‘Ice cream?’
‘Here.’
‘Swirl it in, B.’
‘Yum!’
‘More!’
I stir in the vanilla ice cream and it begins to melt straight away, bleeding into the caramel, softening and collapsing. A whirlpool of edible paint.
‘Want to stay in tonight and watch a film?’ Dove asks, slinging me a spoon. We both stay silent for a moment, mouthing the ice cream into little quenelles with our tongues, eyes fixed on each other in perfect contented smiles.
‘You never want to stay in with me.’
‘Well, I’m asking you now …’
‘I can’t.’
‘Oh. Why?’
‘I’ve got a date!’
‘A date! What the hell, with who?’
‘This alien from Planet Coffee,’ I say. Dove snorts. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I love it that you’re eating a melted Mars Bar and ice cream the day you are going on a first date.’
‘Why, what’s wrong with that?’
‘Ha! Nothing’s wrong, it’s just not what other girls would do.’
‘Why, what would other girls do?’
‘Probably starve themselves. All the girls in my year are just selfie-obsessed, none of them eat. Tania Gray chews paper.’
‘Weird.’ I lick the back of my spoon, the balance of hot and cold dissolving on my tongue. ‘It’s so sad. We’re all so vain.’
‘I wouldn’t say you were.’
‘Dove, all I bang on about is how much I love myself.’
‘That’s not vain, that’s just healthy, isn’t it? That’s what you always say. And I think it’s true.’
Our silver spoons battle like tusks as we scramble for the last milky dribble of dessert.
‘So what film are you gonna watch tonight then?’
‘Maybe Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.’
‘Really? Why that?’
‘Just felt like watching it.’ Cute.
‘If you had seven dwarfs to your personality what would they be?’ I ask her.
‘Errrrmmm … Playful. Sarcastic. SO COOL …’
‘So cool? it can’t be two names.’
‘So-Cool. It’s double-barrelled.’
‘Fine.’
‘Playful, Sarcastic, So-Cool …’ she relists. ‘How many more?’
‘Four.’
‘OK.’ She smiles. ‘Cheeky.’
‘Annoying.’
‘You’re annoying!’
‘Maybe we both have that personality trait.’
‘Hungry.’
‘Ha! We share that one too.’
‘And outdoorsy!’
‘OK, now do me.’
‘OK.’ She bites her lip nervously, as if she’s an apprentice that’s finally being trusted for the first time. ‘But don’t shout at me if I get them wrong.’
She looks me up and down …
‘Annoying.’
‘Yes.’
‘Hungry.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Confident.
‘Bossy.’
‘Bossy?!’
‘You said you wouldn’t shout.’
‘Fine. Carry on …’
‘How many more do I have?’
‘Three …’
‘A liar.’
‘A LIAR!’
‘You told Mum you’d start going to the gym as part of your deal and you still haven’t gone yet.’
‘That doesn’t make it one of my dwarfs, Dove. That’s like a phase one of my dwarfs was going through; it’s like a choice one of my dwarfs had to make when it was … I dunno … out of choices. It wasn’t a lie because I’m not actually ever going to be going to the gym … so …’
‘You lied again then. Anyway, it’s good to have a double-barrelled dwarf name like me … A-Liar. Quite a pretty name if you say it out loud like that, rolls off the tongue, Aliar … see?’
‘Then it’s not double-barrelled though, is it?’
‘OK, B, it’s up to you how you want to say it; it’s your dwarf.’
‘’K. Two more.’
‘Stubborn. Kind … no actually … Kindofcool.’
‘Awww. I think.’
‘No, awww is right.’ Dove nods. ‘I was being nice.’
‘You forgot fat.’
‘OK. Which one do you want to swap for fat?’
‘Aliar.’
‘Fine. Swap Aliar for Fat then.’
We stare out of the window. The sun beats into the kitchen.
‘It’s a nice day for a date.’
‘Not for me, I’ll be sticking to everything like a melted candle. This hot weather does not work for my fat and my cheap clothes.’ I flap my arms to make air. ‘And my thighs are gonna probs be rubbing like mad.’
‘You can borrow my headscarf if you want,’ Dove says. She knows I like her fruity headscarf.
‘What, to tie around my thigh as a chafe barrier?’ I joke.
‘No. For your hair! Do NOT put my headscarf anywhere near your …’
‘I know, I was joking. Thanks, Dove.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She is pleased to offer it to me, I can tell.
‘It seems too nice a day for a movie night.’
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’
‘The sun won’t go down till nine!’
‘Yeah. Maybe I should go play out instead, might see what the boys are doing.’
‘Do you always jump off the same things?’
‘What do you mean jump off?’
‘Like, is it just, let’s jump off the bus stop again or is it more … advanced … like, are there stages and stuff?’
‘Some of the boys like to perfect a jump before they move onto the next, others just care they made the jump and move on. Depends how stupid you are, I suppose.’
‘Or brave.’
‘Or brave, yeah.’
‘Which one of the two are you? Stupid or brave?’
‘I dunno.’
‘I’ll come watch you … you know … throw yourself off buildings or whatever soon.’
‘’K.’
‘Have fun.’
‘I will.’
‘Wear sun cream.’
‘I will.’
‘Oh, and Dove?’
‘Yup?’
‘Be brave.’
She folds up the sleeve of her T-shirt to reveal her bicep. It’s like the curve of a prawn. She kisses it and holds her fingers out to me. I touch them with the tips of mine.
‘Tell you what …’ I offer. ‘If I don’t get back too late, we can watch Snow White in my trifle when I’m home?’
‘Midnight feast?’
‘Midnight feast.’
And then she pokes her pointy tongue out and gallops upstairs in pony-like boniness, her blonde hair swimming behind her like a torch of light I’ll never be able to capture.
CREPES
I am wearing a too-tight two-piece, which sucks my fat in in places and plunges it out in others. It looks wonderful standing up but I hadn’t really considered what sitting down was going to look like. I can already visualise the red lines crimping around my waist later like I’ve been singed with the edges of a piping-hot pie. My hair is all ruffled from faffing around with Dove’s headscarf – which I ditched and decided not to wear and instead have it oddly tied around my wrist as a makeshift bunchy bracelet.
‘I’m early,’ is all I say to Camille after I punch her name into my phone.
‘Early where? Were we meant to meet?’
‘No. To meet Max.’
‘What the? You nutter! I thought you’d tell me when you were seeing him?’
‘I’m telling you.’
‘What are you like? What are you wearing?’
‘My candy stripe two-piece thing.’
‘The pink or the red?’
‘The red.’
‘Oh.’
‘Why “oh”?’
‘Ohh in a good way. Ohhh as in NIIIIIIICCCCCEEEE.’
&nbs
p; ‘OK.’
‘How early?’
‘Three minutes.’
‘That’s not early.’
I pace the high street: Chinese takeaway, Caribbean food takeaway. A hair shop. A deli. A pub. London is buzzing with the romance of summer; you can feel it in the air, the delight of something good just around the corner.
‘OK, I’m going in.’
‘No! Make him wait a bit.’
‘Why? I’m here, why would I wait?’
‘Power, B!’
‘Ewww!’
‘Come on! You have to be late!’
‘Why do I?’
‘Dunno, it’s just a thing, you have to, honestly, B, give it two minutes.’
‘How many dates have you been on, Cam?’
‘My aunty told me all about this stuff.’
‘’K. ’K. Pass the time … Let’s play a game … Guess the name of the restaurant?’
‘The Happy Vegan?’
‘Good guess. The Smiling Whale.’
‘No way.’
‘No not really.’
‘Am I guessing or are you?’
‘Sorry.’
‘The Melon?’
‘Nope.’
‘The Disgruntled Lemon.’
‘Idiot. Ha!’
‘The Lonesome Mug?’
‘I love that one.’
‘Can I have a pint in the Lonesome Mug?’
‘Haha!’
‘Ooooh, prawn cocktail crisps and a –’
‘I think he’s calling me … Oh no, it’s just Mum. Can I go in now?’
‘NO! I mean, you don’t need my permission but …’
‘Cam. I’m bloody excited to meet this boy. I don’t see why I have to pretend I’m not.’
‘You’re right, you’re right, go … go … GO! Have fun. I love you.’
The place is a concrete shell. Like a shop. You can see the kitchen. A woman is flipping crepes on metal stoves. The music is loud. Happy. There is bright graffiti scribbled all over the walls and wilting film posters. The furniture is mismatched. Scrubby. But comfortable. Like a living room. The menu is simple. But not. Simple because it’s short but not simple because I’ve never been out for savoury crepes before as my dinner. It’s just crepes. Sweet or savoury. But not just ‘vegan’ cheese. There’s sweet potato, chilli, potatoes, spinach, avocado and tons of spices.
And there’s Max too. You could almost forget the place was vegan he’s so beautiful.
We hug hello. He smells of fig even more today. I suddenly freak out that I have orange lipstick on my teeth and the fear of it is ruining my personality.
‘I just need to use the bathroom.’ I smile with my lips closed.
He smiles back but his teeth are lovely and big and white and open and broad and honest and natural. And he is familiar and new at the same time. Like spending Christmas abroad.
The toilets are shabby but it’s OK. I have amazing hovering skills. I undo my button for a second just to let my stomach hang out. Feels so good. MUSTN’T. GET. TOO. USED. TO. THE. RELIEF. Just as anticipated, a belt of prints from the elastic is embossed on my waist. I find imprints in skin really pretty. I always love it when I get prints in my face from sleeping on creased sheets. I prepare to suck myself back in again to my outfit –
Wait.
Why do I have so many missed calls from Mum? Dad too? And Camille?
And I know. Before I even call them back I know that something’s not right.
That something has happened.
Something bad.
IRON
I gulp.
I taste iron.
Breathe.
My hands shake a little.
I frown.
Click my tongue.
What could it be?
Did I leave the taps running again?
I’m scared to call back.
Another girl steps into the toilets. She has a beanie hat on and a piercing between her eyebrows. She says a small hi to me. She smells of tobacco.
I try Mum again. No answer.
I try Dad’s phone. And Dove’s and even the house phone – which nobody ever answers … it rings out.
OK. I check my make-up. I think I look nice. Like a snapshot of how I’d like to look in somebody’s mind if they thought of me.
Sometimes, with certain people that you love, I think it’s to do with magnets, something happens and even if it doesn’t happen to you physically, somehow, you feel it in your bones. A numbness, a rush of something missing, a blind slip in the darkness, a weightlessness, an alarm, a flashing sudden strike. Like a fuse popping. And you know. A synchronised crossing in the stars and you are in the right place at the right time … or completely the wrong one.
I just knew. My bones felt too light to move, too weak to use. So soft they bowed slack like loose strings on a violin.
The phone rings in my hands and makes me jump. It’s Mum.
She’s crying. Muffled tears.
‘Mum?’ I ask. My voice doesn’t sound like my own. ‘Mum? What’s going on? Where are you? Mum?’
‘Dove.’ She cries and then her voice breaks again before she regains control of it. ‘Dove’s had an accident.’
I don’t even say goodbye to Max. I run out of the door and he is left behind and everything I know slips into darkness as my chest is filled with the concrete of the ground and I find it impossible to catch my breath and my fingers are too shaky to even reach for my inhaler, only thumb her headscarf tied to my wrist and tremble.
POWDERY HOT CHOCOLATE
Sleeping Dove is a wounded sock rolled in a drawer. A bird with a broken wing. A delicate spool of cotton. She isn’t wearing her own clothes. It’s a shock to see her. She flits between looking ancient and tiny. Her eyelids are puffy, yellow and shiny. Her lips look tender and sore, swollen, split, bloody. Her eyebrow is cut, her left ear is trickling with a sticky leak of wine-red blood from underneath the bandage. Her arms are whipped in a tie-dye bloom of bruises. Hands are bruised too, nails bloody. I can’t see her legs because she has a blanket over them. But I bet they’ll be bruised too. Under all that mummified wrapping. Her heart beats bub-oom. Bub-oom. It’s well boring in this place with her asleep. She would’ve loved to watch all the people.
Dad kicks the door ajar with his scuffed brown shoe and hands me a beige cup of something more beige. He dramatically tiptoes in to try and lighten the mood. Mum rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head.
‘The coffee here is diabolical, almost as bad as yours!’ he jokes in a whisper to me. I smile back. Dad secretly LOVES my coffee. It’s organic and farmhousey, that’s why.
He acts like a little boy, pretending to poke the wires and prod stuff in the room. Mum growls at him. He looks told off. Trying not to laugh. Winking at me, he picks up a stethoscope and wraps it around his neck and pretends to examine me in silence, to not annoy Mum. Scribbling down pretend information and scratching his head and frowning. He’s always so good at impromptu acting like this. When Mum looks at him he freezes up and holds his breath like one of those mime artists in Covent Garden. He’s so bad in awkward situations. But I’m so glad he’s here.
He sits down and sips his coffee. Cups it in his hands and begins to tap out a rhythm, probably something from Radio 2, and then realises that’s probably annoying too. Mum side-eyes him and he places a finger over his mouth.
‘This really is my favourite coffee shop,’ he says with sarcasm, again, unable to sit still and face Dove. ‘I take all my meetings in the local hospital, you can’t beat it. Nothing like a stiff plastic chair and a machine-made coffee to really get you pumped!’ The gap in his teeth looks bigger than ever. He looks like a child. An awkward one. Suddenly not knowing where he fits in the world. Mum sighs. Deeply.
‘Well then, Dove,’ he whispers close in her ear in this funny naggy jobsworth voice he puts on when he’s pretending to be pedantic or taking the mick out of our neighbour Gerald. ‘That was your final warning. You really are making quite a
racket with all that big heavy loud lying there and doing nothing! Can’t you keep it down? I’m trying to drink my coffee in peace!’ He jabs her gently in the shoulder with his index finger. ‘I’m not used to seeing you so … still.’
And then in an instant his smile breaks upside down and looks really, really human. Not like an actor at all. He leans into her head and sniffs a grown-up sob into her hair. This makes both Mum and me cry a bit.
We clamber around the bed and hold hands. We can’t believe we nearly lost her.
Dove would hate to see us all over her like this.
Hospital hot chocolate is just brown water. Until you get to the end. Then there’s a heap of overly sugary powder at the bottom. Dove doesn’t wake up. But when she does, I’m sure she’ll have something to say about these terrible drinks.
Won’t you, Dove?
Won’t you?
Dove?
CAULIFLOWER CHEESE
‘Hello, Alicia?’
‘Trooper! You’re more than two hours late. You better have a good excuse or I’m blasting you back down to Planet Earth faster than you can shout cake!’
‘Sorry … it’s my sister. I just wanted to let you know in case you were wondering where I was today. I’m at the hospital.’
‘Crikey, chuck, what happened?’
‘She fell. From a building.’
‘WHOA! Bloody heck!’
‘I know. I’m sorry, I should have called earlier but we didn’t know what was going to happen.’
‘Oh bubba, this is terrible. Is she … gonna … will she?… Is she … how is she?’
‘She’s resting now. But we’re all just a bit shaken. It was quite a high window, where she fell from so … her friends are quite shaken too.’
‘I bet.’
‘So if you don’t mind, is it all right with you if I just let you know when I’m able to come back in again?’
‘Sure. Sure. Just keep us aliens posted. We can get cover; who knows maybe even your little mate Camille will have to pull her stripy socks up and get to work! Ha! I’m just kidding; I’d NEVER let that girl work here again.’ She snorts. ‘OK, just let us know if there’s anything we can do.’
‘Will do. Thanks.’
‘Oh and give that Maxy a ding; he’s worried sick about you!’
‘Yeah, just say hi.’
I hang up really quickly after that, a bit like how I imagine gangsters do when they never stay on the phone long enough to say a proper goodbye.
Big Bones Page 15
