He led me through to the back of the house where he resumed ironing a shirt.
‘Want anything to drink before we go?’ he asked as he whipped off the T-shirt he had on.
Wowzola, I thought as I looked at his naked torso. I felt like Jim Carrey in that film The Mask when he sees Cameron Diaz for the first time and his eyes be-doiing out of their sockets and on to the floor and back again like they’re on springs. Then I realised I was staring, so quickly looked at the door. Then I realised I might look seriously uncool, like I’d never seen a boy without his shirt on before. I was sure I was blushing. I made myself look up and meet his eyes. ‘Unyah, na, nah, no thanks,’ I stuttered. He had a fab body. And I mean fab, like he regularly worked out. His shoulders were broad, his skin a lovely olive colour and his upper chest was nicely toned, not muscly just . . . perfect. I’ve seen my brother Paul loads of times running around in his boxers, but he’s a skinny thing and his chest kind of sinks in. I’ve even seen Steve almost naked when he’s been changing for tennis – to say that he’s not a contestant for the Mr Universe competition is an understatement, as he’s kind of thin in the chest region, like Paul, and he’s very very pale. But Luke, he was like one of those Calvin Klein models modelling underwear that you see on posters on the sides of buses sometimes. As Izzie would say, hubba hubba. Get a grip, I told myself, you’re acting like a stupid teenage schoolgirl. But I am a stupid teenage schoolgirl, said a voice in my head.
‘Won’t be a mo,’ said Luke, as he donned the ironed shirt then grabbed his big overcoat and scarf from the back of the kitchen door. ‘OK, Watts, let’s get ready to rumble.’
‘Er, right, rumble,’ I said as I followed him out through the house and to his car.
We arrived in Hampstead about fifteen minutes later and made our way up to the tube station.
‘I’m really looking forward to this,’ said Luke as we joined a small crowd of tourists buying tickets, from a man with a shaved head outside the tube. There was the usual bunch by the sound of their voices, a couple of Americans, couple of Japanese, couple of Australian students, couple of Germans.
After a few minutes, more tourists poured out of the tube station, paid their money and we were away.
‘My name’s Peter and I’m your guide for the day,’ said the man with the tickets, as he headed towards the traffic lights. ‘The tour will last about two hours. Now stick together and careful crossing the road . . .’
‘I feel like a kid in junior school,’ I whispered to Luke as the group of about twenty of us swarmed after him across the road.
‘I know,’ laughed Luke. ‘And make sure you wipe your nose before you talk to anyone.’
I was just about to get a tissue out when I realised that he was joking. Get a grip, Watts, I told myself. You’re acting like a no-brain.
The tour was fascinating from the beginning, when Peter told us that the name Hampstead came from a word that meant the old homestead when there was nothing but a farm in the area. It became more popular later when people used to come up to the area for the clean air and the waters.
‘Both polluted now,’ laughed Luke as an old van spluttered past blowing fumes out of its exhaust pipe.
‘Even King Henry the Eighth made use of the waters here,’ continued Peter. ‘He had all his laundry sent here and the royal undergarments could be seen for miles drying on gorse bushes. The popularity of the waters and the area waned after a doctor declared that actually sea air was the best and everyone took off for the coast. After that, the area became very popular with artists and writers . . .’
Both Luke and I had to scribble notes madly to get down what Peter said as he led us down a lovely street full of Georgian houses called Church Row, named so because there was a church at the end of it. We had a quick look round the church, then went out into an old graveyard. This doesn’t feel like London at all, I thought, as we strolled amongst the trees and old graves that were overgrown with ivy.
‘This doesn’t feel like London at all,’ said Luke. ‘It feels like the countryside.’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ I said.
‘Go to the far end of the cemetery,’ said Peter pointing to a quiet corner, ‘and you’ll see the grave of one of Hampstead’s most famous residents.’
The group moved over to where he had indicated under the trees and there, to my amazement, was a raised large stone coffin on the side of which were engraved the words, John Constable.
I felt inexplicably moved. ‘I can’t believe it,’ I said. ‘It’s so unostentatious. No signs, no notices saying who’s here. It makes it so much more impressive just to come across it. I’d have thought a painter as famous as he is would have been buried in one of the grander cemeteries or in a cathedral with a huge gold plaque.’
Luke nodded. ‘Just what I was thinking.’
‘Great minds think alike.’ I grinned back at him.
‘Constable painted the Heath more than any of the other painters who came here,’ said Peter. ‘He really loved the place.’
‘Kind of right that he should be buried here then,’ Luke whispered to me.
After the graveyard at the back of the church, Peter led us over the road to another part of the cemetery. ‘It’s claimed that the writer Jackie Collins and her sister Joan have already bought plots to be buried in here.’
‘No doubt, Jackie’ll have, “A plot at last” written on her gravestone.’
Luke laughed. ‘I never realised that people could reserve where they wanted to be buried though.’
‘Yeah. It’s kind of morbid, don’t you think? You know, planning your death?’
Luke nodded. ‘Yeah, but I guess it’s going to happen to all of us at some time or other. Probably not a bad idea to think about how you’d want your send off to be.’
‘I’d like a choir singing something cheery like, “Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye”,’ I said.
‘Luke laughed again. ‘I might have “Cold As Ice”, or something appropriate like that. Or maybe “Voodoo Child”. And afterwards, I’d like to be stuffed and put in the corner of someone’s hall and used as a hatstand.’
I pinched his arm. ‘Stop it. I’m sure you’d make a very nice hatstand, but it’s too spooky talking about death in a graveyard.’
‘They say that DH Lawrence’s wife had him cremated, then mixed his ashes with concrete-type stuff and had him made into a fireplace.’
‘No way!’
‘I read it somewhere, I swear,’ said Luke.
As we wandered through the back lanes, we learned so much from Peter about the previous inhabitants of Hampstead: John Constable, George Du Maurier, George Romney. But it was also rumoured that a major Hollywood star had bought a house in the back lanes just round the corner from a famous film director, and there was even a celebrity chef living near the Holly Bush pub.
‘Don’t know if they’re still here,’ said Peter, ‘as I’m not from this area and it could just be gossip.’
I couldn’t wait to tell Nesta. Even if it was just a rumour that there were celebrities in the area, she’d still want to come and have a look. I felt a twinge of sadness about the imminent move to Devon as we wandered on. North London was so full of interest and I’d be leaving it all behind me, when there was still so much I wanted to explore.
At the top of Holly Hill, we stopped outside a grand-looking house called Fenton House. ‘This is one of the earliest houses in Hampstead, built in 1693,’ said Peter. ‘Now have you noticed anything odd about the windows?’
‘Some of them are bricked up,’ said one of the American tourists.
‘Anyone know why?’ asked Peter.
I put my hand up. ‘Um . . . in the sixteen hundreds, a tax was declared saying that the more windows you had, the more tax you had to pay. A lot of residents didn’t want to pay the extra taxes and had their windows bricked up. They declared the tax as robbery, daylight robbery.’
‘Hence the origin of the saying that is part of our language today,’
said Peter. ‘Well done. Couldn’t have put it better myself. It was during the reign of Queen Anne.’
‘Show-off,’ whispered Luke, then he pinched my arm and grinned. ‘I love finding out about things like that.’
‘Me too,’ I agreed.
Up and down and round the lanes we walked as Peter filled us in on history interspersed with gossip. ‘The pond at the top of Hampstead was where travellers used to stop to water their horses on their way in and out of London,’ he informed us. ‘It was also where highway men used to hide, so that they could pounce on the travellers as they tended their horses. It is said that Dick Turpin was one of them and to this day he haunts the Spaniard’s Inn just down the lane. The pond area was also where highwaymen were hung as examples to others.’
‘Do you think that’s where the term hanging out came from?’ asked Luke.
I laughed. ‘Doubt it somehow. Maybe the expression, hanging out to dry, is more like it.’
As we proceeded down past the pond and into East Heath Road, there was a house where Elizabeth Taylor lived with Richard Burton, over the road from them, a fab Gothic mansion where Boy George used to live. I made a note to ask Steve to come and take photos of them for the open day presentation.
Luke and I chatted easily as we followed everyone round and discovered that we had loads in common: books, our interest in history, old films, theatre. At one point, he took my hand to lead me across a road and, for a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if he were my boyfriend. It was only for a moment, then I felt really bad. He was Nesta’s boyfriend. How could I even consider it, even for a second? Plus Steve. I had Steve. I don’t think he’d be too happy if he’d been passing and seen me holding Luke’s hand, no matter how innocent.
‘So you’re dating Lucy’s brother?’ Luke asked as if he’d picked up on my thoughts once again.
I took my hand out of his immediately. ‘Um yes. Since the summer.’
‘I’ve seen him around, but never really spoken to him. What’s he like?’
‘Nice. Sweet. He’s a real mate.’
‘Sweet, huh?’ Luke gave me a strange look as if he were waiting for more, but I didn’t feel comfortable talking to him about Steve. Instead, I pretended I wanted to hear something that Peter was saying to one of the Japanese tourists and moved away from Luke.
The tour finished off as we walked down Well Walk, which we learned was so named because that was where the wells of water used to be. Then on to Flask Walk, which is where the water was put into flasks to be sold. On the way, we passed Burgh House, which Peter told us was one of the oldest houses in Hampstead.
‘I asked Sian to do that one,’ said Luke, ‘so we don’t have to go in. Let’s go and get a drink instead. I think we’ve earned one.’
After the tour, we went and sat outside the Coffee Cup café in the village and chatted about what we’d learned and what we might put in our presentation. It was then I started to feel uncomfortable. Walking round with Luke had been OK, but sitting opposite him and looking straight into his eyes and he into mine, I felt strange, like my brain was going to fuse and I was sure I was blushing madly. I didn’t want to be feeling what I was feeling, and the more I tried to push the sensations to the back of my head, the more they seemed to want to be in the front. In the end, I didn’t look at him. Instead I watched the passersby as Luke continued talking and World War Three started in my head.
You’re in danger of becoming like Sian, said one voice at the back of my mind, and you know what Luke thinks of her. A mixed-up kid. Someone with a sad crush on him. You’ll be another on a long list.
But he is very attractive, said another voice. Not only looking, but personality-wise as well. There’s nothing wrong in appreciating beauty. It would be mad not too. Chill.
And on the voices went:
But he’s Nesta’s boyfriend.
So? You’re not planning to steal him or anything.
No. I’m not. But I shouldn’t flirt either.
Don’t kid yourself that he’d flirt with you. Someone like Luke would never look twice at someone like you, not in a fancying kind of way.
But I think he does like me.
So? There’s a difference between liking someone and fancying them.
Erk! How many people are there inside my head?
‘Are you listening to me, TJ?’ asked Luke. ‘You look like you’re miles away. What are you thinking about?’
‘Oh! Nothing. Er. Sorry,’ I said, getting up. ‘Look. Better go. Just realised the time.’
He looked disappointed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve been boring you haven’t I? Was I going on?’
‘No, no . . . I just have to go.’
Luke didn’t look convinced. ‘OK. See you Tuesday then and we’ll compare notes.’
I started to head off.
‘Hey, sure you don’t want a lift?’ Luke called after me.
‘Nope. Thanks. Got to run,’ I said over my shoulder, then hurried on. I must be mad, I thought. A lift would have been brilliant. Now I have to make my own way home. But I needed time on my own to think. Blow away the madness that seemed to be taking me over.
OK, I told myself as I made my way home, OK, so Luke is class A, five star attractive. So is Orlando Bloom. Fine. I can appreciate them. It’s fine. That’s OK. Only looking. It would be insane not to acknowledge beauty and appreciate that someone is nice and interesting. Yeah. Madness not to. So no big deal. No problem. Maybe I’m getting a bug. Yeah. That’s it. Probably a virus going round making me feel funny. Being out in the cold with all those strangers. Lot of bugs going round at this time of year. Flu, colds, fevers. Nothing more than that.
By the time I reached home, I felt calmer. More rational.
Got a bug. Sorted. Yes. No prob.
Some of the Famous People Who’ve Lived in Hampstead
Kingsley Amis, writer
WH Auden, poet
William Blake, artist
Richard Burton, actor
Agatha Christie, writer
John Constable, artist
Dame Judi Dench, actress
Charles Dickens, writer
Daphne Du Maurier, writer
George Du Maurier, cartoonist and novelist
Sigmund Freud, psychoanalyst
Thomas Hardy, writer
William Hogarth, artist
Aldous Huxley, writer
John Keats, poet
DH Lawrence, writer
AA Milne, writer
Florence Nightingale, nursing reformer
George Orwell, writer
George Romney, artist
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, artist and poet
Peter Sellers, actor
Sting (Gordon Sumner), musician
HG Wells, writer
Chapter 7
We were in the graveyard at the back of the church on Church Row. It was snowing and everywhere looked white and magical.
‘You’re freezing,’ said Luke as he took off his red woollen scarf and wound it round my neck. Then he took the ends of the scarf and pulled me towards him. I could feel the warmth of his body through his coat. He reached up with his left hand and stroked the side of my cheek gently then slid his hand down to my chin and tilted my face up to meet his. I looked into his eyes as his face moved towards mine and our lips . . .
‘ARRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHH!’
I sat up in a cold sweat. Where was I? Oh. Home. Bed. Warm. I lay back down and pulled the duvet up to my neck. Ohmigod. I dreamed I was snogging Luke. Ohmigod. Sorted, huh? Got it all under control? Got some kind of a bug? Yeah, right. I might have my conscious mind under control, but my unconscious clearly had ideas of its own. And those ideas were getting up close and very personal with Nesta’s boyfriend. I am clearly the worst person on the planet.
At school later, I felt even worse. Nesta was so nice to me, but then why shouldn’t she be? She didn’t know that I was having X-rated kisses with her boyfriend in my dreams.
; ‘Luke said you had a good time on the walk,’ she said at break-time as we made our way down towards the hall.
‘Yeah. We did. There was so much to take in. We’ve got a ton of work to do. I knew there were a few famous people who lived in the area, but nothing like the number we’ve discovered.’
Nesta put her arm through mine. ‘Luke thinks you don’t like him,’ she said.
‘Whadt? Why? What on earth gave him that impression?’
‘Dunno.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess you can be cool with people sometimes. A bit aloof sort of thing.’
‘No. It’s not that. I’m . . . I’m shy . . .’ Actually I’d heard people say that I was aloof before, but I never mean to be. It’s when I don’t know people very well, I go quiet. But I didn’t think I had been with Luke. I thought we’d got on great. Too great.
‘Is that what he said. I was aloof?’
Nesta nodded. ‘Something about you running off as soon as the walk was over, like you didn’t want to hang out with him more than was necessary. He said that you’re a bit of a mystery and don’t give anything away. He was asking a lot about you.’
Izzie raised an eyebrow. ‘Maybe he fancies her. Watch out Nesta, you’ve got competition.’
Nesta laughed so I joined in, probably a little too hysterically.
‘Numpf. Er . . . As if . . .’ I said.
‘I do think he rates you though, TJ. He said he thought you were really smart. I told him you were. The smartest person I know.’
‘Neeyuh, thanks.’ I felt lost for words. And a little hurt. He rates me because I’m smart. But he dates Nesta because she’s beautiful.
Nesta put her hand on my arm. ‘TJ, for me, be nice to Luke. I mean, me, Iz and Lucy know that you’re a fabster but when people don’t know you, they might be intimidated by your distant cool manner. Maybe make a bit more of an effort to be friendly?’
I gulped. Me, distant? Cool? Hah! If only she knew the turmoil that went on in my head sometimes. And wanting me to be more friendly to Luke, she clearly didn’t have the slightest idea what she was asking. And amazing! Luke thought I didn’t like him. I thought it was written all over my face that I did.
Mates, Dates and Tempting Trouble Page 5
