When I told the teacher at my interview she said that might be a bit childish and perhaps I’d be better off with a different subject?
‘Like what?’ I said.
‘Something you’d like to learn more about? Space travel? The history of the Olympics? British politics? The Kardashians?’
‘Do you think I’m an idiot?’ I said. ‘The Kardashians?’
‘They’re very popular.’
I told her that fairy stories are not just for children, that they’re all around us in video games, on TV, in movies.
‘There’s an opera called “Bluebeard’s Castle”,’ I said. ‘There’s a “Cinderella” ballet.’
‘What exactly is it about fairy tales that intrigues you?’ she said.
‘They teach you stuff. Like how to fight your way through terrible ordeals and get to a happy ever after.’
‘Would that be a prince?’ said the teacher.
‘No way! It’s more like when you’re lost in a forest and you stumble across a house with a light on and know you’re going to be safe.’
‘So the protagonist has to earn their happy ever after?’ said the teacher.
‘Yeah – like there’s always a way out, but you’ve got to find it. Fairy tales teach you to have hope while you’re looking.’
‘Well, you sound as if you know what you’re talking about.’ She smiled. ‘I shall look forward to reading your dissertation.’
Her smile reminded me of the ones I used to get in Drama – you are a pleasure to teach. It’s wonderful having you in my class.
Ben propped himself against me and we sat on the grass eating slices of pizza. As sixth formers we had those gate passes I once envied Cerys for and we spent almost every lunchtime in the park.
‘So,’ he said, ‘how about a film about snow?’
‘It’s September,’ I reminded him. ‘It won’t snow for weeks.’
‘A film about ice cream. About ice. About draughty houses.’
It was so hot we fantasized about cold as if it was something we might never feel again. The heat literally throbbed. But I still wanted Ben to be propped against me.
It was a fragile thing. A friendship growing into something new. I saw less that he was gangly and just a touch nerdy and more that his kindness shone like a light inside him. I never had to think of anything to say, I just said stuff. If we met up, I knew it would be fun. Everything we did felt adventurous. I’d never once felt as if he might snap at me or put me down. He was always interested. He asked good questions and listened to the answers. He didn’t do hot and cold. He didn’t play those kinds of games. He didn’t get me to do stuff he wasn’t brave enough to do himself. He didn’t hide. His emotions were right there on the surface to see.
He had plenty of irritating habits too. Right now, he was using his hand as a plate and a massive chunk of pizza had fallen on his jeans. He struggled to sit up, leaving a damp patch on my shirt where he’d been pressing against me, and brushed himself down. He had tomato sauce smeared across his right cheek and a piece of pesto on his tooth. I passed him a napkin and he blew his nose on it, which wasn’t what I meant at all, but he had hay fever and had been sniffing all day.
‘Come on,’ he said, stuffing the napkin in his pocket. ‘We must be able to think of something. How about a movie about pizza? We can splash out on taste tests.’
We had to pitch an idea to our group by the end of lunchtime. Each group had a budget of a hundred pounds and six weeks to make a film. The others in our group were new students. They didn’t know about my monstrous reputation because they’d only joined the school in sixth form. As Ben had said – a fresh start.
‘How about a movie about women and work?’ I said.
‘Because of your mum?’
‘Because she still does the cooking and cleaning when she gets home, even though she’s been working in a shop all day.’
‘Stereotyping of gender roles,’ Ben said.
‘What’s that?’
‘John being a twat. The presence of a capable woman threatens him, so he punishes her.’
Mum had got more capable, it was true. She left for work in the morning leaving lists and instructions pinned to the fridge. John was expected to tidy away the breakfast things and get the shopping and prepare a meal and collect Iris from school and take her to the park or on play dates. He always collected Iris, but he mostly refused to do the other things and spent most of the day locked in his study tinkering with his dream house design.
‘You think he’s depressed?’ I asked Ben.
‘I think he’s in shock.’
‘You think she’ll kick him out?’
‘Sadly not. She loves him, and for some inexplicable reason she needs him.’
It was because she believed in soulmates. But I didn’t want to tell Ben that in case he thought I was flirting.
We’d been on a few walks on weekends. Not date walks, but friend walks – getting-away-from-the-flat walks. We walked the cast-iron tunnel stretching beneath the Thames, descending beside the Cutty Sark in Greenwich, and emerging at the Island Gardens on the other side of the river. We found a plague pit in a churchyard and a pub with an antique hangman’s noose outside the window. One day we filmed butterflies and herons in the Ecology Park and had a picnic in the meadow. Another day we got a boat from Westminster Pier to the Thames Barrier. Later, we watched the sun go down over Parliament Hill and ate chips from a van on the way back to the tube station. And everywhere we went, we took snippets of film. Ben was making a montage of London as part of his portfolio for film school.
‘How about a film about an upside-down world?’ Ben said. ‘There’s a French movie where a bloke hits his head and wakes up in a matriarchal society. We could do something like that. You can play a girl who wakes up one morning and discovers she’s the power holder.’
‘In charge of her controlling stepfather?’
‘In charge of the world.’
‘Can I fly?’
Ben smiled his lovely tilting smile. ‘Sure, but you really have to do it. Special effects are beyond the budget.’
I stood up and flapped my arms. Ben hid behind his fingers. ‘I’m not looking.’
‘You’re allowed to look. Now I’m the power holder, women can fly even when men are watching.’ I clambered onto a bench and flapped my arms some more. Ben lay on his back on the grass and grinned up at me. I stood on the metal armrest at the end of the bench and launched myself, leaping up as high as I could and beating my arms. For a millisecond I imagined lifting, air flowing under and over my wings like water in a river. But it was only a millisecond. I landed squarely on the grass and sank down cross-legged next to Ben. ‘I need a bit more practice.’
He laughed. ‘We’ll practise every day.’
It was the ‘we’ that let me notice the gap between his T-shirt and the top of his jeans. It was the ‘we’ that let my eyes linger there, that allowed my gaze to travel up and meet his.
‘What?’ he said, smiling. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
I smiled back at him, gentle and slow. The sun-baked grass beneath us radiated heat.
‘Let’s make a movie about happiness, Ben.’
‘Seriously?’
‘We can blow the budget doing stuff we like.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
I reached for my bag and pulled out my notebook. I headed a page: What brings you joy? I flashed the header at Ben.
‘You’re asking me?’
I nodded.
Our eyes met. That tilting smile again. ‘Making a movie with you.’
‘Well, yours is an easy fix.’ I scribbled it down, laughing.
‘It goes well with our movie about fear,’ Ben said. ‘You’re aware of that?’
‘Our movie?’
‘It had your name attached, right? So I’d say it was ours.’ He tapped the paper. ‘It’s a good question. Would you interview people?’
‘Me?’
‘You’d be
great at getting to the core of things. I bet people say one thing first and then, when persuaded by an intrepid reporter, they say other stuff – deep stuff, you know? It could be a real weepie.’
‘It’s supposed to be about joy!’ But I loved how he took me seriously, was prepared to accept my idea as worthwhile, didn’t try and argue me down or stamp his own vision on top. I imagined interviewing people I knew.
What brings you joy?
Iris would say giving up ballet (who knew she hated it after all these years?). Kass would say discovering himself. Cerys would say embracing chaos – her law degree was forced to find balance with a hectic new social life. And Mum? She’d say John. Over and over like an incantation. Although there’d been some days lately, when she might say me and Iris. Or even her new job.
And John? Would I dare ask him?
He was mostly snappish and irritable. He was unemployed and pissed off. But every now and then he smiled that golden smile and it wasn’t fake or manipulative, but genuine. Had losing power made him happier?
‘We could mix interviews with the group doing fun stuff,’ I said. ‘We can hang out in cool places and take footage of beautiful things.’
‘How about an interwoven narrative?’ Ben tapped his fingers on the pad. ‘How about – alien girl interviews humans to try and gain secrets of happiness for her own sad race? You play the girl, of course.’
‘Ah, but can I fly?’
‘That’s a given.’
We were both laughing as we heard the distant bell. Ben glanced at his phone. ‘We’re going to be late, but you fancy pitching this to the group when we get back?’
We scrambled up, grabbed our bags and started back across the park towards school. I was feverish with ideas. What brought me joy? Rushing to a lesson, half-dizzy with heat while buzzing with thoughts for a movie. Knowing that in ten minutes I’d pitch it and feel the wonderful tug of an audience. I’d want to bring them close, to tell them a story that grabbed them and pulled them in.
It was hot now, but soon autumn would kick in and we’d wake to mist hanging in the air and go to sleep to the smell of wood smoke. The cycle of things made me happy. The ash tree beginning to lose its leaves again. Iris and her new mate Charlie fending off wasps from their jam sandwiches with a fishing net and hooting with laughter like a pair of tree sprites. Mum watching a programme about ten items that make up the perfect working wardrobe. Ben’s smile. Meryam taking Mum out for regular girls’ nights and John staying in to look after Iris. Ben’s smile again, because he was still doing it, even though we were breathless and late for class.
Our fingers brushed, and it was like something electric between us. Like we were alight with possibility.
Stories are about transformation, about starting as one thing and ending as another. And in the middle, when you don’t know what’s going to happen, all you have is hope. It’s the thing fairy tales teach us.
But by the end, when you’ve fought hard and faced all the challenges, you’ll discover something amazing – that joy exists in the world.
And you deserve it.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Nathalie Abi-Ezzi, Katherine Davey, Patrice Lawrence, Anna Owen and Elly Shepherd for asking difficult questions, pointing out new pathways and energetically cheering me on.
Thanks to Marion Scott for early reading and long walks rammed with good talks.
Thanks to Louis and Archie Hill, for their radiant brilliance in all things.
Thanks to the awesome Bella Pearson for hours spent exploring narrative.
Thanks to David Fickling for his continued faith. And to all the splendid people who work with him at DFB. You lot are family.
Thanks to Catherine Clarke – always kind and often fierce. This is the best combination in an agent and I am so very glad you’re on my team. Also, thanks to the marvellous women at Felicity Bryan Associates.
Thanks to Andrew St. John for inventing long-papering! And for walking the worlds with me.
Finally, thanks to my tribe – the wonderful women in my life. You know who you are. I hope I tell you enough how much I value you.
Helpline Information
If you or anyone close to you has been affected by any of the issues in Furious Thing, here are some organisations in the UK that offer help, advice and support.
Living Without Abuse – for those suffering emotional, psychological and mental abuse. 0808 80 200 28 / www.lwa.org.uk
Relate – for those in unhealthy relationships who need help. [email protected] / www.relate.org.uk
Galop – Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans Domestic Abuse Helpline. 0800 999 5428 / http://www.galop.org.uk/
Samaritans – for those experiencing distress, despair or suicidal thoughts. 116 123 / [email protected] / www.samaritans.org
Women’s Aid – for those affected by domestic abuse. 0808 2000 247 / [email protected] / www.womensaid.org.uk
Women’s Aid Ireland: 1800 341 900 / [email protected] / www.womensaid.ie
Runaway Helpline – for anyone thinking of running away from home due to physical or emotional abuse. 116 000 / [email protected] / www.runawayhelpline.org.uk
Rights of Women – provides free, confidential legal advice. 020 7251 6577 / [email protected] / www.rightsofwomen.org.uk
Southall Black Sisters – if you are Asian, African-Caribbean or other minority, and experiencing abuse. Provides support in English, Hindi, Punjabi, Gujarati and Urdu (interpreters are used for other languages). 0208 571 0800 / https://southallblacksisters.org.uk/
Refuge – for those affected by all types of abuse. [email protected] / www.refuge.org.uk
Childline – for anyone under 19 needing support. 0800 1111 / www.childline.org.uk
National Domestic Violence Helpline – for confidential, non-judgmental emotional support and information 0808 2000 247.
Lifeline – Australian national helpline, will put you in contact with a crisis service in your state. 13 11 14 / www.lifeline.org.au
It’s Not OK – New Zealand based support for anyone suffering abuse in their family. 0800 456 450 / [email protected] / www.areyouok.org.nz
As Lexi says: ‘Joy exists in the world. And you deserve it.’
Also by Jenny Downham:
Before I Die
You Against Me
Unbecoming
Copyright
FURIOUS THING
First published in 2019
by David Fickling Books, 31 Beaumont Street, Oxford, OX1 2NP
This ebook edition first published in 2019
All rights reserved
Text © JENNY DOWNHAM, 2019
The right of JENNY DOWNHAM to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
ISBN 978–1–78845–127–7
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A.
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