She smiles. ‘Do.’
I text back. ‘When?’
‘Taxi leaving at 3 p.m.’
‘I’ll b der, psycho.’
I look back at Rachel. ‘So, Alex.’
‘Alex.’ She takes a huge deep breath that could suck a person in. ‘Let me think about it, OK?’
I nod. ‘OK. Cool.’ Because that’s a start.
The tattoo place is bright and spacious and smells of antiseptic. A guy is getting tattooed. His shirt is off and he’s tilted back in a reclining chair. We wait just inside the door. A girl comes up to us. She’s small with short, spiky hair and a nose stud. Her arms are covered in colour, her skin a canvas of tropical flowers. Shane gives his name. She runs a finger down the open diary. Her nails are painted black.
‘Here you are,’ she says in an American accent. ‘D’you know the artist you’re with?’
‘Eh, no.’
She looks over at a guy wearing a beanie, long shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Tattoos run up his legs, arms and neck. He’s twirling around in circles on a swivel chair.
‘Tiger’s free,’ she says, nodding in his direction.
Tiger looks a little doped.
‘He did mine,’ the girl says, like she can read my mind.
‘Oh, right. OK,’ I say, embarrassed.
We follow her over. She introduces us to Tiger, who comes alive when he talks tattoos.
‘What kind of piece you having – stencil or freestyle?’
‘Eh, I’m not sure,’ Shane says. ‘Four words?’
‘Where?’
Shane taps his chest.
‘Cool,’ Tiger says. ‘Does your chair tilt?’ He touches the wheelchair.
‘Yeah.’
‘Easier for you to stay in it then, yeah? What are the words?’
‘Alive Till I’m Dead.’ Shane looks at me. ‘In case I forget.’
I smile, though it breaks my heart.
Tiger sketches out the words in a Gothic design. And suddenly, I know why they call themselves artists. Shane pulls his T-shirt over his head. Oh my God, he is so caliente. Our eyes meet. Quickly, I look away.
The buzzing starts. I watch for a minute, but start to feel kind of iffy, so I get up and go to the door for air. After a while, I go back. Tiger’s still on the first letter. I look at Shane.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘It’s OK,’ he says. Which I take as a yes.
I sit with him, just don’t look at it. I play a game on my phone. Then we get into this thing of staring at each other. At first, it’s funny, like those blinking competitions. Then it’s kind of peaceful. Then romantic. Or maybe that’s just me. I don’t take my eyes away. Neither does he. It’s like we’re daring each other. And ourselves.
Finally the buzzing stops. I break our gaze to look at the tattoo.
‘Wow.’ When I look back at Shane, he’s still looking at me.
I’m not embarrassed. ‘Can I touch it?’ I ask, my eyes locked on his.
He nods.
Tiger hands me antiseptic wipes. I clean my hands, then trace a finger slowly over each letter. I want so much for things to be different. I look at Shane and wish it. Will it. I get to the last letter, the ‘d’ of dead. I take my finger away but keep my eyes on his. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want his hands in my hair. And I want him to want me.
He gets his T-shirt on. Pays. And we’re out. It’s warmer after the air conditioning. Balmy even. Funny how it can do that in Ireland. Surprise you suddenly into summer. The pedestrian street at the very end of Temple Bar is deserted, forgotten. Hardly anyone comes down here anymore. Some of the shops have even closed down. Shame, I think.
‘Kiss me,’ he says. ‘Just one fucking kiss, and I swear to God I’ll never ask for anything again as long as I live.’
I burst into a smile and before he changes his mind, I bend down, close my eyes and kiss him like I’ve never kissed anyone, like I’ve been wanting to for a thousand years. He kisses me back the same way, his hands in my hair just like I imagined. We lose ourselves in each other, forgetting everything. Then he’s pulling back.
‘Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry … we can’t …’
I put my hands on the arms of his wheelchair and whoosh myself up, so that I’m kneeling on his seat, one knee on either side of him. I take his face in my hands and I kiss him again, this time with my eyes open. He closes his, like this will be our last and he’s going to make the most of it. When we finally pull apart, he looks sad.
‘If things were different, Sarah, we’d be together. We’d have been since that time I told you we couldn’t be … But things aren’t different.’
I’m not accepting that. I’m just not. ‘You say you want to live till you die? Well, you’re not the only one. You’re going to lose power in your arms, your hands. So let’s not waste another moment, OK? Let’s just be together now for as long as we can be. It’s what we both want. So let’s just do it.’ I take his hands and I put his palms flat against my face. I move them down over my neck, my chest. All the time looking into his eyes. ‘I want this. You want this. Ask me out. Go on.’
His voice is hoarse when he says, ‘What can someone like me ever give you?’
‘You.’ I take his face in my hands and look deep into his eyes. ‘I’m a big girl, Shane. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.’
‘I’ll let you down. It’s inevitable.’
‘That’s what guys do, right?’
He smiles. But then it fades. ‘Sarah?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You have to promise me something.’
‘What?’ Anything.
‘If we do this—’
‘We’re doing this.’
‘I want you to leave, just walk away, the minute, the second, you feel like it. You don’t have to explain. I’ll know.’
‘OK,’ I say just to shut him up. I’m not going anywhere. No matter how bad it gets.
‘I don’t know how fast this is going to progress, but it is going to get bad. I don’t want you staying out of guilt. I don’t want your charity. Ever.’ He looks into my eyes. ‘OK?’
‘OK.’ Then I smile. ‘So is that a yes?’
‘I need you to promise.’
‘I promise,’ I say impatiently. ‘Now kiss me, for God’s sake.’
He kisses me. And it’s like the best present in the world. He pulls back. And when he looks at me his eyes are so soft.
‘Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?’ he asks.
I smile. ‘How long?’
‘Since I first saw you.’
‘But you hated me!’
‘And wanting to kiss you made me hate you even more.’
‘God, you’re so mature,’ I say, kissing him again.
I go home totally on air. Louis is in the kitchen, biting into a massive sandwich, like he’s no worries. I think of Alex, falling apart. I don’t care what she says, this is his problem too – or at least it should be. He’s nineteen. She’s sixteen. She was messed up. He wasn’t.
‘So what’s happening with Miriam?’ I ask. Angry.
‘What is it with you and Miriam?’ he asks. Amused.
‘Do you love her?’
‘Do you care?’
‘Do you love her?’ I insist.
‘It’s not that kind of thing.’
‘It never is with you.’
He shakes his head, puts down his sandwich, picks up his plate and Coke and starts to leave.
‘What are you doing with your life?’ I ask, and I know I sound like Mum.
He stops and looks at me. ‘Enjoying it.’
‘No. You’re wasting it. And Miriam’s. You only get one life, Louis.’
He squints at me. ‘What is with you today?’
‘If you’d a year to live, what would you do? Seriously? Would you really keep going the way you’re going?’
‘Sarah. Loosen up, for Christ sake.’ He heads for the door.
‘OK. Then don’t waste Miriam�
��s time,’ I call after him.
He turns. ‘I don’t think Miriam would call it a waste of time.’ Then he smiles – that lazy, Louis smile and disappears.
After dinner, I’m up in my room, trying to concentrate on French but thinking of Shane instead, when my phone rings. It’s Rachel.
‘Everything’s OK. I went over to Alex today. You were right. She really needs us, Sarah.’ And I feel like saying, welcome back. ‘We should bring her out tomorrow. Somewhere normal. Like the movies.’
‘OK.’
‘Just to give her a break from all this.’
‘What if she doesn’t want to go?’
‘She won’t. That’s why we’re going to just turn up. And bring her. We’ll tell her we’ve booked the tickets. We’ll tell her Mike’s waiting downstairs.’
‘What if he isn’t?’
‘He will be. I’ve spoken to her dad. He’s in on this.’
And that is another reason I needed Rachel. She always knows what to do.
Later, Mum calls up to my room.
‘I bought doughnuts,’ she says. She walks in with a doughnut and a glass of milk.
‘Supper!’ I say. We never have supper. She looks at my wall.
‘Who’s that?’
Instead of my caliente wall are the photos I took of Shane, blown up.
‘That’s Shane,’ I say, proudly. I don’t care what she says about his hair, his chest.
‘He’s … beautiful.’ She looks at me, so surprised. ‘Your photos are amazing, Sarah. You have real talent.’
‘They’re just photos.’
‘No. Look at the character in his eyes, the curve at the back of his neck. You’ve captured, my God, so much.’
I look at them closer. OK, so maybe they’re good. But that’s because they’re of Shane.
‘There’s such intimacy in those shots,’ she says. Then she looks at me for the longest time. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
And that’s when it hits me. I do.
I just look at her.
She doesn’t say anything. Good or bad. Just opens her arms.
I go to her. And she wraps them round me.
TWENTY-SEVEN | BORING
Sunday. Because we’re bringing Alex to the movies in the afternoon, I call to Shane earlier than usual. He’s having physio. So I wait. There’s a mass going on in the main room. I sit through it, thinking of him, thinking of Alex, and thinking of exams – which are in two weeks.
At last, he’s free. I hurry to his room.
‘Hey,’ I say feeling my face break into a smile, like a flower opening to the sun.
He looks serious. ‘Are you sure you want this?’
I go to him, climb up on his chair and kiss him. It is a long lingering kiss designed to leave no doubt. I pull back.
‘Are you sure you’re sure?’ he jokes.
‘Actually, I don’t know. Kiss me again.’
He smiles, takes my face in his hands and presses his mouth to mine. It’s a good kiss. It’s a great kiss. He pulls back.
‘Well?’ he asks.
‘Hmm. Still not sure.’
He grabs me, crushes his mouth against mine. And then we’re seriously snogging. We’ve been holding back so long, aching for each other, and now we’re together, finally together. After I don’t know how long, I pull back.
‘All right,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I’m sure.’
Then we’re kissing again. I slip my hands under his T- shirt and run them over his chest. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. He lifts my top over my head. I hold my arms up, like a kid. He looks at me and smiles.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Better.’
‘Better than what?’
‘I imagined.’
I smile. ‘You imagined?’
‘I’m a guy, right?’
He runs a finger along my lips. I bite it. He laughs. There’s a knock at the door. I jump up, grab my T-shirt, drag it on inside out, run a hand through my hair. The door opens and it’s Christina. She looks at us like she knows something’s up. But she says nothing. She tells Shane about an appointment with an occupational therapist, but she sounds distracted. Then she reverses out of the room.
I look at Shane. ‘Oh God. She can’t stop us, can she?’
‘No. It’s none of her business.’
‘Still, I wish there was a lock on the door.’
‘Get back up here.’
Smiling, I climb back up on my perch.
‘So how come you’re here so early?’
I can’t honestly answer that question without telling him about Alex. I’ve kept it in for so long. We’re together now and I don’t want to keep anything from him. I know she’d understand. So I tell him.
‘Do you think there’s any chance they’ll get back together?’ I ask hopefully.
He grimaces. ‘No guy wants to give up everything for another guy’s kid.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s kinda the way we are.’
‘Shit.’
‘What about Louis?’ he asks.
‘She won’t tell him. Even if she did, I’m not sure what he’d do. He doesn’t exactly take life seriously.’
He frowns, thinking. And I love that about him, how everyone else’s problems are more important than his own.
‘That’s why we’re bringing her to the movies. To force her to get out, get on with life.’
‘If there’s anyone good at that, it’s you.’ He kisses me.
I put my nose to his and gaze into his eyes.
‘Of course, you know what this means,’ he says, fiddling with my hair. ‘I’ll be going out with an aunt.’
‘Marry me and you’d be an uncle.’
‘OK,’ he says cheerfully.
I look at him.
‘I was joking,’ he says.
‘So was I. But we could.’
‘You’re completely mad, you know that?’
‘And you’re a sitting duck.’ I start tickling him.
‘Get off. Jesus.’
And then we’re kissing again.
I expected Alex to put up a fight, say she’s not coming. Instead, she allows herself to be herded out the door. And I wonder if that’s worse, if it means she has no fight left. Mike drives us to the cinema. Alex doesn’t mind what we see. She doesn’t want any goodies. And sits blankly looking at the screen. Every so often, she takes out a tissue and blows her nose.
I tell myself it’ll take time.
Next day, she is on the DART. She looks weak and pale but she is here. Which means she’s not giving up. I stick by her side in case she faints. Rachel’s on the other side. And I swear to God, if anyone gets in her way, they’re going down.
At school, she keeps disappearing to the loo and coming back with puffy eyes. I’m so worried about her that on her fourth trip, I go after her. She’s already locked in a cubicle when I get there. I hear her sniffle. I feel guilty, like some kind of eavesdropper. But I wait. Because I’m determined.
‘You OK?’ I ask when she comes out.
‘Do I look OK?’
She looks even worse than she did when David moved to the States. She goes to the sink.
‘Alex? I was thinking. You know the person I went to see … about the shoplifting? She’s really good to talk to. When you … need to talk to someone.’
She gives me a look. ‘I don’t think talking is going to solve my problems. Do you?’
She starts to splash water on her face.
I’m not giving up. I’m not going to let her bully me out of talking about this.
‘Look, Alex, I’m the last person to tell anyone to go see someone. You know that.’ She looks up from the sink – because she knows it’s true. ‘But this woman, Mary Gleeson, she’s good. She sorted my head out when I didn’t think it needed sorting. You know?’
‘My head is fine.’
‘I thought mine was too. You’ve so much to cope with, you know? So many decisions to make.’
‘I know that. Don’t you think I know
that?’ She’s getting stressed now.
‘She can help. I know you don’t think she can. So I’m going to call her, OK, and ask if she’ll see you?’
‘I don’t want to see her.’
‘Can you just let me do this for you?’
‘No.’
‘OK, well, I’m just going to ask her to call you.’
‘Do you ever give up?’
‘Not when it comes to my friends.’
She rolls her eyes. And walks out.
But I don’t care. She’s not stopping me.
When I get to the canteen, she’s not there. Neither is Rachel. I go looking for them. But only find Rachel, outside. I know straight away something’s wrong.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing.’
She’s been crying.
‘What happened?’
She looks at me. ‘We had a fight.’
‘You and Alex?’
‘No. Me and Mark. It started off being about Alex but then it just blew up into something huge.’
‘Why were you fighting about Alex?’
‘He was going on about what happened with David, calling Alex a slag and such. I mean, I know he’s upset for David. But she’s my friend, you know?’ Her eyes well up.
‘Aw, Rache.’
‘I mean, what does he expect?’ She breaks down.
I put an arm around her. ‘It’ll be OK.’
‘How did you do it?’ she asks me.
‘What?’
‘Keep coming to school after you and Simon split up.’
‘Hang on. This is just a fight, right? You and Mark haven’t actually split up?’
‘No, but sometimes I think that maybe we should when he goes on like that.’
Whoa, slow down. ‘Rache, you’re both upset about Alex and David. But you still love each other, don’t you?’
‘He should know not to do that. She’s my friend.’
‘And I’m not standing up for him or anything, but maybe he’s so angry for David he’s not thinking before he’s speaking, yeah?’ She shrugs. ‘Maybe you just shouldn’t talk about David and Alex for a while – if you’re just going to upset each other.’
‘Yeah, but we should be able to talk about anything, shouldn’t we?’
‘I don’t know. Isn’t that expecting a lot? I mean, there are things you wouldn’t bring up with your parents because you’d know it would upset them, right?’ She looks at me blankly. And I think, does she really tell her parents everything? ‘Do they know you drink?’
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 45
