Bleak Water. Danuta Reah

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       FOUR

       Kerry’s diary

       Ellie’s mum died. I went to the funeral but I went late because I didn’t want anyone to see me. It was creepy because there was all earth in a pile where she was buried, not like the other graves, and the flowers were all piled up. I don’t want to be buried when I die. There was a grave with Ellie’s name on it and someone had put red flowers on it. I felt sad when I saw them…

       I got lost and I was late. Lyn wasn’t there. She’ll be mad with me. She said that it was about dad. I don’t understand what she means. She told them things about dad. It wasn’t her fault. Dad says. Only now she says something else only I’ve got to see her. And now she’ll be mad at me.

      Kerry heard Mum’s footsteps on the stairs and she pushed her diary under the mattress. The footsteps came to her door and stopped, then they shuffled past and she heard the sound of Mum’s door shutting. That would be it for the night. She’d left Mum downstairs in the kitchen. Mum had been nice at tea, she’d asked Kerry about school and about her friends and all the things they used to talk about. Kerry had pushed her oven chips round the plate and tried to say the right things, but Mum had her big green mug at the table, the one she pretended had tea in it. ‘Tea without milk,’ she’d say with that laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, as if Kerry was a kid, as if Kerry didn’t know. And after a while, she began.

      ‘Where were you on Monday night?’ she said.

      Kerry thought that Mum hadn’t noticed how late she’d been. It must have been ten-thirty when she slipped her key in the lock and crept in, shivering with something that was more than cold. ‘Stacy’s,’ she said. She dipped her chip in the bean juice. The thin pink liquid dropped on to the cloth.

      ‘Kerry!’ Mum jumped up and came round the table to where Kerry was sitting. ‘That mess. On the clean cloth!’ She seemed about to cry. She grabbed Kerry’s arm. ‘Clear it up!’ she said, trying to rub the stain out with the sleeve of Kerry’s top, her best top that she’d sewed the sequins on to herself to make it look right. Kerry jerked away and she felt the sting across her face as Mum’s hand slapped out. There was silence.

      Kerry looked down at her plate. She knew what was coming next.

      ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m sorry, Kerry, I didn’t…’ And she hugged Kerry against her, against the chemically smell and the smell of cigarettes and sweat.

      The tablecloth was mucky anyway. There were stains all over and some of them were from where Mum had splashed her drink over the table when she talked and laughed and waved her hands around. ‘Why don’t you bring Stacy back here?’ Mum said after a while. ‘You could have a sleep-over, I know that’s what you all like, having sleep-overs. Do you remember when you and Ellie used to have…’ Her voice trailed off and she picked up her mug and drained it. ‘I need some more tea,’ she said.

      ‘I’ll get it,’ Kerry said quickly. If Mum didn’t have any more now, she might go to sleep and then maybe she wouldn’t be so bad in the morning.

      ‘No, you stay where you are, sweetheart,’ Mum said. ‘You’ve been busy at school all day. I’ll get it.’

      Kerry slid off her chair. ‘You’ve been at work…’ she began, and saw Mum’s eyes slide away and knew that Mum hadn’t been to work, again. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said.

      ‘I said, I’ll get it!’ The shout was sudden and sharp, and Mum went into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. Kerry sat at the table and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her arms felt tingly and itchy, and she rubbed them. Then she pushed up her sleeve and dragged her nails across the skin, but the jumpy feeling stayed so she did it again and again until the skin was all sore, and the pattern of fine red lines that crisscrossed her arms stood out, red and angry. She could hear Mum moving around in the kitchen. She called out, ‘I’m going to do my homework.’

      Mum’s voice sounded muffled. ‘You…do that.’

      Now Kerry was sitting on her bed. It was dark outside. The streetlamp wasn’t working, but she knew it must be late because the kids who played out on the estate had gone in. She yawned. Mum ought to know why she didn’t bring Stacy home, or anyone. She had brought Stacy home once, and Mum had been OK at first. Kerry had seen Stacy’s eyes going round the room which was so different from Stacy’s house. Stacy’s house had all cushions and dried flowers and little ornaments, and three different curtains on the windows.

      Only then Mum had started talking about where they used to live, and how it had all been different. Kerry had said, ‘Mum!’ in anguish, and Mum had started shouting and then she’d gone to sleep in the chair. The next day at school, Kerry had seen Stacy whispering with some of the other girls, but no one much liked Stacy anyway, so no one said anything.

      Kerry turned the light out and curled up under the covers. She’d bunked off school and now she’d be in trouble, but she’d dreamed, that night. She had dreamed about Lyn, about the canal and the towpath, that she was on the towpath in the dark and something was chasing her, and her legs wouldn’t move as though the air had got thick, like treacle. She remembered looking back through the arched tunnel, and the sound of something in the water. And then it had been a bright, hot day, and the river was glittering in the sun, and there was Ellie, only she was walking away from Kerry, faster and faster, and no matter how Kerry called, she didn’t turn round.

      She woke up in the darkness. Her face felt wet. It wouldn’t go away – the grave with Ellie’s name on, and the flowers all red like the jumper Kerry had been wearing that day. She wanted to see Lyn. She couldn’t talk to Mum, and she couldn’t talk to Dad. She used to talk to Maggie, but Maggie sent her away. And now Maggie was dead too.

      Maybe Lyn had been waiting somewhere else. Maybe Lyn had tried to get in touch. Kerry hadn’t looked at the phone, left it buried at the bottom of her bag, trying not to think about the way the water in the canal had swirled and rippled as though something was moving through the water, stealthy, silent, intent.

      Tomorrow was the day for a letter from Dad. He used to write every week, but lately…Maybe she could tell him what Lyn said, maybe Dad would know what she meant, and he could tell Kerry what to do. As she drifted back to sleep, things began to look a bit better. Its abut yor dad meet u at the cafy 7 dont b 18…

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