Superpowerless

by Chris Priestley

  David frowns. A van sounds its horn and drowns out David’s muttered response. He thinks Tilly is walking off but she is just suggesting that they move back away from the road and stop blocking the pavement.

  ‘Boys like you always complain that girls like me go out with boys like Finn – or Matt or Dylan,’ she says when they are standing together beside the post office. ‘But the fact is, those are the boys who ask us out while boys like you are standing on the sidelines moaning.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ says David. ‘So it was just a matter of me asking?’

  Tilly steps forward and jabs a finger towards him.

  ‘Look – if you’d have asked Ellen out after the trip to the Lakes she’d have said yes, but you didn’t, did you? You didn’t have the nerve or maybe you didn’t want to –’

  ‘I wanted to,’ says David quietly.

  ‘So you didn’t have the nerve. That’s not her fault, is it? Don’t have a go at her – or me. We work with what we’ve got.’

  She laughs at this thought. David sighs. Has it all really been this simple all along? Just been a matter of who had the nerve. He thinks he prefers the idea that he wasn’t attractive enough to it all actually just being down to his cowardice.

  ‘Besides,’ says Tilly, ‘you didn’t even notice me.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Yeah – me. I always kinda liked you, but you never noticed. Or maybe you did but you weren’t interested.’

  It’s true. He hadn’t noticed.

  ‘You liked me?’

  ‘Yeah – a bit. Don’t get carried away. Does that seem so bizarre?’

  ‘Honestly? Yes, it does.’

  It absolutely does.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I just never imagined a girl like you would be interested in someone like me.’

  ‘Well, I was,’ she says, smiling.

  ‘OK,’ says David.

  He stares at her, waiting for the punchline or the laugh or whatever it is that’s going to signal that she’s taking the piss, but it never happens. Tilly sighs out another big breath and shoves her hands deep into her jacket pockets.

  ‘Look – I really had better get going,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah,’ says David. ‘I know. Me too.’

  Come on, come on. She’s walking away.

  ‘I do too,’ he says.

  ‘What?’ she says, turning round.

  ‘Like you. I like you too.’

  She grimaces.

  ‘I don’t want you to think I told you about splitting up with Finn because I wanted you to –’

  ‘Sure,’ said David. ‘Course. I wasn’t, you know …’

  He nods. She smiles. They stand for a few long seconds before she eventually waves and walks away. And David watches her and watches her until there’s nothing left to watch.

  Chapter 44

  The Opposite of a Magnet

  It’s a while before the door opens and an eternity before Joe seems to know what to say or do as he stands there looking at David on the doorstep.

  ‘Hi,’ he says eventually. ‘All right?’

  David nods.

  ‘I wondered if you were doing anything.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Joe. ‘I am actually.’

  ‘Oh?’ says David.

  ‘Yeah, so …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What?’ says Joe.

  ‘What are you doing – exactly?’ says David.

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘I’m just curious.’

  ‘Listen – why are you here?’

  ‘Is that David?’ says Joe’s mother from the kitchen.

  ‘Yes!’ shouts Joe with a frown.

  ‘Well, don’t keep him standing on the doorstep. Ask him in.’

  ‘He can’t!’ shouts Joe. ‘He’s got to –’

  ‘Well, maybe just a few minutes,’ says David, barging past him and into the hallway.

  ‘David!’ says Dr Jardine. ‘We haven’t seen you for a while. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. You?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you,’ she says. ‘How did the exam results go?’

  ‘I did OK, thanks.’

  ‘Of course you did. Clever boys, the both of you. I had the feeling you and Joe had fallen out and –’

  ‘Mum!’ says Joe. ‘Don’t be embarrassing!’

  Dr Jardine rolls her eyes and walks away tutting to her-self.

  ‘See you later, David!’ she calls over her shoulder.

  ‘Why are you here?’ says Joe.

  ‘Well, that’s nice,’ says David.

  ‘I think you ought to go.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ says David. ‘Stop being such a dick.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ says David. ‘Really sorry.’

  Joe says nothing.

  ‘You were right and I was wrong. About everything. I wish I could go back in time and do everything differently but I can’t. I think I went a bit crazy.’

  ‘A bit?’

  David smiles.

  ‘OK – quite a bit. And I know you stuck up for me and I know I never said thanks, so I’m saying thanks now.’

  He scratches his forehead, searching for the kinds of words that might convey the great complexity of the feelings he is experiencing, but all he comes up with is:

  ‘Do you think we could just go back to being mates?’

  Joe sighs and looks away. A matter of days ago and this would have been enough for David to give up and go home.

  ‘It would have been easier not to come,’ says David.

  ‘No one asked you to.’

  ‘I know you’re really hacked off with me, and if I was you I’d feel the same. But then what? If you want to stay mad at me forever I can’t stop you, but I just wanted to say that I still want to be mates if you do.’

  Joe nods.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘OK, you know what I mean – or OK, you still want to be mates?’

  Joe shakes his head.

  ‘You are so annoying, do you know that?’

  David smiles. Joe – after a moment – smiles too.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ says David, taking off his backpack and unzipping it.

  He hands Joe a comic. Captain America and the Falcon #171 (guest-starring the Black Panther).

  ‘You see,’ says David. ‘A black superhero – and he’s flying!’

  Joe smiles, nods and hands it back. David pushes it back and says it’s his to keep.

  ‘I thought these were like precious antiques,’ says Joe.

  ‘They are – that’s why I’m giving it to you.’

  Joe grins and looks at the cover again, which shows Captain America, the Black Panther and the Falcon all leaping forward together.

  ‘Although technically,’ says Joe, pointing to the Falcon, ‘he can’t really fly, can he? Not like Superman? It’s only because of these wing things he has.’

  David shakes his head.

  ‘OK – well, if you don’t want it …’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want it,’ says Joe, clutching it to his chest.

  ‘Anyway – I’ll get off,’ says David. ‘I’ll see you around.’

  He turns and heads for the door.

  ‘No!’ says Joe. ‘Since you’re here and everything …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know – we could play tennis. My mum’ll lend you her racket.

  David nods.

  ‘OK.’

  And that is that. Joe fetches the rackets and they set off for the courts, which – and they both privately take it as a sign of some sort – are empty.

  They begin playing with the kind of polite restraint that suits this restatement of their vows of friendship, but neither can maintain it, and it soon descends into the usual good-natured arguments over every line call and foot fault.

  They play for a long time – longer than normal – and don’t stop until a group of adults i
s standing loitering just outside the court, frowning and looking at their watches. They will remember this game for the rest of their lives. They can’t know that yet of course – and yet they do.

  ‘So …’ says Joe as they sit on the bench afterwards.

  David nods.

  ‘Yeah.’

  These words of deliberation float away on a river of silent rumination.

  ‘So,’ says Joe again, eventually, ‘I never did find out. Did you and Ellen – you know?’

  David grins.

  ‘It’s a long story …’

  ‘Go on …’

  David sighs and then gives him a very edited version of the dreaded weekend away.

  ‘We’ve split up. Not that we were ever together really.’

  Joe shakes his head and smiles wryly.

  ‘I feel for you,’ he says finally. ‘But you know, it’s probably for –’

  ‘For the best – yeah, I know.’

  Joe laughs and David joins him after a moment.

  ‘You’ll never guess what though,’ says David.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I bumped into Tilly and, well, I don’t know – there was a bit of a thing there.’

  ‘With Tilly?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You? Honestly?’

  ‘Yes – honestly.’

  Joe stares at him, clutching the sides of his head.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that you appear to have become some kind of a babe magnet when previously you were a … I don’t know. What’s the opposite of a magnet?’

  ‘A magnet,’ says David.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The opposite of a magnet,’ says David. ‘I mean, technically the opposite of a magnet is another magnet only at the other –’

  ‘You see?’ says Joe, waving his arms around. ‘This is what I mean. You talk like this and still … I’m doing something wrong.’

  David laughs.

  ‘What can I say?’ he says. ‘When you’ve got it, you’ve got it.’

  Ordinarily this is where it would end: in random banter. But David decides that he is, for once, going to tell Joe something of what has really been going on in his life for the last few weeks. If there is to be a re-invention, then why not start here and now?

  Chapter 45

  No One Is Watching

  David sits on the bench in the graveyard. He has divested himself of every secret he has now. All except one. He is not ready to give this one up. Not yet.

  He looks up at the church tower, taking in the window and the crenellated top. A casual observer might not notice the scars of relatively new mortar around the small window near the top.

  David’s eyes were always drawn to that part of the tower, but he had learned to stop his mind being pulled to there too, and usually refused to give room to the memories that it evoked. But not today.

  His father had been a devout and outspoken atheist, but he loved old churches and any trip they took would never be complete without him ushering them into some cold, damp medieval pile and pointing out the features to David – some dog-toothed moulding here, a carved corbel there.

  He would take David into the choir stalls hunting for misericords and show him the worn engraved skulls on old tombstones set into the chancel floor, the iridescent traces of ancient paintings on wooden screens.

  He had stepped in to help when their local church had had problems. The top of the Norman tower had become unsafe and large pieces of masonry had tumbled dangerously into the graveyard. Some people said it had been struck by lightning, but David’s father was doubtful and said it was more likely just decay.

  His father had offered his services as an architect for nothing and oversaw the work that was paid for by a trust that he himself set up. He had been in the local paper.

  When the scaffolding was in place, David’s father had asked him if he would like to go up to the top of the tower and see the work. David had looked up nervously from the graveyard and felt he had no choice.

  His father had produced an old key from his pocket and grinned and they both went inside the church, down the nave to an ancient wooden door set into the wall to the right of the rood screen.

  The arched door was small and opened with a hollow clunk to reveal a narrow spiral stone staircase. His father told him to go first – that way, he said, he would catch David if he fell.

  David had never thought he had a fear of heights, but something about the spiral staircase played with his balance and sense of direction, which, added to the feeling of being pursued, albeit by his father, meant that by the time he reached the door at the top and fumbled for the handle, his heart was pounding and he was wheezing asthmatically.

  ‘It’s OK,’ his father had said. ‘It’s perfectly safe.’

  David pushed open the door, squinting into the relative brightness of what was in reality a gloomy, cloud-covered day. A brisk wind had made him even more scared and he held tightly to the open door as he edged onto the leaded roof.

  His father took him by the shoulders and coaxed him towards the crenellated wall that ran around the tower top. One corner of the roof was cordoned off and David could see where the parts of the wall had fallen away. The tops of scaffolding poles could be seen over the edge.

  ‘Come here, David,’ said his father. ‘I want to show you something.’

  And his father had held out his hand and David had nervously taken it and let his father lead him under the plastic tape to the side of the tower that was being repaired.

  ‘Follow me. Don’t be scared. I’ll help you over.’

  With that his father had stepped onto a box and climbed over the parapet wall onto the scaffolding below, holding out his hands to help David.

  ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said his father. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’

  David had hesitated and then given his father both hands to be helped up and over the wall to stand alongside him. The scaffolding plank beneath their feet shifted slightly and David had anxiously grabbed a nearby pole.

  ‘Look out, not down,’ his father had said. ‘There’s nothing scary about a view.’

  David hadn’t really been convinced by this thought, and though he tried to look out, the wide, untroubled view only reminded him of how high they were. The wind too. The trees at the graveyard’s edge swayed and David imagined – or hoped he was imagining – that the scaffolding swayed with them.

  ‘Look at this,’ said his father.

  David had looked, grateful for the distraction, and his father was standing next to a window – much larger than it had looked from the ground – and beneath it, below the sill, there was a stone face.

  David had edged closer to look at it. It was frozen in an expression of horror. Its eyes bulged and its mouth was wide open as though it had just that second seen something utterly terrifying.

  The carving was crude but still sharp, despite being distressed by time and weather, moss growing in the open mouth, pale grey lichen on the staring eyes.

  ‘Amazing,’ said David’s father. ‘So high up on the tower that no one but the men who built it could know how well made it was, and yet still the sculptor did his best – did it as well as if it had been intended for the porch for all to see on their way into church. Touch it.’

  David had done as he was asked and reached out and let his fingers trace the features in the cold stone. His father had put his hand on David’s back.

  ‘You may be the first person to touch that since it was put there all those centuries ago. Think about it.’

  David did. He did think about it. It made him feel even dizzier, like he was falling back through time.

  ‘He knew that God was watching, do you see?’ his father had said. ‘He knew that God would know if he skimped in any way.’

  ‘But you don’t believe in God,’ David had said, confused.

  ‘No,’ said his father q
uietly. ‘Sometimes I wish I did. It’s hard sometimes, to feel that no one is watching.’

  David had looked up into the cold grey sky.

  ‘Do you believe, David?’

  He had shaken his head. He saw nothing in those clouds – no hint of something beyond them – and never had.

  ‘Do you see the river there?’ his father had said, pointing out at the flatlands in front of them. ‘Curving away over there.’

  David had followed his gaze and nodded. The water had in that instant caught the light like a sabre.

  ‘Ugly thing, isn’t it?’ his father had said.

  David frowned, not really seeing what his father meant. It hadn’t seemed ugly to him at all. It was a river catching the light – splendid in its own way.

  ‘Look at it,’ he had continued, as though David’s failure to grasp his father’s meaning was due to some lack of observation.

  ‘See how it slices through the earth like a great wound, the land on either side now tamed and bullied into service.

  ‘All of that would once have been marshlands, until they drained these fens and put in their pumps to keep the water at bay – channelling it all away into that river.

  ‘You know that if they stopped those pumps these lands would flood within weeks. Imagine that.’

  He had tried but could not see why his father found this idea so attractive.

  ‘Don’t you see? This landscape is a lie. It wants to be something else.’

  He had then scowled and spoken bitterly.

  ‘I sometimes feel that we are all being pulled into that river – to be carried away in its filthy waters. I hate it. I’ve always hated it.’

  David had looked at the river again, but he could not make himself hate it the way his father so clearly did. It was just water.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be great to fly?’ his father had suddenly said.

  David had nodded, nervously looking down at the graveyard far below.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be great just to be able to leap into the air and take off and just fly to wherever you wanted? To sail through the air like a bird? Huh? Like a superhero?’

  ‘Yeah. It would,’ David had said.

  David’s father had leaned on the scaffolding barrier, grinning.

  ‘Maybe we can.’