‘You don’t want fifty quid either, I suppose?’
David shrugs. What would he do with fifty pounds?
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ says his mother, putting his mug of coffee in front of him. ‘You’re just as sensible as Holly as far as I can see. I hope you didn’t agree with all that tosh Marie was saying about boys and babysitting. Honestly! She makes me so cross sometimes. It’s like she –’
‘I don’t want to do it anyway,’ says David, frowning. ‘So what difference does it make?’
‘OK,’ says his mother. ‘No need to get grumpy. I was just saying.’
‘Why do you have to go on about everything?’
His mother sighs.
‘Do you know what?’ she says. ‘You’re right. Do what you like.’
David expects more, but his mother has already turned away to drink her own coffee and read the paper. David goes to the cupboards and pulls out a box of cereal and a bowl. He pours milk in and begins to read the comic he’s brought down with him.
‘David,’ says his mother when he’s finished his cereal and taken himself off to the sofa to carry on reading – or at least pretending to, because his mind has not finished playing with the images from last night. ‘I have to wait in for this call from the ad agency. Do you think you could pop out to the shops for me?’
David sighs and puts the comic down.
‘Jesus, David,’ she says. ‘I haven’t asked for one of your kidneys. You say I make such a big deal of everything.’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘There isn’t much,’ says his mother, shoving a note towards him across the table. ‘But make sure the butter is unsalted. Unsalted. Remember.’
‘OK, OK,’ he says. ‘Unsalted.’
‘And don’t –’
The phone rings and his mother leaps to grab it.
‘Don’t what?’ says David.
‘George,’ says his mother, frowning and shooing him away. ‘Hi. Good of you to call. I appreciate it. How’s the weather over there?’
David shakes his head, picks up the note, shoves it in his pocket, puts on his shoes and jacket and leaves the house, slamming the door behind him.
He moves along the aisles methodically, grabbing items from the list and putting them in the wire basket, but all that he can think about is the next time Holly will be in his room.
‘Hey,’ says a voice behind him, and he turns to see Ellen Emerson, baffled a little, seeing her out of context – and by her acknowledging him at all. He struggles to remember the last time she did that.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘You jumped!’ she says.
He smiles. He had indeed jumped. Inside he still was.
‘Nervous?’ she asks.
David shrugs.
‘Why would I be nervous?’
‘Guilty conscience? Exam results?’
David has not given the exam results a single second’s thought. He knows he’s done OK. He smiles at the guilty-conscience thing though to make it look like it is a joke and not the actual truth which is what it is.
‘You don’t live round here, do you?’ he says.
‘Me?’ says Ellen. ‘No. But my dad does. I call him my ex-dad to wind him up. He doesn’t live at home any more.’
‘Oh.’
Ellen shrugs.
‘Old news. They divorced a couple of years ago. Now he has this girlfriend who’s not that much older than me. It’s really creepy actually.’
She grimaces and shudders.
‘Do you miss having him around?’
Ellen shakes her head.
‘Not really. That sounds really bad, doesn’t it? But it’s true. I don’t.’
She clamps her hand over her mouth and looks pained.
‘Oh shit – sorry, David. I wasn’t thinking.’
David shakes his head.
‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
And weirdly, it is fine. He isn’t just saying it to make Ellen feel better. Although he is also doing that – he is saying it to make her feel better. He surprises himself that he cares.
‘But you do miss him, I bet?’ she says. ‘I bet he wasn’t an asshole like my dad.’
‘Yeah,’ says David with a half-smile. ‘I mean no. Yes – I miss him. No to the asshole bit.’
No one ever actually talks about his dad. This feels weird. Good weird.
‘I remember when they told us in class,’ she says, looking at him with eyes that sparkled suddenly, her voice faltering. ‘Everyone was like … But maybe you don’t like people talking about it?’
He hates people talking about it. Usually.
‘No – it’s fine.’
And it is.
‘I did want to say something. You know – at the time. But I didn’t know how. And then you were …’
She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.
‘Weird?’ suggests David.
She laughs.
‘Yeah. A bit.’
‘I went a bit crazy, you know?’
She nods and is clearly happy to leave it there, but for once David wants to continue.
‘I was an idiot. I started making stuff up all the time – lying when I didn’t even need to.’
‘Why though?’ says Ellen. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
He shrugs.
‘I don’t know. I suppose the real world just seemed so shit. I pissed a lot of people off. Joe was the only one who stuck with me. And my mum …’
‘Do you get on with your mum?’
‘She’s OK,’ says David. ‘It’s been tough for her. I’ve been … I don’t mean to be, but …’
‘You don’t have to explain to me.’
‘I just wish I could hit the rewind button sometimes. You know what I mean?’
‘Tell me about it. Does she work, your mum?’
‘Yeah. She’s an illustrator.’
‘A what?’
No one ever knows.
‘She’s an artist – an illustrator. She does all kinds of drawings and paintings for books and magazines and even packaging stuff. She’s just been doing these adverts for someone in America – you know, like massive billboards.’
‘Cool.’
She’s right. It is cool. He wishes he could feel that more when he’s with his mother – like he used to. He used to really love that she drew and painted and they’d spend ages doing that together. The memory troubles him and he shakes it off.
‘So that’s where you get it from. You were always really good at art.’
‘Yeah – I suppose.’
‘Are you going to do art when you …?’
They realise that they are blocking the aisle and move aside to let a woman go by with her trolley. David realises with some surprise that he is extending the conversation deliberately.
‘How come you didn’t come over the other day?’ she asks. ‘In the park?’
David shrugs. Some of the easy-going air evaporates.
‘Joe came over.’
‘I know.’
‘I thought you and Joe Jardine were like best buddies.’
Has Joe said something?
‘We are,’ says David. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t come over.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she says. ‘You don’t like us, do you?’
David shrugs. Is this why she was talking to him. Were the others around? Is this a trick? A test?
‘I don’t dislike everyone.’
She leans forward and whispers conspiratorially.
‘But some. Matt for instance.’
David looks away. She’s right. He hates Matt. But Matt is Ellen’s boyfriend now. What is he supposed to say? Ellen chuckles. She seems to enjoy his discomfort. David rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, preparing to walk away.
‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘He rubs a lot of people up the wrong way. Me too, a lot of the time.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Wha
t?’
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘OK then …’ says Ellen. ‘Are you done? Shall we pay?’
‘Yeah.’
Ellen stands next to him. They queue and pay and then stand outside for a moment. David waits for her to say something.
‘You aren’t a big one for the small talk, are you?’ says Ellen with a grin.
‘No.’
She smiles and David feels he needs to say something else. So he says he has something on his mind. Which is true – but having said it he wasn’t sure why he had. Why is he confiding in Ellen? A girl he barely knows.
‘You want to talk about it?’
Ordinarily he would say no, but maybe he does want to talk about it. Maybe it’s good that he barely knows her. Isn’t that what Mark had said – talk to someone who didn’t know you? Maybe it makes sense. Mark isn’t really a wanker. Mark is a clever guy.
‘I don’t know,’ says David.
But yes – maybe he does.
‘That’s OK,’ she says. ‘I should be getting back anyway.’
Suddenly he knows that this, at least, is something he doesn’t want. If he has to talk to make her stay, then OK. How bad can it be? To just talk?
‘No!’ says David, grabbing her bare arm. ‘Don’t go. I want to tell you.’
She looks at his hand on her arm and David suddenly becomes super-sensitive to the fact that he is touching her smooth skin. He can feel her pulse beating against his palm. He feels the microscopic movements in her muscles, the goosebumps gathering on her flesh. He lets go, checking her face for any sign of annoyance, but she seems OK. Better than OK. She is smiling even.
‘So?’ says Ellen softly. ‘Come on – let’s sit down.’
There is a bench opposite the shop, near the bus stop. They cross the road and sit, David unnerved at being so on view.
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘There’s this girl,’ says David. ‘Well – a woman – I don’t know.’
‘OK …’ says Ellen with a grin.
‘No – it’s not like that,’ says David.
Not like what? What was it not like?
‘She lives round the corner. I’ve known her since I was little. She cleans for us now. She had some kind of trouble at uni and had to drop out and come back to live with her folks and …’
‘And?’
‘And I saw her, you know – with this guy. She was babysitting for friends of ours and she let him in and they were – you know …’
‘Ah – I get it,’ says Ellen. ‘You fancy this woman. What’s her name?’
‘Holly?’ says David. ‘No – Jesus. No. Of course I don’t.’
Why had she said that? David shifted uncomfortably.
‘OK,’ says Ellen, all woman-of-the-worldly. ‘It’s OK to have the hots for someone.’
David wishes he hadn’t told her now. He also wishes he hadn’t sounded quite so outraged at the idea of fancying Holly.
‘How did you see them anyway?’ says Ellen. ‘Were you skulking around in their back garden?’
‘No,’ says David.
What kind of person does she take him for?
‘I can see their house from my bedroom window, that’s all.’
‘But they couldn’t see you?’
‘I’m a long way away,’ says David.
Which was true. She peers at him.
‘You must have good eyesight.’
David shrugs.
‘But if you don’t fancy her,’ says Ellen, ‘why are you even thinking about it? I don’t get it. What’s it got to do with you?’
‘Nothing,’ says David. ‘It’s just that, well, I’m worried about her …’
Ellen raises her eyebrows.
‘You’re worried about her?’
‘Yeah,’ says David, genuinely wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next. ‘She’s had a rough time of it lately – you know, with dropping out of uni, like I said – and I don’t want to see her get into trouble.’
‘That’s so sweet.’
Ellen puts her hand on his thigh, squeezing it gently. It sends a delicious spasm pulsing through David’s entire body. Sitting there with Ellen, talking about Holly. He is suffering a kind of sensory overload. He is losing any facility to edit the information coming through his ears, his eyes, his flesh. Everything – near and far – floods into him. It’s too much. And then …
‘I’d better go,’ she says, getting up and stretching as though nothing had happened.
David stands up too.
‘Yes – me too. Thanks.’
What was he thanking her for? For listening? For squeezing his thigh?
‘You’re welcome, David,’ she says with a smile. ‘Maybe we can talk some more sometime?’
‘No – yeah – that’d be good.’
She smiles and claps her hands together. Her hands are small, pale – the fingers delicate and thin. David can’t take his eyes off them.
‘How about Ben’s party. Are you going to come?’
David screws his face up. Ellen laughs.
‘Come on!’ she says. ‘You have to.’
‘I really don’t.’
‘Listen,’ she says, grabbing his hand. ‘I know what it’s like – being sad. But you can’t make a life out of it. You have to let yourself snap out of it sometime. You’re not a bad person if you enjoy yourself.’
David nods. He has received versions of this bullshit for years but somehow from Ellen it seems to make sense. Well, not exactly sense – but he didn’t care.
‘I know.’
‘Things will get better.’
‘I know.’
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know that at all!
‘Well, then? The party?’
David takes a deep breath. On the one hand he would rather pull his own testicles off than go to the party, but on the other hand Ellen was lovely.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Good,’ she says. ‘Bye, David.’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Bye.’
And she is gone. David walks back to his house, his thigh still tingling from her touch; his mind, now struggling to cope with competing images of Holly and Ellen, has already started to merge them both.
Chapter 11
A Different Kind of Super-Wrong
Ellen, Ellen, Ellen. David walks home washed by successive waves of emotion. A couple of times he has to stop himself taking off and floating away in front of people. His feet won’t stay on the ground. He has to physically shove them downwards to make sure they keep contact. It makes his walk look a little weird as he forces each foot down in opposition to the anti-gravity at work. People stare at him, but he doesn’t care.
‘I thought you were never coming back,’ says his mother when he walks in. ‘I texted you. Did you not get it?’
‘Didn’t have my phone with me,’ says David. ‘Sorry – bumped into Joe.’
‘Joe?’
‘Yeah.’
Why was that so unlikely? David hates it when a lie is just randomly disbelieved for no good reason. His mother shakes her head. David carries the shopping into the kitchen. There is someone sitting at the table.
‘Hi, David.’
It’s Marie. She waves, grinning.
‘Oh – hi, Marie,’ says David.
‘Sorry I kept your mum out so late. Look at you. You’ve got a bit of a rosy glow about you, handsome.’
David can feel all the store of excitement from his meeting with Ellen draining away.
‘My God,’ says David’s mother. ‘Are you flirting with my son now? What is the matter with you?’
Marie laughs. But David can tell that his mother had been serious. Marie shakes her head and smirks.
‘There’s nothing wrong with flirting,’ she says. ‘You should try it yourself sometime. That man last night might have been more –’
‘Shut up, Marie!’ says David’s mother. David can he
ar a real edge of irritation to the tone.
‘What man?’ says David.
‘Do you see?’ she says, looking at Marie.
‘What’s she talking about?’ says David.
‘Nothing. We went for a drink after the movie and a couple of men came over and tried to chat us up. Marie encouraged them for some reason.’
‘Ha!’ says Marie. ‘They only came over because that very good-looking man wanted to speak to you. He was too shy, bless him.’
David’s mother grimaces at Marie, but she just frowns back. Marie has never been one to take a hint. A hint is like a red flag to her – she sees it as encouragement.
‘David’s all right,’ she says. ‘Aren’t you, sweetheart?’
‘I’m fine,’ he says, scowling. ‘I’m going to … I’m just off to my room.’
‘David?’ says his mother.
‘I’m fine. Honest.’
‘You see?’ says Marie. ‘He’s fine.’
This is what is to be expected. David understands that. His father is dead so they all have to move on. His father is dead so his mother can do what she likes now. She can see other men. She might remarry. Everyone just has to move on.
David notices something on the table next to Marie – a pack of cards, but strange ones.
‘What’s that?’ says David pointing to the top card as he walks by.
‘Oh, don’t get her started, for God’s sake,’ says his mother.
Marie smiles up at him.
‘Tarot cards,’ she says. ‘I was going to read them for your mum, but she’s too scared.’
‘I’m not scared,’ says his mother. ‘I just think it’s rubbish. Not the same thing. I’m a little bit scared that you think they make sense though.’
Marie rolls her eyes at David. David frowns.
‘How about you, love?’ she says.
‘No,’ says David. ‘Thanks. I don’t … It’s not my thing really …’
His mother chuckles.
‘He’s being unusually polite,’ she says to Marie, then looks at David. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to pretend.’
‘I don’t know anything about it really,’ says David, still staring at the top card as Marie moves her hand back and forth, gripping the pack.
‘It’s very old,’ says Marie. ‘Tarot.’
‘That doesn’t make it true,’ says his mother. ‘Loads of ideas are old and they’re still nonsense. Lots of the very worst ideas there are happen to be very, very old.’
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