Extract from Romeo Must Not Die

Ashley Rogers

I’d hoped to get the story without speaking to other journalists but as we drive through the South London housing estate, I see the news pack is already assembled. Pete from the Mirror waves at me and my photographer, Ray, as we get out of the car. He used to be their royal correspondent but was replaced last year by a younger, more sober journalist. The other reporters look down at their notebooks and shuffle their feet on the icy pavement.

‘Good to see you back,’ Pete says, ‘you’re just in time. Jade’s dad has promised to come out and chat but I’m pretty sure she’s not here. No one has seen her since Brixton.’ He’s referring to the singer’s on-stage collapse two days ago. Remembering the news story he wrote about my suicide attempt, I ignore his friendliness. 

‘Nice not to be the story for a change,’ I say, thinking about the epithet he gave me: deeply troubled son of TV newsreader. His smile recedes from his face. 

‘You would’ve written it if it’d been me. It’s what we do mate. You don’t get a special pass.’ 

He carries on talking but I stop listening. I think about the time you said that you wanted to be a filmmaker, and I said I wanted to be a poet. We were eating Jaffa Cakes on my bed, after we’d just watched the final showdown between Al Pacino and Robert De Niro in Heat.  I said you could shoot me if I became a hack like dad and we solemnly shook on it. 

The first page of my notebook is stained with coffee, and I search for a clean page, but I don’t want to write this story. I hope that Jade’s dad, Sammy, tells us to get lost.

The shiny door of the new build house opens and Sammy walks along the short driveway with a tray of tea. His hospitality makes me feel nauseous. All the reporters and photographers grab a mug, but I don’t move. 

‘Come on. Get in the game,’ Pete says, shoving the steaming tea into my hand before stirring four sugars into his.

‘I told her management company she just needs a rest, but they don’t listen to me,’ Sammy says, and moves forward as if he’s about to feed us from the palm of his hand. ‘They’ve sent her to Havenwood for a few weeks. If you go down there, I’m sure you’ll get some good snaps.’ 

I feel the mug of tea burning my fingers and grip the handle tighter, thrown by the mention of our old hospital.

‘Thanks Sammy, nice one,’ Pete says, before sipping his tea and letting out a contented sigh, as if he’s had his first pint of the day. 

The other reporters move away to talk to their news desks. Ray points to his phone and asks if he should make the call, but I’m staring at Jade’s picture on my mug and her trademark asymmetrical bob. I can't understand why Sammy didn’t tell us to get lost. Ray gives up waiting for my reply and starts talking on his phone.

‘They want us to go to the hospital mate,’ Ray says, as he hangs up and we walk back to the car.

‘I’ve been there before.’ I say it more to myself than to Ray, but he hears me. 

‘Not as a patient I hope!’ He starts the engine and looks away as he slowly realises what I meant. He rummages through sweet wrappers and half-finished bottles of Diet Coke before he finds an old packet of Rolos and offers me one. I don’t fancy it, but I take it to close the distance that has opened between us. The chocolate is cold on my tongue and tastes waxy until I bite through to the filling.  

My phone rings. It’s the picture desk.

‘Hey Elliott, we’ve converted the video you gave us into an MP4 file. Are any of those youngsters famous now? One of them looks like you.’

I swallow the caramel. ‘It’s not me,’ I lie. ‘Can you send it through to my phone?’

Minutes later the file comes through, and I forward our first music video onto Dr Trieste without opening it. Ray types the hospital name into the Satnav and turns the radio on. The Radio 2 breakfast show DJ introduces his next song as a nineties classic and puts on ‘Wake up Boo!’ Ray shifts gear, accelerates, and I think about the morning we escaped the hospital.

I’d just come back from breakfast with Seamus when Gulfam charged into our room. She was still wearing the same Manchester United top, and I thought she’d come to tell me that the bulb she’d swallowed was out.

‘Gulfam did they manage to—’

‘Quick, they’re trashing my room.’

‘What? Why would they do that?’ I said putting my toothpaste down and forgetting to put the cap back on.

‘They’re taking anything I can swallow.’ Gulfam opened her mouth wide enough that we could see her tonsils.

Seamus stayed lying in his bed not taking her seriously. ‘We know how big your gob is Gulfam,’ and then dodged as she threw a punch at him. 

She pointed at the arm you bandaged. ‘I’m not joking. They’ll be here next looking for sharps.’

Seamus jumped out of bed as Luke and two of his fellow nurses bustled into the room wearing rubber gloves and carrying clinical waste bags. They searched my wash bag and pencil case, taking my disposable razors, geometry compass and metal ruler. Then they removed the glass from a photo on my bedside shelf and took my handheld mirror. I stepped across the room and picked up the loose photo of me and my brother, so it didn’t get damaged. When Luke unscrewed Seamus’ lightbulb from his bedside lamp, he tried to grab his hand, but a new nurse called Mark, who’d just left the army, shoved him back and said, ‘We don’t want you to hurt yourselves.’

Seamus moved away but when they left the room he shouted after them. ‘You forgot about the windows; they’re made of glass. And the walls attack us.’ He cracked his skull against the concrete. ‘Look the wall just hit me. Can you chuck it in your poxy bin bags?’ He rubbed his forehead and gave a shallow laugh.

From down the corridor I could hear Mark complaining to Luke, ‘I want to help these kids, but some of them don’t want to help themselves.’

Alone again Gulfam, Seamus, and I sat down on my bare mattress. I noticed a bruise-coloured stain the shape of South America on the polyester fabric. All our possessions had been touched, our toiletries had been spilled across the sink, with my uncapped toothpaste squeezed across the carpet.

‘Shall we do one? I know whose room doesn’t have window restrictors,’ Gulfam said. 

‘Florence!’ Seamus said smiling again. ‘I’m not sitting through another group therapy session. Let’s go.’ 

I remained sitting on the mattress. ‘It’s pointless. It’ll take us an hour to walk to the pub and there’s no way they’ll let you two in.’

‘Seamus, haven’t you told him how many cars you’ve stolen? He’s like Face from the A–Team,’ Gulfam said, starting to hum the TV theme tune as the two of them walked towards the door.

‘Don’t be stupid Seamus. I promised your mum I’d keep you out of trouble.’  I reached for his arm, but he slapped my hand away.

He pointed at a single chair that had been overturned, one of it legs bent at an awkward angle. ‘If you want to chill here, be my guest.’

There was no way I was going to stay on my own. I followed them into Florence’s room, where she was still in bed. Her room was immaculate like yours, her shelves uncluttered apart from a blue orchid in a plastic pot. 

‘Get out of my room right now,’ Florence said, sitting upright in a nightdress with her boarding school insignia on.

‘Why are you still in bed?’ I said.

‘I’m having one of my off days,’ she said, self pityingly. 

Seamus threw open the bedroom window and grabbed the drainpipe on the wall outside. ‘I’m having an off day too,’ he replied.

‘I’m going to scream for someone,’ Florence said.

‘Do it and I tell them about what you’ve got hid in your wardrobe,’ Seamus fired back, revealing that it wasn’t just my personal items he’d rifled through.

Florence fell silent and Seamus slung his legs over the window frame and winked at her as he disappeared. Gulfam stuck her tongue out at Florence and went quickly after him. I mouthed ‘sorry’ and peeked down below at the two waving figures.

‘Come on or you’ll get caught,’ Guflam said.

I started to slide but a third of the way down I heard a sharp metallic creak as the drainpipe strained against its fastenings. I closed my eyes until my trainers thudded into the car park gravel. Then I remembered you and our plan to shoot the music video. Running over to your room I scooped up handfuls of shingle and threw them at your window until you opened it.

‘We’re getting out of here. Come with us.’ You looked unsure and when you walked away, I thought you weren’t going to come. But then you appeared behind me with your rucksack over your shoulder.

‘Told them I was going for a walk, and they let me out. Not everything has to be dramatic,’ you said, smugly. 

Gulfam and Seamus were by the driver’s door of a silver Mercedes with the registration plate ‘BXT3R’.

‘That’s Dr Baxter’s car,’ I said.

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Seamus grinned as he tried the door handle, and it clicked open. ‘I thought doctors were supposed to be clever.’

The interior was dark and smelt of new leather and Cologne. Seamus reached behind the dashboard and yanked down a tangled mess of wires. His fingers worked with practiced precision as he twisted them together. The engine roared into life. Gulfam patted Seamus on the back, as he slid the driver’s seat as far forward as it would go. He put it into gear and eased it out of the car park and down the road. 

‘Where can we cause chaos?’ Seamus said switching on the stereo and swearing as classical music started playing.

‘Hastings,’ you said, as Seamus ejected the Brahms CD and sent it spinning into a field. ‘I’ll explain later.’

Gulfam opened the glove compartment and pulled out an official looking letter. She started to read. ‘Dear Dr Herbert Baxter. I am writing to you—’

‘Herbert! What sort of name is that,’ Seamus said. 

 Gulfam continued. ‘—On behalf of my client, Pamela Baxter, to inform you that they have decided to initiate divorce proceedings after careful consideration and in light of… what’s this word?’ Gulfam said, handing me the letter.

‘Irreconcilable,’ I said handing it back to her. ‘It means their marriage is beyond–’

‘Pam hates him too,’ Seamus said, beeping his horn and shouting out the window ‘you old git.’ 

I didn’t care about Dr Baxter’s relationship though. I wanted to know more about your story.

‘Why did your mum leave your dad?’

‘She didn’t,’ you said, looking surprised that I asked. ‘He left us. He couldn’t stand her boozing.’

‘You don’t need a dad,’ Seamus jumped in. 

You didn’t respond and I tried to make it less awkward by carrying on the conversation with Gulfam. ‘Who do you live with at home?’

‘Let’s see if this sunroof works,’ Gulfam said, ignoring my question and pushing the electric switch. The roof peeled back, revealing the sky whizzing past over our heads. She unclicked her seatbelt and stood up.

‘Get your bum out of my face Gulfam,’ Seamus said, slapping her behind.

 She reappeared seconds later, her hair stuck up like a lion’s mane. ‘This is wicked. Do it with me.’

‘No chance,’ you said. I jumped up and poked my head through the sunroof, feeling the exhilaration as the wind hit me. A fox was running through the field beside us with a pheasant in its mouth, its red coat matching the winter morning sunrise. I thought about the cold conference room where the group therapy session would be taking place later.

‘We’re in so much trouble,’ I yelled.

‘I can’t hear you,’ she yelled back, but I could see from the smile on her face that she could.

We stretched out our arms, feeling the fierce power of the wind and its defiant surge.  Ahead a branch reached across the road, and as we crouched down to avoid it, I felt it skim through my hair. Seamus mischievously wiggled the steering wheel, so the car veered, we grabbed hold of each other to steady ourselves and regain our footing on the seats.

‘Marcel, you have to try this. It’s wild.’ I said after ducking my head back through the sunroof. 

‘I’m ok. I don’t trust Seamus’ dodgy driving,’ you said, unconvincingly, shifting in your seat. ‘Besides, we should talk about the music video.’ And as you explained exactly how you wanted to film it, I could hear the confidence return to your voice. We were going to use Hastings to recreate Verona beach, copying Leonardo Di Caprio’s opening appearance in Baz Luhrmann’s film. Seamus yawned and looked out of the window until you said that I was going to be Romeo, walking along the sand, stressing about his break-up with Rosaline.

‘You’re nothing like DiCaprio. I should be Romeo,’ Seamus said, turning round to me.

 ‘He has his defined cheekbones,’ you said.

 I looked at my reflection in the passenger window and felt a tingle as I noticed their prominence for the first time.

 ‘I want you two to play his parents,’ you said, then asked Seamus to pull over. You jumped out of the car as we pulled up at a red traffic light and started rummaging through a litter bin.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ Gulfam said, ‘I thought he was the normal one.’

You returned to the car just as the lights turned green and the car behind beeped. 

‘Your props,’ you said, handing them two empty cans of Stella Artois that still had their beery smell. We parked up by the beach and Seamus and Gulfam jumped in the back, excited by the idea of playing Lord and Lady Montague.

‘There’s still some in here,’ Seamus said, tilting back the can so a few drops landed in his mouth.

‘Stop it you tramp,’ Gulfam said.

 ‘Listen,’ you said, taking control again, ‘I want you to pretend to get drunk, and as you’re drinking, I want you to look at each other, look at your beer but don’t look out the windows.’

‘But aren’t they supposed to be looking for him?’ I said.

‘I want them to be so pissed they forget.’ 

I started driving and watched in the rearview mirror as you started to film. Seamus and Gulfam slouched in their seats, pretended to sip from each other’s cans and playfully bumped into each other as if sharing a hilarious joke. 

When it was time to film Romeo’s sequence, Seamus again argued that he should play the role. We compromised on filming two versions, so we each had a go. I went first and you took me aside to give me instructions while Gulfam and Seamus went to skim stones.

 ‘I want you to think about your last breakup and how it made you feel,’ you said, as you pulled my coat collar up to protect my neck from the chill breeze blowing off the sea.  The beach was almost empty apart from dog walkers wrapped in scarves and a solitary jogger running with his Walkman in his hand. I remembered how I’d cut myself in my parents’ bathroom after Kelly told me that she wanted to be friends and tried to reconnect with that feeling. But as you adjusted the lens on the camera to focus on me, I could still feel the touch of your hands on my collar. 

‘Stop smiling!’ you shouted at me, as I started to walk along the sea edge, and you made me walk back along the pebbles and start again.

 When it was Seamus’ turn to play Romeo, he skipped down the beach blowing kisses at the camera and anyone else that looked his way.

‘We’ll definitely use your version Seamus,’ you said, putting your camera back in your rucksack.

‘Don’t lie to me. You’re cleverer than me but not more smarter.’

‘You don’t need to say more,’ you replied. 

‘I’m starving,’ Seamus said, ignoring you. ‘Who has money for chips? You’re loaded Elliott.’ 

I pulled out a handful of loose change from my pockets and started to count it, but Seamus was already walking towards a chippy. Inside he ordered four portions from a man with huge hairy hands who stared at us suspiciously. He rang the total up on the till and Seamus pointed at me. I put my handful of change on the counter, making £1 piles while a queue started to form behind us. 

‘Raided your piggy bank have you?’ The man said as I took out my last coin. I checked all my pockets frantically, feeling humiliated and annoyed at Seamus who’d walked off.

‘I’m 20 pence short.’

The man sighed and tapped the top of the till with his hands to show he wasn’t negotiating. 

‘Here you go,’ Seamus said, returning and handing the man a shiny 20 pence piece.

The man wiped his head with the back of his hands. ‘Open or wrapped?’

‘Open please, and plenty of salt and vinegar,’ Seamus said, triumphantly.

Back outside we sat down on the harbour wall with our legs dangling over the side as the tide approached. 

‘Where’d you get the money from?’ Gulfam asked Seamus.

‘From the little lifeboat.’

‘That’s a charity collection box.’

‘Do you want me to take your chips back then?’ Seamus said grabbing the top of her chip cone.

‘Get lost,’ Guflam said, shoving him away like he was an annoying brother. We started to eat our chips and watched the tide swallow up the beach we’d walked on earlier until there was no sand left. You shook your chip paper so that the last scraps fell into the waves below and I handed Seamus a napkin to wipe off the big dollop of ketchup on the side of his mouth.

‘Thanks mum,’ he said, grinning at me.

 I looked out to sea at a passenger ferry and imagined the four of us as a misfit family going on an adventure to another country, until it disappeared over the horizon.

‘We’re going to have to head back soon,’ I said, scrunching my chip wrapper into a tight ball and taking out a packet of chewing gum.  

‘Head back? Are you joking?’ Gulfam said, looking betrayed and I wondered if she’d had the same thoughts as me. 

‘One day we’ll be able to go where we want,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘But right now we only have two choices: hospital or go back to our homes.’

‘Just give me some of your gum,’ she said, picking up pebbles from a pile that had been left on the wall.

‘You don’t think sometimes, do you?’ you said, while you emptied Gulfam’s pockets so that she didn’t swallow them.

I looked at you, hurt but hoping you might explain. You mouthed something at me, but I didn’t understand what you were saying. In the car I thought about the pebbles you’d taken from her, and I couldn’t stop myself asking another question. 

‘Gulfam, when did you start swallowing things?’

You hit my thigh, and as I rubbed the numbness, I gave myself a hard time for always asking intrusive questions. 

Twenty minutes away from the hospital Gulfam turned round from the front seat. ‘It started with tiny buttons.’

‘Gulfam, you don’t have to answer his question,’ you said.

‘I don’t live in a big house like you Elliott. I was in a home before,’ Gulfam said, starting to pick at her nails as she spoke. ‘I found a bag of them in the carer’s cupboard. I used to sneak in there and swallow them. It was quiet and I liked it, there’s nothing more to it.’

‘Right, shall we play eye spy then,’ Seamus said. ‘I spy with my little eye something beginning with M.’

‘Whose buttons were they?’ I said, ignoring Seamus.

‘They were for a cardigan that one of the carers was making for her daughter. She was a nice white lady and she used to chat to me in her breaks.’ Gulfam paused, for a moment. ‘I think it was going to be a pink cardigan.’ 

‘I’ll play on my own then. Money! No, we haven’t got any of that,’ Seamus said.

‘But why did you swallow them?’ I wasn’t going to stop now.

‘Why do you cut?’ Gulfam replied instantly.

I thought hard but couldn’t think what to say. 

‘You don’t have an answer either,’ she said, repeatedly pushing the seat button and then clicking the buckle back in again.  

Then you joined in. ‘To stop thinking about anything else and to punish yourself,’ you said, lifting the fog from my brain. 

‘I didn’t want to punish myself,’ Guflam said, letting her hands rest on her lap. ‘But I liked the feel of the four little holes on my tongue and only thinking about the button travelling down inside me.’

Getting closer to the hospital I’m panicked by the feeling I get when I go somewhere you and I used to be together. All I can think about is your absence, like a child clinging onto limp string after their balloon has burst.

‘I think we should head back,’ I say.

‘You know they’ll kill us if we don’t get this story,’ Ray replies.

‘Can you drop me off at the train station? I’ll take my chances.’ I know the way they want me to write the story, and I can’t do it. ‘I’d be incredibly unlucky if she came out and spoke to anyone.’

‘Yep, but you’ll lose your job if she does.’

‘Let me out here please.’ I pointed to a loading bay where a delivery van was indicating to leave.

‘But the train station is still another mile down the road.’

I insist that we stop and step onto the pavement. There’s a part of me that wants Jade to talk to the other reporters, so I get the sack. That’s what I always do, force someone else to make the decision rather than say no.

On the train I pull out my phone and see that Dr Trieste has replied to my message. I open it.

‘I’ve watched your video. Have you?’

I click on the video and put my headphones on. I hear your voice counting us down till it’s time to start acting. But it’s not the timeless voice in my head. It’s warm and full of the nervous excitement of that day. I switch it off and bury it in my bag.