‘Nah, my mam wouldn’t either,’ I say.
‘Becky’s dad was a bit weird, wasn’t he?’ Alicia says, screwing up her face.
‘Yeah, I didn’t like him. He was well pervy.’
‘You reckon? I thought he was a bit dodgy but I wasn’t sure.’
‘Nah, it wasn’t right,’ I say. ‘The way he was looking at you. He must know you’re only fifteen.’
Alicia leans forward, so that her breath tickles my ear.
‘Nearly sixteen,’ she whispers.
I swallow and I think Alicia must notice because she breaks into a giggle and punches me on the arm.
‘You’re a proper gentleman, you know that, Leo Denton?’
I’m about to answer her when a Rihanna song comes on and Alicia lets out this excited little scream and jumps up, grabbing me by the hand. I’ve drunk two cans of Foster’s by now and as I stand up I feel a bit woozy. Alicia seems fine though, swigging from her third Smirnoff Ice as she tugs me towards the music.
‘I don’t really dance,’ I’m saying, but Alicia either can’t hear, or she’s choosing to ignore me. We’re in the centre of the lounge now, sweaty bodies surrounding us. Someone has turned the music up and the house feels like it’s bulging, fit to burst from the booming bass line. Alicia is jumping up and down, more strands of hair falling free, flying around her face.
‘C’mon, Leo!’ she yells over the music. ‘Dance with me!’
I look around. Everyone is moving, flinging their arms around and laughing. I don’t even know where to start.
‘Just do what I do!’ Alicia says, grabbing hold of my hands. And maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s the fact it’s with her, but I start to dance. And it’s not so bad. I’m not so bad at it. I’m just about getting into it when a new song comes on. It’s another R&B number, but slower this time, sexy, and immediately Alicia starts grinding up against me, her bum rubbing against my crotch. I back away a few steps and she turns round in surprise, frowning slightly. Quickly I mime, ‘do you want a drink?’ and she relaxes into a smile and nods, before continuing to dance.
I go to the toilet first, relieved to find it free. Next to the toilet itself there’s a full-length mirror. What’s that all about, I wonder. What kind of weirdo wants to watch themselves take a dump? Becky’s pervy dad, I bet. I wash my hands. My face is very pink. I splash cold water over it, try to cool down.
When I return to the lounge, fresh drinks in hand, Becky has turned the music down and is in the centre of the room, wobbling about on her glittery pink heels.
‘Games time!’ she calls, trying to usher everyone into a circle. Alicia is already sitting cross-legged on the floor. She pats the spot next to her, but before I can make a move towards it, her mate Ruby plonks herself in the space. Alicia offers an apologetic shrug. I sit down where I am, between Matt and some girl with curly brown hair I recognise from school, but whose name I don’t know. Out of what seems like nowhere, Becky produces an empty wine bottle and everyone goes ‘ooooohhhhh!’ like we’re at a pantomime.
‘This game needs no introduction,’ Becky crows. ‘It’s that retro party classic, Spin the Bottle, people!’
There’s lots of whooping.
‘You know the rules, if the bottle points to you it’s time to get down and dirty!’
Yet more whooping.
‘As the birthday girl, I get to spin first.’
Becky crawls into the centre of the room, flashing her knickers to the crowd. I take a nervous sip of beer and go to stand up.
‘Where do you think you’re going, Denton?’ Becky barks.
‘I was gonna sit this one out,’ I say.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ she says. ‘Joining in is compulsory, right, Alicia?’
Alicia blushes.
Reluctantly I sit down. Across the circle Alicia smiles at me. I fake a smile back.
Becky spins. As the bottle turns people clap and yell. I hold my breath, willing it to spin past me. It rests on a kid from my form called Liam. He shuffles on his bum into the centre of the circle. Becky grabs hold of his face with both hands and shoves her tongue down his throat. Everyone screams. I try to catch Alicia’s eye across the circle but she is too busy screaming herself, fingers over her eyes. Becky eventually lets go of Liam. Their mouths are all pink and clown-like from friction and smudged lipstick.
‘Not bad,’ she reports to the circle at large. ‘Six out of ten maybe.’
Liam’s face turns as pink as the lipstick smeared on his chin. It’s his turn to spin. I fixate on the bottle, praying for it not to stop on Alicia.
Couple after couple assemble in the centre of the circle, the girls reporting back on the boys’ performances like it’s an exam – ‘A for effort’, ‘eight out of ten’, ‘needs practice’ etcetera, the boys slinking back to their places triumphant or humiliated. Every spin, I will the bottle not to land on me or Alicia, holding my breath as it inches past each of us. All the time, I keep telling myself they’ll get bored soon and the party can get back to normal.
‘One last spin!’ Becky announces, answering my secret prayer.
I dare to relax a little, convinced luck is on my side. This is why it all feels like a weird dream when suddenly people are yelling my name and I look down and the neck of the bottle is pointing right at me, like the barrel of a gun. I blink, look up. Ruby is kneeling in the centre of the circle, her head cocked to the side.
‘I’m not waiting all night,’ she says coyly. I nod and in what feels like slow motion I edge into the circle on my knees. All the time the whole party is chanting, ‘Leo, Leo!’ and I feel like I’m in the Colosseum in Rome, only instead of being fed to the lions, I’m being fed to Ruby Webber. She’s leaning forwards now and I can see down her top. I’ve never noticed her tits before – how big they are, how round, how if she leans forward much more they might spill out of her top altogether. But none of this matters, because even though Ruby is fit and all that, she isn’t Alicia. I edge closer still, someone leans across and ruffles my hair, telling me to go for it.
I glance across and there she is. Gorgeous Alicia. Chewing on her thumbnail. We lock eyes for a second and she smiles this sort of brave smile as if to say it’s OK. Around me everyone is roaring. Ruby smiles and closes her eyes. I take my chance and kiss her very quickly, just a peck, our lips hardly making contact. Her eyes spring open.
‘Is that it?’ she asks, annoyed and amused all at once.
Around her everyone boos.
I shrug and glance across at Alicia. She is sitting up straight and biting on her lower lip. Becky strides into the circle and puts her hands on my shoulders.
‘I have a feeling lover-boy Leo here is saving himself for a certain someone,’ she crows. A load of the girls dissolve into knowing giggles.
Becky claps her hands together, ‘Right, time to spice things up a bit. A new game!’
She goes into the hall and opens the cupboard under the stairs with a flourish.
‘We’ll spin again and the lucky couple gets ten minutes of heaven – in here!’ Becky says.
She bounces back into the living room as everyone shuffles in to tighten up the circle, ‘Your turn, Leo.’
I take a deep breath and spin the bottle. It seems to turn for an eternity until, finally, it begins to slow, coming to a stop pointing slap-bang at Becky. Everyone starts whooping. Becky shouts them down, holding up her hands in surrender.
‘Sorry, guys, I’m exempt from this round, birthday-girl rules and all that, which means I get to pass to my left, and lo-and-behold, who is sitting to my left but Miss Alicia Baker!’
Alicia blushes furiously. Becky pulls her to her feet and practically frog-marches the two of us into the hallway while everyone claps and cheers, chanting our names.
‘Get in there, my son!’ Matt says, his eyes wide and excited on my behalf. I manage a cocky grin in return.
‘Go on then!’ Becky barks. We squeeze in to the cupboard, nestling between the household debris. It smells damp
and fusty, of rained-on camping gear and stale sleeping bags.
‘Enjoy!’ Becky sing-songs as she slams the door shut and turns out the light, plunging us into darkness. A moment or two later the music starts up, the bass line thudding once more. Alicia and I shift around a little, trying to get comfortable.
‘You OK?’ I ask gruffly.
‘Yeah, fine. You?’
‘Yeah.’
Silence. Alicia breaks it.
‘I’m glad you didn’t snog Ruby properly.’
I swallow. ‘Me too.’
More silence. I hear her take a deep breath.
‘In case you haven’t worked it out yet, I really like you, Leo Denton.’
I feel this weird rush in my chest.
‘And I really like you, Alicia Baker.’
I imagine Alicia grinning in the dark, her dimples deepening and I’m suddenly desperate to touch them, to explore every single bit of her. I feel for her hand in the dark and find it and she’s wrapping her fingers tightly round mine. And then we’re kissing. Just like that, our lips like magnets. And it’s amazing. Not only that, it’s so easy, like the easiest thing in the world. And probably the nicest. At first it’s soft, a bit tentative, like our lips are having a polite little conversation, but then it’s more urgent, hungry, almost like we’re feeding off each other. My arms go around her and hers around me. And I forget about everything. I forget about the fact an ironing board is sticking into my back, I forget about Becky and everyone else at the party just centimetres away from us, I forget about Mam and Tia and Spike and Amber and Harry Beaumont and David Piper and his weird friends, I even forget about Dad. All I can think about is kissing Alicia and my hands on her bare back and how this is the best moment of my life bar none. And she’s making all these mmmmmm noises and then she’s kissing my neck and breathing, ‘Oh, Leo,’ and my God, I’m so turned on it’s unreal. And then she’s putting my hand on her boob and I’m about to explode. It feels so amazing, and the fact that she’s put my hand there, that she wants it there, blows my mind. And then her hands are making their way under my layers, under my hoodie, then my shirt, then my T-shirt, searching out skin.
‘You’re proper ripped, Leo, you’ve got like a full-on six pack!’ she whispers, excitement in her breath, her hands warm against my stomach. All those hours of sit-ups have paid off. I try to enjoy her reaction, but I can’t ignore the familiar anxiety building in my belly. I try to block it out but the anxiety pushes through, like a sprinter accelerating to win the race, and my entire body tenses up. I pull away.
‘Leo, are you all right?’ Alicia asks.
‘Course,’ I lie.
‘No you’re not. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Do you not fancy me or something?’
‘Course I do!’ I almost yell, because the idea of her not realising how much I fancy her is mental. ‘I fancy you loads.’
‘Then why have you stopped?’
‘It’s not you,’ I begin.
‘What? It’s not you, it’s me?’ Alicia says. ‘Jesus.’
‘It’s not a line!’ I say, taking hold of her hands in mine. ‘Listen to me, I like you so much I could burst, and I want to do stuff with you. God, I want to do everything with you. But not here, not in Becky Somerville’s flipping cupboard under the stairs. You’re too special for that,’ I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a mad panic.
Silence. I bite down hard on my lip.
‘You promise you fancy me?’ Alicia says in a small voice.
‘God, Alicia, I fancy you so much it makes me dizzy.’
It’s the right answer because Alicia lets out this really cute little giggle.
There’s a thump on the cupboard door.
‘One more minute!’ Becky yells.
I lean in to kiss Alicia. She kisses me back. Our arms go around each other. I can feel my anxiety shrinking away. I’m back in control.
For the rest of the evening, Alicia and I are glued to each other’s side. For a bit we dance, but mostly we sit on the settee, Alicia’s legs draped over mine, and talk. Alicia tells me about wanting to be a singer but her parents really wanting her to be a doctor, how much she adores her little brother who has Down syndrome, about her old life in London. I tell her about sharing a bedroom with Amber, about the funny stuff Tia comes out with sometimes, about my gran dying when I was twelve and how I still miss her. And it sort of feels good, to be sharing stuff with her, even if I’m carefully editing the bits I’m prepared to share as I go along.
I walk her home. We kiss on the doorstep as the grandfather clock inside strikes twelve. As we break apart Alicia says, ‘Leo, you know the Christmas Ball?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Look, I know it’s ages away, but do you want to go together?’
‘Er, yeah,’ I say. ‘Why not.’
She breaks into a massive grin and kisses me. And it’s amazing all over again.
‘Alicia,’ a man’s voice calls from inside.
‘My dad,’ Alicia says, rolling her eyes. ‘Bang on time.’
She kisses me once more before darting inside.
For a few seconds I’m frozen to the spot, finally able to digest what has just happened.
Alicia likes me. As in, really likes me. My entire body is buzzing. I feel epic, alive, like all my nerve endings are on fire. The little voice tries to interrupt, to remind me about how huge this is, how dangerous, of all the things that could go wrong. But for tonight I’m gonna ignore it, drown it out with thoughts of Alicia. And it works cos the entire five miles home I think of nothing and no one else.
23
It’s Sunday night. I’m meant to be doing my maths homework but I can’t concentrate. Instead I’m lying on my bed watching YouTube videos on my laptop. The one I’m watching right now is about a boy who lives in America. He has a gravelly voice and stubble on his chin and you’d never guess in a million years that he used to be a girl until he pulls up his T-shirt and shows you something called a chest binder that looks like a thick white crop top and flattens down his breasts. He’s waiting to have chest surgery when he turns eighteen. It’s weird to think that beneath the binder he has exactly what I want, and that all the things I hate about my body, he’d swap in a heartbeat. If only we could.
I can hear a sound coming from the bathroom. I press pause and listen.
It’s Livvy, calling out for Mum, quietly at first but quickly growing more and more urgent. I get up and head on to the landing. I knock gently on the bathroom door.
‘Mum?’ Livvy says.
‘No, it’s me, Liv. Are you all right?’
‘Get Mum.’
‘But what’s up?’
‘Just get Mum!’ she practically screams.
I race downstairs and find Mum on the sofa watching Master Chef with Dad.
‘Livvy says she needs you. She’s in the bathroom,’ I say breathlessly.
Mum frowns and gets up. I follow her up the stairs.
She knocks on the bathroom door.
‘Livvy, sweetheart?’ she calls. ‘It’s Mummy.’
Livvy opens the door a crack and Mum squeezes in, leaving me to hover on the landing. After a few seconds I hear Mum let out an excited little squeal and Livvy giggle. The door opens and Mum reappears, her face all pink and pleased.
‘Mum, what’s going on?’ I ask.
‘Nothing, David. Get on with your homework,’ she says, shooing me away.
I continue to hover as Mum dashes into her room, returning a few moments later with a green packet of Always sanitary towels in her hand.
Then it dawns on me. Livvy, my baby sister, has started her period.
Mum ducks into the bathroom, locking it behind her. I can hear her speaking to Livvy in a low voice. A moment later I hear Livvy let out another giggle. Slowly I back away, torn between wanting to listen in and running as far away as I can.
I shut my bedroom door and sit down on the edge of the bed, wondering how many more m
oments like this I am going to have to witness; private, female moments from which older brothers are automatically excluded. I try to focus on what Essie told me about her periods – about the stomachaches and spots and greasy hair, how she feels permanently furious with Felix; but it does little to help.
Later I go downstairs to discover Livvy lying on the sofa with a hot water bottle resting on her tummy as Mum strokes her hair. I make an excuse about being tired and leave the room.
That night I can’t sleep. All I can think about is how I’ll never experience what Livvy’s experiencing tonight. It’s a biological impossibility so unfair it makes my entire body throb.
The next morning, instead of having cereal and toast for breakfast, Mum makes pancakes topped with strawberries and maple syrup in ‘Livvy’s honour’. Livvy sits at the head of the table like a queen, smiling serenely upon her subjects. Glossy-haired and clear-skinned, she shows none of the symptoms so gorily described by Essie. Trust Livvy to show early signs of breezing through puberty.
‘My baby, all grown up,’ Mum beams as she pours Livvy a second glass of ceremonial orange juice.
Dad kisses Livvy on the cheek. ‘This better not mean you’ll be bringing home boyfriends soon!’ he says with a grin and a conspiratorial wink in my direction.
Livvy rolls her eyes. ‘Daaaaaad, don’t be so lame.’
I can tell though, she’s pleased.
‘Do you want more pancakes, David?’ Mum asks, registering my presence at the table for the first time. And even though I am still hungry and could easily eat at least another two, I say no and excuse myself from the table so as not to let them see the tears in my eyes.
Essie and Felix notice something isn’t right the moment they see me at school.
‘David, what’s wrong?’ Essie demands.
Her question opens the floodgates. Quickly she and Felix guide me round the corner to the old abandoned bike sheds where I perch on one of the railings and sob like a baby.
‘What on earth has happened?’ Essie asks, kneeling down in front of me, while Felix rubs my shoulder.
At first I can’t talk because I’m crying too hard but eventually I manage to choke out an account of my awful weekend, culminating in the news of Livvy’s period.
The Art of Being Normal Page 12
