Life In Parks

by P R Johnson

  Chapter 6

  ‘It may sound a stupid question,’ said Matthew, taking care not to spill the can of lager he cradled in his left hand, ‘but at what age do you think a boy becomes a man?’

  It was two o’clock in the morning on the first day of the new year, and the party he had been obliged to attend was reaching its end.

  ‘You’re spot on,’ said Paul Evian, one of the guests that remained. ‘It does sound a stupid question. Through my work I’ve met plenty of youngsters who show real maturity and many fifty-year-olds who act like little kids. Maturity is most definitely subjective.’

  The party was being held two doors down from Matthew’s house, and at the height of festivities over thirty neighbours had seen in the New Year. Now, however, as the celebration drew to a close, the hosts were trying to clear the mess despite their own drunkenness. Matthew’s parents had left an hour before and, aside from Paul Evian, the only guest that remained was the widower from number sixteen, who was snoozing on the armchair with a party hat on his head.

  ‘All right, then.’ Matthew spoke slowly to compensate his slurring words. ‘In your opinion, what does a boy have to do to arrive at manhood?’

  ‘Well, that depends on how you define manhood. For example, is manhood the age when you acquire legal rights? Because, if it is, you’re asking for trouble. In our wonderful country you’re allowed to have sex before you can drive a car, and you can drive a car before you can buy a porno film. So the legal order of play is: bang your girlfriend first; climb behind the wheel of a one-ton missile second; and then crack one off to a dirty movie last of all.’

  Paul Evian, Matthew had learned, was the twenty-six-year-old son of the couple who had moved into Warren’s parents’ house when they had moved to the coast. During their hour-long conversation, Paul had mentioned that he worked as a drugs-counsellor in the capital, where he lived when he was not visiting his parents. With his long mop of dreadlocked hair and nose-ring through his left nostril, the man displayed a casual sophistication that Matthew found impressive.

  While Matthew swigged from the beer can, the man continued: ‘Some would argue that manhood is a spiritual thing. An age when you start taking responsibility for yourself and your surroundings. Others would say it’s when you feel ready to bring a new human into the world.’

  ‘So, basically, it’s about shagging.’ A boyish grin came to Matthew’s lips.

  ‘No, not just about shagging. I mean, it doesn’t take a lot to go round sticking your cock in some crevice. On the other hand, it takes a certain mentality, and a huge dollop of cruelty, to actually want to inflict existence on some innocent soul.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t want to be a parent some day?’

  ‘Me? I’m nowhere near vain enough. I can say without fear of contradiction that my gene pool ends with me.’ Paul reached to a bowl of peanuts and scooped a handful. ‘Getting back to your question, if you’re Jewish the matter is straight forward. A Jewish boy becomes a man on the day of his barmitzvah, end of story. Do you have Jewish blood in your family?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Matthew shook his head. ‘But there’s a lot about my family that I don’t know.’

  ‘In that case, as far as the authorities are concerned, you probably become an adult when you start voting; namely, eighteen. Then again, I don’t see what gives those toss-pots the right to decide when childhood should end. They have too much power as it is.’

  From his jeans pocket Paul produced a ready-prepared joint of marijuana, the sort he had been smoking all night. After lighting it, he took a couple of drags and offered it to Matthew; an offer he declined.

  Matthew avoided vomiting that night, but when he woke at two o’clock the following afternoon his head pounded and his stomach felt inflamed. He made his way downstairs and asked his mother if they had any headache tablets, but she handed him a rebuke instead.

  ‘I thought you’d learned from last time, young man, that alcohol isn’t something to be taken lightly.’

  ‘I can assure you, mum, last night I wasn’t drinking lightly.’ He lowered his head, hoping to ease the pain in his temples. ‘Anyway, it was you who forced me to go to the party in the first place.’

  ‘It didn’t mean that you had to drink yourself silly again. We’ve both witnessed firsthand the damage that alcohol can do. I don’t want to see you end up like your grandmother.’

  ‘Why are you comparing me with her?’ He sought her eyes, accusingly. ‘You’re acting as though I’m an alcoholic already. Christ, I’ve only been drunk a couple of times.’

  ‘Yes, but one drink can lead to another and before you know it your life has been washed down the plughole.’

  ‘You can relax. That’s not going to happen to me.’

  ‘I certainly hope not. We don’t need history repeating itself, thank you very much.’

  ‘Spare me the lecture, mum. I’m really not in the mood.’

  He remained irritable all afternoon, long after his headache had cleared and his stomach settled. Over dinner he barely spoke to his parents, who in turn did not seem anxious to converse with him. It was not until later, when he was lying on his bed listening to music, that his mother tried to clear the air.

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier, Matty,’ she said, sitting beside him. ‘I didn’t mean to nag. But I have a right to be concerned. That’s what mothers do.’

  ‘As long as you remember: ignoring parents, that’s what kids do.’

  ‘OK, Mr Smarty-pants.’

  ‘You’ve got to face it, mum, I’m not a child anymore.’

  ‘No, I guess you’re not. It’s sometimes difficult to accept that you’re growing up, that you’re not my little baby.’ She leaned over and kissed the side of his face.

  ‘That’s another thing,’ he answered, feeling the dampness on his cheek. ‘Do you have to keep kissing me for no reason? I’m getting too old for things like that.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ She stood and a smile came to her lips. ‘Since when has love been a crime?’

  School recommenced a few days later and the students were given the results of their mock examinations. Matthew had fared satisfactorily and the careers advisor informed him that if he achieved similar results in the proper examinations in May, he should be able to gain a place at university. On hearing the news, Matthew resolved on a further plan of action in his pursuit of Carla North.

  ‘I’ve decided to apply to the same universities as her,’ he told Warren over the phone.

  ‘You can’t go applying to universities just because the girl you fancy might end up there.’

  ‘Why not? You and me were going to apply for the same ones.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s different. Firstly, we’ve been best mates all our lives; and secondly, we want to study the same subjects, more or less. Do you even know what Carla plans to study?’

  ‘Not yet. I haven’t been able to find out. I’ll just have to do a bit more digging.’

  His friend sighed. ‘It’s your choice, but I think you’re wasting your time. I say again, you can’t base your whole future around a girl, especially one who you’re not even going out with.’

  As the conversation continued, however, and Warren admitted that he also was considering matching his university selections to those of his girlfriend, Emily, the contradiction was not lost on Matthew.

  ‘You’re still together, then,’ he said, eyes rolling.

  ‘Definitely. Things are going really well. If we do end up at the same Uni, we’ve even talked about getting student digs together. In fact, wouldn’t it be cool if we all lived in the same house? You, me and Emily.’

  ‘Yeah, great. Don’t you think you’re pushing things? I mean, you’ve only been going out for a few weeks and already you’re thinking about moving in.’

  ‘I’m not being funny, but I think this could be the real thing.’

  ‘The real thing? You mean ‘love’?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Matthew scoff
ed. ‘And what makes you think that she might be ‘the one’?’

  ‘Well, how do you know that Carla’s right for you?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How, exactly?’

  ‘She’s been the only girl I’ve wanted since I was, like, twelve.’ Matthew thought for a couple of seconds and then conceded: ‘But I guess that when you know, you just know.’

  ‘That’s precisely my point. When you know, you just know.’

  Around the time the students were researching to which universities they should apply, something happened that made Matthew’s task of following Carla’s lead more practical, while fanning the flames of his optimism. It was during a casual conversation with Carla’s boyfriend, Adam, that Matthew received an invite to the pub. Matthew had been aware that Adam and Carla and a group of their friends had been going every Wednesday after school to a nearby public house. Never had he been invited, nor had he had reason to suspect that he would be in future. So, when Adam asked him along, he was so taken aback that he instantly declined. During the next seven days, however, he suffered so much regret that when the following Wednesday arrived, he sought Adam in person to ask if the offer was still open.

  ‘Sure, buddy, it’ll be good to have you along.’

  The public house frequented by the group was named The Old Boar and benefited from being close to the school campus and from serving alcohol to underage drinkers without too much fuss. There were ten among the group on Matthew’s first visit, including Adam and Carla, and for the most part Matthew sat at the edge of proceedings, sipping whisky and coke. Carla and her boyfriend were clearly the focal point of the group, but there were always conversations going on away from them. Initially Matthew felt awkward and out of place; however, aided by the alcohol, in the final ten minutes he began to feel more at ease and joined in certain conversations, albeit ones on the periphery of the group and out of earshot of Carla. The group was preparing to head home when Adam disappeared to the toilet and Carla came to talk with him.

  ‘How’s it going, Matty?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘I’m glad you came. You’ve seemed kind of lonely since Warren’s been gone. I guess it’s not easy when you lose your best friend.’

  ‘He’s not dead, you know. We talk all the time on the phone.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you know what I mean. You were pretty quiet today, though. Next time you’re going to have to get more involved.’

  Matthew nodded and could not resist a smile, interpreting her words as an open invitation to return.

  When the next week came, he sat closer to Carla and her boyfriend and drank his whisky more greedily. He still found little opportunity to talk to her in person, but did not feel so remote. On this occasion he drank four whisky and cokes, and despite walking home with a spinning head, he considered it a price worth paying.

  From then on, for Matthew as much as the others, the sessions became a regular Wednesday jaunt. He found that the more times he went, the more he enjoyed himself, steadily making friends with people he had known for years but had scarcely bothered with before. Always drinking whisky and coke, soon he was able to gauge how much he needed in order to become merry, and when he should stop before intoxication overwhelmed him. And all the while, the attraction remained Carla North. Whenever he could, he would sit close to her, trying to ignore the fact that her boyfriend was constantly by her side.

  At the end of February he took his practical driving test. He had not wanted to bother, but the instructor had assured him that he was ready and said that it would be a shame not to try after so much money had been spent on tuition. The examiner on the day was an elderly lady with a severe gaze, whose presence did not help him relax. The examination started brightly, with the completion of several manoeuvres. Ten minutes in, however, as he was pulling out of a junction, he unwittingly clipped the back wheel of a cyclist and sent the rider crashing to the ground. The examination was abandoned on the spot and, although the cyclist was uninjured and an ambulance was not required, Matthew vowed never to get behind the wheel of a car again.

  On the academic front, when Matthew learned to which universities Carla intended to apply, he went through with his promise of matching her selection. Only one of the universities he chose coincided with Warren’s list of candidates. On discovering this, his friend tried again to warn him of his folly.

  ‘How many times have I got to tell you, Matt? You’re wasting your time with Carla.’

  ‘What do you know? Since I’ve been going to the pub, I swear we’re getting closer. I know something’s going to happen soon. I just know it is.’

  ‘Do you actually speak to her now, or just sit staring at her, praying that Adam won’t notice?’

  ‘Sometimes we talk.’

  ‘Great. But she’s still seeing him, I assume.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, forget her. You’re living in a dream world. I mean, isn’t there anyone else you like? There are plenty of fish in the sea.’

  ‘To be honest, I think Karen Turner fancies me. She flirts like hell when we’re at the pub.’

  ‘Why don’t you go for it with her? She’s a bit of a horse, admittedly, but if she’s up for it ...’

  ‘I thought you knew by now: I’m a one-woman man. For me, it’s all or nothing. Carla or nobody.’

  ‘Wait till you get to Uni, mate. Then you’ll change your tune.’

  Indeed, Warren was so confident that away from the gaze of his parents, and with the freedom afforded by university life, Matthew would find a horde of girls willing to sleep with him. He even placed a wager.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you haven’t scored in the first week of Uni, I’ll run down Orchid Hill High Street bollock naked and with a traffic cone on my head.’

  Despite his friend’s convictions, Matthew’s goal remained unalterable. And when, on a certain Wednesday towards the end of March, Carla arrived at the pub later than usual and alone, his hopes were sent rocketing. He was brought down to earth a little when he learned that Adam had been unable to attend solely because of a practice match with the school rugby team. Nevertheless, for the most part, what happened in the two hours that followed could not have gone better if he had scripted events himself. There were fewer friends than normal and he had no trouble wangling the seat next to her. He had already drunk two whiskies by the time she arrived and felt full of nervous energy. Carla appeared to be in a frivolous mood, too, and drank her vodka and orange with gusto. It seemed as though every time Matthew spoke, her mouth would break into a smile. At first he suspected she was laughing at his expense, but the sparkle in her eyes suggested that this was not the case. The more alcohol they drank, the more intimate their conversation became, with Matthew searching for clues that would unite them.

  ‘So, how do you see your future?’ he asked, unable to resist.

  ‘How should I know? I’m not a bloody fortune-teller.’

  ‘OK, but where would you like to be in, say, ten years’ time?’

  Carla ran a hand through her hair, considering her response. ‘Let me see. In ten years’ time, I would like to think I’ll have a successful career, a large house, money in the bank and perhaps a couple of kids running round the garden.’

  ‘Kids. In that case, you think you’ll be married.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. You don’t need to be married to have kids. In fact, in ten years’ time you probably won’t even need a man to have kids. What with medical science, women will be able to do it by themselves.’

  ‘You’re saying that you don’t want to be married?’

  ‘I haven’t decided. But it’s certainly not a priority.’

  ‘Right, so marriage is not important. What about love?’ He cowered at the boldness of his question.

  ‘What about it?’She shrugged.

  ‘When you’re living in your big house, with your big bank account and your two test-tube babies, won’t you feel lonely without a man
? Maybe you’ll settle down with Adam.’

  ‘I doubt that’s going to happen.’

  ‘I thought you two were pretty solid.’

  ‘We are. But that’s beside the point. Next year, we’ll be studying at different Unis, so it’s unlikely that we’ll still be together. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, love is a waste of time. I’ve got better things to occupy my mind.’

  ‘That’s a bit cold, isn’t it? I’ve always believed that love is the one thing that matters in the world.’

  ‘I didn’t have you down as a sentimentalist. No offence, but I like to think I’m above all that crap.’ She arched her back and her tone became serious. ‘Believe me, Matt, when you’ve seen your dad run away with a twenty-two-year-old tart, and your mum jump into bed with anything in trousers for revenge, you tend to see love in a different light. It’s something I can live without.’

  Casting aside that final aberration, Matthew was in rapture at the honesty she had shown. Yet, when the next Wednesday session arrived, and Adam reappeared, he barely found the opportunity to talk to her and all his frustrations returned.

  The following week, the sessions were cancelled definitively, with most of the students citing the need to concentrate on the impending exams.

  Matthew would have been more upset had he not begun to recognise the link between those drinking sessions and the worsening state of his health. For a couple of months an ache in his belly had persisted. Instead of seeking medical advice, he spent a couple of unpleasant evenings researching the various conditions that matched his symptoms. Despite not reaching a conclusion, he became acutely aware of how many maladies could be suffered by the human species.

  When he finally visited the doctor during the Easter holiday, he was told he had nothing more sinister than an irritable bowel. He was given a course of chalky antacid tablets and instructed to avoid fatty foods and alcohol, as well as to steer clear of stressful situations. Although he was able to follow the instructions concerning food and drink, he was unable to escape the looming examinations nor the worry they provoked.

  School resumed after the Easter break, although the students were allowed to stay at home on the supposition that they would continue to study.

  His first exam fell on a hot Friday afternoon, and when he sat to his allotted desk close to a window, fierce sunlight beat upon him. As well as the anxiety of the situation, he was distracted by the proximity of Carla, who sat a couple of rows in front of him. He became further distracted once the exam started and the bell sounded for the younger children to file into the courtyard for playtime. Nevertheless, he managed to answer all questions in the time allowed and left the examination not too disheartened.

  The pattern set on that first day was repeated in the exams that followed; he would enter positively enough, but would have difficulty maintaining concentration and would leave with no clear inkling of how he had fared.

  After the final exam was completed, he ignored the doctor’s advice and accompanied the former Wednesday drinking party to The Old Boar. They were celebrating not only the completion of their exams, but also the end of their time at Orchid Hill Senior School. Matthew, however, could feel no joy at the gathering because he knew it would be the last time he saw Carla before summer.

  She sat, as always, beside her boyfriend and they appeared more intimate than ever. Yet, at the same time, Matthew thought he noticed sadness in her eyes, which conversely filled him with hope. When the time came to say goodbye, Adam shook his hand and Carla patted him on the arm, the first physical contact they had ever shared.

  ‘Perhaps we’ll see you over the summer,’ she said.

  ‘Who knows? It’s a small town.’

  ‘If not, I assume you’ll be there when the exam results are handed out.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll be there with a rabbit’s foot in my pocket for luck.’

  ‘Lucky for you, maybe, but not for the poor rabbit.’ Carla smiled and touched his arm again. Then, with a nod of her head, she took her boyfriend’s hand and the two of them headed off.

  During the initial part of the summer break, Matthew visited a couple of universities on fact-finding missions and for interviews. The rest of the time he spent idling in front of the television. Although he was aware that Carla intended to get her former job in the tea room, not once did he visit her and their paths neither crossed by manipulation nor coincidence.

  At the end of July, his parents left for a ten-day holiday abroad and for the first time in his life Matthew did not accompany them. Unwittingly, the date they had chosen coincided with the issuing of his exam results – an event he was not willing to miss. His mother was reluctant to leave him behind, but Matthew managed to convince her that he was old enough to look after himself.

  ‘Mum, I’ll be fine on my own.’

  ‘Fending for yourself is not all sweetness and light, you know. There’s cooking and cleaning, washing and ironing. But I guess you’re going to have to learn, seeing as you’ll be off to university before long.’

  The day his parents left, Matthew was jubilant about his sudden independence. Nevertheless, as his mother had warned, the reality of his crude attempts at cooking and the fact he had to clean up after himself quickly took the shine off. Also, the time he spent alone heightened the anticipation about the issuing of his exam results and the fact he would see Carla again.

  The implicit agreement among classmates was that on the day the results were published they would converge at school at nine o’clock in the morning. They would wait for the school secretary to issue their results and then make their way to the usual pub to drink to their respective successes. It was in the pub where Matthew planned to announce that he had chosen the same university as Carla – whatever her final choice happened to be. And then, depending on how drunk he was, he would deliver the bombshell of his ultimate fantasy: suggest that they look for student digs together.

  When the day arrived, however, it began most uncomfortably.

  Matthew awoke on a pillow dampened with saliva and realised that his alarm clock had not sounded. He could also feel stickiness in his boxer shorts. It was nine o’clock already and as he tried to sponge the evidence of his nocturnal emission, he could not decide whether the spilling of his seed was a good omen.

  He showered and dressed as quickly as he could and began a desperate hunt for his wallet. He searched his bedroom rigorously. He looked in the bottom drawer of his chest, only to stumble across the pocket-watch his grandmother had given him a year ago. Giving the timepiece little thought, he closed the drawer and proceeded downstairs, eventually finding his wallet on the kitchen sideboard. Then, with all haste, he headed for school.

  When he arrived, he was relieved that the doors to the school-building were not yet open and a group of students was milling outside. Spotting Carla and Adam, he decided to stand with them.

  ‘How are you feeling, Matty?’ Carla asked while they waited.

  ‘Nervous. And you?’

  ‘Shit-scared. Did you remember to bring your rabbit’s foot?’

  ‘I haven’t really got one.’

  ‘Shame. I was going to stroke it. I could do with some luck.’

  ‘Relax, guys,’ Adam said, draping his arm across Carla’s shoulder. ‘What’s done is done. A rabbit’s foot ain’t going to help you now.’

  The doors were opened shortly afterwards and, after a sudden surge, Matthew attached himself to the end of the queue. When he finally arrived at the secretary’s desk, after a cursory name-check, he was handed the relevant envelope. He took it to the courtyard, where some of the other students were already hugging each other in congratulation or sympathy. Unfazed, he slipped his finger under the seal and withdrew the contents. As he passed from one page to another, the tingling chill of his nerves quickly changed to a different chill altogether. He looked at each paper again and again, studying them with an ever-increasing coldness. And always he read the same thing. Of the five subjects that he had sp
ent two years studying, he had passed one well, but had received miserable marks in two others and had failed the remaining two outright.

  Simon, a classmate in Geography, approached him. ‘How did you do?’

  Matthew handed him the sheets of paper.

  The boy flicked through each in turn and gave a shrug of consolation. ‘It’s not too bad. You did all right in Religious Studies.’

  ‘Religious Studies, great,’ he mustered in response. ‘That’ll help me get to Heaven when I kill myself.’

  ‘Or else you could become a monk.’

  A few minutes later, Carla and Adam came over. Having already heard of his failures, Carla stood beside him and held an arm around his waist. Matthew could feel her breast pressing into him and realised that he had been waiting an age to be this close to her. Yet as they stood together, he realised that she was the last person he wanted to be with. She had passed all her exams – there had been no doubt that she would – and while her future was free to follow her dreams, Matthew’s only dream had been ripped from him.

  For a fleeting moment, as she held him close, loathing welled in his body, churning his insides. He believed he hated her and everything about her. As quickly as the rage had swelled, however, its focus altered and he began to hate himself.

  Amid the bitterness of self-loathing, all he wished was to be left alone and for the ground to swallow him whole; but he knew, deep down, that not even the ground could rescue him.

  It was Adam who eventually persuaded him to go to the pub as planned. Matthew was unsure how he came to be there, but soon he was standing at the bar of The Old Boar with a whisky and coke in his hand that Adam had paid for. He had expected his rival to be gloating over his failures, although nothing seemed further from the truth. Of all the people who offered him condolence, Adam seemed the most sincere; he was the one who stayed by his side longest and was most positive in his outlook.

  ‘It really isn’t the end of the world,’ he told him. ‘You just have to make sure you get it right next time.’

  A few months earlier, Matthew would have silently reviled his adversary for delivering such a verdict. Nevertheless, as they stood together at the bar, he was filled with sudden remorse. While his self-loathing persisted, at least he found some peace with the boy he had detested most.

  ‘You’re all right, Adam,’ he said. ‘You’re a decent guy.’

  The other boy shrugged in response. ‘Cheers, Matt. You’re pretty sound yourself.’

  ‘I mean it, you’re a decent guy. And I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry, what the fuck for?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. But believe me: I’m sorry. Listen, I’m talking out of my arse ... but not about you; you’re a decent bloke.’

  ‘Thank you ... again. Look, I know you’re pretty cut up right now, but you’ve got to stop beating yourself up.’

  Matthew forced a smile. ‘Actually, mate, I’m going to shoot. I’m really not in the mood for a party. You should get back to the others.’ He patted his broad shoulder limply. ‘You take care, now, enjoy the celebration. Enjoy what you’ve got.’

  Without looking at Carla or the gathered friends, he walked out of the pub.

  A bus was pulling into the bus-stop outside and without thinking he jumped on. He had no idea of its destination and did not care in the slightest; all he hoped was that it would take him away from misery.

  As the bus joined the main road out of town and ascended Orchid Hill, he gazed blankly out of the window. He disembarked when they arrived at the brow of the hill, aware that the bus would simply return to town if he stayed onboard.

  With sunshine blazing down, he walked towards the wooden picnic-tables and sat on a vacant bench, gazing through unfocused eyes at the town below.

  His thoughts were drifting obliquely when a sudden snapshot of a memory flashed through his mind, taking him by surprise. He recoiled as the image clarified and more images formed, creating the steady stream of a memory. He realised at once that the images were of a dream, the erotic dream he had experienced the night before and which had caused his wet dream. As yet more images filled his head, he closed his eyes to focus more keenly. In his mind, he could see himself lying on a bed, embracing a woman in a rhythm of love-making. With the vision playing clearly, he gazed into her fierce eyes. He realised immediately that they belonged to the woman he had seen in a photograph almost a year before, a woman who had been his grandmother in a former, more glamorous, life.

  The stream of images continued and the lady was now straddling him as they bucked and writhed towards ecstasy. The tension was building to climax when she leaned and whispered in his ear. He listened intently but, with his own heavy breathing the prominent sound-track, he could not make out what she said.

  Only as the orgasmic convulsions subsided did the words at last become audible.

  ‘The future is yours,’ she said, dragging her fingernails across his back. ‘Open your eyes.’

  As his eyes refocused, Matthew looked all around.