Closer (6 page)

I stand up and they brush the hair off me and the towel falls on the floor and I step over all the hair and the towel and look in the mirror at this girl with spiky hair with one side even shorter and a bit at the front long over my eye. And I turn my head to look at the sides and Chloe's mum gets another mirror to show me the back like in a real hairdresser's, and they're all talking at once and telling me how fantastic it is, even her dad who's down from the loft to see. 

And I know it's great but it feels really scary too and I don't know why because it's only hair and nothing to be scared about but I am anyway. 

“How's things with Raj?” Chloe asks when it's all over and she's drying her hair in her bedroom. I'm putting some of her makeup on to see how it looks with the new haircut. She has a table with makeup and candles and all kinds of stuff shoved onto it. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You are so defensive. You fancy him, right?” 

Friends. You like them, but they are so annoying. Chloe's known me for ever and she can see everything about me. And she won't take a hint and back off. 

“So what if I do?” I know I'm being mean, but I want her to back off now. 

“He's cool. You're dead lucky having him around.” 

Change the subject. “How about you? You found out what's happening here? It all looks fine to me.” 

She looks at the door to make sure it's closed. Sighs. “Maybe I'm imagining something. I keep trying to work it out, what it is. They're just – looking at each other in a different way…” 

“Your mum's not pregnant is she?” 

“Oh my god, I hadn't thought of that one – could she be? She's so old.” 

“No she's not – Kate's mum had a baby last year, and she's about the same age.” 

Chloe puts her hand through her hair distractedly. “I'll have to add that to the list.” 

“What else is on the list?” 

We hear someone on the landing, Chloe's dad whistling. 

“Tell me about Raj. Go on, you like him.” 

“Think I'd better go now. Lots to do.” 

Chloe looks at me and laughs. 

“Okay, run away. But remember, I know you. I know something's up.” 

I'm so close to telling her all of it, but I can't do that, even though she's my best friend. I can't. 

“You know more than I do then. See you.” 

She looks bothered for a second but lets me go. Chloe's mum catches me at the bottom of the stairs and says, “I thought you were staying for tea.”' 

“Just remembered, got homework to do.” 

She sees me out. I feel bad leaving like that. I don't know why I did it, I just can't explain what's happening. I don't even know what's happening, Raj, Dad, home, the haircut. 

Who cares anyway? 

“Thanks for the hair.” Chloe's mum smiles and looks at me like she's trying to work something out. I'm out of the door before she can. 

I swing off towards home, checking my mobile as I go. Everything feels different with short hair. I don't suppose anyone will know me. I didn't know it would feel like this. My head's light, and when I turn it moves without a swish of hair following it. There's a breeze and I can feel it on my neck and my shoulders. I feel like I forgot to get dressed properly. 

Wish that was my family. Wish I was Chloe, not me.

I'm going past the park when I see Raj coming out the gates with a bunch of people. He's in the middle, as usual, and he's totally engrossed with that girl from his year. 

I can't believe it. He walks right past me, within a metre, and he doesn't know it's me. He doesn't even recognise me with short hair. 

It was a bad idea. It was the worst idea I've ever had. I give my hair a pull to see if it will get longer. But of course it doesn't, it's still totally short and I am seriously going to die. 

Maybe I could pretend to have cancer and wear a hat. Maybe I could just wear a hat. Maybe I could get a wig. Maybe I could leave school. Maybe I could… 

Then there's a hand on my head and I spin round and it's him. 

“Mel! I knew it was you – knew it. But you look so different – it's great, the hair, when did you have it done?” 

“Just now, Chloe's mum did it. It'll grow, eventually.” I'm still in the depths of misery. 

“It's great!” 

He steps back and looks at me, then smiles in that way that makes you melt inside. I am totally melted, and we're looking at each other and I find a smile from somewhere. 

“Hey, you around later? I have to go home and change, then maybe we could meet up?” 

Is that a date? A real one? Is he actually asking me, when he's not training or running or playing something? 

Play cool. 

“Yeah – I'll see if I can. Text me.” 

He brushes his hand gently through my hair, and now I've got goose pimples even though I'm hot. 

“Okay. Later.” 

“Later.” 

When he's out of sight I skip the rest of the way home. Like a five year old. Only on heat.

When I get in, Mum, Dad and Hannah are in the kitchen and the atmosphere's bad. I close the back door as quietly as I can so I can catch what's happening. I hear Hannah first. 

“It's the best one for languages, much better than DMU. Mrs. Sharman says I'm really lucky to get in.” 

“But London?” Mum's voice is like Hannah's just kicked her. 

“It's not far on the train. Only an hour and a bit. I'll be fine.” 

“How can we afford it though, with Dad not working? Rent'll be expensive, as well as the travelling.” Her voice has that sound like she's trying to be reasonable but about to scream. 

“I'll get a job. I'll get a loan. People cope.” 

“What do you think, Steve? You're very quiet.” 

“I don't know.” His voice is flat, like he doesn't care. 

“Do you realise Mel's out there listening to this? Sneaking around as usual.” Hannah's voice is harsh. 

I'm wondering if I can get up the stairs when Mum calls me. “Mel, come in here. Hannah's got some news.” 

As if I'd care about Hannah's news. She's a lying bitch. Can't wait for her to go. 

Mum and Dad are sitting at the table with their backs to me. Hannah is on the other side of the table and she sees me first. Her mouth drops open and I can hear her gasp like in a film when somebody's got out a gun. I want to laugh, she looks so stupid. 

“What the hell have you done to your hair?” 

Mum and Dad look round, and it's as if someone's died or something. 

Dad gets up. 

“Who's done this to you?” 

“I wanted it cut. I've wanted it cut for ages only I knew you wouldn't let me.” 

Mum bursts into tears. They've both got their backs turned on Hannah and they're looking at my hair. 

And Hannah is suddenly raging at Mum and Dad, her face is red and she stands up, holding onto the table. 

“How can you do this? I've just told you something really important; like I'm leaving home, and she comes in and you cry because she's had her fucking hair cut off!” 

“You really are leaving?” Now I'm the one with the fish face. 

“As if you care. You only care about yourself and your bloody size and your bloody hair.” 

“Enough! I can't stand this any more. Both of you, get up to your rooms.” Mum's standing up now, red in the face, tears hanging just below her eyes. 

“But Mum…” For once Hannah and I say the same thing at the same time. 

“Get up there.” There's no arguing with her now, we both know that. 

Hannah's out first, stomping up the stairs. I'm behind her, slamming the kitchen door, following her big wobbling arse, and I drop back so I don't have to look at it close up. 

She turns to me before she goes into her room, and I'm still coming up the stairs, so she has to look down to speak. 

“You stupid little cow.” 

“Fat lying slag.” 

She slams her door on me, but I can see I've made an impression.

I go and check out my hair in the bathroom mirror when I think things might have calmed down. It's so strange. I'm looking at this girl who I don't know any more. She looks kind of lost, with big eyes. But it's only how I'm feeling inside so maybe that's okay. 

Hannah appears in the doorway. 

“I need the loo when you've finished being so vain.” 

“I saw your diary.” 

She holds the door open for me and I decide to go before she wets herself. I tidy my desk while she finishes and when I hear her go back in her room I wait for a bit then I follow her. 

I stand in Hannah's doorway. She's lying on her bed reading as usual. I wait till she looks up from her book and frowns at me. 

“I told you, I saw your diary.” 

“It's a journal, stupid. A diary's where you write down when you go to the dentist. Journals are different. They're private. You write your private thoughts in journals. Nobody else should look. Nobody.” 

I hang my head. I know she's right. But I can't give up on this now. 

“I saw what you wrote, about me. About Dad.” 

She turns her back on me, but I know she's listening. I go on. 

“You don't suppose I'd believe that. About Dad.” 

“I don't suppose you would, Daddy's girl. But remember, I was Daddy's girl once too.” 

“What d'you mean?” 

“I was his little girl, his special one. Before I grew up.” 

It's hard to remember Hannah on Dad's knee, Hannah sitting on his lap, smiling at him like I did. All her sliding round walls and being invisible doesn't fit with being Dad's best little girl. 

“You're making all this up to get at me. You're jealous, you are, because Dad likes me best.” 

I can't see her face, but I see her shoulders go up and her arms tighten. She turns round and she's looking dead serious. 

“Don't ask for that. Don't ask for Dad to like you best. Promise me. When I've gone to London, keep away from him.” 

“Jealous, jealous,” I chant, like I was a ten-yearold. I head off back to my room. I know there's something wrong, but nothing adds up. I close my door and flop onto my bed. I don't care if the duvet gets rumpled. I'm tired of all these secrets. 

“Sis,” calls Hannah from her room. But I don't answer her. I put on my music, loud, and I pick up my book and dive deep into a world that makes more sense.

Chloe's waiting for me on the corner in the morning. Chloe never looks like anyone else I know. She dresses from charity shops, like Sally Griffin, and always has, it's not just some act. Her nappies probably came from Oxfam. Today she's some combination of glam rock and goth, the black top with huge sleeves dusty in the sunlight, tight black jeans with holes in them, platform sandals. I'm underdressed beside her in my tight white tee and faded jeans and trainers. 

She's texting, but she puts her mobile away as I get to her and we walk on. 

“Hey,” she says. “You know what I've decided to be?” 

This is one of Chloe's favourites. She wants to be something different every week. 

“No, this is serious. It fits all the rest.” 

“A chameleon?” 

“No, stupid, a writer. Writers get to be everyone they want, in their heads. And you can do research and stuff.” 

“You could write soaps, and movies, and…” 

“…books. I want to hold a book with my name on the cover, and a photo of me on the inside. ‘Chloe Branley lives in Leicester with her snake, her brother and her best friend Mel. She wants to be a writer, but she's not sure she wants to write.'” 

“Could be a problem there. What's in the book?” 

“Murder and all kinds of violence and…” she looks down at herself… “very good clothes.” 

“Where d'you get those?” 

“Don't tell Mum. They were in the attic. I think she used to wear them. Anyway, don't change the subject. Maybe I'll be living in Hollywood by then – or London, maybe London.” 

“Yeah, you'd have to be near for the awards ceremonies and that.” 

“Will you be my agent?” 

“What would I have to do?” 

“Get me millions, and publicity, and exclusive interviews with TV and magazines.” 

“Sure. Yeah, I could do that.” 

She's suddenly focusing on me, looking at me hard. 

“What do you want to do, Mel? When all this is over?” 

She waves her hands around, taking in school, the streets, the sunshine. 

Me? 

“I'll make do with it being over,” I say.

It's Saturday, and I've forgotten Dad's taking me out. Usually we go somewhere like the races, or a car boot sale, or when I was younger Wicksteed Park or Whipsnade Zoo. I could make an excuse, but I know he looks forward to what he calls quality time, and it only comes up once every five weeks. Hannah or George have to go the other weeks, then he has a day with Mum. 

There's almost always some reason for him to buy me something so it's worth going. And it's not like going with Mum, because she makes me buy something sensible. Not that I'm greedy or anything, but when you're fifteen and broke it matters. You have to make the most of every chance you get. 

My brain's trying to catch up with everything, and I decide to spend the time with Dad watching out for how he is with me. Not that I believe Hannah, of course. I think I want to go to Nottingham shopping. As summer goes on hot I can check out the tops.