girls only paint their toenails in October if they know they’re going to be seen. I imagined her and Sid on her bed, his mouth on her neck and her toes curling in the sheets and turned to face her chest of drawers again, picking up an eye shadow and staring at it until the writing on it lost focus.
I wanted to take something. Something of hers. I did that a lot as well, take things. Nothing big. A pair of earrings. A lip-gloss. A picture she’d torn from a magazine. Nothing she’d miss straight away. Once I took a necklace I’d lent her and as I went home with it in the pocket of my jeans, I imagined her tearing through her room looking for it.
The next day she was almost in tears when she apologised for losing it and I saw it then, the doubt in her eyes. What had happened to them – the necklace, the earrings, the lip-gloss, that picture of that dress? Had she really lost
all
of them? I knew then – I saw it – she was beginning to wonder if she was losingher mind and the satisfaction was overwhelming. I was dizzy with it, drunk on it for the rest of the day. I was unpicking her – slowly, slowly.
I wanted to take the cinema ticket, but when I saw the charcoal drawing on her desk, I waited until she wasn’t looking and knocked it off so that it fell between the desk and the wall.
‘I always paint my toenails,’ she said suddenly. I tensed, sure that she’d seen me do it, but she hadn’t even looked up.
‘I’m kind of paranoid about it,’ she said, leaning down to blow on her nails. ‘Ever since I watched one of those American crime scene investigation shows. They found this girl’s body in an alleyway but couldn’t identify it so they thought she was homeless. Then the detective saw that her toenails were painted and realised that she had to belong to someone, so he looked into it and found her family and they gave her a proper funeral.’
She looked so serious that I had to laugh. ‘What?’ Something in me relaxed as I realised what she was saying. ‘You paint your nails in case you’re murdered?’
She thought about it for a moment, then frowned. ‘Yeah. I suppose.’
‘Who thinks like that?’ I laughed again, so hard that she laughed too. And when I looked at her, sitting on the bed with her red toenails, I wished Uncle Alex was there to see her. To see what Dad had done to her, how scared she was that he’d find her.
The next morning at college, I had to keep pressing my lips together to hide my smile as I watched her ripping through her locker trying to find the charcoal drawing.
‘Did you leave it at home?’ Sid asked, fanning through one of her textbooks.
‘It was on my desk last night. I saw it,’ she said, her head in her locker. ‘But when I went to get it this morning it was gone. I checked everywhere.’
‘Maybe Mike ate it,’ I suggested, but they ignored me.
She slammed her locker shut and stepped back. ‘I have to go home and check again.’
‘Now?’ Sid checked his watch. ‘We have English lit. You’ll be marked absent.’
She shrugged and took her bag from him. ‘I know, but I have art straight after and it’s part of my coursework.’
‘I’ll go with you.’
I had been leaning against the lockers, picking at my already chipped nail varnish and stood up then. I adored Sid, but I wanted to punch him in the face sometimes.
Thankfully, Juliet looked equally mortified at the suggestion. ‘What? No, Sid! It’s not your fault I can’t find it. Why should you be marked absent too?’
‘Nance—’ he started to say, but she stopped him with a kiss on the mouth.
‘Go,’ she said, pushing him towards the classroom. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I watched as she ran towards the lifts, her bag bouncingagainst her hip, and when I turned round again, Sid looked unimpressed.
‘Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?’ he asked as we walked to class.
That was the first time I missed a step.
Friday night. Fish for dinner. The nurses let us
I wanted to take something. Something of hers. I did that a lot as well, take things. Nothing big. A pair of earrings. A lip-gloss. A picture she’d torn from a magazine. Nothing she’d miss straight away. Once I took a necklace I’d lent her and as I went home with it in the pocket of my jeans, I imagined her tearing through her room looking for it.
The next day she was almost in tears when she apologised for losing it and I saw it then, the doubt in her eyes. What had happened to them – the necklace, the earrings, the lip-gloss, that picture of that dress? Had she really lost
all
of them? I knew then – I saw it – she was beginning to wonder if she was losingher mind and the satisfaction was overwhelming. I was dizzy with it, drunk on it for the rest of the day. I was unpicking her – slowly, slowly.
I wanted to take the cinema ticket, but when I saw the charcoal drawing on her desk, I waited until she wasn’t looking and knocked it off so that it fell between the desk and the wall.
‘I always paint my toenails,’ she said suddenly. I tensed, sure that she’d seen me do it, but she hadn’t even looked up.
‘I’m kind of paranoid about it,’ she said, leaning down to blow on her nails. ‘Ever since I watched one of those American crime scene investigation shows. They found this girl’s body in an alleyway but couldn’t identify it so they thought she was homeless. Then the detective saw that her toenails were painted and realised that she had to belong to someone, so he looked into it and found her family and they gave her a proper funeral.’
She looked so serious that I had to laugh. ‘What?’ Something in me relaxed as I realised what she was saying. ‘You paint your nails in case you’re murdered?’
She thought about it for a moment, then frowned. ‘Yeah. I suppose.’
‘Who thinks like that?’ I laughed again, so hard that she laughed too. And when I looked at her, sitting on the bed with her red toenails, I wished Uncle Alex was there to see her. To see what Dad had done to her, how scared she was that he’d find her.
The next morning at college, I had to keep pressing my lips together to hide my smile as I watched her ripping through her locker trying to find the charcoal drawing.
‘Did you leave it at home?’ Sid asked, fanning through one of her textbooks.
‘It was on my desk last night. I saw it,’ she said, her head in her locker. ‘But when I went to get it this morning it was gone. I checked everywhere.’
‘Maybe Mike ate it,’ I suggested, but they ignored me.
She slammed her locker shut and stepped back. ‘I have to go home and check again.’
‘Now?’ Sid checked his watch. ‘We have English lit. You’ll be marked absent.’
She shrugged and took her bag from him. ‘I know, but I have art straight after and it’s part of my coursework.’
‘I’ll go with you.’
I had been leaning against the lockers, picking at my already chipped nail varnish and stood up then. I adored Sid, but I wanted to punch him in the face sometimes.
Thankfully, Juliet looked equally mortified at the suggestion. ‘What? No, Sid! It’s not your fault I can’t find it. Why should you be marked absent too?’
‘Nance—’ he started to say, but she stopped him with a kiss on the mouth.
‘Go,’ she said, pushing him towards the classroom. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I watched as she ran towards the lifts, her bag bouncingagainst her hip, and when I turned round again, Sid looked unimpressed.
‘Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?’ he asked as we walked to class.
That was the first time I missed a step.
Friday night. Fish for dinner. The nurses let us
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