‘What’s so funny?’ Donna said.
‘Control.’
Donna looked confused.
Surtsey waved her glass. ‘Never mind. Sit.’
They sat opposite each other, Surtsey facing the bookshelf, those family snaps scattered amongst the science books.
‘Tell me about your parents,’ Surtsey said.
Donna fidgeted with the stem of her glass. ‘Really?’
‘Unless you don’t want to talk about it.’
Donna picked at the seam of her jeans. They were dirty around the bottom, her Nikes sandy too. She was wearing a nondescript T-shirt with a hoodie thrown over, dressed for comfort rather than going out. Nothing wrong with comfort. Surtsey had rarely seen her out of uniform, and she noticed that Donna looked strong, a physical presence in the living room. Beneath the flesh in that hug had been some solid muscle too. Surtsey wondered if she worked out.
‘I don’t really,’ Donna said.
Surtsey tried to figure out why she’d invited her in. Maybe it was this: she didn’t want to talk about her dead parents, and there was no great desire to share, to make their relationship about her and her troubles. She was an empty page waiting to be filled by Surtsey. A good listener, her mum would’ve said, perfect for nursing. A sounding board for all of Surtsey’s problems. Except Surtsey couldn’t tell her any of it. She briefly wondered if she should tell Donna about Tom, about finding him on the island. She said nothing.
‘It’s a hard time,’ Donna said. ‘When someone you love dies.’
‘What about when several of them die?’
‘What do you mean?’
Surtsey gulped wine. ‘Nothing.’
‘Is there something I don’t know? Has something happened?’
Surtsey laughed. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘I’m a good listener.’
As if she’d been reading Surtsey’s thoughts again. She shook her head.
Donna smiled. ‘I never could’ve imagined at school that we would be friends.’
Surtsey supposed they were friends. What else did you call this? She needed someone to talk to and here was Donna, that’s what friends did for each other. But she was using her too, an emotional sponge to soak up all the bullshit, a psychological dumping ground.
Donna looked at Surtsey’s empty glass on the table and filled it. Surtsey was in accelerated drinking mode, craving the second and third glasses, soon the tenth. She wondered if Hal had any grass in her room.
The wine was smooth going down, a decent bottle. She looked at Donna, what did she know about her? She’d barely noticed her at school, not on her radar. But that was always the way at school, you never noticed the younger ones, but younger ones always looked up to older girls. Surtsey tried to remember the incidents Donna had mentioned. Tearing strips off Donna’s bully at the bonfire, standing up for her in the toilets at the school disco. The truth was that she pulled a blank, couldn’t remember a thing. Partly she was drunk, but partly it was just Surtsey doing her thing, and there was ego involved in that too. She hadn’t really been defending Donna by the sound of it, she had just been mouthing off on her own agenda, virtue signalling to the rest of the school.
What made a real friendship? Just time and support. And Donna had been more supportive than anyone else the last few days, helping with her mum, someone to talk to. So why not friends?
‘Cheers.’ Surtsey leaned forward to clink. She misread the distance and the glasses clanged together, wine sloshing on the coffee table between them.
‘Cheers,’ Donna said, smiling.
‘Here’s to being friends.’ Surtsey drank.
‘To friends.’ Donna sipped.
Surtsey narrowed her eyes. ‘You really don’t like drinking, do you?’
Donna shrugged. ‘Because of my mum. It killed her and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I never want to feel that powerless.’
‘I get that.’ Surtsey thought about Tom. Christ, the messages on his phone. All the shit with Brendan had made her forget about that.
‘Just a minute,’ she said, slopping her glass on the table.
She left the room and tottered upstairs.
‘Are you OK?’ Donna shouted up.
She checked the phone under her pillow. There was a new message:
Death follows you around, doesn’t it?
She stared at it for a long time like it was a message from God. Maybe it was. How do you reply to God? And how can you make him listen?
She stood there, legs weak, craving more wine.
‘Sur?’
She jumped. It was Donna in the bedroom doorway.
She held up the phone in her hand. ‘God is sending me messages.’
‘What?’
Surtsey laughed, aware how ridiculous it was. ‘This phone is my conscience, the little devil on my shoulder.’
‘You’re not making any sense,’ Donna said.
‘Nothing makes sense.’
‘Are you OK?’
Surtsey stared at the phone. She stared at it so long the screen went dark. She pressed a button to wake it up again then typed:
Fuck you.
She breathed out and looked at Donna, who was holding both wine glasses. She took hers and downed it in three gulps.
‘I need some air,’ she said.
40
‘I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ Donna said.
Surtsey didn’t turn around. ‘Just push.’
They’d hauled the RIB across most of the beach and were almost at the water’s edge. The soft dry sand was behind them, and it was easier to guide the trailer over the packed sand now underfoot. Surtsey was sweating alcohol from her pores, damp stains under her arms as she pulled the boat towards the sea.
‘You’ve had quite a lot to drink,’ Donna said.
Surtsey felt acid rise in her throat and swallowed it down.
‘I’m fine,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘This is exactly what I need, the sea air will sort me out.’
She splashed into the edge of the water, feeling her socks squelch and the cold ripple around her shoes, penetrating the red wine glow. She kept going until the whole trailer was in the water then began untying the boat from the front end.
‘Do the knots at the back,’ she said.
Donna stared at her with a strange look on her face.
‘There’s nothing to be nervous about,’ Surtsey said. She put on a pompous voice. ‘I’m an experienced seafarer, don’t
