty. ‘How are you feeling about the exams next week? And I'm not hassling you, I just want to know. What with what's happened and the funeral and everything, I just want to know how you're feeling about it all. That's all.'

‘It's OK, I know you never meant to hassle me. I don't want to fall out with you ever again.' Renée eats some chips. ‘In all honesty I'm not thinking about them at all. I don't feel like my life depends on my A-level results. I don't want to go to uni so I don't need to do well. I don't need good grades to travel, do I?'

‘You want to travel?'

‘I think so, Flo. I think I'd like to be a food critic.'

‘A food critic?' I can't help but laugh at how random that is.

‘Aunty Jo says she knew a guy when she lived in London who just travelled the world writing about food. I could do that.'

Six months ago I would have told her to get her head out of the clouds, but the thing about Renée is that if she wants to be a food critic, she probably will be one. There's no point in trying to make someone like her do anything she doesn't want to do. And I don't point out that she might need to get some qualifications to be a food critic. The main thing is, she has an ambition.

‘What about you?' she asks. ‘Is God going with you when you leave?'

‘Yes, I think he is. I know you think I'm nuts, but I feel happier and much more confident since I started going to church. It's been good for me. Changed me for the better. You just have to accept it.'

‘I do. I mean, I'm always going to think you're a little bit mad, but I accept it. We don't have to believe in the same thing to be best friends, do we?'

‘We really don't. Maybe it's a good thing. At least we'll never get bored.'

‘I think I'm going to go to Spain as soon as the exams are finished,' says Renée. ‘Aunty Jo suggested it, so I spoke to Nell and she wants me to go. Maybe it's time to see if I can get to know Dad a bit. This whole thing with Matt has made me think about family a lot more.'

‘When will you come back?' I ask, trying not to sound selfishly upset that she won't spend the summer with me.

‘For the results. I'll be gone a few months. You could come out for a holiday?'

‘Maybe. Mora has given me full-time work until I leave, though. I'm going to need all the money I can get when I go to university, so I'm going to try and save loads. I'll miss you. I can't imagine it.'

‘I'll miss you too.'

We both stare out to sea. It seems impossible to make plans, to talk about the future we have no idea about. All we know is that the time has come and everything is going to change, and there is nothing we can do to stop it.

‘I love you,' she tells me, looking at me and smiling.

‘I love you too,' I say, resting my head on her good shoulder. ‘I love you more than anyone in the world.'

I barely slept last night because today is likely to be one of the worst days of my life. The funeral is at eleven o'clock at the town church, and I'm dreading it with every inch of my soul.

I've had little contact with anyone since the accident. Just family, Flo, Dr Burrington and obviously Dean and Meg, but I am trying not to think about those scumbags. I can't believe I was so stupid as to not see what was going on. What else could a weird relationship like that be about? The words ‘Just paying my rent, babe' keep ringing in my head. It was all so skanky and grim, I feel riddled with them, and I am so happy that when I called Dr Burrington yesterday she told me my results were in early and that I've got away without any horrible STDs. At least that's one thing.

I feel like I'm learning big lessons very young, and I know over time I will get over those two. They'll pale into insignificance in my life, and I'll never be so stupid again, or so gullible. But that doesn't mean I am dealing with it very well at the moment. Along with the shock and sadness about Matt, I am just so embarrassed about how I let Dean and Meg make such a fool of me.

I look in my wardrobe for black clothes and see the outfit that Flo wore that first morning she went to church. It seems appropriate. If I had known that I would be wearing it for something like this, I might never have made fun of her that day.

I go downstairs and into the kitchen. Aunty Jo quickly grabs a newspaper and throws it under the kitchen table.

‘What was that?' I ask.

‘What? Nothing.'

‘Yes, there was something. That newspaper, why did you just throw it under the table?'

‘I did? Oh that, yes, I was just swatting a fly.'

‘Don't lie to me,' I say, kneeling down to pick it up. ‘You were hiding someth— THE ARSEHOLE!'

‘Now, darling, stay calm,' says Aunty Jo, putting her hands out towards me like she is trying to tame a lion. ‘People don't take any notice of this stuff. It's tomorrow's chip paper.'

I keep reading. Certain lines jump out at me and punch me in the face.

I
sit on the floor in the kitchen and sob.

‘I can never leave the house again,' I blub.

Aunty Jo sits next to me. She takes the
Guernsey Globe
out of my hand and puts it under her bum so I can't see it.

‘You have done everything right. Everything. Remember Mrs Richardson and how glad she was that you went to see her? Focus on that. Dean is bad news. He's trying to get noticed as a writer and doesn't care who he brings down along the way. You have a heart, he doesn't. Now let's get up. Flo will be here in a minute and we need to get going. You have to be strong, OK? For Matt.'

Every time I think I've hit my lowest point something happens to get me even lower. Maybe there is no lowest point. Maybe as humans we just go down and down and down until we die. I feel the same way I did before I jumped off the wall. Like I want to let fate decide if I will be OK or not, because I don't have the energy to make things better by myself. I can't be bothered to drag myself out of this heap I keep finding myself in. I'm exhausted with being me.

‘Morning,' says Flo, walking into the kitchen in a black shirt and trousers. ‘Are you ready?'

I pass her the newspaper. She starts to say the obvious angry thing but stops herself and says, ‘Today we think about Matt, OK? We will deal with this tomorrow.'

The doorbell rings. Suddenly Mr Frankel is in my kitchen again. This is becoming normal.

‘Off you go,' he says, ushering us all out of the door. ‘Nana and I will be fine until you get back.'

I'm too confused about everything to question how bizarre it is that Mr Frankel is babysitting Nana. Aunty Jo, Flo and I get into the car.

The rats crawl back into my stomach.

Renée squeezes my hand tightly as we walk into the church.

‘I'm scared,' she says into my ear as I lead her to an empty pew. We sit down.

‘Don't be. Think of this as the nicest place in the world. Everyone is here to pay their respects to Matt. No one here is angry and no one will judge you.'

She looks so small and delicate. Mousey and afraid. So not like Renée. The church is filling up quickly, but she doesn't look up and watch people in her usual curious way. She keeps her head down, as if she's been told off.

‘But I know what everyone is really thinking. They will all have seen Dean's article. They all think I'm the slut who killed him.'

I swallow the urge to ask her not to use words like ‘slut' in church, but I'm sure God will forgive her loose tongue considering the circumstances.

‘Renée, who cares if they do? We all know the truth, the people who love you.'

‘But I care what people think. I care a lot. They think that Mrs Richardson hates me. They don't know that I went to see her, that we talked.'

‘Renée, remember, today is about Matt.'

We are about ten rows from the front, and Renée is between me and Aunty Jo. Matt's coffin is not far away. Renée hasn't looked at it once, but I can't take my eyes off it. Poor Matt. I still don't think it's hit me that he's dead. I know I have my own pain yet to come.

‘Just keep your head down if it makes you feel better,' I tell Renée, noticing that some people are looking at her. I am worried that if she sees them she'll just run out. I can't imagine how self-conscious she feels, how responsible.

A few rows behind us I see Pete and Marcus with their parents. Both of them look destroyed. All of that cocky confidence is gone as they cry and stare at Matt's coffin in disbelief. Then I notice Mrs Richardson walk in. Head to toe in black and wearing a black hat with a black net that covers her face. She is with another lady who is similar to her in age and a man who is crying. Maybe an uncle of Matt's?

As they walk to the front of the church people pretend not to stare, but they all do. Some eyes flit between Mrs Richardson and Renée, hoping to sense some drama. Mrs Richardson walks past us slowly and Renée still doesn't look up. She walks directly to her son's coffin, puts her hand on it and prays. People begin to sob.

When she is done she turns and sees Renée. Rather than take her seat at the front, she slowly walks back up the aisle and stops at our pew. Everyone is prepared for an outburst. Aunty Jo and I look at each other, worried that maybe her attitude has changed.

Then Mrs Richardson leans forward and raises Renée's chin with her finger.

‘Come and sit with me at the front. Please?' she says gently. And to the amazement of everyone in the church, Renée, hand in hand with Matt's mother, goes to sit at the front with the small amount of family present. I'm not sure I have ever witnessed anything so magical.

The service is lovely. Matt is described perfectly by the vicar as ‘sweet, kind and loving'. The vicar even asks everyone to pray for Renée, which will hopefully be the end of any judgement from anyone else. Gordon sings a song on his guitar and of course chooses one that has the words Christ, Jesus or God in every line. We try to avoid each other but make accidental eye contact as he finishes his song. I give him a little smile, and he gives me one back. We are different people, and it's not to be, but that's OK. This is no place to bear a grudge.

At the end of the service there is the feeling that everyone in the church has experienced something spiritual together. Even the atheists amongst us must have felt it. I don't see one single person without tears running down their face.

The family leave first and as Mrs Richardson and Renée reach us, Renée holds out her hand and I take it. I walk out with her. As we step out into Town Square the daylight makes our sore, red eyes squint, and as things come into focus, we gasp. As far as we can see up the high street there are people. Hundreds and hundreds of them who couldn't fit into the church but wanted to pay their respects. Mrs Richardson closes her eyes and inhales, as if taking in all of their love. It's breathtaking.

‘He would have loved this,' I say to Renée. ‘All he ever wanted was to be accepted and popular, and look at that. He got what he always wanted.'

‘I've never seen anything like it,' says Renée, obviously feeling a little more confident than before the service.

Aunty Jo and I walk her slowly to the car.