I turn and look at him. ‘Who?’
‘Your friend. Why does she have to go and see a shrink?’
I sigh. I’m not sure if I should talk about this. It’s confidential, I guess. Although Jodie never holds back on the details. And besides, if she could see Gary right now, I think she’d understand. ‘She used to self-harm,’ I say quietly.
Gary looks at me blankly.
‘She used to cut herself when she felt bad,’ I say. ‘Still does sometimes, I think.’
Gary winces. He looks shocked, horrified. ‘Jesus!’ he says. ‘Why does she do that?’
I look down at the ground. I think about Jodie. And I shrug. ‘Dunno really. Neither does she. That’s why she goes to see someone, I guess.’
Gary turns away again. I’m not sure if I’ve made him feel better or worse.
‘There’s nothing wrong with getting help, Gary,’ I say. ‘It’s people that say they don’t need help that are really messed up.’
Gary looks at me. He smiles. Then he turns away again, picks up another stone and lobs it into the water.
‘Really, Gary, I mean it. You’re not mental, you’re not mad. Everyone needs help sometimes.’
Gary pulls his feet up, out of the pebbles. Stones drop down from his big boots, on to the beach. He gets up and brushes himself down. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
.
There’s a sign above the door. Twiddy’s Amusements, it says in peeling paint.
‘You got any money?’ Gary says.
I shake my head. ‘Not much.’
Gary puts his hands into his pockets. When he pulls them back out, they’re filled with coins. Mostly silver. ‘Come on, let’s go in,’ he says.
It’s noisy inside. Sirens, bells, buzzers, the chug-chug-chug as a machine pays out. Gary stands there and takes it all in. He smiles. Over to the left I can see the machines where you drop in 2p coins – the ones where there are two or three shelves that move and sometimes knock the coins off. I don’t know what they’re called. ‘2p machines’ probably. But I remember going on one in Folkestone. I won 14p. Probably put more than that into the machine, though.
‘Can we go on the 2p machines?’ I say to Gary.
Gary looks over. He sort of sneers at the machines. And I feel really small and stupid. ‘You can if you want,’ he says. ‘I’m going on the fruity.’ And he points over to the big bank of buzzing, flashing fruit machines.
‘I haven’t got enough money for that,’ I say. ‘Anyway, don’t you need to be eighteen or something?’
Gary shrugs. ‘So?’
I shrug as well. ‘Please yourself.’ I head over to the 2p machine.
In my purse I have eight 2ps and a 5p. I stand by the machine, try and find a place to drop my money into where there are loads of coins hanging over the edge of the shelf. I drop a coin in. It slides down the machine and lands in a gap on the top shelf, just as the shelf moves forward. Then the shelf moves back and my coin squashes the others up. But none fall off. 2p wasted.
I watch the machine for a few seconds, try and get into the rhythm of the shelves, moving backwards and forwards. I feel like a high-jumper, rocking backwards and forwards, waiting for the right moment to start my run-up. Then I try again, drop in a coin. It slides down and lands on the top shelf as it moves forward. The shelf comes back and my coin squashes against all the others. One drops off the edge, on to the middle shelf. My heartbeat quickens. I stare at the coin that’s fallen. The middle shelf comes back and squeezes my coin against the others. I hold my breath. But nothing falls.
I do it again and again and again. No luck. In two minutes I have lost my complete collection of 2ps. All I have left is my 5p coin. There’s a 5p machine next to me. I look at it, watch the shelves move, watch the silver coins squash against each other. I’m tempted. But then I sigh and I put the coin away. Gambling sucks. Especially if you don’t win.
I walk over to Gary. He’s staring at the fruit machine. His face glows orange and red as the lights on the machine flash. It doesn’t look like the first time he’s played these machines. His hand seems to naturally rise to the slot as he drops coin after coin in with a clunk. He looks like he should be smoking a fag, a pint rested on top of the machine.
‘Any luck?’
He shakes his head and he sighs. He doesn’t take his eyes off the machine. ‘I don’t think it’s paying out.’ He hits a button and the fruits spin round. ‘Bollocks!’ he says.
‘Maybe you should stop,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere else.’
Gary shakes his head. He puts his hand into his pocket and pulls out a £1. ‘This is my last coin,’ he says. ‘You put it in for me.’
I look at him and then at the coin. I should just take it and run out of the arcade, save it so we can get some crisps or a drink or something. But Gary’s face pleads with me. I take the coin from him and put it into the machine. Clunk. The machine starts to buzz and flash.
‘What do I do?’ I say.
Gary leans over and points at a flashing button. ‘Press that one,’ he says.
So I do. The fruits twirl round. Two watermelons and some cherries.
‘Hold them two and nudge that one,’ he says.
‘What?’
He leans over again. ‘Press that one and that one. Right, and now press that one.’
I do what he says. Three watermelons. The machine plays a little tune and the lights go mad, flashing.
‘Have we won?’
‘Sort of,’ Gary says. ‘Let me do this bit.’
I move out of the way and Gary starts pressing buttons and getting excited. After a minute, the machine starts to chug-chug-chug as it pays out. Gary turns to me.
‘We done it!’ he says. ‘Thirty-five quid jackpot!’
‘Really?’ I say. ‘Woohoo!’
Gary scoops the money out of the machine. He gives me a big handful of coins and puts the rest in his pocket. Then he takes a £1 coin and goes to put it back in the machine.
‘What are you doing, Gary?’
He stops, looks at me. ‘What? I’m gonna try and win some more.’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s go. The noise in here’s doing my head in.’
Gary looks like he wants to stay, though. Probably till they shut the place up tonight, if he can. He’ll just put the whole lot back in if he’s allowed, I know it.
‘Please,’ I say, ‘can we go somewhere else?’
Gary’s about to say something, when a little bald bloke in a white shirt and red tie comes marching over towards the machines. He looks at me with my handful of coins. And he looks at Gary, stood at the machine in his school uniform – white shirt and black trousers. It’s obvious what he’s thinking. He stops between us.
‘How old are you, young lady?’ he says.
I can feel myself blushing. I panic. My heart starts beating like mad. What do I say? He’s never gonna believe I’m eighteen. ‘Seventeen,’ I say. ‘Nearly eighteen.’
‘Really?’ he says. He smiles at me patronisingly. ‘So what year were you born?’
I look at him. My mind’s gone completely blank. I can’t work it out quick enough. I look at Gary, but he just shrugs and looks away. So I try and take a deep breath and work it out . . . But it’s too late. I took too long. He knows I’m working it out in my head.
‘Go on, on your bike,’ he says.
I put the coins in my purse and head away from the machines. Gary stands there, staring.
‘And you, sonny,’ the little bald bloke says, ‘vamoose, scram, beat it.’
Gary stares at him, stares him right in the face. Gary’s actually taller than the bald bloke. The bald bloke smiles at him, a really smug little smile. Gary barges past.
We step outside, out of the noise of the arcade and on to the street. It feels cooler than before. There are seagulls circling around, calling. And I can smell chips.
‘You hungry?’
Gary nods his head.
‘Wanna go get some chips?’
Gary smiles. ‘Definitely,’ he says. ‘I know this place that does really good fish and chips. Follow me.’
.
It’s the kind of chip shop where you can sit down at a table to eat. Toni’s Plaice, it’s called. I love cheesy names like that. We choose a table near the window and sit down. Gary sits opposite me. He smiles at me, but then he looks away again almost straight away. He picks up a menu from the table. I do the same. The first thing I do is look at the prices, see what I can afford. It’s what Mum and Dad always do if we go out. I get told what I’m allowed to have and what I’m not. But with more than ten quid in my purse, I can have what I like for a change. So I think I’ll have a burger and chips and a can of Coke.
‘What are you gonna have, Gary?’
Gary closes his menu with a snap and puts it down on the table. ‘Easy,’ he says. He smiles. ‘Skate and chips, mushy peas and Shandy Bass!’
I screw my face up. ‘Ugh! How could you?’
Gary looks at me. He does something with his face that makes him look like a hurt puppy. ‘What?’ he says. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
I smile. ‘Mushy peas! And fish!’
He looks like he doesn’t understand me. ‘It’s good for you,’ he says. ‘Fish makes you brainy!’
‘Tastes grim, though.’
‘It’s what my nan used to have,’ Gary says, looking away from me again. He looks around the chip shop and takes it all in.
There’s a silence. I start to think about Mum and Dad at home, wondering when I’m coming back. They’ll probably be trying to get through to me on my mobile. Mum will at any rate. Dad’ll probably be off in a world of his own, rearranging his socks in alphabetical order or something. But Mum’ll be sitting on the sofa, her face creased and wrinkled, thinking about all the trouble that I might have found. Maybe I should switch my phone on, just in case she calls. I could make up another excuse, try and buy Gary and me some time to get back home. It looks like we’re gonna need it. I take my phone out of my pocket.
Gary looks up straight away. He looks at my phone. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing.’ The way Gary’s looking at me makes me feel guilty. ‘I just wanted to know what time it is.’
Gary points behind me. There’s a clock up on the wall, a novelty one. No numbers on it, just fish. It says half past haddock. Half six. I sigh. Mum’ll definitely be worried by now. She’ll be looking Gary’s family up in the phone book. Or at least she would be if she knew his last name. Either way, I’ll be in trouble. I put my phone away again.
Gary looks around the shop. ‘It hasn’t changed much,’ he says.
It doesn’t look like anything’s been changed in here for about fifty years. There are a couple of faded posters saying how healthy fish and chips are; another has different species of fish on it. There’s a carved wooden fish on the counter and next to that there are two sailor hats. It’s cheesy but it all looks clean.
‘Did your nan bring you here, then?’
Gary nods. ‘Always,’ he says. He smiles. ‘She reckoned they did the best chips in the whole of Norfolk.’
I smile. ‘And do they?’
‘Yes we do, madame,’ says a voice over to my right. It’s a waiter; he has a pad of paper in his hand. ‘What would you like?’
We order and the waiter goes off behind the counter. And when he’s gone, we sit there in silence. I smile at Gary. He kind of half smiles back and then looks away. So we sit there in silence again. Gary looks around the place, at the posters and stuff. He plays with the sauce bottles. And I sit there and think about Mum thinking about me. Getting in the tractor was not a good idea. It’s been fun, don’t get me wrong, but I just know there’s gonna be trouble later. I have to go back soon, before Mum starts calling the police and sending out search parties and stuff. Before she starts to think that I’ve run away from home. I mean, it might not be the greatest place to be – home – but there’s no way I’d run away. I have no idea how we’ll get back, though. Are there buses from here to Wallingham? And I still don’t even know if Gary is coming home. Maybe this is it for him from now on: stealing tractors, playing fruit machines, eating chips . . .
My thoughts are interrupted. The waiter’s back at our table. He puts our plates and our drinks in front of us.
‘Enjoy your meal.’ And he’s gone again.
‘This looks good!’ I say. I take my knife and fork out of the napkin.
Gary nods. He’s already shovelling food into his mouth.
We sit and eat in silence. I say eat, but I just sit there and pick at my burger and chips. I don’t feel that hungry any more. I feel like I should be at home. And besides, Gary’s nan was wrong – these chips suck. Still, Gary scoffs like he hasn’t eaten for a year. And he drains his Shandy Bass in about two gulps. When he finishes, I push my half-full plate into the middle of the table.
‘Help yourself. I’m not all that hungry.’
Gary looks at the plate and then at me, trying to decide whether it’s polite to eat my plateful as well. He should know better than to try to be polite around me. He grabs a chip off the plate and shoves it in his mouth.
‘That was nice,’ I say.
He smiles. ‘Told you! Best chips in Norfolk.’
He helps himself to more of my chips. I check the clock again. It’s nearly plaice o’clock. Seven. Mum’ll probably be on the phone to the police by now. I feel homesick. It seems stupid. But I just want to be home. Even if ‘home’ means Wallingham and not Morden. I want Mum and Dad to know that I haven’t run away. Maybe I should switch my phone on and send a text, let them know I’m OK, then switch it off again quick, so they can’t call me. I sigh. I look at Gary.
‘Have you run away from home?’ I ask him. ‘Is that what this is all about?’
Gary looks at me. He starts to blush and then looks at the table instead. He makes a face, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He shrugs.
‘Are you gonna go back?’
He shrugs again. His eyes start to bulge as he fiddles with the ketchup bottle on the table. He stops, looks up at me. ‘Are you? Are you going home?’
I nod. ‘Yeah. Of course I am. I have to.’
He looks back at the table. ‘I don’t want to,’ he says. ‘I’ve got no reason to go back. No one even likes me.’
I look at him. Try and catch his eye. But he looks anywhere except in my direction. ‘You’re being paranoid,’ I say. ‘Plenty of people like you. Your mum, your dad, me . . .’ I want to add to the list, but I’ve never seen anyone talking to Gary. I don’t know who actually likes him. Apart from me. ‘Loads of people,’ I say.
‘My dad don’t want me at home,’ Gary says. He clenches his jaw.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I say. ‘Course he does.’
Gary fidgets. He looks uncomfortable, scared almost. ‘No, Zoë, I mean it. Me and my dad, we don’t get on.’
I think back to earlier, to when I called his dad. It seems like a lifetime ago. His dad sounded angry. Maybe he hits Gary or something. That might explain a lot.
Gary sighs.
‘Why don’t you get on?’ I say.
‘I don’t wanna talk about this,’ he says, and he gets up. ‘I’m gonna pay.’
.
David
I have more homework. I hate it. It sucks. I’m lying on the floor in my room with all the books I need spread out in front of me. But I haven’t done a thing yet. I’m listening to the radio instead, staring at the walls and trying not to think about things too much.
; There’s a gentle knock on my door. Must be Mum or Dad, cos if it was Ollie, he’d have just barged straight in.
‘Come in.’
Mum comes in through the door. She sits down on my swivel chair. It takes ages for her to say anything. But eventually she opens her mouth and says, ‘Did something happen again at school today?’
I look blankly back at her. I immediately feel guilty. It’s one of those questions that parents and teachers ask when they think you might have done something and want you to drop yourself in it. So I shrug my shoulders. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve just had Margaret on the phone,’ she says. ‘She’s in floods of tears.’
‘Oh,’ I say. I look down at my books on the floor.
‘Did something happen today?’ Mum says.
I don’t say anything. I don’t even look at her.
Mum sighs. ‘Gary hasn’t come home,’ she says.
I look up at her. She looks serious. She looks as though she’s gonna cry. ‘What?’ I say.
‘Margaret hasn’t seen him,’ she says. ‘She doesn’t know what’s happened to him. She’s not sure whether to phone the police or not.’
I stare at Mum. I don’t know what to say. I really can’t believe what she’s just said.
‘David, she’s beside herself, she’s crying and . . .’ Mum doesn’t finish her sentence. I can see she’s got a tear in her eye.
‘He’ll come back,’ I say. ‘It’s only seven or something, isn’t it? He’s probably just out with . . .’ I was going to say ‘friends’.
Mum takes a deep breath. She shakes her head.
I look down at my homework. By the time I look up again, Mum’s left the room. And I feel like shit.
.
Zoë
We walk down the high street. All the lights and stuff are starting to blink on now that the sun’s going down. It’s started to cloud over as well. There are loads of little tourist shops with postcards and buckets and spades outside them. I love those kinds of shops, I love all the tat they sell. I stop outside one of them and have a look at the display in the window.
Inside My Head Page 13
