Perfectly Preventable Deaths

21 Jacob’s Ladder

The lock-in tonight is, apparently, a youth-club event. Which shouldn’t surprise me. This is what you get when Lon runs your youth club. Urrgh. I’m not sure what other youth clubs do, but I feel like it’s crafting or organised sports activities. Maybe a camping trip. Like, things that aren’t actively illegal. I wish I didn’t have to go. My head is racing and my heart is pounding. I can’t tell Catlin the whole story until I find a way to make it sound not crazy. She wouldn’t listen anyway. Unless I said Lon every other word.

‘I Lon might Lon be Lon a Lon witch Lon.’

I Lon don’t Lon know Lon if Lon I Lon want Lon to Lon be.

Lon.

‘I can’t believe you had tea with Mamó,’ she says. ‘Lon is terrified of her.’

‘He is?’ I ask, pleased.

‘And Mam as well – she went down for a chat one afternoon and made some joke about natural medicine and Mamó ran her. The old wagon.’ Catlin is impressed.

‘Ran her?’ It sounds much meaner, out of my twin’s mouth. Poor Mam, I think.

‘Maybe she doesn’t want a new friend?’ I say. ‘She is from the village, after all. Maybe she has enough people.’ It sounds lame. And implausible. I can’t imagine Mamó having friends, the way Mam did back home, with wine and book clubs and occasionally exercise. I mean, you never know, though.

She did, however, literally say, ‘I’m not here to make friends,’ last night. Which I’m keeping to myself so far, because if I tell Catlin any more of it, the magical stuff will come out and I can’t face sharing that. Not yet. Not till I’ve gathered more information. Claims like that, you need evidence to back them up. It sounds impossible to me, and I believe it. I don’t know how to put it into words for other people. And I’m fairly sure she would tell Lon. And it’s none of his business how much of a witch I am.

‘Why is she having tea with you? Maybe she’s grooming you.’ Catlin widens her eyes in a horrified manner. Mam was always worried about us being groomed when we were little. I used to wear hats all the time, for fear a stranger’d brush my hair and steal me.

‘Mamó is not grooming me, Catlin,’ I say, a bit offended, even though I still don’t know what she is doing. She is probably grooming me. Just not for sex. For witchcraft. The worry in my stomach swells and grows. But I can’t say that I’m not excited too. I mean, it’s magic. The things inside me that I thought were wrong. Maybe they’re power.

‘Well, if she is grooming you, which I still fully think she is, she’d want to make more of an effort about it. Take a shower, like.’ Catlin wrinkles her nose. ‘She smells of turf. Who wants to smell like turf?’

‘Why is Lon scared of her?’ I ask her, interested.

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Because she’s disapproving?’

Her story does check out, but I wonder if there’s more to it than that. Knowing what I know now, I’m curious about who else here knows about magic. I mean, they seem really fond of Brian. Does everyone? I think of Oona, Layla. I wonder who I should be wary of. Lon, clearly, but probably for douche reasons as opposed to danger ones, I reckon. I reckon or I hope? And Brian. I remember our conversation about Mamó. About what I should do. If she made me uncomfortable. Maybe I should talk to him about it, ask for help. Advice.

If I were more extrovert, I could interrogate people subtly at Donoghue’s, making lifelong friendships as I went. If I were more extrovert I’d be getting with Oona right now instead of staring at pictures of her on my phone more than is socially appropriate.

‘What are we going to wear?’ I ask my twin. ‘What do people even wear to lock-ins?’ Catlin’s much better at things to wear than I am. And this is new. Like, do we go dressed up like for a disco, or the sort of casual that takes more time than normal, like for a house party?

‘Like yourself, but better hair and make-up …’ Catlin says. ‘Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow something of yours. The pink and white dress?’

‘I thought you hated that,’ I say. ‘You told me it was only fit for 1950s cowgirls.’

‘Hate is such a strong word. People change.’ There is a pause. I look at her suspiciously.

She sighs.

‘OK. I want to wear it to please Lon. He likes me to wear dresses and my hair down. Like a proper lady. In a film.’ She plays with the edge of the blanket. I bite back a rant about Lon and his opinions and the patriarchy and everything that’s wrong with the world in one skinny bastard, and find the dress in my wardrobe and give it to her. I’d rather have her happy than be right. She stands, and holds the dress against her body.

‘He’ll love this.’ Her eyes are shining. She looks like she is feverish. Puts it on her bed and takes a picture. Sends it off, and waits for his approval.

I don’t know how to react. The room is quiet, can’t even hear her breathing. Little grains and leaves inside my boots and pockets give me strength.

‘Are you OK, Catlin?’ I ask.

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I am. I just … I really want to make him happy, Madeline. I want him to love me back.’ Her eyes are wet. She’s blinking back the crying.

I give her the tightest hug. Has she lost weight? It feels like there is less of her to hold.

‘Catlin. You are amazing. If he doesn’t love you back, then he’s an idiot. And besides, he does. He totally does. He’s always looking at you. Staring. Sending messages to say goodnight. He waits at the bus stop every day just so he can see you. It’s either love or stalking.’

Catlin laughs. ‘He doesn’t want me putting up photos of the two of us,’ she says. ‘We kind of had a little row about it. It’s fine he’s not on social media or whatever.’ She does a little voice for social media. Her Lon impression is a lot kinder than mine, I muse, but then again, it would be.

‘… but, like, if we’re a couple, I want everyone to know,’ she says. ‘Otherwise, it isn’t fully real.’

‘Did he give you a reason?’ I ask.

‘He has some crazy exes,’ she tells me. ‘And he says that he’s a private person. But he isn’t. Have you seen the way he dresses?’

‘People can be private in some ways and not in others,’ I point out, deciding not to add, ‘like me, with my sexuality and witchcraft,’ because we both have enough to deal with without unpacking another trunkful of skulls.

‘True. I just …’ Her face is grim. ‘I don’t like the thought of other girls before me. When he talks about them, and he doesn’t do it often, I feel all helpless and small. Not good enough.’

How dare he use the ghosts of other girls to shrink my sister! I swallow down retorts. It’s not the time.

‘You are you, and who you are is amazing. I don’t want to say, “You’re better than those girls,” but I can one thousand per cent guarantee that you probably are. Plus, they’re in the past, and you are in Lon’s present and his future.’

She smiles. I keep on going. Catlin needs this.

‘Who kissed four guys in one night after we got our exam results?’

‘Me,’ she says. I see a little smile.

‘Who got asked to the debs nine times before she was even in second year?’

‘Me,’ she shudders. ‘Creeps. I was a baby.’

‘Remember when Kevin O’ Neill asked you out and you said no and he …’

Her face is brighter now. ‘… Started to cry and beg in front of everyone?’

‘Yeah.’ I smile. ‘That was just cruel, Catlin. You’re the one who breaks people’s hearts. Not him. You are my sister. And you’re magic.’

‘I love you, Mad,’ she says. ‘I feel a bit better now.’

She wipes her eyes. I look at her.

‘I know you said not to say anything bad about Lon, and I won’t, but if he makes you feel like you aren’t good enough, that’s bullshit. You might doubt him loving you, but I will always love you. No matter what. We’re blood. And if he ever, ever, makes you feel like there were better girls before you, then he is wrong. Remember. You’re Catlin Hayes. And he is just a boy from Ballyfrann.’

She grins at me. ‘Not even from Cork, like. What the hell was I thinking? I am class.’

‘You are,’ I say. ‘You really, really are.’

‘OK.’ She rubs her eyes and shakes her head a little. Shakes it off. ‘What are you going to wear? Because I already have my Galway boyfriend. Whereas you, my love, have only got potential.’

I wish the world could always be this way. The two of us, together, laughing.

Safe.