by David Belbin
Rachel looked away. She wasn’t doing anything on Saturday, and it was now too late to pretend that she was. She ought to explain to Nick that she liked him, but thought of him more as a brother than a potential boyfriend. However, if she said that, he would probably be insulted. Rachel didn’t have a brother, not a proper one. How would she know what a brother was like? And she did like Nick. Kind of. It was just that she’d never thought of him the way he seemed to be thinking of her.
Until now. “OK,” she heard herself saying.
Nick gave her a broad smile. “Brilliant,” he said.
Four
“You’re going out with Nick Cowan!” Becky repeated, as she and Rachel walked home together. “Why?”
“Because he asked me. Because I couldn’t think of a reason to say ‘no’. Because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Anyway,” Rachel added, “I like Nick.”
“I see,” Becky teased. “So why didn’t you suggest that I go out with him when he asked me last year?”
“Nick’s nicer than he was last year,” Rachel argued. “You know it takes a while for boys to grow up.” How did she find herself in this position, defending Nick Cowan? It wasn’t as if she was serious about him.
“But he’s not as nice as Carl, is he?”
“Carl’s not around any more.” Carl was Rachel’s first and - so far - only serious boyfriend. She went out with him for four months, beginning in the middle of April and finishing in August, three months ago. He was in the year above her, a tall boy with long black hair and an infectious smile. He was shy, too, though not so shy that he hadn’t asked Rachel to dance at a disco in the Easter holidays, then cycled round to her house the next day when Mum was out at work. He’d spent the rest of the Easter break round at Rachel’s house, when he should have been revising.
Before Carl, Rachel felt like she knew nothing about life, especially boys. For ten days, the relationship was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. But then Rachel was back at school. When Carl went on study leave, he wanted Rachel to skive off and spend time with him, but Rachel refused. Carl said that she was too straight. He thought it had something to do with her not being ready to have sex. But it wasn’t only that. For one thing, Rachel didn’t want to be blamed for Carl mucking up his exams.
The other thing was that she and Carl had less in common than she first thought. He loved music, and had introduced her to lots of groups who she still liked. But you couldn’t sit and listen to music all the time. When they weren’t kissing and cuddling, she and Carl struggled to make conversation.
Carl messed up his exams anyway. In the summer, his relationship with Rachel fizzled out. They went on holidays which didn’t overlap. Rachel sent him a postcard, but never get one in return. When both were back in town, neither called the other. The next thing she knew, Carl was going out with some girl at the sixth-form college where he was retaking his GCSEs.
“I saw Carl in town on Saturday,” Becky said. So that was why she’d mentioned him. Becky had always liked Carl. “He was asking after you. I think he’s still interested.”
“Well, I’m not interested in him,” Rachel replied, tartly. Instantly, she wondered whether she meant what she’d just said. After all, if Nick could mature, so could Carl.
“No. You’re more interested in Nick,” Becky said.
“Leave it out, will you?” Rachel told her. “I said I’d go out with Nick once, that’s all. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet,” Becky added, stopping at her gate. “Coming in?”
Rachel shook her head. “See you tomorrow.”
“Hey, come on, can’t you take a little teasing?” Becky said. “Nick’s nice. He might be right for you, in a year or two.”
Rachel gave her friend a playful punch, then walked the rest of the way home alone. Becky could get away with being blasé about boys. She’d been going out with Gary for six months now. He was eighteen and worked at a travel agent’s. They’d been sleeping together since early summer. Back then, Becky, Carmen and Rachel all had boyfriends, but now only Becky did. And only Becky had lost her virginity. Rachel and Carmen weren’t ready, not yet.
“You must be in love with him,” Rachel said at the time.
“We don’t use the word love,” Becky told her. “That’s for magazines and pop songs.”
Rachel wished that she was in a position to be so cynical. It hurt that the three of them weren’t as close as they once were. She’d known Carmen longest but, since they wound up in the same form at secondary school, Becky had been her best friend. Rachel would give anything to have a really good relationship like Becky’s. OK, Nick probably wasn’t it. But there was no need for Becky to rub it in.
After school, Mike sat down next to the drinks vending machine in the empty staffroom, shattered. He didn’t even have the energy to get a coffee. He’d been teaching for three days and wasn’t sure that he would last until the weekend. A guy Mike’s age wandered in, checked his pigeonhole, and looked around. He was a pale, thin bloke with a mop of blond hair. Seeing Mike, he smiled and walked over to the drinks machine. He pointed at it.
“You look knackered. Want a coffee?”
“Thanks. Black. No sugar.”
The guy got two drinks and sat down next to Mike. When Mike fumbled in his pocket for change, he shook his head. “Forget it. I’m Phil Hansen, the other new bod. Maths.”
“Mike Steadman.” He shook Phil’s hand. “English.”
“How’s it going?”
“All right. But I hadn’t realized how exhausting it is.”
“That’s the way it goes,” Phil said. “I can’t believe how much work there is. I take an hour off, then work until ten most nights. Where’re you living?”
“Sheffield.”
“Sheffield?” Phil repeated, as though he hadn’t heard right. “That’s an hour’s drive away.”
“More at rush hour.” Mike ought to get off soon, but didn’t say so. Phil scratched his chin.
“Are you looking for a place round here?”
“Not really,” Mike told him. “I share a flat in Sheffield. My girlfriend’s still at university, and my contract’s only temporary. I’m using her car at the moment, but I’m going to buy myself a banger at the weekend.” That was, presuming the bank manager would increase his overdraft.
“It’s a lot of travelling,” Phil said. “I couldn’t hack it. If you ever want a bed for the night, there’s a spare one at my place.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, gratefully. “I might take you up on that.” He looked at his watch. “If I don’t go soon I’m going to run into a lot of traffic.”
As he was getting into the car, a pretty girl from his year eleven group came out of the music room, Becky something. She had a blonde bob and a swimsuit figure. Becky waved at him. He waved back, thinking that he must ask Phil Hansen what technique he used to learn names. There was a girl who sat next to Becky, just as good-looking but in a more subdued way. She hadn’t spoken in their two lessons so far. What was she called? Mike didn’t have the slightest idea.
Five
Rachel’s father deserted her mum when Rachel was five years old. She was meant to spend every other weekend with him. However, he sometimes had to cancel and she hadn’t seen him for over a month. Dad’s house was twice the size of the one Rachel shared with Mum. Clarissa kept it surprisingly tidy, considering that there were two young children underfoot all the time.
Rachel loved Phoebe and Rowan, but had always kept her distance from Clarissa. She’d refused to go to the wedding. It took until she was ten before Rachel finally accepted that her parents would never get back together.
Rachel played with her half-brother and sister until it was time for dinner. The kids ate first, then there was a sit down meal with wine.
“Phoebe and Rowan are pleased to see you,” Dad said, when he and Rachel were alone at the table. “Will you spend the evening with them?”
“Can’t,” Rachel said. “I’m
going to a film with a friend.”
Being at Dad’s didn’t stop Rachel going out on Saturday night if she wanted. In fact, Rachel was glad that she was going out. Sometimes, when she had nothing better to do, Dad expected her to babysit Phoebe and Rowan while he and Clarissa went to the pub. Rachel didn’t mind doing babysitting when people paid her, which Dad and Clarissa did, on occasion. But she hated being exploited.
“Your friend,” Dad said, as Clarissa brought in beef en croute, “is it anyone I know?”
“No,” Rachel said. “It’s just a boy from school. Nick.”
That shut Dad up. Clarissa served the beef. It was very good. Dad and Clarissa always had the best of everything. Clarissa came from a family with money, which had paid for this house. She’d never needed to work.
“This boy,” Dad said, as they were finishing. “Are you meeting him there?”
“No. He’s calling for me.”
Dad lived in Mapperley Park, which was nearer town than Stonywood. Nick had insisted on picking her up, splitting his journey.
“Good.” Dad poured Rachel a glass of wine. “I’ve not met any of your boyfriends before.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Rachel protested. “This is just a boy from school I’m going to the pictures with.”
Dad turned to his wife.
“Did you use to draw that kind of distinction, Clarry?”
Clarissa gave her irritating, I used to have a life, too smile. “It depended who I was telling.”
The doorbell rang.
“He’s early,” Rachel said. “I’ll let him in.”
Dinner was running late, so she should have known Nick would be early. He stood at the door, rain pouring on to his new-looking, black leather jacket.
“Hi, Rachel,” he said. “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said, adding courteously, “smart jacket.”
“Sixteenth birthday present. Last week.”
“You’d better come in.”
“Bring him in here,” Dad called from the dining room.
They hadn’t had dessert yet, but Rachel never ate pudding here, telling Clarissa that she was watching her figure. Actually, nothing made Rachel put on weight. At home, she and Mum regularly pigged out on chocolate.
“Are you going to finish this, Rachel?” Clarissa asked.
There was still a potato on Rachel’s plate.
“No. I’ve had enough. This is Nick. I’ll only be a minute.”
Rachel put her coat on. Back in the dining room, she found Nick deep in conversation with her father.
“Would you like to borrow my umbrella, Rachel?” Clarissa asked. “You don’t want your coat to spoil.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, brusquely.
Nick took the umbrella and held it over Rachel as they walked to the bus stop.
“Sorry to dump you with them,” Rachel said, as they walked down the hill.
“It was fine,” Nick said. “We talked about football. Eric gave me a glass of wine. Your mum seems nice.”
Didn’t Nick know anything? Couldn’t he see that Clarissa was too young to have a daughter Rachel’s age?
“She’s not my mum,” Rachel said, sharply. “She’s Dad’s second wife.”
Nick looked embarrassed. He mumbled an apology.
“I wondered why you lived here, but went to Stonywood.”
“It’s all right,” Rachel said, not wanting the evening to start on the wrong note. “You weren’t to know.”
They got into town early and walked up Chapel Bar to see what films were on. The city streets were busy, with more people flooding into the city on every bus.
“What do you fancy?” Nick asked.
There were nine films to choose from. The one Rachel most fancied seeing was When A Man Loves A Woman. But the title might give Nick the wrong idea.
“How about Pulp Fiction?” she suggested. “I haven’t seen it yet. Have you?”
“No,” Nick said. “That’s a good idea.”
They were early so the queue was short.
“I’ll pay for myself,” Rachel insisted, as Nick fumbled in his pockets.
“Oh. Fine.”
She bought her ticket at one counter, while Nick asked for his at the other.
“Are you eighteen, son?” the middle-aged woman asked him.
“Yes, of course.”
Rachel, ticket in hand, froze with anticipated embarrassment.
“Got any ID?”
“Not on me, no.”
The people in the queue behind Nick watched with amused curiosity.
“I’ll check with the manager.”
The woman waved at the manager. He took one look at Nick and shook his head.
“Sorry, duck. Do you want to see something else instead?”
Nick turned to Rachel, eyes pleading with her. She took over.
“We’ll go and see True Lies instead. You’d better change this ticket for me, please.”
They had half an hour to wait before the film began. At the bar, a young man served Nick two halves of lager without question.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I usually get away with it.”
“I should have bought both tickets,” Rachel said. “Girls look older. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“You look about twenty,” Nick said.
“Don’t be daft.”
“No, you do. I mean, even in school, you look ... you know, grown up. But, now, if I didn’t know you, I’d never guess that you were only sixteen.”
“Fifteen,” Rachel said. “I’m not sixteen until April. And keep your voice down.”
“Sorry. What are we going to see, anyway?”
“True Lies. Is that all right?”
She looked at his face. He was trying to decide whether to tell her something.
“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?”
“It’s all right,” Nick said. “I don’t mind seeing it again. It’s good fun.”
Nick was right. The film was silly, but it took Rachel out of herself. She never normally went to see big screen blockbusters. It made her forget her nervousness about the date. Afterwards, they took the bus home. Nick offered to escort Rachel to her door, but she insisted that she would be safe walking up Tavistock Drive alone. If Nick walked her home he wouldn’t get the last bus back to Stonywood. She would have to invite him in. Rachel wasn’t ready to go that far.
“I had a nice time,” Nick said, as the bus passed Clarendon College.
“Me too.”
She rang the bell. The “Bus Stopping” sign lit up. “Maybe we can do it again some time?”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “Thanks for asking me.”
She stood, and he sort of half stood, too. There was an awkward pause, and Rachel thought for a moment that he was going to try and kiss her. But then he bottled it.
“See you on Monday,” Rachel said. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
The road back up to Dad’s house was dark and quiet. Although the area where Dad lived was leafy and expensive, the lower part was run down, all bedsits and student houses. Rachel worried about someone jumping out of the shadows, dragging her into one of the narrow passages which led down the sides. She walked quickly, keeping to the edge of the road, wishing that she had let Nick walk her home. She realized that she wouldn’t mind going out with him again.
That was, if he asked her.
Six
On a grey Sunday afternoon in Sheffield, Emma ironed Mike’s shirts for him.
“Is it always going to be like this?” she asked, as Mike sat at the kitchen table, preparing a sequence of year- eleven lessons for his second week at Stonywood. Before he got this job, they used to spend Sunday morning in bed, the afternoon with friends, and the evening in the pub.
“I expect it gets easier after a year or two,” Mike replied.
Emma laughed. She thought he was joking. Yet, according to Phil Hansen, the more term went on, the more work built up. People went
on about marking, but at least that was finite. Preparing lessons took the most time. He had to come up with five new ones every day, and, if they were no good, the kids played him up and he really suffered. What he’d said was true. When he’d been doing it for a year, it might get easier, because he’d have a stock of tried-and-tested lessons. But the end of the school year seemed an eternity away.
When Mike tried to explain this to Emma, she wasn’t interested. Mike was meant to have found a car yesterday, but had been too tired to do anything about it. Emma was getting fed up with having to rely on the tram system to get to the university. There was something which he’d been putting off. Now seemed as good a time as any to tell her.
“I’m staying at Phil’s on Thursday,” Mike told Emma. “There’s a year-seven parents’ evening. I won’t finish until late.”
“Thursday!” Emma protested. “You can’t. We’re going to see Sugar at the Foundry. Surely you could get home in time?”
Mike had forgotten the gig, the big reopening night of a local venue.
“I’ll be too knackered to drive afterwards. Can you sell my ticket?”
“And go with who?” Emma moaned. “I was really looking forward to it.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Mike promised. “I’ll buy us both tickets for the Oasis gig at the Arena.”
At least, now that Mike had a job, he could afford to buy tickets for big shows.
“That’s not until Easter,” Emma complained.
“I’m really sorry,” Mike said. “But it’s my first parents’ evening. I doubt that I’d be safe to drive home, never mind enjoy a gig.” He gave her one of his sheepish smiles and Emma melted a little.
“I’ll see if Carol wants to go to Sugar,” she said, begrudgingly.
“Thanks.”
She kissed him and, despite the work piled on the kitchen table, Mike was tempted to take things further. But then the phone rang.
“Steve!” Emma answered, cheerfully. “It’s been ages. How are you?”
Mike went back to his lesson plans.
Steve was Emma’s older brother, and used to be Mike’s best friend. They’d nearly ended up going to the same university, only Steve didn’t get as good grades as Mike. But then, the Christmas after their first term away, things went wrong.
