At midnight they sought each other out and kissed, a kiss that was somewhere between cheek and lip, the embarrassed ambiguity hopefully significant. And at half-past midnight, just before Rachel left, they arranged to get their lads together to compare skateboards and baseball caps and the Christmas edition of The Simpsons.

Twenty-five

Ellie was at Suzie’s New Year’s Eve party. For a moment, Marcus thought it was just someone who looked like Ellie, and wore the same Kurt Cobain sweatshirt as Ellie, but then the Ellie lookalike saw him and shouted ‘Marcus!’ and came over and hugged him and kissed him on the head, which kind of cleared up the confusion.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked her.

‘We always come here on New Year’s Eve,’ she said. ‘My mum’s really good friends with Suzie.’

‘I’ve never seen you here.’

‘You’ve never been here on New Year’s Eve, you twit.’

It was true. He’d been to Suzie’s flat loads of times, but he’d never come to the parties. This was the first year he’d been allowed to go. Why was it that even in the simplest, most straightforward conversations with Ellie he found something stupid to say?

‘Which one’s your mum?’

‘Don’t ask,’ said Ellie. ‘Not now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she’s dancing.’

Marcus looked over at the very small group dancing in the corner where the TV usually was. There were four people, three women and a man, and only one of them seemed to be having a good time: she was sort of punching the air with her fists and shaking her hair. Marcus guessed that this had to be Ellie’s mum—not because she looked like her (no adult looked like Ellie, because no adult would chop her hair up with kitchen scissors and wear black lipstick, and that was all you saw), but because Ellie was clearly embarrassed, and this was the only dancer who would embarrass anyone. The other dancers were embarrassed themselves, which meant that they weren’t actually embarrassing; they weren’t doing much more than tapping their feet, and the only way you could tell they were dancing at all was that they were facing each other but not looking at each other and not talking.

‘I wish I could dance like that,’ said Marcus.

Ellie made a face. ‘Anyone can dance like that. All you need is no brain and crap music.’

‘I think she looks great. She’s enjoying herself.’

‘Who cares whether she’s enjoying herself? The point is she looks like a total cretin.’

‘Don’t you like your mum, then?’

‘She’s all right.’

‘What about your dad?’

‘He’s all right. They don’t live together.’

‘Do you mind?’

‘No. Sometimes. Don’t want to talk about it. So, Marcus, have you had a good nineteen ninety-three?’

Marcus thought for a moment about 1993, and a moment was all it took to decide that 1993 hadn’t been a very good year at all. He only had ten or eleven others to compare it with, and three or four of them he couldn’t remember much about, but as far as he could see nobody would have enjoyed the twelve months he’d had. Moving schools, the hospital stuff, the other kids at school… It had been totally useless.

‘No.’

‘You need a drink,’ said Ellie. ‘What do you want? I’ll get you a drink and you can tell me all about it. I might get bored and wander off, though. I do that.’

‘OK.’

‘So, what are you drinking?’

‘Coke.’

‘You’ve got to have a proper drink.’

‘I’m not allowed.’

‘You’re allowed by me. In fact, if you’re going to be my date for the evening, I insist that you have a proper drink. I’ll put something in the Coke, OK?’

‘OK.’

Ellie disappeared, and Marcus looked round for his mum: she was talking to a man he didn’t know and laughing a lot. He was pleased, because he had been worried about tonight. Will had told him to watch out for his mum on New Year’s Eve, and though he didn’t explain why, Marcus could guess: a lot of people who weren’t happy killed themselves then. He had seen it somewhere, Casualty, maybe, and as a consequence the night had been hanging over him. He thought he’d be watching her all evening, looking for something in her eyes or her voice or her words that would tell him she was thinking about trying it again, but it wasn’t like that: she was getting drunk and laughing, like everyone else. Had anyone ever killed themselves a couple of hours after laughing a lot? Probably not, he reckoned. You were miles away, if you were laughing, and he did now think of it all in terms of distance. Ever since the Dead Duck Day he had imagined his mother’s suicide to be something like the edge of a cliff: sometimes, on days when she seemed sad or distracted, he felt as though they were a little too close for comfort, and other days, like Christmas Day or today, they seemed to be a long way away, in the middle lane of a motorway and cruising. On the Dead Duck Day it had been way too close, two wheels over the edge and lots of terrible skidding noises.

Ellie came back with a plastic beaker containing something which looked like Coke but smelt like trifle.

‘What’s in it?’

‘Sherry.’

‘Is that what people drink? Coke and sherry?’ He took a cautious sip. It was nice, sweet and thick and warming.

‘So why has it been such a shit year?’ Ellie asked. ‘You can tell me. Auntie Ellie will understand.’

‘Just… I dunno. Horrible things happened.’ He didn’t really want to tell Ellie what they were, because he didn’t know whether they were friends or not. It could go either way with her: he might go into her form room one morning and she’d shout it all out to anyone who would listen, or she might be really nice. It wasn’t worth taking the risk.

‘Your mum tried to kill herself, didn’t she?’

Marcus looked at her, took a big gulp of Coke and trifle, and was nearly sick all over her feet.

‘No,’ he said quickly, when he had finished coughing and swallowed the sick back down.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well,’ he said. ‘Not positive.’ He knew how stupid that sounded and he started to blush, but then Ellie burst into peals of laughter. He had forgotten that he made Ellie laugh so much and he was grateful.

‘I’m sorry, Marcus. I know it’s serious, but you are funny.’

He started to laugh too, then, little uncontrollable giggles that tasted of puke and sherry.

Marcus had never had a proper talk with someone of his own age before. He had had proper talks with his mum, of course, and his dad, and Will, kind of, but you expected to have proper talks with people like that and, anyway, you still had to watch what you said. It was different, much easier, with Ellie, even though she was a) a girl, b) older than him, and c) scary.

It turned out she’d known for ages: she’d overheard a conversation between her mum and Suzie just after it happened, but didn’t make the connection until much later.

‘And do you know what I thought? I feel terrible about it now, but I was like, why shouldn’t she kill herself if she wants to?’

‘But she’s got me.’

‘I didn’t know you then.’

‘No, but I mean, how would you like it if your mum killed herself?’

Ellie smiled. ‘How would I like it? I wouldn’t like it. Because I like my mum. But, you know. It’s her life.’

Marcus thought about that. He didn’t know whether it was his mum’s life or not.

‘What about if you have kids? Then it’s not your life any more, is it?’

‘Your dad’s around, isn’t he? He would’ve looked after you.’

‘Yeah, but…’ Something wasn’t right with what Ellie was saying. She was talking as if his mum might go down with flu, so his dad would have to take him swimming.

‘See, if your dad killed himself, nobody would say, you know, oh, he’s got a son to look after. But when women do it, people get all upset. It’s not fair.’

‘That’s because I’m living with my mum. If I was living with my dad, I’d think it wasn’t his life either.’