old crap, over and over. It’s like a fucking net closing in. These people, I feel like fucking squeezing the life out of them just to prove they’re real.’
He then had a demi-rant about Guernsey in general, which I found très worrying. He told me everyone wants to be a big fish in a little pond, and Guernsey’s not even a pond, more a puddle. He said ‘Bollocks to it’ a lot. He also told me I couldn’t trust anyone and I especially couldn’t trust my friends. He said they’d fuck me over in a second, since that’s what people did.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but couldn’t. After all, during the Occupation lots of Guernsey people earned good money informing on their neighbours and friends.38 The Guernsey Post Office had dozens of letters every month and Dad quoted cases all the time.
I watched Michael light up one of his red-packet-quick-death Marlboro cigarettes. He took a big drag and blew smoke in my face. I got completely side-tracked when I looked at his lips. He offered me the packet but I shook my head. He took another hungry gulp of whisky and I was convinced something huge was about to happen. I wanted to kiss him so much I thought I’d explode. I didn’t know what to say or do. Michael rubbed his bottom lip.
‘It’s like with Donnie, yeah, he knows about the world and he’s made all this money, but people hate him for it. They think he’s dodgy. Of course he doesn’t care, he’s got nothing to prove. I respect that. He’s the only person around here who knows about living, but people have to go and shit-stir. Take your mate Nicolette – she turned up last Saturday out of the blue, pretended she was looking for you. She was spying on us. Then she was asking Donnie all these questions and calling me his pool boy.’
I found it annoying that Nic had never mentioned this. I wondered what she was up to, but I had to pretend that I already knew. (I didn’t want Michael thinking I didn’t ‘know shit’ as per usual.)
I told him Nic had a stupid sense of humour.
‘Yeah, well, if she comes round Donnie’s again I’ll give her something to talk about. Tell her that if you want. Tell her, I’ll give her a private show.’
‘OK,’ I replied, not quite understanding.
Michael nodded and knocked back more whisky.
‘She’ll be stuck here, the one growing old and fat, and I’ll be away, I’ll be gone.’
The words ‘away’ and ‘gone’ cut straight through me.
‘Are you going soon?’
‘Yeah,’ Michael lowered his eyes and shrugged, ‘I’ve got it sorted. My ticket out of here.’
I sat very still and told him that I’d really, really miss him. Then I told him he couldn’t and shouldn’t go anywhere, and that Guernsey wasn’t actually so bad.
He laughed. ‘Wait a few years and you’ll see what I mean. You’ll get so desperate you’ll do anything to get away.’
I asked Michael to explain but he was too busy finishing my whisky. Then he said he didn’t want to talk anymore, so we just sat and watched the clouds move. I imagined us flying away together through them, but now I wish I’d made more of an effort to talk to him about his problems. I should’ve made him tell me what was bothering him so much. I feel a bit guilty about it all, and you’ll understand why if I skip forward to the next morning.
I walked into my form room at ten to nine and found a crowd of girls gathering in the corner. For the first time in her life Lisa Collenette had an audience, but it was obvious why. Her face had turned purple and her eyes were swollen, and as she blew her spectacular nose Nic gently rubbed her shoulder. I don’t like Lisa much and it’s not because she can eat whatever she wants and stay skinny, or because she looks like a ferret, or because she beat me in Geography. I just don’t like her. Furthermore I never understood how someone so genetically handicapped could be related to Michael. (Does third cousin twice-removed39 count?)
I asked what was wrong.
Nic shook her head grimly.
‘You’ll never guess! Michael Priaulx went off the top of Pleinmont Tower last night. They’ve had to airlift him to Southampton because his condition was so bad no one could help him here.’