Vicky Angel Read online

  “Yes, I saw him!”

  “He was brutal, banging away at my chest. Then someone else said, ‘We've lost her,’ and they stopped. I was still lying there, feeling a bit stunned. Then I just gave this weird little wriggle and—and I sort of stepped out my body. You know, like stepping out of your clothes.”

  “Wow!”

  “Yeah, that's exactly what I said. And I just kind of floated upwards.”

  “I knew it would be like that.”

  “I saw all the doctors and nurses down below. It's very odd just seeing the tops of people's heads. Then I drifted around the corridors taking it all in. I kept hoping it was just one of those out-of-body experiences and the greasy-haired doctor would give my heart just one more pound for luck and I'd suddenly be jerked back into my body, alive-alive-oh—but then I found the nurse telling my mum and dad….”

  “Can they see you?”

  “I don't think so. Dad can't. But Mum … I tried touching her and she shivered as if she'd felt something, but she couldn't seem to see me, or hear me either.”

  “But I can.”

  “Well, we've always had our own secret language, haven't we? And sometimes you'll know exactly what I'm going to say before I've even started to say it.”

  “Oh, Vicky. I knew we couldn't ever be parted!” I say passionately.

  A boy wandering past kicking his schoolbag like a football stops dead in his tracks, blinks at me anxiously, picks up his dusty schoolbag, and runs.

  “You nut,” Vicky says. “Whisper!”

  We're nearly home, at the corner where Vicky goes her way and I go mine.

  “I want to go home!” Vicky says, tears suddenly spilling down her cheeks.

  “Oh, Vicky.” I try to put my arms round her. It's like embracing a shadow.

  “It's so weird. I can't believe it. I don't want to be dead,” she sobs. “I want to be me again. The real me. I hate just floating around and not having a life anymore.”

  “Don't cry so, Vic,” I say. I take a tissue and try to mop her face, but her tears roll unchecked and the tissue stays dry.

  “I want my mum,” Vicky sobs. “I'm going home even if they can't see me.”

  “But you'll come back to me?” I beg.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “When?”

  “I don't know,” Vicky sniffs. “You don't make appointments with ghosts, Jade. We just materialize as and when we choose.” She gives me a watery smile, waves, and then sort of swims into thin air, fading from view.

  I call after her, again and again. She doesn't come back.

  I feel so lost and lonely without her. All the horror comes back. And I have to go home.

  I hate my home. We live in a second-floor flat in the Oxford Estate. Mum used to say we'd get our own place one day, maybe even one of the black-and-white houses in Tudor Avenue where Vicky lives—

  Vicky doesn't live.

  I still can't take it in. I walk up the stairs and along the balcony. Mum is at me the second I step inside the front door.

  “For God's sake, Jade, where have you been? I've been home from work half an hour! We've been worried sick!”

  It's weird the way she's carrying on. Recently she's been going round as if she hardly remembers I'm here. She doesn't even listen if I talk to her. And Dad's never bothered with me much anyway. But now he puts his arm round me and rubs his cheek against mine. He hasn't shaved yet and he still smells of bed. I wriggle away from him.

  “What's up, Jade? Are you in trouble? You look like something bad's happened.”

  “It has,” I say, my voice catching.

  “Don't give me any sob stuff,” says Mum. “You've been mucking around with Vicky, haven't you? Where did you go? Round the shops? Or was it McDonald's? I'm not having this, Jade, you're not old enough to slope off by yourself. You're to come straight home from school in future, do you hear me? I'm not having that Vicky leading you astray.'

  “She won't anymore.”

  “What do you mean, pet?” says Dad.

  “Don't talk in that silly dramatic way!” says Mum. “What's happened? Have you and Vicky had a row?”

  “Vicky's dead,” I say, stunning them both into silence.

  Then Mum shakes her head, patting her curls.

  “What a wicked thing to say! Don't be so silly, Jade. ‘Vicky's dead’!”

  “She is! She got run over by a car,” I say, my voice going high-pitched, as if I'm going to scream any minute.

  “Oh my God,” says Mum, and she's suddenly got her arms round me.

  “What about you, Jade? Dear goodness, have you hurt yourself?”

  “No, no, it was just Vicky. We were outside school and—and she—and I—this car … the car … the car …”

  Mum's rocking me as if I'm a baby again. “There, lovie, there now.”

  “I went in the ambulance with her,” I say into Mum's navy work suit. “I held her hand, I kept talking to her, I waited ages at the hospital, I kept hoping they'd be able to do an operation, anything. But she died.”

  “That lovely girl. Poor, poor Vicky,” Dad whispers.

  “Poor Jade,” says Mum, and she holds me so tight I can't breathe.

  I can't sleep. I thrash around my bed all night long, curling up in a little ball, stretching out straight, lying on my side, on my stomach, ending up with my head right under my pillow. I can't blot it out. I think, Vicky Vicky Vicky. Whenever I start to drift and dream I hear the squeal of brakes and the scream and I'm wide awake again.

  I can't stop thinking of Vicky. I can't get her back again. I try calling. I open my window and lean right out looking for her. I can imagine her but I can't make her real the way she was coming back from the hospital. My made-up Vicky keeps saying the wrong things and fades into the dark.

  Then it's light and the birds are singing as if it's a perfectly ordinary day. I burrow down under my duvet until Mum comes in with breakfast on a tray, as if I'm ill.

  It's Saturday so I don't have to go to school and Mum doesn't go to work. She usually does the housework and goes round the shops while I hang out at Vicky's. Today we both drift around the house, not really knowing what to do. Mum plucks up the courage to phone Vicky's mum and then bursts into tears on the phone. I'm scared Mrs. Waters is saying stuff about me but Mum says she didn't even mention me.

  “The funeral's on Wednesday at eleven. Oh dear, we'll have to get a wreath organized. What were Vicky's favorite flowers, do you know?”

  “Lilies. White lilies.”

  “They'll cost a fortune—but it can't be helped, I suppose. And what are you going to wear?”

  People from school ring all day as the news gets round. They're nearly all Vicky's friends rather than mine. Or girls who wanted to be Vicky's friend. Some of the boys ring too. Several act like they were Vicky's boyfriend, which is crazy. She couldn't stand any of them, especially the boys in our year. Even Fatboy Sam, the class clown, rings up, though he's actually quite solemn and sensible on the phone.

  “I'm so sorry, Jade. It must be awful for you. You and Vicky—you've just always been together.”

  If only we could be together now. She still won't come to me.

  Sunday is worse. I don't know what to do with myself. I can't watch television. It seems strange that two days ago I actually cared about all these soap characters and discussed them with Vicky as if they were real. I can't listen to music because we always sing along to our favorites and it's as if half the tune is missing now. I can't read. The words wriggle round like worms and won't make any sense. I can't do any homework. I'll probably get into trouble but as if it matters …

  Nothing in the world matters but Vicky.

  I spend hours trying to conjure her up but it's no use. I want her so badly that in the afternoon I tell Mum I have to go round to Vicky's house. That's where she'll be if she's anywhere.

  “I don't know, Jade,” Mum says, biting her lips. “I'm not sure that's a good idea. We don't want to intrude, not at a time like thi