Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles

by Sabine Durrant

And that’s another thing. This war. There are pictures in the papers every day of awful things. A bomb in a marketplace. In a cafe. Some women and children shot at a checkpoint. Soldiers everywhere. And I can’t help thinking it’s my fault. If only I was better behaved, and nicer, and more holy, and thought more about other people and less about stupid little me and my stupid little problems, maybe it wouldn’t be happening. And when I think that, I also think, why doesn’t God intervene to stop it? And the fact that he doesn’t makes me wonder whether he exists at all.

  Oh, it’s all so messy.

  I’m going to see John straight after school.

  The sitting room, 5 p.m.

  I thought things were messy before? I didn’t know the meaning of the word. What have I just done?

  I left school with Julie and pushed my bike down the hill to her bus stop. She’s lost interest in Mother and plans for my future stepfather. She doesn’t even talk much about Uncle Bert. I’ve felt her enthusiasm in the project drift away since she met Ade. ‘I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,’ she said dreamily as we passed Prontaprint.

  ‘Not even with Phil from the sixth-form college?’

  ‘Especially not with Phil from the sixth-form college,’ she said. ‘Ade’s different. He’s –’

  ‘Posher,’ I said.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, he’s that. But I forgive him. I don’t know what it is. It’s not just that he’s gorgeous. He doesn’t try and be cool or pretend he doesn’t care. I’ve always found that really annoying before, but this time it’s different. I don’t know. He’s got these melty brown eyes. When he looks at me, and we just stare at each other, I want to disappear into them. I get this feeling in my stomach…’

  ‘What kind of feeling?’ I asked.

  ‘Like I’m sort of collapsing, or it’s all tightening up, almost like nerves, but much nicer. I can’t really describe it. He makes me feel wrapped in cotton wool and –’

  ‘I think I know what you mean,’ I said.

  I didn’t wait for her bus like I sometimes do. I wanted to get it over with.

  Gail was behind the counter. She was serving a woman with a tiny snuffly baby. ‘I can give you saline drops for the blocked nose,’ she said. ‘It might help her feed. Oh, hello, Connie.’

  John’s raven head was bowed over paperwork in the pharmacy behind her. He looked up when I came through, and smiled at me with his mouth closed and the corners turning down, a sort of preoccupied-with-money smile. ‘Ah,’ he said absent-mindedly, ‘Hello.’

  ‘John. Have you got a moment? There’s something I’ve got to talk to you about.’

  ‘Just a sec,’ he said, turning back to his books.

  ‘It’s important.’ I was biting the inside of my mouth so hard I thought I’d taste blood. If I didn’t get it out quickly, I was going to cry.

  He looked up again. He was wearing a soft wool jumper the colour of the bay tree in our back garden, a green that’s almost black. I wanted to bury my face in it. I thought it would smell of cucumber and herbs and Comfort. He didn’t say anything, just moved his head very slightly in the direction of the chair beside him.

  ‘OK,’ he said gently, after I’d sat down. We had our backs to the shop. His knees were under the desk; mine were at an angle to his. I remember staring at the fabric of my trousers, watching as the yellow flecks seemed to separate from the red ones, imagining them pulsing and moving. I heard the till beeping and the door opening and closing behind us.

  I thought I had my speech planned, but it had gone. He said, ‘Is there something wrong at school?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Or is it a… health thing?’

  ‘No.’I managed a smile. ‘No. It’s… ‘And then it came out in a rush. ‘I can’t work here any more.’

  ‘Oh, Connie.’ He drew back slightly. ‘What a shame. Is it your exams?’

  ‘Yes. No.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  I stared at the desk and tried to get back on track. ‘I realize this decision may sound sudden, but it is one I have been considering for some time.’

  ‘But you haven’t been here some time yet. Is it something I’ve done or said? I know I can be a bit moody. Or is it that the job’s boring? I’m just sorry to lose you, that’s all. Not just your chicken à la mushroom, but your knowledge of threadworm has been greatly beneficial.’

  I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  And then he put on an American accent and said, ‘I like having you around, kid.’

  I laughed, still staring ahead, and then stopped. The papers on the desk shuffled and swam. The wall, a medicinal pink, went pale and watery. And then I felt his touch on my chin, his fingers cool and soft and smelling of toast. He drew my face round so that he could look at me. ‘What’s really the matter?’ he said quietly. ‘Why are you crying?’

  And then it was as if a catch that had been holding everything back broke loose and I threw my head at his shoulder, like a child headbutting its parent in a tantrum, and I heard myself whisper from the crook of neck and soft green wool that smelt, of course, not of cucumber and Comfort but bacon, ‘It’s about you and Mother, which is great. But I… I… have this feeling in my stomach when I see you and… and… I’m in love with you myself.’

  Even from the centre of the storm in my head, I felt him tense and his arms, which had responded to my collapse upon him by going round me, though they didn’t loosen or drop, shifted slightly, so that his hands were holding my shoulder blades firmly in place, like brake pads. I knew then where I’d gone wrong; that any dream I had been carrying in my heart that I hadn’t dared admit even to this book, even to myself, wasn’t going to happen. He drew away, held my arms and tried to look into my face. I didn’t care then what he saw. It was all too late. He’d seen it already. I was beyond humiliation.

  ‘Connie. You’re very sweet. And I’m terribly touched. But I’m almost thirty. I’m far too old for you.’

  ‘But I’m grown-up for my age. People are always telling me that.’

  ‘Constance. You’re sixteen! A couple of years younger and you could be my daughter.’

  ‘But I’m not… ‘I stopped – how could I tell him my real age now – and looked up at him and felt my eyes well with tears again.

  ‘You need to fall in love with someone your own age.’

  ‘But everyone says how grown-up I am,’ I cried.

  He smiled. ‘You’re only sixteen,’ he said.

  I wanted that thing Julie had been talking about, to be wrapped in cotton wool and rocked. I wanted to curl up in a ball and for him to make it better. The room seemed to have gone dark. I managed to utter something about not telling Mother.

  He said, ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t tell Mother about this, please. Please don’t, will you?’

  He said, ‘Of course I won’t, but –’ he frowned – ‘but what did you mean? You said something about her and me being together. I don’t understand.’

  ‘S’all right,’ I mumbled. ‘I don’t mind really. I’m sorry I said it. It’s just –’ I had to stop or I was going to start blubbing again.

  ‘She’s a lovely woman and I really enjoyed supper the other night, but I’m not going to ask her out if that what’s on your mind.’

  ‘But haven’t you already?’ I was already feeling foolish, but now I was beginning to get smaller, shrinking into my chair like Alice in Wonderland – becoming tiny and inconsequential, smaller than the smallest small thing.

  ‘No!’ He looked astonished.

  ‘But haven’t you been taking her out?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And ringing her?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And leaving flowers?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well, who has?’ I said, confused. There was a box of tissues on the desk and I grabbed one and blew my nose.

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s not me.’ I put the tissue up my sleeve and caught him making a gesture over my shoul
der to Gail. The gesture involved his watch and me and a bit of a shake of his head. It was a gesture that said, ‘I just need a couple of minutes here,’ and I realized it was time to go. I had to find a stone to crawl under.

  I stood up and muttered something about a misunderstanding. He said, ‘Please reconsider the job, Connie, though I do understand, of course, if you do think it would be difficult.’

  I tried to stand straight, and with as much dignity as I could muster I said that I really felt my decision should remain as it was, that maybe sometime in the future I might consider a career in the pharmacy business. The experience had been invaluable and… I stopped. ‘Sorry,’ I whispered.

  He smiled at me and put his hand briefly on my shoulder. ‘All right’ he said. He is kind and nice and gallant enough to put regret into that one word, but I know I saw relief in his eyes. I’d got everything wrong, I realized that now. I could feel the tears pricking again, so before he could say anything else, I pulled away and fled from the shop.

  Outside the sky was thunderous. Black clouds were scudding across the grey, which was why it had become so dark inside. The rain was just beginning to fall, splattering a pattern on the pavement. In my confusion I grabbed my bike and, pushing it, ran left from the shop instead of right and found myself heading back up towards school rather than home. I stopped at the lights. My hair was flat against my scalp. The rain was hitting my shirt like bullets. I put my face up and watched the drops falling out of the sky. I couldn’t tell where the rain ended and my tears began. I was stupid and naive and wrong. The streets were empty. I felt totally alone.

  But I wasn’t. Because there, wheeling up and down the pavement, was William.

  He was on his bike, the wheels spraying arcs of water behind him. He must have been hanging about for some time. His hair was spangled with raindrops. His trouser legs were dark with damp and there was a wet streak up the back of his jeans.

  ‘Have you been waiting for me?’ I said.

  ‘You don’t have a coat.’

  ‘I know. Have you been waiting for me?’

  He didn’t answer. He’d got down from his bike and was taking his parka and putting it round my shoulders. ‘I saw you go in and thought you might not be long and we could cycle together and then, when it started raining, I thought you might need this.’

  For a moment I felt like shrugging it off, but it was still warm from his body. It felt heavy and reassuring. The pockets hung down, with bits of junk and loose change. ‘My knight in shining armour,’ I said.

  ‘More like your knight on shining aluminium.’

  I laughed, which made me choke and before I knew it I was crying again. And this time I couldn’t stop. It was raining properly now. And I just stood there sobbing, with William standing by me. He didn’t put his arm round me. He just stood there, not awkwardly, just sort of waiting. After a bit he said, ‘Shall we go somewhere?’ and I nodded and followed him. He led us back to my house and took the key from me when I fumbled at the door. We went into the hall, both soaked to the skin. He leant his bike against mine, removed his parka from my shoulders, laid it over the banisters, pulled his own sodden jumper over his head and went upstairs to get some towels. I went through into the sitting room and sat on the sofa.

  I hadn’t put the lights on and it was dark in there. I heard steps coming back down. William sat next to me. He leant across me and switched on the side light. Then he handed me a piece of paper. He said, ‘Note on the stairs from the decorator.’ I read it through my wet eyelashes. It said, ‘Dear B, Gone to buy more paint. Ring you later? J xx’.

  I’d seen the writing before. ‘Ring you later?’ ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’ It was the same handwriting. I’d seen it on that mystery valentine card too – now I thought of it.

  ‘J’? ‘J’ for John. For John Spence.

  I began to laugh hysterically. It wasn’t John Leakey that Mother had been seeing, but John Spence. Our landlord, John Spence. With the pale knees and the ‘Wotcha, kids’ and the Lycra shorts.

  ‘It’s John Spence,’ I said hysterically. ‘Mother’s fallen in love with John Spence!’

  William had brought a towel down and had been rubbing his head. He broke off and stared at me oddly. ‘You all right?’

  ‘It hadn’t crossed my mind. I mean, he’s so awful!’ I started laughing again. Then I noticed William’s hair was sticking up like a hedgehog. ‘Your hair!’ I said, laughing some more.

  ‘Easy’ he said in a quiet voice. He put the towel over me and, clumsily, started rubbing my hair dry too. The rhythm of it made my laughter come out in jerks, and before I knew it they’d turned into sobs again.

  ‘There,’ he said, releasing me after a bit. ‘We don’t want you to catch a chill.’ He ran the towel round my face, like someone drawing a circle. He was being so tender I wanted to melt. ‘Now. What?’

  I murmured, ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So what were you crying for? Why were standing out there in the rain like a tragedy queen, then?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘What?’

  I didn’t know what I felt about anything any more. It took a long while for any words to come, but finally I managed to say, trying to make light of it, ‘I’ve been such a prat.’

  ‘Tell me, then.’

  And so I did. Falteringly at first, then in a rush, it all came out. Everything I’d been bottling up and failing to face up to, all the muddle and confusion in my heart and my head. I told him about how Julie and I had matchmade Mother. About how much power we’d unleashed; how we seemed to be able to do anything we turned our hand to, and how we had created this horrible thing. I told him about Uncle Bert and how wrong for Mother he’d been; how miserable it had made me, and how cross and possessive it had made Julie. I told him that was what we’d fallen out over, that when we’d made up she’d decided John the chemist was the next on our list, and how we’d matchmade Mother and him too and… And then I cried for a bit and when I’d wiped those tears away, I told him how jealous and left out I felt. ‘And then I thought… ‘I said. My stomach gripped. The sobs were going to start again.

  ‘What?’ He was looking at me so sweetly, so unperturbed by my shocking disclosures, I felt I could tell him anything.

  ‘That I was in love with him myself.’

  I caught him frown very slightly and then he looked away. I just thought he thought I was being stupid, a fourteen-year-old saying she was in love with a twenty-nine-year-old.

  ‘What about your mother?’ he said.

  ‘That’s what I mean.’ I picked up the note. ‘It was John Spence, not John Leakey, all the time.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he said.

  I should have told him then how I’d thrown myself at John; what a fool I’d made of myself. How I’d been wrong about that too. But there was a funny expression on his face, like he thought I was stupid to have even imagined myself in love with someone so much older, like I was deluded. And I don’t know what came over me then – a last flash of pride after an afternoon of humiliation – but I wanted to make him think that it wasn’t that stupid, that it was possible. So I said, ‘So John Leakey’s free, after all.’ I looked away.

  So did William. ‘Right.’

  There was a long silence.

  After a bit I said, ‘Shall we put the telly on, then?’

  He said, ‘I ought to be going.’

  Then I wished I had told him. I didn’t want him to go. I wanted to feel close to him again. He didn’t move, though, so in a small voice, I said, ‘Please don’t go.’ I wanted him to stay really badly. The thing about William is he’s so comforting.

  His voice sounded strange, very distant. ‘Yeah. All right.’ He pressed a button on the remote control.

  ‘Give me a hug,’ I said. I felt lonely. That’s my only excuse. He shrugged his arm round the back of the sofa so that I could feel the dampness of his T-shirt across the nape of my neck. His fingers rested without pressure on my arm. I imagined them bridged, like
someone throwing the shadow of a spider. The picture came to life on the television. Except it wasn’t the television. It was the video. My father’s tape was still in the machine.

  ‘It’s the Carrrrib-vod ad,’ I said.

  I thought William would laugh and fiddle with the controls, but he didn’t, and we watched my father frolic on the pier with his pretend friends and then jump, carefree, young, single, dead, into the Caribbean sea. I put my head on William’s shoulder, so my tears could run off my nose into his half-wet T-shirt. When the picture dissolved into grey fuzz, neither of us moved.

  ‘Maybe… ‘he began after a while.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Connie, maybe the man in the chemist’s is a father figure or something.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, not looking up. I wanted his hand to grip my arm, not just rest there. I moved my face further into his chest. Under his top, it was bony and close, not firm and bulky like John Leakey’s. I blotted my wet eyes against the fabric. I’d never noticed how delicious William smelt. It was like breathing in the wind from a bike, of fresh air and sweat, of pavements and chewing gum, and something sharp like soap.

  He made a sort of noise above me and I did feel his fingers tighten. I knew what would happen if I raised my head but I raised it anyway and there was his face. I didn’t notice anything about him but his eyes looking into my eyes. He said something, but I didn’t hear it and I didn’t answer because he’d moved his head down and kissed me.

  It was so different to that time at the disco when the only thing I was aware of was the size of that boy’s tongue. This was proper. I don’t mean there were fireworks in my head. I didn’t feel the world spin. I just felt the softness of his lips, so gentle, and then firmer, so that I felt his teeth through his lips and then his mouth began to open and I could feel things happening inside me that I’d never felt before. My hands were deep in the dampness of his hair.

  And then the television blared on. The video must have got to the end of the tape and the screen reverted to Newsround – with the volume up too high. We both jumped and laughed. William reached for the control and switched the sound off Then he looked at me. He gave a sort of sheepish smile. He had swivelled his body so that he was lying further back into the cushions, and his legs were up on the sofa now.