My Perfect Friend by Sarah Clarke

Author:Sarah Clarke [Clarke, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-09-02T12:00:00+00:00

April 2003

Chapter 27

Katherine

Katherine can’t move; she mustn’t make a sound. Her skirt is bunched around her waist and the room is so cold that there are goose bumps on her naked thighs. But even behind the locked door – just a slab of thin MDF really, her feet exposed at the bottom – rustling her clothes feels like too much of a risk now. She slowly, carefully, leans back until the nylon of her school coat finds the cold plastic of the raised toilet seat lid.

Year twelves don’t usually use this toilet block – they have their own in the sixth form centre – but of course they’re allowed to go wherever they want. It’s one of the perks of being top of the school. Katherine closes her eyes and wonders where Becca is standing. She imagines her leaning against the sink unit, but with her back to the mirror because she’s too beautiful to need the reassurance of regular check-ins. Her friend Clara will be facing the opposite way, practising her pouts, or retouching her make-up. There’s the muffle of conversation between them – Becca’s voice instantly recognisable, Clara’s gradually so – but it’s muted, and Katherine can’t make out what they’re saying. It’s probably nothing important, she hopes, just the humdrum of weekend gossip. But still, she feels on high alert. Waiting for something.

Elation hopefully. Catastrophe maybe.

‘What the actual fuck?’ Clara’s voice suddenly rises in the cold room and Katherine puts her hands to her face, her worst fears itching at her skin. ‘She wrote you a letter?’ Katherine’s heart booms in her ears. Becca will defend her, she promises herself, cut Clara dead. The room is silent for a second, then another, and Katherine feels it spinning behind her eyelids.

Then she hears Becca let out a sigh. ‘It’s my fault,’ she says, her words now pealing with clarity. ‘I can see that now. But I felt sorry for her.’

Katherine squeezes her eyes, then her cheeks and lips. Her whole face contorts. No, no, not this. Not sympathy. There’s more to their relationship than that. They like the same TV shows, the same music. They share the same beliefs. Why doesn’t Becca mention that?

‘That’s your problem – you’re too nice. And then you get weirdos like her writing you freaky love letters. Makes me feel sick.’

Clara’s calling me a weirdo, Katherine thinks, willing her message to get through to Becca. Surely you must defend me now?

‘You wouldn’t feel like that if it was a boy,’ Becca counters eventually. It’s quiet, tentative, but Katherine can hear the conviction too. A warm breeze of relief flows over her skin. It’s not all in her head; their relationship is real.

‘I would if it was a year eleven heffalump with a face full of acne.’

A herd of buffalo stomp over Katherine, the dust of its wake threatening to suffocate her. She hates Clara with every atom in her body. It’s her fault that Becca’s pushing Katherine away. She’s warping Becca’s mind, driving a wedge through the friendship they’ve built.

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