Vicky Angel Read online

  “You're meaner,” I mutter.

  “I could get a lot, lot meaner. I've been very, very sweet to you so far. I haven't gone on about what happened. Shall I start, Jade? Remember when we were coming out of school and—”

  “No,” I interrupt Vicky, and I put my hands over my ears.

  “What is it, Jade?” says Mrs. Wainwright, putting her arm round me.

  “I feel so bad about Vicky dying because …”

  “Because?”

  “I can't.”

  “OK, pet. You don't have to talk about it now. Maybe you'll want to talk about it some other time. But you mustn't worry about feeling bad or guilty as if it's all somehow your fault. Everyone feels that, even when it isn't true at all.”

  It is true. And Vicky is pointing at me, going, “Guilty, guilty, guilty!”

  “Jade?” Mrs. Wainwright is gently pulling me to my feet, the session over. “Have you got a photo of Vicky? I'd like you to bring one to our next session.”

  I spend hours sifting through all these little paper wallets of photos, trying to select one. I've even got photos of Vicky before I knew her, a little gummy one of her as a baby with nothing on and another of her with tiny plaits wearing a swimming costume. I filched both of them from her mum's photo box because Vicky looked so sweet. Then there are heaps from primary school days and outings up to London and Legoland and one magic trip to Disneyland, Paris, Vicky looking seriously cute with Mickey Mouse ears. It's harder sifting through the recent photos. It's so sad sorting out all these smiling Vickys.

  “Don't get the photos all wet, idiot,” Vicky says. “How many more times? It's me that should be crying. You can fill a whacking great album with your future photos. There won't ever be another snap of me. Hey, why didn't anyone take a photo of me in my coffin? I bet I looked drop-dead gorgeous. Ha!”

  She lies down on the floor in a parody of her own death, hands crossed on her chest, eyes closed, face still and saintly.

  “Cut it out, Vicky,” I say, snuffling.

  She takes no notice.

  “Stop it! I hate seeing you like that. Please get up.”

  I try to shake her shoulder but my fingers poke right through her in an unnerving way.

  “Vicky, you're scaring me.”

  Vicky suddenly sits bolt upright. She opens her eyes—she opens her mouth too, wider than wide, showing two new great incisors. She lunges at me.

  “Now you're scared!” she squeals. “Oh God, these fangs! I'm drooling, I'm thirsty, I want blood!” She pulls a pint mug out of thin air. It's brimming with scarlet liquid. “That's the ticket! Cheers!” She raises the mug and slurps noisily, her vampire teeth clinking on the glass.

  “Yuck! ”

  “No, yummy!” says Vicky, wiping red smears from her lips with the back of her hand. “But it's cold. I like it warm. And fresh.” She throws back her head and then bites down hard on my neck.

  I scream. Though her teeth aren't real and my skin stays unpierced.

  “Jade? Are you all right?”

  Oh God, I've woken Dad.

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” I shout.

  “You were screaming.”

  “No, I was just … I nearly dropped something, that's all.”

  “Dropped what?” Dad comes right into my room and stares at all the photos spread out around me. “Oh, Jade,” he says, shaking his head.

  “I wish you wouldn't come barging into my bedroom without knocking.”

  “I'm sorry. I was worried about you.”

  “Well, I'm fine.”

  “No you're not,” says Dad, and he squats down beside me. He peers at all the celluloid Vickys, picking one up, then another. “She was such a lovely kid,” he says, his voice thick.

  I can't stand him drooling all over her. I whisk them up out of his reach, crumpling them in my haste.

  “Hey, hey! OK, I won't touch,” he says, his hands raised as if I'm pointing a gun at him. He's playing the fool, but his eyes are still watering. “Jade? What is it? Why do I always seem to rub you up the wrong way, lovie?”

  I stare at my lap. “No you don't, Dad.” But he does, he does. Just the whiny way he says that silly word “lovie” sets my teeth on edge.

  “It's not just you. It's your mum,” says Dad. “I don't know. The way she's acting nowadays …”

  Oh God. Please. Don't ask me.

  “Do you know what's up with her, Jade?”

  I shrug, still looking down.

  “She acts like I'm not here half the time, or else she skirts right round me like I'm a heap of rubbish. If I ever try to get close to her she winces away. It's not like I've ever done anything bad. I've tried my best to be a good husband, a good dad.” He shakes his head, sighing with self-pity.

  I should feel sorry for him. He's so unhappy. I don't suppose it is his fault. He is my dad.

  I reach out to give him a quick pat on the shoulder but he thinks I'm trying to hug him. He pulls me closer than I want.

  “Oh, Jade, you still love your old dad, don't you?”

  I can't get the words out.

  “Dad!” I mumbled, wriggling away from him.

  “You're a cold little fish, just like your mum,” Dad says, turning on me. “Weird little kid.” He picks up one of the photos on the floor. It's a seaside snap, Vicky smiling saucily, her hair blowing in the wind, skirt whipping up in the breeze.

  “Little Vicky. She was always so full of life,” he says.

  He lifts the photo to his face as if he's going to kiss her but then thinks better of it. He lets it fall from his fingers and then he walks out of the room without a backward glance at me.

  I take a tissue and wipe and wipe at her photo. There's nothing to see but I feel as if his moist fingerprints are all over it. Vicky is wiping herself down too, pulling a face.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “I never liked your dad much.”

  “Neither do I. What am I going to do if Mum clears off with this guy at her work?” I whisper.

  If only I could still go to Vicky's house every day and be their sort-of second daughter. I knew her mum didn't like me but she still made me special teas and included me in all the family treats. And Vicky's dad was always lovely. He used to act daft and play at being a big bear and he'd spin us around and around in the garden when we were little. Then once we got to secondary school he'd pretend we were really grown up and fuss round us like we were film stars. I want to be part of Vicky's family again. I want Vicky to be there….

  “I am here,” says Vicky when I go to bed. She kneels down beside me and puts her arm round me as best she can. She rocks me and tells me that we can be together forever this way.

  The night goes on forever, even though Vicky still has her arms round me.

  When I see Mrs. Wainwright the following lunchtime she puts her arm round me too. “Bad day, Jade?”

  Vicky hates it when anyone else touches me. I pull away from Mrs. Wainwright. What I'd really like to do is put my arms up like a little kid and have her pick me up and hug me close.

  “Did you remember to bring the photo?”

  “I didn't know which one to choose.” I spread a selection over the library table. Mrs. Wainwright knows not to touch. She watches as I lay them out in age order like a pack of cards. She doesn't comment on Vicky's cuteness as a baby, her lovely little outfits, her gorgeous good looks in the last photo.

  It is the last photo. I took it with one of those throwaway cameras on a school trip to London. It was Vicky who bought the camera, and she took most of the photos, a few stupid ones of me and heaps of all the boys larking around. When she was almost at the end of the roll I snatched the camera and took one snap of her. She's saying something to me, tossing her hair back, laughing, with some of the boys in the background. There's Sam! I didn't even notice he was in the photo before. He's really Fatboy Sam there. He has lost weight now. He looks the real comic Fatboy there, hamming it up, sticking his belly out, no one taking him seriously.

  Who's he sm