Page 17 of The Wonder of You

He smooths his hand over my hair before pulling away and my thoughts settle.

“Go and get some more rest, okay? And I’ll see you tonight… actually, I’ll meet you here, okay?”

A boy knocking at my door to take me on a date? Or a man, I should say. It seems wild to me that this is happening. I want to giggle again. But instead, I nod.

He looks at me, opens his mouth and then shuts it. I think I know what he wants to say. But I can tell by the look in his eyes that he thinks it might scare me, might overwhelm me, maybe make me not want to join him later. Could I be so lucky, so deserving, of someone loving me? Someone other than the ones who think they have to?

So instead, he smiles again. “Tonight.”

“Tonight.”

Chapter 12

I sit at the kitchen table alone and try to run through happy memories. Colouring here as a child, discussing school with my nan as we shared tea and cake. Again, the silence feels so loud. The warmth the house once used to give is now cold. It’s how I imagine a funeral home to be. The morgue that carries the ghosts of those who were once there, now buried deep underground. The person who lingers around the empty building, thinking about when their ending in life will be. If you live in the morgue for long enough, do you start to think you are one of the dead? Does the cold get so much into your bones that you forget what it is like to breathe, to feel your own heart beating?

Could Phoenix change that for me?

I didn’t overly dress for the occasion. Lydia would definitely despair of my choices if she were here. But I am comfortable in my skinny jeans, my black t-shirt and my pink trainers. To my surprise, Phoenix seems to like me for… well, me.

I tie my hair back; I prefer it this way. It’s much easier to maintain. I’ve never had the confidence to simply cut it off. Having longer hair always reminds me of the way Grandad would walk casually into the kitchen, pull out my ponytail and run his fingers through my hair. Sometimes he’d plait it for me, like I was one of the horses that he apparently used to work with all those years ago, plaiting their tails after long days.

I take a deep breath to centre myself, but I can’t help allowing my mind to take me to another time.

I didn’t realise Year Ten would be like this. I thought moving to the secondary school upper building would change things. It would just be us Year Tens, the Year Elevens and the Sixth Formers. We would be more mature, there would be no bullying, no teasing.

I was wrong, once again. I try keeping my head down as I walk into the mathematics class and sit down. It’s the last class of the day, then I can go home.

“Renée, you’re in the low set for maths! So cringe!” someone shouts from the doorway. I don’t look up. I know it’s the nasty group of girls trying to get a rise out of me. The only thing that makes me feel better is knowing they do this to everybody. I’m not singled-out, they’re just mean and rotten.

“Renée, what a stupid name! Was your mum high when she named you?” another girl shouts and they all burst into laughter. I refuse to look up though. The girls barely know me, but there is one lingering behind named Danielle and she knows me a little better. She used to live near my uncle when we were much younger. I take a deep breath, but I can sense what is coming and how much it is going to sting.

“Her mum is dead! That’s why she got touched up by her uncle!” Danielle shouts. I’m not sure what is worse; the reminder of my childhood trauma with my uncle or the harsh words that tell me over and over again that I have a dead mum. The group burst intolaughter again and then walk away just as the bell rings for a second time. I can still hear them shouting.

“Disgusting! Don’t touch her, you might catch something. That’s so gross!”

“I did think ‘Stripey Stipey’ sounded like the name of a sexual disease, I bet she has one!”

“I don’t have any uncles…better than having one who is a paedophile though, right?”

I quickly rub the tear away from my eye. I know if I get caught crying it’ll only make my life in this school even more like hell on earth. This time it feels worse, though. This time I am being singled-out because of my life, something deeply personal and hurtful. Now Danielle has told them about my uncle, it will only make things harder. School is bad enough; I don’t want it to be a reminder of my uncle too.

“Are you okay?” someone stutters behind me.

I look around and see another girl sitting alone. I can’t remember her name, although I know we went to junior school together. I have a sudden memory of the teachers telling us she had been in a car crash one year that killed her mother. Despite our shared trauma, despite how we’re both alone, it doesn’t seem to make us friends. Perhaps we’re both over the idea of believing we’re capable of making friends, capable of maintaining those relationships. Sometimes being alone is easier. There are no expectations, no glimpses of hope when we see a flicker of friendship only for it to be taken away.

I nod my head and smile at her. I wonder if I should sit next to her, but the thought is gone when our mathsteacher walks through the door with the same old miserable look on her face and begins the class.

“Hey, Nan, how was your day?” I ask as I sit down opposite her. There’s no way after the events of the day that I could go back to my Dad. I need more comfort than what he can offer.

“Hi, sweet, it was okay, a bit boring today. How was school?” she asks with a small but comforting smile. One look at my nan and I feel somewhat more at rest. I put my hands under the table so she doesn’t see them shaking. I decide I won’t tell her about what those girls said.

“Nothing new really, it was quiet,” I lie. I’ve never experienced a quiet day, even if it’s quiet outside and around me, my head is always noisy. I think of the girls at school and how easily they struck me down. I wonder how they can be so cruel. How do they kiss their own mother goodnight and sleep peacefully knowing they reminded me of my own loss? Knowing that I have no memory of being tucked in by my mum, no joy of experiencing a soft kiss on the forehead and falling into a slumber that is warm, safe and loved?

Maybe I expect too much.

“You can tell me if you had a bad day,” Nan says gently. I look up and smile at her, but just shrug my shoulders.

“It’s nothing really, I just… sometimes I wish I had a friend, you know? I just don’t know how, though.”

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