"What are you thinking about?"
She's thinking about how much she misses the taste of her cigarettes, and she's thinking about how much she absolutely despises this place. She's thinking about how living is absolute shit and sewage, but maybe she shouldn't have acted on that in the first place because that landed her here.
But she would never tell John Foster that.
"My brother," she lies easily, tossing the painful memories away with a flick of her scarred wrist.
"What about your brother?" John Foster asks her, in a warm and gentle way. His voice is like soft velvet, and this is exactly why Effy doesn't trust him in the slightest. Nobody in this world should have the right to treat words the way this man does; the way they slip from his mouth, someone could almost believe that they were dirty, or tainted.
"Nothing." Effy shuts herself off, the way she used to as a child. She half wishes that John Foster would show some form of frustration, but he twists around her barricade as if it weren't there.
"Something happened to him, didn't it?"
Effy darts around the question, listing off trivial childhood tragedies and triumphs, but she is interrupted. Hit by a bus, yes, almost killed, never the same, lost your Tony, got an invalid in exchange.
Well, Foster, you hit the fucking nail on the head, didn't you, congratulations, call back later to collect your prize, she thinks, forcing herself to turn away from the infuriating smirk perched in the chair across from her.
She doesn't speak for the rest of the week.
Effy can slowly feel herself changing. It burns slowly up her bloodstream, making the world appear in sharper focus. Suddenly, everything seems so simple. Wake up. Breathe. Pills. Silence.
The voices are gone, replaced by the velvet sound of John Foster that she has grown to love. No, not love, worship. Love still doesn't exist for her here, not yet.
But one day, she finds herself divulging the story of Tony to him; it's something that only Freddie had ever had the privilege to hear. She tells it in a raw way, opening up the wound with eyes closed tight against the tears.
John tells her to imagine it never happened. She privately calls bullshit, but when she goes back to her room that evening, she finds can't remember who this Tony even is. He's a shadow now; an empty smile in her past.
Mum, Dad, Effy, and Pato the funny giraffe. A perfect family of four.
"And then E.T. says…"
She's gotten to the point where she can joke with John. He's easy, a steady rock that she can rely on with absolute certainty. The eyes that she was once so sure were robotic are now comforting, the smile she once found infuriating merely makes her own wider.
She's only ever afraid at night, when small things niggle at the back of her head. She thinks they are memories, important thoughts, words said that she's sure she should know like the back of her hand, but somehow they never quite make it to the point of making sense. She has the impression that something John is doing is making her forget these things.
Or maybe the pills are just numbing everything out. That's what they're supposed to do, right?
Right, Effy. You're happy now, or as happy as you'll ever be. You don't need memories anyhow; you just need yourself. Besides, numbness is the best sort of armor. You're safe here. Safe. Safe. Safe…
It hits her like a bullet to the chest when he tells her that she can go home.
She doesn't want to go anywhere. This is home now, this is normal.
But then she remembers, the one memory that refused to leave, the one memory who kept her warm at night with a forgotten jumper …
Freddie.
He's the first thing on her list when she arrives back in Bristol.
When Effy knocks on his door, butterflies flit in her stomach. It's a feeling she's never registered before; is this what love is supposed to be? An open ache punctuated by electricity? But she doesn't have time to contemplate, because suddenly he's just there, so close, after so much time, and all she can bloody think to say is, "Brought your jumper back."
But Freddie just smiles that lopsided smile, and holds her tighter than he ever has before. The first few minutes are fleeting images tainted in golden happiness, different than the indeterminate contentedness from the past month. He carries her up the narrow stairs, laughs with her as her feet bounce on the banister, presses his face to her hair, kisses her with a settling gentleness.
Freddie.
And then he has to break it. Hurt eyes mixed with all his questions, none that she really truly knows how to answer. So she does the best she can, being unusually honest. He senses this; but then again, he always could read her mind.
And then she says it.
The words are so heavy on her tongue, but when they hang in the air they are as light as feathers. All I feel for you is love.
Did it really take her over a year to let it out? Because now, now she's sure. All the aching and the wishing and the breaking, it was all fucking love.
And suddenly a weight has lifted, and it's Freddie all over, just him and dark eyes, bottom lips and fingertips, light dancing gently on the ceiling, and his voice sounds like an acoustic guitar reverberating gently in her ears and everything is okay again and now she remembers why because this, this here is dying and living all at once and she's bleeding out because it's okay, we're okay, we're okay, we're okay, we're okay…..
"It doesn't matter, Elizabeth. There are bigger things happening here. Bigger than school. Bigger than friends. Even bigger than love."
John seems so confident when he tells her this that Effy can't help but believe him. The voices inside her now – the good ones, the ones who sound like velvet, the ones who help her – tell her what to do with John's words. Something in her tells her it isn't right, because what logic fits into this plan? But she goes ahead and does it anyway, ignoring the confusion and the hurt on the mixed faces of her friends.
As the rain pours down, fear begins to creep back into her mind. Fear of John, fear of herself.
Oh, Tony, what have I done….
He makes her forget. Everything. Everyone.
She is Elizabeth now. She is solid, she is sure, she is simple.
She is more scared than she has ever been before.
You made me go crazy before! Love's not supposed to do that!
You're making me go mad now, Effy. (Effy? Who is Effy? Did she know you? Did she understand the words your sad eyes say? I'm Elizabeth, who the hell are you? )
You're making me go mad. And that's exactly what love's supposed to do.
Is it?
Maybe she knew once, but now all she feels is emptiness. Emptiness and the taste of medication in the back of her mouth.
Love? What is it good for, anyhow?
Love.
Weeks pass in a summerlike haze.
She wears Tony's shirt every day, though nobody is really sure if she consciously notices it.
To Effy – no, not Effy, Elizabeth, now – it still somehow smells like him. Despite the days and nights of the worn fabric being pressed against her, it's still Tony. Or rather, occasionally Tony. On the rare days when she can actually recall him, she clutches the sleeves in sweaty palms even tighter, and bites her lip hard.
Other days, the shirt is simply armor with a forgotten comfort woven between the threads.
She wanders through her nights in dreams perpetuated by mazes, and spends her days in the parks, watching life go by.
Until the strange boy in the Anorak and cloud of cigarette smoke wakes her up.
He takes her to places she's sure she's been before, and opens up a floodgate of feelings she barely remembers. Lust, and a feeling of slipping on whatever ground she's standing on.
The turn in the road. The cobblestones. (It was here, I remember, screaming, the headlights, why wasn't there cell reception?)
He doesn't understand. Cook, that was his name, no, he doesn't get it, he won't understand because his eyes aren't deep brown, though why that matters now she isn't sure.
(Effy, why aren't you running? Effy, can you feel the pain now?)
She can. She can feel the ripping inside her own head, demons tearing skin apart to break free, and they are pushing her into the highway; why isn't she afraid? She should be afraid; she knows this, but the headlights streaming around her quaking body are just so fucking tempting…
And then something clobbers into her and she realizes she doesn't want to die, it isn't right, it isn't time. Opening her eyes, she realizes the impact was made by a human, not an oncoming vehicle. It's Cook, it's her friend.
"Take me to Freddie. Please."
And the world, as it's been threatening to do for days now, slips away.
Effy knows before she opens her eyes that she's back where she started. She also knows why.
John. Fucking. Foster.
It's rare that she's afraid of anyone or anything, but even thinking of his name instills pure terror. He hurt her, he hypnotized her.
He took Tony away. Her Tony.
The pressure increases on her hand, and she turns to see her protector, her proverbial knight. Dark eyes crinkle in a smile back at her, but she doesn't really remember how to be happy in return.
When John Foster makes his entrance, she trembles with anxiety. The ripping begins again, the monsters she can't fight burst from the face she once trusted so surely, and she almost cries out in agonized fear, but then Freddie is there. Freddie fights them all, the way he always has, and she feels profoundly stupid.
Nobody can protect her the way Freddie can.
We'll be together now, Effy, I promise.
His hand is firm in hers, his tears the signature on his pledge, and he just appears so permanent…
You won't ever leave me, will you? You'll always be here. You can save me. It's cliché and silly but I don't care, not at all, not anymore.
"Shh, just go to sleep now, he's gone. I'll be here all night, okay? He won't come back," Freddie says to her, reaching out to stroke her hair. She can feel herself drifting away already, whether from drugs or not she isn't sure.
"Wait," Effy whispers, touching his fingers, reassuring herself that he's real, "I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…"
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Freddie McLair died from heart failure at the age of 78, at home beside his beloved wife.
Effy Stonem McLair passed later that same year, due to natural causes.
They will be missed.