by Laura Tait
‘No, I’m positive,’ I tell her, pretending to be certain. ‘It was definitely a star.’
I have to suppress a yawn as my year nines troop in. Holly and I were on the phone until Richard arrived at her flat. It was past midnight.
‘Could you put your mobile away please, Gareth?’
Gareth Stones has wrapped his school tie around his head like a sweatband.
‘One sec,’ he tells me. ‘Just sending a text.’
My mind wanders back to when we were teenagers, when phones had leads and there was the excitement at not knowing who would be on the other end of the line when you picked up. There was no such thing as free minutes, and if you were on the phone longer than ten you could expect your mum or dad to start shouting at you. If it was Holly on the phone I wouldn’t care.
‘Do you think it’s fair that the rest of the class has to wait for you to send a text?’
Gareth doesn’t flicker. He sits there, legs stretched out in front of him, composing his message. Once he’s finished he slips his iPhone into his pocket and says, ‘Next time, don’t feel you have to wait on my account.’
I tell him that it’s all very well acting like this now, but that one day in the not too distant future he’s going to get a job and he won’t be able to doss around on his phone and turn up whenever he likes.
‘Yeah, but I’ll be getting paid then, won’t I? So I won’t mind, will I?’
There was a time when an exchange like this would play on my mind, but I’m really positive about school right now. Things are turning around with my year nines – and I owe Holly a thank-you for some of that. It was her who emailed me a new version of Hamlet, one that tells the story in a series of Facebook statuses.
Horatio thinks he saw a ghost; Hamlet thinks it’s annoying when your uncle marries your mother right after your dad dies; the king thinks Hamlet’s annoying; Laertes thinks Ophelia can do better; Hamlet’s father is now a zombie.
The kids were suddenly enthusiastic about the play. Stacey Bamber no longer spends lessons drawing a hangman with my head in the rope and even Kenny Sonola is engaging in class discussions since our talk a few weeks ago. He hasn’t taken me up on the offer of chatting, but he’s at least doing the work now. I could have hugged him when his latest assignment warranted a D, but I didn’t want him to threaten to ‘fuck me up’ again so I settled on a simple ‘well done’. It might not sound like much, but I know for a fact it’s better than his grades in every other subject. I checked.
This is why I came to London, and I don’t want the term to end now, although I’m looking forward to getting Kenny and the rest of them started on their GCSEs in September. I know he’s got a C in him – I’m certain of it.
‘OK, any questions?’ I ask, at the end of another productive lesson.
No one puts a hand up but a familiar voice makes itself heard.
‘Who let the dogs out?’ gobs Gareth.
This is his new favourite hobby. At this point last week he asked me how old a man had to be to stop finding women his own age attractive. The lesson before that he enquired whether I would lend him a tenner. The one thing I’ve noticed is that each time, the laughter his quips elicit has been more meagre, so that this time there is barely a snigger in his direction.
‘Thanks for that, Gareth,’ I say. ‘The rest of you, great work today. Just a few more lessons before the summer holidays. I’ll see you next time.’
Text from Holly to Alex
It was definitely a plane xx
Chapter Twenty-five
HOLLY
September. How’d that happen? Summer went down like the scene in a film when they’re trying to illustrate how much time has passed, so they speed it up and you can see the season change before your eyes. The snow clears or leaves appear on the ground, and the characters start the scene in shorts and end it in woolly jumpers, and shit loads has happened since a minute and a half ago.
My mum and dad have moved to York. Hexagon Marketing has gone global. Alex and Melissa are in what can only be described as a serious relationship.
Not everything’s changed, of course. Jemma’s diet starts tomorrow and no one knows about me and Richard.
I thought the merger would kick-start the process that concludes in us telling everyone. Alas, no. Apparently I was being optimistic that Richard’s promotion would happen that easily. He is still my boss. I am still his PA. And today he mainly needs some new pens and half a dozen foolscap folders.
‘You finished with the stationery brochure yet, Jem?’
‘Hang on – I’m concentrating.’
Christ, even she’s changed. It’s like we’ve had a role reversal – she’s got a hard-on for stationery and I’m starting to, well, NOT CARE. I don’t know why. I used to love work but my enthusiasm must have been dwindling because today I realized it’s pretty much non-existent. Maybe it’s hanging around with Alex and hearing about him doing things at school that actually matter. How much of a difference do I make? The amount of times I’ve come into work drugged up to the eyeballs on Lemsip because I’d feel too bad calling in sick, but I’ve been flattering myself about how much anyone would care if I did. Richard would have to answer his own phone and everyone else would have to arrange their own meetings directly with each other. Whoop-de-do.
Leah calls me at lunchtime, which cheers me up for all of thirty seconds. Then she asks when I’m free to meet up because she’s got ‘news’.
‘Ha – you’re not pregnant, are you?’
Silence. Dear God, no . . .
‘Leah?’
I wait for her to laugh but all I hear is the tapping of keyboards around me.
‘Oh my God, I was joking, but you are! You’re pregnant!’
‘I wanted to tell you in person . . . but yeah, totally up the duff. Mental, eh?’
Mental is an understatement. How did our lives become so polar opposite? We were on the same page for years. Now she’s about to have an actual family. And me? A depressed cat and a secret romance do not a family make. Why is everyone’s life moving forward except mine? I should have worked it out when she didn’t drink at Chloe’s wedding.
‘Hols?’ Leah laughs nervously. ‘You all right? You haven’t said anything for like, a minute and a half.’
‘Yeah, sorry – I’m just stunned.’ Have a word with yourself, Holly, this is great news. ‘Congratulations! I’m SO happy for you.’
I AM so happy for her. So utterly, completely, wholly, one hund . . . OK, 99 per cent ecstatic for her.
It’s the other 1 per cent that makes me a terrible person. When I hang up I touch my desk with my forehead until a pair of black pointy stilettos alert me to the arrival of someone at my side. I recognize those shoes. Balls.
‘You all right, Holly?’
‘Yeah, just a bit of a headache, ta, Melissa.’ I sit up again and start typing, hoping she’ll take the hint. She doesn’t.
‘Oh, you poor thing. I hope you’ll feel up to coming out with us tonight.’
Um, strictly speaking SHE’S coming out with US – Kev’s down to see Alex so we’re all having a catch-up – but whatever.
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.’
‘Brilliant. Let’s get the tube together, yeah?’
‘Good idea,’ I lie. I don’t know why Alex had to invite her – I haven’t seen Kev for years, so we’ll probably spend the night talking about school days and she’ll just feel left out. And it’s not like she and Alex don’t spend enough time together.
He and I hang out a lot less since they got together. We still make plans for regular catch-ups but gone are the spontaneous lunches in local pubs and DVD nights at mine when Carl has a girl over and Alex wants to get out.
I don’t know why I was surprised – it’s not like it’s the first time this has happened. He’s been such a good mate since moving to London that I started to think it was my fault we’d lost touch before, what with that note I found under my bed in Mothston. That maybe I’d exaggerated his w
eirdness that day I saw him for the last time, and should have let him know when I was coming back to visit Mum and Dad, or invited him to stay with me at uni. Have I lain in bed at night wondering whether my life would be different right now if I HAD found the note at the time? Yeah, sure. More than once. But the truth is it probably wouldn’t be any different, because this is what Alex does: prioritizes mates when he’s single but re-strategizes when a girl he likes comes on the scene. I don’t blame him, really. Blokes do that. I just miss him.
‘Danny, get over here.’ Jemma beckons, putting down the stationery brochure at last. ‘Right, you two, would you rather . . . be fisted by Edward Scissorhands or have a man with a stapler for a mouth go down on you?’
‘Scissorhands,’ says Kev, after deliberating for five minutes. ‘Actually, no – stapler. Argh, I don’t know . . . I don’t care if it’s against the rules – I’m saying neither. They’re both men.’
‘They’re both men? That’s your issue?’ Alex smirks as he sips his wine.
‘Well, it’s not yours, obviously, gaylord. Christ, Holly, this Jemma sounds like a right sicko.’
‘She is. You two should really meet.’
Kev hasn’t changed a bit. I wasn’t sure what seeing him would be like. We were never friends in the way Alex and I were friends. Apart from just one time – which I’d rather not think about – we never had any deep or meaningful conversations, and we never hung out together when Alex wasn’t there. But we had a good laugh whenever we were all around. He would deliberately antagonize me with sexist comments, and then tell me to stop being a hairy lesbian when I got on my feminist high horse about it. Likewise, I would casually drop something into the conversation about how I was Alex’s best friend, which would wind him up something chronic. Then we’d have a back-and-forth about why we each qualified as Alex’s best friend, which would inevitably end with Kev whining ‘Alex, tell her’ like a five-year-old. I’m tempted to do it tonight for old time’s sake but he’s got eleven years on me now, and I’m not sure I can argue with that. Besides, an unspoken truce was formed between Kev and me during the last conversation we ever had in Mothston. It’s almost a shame Alex can never know about it.
‘What would be the point in us meeting? I’ve got a girlfriend now. That’s my cooking, cleaning and shagging taken care of. Besides, she’d just get upset that I won’t put out.’
‘You won’t?’ I gasp. ‘Gee, Kev, way to break it to a girl – I wish I’d known that before I bothered coming tonight.’
‘So tell me all about this girlfriend of yours,’ Melissa butts in, leaning across the booth to pat Kev’s hand, and cutting off whatever retort he was about to give me. ‘Alex tells me nothing and I want to hear all about her.’
So Kev tells us all about Diane, and Melissa keeps clutching her empty chest in the place where other people’s hearts are located and telling him ‘That’s so sweet’ whenever he says anything gushy.
Alex listens with the quiet, polite boredom of someone who’s heard it all before. I listen with the quiet, polite boredom of someone who doesn’t need to hear ALL ABOUT someone I don’t know.
‘Well, she sounds just adorable,’ concludes Melissa, when Kev is done.
‘Wait, that’s it?’ I interject. ‘But there’s still so much we don’t know. Like, I dunno . . .’ I pause to sip my wine. ‘Does she collect anything special?’
When Alex cracks up, Kev coughs on his own hand and waves it near Alex’s face, which has the desired effect of wiping the smile off it.
‘You told her about the snow globes, didn’t you? You bastard.’
‘Snow globes?’ Melissa’s eyes narrow slightly as they dart from Alex to me and back to Alex, so Alex explains, laughing again, while Kev pouts huffily. I’m in hysterics until Melissa shoots me a small, patronizing oh-leave-him-alone smile and head-shake. She’s kidding me, right? She’s not actually trying to dictate how I act with someone I’ve known for eighteen years? Someone who knows me well enough to know it’s harmless teasing, and who I know well enough to know he can take a ribbing?
‘Yeah, come on, Holly.’ Alex pulls himself together and forces a frown. ‘It’s snow joke.’
‘That was terrible,’ I say at the same time as Melissa goes: ‘You’re hilarious,’ with an expression that looks sarcastic but, because it’s Melissa, isn’t.
We’re in a back-street boozer and it’s a Thursday so the atmosphere is low-key, but Kev’s I’m-on-holiday mode is infectious and Alex isn’t back at school until next week, so we drink steadily.
‘My round,’ says Melissa, pulling a long, cream-coloured wallet from her bag and departing the table with an unnecessary caress of Alex’s bicep.
Alex smiles at her as she walks away, then turns his gaze back to the table, catching me watching him. Our eyes lock and hold. Suddenly my lips are dry but when I lick them I feel a rush of self-consciousness about the action, and I’m almost relieved when Melissa calls over: ‘Give me a hand would you, darling?’
Alex blinks and scoots off to the bar, and Kev puts his feet up on the chair he’s just vacated, leaning back in his own seat.
‘So I’m going to this Elvis tribute act next week,’ he says.
The barman is waiting to take Melissa’s order but she hasn’t even noticed his approach – she’s too busy sucking Alex’s face. I can’t get over how rude she is sometimes – like the poor guy hasn’t got other people waiting to be served.
‘When I phoned up for tickets I had to press one for the money or two for the show.’
‘Did you?’ Why did she need a hand anyway? How hard is it to carry four drinks? Apart from anything else, there is a pile of trays RIGHT THERE.
‘Er, no, it was a joke, Holly. Elvis – one for the—’
‘Melissa!’ I call. She separates herself from Alex and turns round. I nod towards the barman.
‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry – I didn’t see you there,’ I hear her say.
‘So as I said,’ Kev is still talking, ‘if you could keep that strictly between me and you about me being a secret caped crusader I’d appreciate it.’
‘Yeah, course, I . . . Hang on, what did you just—’
‘You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?’
I turn my attention back to Kev a second too late, because he’s diverted his eyes to where mine have just been.
‘Ah.’ He chuckles, then leans his head towards mine and eyeballs me accusingly. ‘You know, Holly, Alex is the happiest I’ve seen him in ages.’
‘He is?’ Get a grip, Holly. ‘I mean yeah, he is. I know. Great, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ Kev’s face contorts, like he’s trying to raise one eyebrow but can’t quite pull it off. ‘Because I’m not being funny, but could you look any more jealous?’
‘Jealous? Me?’
‘Oh, come on, it’s been obvious all night. Luckily Alex isn’t the sharpest pencil, so you’re getting away with it, but you can’t get past me.’
‘Is it really that obvious? Shit, look they’re coming back. Don’t say anything to Alex, OK?’
‘Course,’ he says, looking pleased with himself.
Christ, I am jealous. How did that happen? What’s not helping is the fact that Melissa has made more progress in her relationship in a few months than I have in a year – and she’s done it by taking Alex. Before he came back into my life, it didn’t bother me that I had no one to wander around Borough Market with on a Saturday morning, or to drag to the cinema on Orange Wednesdays to see some inevitably crap film, before taking the piss out of it over a pizza. But then he did come along, and we did all these things together, and now that we don’t, it is bothering me that I can’t with Richard.
‘I got us a bottle as we’re both on the white wine,’ says Melissa. ‘Sauvignon Blanc – that’s what you were drinking, right?’
I’m tempted to pretend it was Chardonnay, even though she’s right. But what would be the point in being vindictive?
‘Thanks �
�� here, let me give you some cash.’ I reach for my bag but she shakes her head.
‘Oh, don’t be silly – I definitely owe you a glass of wine for keeping everything in the office ticking over in such ship-shape condition. Seriously, boys, I don’t know what we’d do without her.’
I take it from the warm smile Alex gives her that the fact his girlfriend is a patronizing cow is lost on him.
Despite Melissa’s presence, the rest of the night is a laugh and we even get to giggle over a few happy Mothston memories before Melissa finds a way of changing the subject to something she can include herself in.
Just like the first time Alex and I went out when he moved to London, chatting with Kev reminds me of how many good times we had. I wonder whether I would have had less of a downer on Mothston for the last eleven years if I’d stayed in touch with anyone after school and reminisced like this. As it was, whenever I thought about the place I always thought of how my time there ended and I’ve never really spoken about my school days much with anyone. Even Max, Leah and Susie – who know most things about me – would probably summarize my adolescence as growing up in a dull little town that I couldn’t wait to escape. I’m starting to feel disloyal to the teenage me for giving such a negative impression of what life was like back then.
‘Where next?’ asks Kev.
‘Home for me,’ I hiccup. ‘Some of us have got work tomorrow.’
‘You’ve changed, Holly Gordon.’
Alex shoots Kev a look I can’t quite read as Kev continues: ‘The Holly I knew would be up at that bar demanding a lock-in.’
‘We’re in a pub opposite a police station – the landlord isn’t stupid.’
‘Well then, the Holly I knew would be listing our options for what clubs to go to.’
‘It’s a Thursday night. In Greenwich. Our options are nowhere, nowhere or nowhere.’
‘Then the Holly I knew would be working out whose house we’re going back to for a nightcap. You live alone, right?’
