The Disappointment Kid (Completed)

17

As predicted, the next day I was back in school. Dad had been relieved when I told him that I was feeling better during breakfast.

"I knew it was just a massive hangover." Then he ruffled my hair, just like he used to do when I was three years old. "Stay away from that stuff from now on, Cat, please."

My mother had snorted but, before she had the chance to say anything, my father had continued. "Emma had to go back home last night. She didn't want to wake you, but she asked me to tell you that you can phone her anytime, day or night, and that she loves you, Cat."

That 'Cat' was for my mother's benefit. I was sure I detected a twinkle in my father's eyes when he said it. My mother's lips compressed into two pencil-thin lines. She turned abruptly and headed for the door. What a surreal moment! It was like she and I had swapped roles. I felt a twinge of compassion but swallowed it down ruthlessly. I was not going to run after her, not now anyway.

* * * * *

Henry was already waiting for me at the school gates.

"Are you really okay? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine. Hangover from hell. I'm staying off the shit from now on."

I knew Henry had seen a shrink a few years ago, but I was still not keen on sharing the latest development with him or with anybody else for that matter because I felt that it had put me firmly in the mentally deranged category. It was something you just didn't talk about. To a certain degree, unfortunately, this still applies today.

Even Henry had been uncomfortable when he told me and had been careful to avoid mentioning details, I realised with a start. It was more along the lines of 'I just needed someone to talk to. Problem solved.'

I mean, who wants to be friends with someone who might potentially kill themselves, or - worse - might constantly get on your tits with their death-wish nature? It's okay to hold someone's hand during a messy split-up or lend a sympathetic ear when someone close to us is grieving – for a week or two. It actually makes you feel like a knight in shining armour – and yes, it's the 21st century, a knight can also be a woman. Goes without saying. But, hey, being a bloody knight in shining armour gets old really fast and life goes on. Can't be in a funk forever. And if, well, then be in a funk somewhere else, pretty please. Come back when you have upgraded your brain software to a 24-hour I'm-happy-now-let's-party programme.

At least, I was honestly planning on staying off the alcohol for good. So, my answer wasn't a 100% lie, only a 50% one. 50% or less constitutes a white lie in my world. And white lies are a necessary evil, as we all know. You would never turn around to your friend and say, "Man, your face looks like the back end of a bus, especially with that hairdo." Instead, you would employ the socially-acceptable white-lie technique and say, "You look stunning, but I've always liked your hair better when you comb it in this really cute style that covers most of your face. Then put a cap on. Makes you look like a regular rock star."

Anyway, I felt fairly confident that I would manage to stay away from alcohol for good. But I was also clued up enough to understand that, on a level deep below the surface, alcohol had replaced my food addiction. Maybe I could make myself a nice little earner by taking bets on what the next replacement would be. The betting office would have to include reverting back to what the sugar industry had to offer. My mind was clear enough to realise that.

"We still have some time. I have something to tell you – in private. Let's go to the lake!" Henry suggested. He was clearly excited and happy.

I plastered a smile on my face. "Sure," I agreed.

We set off towards the small park with the tiny puddle they called a lake just across the road from our school. It was nothing special. That's why we were most likely going to be alone there, if you discounted the small-time drug pushers and their young customers, who were already boosting the state's economy before sunrise, but who were also totally uninterested in the likes of us.