Finding phoebe, p.6
Finding Phoebe, page 6
‘Seven minutes.’
‘OK. And what did she say that particularly bothered you?’
‘She said I should think about going to Oxford or Cambridge.’
‘She did, did she?’ Daddy seemed amused by this. ‘Perhaps she was paying you a compliment.’
‘Perhaps. That’s not the point. She wasn’t interested in what I want to do. Not really. Bethany says it’s because you can’t put “fantasy author” on a careers form.’
‘Well, Bethany has a point. But that doesn’t mean you have to accept it. Sometimes it’s good to push back a little.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it’s OK to do things your own way, regardless of other people’s expectations. You shouldn’t worry just because your answer doesn’t fit neatly on a form.’
I looked at Daddy for a few moments. ‘Do you understand that the form is not a metaphor? It’s a literal form the careers advisor has to fill out so it can go in your file.’
‘OK. But you get the point. There’s no universal template for how you should live your life. And if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, they’re just plain wrong.’
Daddy poured more coffee.
I waited a moment, then said: ‘OK, I definitely agree with you on principle, but just to clarify: do you think I should be applying for university? Is it something you’d want me to consider?’
‘I don’t think you should rule it out,’ Daddy said. ‘That’s perhaps the one area where I do agree with Mrs Shepherd. You might find it suits you more than you think. But beyond that... Honestly, I want you to have the confidence to make your own decisions. As long as you’re making them for the right reasons.’
‘OK. And what are the right reasons?’
‘I’m afraid that’s another thing you might have to figure out for yourself.’
‘I think it would be simpler if you just told me.’
Daddy thought about this while sipping his coffee. ‘OK. Let me put it this way: you shouldn’t let fear make your decisions for you. Base your choices on what you want deep down – on the things that are really important to you. Does that help?’
‘Perhaps. A little. But I’m not always good at making big choices. It might take me a while.’
Daddy chuckled at this. ‘Well, you’ve got a couple of years to work through it all, haven’t you? Longer if you need it. That’s one thing I can tell you. You shouldn’t feel pressured to have your whole life worked out by age eighteen. Sometimes, it’s more a case of trial and error. You have to try out different things. See what fits.’
‘Am I still allowed to stay here as long as I want?’
‘Of course. As long as you want.’
‘Bethany says she wants to go and live somewhere exotic. New York or Dubai or Singapore. She wants to travel. Is that about seeing what fits?’
‘Yes, probably.’
I decided the conversation was at an end, but before I could leave the table, Daddy asked: ‘Are you worried about what Bethany told you? About wanting to live somewhere else?’
My response was automatic. ‘No, why would I be worried about that?’
Daddy didn’t say anything for a moment, then he nodded. ‘No reason. I just wanted to check.’
After my talk with Daddy, I did feel that I understood the careers incident better, and I was reassured that I didn’t have to pretend I wanted to be a teacher, for example, or spend three years living in Oxford or Cambridge against my will. And yet this was not the full picture. When I considered the events of the past couple of weeks, I was still somewhat agitated – beset by emotions that were worryingly muddled. It was like the discomforting sensation of looking at a photograph that’s ever so slightly out of focus.
I had planned to spend most of the morning reading, but in light of my ongoing confusion, I decided it would be prudent to extend Gladys’s usual morning walk to its maximum possible length, which was approximately eight and a half miles (i.e. a full circuit of the island). This would give me sufficient time to clear my head, and I doubted Gladys would complain, though she’d probably spend the whole afternoon asleep.
I put on my windproof jacket and walking boots, grabbed a tennis ball and some poo bags, and we set off. It was a bright but chilly morning, and still early enough that we didn’t encounter many people. We walked past the vicarage, past St Mary’s, past the priory ruins, past the harbour, past the castle, past the seals on the eastern shore. I looked at the sea and the clouds and the birds in the hedgerows, and I allowed my mind to drift.
By the time we’d reached the north shore, a number of ideas had consolidated, and I was now able to organise them. I’d faced three difficult social situations in as many weeks, each of which had caused me significant stress. First had been the car in the sea, the thing that started it all. Not only had it been disruptive and unpleasant in its own right, but it had also set off the chain of events that had sabotaged my first day back at school: too little sleep, too much caffeine, and a reduced ability to deal with the social demands of the classroom, resulting in the worst possible start to the new academic year. Then had come the misunderstanding with Bethany and Will, and the argument that had followed. The careers incident was the latest problem in line, and even though it was provoking less anxiety now, I knew it was yet to be resolved. There would be further careers meetings over the coming months, and I still had to arrange my mandatory work experience; I had to come up with a viable placement that would satisfy school without being a complete waste of my time.
Yet, annoying as this was, I realised it wasn’t the thing that was bothering me the most. In truth, there was no single thing. It was the accumulation of difficulty upon difficulty – the fact that a worrying pattern was emerging.
There had been a number of occasions in the past when I’d felt as if the rules of the social game had suddenly changed – they had become more complicated, or extra rules had been added without my knowledge. The most notable was the onset of adolescence, when I’d had to adapt without warning to a whole new set of expectations and hidden codes of behaviour, to new ways of speaking and acting and being. Sarcasm was suddenly rife. Clothing and hairstyles became more intricate. Information was conveyed in silent glances – meaningful to everyone else, and frequently impenetrable to me.
The current situation felt similar. I kept getting things wrong, often without even knowing there was a problem until the damage had been done. At the back of my mind, I could still hear the words Bethany had spoken after I’d embarrassed her with Will: You’re the problem! True, she’d apologised afterwards, and hadn’t been so harsh since, but the recollection still hurt. And when I considered everything else that I’d made a mess of in the last few weeks, it became difficult to view her anger as entirely unjustified.
I didn’t want to be a problem, and I certainly didn’t want to continue making mistakes that might jeopardise my only friendship. Yet this was the spectre that had arisen since the start of term. I’d managed to avert disaster so far, but it would surely get harder if I kept messing up.
I understood now why Daddy had asked if I was worried with regard to Bethany and the idea of her leaving. Bethany and I had always been together, by default if nothing else. We’d been born six months apart, and were the only children born on Holy Island in a three-year span. We’d shared a room as soon as we’d started boarding. I’d spent more waking hours with Bethany than I had with anyone else, Daddy included. Of course, I’d always known, on some level, that this situation could not continue forever, that our lives were bound to diverge at some point. But I hadn’t been prepared for it to start so soon. And the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that this was precisely what was happening. In the midst of our relationship was this ever-widening gap. Because of the things she understood that I did not. Because of the things she found exciting or boring that I did not. Because she wanted to live somewhere far away, and I definitely did not.
I was suddenly aware that I had problems – many more problems than I’d thought – and no obvious solutions.
7
The Birthday Letter
My sixteenth birthday occurred on a Wednesday, and I managed to get through school without anyone apart from Bethany knowing. We weren’t boarding, which meant I didn’t have to worry about Kevin ‘outing’ me and getting everyone to sing Happy Birthday while Suzi brought out a tray-bake, as had happened on previous occasions. Bethany was sworn to secrecy, of course, but this year she didn’t complain. Or not out loud. She did roll her eyes quite dramatically when I reaffirmed my desire for zero fuss at the beginning of the day.
The reason I don’t like having my birthday publicly acknowledged is simple. I do not like being the centre of attention. I realise that other people do, but I do not. It makes me uncomfortable, and I honestly don’t know why this is so hard to understand.
With my sixteenth, I think it helped that it was mid-week. There’s a general dip in enthusiasm on Wednesdays – and not just among my peers. I’ve noticed that many of the teachers also appear less alert and less motivated, especially by the afternoon, resulting in a small dip in lesson quality. We have a ‘suggestions’ box at the school office in which I once left a note detailing my observations and proposing a compulsory aerobics session for all staff and students on Wednesday lunchtimes, to blow away the cobwebs. But, so far, no one in the office had got back to me. It’s possible that the box does not get checked all that often.
Regardless, what made for a substandard teaching day also made for a successful low-key birthday. The day passed without incident until we were back in Bethany’s mum’s car, and almost home. At this point, Bethany told me that I shouldn’t freak out, but she had a small surprise. I immediately started to freak out.
‘OK, relax,’ Bethany said. ‘It’s nothing bad. It’s not a surprise party or anything. It’s just a present. I mean, it’s your sixteenth, Phoebe. I had to get you something.’
I relaxed, but only a little. Bethany did not have a good track record of getting me presents. I was sure we both remembered the Twilight incident of 2016.
‘Many happy returns, Phoebe,’ Bethany’s mum said from the driver’s seat.
‘Thank you,’ I croaked.
When we stopped at my house, Bethany got out too and retrieved a gift-wrapped parcel from the boot. It was soft and approximately the size and weight of a small cushion. I hoped it was a cushion. This would be a completely inoffensive and appreciated present.
‘Is it OK if I open it inside?’ I asked. ‘It’s a bit awkward with my bag. I wouldn’t want to drop it.’
‘It’s fine. I hope you like it. But... well, I kept the receipt. Just in case.’
This is why birthdays are such a minefield, even without a formal celebration. Thankfully, I knew from experience that I kept the receipt was never to be taken at face value. It was the sort of thing people said, but then, when you contacted them to ask for the receipt, things deteriorated rather quickly.
The present was not a cushion; it turned out to be a black denim jacket. A jacket that I assumed was meant to be decorative, first and foremost, since it would offer almost zero protection from the wind or rain. It had wide, rather showy lapels. I imagined it would look very good on a mannequin, but it was clearly not for me. My wardrobe consists of T-shirts, tracksuit bottoms and warm jumpers. My favourite item of clothing is my grey hoodie, which is baggy, free from design features, and extremely comfortable: the sort of outfit that draws no unwanted attention.
I didn’t know what Bethany was thinking, but a thank you message was necessary, and could not be delayed. Except I couldn’t just write thank you. Given the problems we’d had since school resumed, I was paranoid that she’d read dissatisfaction, or some other hidden meaning, in such a terse response. I stared at my phone for several minutes until inspiration struck in the form of the emoji menu. I don’t often use emojis, but in this case, they were the exact tool for the job.
I typed Thank you! and hit send.
And almost at once a reply pinged back: You’re welcome. Glad you like it, wasn’t sure you would. Phew! X .
I didn’t try the jacket on. Instead, I put it in my wardrobe, where it hung between my waterproof coat and my navy blue fleece like some weird alien artefact.
I had a Skype call scheduled with Gee at five o’clock, which came through exactly on time. As always, it was very pleasant to talk to her. It was six o’clock in Spain and she was on her laptop in the garden; the sky had a pretty yellow tinge.
‘Are there any geckos?’ I asked.
Gee took me over to the rockery. There was a lizard, apparently, but it ran away when she tried to get the webcam close enough for me to see.
‘I’m too old to be chasing reptiles around the garden,’ Gee complained. ‘Let me sit down in the shade.’ There was a short, wobbly silence as she relocated to the table under the olive tree. ‘Did you get anything nice for your birthday?’ she asked, after she’d sat down.
‘Daddy got me an excellent pen,’ I told her. ‘It’s engraved with my initials and refillable. Bethany got me a jacket.’
‘How lovely. Did you remember to thank her?’
‘Yes, of course. It’s not really me, though – the jacket.’
‘Why not?’
‘It just isn’t. It’s more what she would wear.’
‘Oh.’ Gee thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t you show me?’
I retrieved the jacket from the wardrobe and held it up to the camera.
‘It looks very nice to me,’ Gee said. ‘Have you tried it on?’
‘Not yet. It’s honestly not the sort of thing I could imagine wearing.’
‘Perhaps that’s part of the point,’ Gee suggested. ‘Just because you can’t imagine wearing something, it doesn’t mean it won’t suit you.’
I couldn’t think of an answer to this. It was an interesting theory, but perhaps nothing more. Gee was old and wise, but that didn’t mean she was automatically qualified to discern the rationale behind Bethany’s present-buying. It seemed just as likely – more likely – that Bethany had picked a gift that she would like. Case closed.
‘What about your mum?’ Gee asked after a moment. ‘Have you opened her gift yet?’
This came as a surprise. I didn’t know that Gee knew about your gift; it wasn’t standard, obviously. ‘Did Daddy tell you?’ I asked.
‘He mentioned she’d planned something extra, since it’s your sixteenth.’
I nodded but didn’t say anything. After a moment, Gee said: ‘You know I still remember your mum’s sixteenth like it was yesterday.’
‘It was thirty years ago.’
‘Time gets a bit funny as you get older. It goes quicker and quicker.’
‘That sounds scientifically dubious.’
‘Yes. It’s still true though – wait and see.’
There was another small silence. I swallowed the lump in my throat and said: ‘I haven’t opened it yet. Her present. I haven’t read the letter, either. It’s a lot to cope with on a school day. I wanted to leave it until I had a decent amount of time to reflect.’
Gee nodded gently. ‘Would you like to do it while I’m here? For moral support?’
‘Thank you. That’s kind, but I think it’s something I’d like to do on my own. I just have to psych myself up a bit first.’
‘Of course. But I’m always here if you need to talk, Phoebe. I’m always here if you need anything. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I know that,’ I confirmed.
Your gift and letter were on my desk, where I’d placed them that morning. I had planned to wait for Daddy to get home, as I’d thought it would be a little easier that way, and because he’d want to read the letter too, as he always did. But having spoken to Gee, I found I’d changed my mind. I didn’t want to go on delaying. I sat in my desk chair for a minute or so, counting my breaths, and then, using a butter knife to avoid damage, I carefully prised open the envelope.
Dear Phoebe,
Happy 16th birthday, Precious! I can’t quite believe it. In all honestly, these are getting harder to write the further we get into the future. It’s difficult for me to imagine how much you might have changed by the time you’ll read this. Difficult but rewarding, too. I’ll let you in on a little secret: often the hardest things in life are the most worth doing. We value the things we’ve had to struggle for far more than the things that come easily.
And those might be the only words of wisdom you get out of me today! My hope is that you’ll need them a little less now, having already survived three years of being a teenager – the hardest years, in my experience! But the truth is I’ve always admired your ability to cope. Life’s thrown up all sorts of challenges for you, and it will continue to do so (because that’s what life does, for everyone), but you’ve always found a way through. You’ve found the solutions that work for you. That’s something you should feel immensely proud of.
You used to struggle with praise, and in case you still do, I’ll leave it at that and move on.
In keeping with tradition, let me give you a quick glimpse into the time capsule. Today (my today) is 1st June 2012. It’s a Friday, warm and calm, and has been a good day so far. I woke up with very little pain (yay!) and even managed to go for a short walk after breakfast. I sat in the sunshine by the Lookout Tower and watched the tide go out. That was all, but it was very peaceful and relaxing. I’m looking forward to you getting back from school later. I’m hoping that this better spell lasts and we’ll be able to spend the whole weekend together, just me, you and Daddy. It’s not much, but I’m thankful for it. I’m thankful for all the time I get to spend with my family.
You’ll have seen that I’ve enclosed a gift this year. 16 feels like a bit of a milestone, and I wanted to mark it. It’s another thing that’s been devilishly tricky, as tastes tend to change over the course of 6 years (!). So it may be that this gift isn’t as appropriate as it once would have been. If that’s the case, let’s just call it nostalgia – me being hopelessly sentimental.
