The Making of Us

by Debbie McGowan

  “He won’t,” Leigh said, as Matty was intercepted by another dancer, I assumed, from the all-black Lycra.

  It was another five minutes before Matty made it to the bar, and five more before he got back to us, beaming as he stared at our joined hands again. “Cornwall’s gonna be amazing.”

  I groaned inwardly and sat back, listening to Matty spew forth his entire plan of surfing, kite surfing…waterskiing? That was a new addition to the itinerary. Noah listened intently, eventually getting caught up in Matty’s enthusiasm.

  “You up for that, Leigh?” Matty asked.

  “Oh…yeah.” Leigh nodded and smiled, at the same time squeezing my hand really hard. It was so good to know we were in this together.

  ***

  We had so much work to do, Noah and I seriously discussed the possibility of putting up a tent on the stretch of grass alongside the study centre. Why did our lecturers think it was acceptable or necessary to set extra assignments on top of the ones listed in our module handbooks? ‘Just a little presentation—nothing flash—to consolidate what you’ve learnt so far.’ How was cacking ourselves in front of our classmates consolidating anything? God, I missed Ryan sometimes. He was a lazy bastard who was barely scraping a third and he took the piss, but he’d always been up for doing the presenting if Noah and I did the research. I could see him being like that for the rest of his life—coasting on other people’s hard work—but it had been the perfect arrangement for us.

  The day of the presentation came. I’d put forward all my best arguments for why Noah should do the talking, but he was having none of it.

  “Who’s up first?” our Discourse Analysis lecturer asked. A hand shot up somewhere in front of us, and the lecturer beckoned the brave volunteers to the front of the theatre. It was an OK presentation. Even if it hadn’t been, I was all admiration for the way they’d just got up there and done it, and I joined in heartily with the applause at the end.

  “Who’s next?”

  More students volunteered, and on it went. There were some serious show-offs in our class who used videos and jokes, but listening to them, I realised it was to cover how little they knew, and as our time neared, I started to think…maybe…maybe I could do this.

  The applause rumbled to an end after the penultimate presentation, and the lecturer scanned the theatre, gaze homing in on Noah and me. “Saving the best till last?”

  Ah, man. No pressure, then?

  Noah started to rise from his seat and held out his hand.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Give me your pen drive.”

  I shook my head—“We’ll do it together”—and followed him, edging sideways along the row of seats.

  “Fickle,” Noah muttered over his shoulder on our way down to the front. I was too nervous to think of a witty comeback.

  While we loaded our presentation onto the computer, we agreed to take a slide each. Then I read the title slide. Post-Modern Discourse and Context. What the hell did that mean? Did we really put this together? What was I even doing here? I knew nothing!

  After that, I wasn’t really aware of what we were saying, like someone had taken control of my brain and mouth. The words poured out while I tried to conceal my fear that my head was going to explode—there was way too much blood up there—until, finally, I experienced a weak rush of relief that we were at the last slide and our ordeal was nearly over. Or would have been if Noah hadn’t uttered two words that made me want to pummel him into the carpet.

  “Any questions?”

  Bollocks.

  But then, that was in our feedback: one of the reasons we got good marks on all our previous presentations was that Ryan always asked if there were any questions. Luckily for him, no one ever took him up on it, because he wouldn’t have had a clue.

  But they did take us up on it.

  “Hi, sorry…”

  I sobbed inwardly and searched the theatre for the apologiser, spotting a hand half-raised in the midst. I nodded and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Can you explain what you mean by—” they looked down at their notes and read “—‘a self-constituting discourse becomes legitimate as soon as it comes into being’?”

  “Um, sure.” I could totally explain it, so I did, but that was beside the point. That question was like a light switch flicking on, and suddenly, I could see the big picture. My answer came from everything I’d learnt—in critical theory, in discourse analysis, from my reading—I actually did know my shit after all.

  “Is that OK?” I asked.

  “Brilliant, thanks.”

  “No problem. Any other questions?”

  There were a couple more, and Noah and I took one each before the lecturer wound up the session five minutes late. I took my pen drive back from Noah and we logged out. The rest of the class left as we made our way up the raked seating to get our bags, hurrying because our lecturer was waiting by the door. We gave her a quick smile on our way out.

  “That was excellent,” she said.

  We both said thanks and kept walking.

  “Are you staying on to postgrad level?”

  We slowed and waited for her to catch up.

  “Yeah, we are,” Noah confirmed.

  “Good. Have either of you considered teaching?”

  I shook my head. I might’ve enjoyed giving the presentation towards the end, but no way was I going through the stress of standing up in front of students all day every day.

  “I have,” Noah said.

  It was news to me, but I kept quiet and left them to their discussion on the way downstairs.

  “I didn’t know that,” I admitted when we finally made it out of the building and headed for the café to grab a drink before we went back to the study centre; our second home.

  “Yeah. I was talking to Adam about it in the summer.”

  “Makes sense.” Noah’s brother was a performing arts tutor in the city FE college. “What would you teach? A’ level English?”

  “Primary ed.”

  “Oh!” I resisted the temptation to rub my ear and ask him to repeat himself.

  “I’m not winding you up,” he said.

  “I didn’t think you were. Primary, though? Like, the little kids?”

  “Maybe. I reckon I’d be better with older ones.”

  I blew air out my mouth. I’d got nothing.

  “You don’t think I could do it?” It was a genuine question.

  “Of course I think you could do it. I’m just kind of gobsmacked you’d want to.”

  “Kids are great.” Noah’s eyes developed an uncharacteristically wistful glaze.

  “You want kids?”

  “Yeah, at some point. Don’t you?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Noah laughed. “Sure you don’t want to think about that, Jess?”

  “I don’t need to.” I’d never been more certain of anything in my life.

  “I like kids,” Noah said. “Where we lived before we moved up here, our house backed onto the park, and there was this gang of lads, I dunno how old they were. Nine, ten…something like that. They used to come to the park to play footy and shout insults at my dad. He gave it back, sort of, told them they should learn to play proper football.”

  “They were brave,” I said.

  “Yep. They probably thought they could outrun him. They called him Grawp.”

  “Does your dad even know who that is?”

  “Doubt it. I can see where they were coming from, though, eh?”

  “I guess.” I couldn’t, other than the size of him.

  Noah continued. “They turned up with a rugby ball one day, and shouted, ‘Come on, Grawp. Show us how it’s done.’ And he bloody went charging out there in his All Blacks shirt, grabbed the ball, and bombed it down the pitch. The lads went tearing after him, but they didn’t catch him until he’d kicked the ball over the goal.”

  “Nice one, Warren,” I said fondly. Noah’s dad was a good bloke, but I had to admire those lads, taking him on.
He wasn’t someone you wanted as your enemy.

  “They wouldn’t leave him alone after that. He ended up teaching them how to play, and if he was at work, they asked me if I’d referee. They were so eager, I couldn’t say no.”

  “Blimey, Noah. I thought I knew you, but you’ve got all these hidden layers.” I was tormenting him, because that was the one thing I did know about him. People assumed he was a gormless meathead, but in his case, looks were very deceptive. He was deep and clever, which was part of his problem—always thinking and worrying too much.

  “What about you?” Noah asked. “Got any career in mind?”

  “No,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Keeping your options open.” Noah nodded. “Plenty of time yet.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, because it was easier than explaining that the career I wanted—the one I’d always wanted—was out of reach.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was missing Leigh something chronic. We talked online and saw each other in passing at uni, but it wasn’t until the following Tuesday—the only day our lunch breaks coincided—that we were both in the same place at the same time. The first thing they did was say, “I missed you,” and kiss me, and that made up for everything.

  Matty was also up to his eyes with rehearsals for the dance show, so, for a change, Noah got to play gooseberry to us, which he took in his stride, as with everything, really, or that was how it seemed to the rest of the world, but I knew my mate. He was starting to stress out again, and the feedback on our draft poetry anthologies hadn’t helped. No matter that the entire class got lower grades than expected—indicating it was down to the lecturer, not us—Noah still took it to heart.

  So, whilst Leigh and I ate lunch and made tentative plans to go to the cinema on Saturday, Noah frowned a lot and tapped away furiously at his laptop. Then he shut it and got up, muttering, “Going back to the library,” as he walked off.

  “See you in a bit,” I called after him.

  Leigh watched until he was out of sight. “Is he OK?”

  “Not really, but he’ll get over it. He’s stressed about his grades.”

  “Is he failing?”

  “Far from it.” I nodded in the direction Noah had taken. “That’s why he kept Matty waiting a year, by the way.”

  “Poor Noah.” Leigh shuffled closer to me, massaging my hand with their thumbs. “D’you think we should invite him and Matty to the cinema?”

  “We can do. Do you want to?”

  “I don’t mind.” Leigh’s expression said otherwise.

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Is it mean if we go on our own?”

  “Well, Matty’s crap at sitting through a movie.” Unless it was animation or packed with so much action the rest of us staggered away exhausted at the end, Matty’s attention lasted about fifteen minutes, at which point he usually wandered off to look around the shops and then rejoined us for the last fifteen minutes. “Noah loves movies, though.”

  I’d actually stopped going to the cinema before we became friends. Being as tall as he was, Noah had even less chance of sitting comfortably through a movie than I did. But he was into his movies, so when the new cinema opened and it had a VIP area, we booked online and went to see Lord of the Rings.

  It was a life-changer. The VIP seats had loads of leg room and were about one and a half times the width of the ordinary seats. I didn’t have to worry about my thighs touching the person’s next to me, or my arms getting in the way of someone’s drinks and popcorn. It was incredible, and for a while, in the dark where no one could see me, I forgot about it. I forgot I was a freak.

  Except…I didn’t feel like a freak anymore. Or not as much.

  “Then we should invite them,” Leigh said. “I mean, I’d love for it to be just you and me, but we can do that another time, can’t we?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. It was the right thing to do, even though I’d have loved that, too. “Well, I guess I’d better get back to work,” I said but didn’t move to do so. I had zero motivation to get on with the rest of the day when it would consist of talking Noah down from wherever his stress levels were by now, followed by Weight Watchers. “Will you be online later?”

  “Yep.”

  “OK.” Reluctantly, I got up and hoisted my bag onto my shoulder, not letting go of Leigh’s hand all the while. I leaned down to kiss them. “I’ll speak to you this evening.”

  “Don’t work too hard.”

  I smiled and kissed them again. The little kid in me was stamping his feet. He didn’t want to go anywhere, but I needed to work on my anthology as much as Noah did his. I just wasn’t stressing about it. I moved away, our hands joined until we could no longer reach, and set off for the door, glancing back at Leigh as I stepped outside, and again as I passed the window. They beamed a grin at me, and I grinned back and waved. It would sustain me for the time being.

  ***

  “Wow, Jesse! Three kilos in a week. Well done!”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and blushed self-consciously, aware of a muttering of someone behind me. Last year, when Jazz and I had been at Weight Watchers together, there was a much stronger sense of camaraderie than this time around. Most of my fellow fatties celebrated any achievement among us, but there were one or two who took other people’s success as a jibe at their own failure.

  They were very competitive, and I honestly couldn’t see the point. It wasn’t as if me putting on or losing weight would have some kind of inverse effect on them. Much as I’d rather Janet—our fierce group leader—didn’t praise me quite so enthusiastically in front of the weighing-in queue—it was supposed to be confidential—it was done now. On to the next level. Support group. Yay.

  Last week, there had been one other guy at the meeting; this week, there were three of us, and the new guy was there with his wife. Then there were the other twenty or so women, or that was my surface impression. Even with what I knew, it was hard not to judge by appearance and drop people into one of two categories. Janet was up to the bit where she encouraged us to share our achievements—definitely not my thing—so I spent the time watching and listening for clues beyond clothes and voices, and basically didn’t hear a word anyone said.

  I missed doing this with Jazz. It was nice to have a buddy to share the journey, but I was happy she’d reached her goal and sustained it. Her doctor had warned her that the hormones might affect her weight, and she worked so hard at the gym and dieting, it was awesome it was paying off. She had so much self-discipline I was truly in awe, and yet…

  I didn’t want to go down that road. I didn’t want to tot up points, get excited about free days, keep coming back here, week after week, to get weighed, compare notes, offer congratulations that made a hypocrite of me, because this wasn’t the way to freedom. It was a form of imprisonment.

  What I needed—what I really needed, if I was honest with myself—was to either accept the way I was, love handles and all, or to commit fully to a lifelong regime of exercise and diet vigilance.

  “That is not a large potato!”

  The shout came from across the circle—the new guy—in response to the medium-sized spud Janet held aloft.

  The woman sitting to the guy’s right seemed to shrink, but her discomfort went unseen as a general mutinous murmur sped around the circle, accompanied by nods in agreement. I looked back to the potato in Janet’s hand. The way people were reacting, anyone would think she’d told them it was an armed grenade.

  “Now, Simon,” Janet said, addressing Big Mouth, “I don’t mind you sitting in with Karen if that’s what she wants, but as you’re not a Weight Watcher—”

  “I’m following the programme.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “To support Karen. We’ve been doing this for two months together.” He grabbed his poor wife’s? hand. She nodded forlornly. “And it’s bloody hard work.”

  But he wasn’t fat. In fact, he looked like a gym rat to me, and from the
whispers of others, I wasn’t the only one who thought that. The woman sitting next to me leaned close and said, “I wish Janet would kick him out. He does this every week, you know.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “He hasn’t got the first clue. Poor Karen.”

  Yeah, poor Karen and everyone else. I glanced up at the clock, relieved to see we only had another fifteen minutes to endure.

  Janet didn’t re-engage Simon and waited for the noise of chatter to die down before she spoke again. “The supermarkets all stock enormous potatoes, but when you’re working with your menus, this is what we mean by a large potato. All right. Let’s move on. Tonight, we’re looking at planning for success…”

  Oh, God, please get me out of here.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Jazz!” I called as she turned the corner, heading for the SU meeting hall. I quickened my pace to catch up, at the same time as she reappeared.

  “Hey, Jesse. How’s things?”

  “All right, cheers. You?”

  “Knackered. I almost didn’t come tonight—been at work all day.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” I said, and I honestly didn’t. As well as uni, she worked full-time in a coffee shop, which was the reality for a lot of students. I was lucky my mum earned enough for me to be able to concentrate solely on my studies, and I lived close enough to stay at home rather than rent accommodation. “Guess where I went on Tuesday.”

  “Where?”

  “Weight Watchers. Week two.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Lost three kilos.”

  “Well done, you!”

  “Thanks. Not sure how. I haven’t been paying much attention to my diet.”

  Jazz cleared her throat like she was trying not to laugh.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I think someone might be a teeny bit in love.”

  I sighed—dreamily, I imagine. “I think you might be right.”

  We reached the doorway into the hall, and Jazz paused to hug me. “Leigh’s lovely.”

  “Yeah, they are,” I agreed.