by Kate Le Vann
‘You’ll notice the fifty other buses directly in front of us? Our driver doesn’t want to drive into the back of them,’ Harry said.
‘I can see that, but what’s blocking them?’
‘Other buses. This is fairly normal traffic.’
‘There aren’t even any cars!’ Rain had never seen so many buses, two lanes of them on both sides of the road. But by now they had inched forward to the Selfridges windows, and they were amazing to look at – in the corner one, some good-looking real live people, not dummies, were lounging in a mocked-up trendy flat, eating lunch and ignoring the crowds that had gathered to stare at them through the glass – so Rain was quite happy waiting there.
Once they were off Oxford Street, the bus seemed to speed up a lot, whizzing past the gigantic Top Shop at Oxford Circus more quickly than Rain would have liked, and covering Regent Street in a couple of minutes. At the bottom was Piccadilly Circus – Rain was beginning to feel as if the bus route was organised to cover the whole Monopoly board. She couldn’t help being excited by the video-screen billboards and the statue of Eros, which she’d seen hundreds of times in films and things, because it seemed to be the perfect centre of what she knew of London.
‘I don’t know why people go on those sightseeing buses,’ Rain said. ‘This one seems to be checking off everything.’
‘But you don’t get a charismatic tour guide on this one,’ Harry said.
Rain flashed her prettiest smile at him. ‘Tell me about that building over there,’ she said. She pointed across Trafalgar Square, with its great big bronze lions, to a beautiful stone building with Greek columns along the front.
‘It’s the National Gallery,’ Harry said.
Rain waited for him to go on. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say about it?’
Harry made a comic pretence of racking his brain for ideas. ‘Look, those sightseeing buses are worth every penny,’ he said. ‘I can’t compete with them. Although I could take you in there and they can’t. So why are you starting with Covent Garden?’
Rain’s mind went blank. Surely there was something there, some landmark that it was reasonable to want to see. She couldn’t tell him she was dying to see the outside of the Opera House or … what else was there?
‘A friend of mine told me about this shop, the Covent Garden General Store?’ Rain said.
Harry was looking out the window. ‘This is our stop,’ he said, throwing his arm across her to ring the bell, then standing up. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,’ he shouted over his shoulder as they went downstairs. Rain was almost thrown over by the bus’s jerky braking; she swung wildly around the handrail she was gripping and her face thunked into Harry’s hard back.
‘Sorry,’ she said. His T-shirt was thin and she felt the warmth of his body against her cheek. He gave her a half-smile and a look she couldn’t work out.
‘The General Store is no more,’ he said. ‘It’s been a Marks and Spencer for years and years. I barely even remember it, but my big sister used to … Who told you about it?’
Rain felt miserable and didn’t want to answer him. ‘You have a big sister?’ she said, glad he’d given her a subject to change to.
‘One big sister, two little sisters. Twins.’
‘There’s four of you?’
‘Yep.’
‘And you’re the only boy? I suppose they all make a fuss of you.’ Rain guessed that this was the source of his confidence.
Harry laughed. ‘They make my life hell, you mean. They steal my stuff and shout at me, then pretend they’re sensitive little things because they watch trash on television and weep at all of it.’ He stopped and held Rain’s eyes with his own. She was looking almost weepy herself, although she was doing a good job of hiding behind her dark hair.
‘The General Store,’ he said, ‘may be closed, but I can take you to places like that. It sold little gifty things and … ‘
‘Well, it’s not so much the things … ‘ She faded out, still not wanting to tell him about her mum.
‘I know,’ Harry said. They were walking into a tightening crowd of people, and Rain looked all around her and then quickly back at Harry to check he was still there.
‘We want to be going up there,’ he said, pointing ahead.
Some of the people were gathering around ‘living statues’: a man painted white pretending to be a robot and a motionless gold woman on a chair. There was a man playing a sort of horizontal electric harp, selling CDs of his music, and a quite old-looking punk with a very tall green Mohawk selling badges and iron-on patches that said things like, ‘Once a punk, always a punk’ and ‘Pretty vacant forever’. Harry squeezed through in front of the crowds, where they’d left a small gap next to the statue people. Rain tried not to look at the statues, because she didn’t want Harry to think she was some idiot from the middle of nowhere who found them amazing. But suddenly the robot man pointed at her, definitely her. There was no way for Rain and Harry to get through and they were momentarily stuck. She turned her head away from the robot, but she heard people around them laughing, and she felt nervous and looked back. He was jerkily getting off his plinth, still pointing at her, nodding now, clapping both hands on his heart. Rain felt herself blush all the way down to her chest. The robot was still making his way towards her.
‘I think you have an admirer,’ Harry said.
‘Make him stop. Let’s move, let’s go!’ Rain said. It was too late. The robot took Rain’s hand and robotically lowered himself to one knee. The audience were laughing; Rain accepted her fate and smiled down at him. He sprang up and hugged her to him. ‘This is assault,’ Rain said over her shoulder to Harry. ‘I am not enjoying myself.’ Harry was covering his mouth with his hand, his eyebrows high above the dark brown eyes.
When the robot had let her go, Rain made a mad lunge towards the most spaced out part of the crowd and carried on walking. Now Harry was following her.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘How embarrassing for you.’
‘Yes,’ Rain said.
‘But if you will flirt with robots … ‘
‘FLIRT? I did nothing to encourage him!’ Rain said, whirling around to face him. She saw Harry’s laughing eyes, realised he was just making fun of her, and was too angry to speak. But her nerves and the relief that the robot experience was over were making her energetic, and she swept easily through the busy streets, determined to find some place to breathe. It all felt wrong: too many people, the sun too hot and bright, horrible mimes humiliating her. She stopped next to the Tube station and waited until Harry caught up with her.
Harry stopped beside Rain, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, closed it and … just grinned. Then he said, ‘Shall we go and get a drink?’ He led her past fashion stores, boutiques, cafés, and finally into a pub.
‘A pub?’ Rain said, stupidly, and she couldn’t help almost squeaking her surprise.
The pub was tiny and incredibly quiet. Rain couldn’t believe the difference from the noisy crush of people outside. Her village pub was never this empty! There was only one person drinking there, a little old man with a copy of the Racing Times and a large, full pint of beer.
‘A pint of orange juice and … ‘ Harry turned to Rain, who was raising an eyebrow at his unexpected choice.
‘A Diet Coke, please,’ she said, and her voice cracked because she was trying to speak quietly. Harry paid and pushed through a stained glass door into an even tinier room, the snug. He sat down on the padded bench and sipped his massive orange juice.
‘You’re pretty thirsty, eh?’ Rain said. Harry’s eyes narrowed in a smile over the rim of the glass. ‘It’s so calm in here.’
‘Yeah, it’s always empty at this time. It’s a kind of secret hide-out from the tourist hell.’
‘You make a habit of going to pubs in the middle of the day?’ Rain said.
‘It’s the middle of the afternoon,’ Harry said. ‘But look around you. It’s more relaxing than those coffee shops w
here you perch on stools drinking from giant paper cups next to giant windows. It has to be the right pub, though, and it’s because we’re here in Tourist World. I wouldn’t have dragged you into somewhere dodgy.’
Rain glanced at him because he didn’t seem to be making fun of her at all. She stretched her legs: she could feel herself unwinding in the soft light, the fierce sun filtered through the frosted glass. She felt embarrassed about dragging him to ‘Tourist World’, but also a bit irrationally hurt that that was how he thought of it. ‘I am a tourist,’ she said. ‘But it’s not really what I thought it’d be like, Covent Garden.’
Harry paused. ‘It … changes. It’s been a big place for shopping for a few years, but I imagine it’s the sort of shopping you could get where you come from, probably.’ His voice was gentle. ‘And you’re not a tourist: this summer you’re a Londoner. Was there something else you wanted to see here?’
Rain smiled, a little sadly. ‘To be honest, I didn’t have a plan. I don’t know where I want to go. We may as well just go for the chainsaw straight away.’
‘We can just wander,’ Harry said. ‘Shall we buy Vivienne something? As proof that we’re out and about?’
‘Oh, that’s a great idea,’ Rain said. ‘But I … The thing is, I don’t know how much Gran’s told you, but we haven’t really seen much of each other for years. I’m not even sure I’d know what she liked.’
‘Well, I wasn’t hoping to fulfil her heart’s desire,’ Harry said. ‘I was just thinking something to make her laugh?’
‘Oh, right.’ Rain mashed up the lemon slice in her Coke with the straw, then sucked up the pulpy drink, trying to think of what to say next. It was as if in a single moment the way they were together had changed, and she’d gone from being a kid Harry was babysitting to a girl on a date. Not that she thought Harry had romance on his mind. It was more like realising she was alone with this boy and had to talk to him rather than just swat away his teasing.
She was just about to speak when Harry said, ‘I suppose it’s been hard for her to come back to this house when she has so many memories here.’
‘Yes,’ Rain said. She was surprised he’d said that – Vivienne was so loud and breezy all the time, it didn’t occur to Rain that anyone might see a more vulnerable side.
‘Your mum was very young when she died, wasn’t she?’
Rain stared at him. People didn’t normally talk to her about her mum, and she was self-conscious about making people uncomfortable if she tried to, so she didn’t often try. Harry stared right back; his dark eyes were unfathomable, but so soft.
‘Twenty-six,’ Rain said huskily. ‘She was twentysix.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I was ten.’
‘Then you had a little bit of time to get to know her,’ Harry said. ‘That’s good, I mean it’s something. Anything, I mean, is something.’ Rain nodded silently. ‘She was only sixteen when you were born?’
‘She was younger than I am now,’ Rain said. ‘I can’t really get my head round it. My dad was nineteen. They got married straight away, before I was born.’
‘This is the first time you’ve been to Vivienne’s house without her?’
‘Yes.’
‘She told you about Covent Garden?’
‘Sort of,’ Rain said. ‘I found … I read her diary. Do you think that’s wrong?’ Rain looked at her fingers as she asked the question. One of her nails was broken deep into the bed. She pulled it across, drawing blood.
‘Of course it’s not wrong,’ Harry said. ‘Look whatever you … ‘ The barmaid came in and took away Rain’s empty glass, then went out again. Harry sighed quietly and turned over her empty beer mat, then took a sip of his orange. ‘Would you like another drink?’ he said. Rain shook her head. Harry flipped the beer mat again. ‘I had a brother. Who died.’ He wasn’t looking at her now. ‘He was older than me. He died when I was five. I was too young to remember much about him, but I still feel … like he should be there, or will be again, I feel that a lot. Isn’t that crazy?’
‘No,’ Rain whispered.
‘And I … sometimes I look at pictures taken of both of us and think I can remember what happened when they were taken and the day around them, but why would I remember those days better? Which means I’m probably making it up.’
‘No, I do that. It’s that you started remembering those days closer to when they happened, because you’ve seen the pictures all your life. The memories aren’t made up.’
Harry stretched, arching backwards so his ribs stood out. ‘Sorry, Rain, I didn’t mean to get you down.’
‘You haven’t,’ Rain said, looking at him with a halfsmile.
‘Listen, we should probably make a move,’ he said, adding in a lighter voice, ‘I’ve got some ideas for Vivienne’s present – I think we should head back through the market.’
Rain glanced anxiously at Harry. ‘I’m just not sure we’ll find the kind of thing that’s right for my granny there,’ she said, fiddling with a beer mat.
‘Oh, of course, I see what you’re saying,’ Harry said. ‘Don’t worry, I promise to I’ll protect you from the evil robot.’ Rain glared at him.
On their way out, Harry and Rain had to come back through the main room of the pub. To Rain’s horror the robot man was sitting there at one of the tables, sprawled lazily on a green leather banquette, sipping a tall, golden pint of beer, his other hand deep in a bag of pork scratchings. He made a jerky robot salute to her with the porky hand. Rain dived for the door, rushing through it with Harry’s deep, noisy laugh chasing her.
She didn’t turn round and let him see her smile.
Back outside, the street seemed even noisier and busier after the hush of the pub. But now Rain felt relaxed and ready for it, and, in turn, the packed streets seemed livelier, less scorched by the sun. They stopped at the ageing punk’s stall to buy her grandmother a ‘Once a punk always a punk’ iron-on badge – Harry said he’d noticed her gardening trousers had holes in the knees. In the tourist crowd around them, Rain now saw groups of girls the same age as her, dressed up and laughing, looking pretty – Japanese girls with knee socks and candy-coloured kitten-heels, tall Scandinavian blondes in jeans and knotted shirts showing flat brown tummies. She heard northern accents like her own, and a busker with an electric guitar and portable amp playing cheesy old rock songs. Not exactly opera – Aerosmith instead of arias – but as Rain and her new friend wove through the tourists together, it was a good enough soundtrack.
Rain’s diary
23 July
It’s what they say at funerals, the thing that Harry said. Anything is something, any time you got to spend with the person you loved. You have to celebrate the fact that you knew them even at all before they died and be happy about the time you spent with them. It’s what they said at her funeral, all the tall grown-ups who came up to talk to me after spending all afternoon staring at me. At the time, it made me so angry I could have screamed, but I was holding back my tears so hard my voice didn’t work. Maybe they said it to Harry too. Maybe he believed them.
I didn’t believe them because I knew it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. When she died I thought mothers only died in fairy tales – where they die so easily that it never felt as though anything very bad at all had happened; it was the thing that made their stories begin. When it happened to me, I knew I wouldn’t get wishes and fairy Godmothers and princes to help ease the pain, just a hole in my heart that got bigger and blacker until it sometimes felt like all of me was crumbling into it.
I couldn’t be happy that I’d known her for ten years – for at least half of which I hadn’t been paying attention. At the very least I wanted to have my ten years at a time when it was more convenient, when I’d use the time properly and count my blessings and be grateful and know. Know what was coming. Know it wouldn’t last.
But when I talked to Harry today I almost saw it. Maybe because of what happened to him: I knew he knew what he was talking abou
t. Maybe it was just because I never talk about her at all, usually.
But it made me feel … just for that moment…
Less sad.
Chapter 5
From: [email protected]
Subject: Variant mass
Date: 27 July 2.51 a.m.
To: [email protected]
Rainy, hi. How’s my girl? It feels like a year since I saw you, and it’s barely more than a week. I feel bad that I’m living here in the most astonishing natural beauty while I’ve sent you to live in our polluted capital. Norway is stunning. We’re surrounded by black craggy mountains and the waterfalls are explosive and Godly. It’s like – oh, you’re better with words than me! – it’s like everything isn’t real, just giant ornaments in a kind of Martian Paradise. It’s magical – the air so clean that breathing it in is making me years younger. And the weirdest thing is that it’s always daytime, or something like daytime, or nothing like daytime. The sun barely sets before it rises again, it lingers in the crystal skies while you blink and blink and wait for night that never comes, then the sunrise is lighter, more brilliant, impossibly lovely colours. I’m writing this at 2.30 a.m. because I stayed up to watch the sunset/sunrise and can’t tear myself from the show. Next time I come, I’m bringing you!
You’ve asked me three times if I’m eating properly so I may as well tell you the ugly truth. The answer is yes. But I’m eating out so much – I seem to have a lunch with colleagues and/or a formal dinner every day – that by the time we see each other again, I’ll be an unrecognisable bona fide porker. Big fat Dad. And no, I haven’t had my hair cut yet, I haven’t had time and I don’t know where to go. You know I really like the way Carlo does it at A Cut Above. It may not be fashionable, but it gives me exactly the right amount of fluff over the ears, which is important to a man.
Yes, I am enjoying myself – enjoying isn’t the word – and you were right to make me come. And yes, you are always right! You would find us all unbelievably boring, but it is doing me good meeting lots of scientists. There’s a lot of jokes about density over breakfast. (The breakfasts are pretty gigantic too.)
