“What?” said Linda.
“You said. On your birthday. You said.”
“Said what?”
“You wanted another baby. You said Pete was big and you didn’t want him anymore.”
“I never said I didn’t want him.”
“You said you wanted a new baby. That’s the same as not wanting the old one.”
“No it’s not. It’s not even nearly the same,” said Donna.
“Shut your mouth, potato face,” I said.
“I love Pete. He’s my brother,” said Linda. “You know you shouldn’t have taken him.”
“I can do whatever I want,” I said. “I’m the bad seed.”
“You’re what?” said Linda.
“I’m fed up of this,” I said. I went out of the playground, clanged the gate shut behind me, and walked down the street. I knew Linda and Donna were watching me. I didn’t feel special. I felt like I was getting a rash.
I wandered around the streets being cross for a long time. I didn’t want to go back to the house because I was still pretending to be lost forever, to teach Mam a lesson, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go because no one liked me anymore. When it started to go dark I went to the handstand wall. I didn’t see Susan until I was nearly on top of her. She had a scrubby square of muslin wrapped around her hand, which she was stroking against her face. Her hair was cut to her chin.
“What happened to your hair?” I asked.
“Cut it off,” she said.
“Did the hairdresser?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Me.”
“You never,” I said.
“I did,” she said.
“Did you have nits?” I asked. She shook her head. “Why did you, then?” I asked. She shrugged. The ends of her hair came all at different places, wonky and uneven. I thought of her snipping it away with kitchen scissors. I didn’t understand. She must have known it was the best thing about her.
“Did you get in loads of trouble?” I asked.
“Who from?”
“Your mammy.”
“She didn’t really notice.”
“But she’s always fussing with your hair.”
“Always used to.”
“What did you do with it?” I asked. I was wondering if I could have it.
“Just chucked it away,” she said.
I kicked the wall next to her back. “Stupid waste,” I said.
“Don’t really care,” she said. She flattened out the muslin and held it to her cheek with her palm.
“What’s that?” I asked, sitting down next to her.
“Steven’s.” She took a corner in her mouth and sucked. Up close I could see it was the kind of gray that white things go when they’ve been dropped and sucked and cried on a lot, the washed-out gray of grimy water.
“It’s gross,” I said.
“No it’s not,” she said. “I like it. Smells nice.”
The air was cooler now the sun had gone in. The sweat that had stuck my dress to my back had dried, making my skin tight and itchy, as if I was crusted in a layer of salt. I scratched myself against the wall.
“Do you miss him?” I asked.
“I miss my mammy.”
“Has she died too?”
“Nah. She’s just in bed all the time.”
“Still?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, she’ll probably get up soon. It’s been ages.”
“I did ask her. I asked her when she was going to go back to normal. She just rolled over. And then I said I was fed up of her crying all the time and being in bed all the time and not being a proper mammy anymore. She told me to go away.”
“Bit mean.”
“She’s quite mean now.”
“Maybe she deserved for Steven to get dead.”
“Don’t really think so.”
The dark had come quickly, like a black glove clamped over our heads. I couldn’t see much of Susan or the muslin anymore, even though I was sitting close to both of them. I only knew she was still there because I could still hear her sucking. I had a hard feeling in my belly, like my guts weren’t guts at all anymore, just one big lump of cold, rough stone. Since I had killed Steven I had had lots of time to think about doing it again, and most of the time I felt like I wanted to do it lots and lots more. I wanted the fizzing in my hands and the ticking in my head, the feeling of being a little piece of God. Listening to Susan sniffing and sucking, I didn’t want to do it so much anymore. Not so many more times. Maybe just three times, or two times, or even one time more might be enough. If I did it one more time everything would probably be better. I’d probably feel good enough if I just did it one more time.
“Why are you always out?” Susan asked.
“Because I want to be,” I said.
“Does your mammy not make you go home?”
“No.”
“Does she not care?”
“Do you sometimes think your mammy must have loved Steven more than you?” I said. “Because that’s what I would think. I would think, ‘She’s so sad all the time now, and she’s still got me, she just hasn’t got Steven. So she must have only loved Steven, not me at all.’ Don’t you think that if she loved you a bit more she wouldn’t be so sad all the time? Don’t you think?”
I said it all in a rush, like throwing up. The words tasted like throw-up too—sour and pink.
Susan stood. “I’m going home,” she said. “Mammy will want me back.”
“She won’t,” I said. “She doesn’t care. She only cares about Steven. He’s the only one she wants back.”
I thought she would turn around and yell at me, or at least run off crying, but she just walked away.
“She doesn’t care about you,” I shouted. I didn’t know if she heard me or not.
When I had been walking to the alleys with Pete my fizzing had rumbled and roared, but now it was gone and I couldn’t get it back. I thought of what
