Young Writers Society

The Boy Who Broke Mirrors

(Chapter Six)

“Effie!”

I turn my head at the sound of a deep voice, but it’s impossible to see much of anything through Cardiff's crowded high street. Flashes of colourful clothing surround me as eyes glance in my direction, but nobody’s face seems familiar. Mum, who eagerly informed me that we were going shopping to buy a new ironing board this morning, bobs her head in all directions to see where the voice is coming from. She’s beginning to resemble an excited chicken, and I’m about to dive into the nearest alleyway to escape the humility of being seen with her when the voice calls again.

“Hey, Effie!”

A group of teenagers behind us are split through the middle by an unseen force, and within seconds I spot a familiar face emerging through them. At first they look agitated by the boy who just shoved himself straight through them, but when they realise it’s Robbie Morrissey their annoyance is replaced by curiosity.

“Hey, sorry, I just saw you and figured I’d come say hello.” Robbie smiles as he stops in front of us.

“Oh, hey,” I reply. I’m not sure why but it’s strange to see him out in public in the middle of the afternoon. Up to now, Robbie Morrissey's only existed in the realms of night time and parties. “I’m, uh… We’ve just bought a new ironing board.”

Oh dear God, please tell me I didn’t just say that.

Mum’s face lights up like Blackpool tower and before I can even blink, she asks for Robbie’s name, what school he goes to, how old he is, what he’s studying, and around fifty other unnecessary questions. She doesn’t do any of this in an interrogative manner, but in a way that would make every onlooker think she’s known Robbie since he left the womb. I try distracting myself from the embarrassment by focusing on the warm scent of hot dogs cooking in the distance, but it’s proving to be a pretty useless distraction with Mum nattering in my ear. I’m slowly melting into a puddle of shame, and half-heartedly wanting Mum to vanish into thin air when I feel her eyes on me.

“That sounds like a fab idea, what do you think, Effie?” she says, but as I was busy conjuring up an escape route, I have no idea what she’s on about. “We’re done with what we needed to get, so you may as well.”

To not look like a total idiot I smile and say, “sure.”

Mum responds by grinning giddily at me, winking, and then practically skipping away to leave Robbie and me alone. Wait, what? What did I just agree to?

Robbie holds up a white plastic bag I hadn't even realised he was holding. "I've got everything I need, so do you want to find a coffee shop or something?"

“Uh, sure… Sounds good,” I reply slowly as I dearly pray I didn’t just agree to a date with Robbie Morrissey.

The coffee shop we find is crammed by the time we’ve bought our drinks. Robbie solves the problem of finding seats by approaching two girls sharing a table, and somehow encourages them to leave with their half drunken hot chocolates. He turns to me, grins, and then nods at the single sofa opposite the one he’s now sitting on. It’s as if he and Preston have this supernatural power that allows them to control everyone, specifically females, between the ages of around twelve and twenty. I’m not sure if I should be in awe of this power, or hate it with intense passion.

“Sorry about my mum,” I say as I sink into the black leather sofa. In an attempt to seem calm and collected, I destroy any shred of pride I have by saying, “she gets like it whenever I acknowledge anything with a penis. I think she worries I might be a lesbian. I always assure her I’m not, but she never looks convinced.”

As the realisation of what I just said hits me, I want to die. I literally want to bury a hole through the tiled floor below me, lie in it, cover it back up, and die. Robbie, on the other hand, has never looked so amused in his life. He bursts into laughter, and as a strand of his light brown hair falls onto his forehead he moves it back into place. I can’t help noticing that his hairstyle mirrors Preston’s.

“You don’t seem like a frappuccino kind of girl,” he says once he’s controlled his laughter. He smiles subtly as he looks at my drink. “You seem more like the espresso kind, y'know, cool and mature.”

“So you’re saying I’m actually really immature and have no friends?”

I say it in a jokey manner, but judging by the way Robbie widens his blue eyes and stammers he’s not used to this kind of reaction. No wonder Mum thinks I’m a lesbian. He awkwardly rubs his neck, and once again, I envision myself burying a hole into the ground. It’s a good plan actually, maybe I should follow it through. Come on though, ‘you seem more like the espresso kind, y’know, cool and mature’ is a pretty awful pick-up line. That crap can’t actually ever work, can it?

“Sorry, I was joking,” I say. “My humour’s a little warped, so making an idiot out of myself is a daily occurrence for me.”

Robbie’s eyes soften. “No, it’s nice. Different.”

A pause of slight awkwardness follows, and neither of us says anything for a short while. I begin staring at the raindrops as they patter against the window to my right, and Robbie adjusts the sleeves of his leather jacket. I hear him slurp at his smoothie. The fruitiness of his drink is mixing with the aroma of fresh coffee, and it’s beginning to make me wish I’d gotten a smoothie myself. As I turn back to Robbie it looks like there’s something dancing on his tongue that wants to waltz out of his mouth, but he takes a while before actually saying anything.

“So hey,” he begins. “This has been bugging me since we met at Zack’s the other day, but are you the chick who called for help at my party? With, y’know, the Zack situation?”

I reply with a nod, and the drizzling rain outside now seems far less interesting than it did moments ago. A million and one questions attack me from all angles, and I try to summarise them all into one.

“What actually happened that night?” I ask.

My drink is freezing in my hands, and as I await Robbie’s response, my fingers begin turning numb. Crystal droplets run down the plastic cup and splash onto my skin, but I’m too busy biting my lip in anticipation to take any notice of them. Intense chatter and laughter is exploding all around me, but as I watch Robbie and wait all I hear is a monotonous buzzing noise. He leans back in his chair, takes another sip from his orange smoothie, and scratches the back of his head before finally answering me.

“He overdosed, I guess. Once you and your friend left the ambulance guys seemed to think that was it, so I guess that’s what it was. I didn’t see him take anything that night but he’s always pretending he doesn’t take shit when I know he does. Zack’s not mentioned that night since it happened, but who gives a crap really. He obviously pulled that stunt for attention; he’s enough of a dick to do something like that.”

The bluntness of Robbie’s reply catches me off guard, and it strikes me that he seems to know nothing more than I do about what happened to his best friend that night. I draw away from him slightly as his harsh words circle the air, and I find myself wondering if Robbie knows that Zack isn’t his real name. I wonder if Robbie even knows Preston at all, and if Preston Maddox’s best friend doesn’t even know who he is then who the hell does?

“Thanks though, for helping.” Robbie snaps me out of my trance. “I wanted to say something at Zack’s the other day but I wasn’t sure if it was you, and I didn’t want to look stupid if I was wrong.” He laughs. “Sorry I was an arsehole to you that night, I was kinda panicking. My folks would have played hell with me if someone died in their front garden.”

“It’s cool,” I say reassuringly. “You don’t seem like the biggest fan of Pre--Zack though, considering you guys are best friends.”

Robbie picks at his plastic cup and shrugs. “Nah, we’re good mates, I just… I don’t get the hype around him, y’know? Everyone sees him as this massive deal, and even girls who want his head rammed onto a stake are interested enough in him to hate him so much. Even they’d probably jump at the chance of shagging him. C’mon though, he is a complete dickhead who's about as deep as a toaster. Like I said, we are good mates and I ain’t saying I’m perfect, but y’know...” He shrugs again. “I just don’t get it is all.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better I’d rather eat broken glass than go anywhere near Zack in that way.”

Robbie laughs and leaves a knowing smile on his thin lips. “Yeah, I noticed.” He stares out the window next to us and begins muttering. “I just don’t get it.”

It’s only now I realise I was wrong about Robbie. He isn’t just an arrogant eighteen-year-old whose life revolves around revelling in the admiration he gets from strangers. Somewhere inside of him is a meek little boy wanting to grab everyone’s attention and show them how great he can be. He’s so desperate just to be seen, but he’s trapped in the shadow of his more alluring ally who always seems to be one step ahead of him. I soften my eyes as I watch Robbie pick at his cup again, and I sort of feel sorry for him.

#

On my way home, I struggle to form a solid opinion of Robbie Morrissey. He’s no longer the idiot who throws house parties where everyone can gather to admire him, but someone else I can’t quite grasp a hold of. That side of him still lingers in the back of my mind, but an array of other sides to him line up next to that one. My head aches as I try to figure out which version of him is real, and which ones are fronts, but it’s an impossible task. Maybe he really is the sensitive boy who desperately wants to be noticed. But maybe that’s a front, and maybe he’s actually an enormous dickhead whose ways of getting into a girl’s pants involves charming them through sympathy.

By the time I reach my front door, my head is fried. I briefly notice how my sister’s car is on the driveway but I’m too busy trying not to think about Robbie to take much notice. Why did I even go to that party in the summer? I should have just stayed at home and let Aiden go alone because then nothing would be different, and everything would be simple. In fact, why do I do half the things I do? I chose to go to that party, I chose to go to Preston’s house when I missed the bus, and I chose to go to his party a few days ago. No matter how much I whine about it or question it, it’s always my decision in the end. I sigh. My morbid curiosity will be the death of me.

As I open my front door and enter the house, there’s mumbling coming from the living room. I don’t pay much attention to it, but as I’m about to jog upstairs Mum calls me from behind the door.

“Effie? Effie, is that you?” Her voice is strained, and she only just manages to shout. “Come in here a sec, baby, I need to talk with you.”

My heart freezes. I rewind my memories and frantically search for anything I’ve done wrong, but nothing surfaces. I suddenly realise that she referred to me as baby, and when Mum refers to me as baby it’s a guarantee for bad news. Is someone hurt? Without a second thought, I head straight for my living room.

For a second I think the room’s empty except for my Jack Russell Terrier, Mason, because it’s dead silent. That original uncertainty is dismissed by the sound of someone clearing their throat. As I turn my eyes to the corner of the room I notice my mother and older sister, Livvy, huddled up on our worn out sofa. The television beside it is switched off. Mum's eyes are glassed over, and she seems distant. Absent even. Livvey, on the other hand, has tears streaming down her face. What’s going on? I stand stiller than I ever have before. I don’t know what to do, how to stand, where to look, what to do with my hands. Should I sit? Should I move from the doorway?

“It’s okay, baby, come sit.” Mum pats the empty space next to her. Her eyes finally focus, and she's looking at me.

I do as I’m told, give Mason a stroke on the way, and sit down next to Mum. I’ve never noticed before but there’s a scuff on the end of our sofa. I stare at it.

“I was going to call you, but I didn’t want to interrupt your date.” I open my mouth to tell Mum it wasn't a date, but snap it shut when I realise that now would be a grossly inappropriate time to do so. “But everyone’s fine, don’t worry, it’s just that…” She’s stammering. I’m still staring at the scuff in the sofa. “When your father come home today he told me that he was… that he’s been--”

“He’s been shagging some slag from the football club, and now he’s ditching us.”

Livvy speaks with such bluntness that if it wasn’t for Mum’s arms around me, her words would knock me off the sofa and onto the rough carpet. Mason barks.

“Don’t speak like that, Livvy! Listen.” Mum hugs my sister and me as tightly as her strength can let her, and all of a sudden, she's spewing out words. “Your dad loves you so much, okay, he just… he just loves me less than he used to, but he still loves you just as much, I promise.”

Mum carries on speaking about how much Dad loves us, how she won’t let this affect my A-Levels or Livvy's university degree, how we’ve done nothing wrong, how much Dad loves us again, how she was just as clueless as we were to the affair, and how much our Dad loves us once more, but all I can do is stare at the scuff in the sofa. Livvy’s still crying. Mason barks. And I feel nothing.

In fact, I’ve never felt so much nothing.

I want to scream, I want to cry, I want to laugh, I want to phone Dad and tell him he’s a disgusting pile of shit, I want to smash the entire living room up, or laugh and say that he was an idiot anyway, but I can’t. I can’t because I don’t feel it, any of it. I shut my eyes and try to squeeze something out--anything--but nothing comes besides a hollow emptiness. I watch Mason as he stretches his legs, and in that second I wish I could be him because then it would be okay for me to feel nothing. But I’m not a dog. I’m a girl who’s just found out that her dad has having an affair with some woman she’s never met before in her life. I’m a girl who feels nothing when she should be feeling everything.

* * * * *

I am aware that Effie's character has a bit of an inconsistency issue, so sorry about that! I want her to be different depending on who she's with, how many people she's with e.t.c. because that's what we humans are like in real life, right? Despite that though, I am aware that she still needs some cleaning up. My plan is to finish the novel first, and then sort that out because I think I'll know her character a lot better once I've finished it. I just think it'll be an easier issue to fix once I know her through and through. If it becomes a major problem though, I will obviously have to go about sorting it out earlier.

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