Rich and Mad

by William Nicholson

“They come and find me.”

  “What if they don’t have the time?”

  “If they want me they find the time.”

  “Do they?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You really should get a phone. It would—”

  She stopped. She wanted to say, “It would get you more friends.” But that sounded mean.

  Now others were drifting in, and she had work to do, so the moment passed. But for the rest of the day the puzzle tugged at her. Rich had no phone and seemed not to mind.

  Mr. Pico arrived. Maddy saw him go over to Grace Carey and murmur a few words. Grace went pink and looked pleased. That could only mean she had a part in the play. Maddy just had time to feel resentful when she saw Mr. Pico looming over her.

  “I want you to be Jackie,” he said. “You’re the only one who knows what’s going on, so I have to have you. Cast meeting right after lunch in the dance studio.”

  Maddy exulted in silence. It was a small moment of triumph. But she also knew as soon as Mr. Pico spoke the words that she had expected it. She had wanted a part in the play, she had prepared herself thoroughly, and now she had got it. This was what happened when you took action. She had got what she deserved.

  Do I deserve Joe Finnigan?

  She would now be thrown into his company twice a week for five weeks.

  At least I’m in with a chance.

  Mr. Pico was saying something to the class. They were to open their books to a poem by Matthew Arnold called “Longing.” He read out the last verse in his uninflected voice, making long pauses between the lines.

  “Come to me in my dreams, and then

  By day I shall be well again!

  For then the night will more than pay

  The hopeless longing of the day.”

  It was oddly effective, the way he made no attempt to put expression into the words. He left a long silence at the end.

  “Every poem,” he said at last, “is a dialogue between the poet’s sensibility and your own. A dialogue requires a response. I invite your response. You don’t have to tell me your dreams. Just write about how you understand these four lines. And if you don’t understand them, write about that. There are no wrong answers.”

  Max Heilbron put up his hand.

  “Sir, if there are no wrong answers, does that mean I’m guaranteed an A?”

  The class laughed.

  “I neither know nor care,” said Mr. Pico. “Damnation to examinations.”

  The class did not laugh at that.

  Later in break, feelings ran high.

  “All very well for Pablo not to care, he’s not doing university entrance.”

  “He never tells us what we’re supposed to put. How are we to know?”

  “If you ask me he’s a weirdo.”

  “He’s not weird. He’s gay.”

  “So who’s coming to Pablo in his dreams?”

  Grace came over to join Maddy on the bald lawn known as the Paddock. She was wearing heels, which was against the rules, but being Grace she got away with it.

  “You got a part in the play, didn’t you?” Maddy said as Grace curled up on the ground beside her.

  “Yes. I’m Sorel.”

  “I’m Jackie,” said Maddy. “The silly one.”

  She said this to show Grace that she didn’t take herself seriously as an actress. She felt a need to apologies to Grace for being cast, as if her presence lessened Grace’s glory. Then she felt annoyed with Grace for making her feel inadequate.

  “At least I’ll have to do some acting. She’s not at all like me.”

  “Sorel’s tremendously like me,” said Grace, impervious to the hint of criticism. “I shan’t have to act at all.”

  “Joe Finnigan’s going to be Simon. That makes you his sister.”

  Maddy had found out the details of the entire cast. Grace gave an odd little smile.

  “That should be fun.”

  “And I get engaged to him.”

  “Do you?”

  She looked surprised. Clearly she still hadn’t read the play.

  “For about five minutes,” Maddy said. “But I don’t want to be engaged to him at all.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Jackie doesn’t. In the play.”

  “Do you get to get off with Joe?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Well, what a lot you know, Maddy.”

  “It’s not exactly hard. All you have to do is read the play.”

  “I expect I’ll just read my own part. I find reading quite tiring. All those words.”

  Maddy laughed out loud.

  “You posy slag!”

  Grace shot her a knowing look.

  “I’m devastating,” she said, reciting the line from the play. “Entirely lacking in restraint.”

  After lunch the nine who had been given parts, plus Gemma Page, assembled in the dance studio behind the sports center. It seemed to be accepted that Gemma had to be wherever Joe Finnigan was. She sat alone at the back, looking decorative and expressionless.

  On that first afternoon they formed a circle and read through the play.

  “No acting,” said Mr. Pico. “That comes later.”

  Joe was directly opposite Maddy. He read his part lightly, easily, as if not trying at all, and as a result he was perfect. Maddy couldn’t help herself from flashing a smile of approval from time to time, and once he caught her smile and smiled back.

  Grace noticed. During the break Grace took Maddy into a corner and got serious with her.

  “What’s going on, Mad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re flirting with Joe.”

  “No, I’m not. Honestly I’m not.”

  But the very vehemence of her denial gave her away.

  “Christ, I don’t care,” said Grace. “I don’t even care about Gemma.”

  “What about Gemma? I’m not doing anything.”

  “Oh, come on, Maddy. You go pink every time Joe looks at you.”

  “I do not!”

  “Are you telling me you don’t fancy him?”

  “No, I’m just …” But she couldn’t complete the sentence.

  “So there. You do. It’s okay. No one’s blaming you. It’s a free country.”

  “I’m not doing anything,” Maddy repeated. “Joe’s with Gemma, everyone knows that. Why would he even look at me?”

  Grace gazed silently at Maddy for a long moment. Then, seeming to reach a decision, she said, “If you ask me, Joe’s been ready to dump Gemma for a long time. Maybe all he needs is a reason.”

  “But they’ve been together forever! It would kill Gemma!”

  “You don’t know that. Look at her.” They both looked at Gemma, sitting by herself at the back of the dance studio. “Don’t tell me she’s having a good time.”

  “She could be. You can’t tell.”

  “I can ask her.”

  Maddy laughed.

  “Bet you don’t.”

  After the rehearsal Joe left at a run, already late for training. Grace moved in on Gemma, beckoning Maddy to join her.

  “You must have been bored to death,” she said, “having to sit through all that.”

  “No,” replied Gemma. “I thought you were all really good.”

  As soon as she spoke Maddy knew she was one of those gentle slow-witted creatures like rabbits who are doomed to be run over by the faster-moving traffic.

  “Do you always go everywhere with Joe?” said Grace.

  “I do when I can.”

  “And you don’t ever get bored with each other?”

  “No, not much.”

  “Don’t you run out of things to say? I always worry that if I was in a long-term relationship I’d run out of things to say.”

  “I don’t know.” Gemma wrinkled her smooth brow as she pondered this novel question. “We don’t say that much, really.”

  “So what do you do?”

  “Oh, you know. Just hang out.�
�

  “Like you know each other so well you don’t have to speak anymore?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And you don’t ever get jealous?”

  “Not really. Sometimes, maybe.”

  “And what do you do when you do?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get jealous.”

  “Nothing much.”

  “You don’t have some way of making sure he still loves you?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like kissing, maybe.”

  “How would that tell me if he still loves me?”

  “The way he kisses. I don’t know, Gemma. It must be different, mustn’t it? If a guy really means it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Gemma seemed genuinely puzzled by Grace’s stream of questions, as if they were taking her into regions she’d never thought to enter before.

  “If I’d been going out with someone as long as you have,” said Grace, forcing the pace, “I’d want some way of knowing I was still special to him. Wouldn’t you, Maddy?”

  “Yes,” said Maddy. “Definitely.”

  “Oh, I know I’m special to him,” said Gemma. A faint blush spread over her baby-doll features. “I’m the only one he does it with.”

  Grace was satisfied.

  “Lucky you,” she said.

  She switched off the tractor beam of her attention, and they parted.

  “Jesus!” exclaimed Grace. “She’s so stupid!”

  Maddy laughed.

  “You should be a lawyer. You were amazing.”

  “So now we know. He only stays for the sex.”

  “She’s so nothing. It’s like she has no feelings at all.”

  “There you go. If he dumps her she’ll hardly even notice. Go for it, girl.”

  Maddy glanced round at Grace’s mischievous face, grinning back at her.

  “Me?”

  “Hey, hey! This is Grace. The not-dozy one. I’ve got eyes, Maddy. You’ve got a thing for Joe Finnigan.”

  Again, Maddy blushed.

  “What’s the problem?” said Grace. “Take a shot. You never know till you try.”

  “Why would Joe Finnigan be interested in me?”

  “Because you’re not Gemma Page.”

  Secretly Maddy agreed. Gemma Page was far prettier than she was, but by now she must be driving Joe crazy. Maddy was confident she would be more fun to hang out with. But it looked like Joe’s requirements extended beyond just hanging out.

  “What about the sex thing?”

  “What about it?” said Grace.

  “Well …”

  “Oh, you’ve never done it. Okay. Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  Maddy hadn’t meant Grace to know, not for sure. They just weren’t close in that way anymore. But Grace had caught her in a trap. She could lie and say that she had experience, but Grace would demand details. And it wasn’t as if being a virgin was such a shameful secret. It was just that Maddy liked it better when no one knew for sure.

  “Is it a problem?” said Grace.

  “No,” said Maddy. “I just want it to be the right guy.”

  “Sure. Don’t we all?”

  “And I want to … well … do it right.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? You know how it works.”

  “Yes, I know. I know how it works. But I don’t know … oh, what and when and how much. I mean, people talk as though it just happens, but you still have to actually do things.”

  “And you’re not sure what?”

  “Not in detail.”

  Grace pondered in silence. Maddy found herself wondering if she was going to launch into a detailed description of her first time. Instead Grace took her arm and drew her close and said, “All you have to do is watch some porn.”

  “Porn?”

  “On the Internet.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “I have done, yes.”

  “Does it help?”

  “Well, yes. Of course. I mean, porn is people doing it.”

  “Yes. I suppose it is.”

  Maddy found the prospect scary for a whole lot of reasons.

  “Don’t you have to pay?”

  “No. There’s lots that’s free.”

  “Isn’t it kind of gross?”

  “Some of it. And some of it’s kind of fun.”

  “Did you look at it by yourself?”

  “No. With someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “A sort of boyfriend.”

  Maddy was hugely impressed. She had assumed Grace had a secret love life, but had never guessed it could be so sophisticated.

  “Who?”

  “Just someone.”

  “You watched porn with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then?”

  “What do you think?”

  That evening Maddy had a long phone conversation with Cath. She told Cath what Grace had said and they speculated wildly about Grace’s mystery lover and made plans to look at porn on the Internet.

  “We’ll do it on my laptop in the cushion room.”

  “What if your mum finds us?”

  “She won’t.”

  “She might.”

  “We’ll say we’re downloading tracks from iTunes using the shop credit card.”

  “Why do we have to say we’re using the shop credit card? That’ll seriously piss her off. It’s almost stealing.”

  “Because she’ll be so shocked we’re stealing she won’t ever think to ask herself if we’re doing something worse.”

  “Mad! You are awesome!”

  “Tomorrow after supper, then. Cath and Maddy’s porn night.”

  “Ciao, baby.”

  7

  Fear of rejection

  Harry Ross steadied Gran’s arms as she made the tricky move from zimmer frame to wheelchair.

  “There you go, Mummy,” he said.

  Rich found it both touching and embarrassing that his father called Gran “Mummy.”

  “Thank you, Tom,” said Gran. Tom was the name of her dead husband. Rich’s father didn’t correct her.

  “You can come again,” said Gran. “You’re a crumpet.”

  “A gentleman,” translated Harry Ross. “And I accept the compliment.”

  “How do you know she means that?” said Rich.

  “Oh, we used to have a savory spread that went with crumpets called Gentleman’s Relish. Gran always said my father was a real gentleman. In their courting days.”

  “Was Gran courted by other men too?”

  “Ask her.”

  “Were you, Gran? Did you have lots of men chasing after you when you were young?”

  “Six.”

  “Six boyfriends?”

  “Six paper … six paperback … No, no. Oh, these words.”

  “Six proposals?” offered Rich’s father.

  “There you are. Six.”

  Kitty came bounding down the stairs, her plaits flying.

  “I’m coming too!”

  Rich told her about Gran’s six proposals. Kitty was thrilled.

  “Did they go down on one knee, Gran? How did you say no? Did you break their hearts?”

  Gran, now safely stowed in the wheelchair, smiled and shook her head, but finding the right words would not come she said no more.

  Rich wheeled her out and into the park, with Kitty dancing along by their side. The sky above was rippled pink and gray, like the surface of the sea.

  “Imagine Gran with boyfriends!” said Kitty.

  “Imagine proposing and being rejected.”

  This was what struck Rich’s imagination. He found himself wondering how much encouragement the young men had received before daring to propose. It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d do on a whim. You pluck up the courage at last and you get the brush-off. What did that feel like?

  “I’m glad I’m a girl,” said Kitty.

  “So you can have six proposals?”

  “Does
n’t have to be six. Maybe two. Or three.”

  A band of boys on skateboards hurtled by, only just missing the wheelchair.

  “Hey! Watch where you’re going!” Rich shouted after them.

  “Fuck off!” they shouted back.

  Apart from that the park was peaceful. A pale sun began to break through the clouds and all over the park the wet grass glittered. They wheeled Gran round to the pond, where the mad lady was feeding the ducks. She had a pushchair full of plastic carrier bags.

  Kitty whispered to Rich, “Do you think the mad lady ever had proposals?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “That’s so sad. I bet that’s why she went bonkers.”

  Then following a generous impulse of her young heart, Kitty said to Rich, “You must propose to people. You don’t have to marry them. Just let them be able to say they’ve had a proposal.”

  “What if they say, ‘Yes thank you, I’d like that very much?’ ”

  “You say you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I have to give a reason.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Well, anyway,” said Rich, “you’ll get masses of proposals when you’re bigger.”

  “I don’t want masses. Just two. Or three.”

  They wheeled the wheelchair on into the rose garden. The roses were long over.

  “Have you got a girlfriend, Rich?” said Kitty.

  “No,” he replied.

  “Why not?”

  “I just haven’t.”

  “But don’t you want one?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why don’t you get one?”

  “They don’t sell them at Tesco, you know. You can’t just go out and take a girlfriend off the shelf.”

  “But think of all the girls who haven’t got boyfriends. All you have to do is pick one of them.”

  “What if I don’t want any of them?”

  “You can’t not want all of them. There must be some girls you like.”

  “What if the ones I like already have boyfriends?”

  “Well, that’s just silly. Wanting ones you can’t have and not wanting ones you can have. That’s just silly.”

  “Or maybe they don’t want me.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want you? You’re lovely.”

  “Not everyone thinks so.”

  “Who doesn’t think so?”

  “I don’t know, Kitty. I’m just talking in theory. I’m not talking about anyone in particular.”

  “So there isn’t anyone in particular?”