It’s Anna. I read with Mabel’s nose hooked over my arm, sniffing in the hope of mints or something nice in my pocket. Her breath steams up the screen.
HB my lovely chum. Starbucks, 11am.
She knows that even the words make feel weird and self-conscious and prickly. This is why we’re friends. She gets it.
OK. Might be five mins late. Need to de-horseify.
I slide into the seat opposite Anna. She’s got our favourite table upstairs, looking over the pedestrianized shopping street where we can gaze out of the window and make up silly stories about random people. When you sit downstairs, you end up feeling like you have to leave when your drink’s finished, but up here the staff seem to forget you’re there. We spend hours sometimes, watching the world go by.
Anna’s got a blob of chocolatey cream on the end of her nose. She’s already ordered me a drink – a bucket of hot chocolate with a precarious mountain of cream on top – and two huge slices of our favourite chocolate cake.
She slides a package across the table. It’s a shiny gold paper envelope, and when I open it a sprinkle of purple glittery stuff scatters across the table. Inside there’s a tiny, perfect silver unicorn on a chain.
‘Thank you.’ I feel a bit awkward, and motion to my nose then hers. She wipes the blob of cream off and licks her finger thoughtfully.
‘You’re welcome, unbirthdaygirl.’
‘So. Moving on from the fact that you are now legally entitled to join the armed forces, work as a street trader and get married – with parental consent –’
I look at her and waggle my eyebrows.
‘– as well as lots of other things,’ she continues. ‘First of all, you didn’t reply to my “what happened on your date with Gabe” question. So I want all the details.’
I put my hand down to my pocket automatically, remembering her message. When I got it last night, I was standing with Mum and Polly, looking at Mabel all tucked up for the night in bed, and I’d put it away in my things-to-think-about-later brain file. Then I’d got home, it was Grandma’s last night, and we’d ended up watching Dad’s television programme all together. And by then I was completely over-peopled, and I’d gone upstairs to comfort-watch three episodes of Walking with Dinosaurs and fallen asleep with the light on.
‘I was walking Nan’s dog at the park yesterday afternoon,’ Anna continues, hugging her drink with both hands. She’s sort of peeping over the top at me. ‘I bumped into Archie.’
‘Literally?’ I remembered him clattering through the park on his scooter, flying down the stairs in one leap with a clash of rubber wheels and metal on tarmac. Bumping into Archie was potentially painful.
‘Not literally. As in, “Hi, how are you?” ’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Right,’ says Anna, and I realize that there’s a tiny cat-like smile curving up over the edges of the mug.
‘Right?’
‘Right.’ She does a sort of comedy eye roll.
‘OK.’ Well, here we are. None the wiser, but with two cups of hot chocolate to our name.
Anna looks at me with an eye-popping face, and waves her hands up and down. And I realize what she’s saying.
‘You and Archie?’
‘Er no,’ Anna giggles. ‘No me and Archie. But he asked if we were going to the park today. Apparently there are loads of people from school going down, and Jamie is bringing a drone thing to do a video for his YouTube channel. He asked if I – if we – if we were coming.’
I feel a sort of lurch of panic. I couldn’t work out if I was supposed to text Gabe or not, so I haven’t. And he’ll be there, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that. I’d like to see him. However I do not want a whole mortifying everyone-remembers-it’s-Grace’s-birthday-and-stares-at-her thing.
‘Oh good,’ I say cheerfully.
‘Grace, that is the crappest impression of someone being pleased about something I have ever seen.’
‘Oh.’ I try to rearrange my face a bit.
‘Now you look like you’re about to start growling.’ Anna giggles.
I try again, arranging my features into what I hope is ‘excited and enthusiastic’ coupled with a jolly sort of thumbs-up.
Anna shakes her head, still laughing, and puts down her mug. ‘D’you know what? It’s better if you just don’t try.’
‘I’m having trouble accessing the appropriate expressions from my memory vault. Please excuse me.’ I pull a face.
I manage to keep her talking about pretty much everything apart from how yesterday went. Not because I don’t want to tell her, but it’s just – Gabe hasn’t messaged me, I don’t know what to say to him and I feel awkward. Even by my day-to-day stratospheric standards of awkward. And the truth is that there’s so much stuff going through my brain all the time that it’s just another thing to worry about, and I don’t need that right now.
‘I love you and your silly face,’ says Anna. ‘Anyway, I like him. He makes me laugh. Will you come with me? Pleeeease?’
‘To the park?’
Oh, joy.
‘Sure.’ Anna’s almost bouncing on the spot and I’m not going to wreck it for her by being That Friend. Even if I’m having a minor internal meltdown. I take a gulp of hot chocolate and look out of the window.
‘Do you think this looks OK? Do you think I should go back and change?’
Anna, as always, looks perfect. Her orange hair is plaited over one shoulder and wild curly bits have broken loose and are twirling prettily around her neck. She’s wearing a fluffy grey cardigan and black jeans with a purple T-shirt and her new purple Doc Martens that she got for her birthday. I’m in yesterday’s hoody, which is – if I’m honest – slightly Mabel-smelling, and jeans, and my ancient comfort Vans with a hole in the toe.
‘No changing. You look amazing.’
Honestly, life would be far easier if someone handed out a ‘how to be a human being’ handbook with subsections for stuff like ‘what to do the day after a date in which you told your boyfriend your nemesis fancies him’. Except of course it would also have to have a sub-subsection called ‘how to know when the person you kissed stops being a person you kissed and becomes a boyfriend’. Except if it was a girl you kissed, obviously. You see what I mean? Life is a complicated thing.
‘What are you thinking about?’ says Anna, and I realize I’ve been staring out of the window with a glazed expression again.
‘Uh. Nothing.’ I love her, but I think I might make her head explode if I explain all that. ‘When d’you want to head to the park?’
‘Dunno. Now?’
There’s nobody at the park apart from a gang of mothers with small humans in pushchairs and slightly bigger humans tottering along beside them. All the small ones have snot emitting from their noses.
I know about the small-people noses because they end up flocking around me and Anna when – trying to act like we are just casually hanging out at the park and not waiting for some mythical ‘everyone’ll be there’ episode, which hasn’t transpired – we buy a couple of paper bags of duck food from the little cafe, and sit on a bench throwing handfuls on to the ground, so the entire bird population of the north-west has come to hang out with us.
‘Well, we’re popular in the bird universe.’ Anna looks at me sideways as she holds out a palmful of corn. The bravest duck waddles up and starts eating from her hand.
‘Me have some?’ says a small bobble-hatted being. She steps forward, leaving her two little friends hanging back. We give the little people some corn and they throw it, hopelessly uncoordinated, into the sky. It rains down on the ducks.
‘Here,’ says Anna, tipping the bag so that the food falls into their little starfish hands. ‘Have some more.’
We watch the small people bumbling about for ages. We’re surrounded by ducks and darting moorhens, and small, toddling, miniature humans.
‘Phoebe, are you terrorizing those big girls?’
One of the pushchair mums comes over, s
miling apologetically at us. ‘Sorry, she’s mad about ducks.’
‘She’s in the right place.’ I gesture to the eleven million that are orbiting our feet.
‘Yeah, we are veritable duck magnets,’ says Anna.
‘With no friends,’ I add under my breath.
‘With NO friends,’ Anna echoes.
The woman gives us a slightly odd look and shoos her small offspring out of the duck collective, back towards the swings where the other pushchair mums are gathered, drinking coffee and handing out bags of crisps.
‘So here we are. We have three new toddler chums, a flock of ducks who want to be our new BFFs and the park is empty of all the amazingly cool and interesting people who were supposedly going to be hanging out here today.’ Anna shakes out the last of the duck food and folds the paper bag into smaller and smaller squares until it is minuscule.
‘Maybe they’re coming later?’
Anna looks a bit deflated. I’m used to the whole being-in-the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time thing. It’s sort of what I do. Anna – despite being my friend, and therefore having a sort of perpetual uncoolness download attached – still has the hope and optimism of youth. It’s my job to cheer her up.
‘Let’s go for a walk round the park and down to the chip shop. By the time we get back, maybe Archie and everyone will have arrived to do amazing spontaneous holiday things, Disney-movie style.’
‘Are you trying to cheer me up?’ Anna says darkly.
‘Did it show?’ I say. ‘Was I good?’
‘Uh, no,’ says Anna. ‘But chips are always good.’
‘Two small chips and a bottle of Diet Coke, please.’
‘D’you want salt and vinegar on that, love?’
‘Nah, I’m all right, thanks,’ says a voice. I turn round to see Archie grinning at my shoulder, his scooter under his arm. His helmet is a bit wonky and I can’t help thinking that it isn’t going to keep him safe if he falls over. Then I remember that I probably don’t need to give him a helmet-related health-and-safety lecture, so I don’t say anything.
‘You made your mind up about that vinegar, love? Your chips are getting cold.’
‘Oh. God. Sorry.’ I turn the other way where Anna is standing, eyes wide, not saying a word. She sort of nods, mutely.
‘Yes please.’ I reply.
‘You coming up to the park?’ Archie motions outside where I can see Jacob, Jamie and Tom on bikes.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘we were just heading up there.’
Anna gives me a little sneaky look and we make our way out of the chip shop.
Tom is hopping on his BMX in an irritating manner. To be truthful, it probably wouldn’t be annoying if I wasn’t having a where-is-Gabe panic and scrutinizing the horizon like a maniac.
‘Where’s Gabe?’ asks Anna, trying to sound casual. I can feel my face going absolutely scarlet from my forehead right down to my neck, which is not a good look.
Archie pushes back a lock of his hair that has fallen down over his eyes, shoving it back under the side of his helmet so he can see when he turns to Anna. He must like her, because Archie basically spends his whole life under his fringe, so if he’s making the effort to actually look her in the eye, well . . .
‘Oh, he’s got some family thing on today. I called for him on the way. Said he might bike over later if he can escape.’
We wheel, scoot and walk our way through the park.
As if by some prearranged thing, everyone stops at the circle of benches in front of the duck pond. Archie flips his scooter in the air and lands it back on the pavement with a metallic thud. A couple of unsuspecting ducks wheel into the air, quacking their disapproval.
‘So you two been up to much today?’ Archie asks.
‘Nope,’ says Anna, sounding casual. ‘Nothing much. Just thought we’d wander over, see what was going on.’
‘Mummy! The big girls!’
Phoebe, the small red-coated bobble person, beetles towards us, waving her hands.
‘More duck food?’
Archie turns to Anna, a questioning expression on his face.
‘You girls must know all these ducks by name by now,’ says the mother of the small person as she scoops her child in the air, her legs flying upwards.
At the same moment the entire duck collective spots Anna and me and – hopeful of another epic picnic – they all hurtle towards us and flock around our feet.
‘Is there something going on here I’m missing?’ asks Archie, looking at a mallard pecking at the lace of Anna’s Doc Martens.
‘No.’ Anna lifts up her foot, and the duck steps back, looking cross. (Turns out ducks can look cross. Who knew?) ‘No, we’re just duck magnets, apparently.’
‘Never seen them before in our lives,’ I add helpfully. Anna starts giggling.
‘Right,’ says Archie, shaking his head but smiling. ‘You two are weird.’ He does a hop-spin thing on his scooter, during which time I look at Anna and we both pull the same face. So much for looking like we’re just, y’know, passing by. Now we look like weirdo duck-obsessive park lurkers.
‘I saw your sister earlier,’ says Tom. He’s turned his BMX upside down now, and is swearing at the chain wheel, trying to get the chain to sort itself out. ‘She’s down at the kiosk with Lily and Emma.’
‘D’you need a hand?’ As the wheel spins to a stop, the chain still slightly off, I lean forward. I pull at the chain where the teeth are caught and manage to untangle the part he was having problems with.
Tom looks at me, impressed. I’m not sure why he looks impressed, because presumably we all learned to ride bikes at the same time, meaning we all also learned how to untangle bike chains. I straighten up and wipe my hands on my jeans.
‘Thanks.’ He flashes me a grin and it takes me right back to primary school and wobbling our way through bike-safety lessons with luminous yellow jackets on. ‘I forgot you were really good at bike stuff.’
‘S’all right.’ I push my hair out of my eyes and realize I’ve probably just covered my head in grease smudges.
Something weird happened when we all got to about thirteen. We went all the way through school hanging out together in a big amorphous gang, knowing each other since nursery in most cases. But as soon as we got to high school everything got weirdly awkward and everyone settled into boy-girl groups. I always liked being friends with the boys. You know where you are with them. But the girls were different. Holly and her lot were caught up in complicated politics before I even knew what was happening, back in Year Three. I remember being told I wasn’t allowed to play a game because I didn’t have the right colour pink T-shirt, and crying all the way home from school. Mum, clearly trying to do the right thing (I think even then she was wondering why I stood out like a small, cross sore thumb) bought me an identical T-shirt to Holly’s one, but I refused to wear it. Being seven was complicated.
Being sixteen is apparently even more complicated. Now we’re in the park and Archie’s doing some kind of bizarre scooter-related mating ritual, trying to impress Anna with his ability to hop on and off metal benches. The small people and their parents have finally left, and the ducks, sulking at the lack of extra food, have made their way back across to the little island in the middle of the pond and they’re sunning themselves.
I’m not quite sure what to do with my arms and legs. Or my face, for that matter. It’s not until Anna’s attention is elsewhere (and it is – because she’s laughing and making the appropriate noises of entertainment and approval at Archie’s scooter techniques) that I realize how much I rely on her in situations like this. Left on my own, I run out of everything.
But it’s OK, because just when I thought things couldn’t get any more awkward, I see a shape in the distance and recognize the walk. My stomach sort of jerks with nerves and my knees feel weird. When I’m already dealing with people and noise and ducks and small children, it’s a bit alarming.
‘All right, Gabe, man,’ shouts Archie, throwing one arm up in the
air in greeting. Anna spins round to look at me, her eyes wide. She’s got pink cheeks and her hair is wild around her face, and she looks lovely but a bit different – like she’s not quite my Anna, and I feel a wave of something not-quite-nice passing over me.
I have no information on this. The non-existent rule book for dealing with social situations would be really handy here. Do I kiss him on the cheek to say hello, like you’d do with a relative you haven’t seen for a while? Am I supposed to sidle up to his side in the manner of a television sitcom girlfriend and smile adoringly at him? (Never going to happen – don’t worry. I’ve not had a personality transplant.)
And who is he with? I don’t recognize this person. I am quietly flapping my hands against the sides of my thighs in minor panic mode. Inside I’m having major panic mode. I could just run off and say that I saw a duck drowning or something.
‘How you doing, man?’ Jacob and Tom stretch out to give Gabe high fives as he reaches us. I look at my shoes because I don’t know what else to do. Anna says hi to him and when I look up (which I do sort of while still keeping my eyes on the floor – don’t ask, it’s complicated) I can see she’s giving me That Look. The look that says, Grace, you’re not humaning properly.
I look up at Gabe, who ducks his head and grins.
‘Hi,’ I say, but it takes a tremendous physical effort to get the word out, and I look back down at the ground again.
‘Hey.’ Gabe gives me his crooked-front-tooth smile again, and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt.
And my mouth blurts out (I don’t know why, there’s no connection between my brain and the things it does), ‘Is Holly coming?’
Gabe’s eyes drift down towards the ground for a second and I almost think he looks a bit embarrassed. And then he looks up at me and says –
‘I don’t know.’ And his tone is almost a bit – I don’t know, it’s sort of brave, or something. ‘I’ve no idea. We only came down because Arch texted me and said you were here.’
My toes feel like they’re going to explode and there’s a sort of weird whoosh that goes from my hair to my feet and back again and I just stand there for a second because I can’t quite believe Gabe just said that out loud.
The State of Grace Page 12
