by Karen Osman
He’d never been in hospital before and Paul counted five nurses in total, immediately identifying the Ward Sister. She was wearing a navy-blue uniform, unlike the others who all wore pale blue. To Paul, most of them just looked like ordinary women but there was one nurse who was very pretty. She reminded him of Cindy Crawford and Paul hoped she would be the one to deal with him. When Cindy came over to Paul’s bed, all smiles and reassurances, he lay back on the pillow enjoying the attention, his throbbing arm forgotten.
But a few moments later, he felt a charge in the air and Paul opened his eyes a fraction. A man was walking towards him, his white coat and stethoscope causing Cindy to stand to attention.
‘Right then, what do we have here?’
‘Good morning, Doctor,’ trilled Cindy. ‘Possibly a broken arm. I’ve brought you the x-ray.’
She placed it in the light box and Paul saw the foggy outline of his forearm, the bone broken in two.
‘Hmmm.’ The doctor took a step closer to the light box and Cindy waited quietly by his side. Everyone was silent – even his mother, who had not stopped wittering since he’d fallen from his bike, her panic reminding him of the desperate chirps of a trapped bird.
As they all waited for the doctor to speak, he knew in that moment he wanted to be a doctor. Not because he was selfless. Not because he wanted to help people or heal children. No. He wanted to become a doctor because there was no other profession that commanded such respect and admiration. And why shouldn’t he have that too. He had the brains to become a doctor and he enjoyed science. All he had to do was get through high school and one day – even if it took decades – when Gavin lay in a hospital bed, helpless and alone suffering from cancer or another hideous disease – Paul would stand over his bed in his white coat and stethoscope and both of them would know that it was Paul who now held the power.
14
At first, Claire thought Paul was going to say no to her invitation and she panicked – that would be even more embarrassing than having to go out with him. She could just imagine the taunts from the girls.
Claire couldn’t even get swotty Paul to go out with her!
How humiliating. It was true that she hadn’t actually been out with a boy before – not just the two of them anyway, like, on a proper date. She had kissed a few boys though. Her first kiss had been with John Griffith.
It was last year when she’d still been wearing her braces. There had been a party at someone’s house and they’d sat in a circle playing spin the bottle. When she’d spun it and it had landed on him, he’d grinned at her, the cheers of his mates egging him on. John wasn’t the best-looking boy, but he certainly wasn’t the ugliest. Despite the illicit swigs of cider, she could feel her palms sweating. Surreptitiously wiping them on her jeans, she’d got up on her knees, edging her way to the centre of the circle to meet him. There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other, the ring of teenagers disappearing as they contemplated the performance ahead.
Suddenly, John had leaned in, crushing his lips firmly against her own. Instinctively, she had clamped her lips together against the persistent probe of his tongue. She felt slightly repelled, but she knew she had to satisfy the whoops and cheers, so she tentatively opened her mouth, letting him explore before pulling quickly away. Sometimes when she saw John now, he would wiggle his tongue at her, reminding Claire of a snake.
She’d found Paul in the library, engrossed in his work, sitting at a table near the librarian’s desk. She was in the same classes as Paul for most subjects except French. She was in the second tier for that, the only blip on her tier-one status. She didn’t care though – she hated French. All the words seemed to run together making it difficult to understand anything. Not even the school trip to Calais in the first year of senior school had warmed her to the subject. She knew Paul was one of the few students in the top tier across the board and she was secretly impressed, although she knew he got grief for it.
Pausing behind a shelf of science books, she had a few moments to watch him unseen. His strawberry blonde hair was cut close at the back and longer on top, occasionally obstructing his view of his work and he brushed it aside almost constantly. His glasses were too big for his face and his pale, slightly acned skin was saved by the bluest eyes Claire had ever seen.
He’d looked up then and she thought she saw a glimpse of fear. It was quickly replaced by curiosity when he saw it was her. As she watched the librarian leave her desk and begin returning books to their shelves, Claire approached. She didn’t ask if she could join him, she simply sat opposite him and it was this assumption that she could see had made him nervous. It was the way he glanced over her shoulder to see if there was anyone else behind her, but Paul needn’t have worried, the library was empty. It was the reason why she’d chosen to ask him out during the lunch break. Claire decided to get it over with as quickly as possible.
‘So, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the cinema with me on Friday night? A few of us are going…’
They weren’t but having discussed it endlessly with Anne the night before on the phone, Claire thought it might make him more comfortable if it was a casual invitation. She also would have made it sooner than Friday, but she knew her mother would start asking questions if she went out on a school night.
Claire waited for a response but instead he just stared at her. She decided to continue.
‘I’m not sure what’s playing yet, but I can let you know. It usually starts at seven thirty.’
Still no response. She watched his eyes flicker to the left and right. Claire was starting to get annoyed. No wonder the lads gave him a hard time – he couldn’t even answer a simple question.
‘So…?’ prompted Claire.
‘Errr, yes, sure,’ replied Paul. As he answered, he picked up his pen and began flicking it between his fingers.
‘Great!’ said Claire, relieved. ‘Shall I meet you outside the cinema at quarter past seven?’
Paul nodded, seemingly incapable of verbalising anything else, but a flush had started rising up his neck.
Well, she’d asked him now.
All that was left to do was go on the date, kiss him and then on Monday, she would be in the Queen Bees. She was starting to get up from the chair to leave when something in Paul’s notebook caught her eye.
‘You managed to work it out!’ she exclaimed, her astonishment making her temporarily forget she was in a hurry to leave. ‘I struggled with that question for ages and I’m still not sure my answer’s right.’
Surprised, Paul looked down at his work.
‘You mean question seven?’
Claire nodded.
‘Yes, it’s a bit of trick question,’ said Paul, ‘but once you work out the first part of the sum, the rest follows.’
‘You got sixty-seven? I’m pretty sure that’s not the answer I have.’
Claire sat back down, rifling through her bag to find her maths book, all thoughts of her Queen Bee challenge forgotten. Pushing her bag to one side, she took his pencil and started to rework the sum, oblivious to Paul watching her.
After a few minutes, she looked up. ‘What?’
‘Nothing!’
‘No – there’s something. What is it? Do I have pen on my face?’
‘No!’
‘Well, what is it then?’
‘Nothing!’
Sighing, Claire turned back to the sum. ‘How did you get sixty-seven?’ she finally asked in dismay.
Paul leant towards her, turning her notebook so he could read her work. Claire could smell him, a boyish mix of shower gel and deodorant. And something sweet, like liquorice or jelly babies.
‘Here,’ said Paul, tapping the paper. ‘You’ve missed the multiplication bit.’
‘Multiplication? With what?’
‘You need to multiply it by four.’
Claire frowned. ‘Four? Not six?’
‘No, four, otherwise it won’t work.’
Claire pulled the notebook bac
k towards her and reworked the sum. After a few minutes, she looked up triumphantly. ‘Got it! You’re brilliant!’
Their eyes met across the table, each lost in their admiration of each other although for completely different reasons.
Suddenly, a door opened, and several loud voices ruptured the quietness of the library. The intimacy was broken, and Claire quickly got up from her seat, stuffing her work back into her bag.
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘No problem,’ replied Paul and Claire noticed he was watching the loud group of lads who had come into the library.
‘Right, well, I’ll see you Friday outside the cinema,’ she concluded and quickly turned on her heel, without waiting for his response.
15
There had to be a catch, thought Paul, hoisting his rucksack on his shoulders, ready to leave the chemistry lab. Why would blonde, beautiful Claire Sharpe ask him to go to the cinema? Had Gavin and his mates put her up to it? Was she planning to stand him up? Or worse, would she lure him there and then they would jump out at him and beat him up?
He didn’t know Claire very well but what he did know of her didn’t really fit such a trick. If it was Charlotte or one of the other hoity-toity bitches, he could definitely imagine something like that happening. But Claire was different. She was popular but quiet. She didn’t have to try as hard as everybody else.
Paul tried to think. It was the last class of the day and he was debating whether he should leg it home or wait for half an hour and start his homework in the relative safety of the lab. Mr Simmons had finished the class a few minutes late and Paul was nervous. He decided to wait until he was sure Gavin and his gang were well ahead of him on the route home.
Satisfied he’d made the right decision, he pretended to do up his shoelace until the rest of the class had disappeared before taking out his books and going over the homework. But he couldn’t concentrate. He thought of Claire’s long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail, revealing her beautiful face. He’d seen her in classes for years, but it was the first time she’d actually talked to him and seeing her up close was fascinating. Unlike some girls, she didn’t seem to wear any make-up and her skin was clear, almost translucent. Her eyes were as blue as his. He’d noticed her small ears, pierced with studs in the shape of stars and underneath her shirt collar, he had caught a glimpse of a thin silver chain. He had turned away then, not wanting to be caught staring but he knew she’d caught him anyway.
Paul adjusted his position on the stool and attempted to refocus on his homework, trying not to think about how she’d made him feel. But it was no use. He recalled how happy she’d looked when she managed to work out the maths question; he’d wanted to kiss her then, just so he could feel her smile. Perhaps she really did want to go out with him, thought Paul, remembering how she’d told him he was brilliant. Apart from a touch of acne, he knew he wasn’t the ugliest in his year.
He tried to remember if he’d ever seen Claire hanging around with Gavin or his friends. He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think so. Paul closed his textbook knowing he wouldn’t get any more work done. He thought of Claire and the sliver of silver chain around her bare neck and knew with certainty that not even the thought of a beating from Gavin would stop him meeting her on Friday.
*
‘Is that you, pet?’
Crap.
Even though Paul had closed the front door as quietly as he could, his mum had still managed to catch him.
‘Yeah,’ he shouted back. ‘I’m going to do my homework.’
But before he got a chance to put his foot on the stairs, his mum appeared in the hallway, her hair a halo of frizz around her plump face.
‘Wait! I made some cake – would you like some?’
It was impossible to ignore the desperation and Paul hated himself in that moment. He looked at his mum, her face eager, her fingers playing with the pocket of her apron. He was about to say no but he found himself pausing. Maybe it was his conversation with Claire or the fact that he’d escaped a beating on his way home from school that day, or simply because the smell of baking was so good.
‘Chocolate?’ he asked.
‘Yep!’ His mum’s smile was instant, and he felt an odd mix of guilt and pity. He knew he’d become distant at home. Just a few weeks ago, he’d heard his mother trying to seek reassurance from his dad whether it was normal for a teenage boy to be so sullen and quiet.
‘We used to have such a good relationship,’ fretted his mum. ‘Now I don’t even know what’s going on with him. I’m worried it’s more than just teenage hormones, Bill.’
Paul hadn’t stayed around to listen to his father’s response. He had crept back up the stairs then, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. His mum was right though – he had been close to his mother, telling her anything and everything. At thirteen, he’d still used to hold her hand. She had been his best friend and she always said he could talk to her but how could he tell her that the boy he grew up with – Gavin, whose parents were friends with his own – had turned half the class against him? If he told her, she would start talking to Gavin’s parents, to the school and that would just make everything worse.
As Paul followed his mother into the kitchen, he noticed a can of Coke waiting for him along with a large slice of chocolate cake. He was never allowed Coke and as he sat down he saw his mum had her ‘we’re going to talk everything through’ face on. He was beginning to regret not going straight up to his bedroom.
His mum smiled and poured the Coke into a glass while he dug into the cake, shovelling it in as quickly as possible.
‘It feels like ages, Paul, since we had a catch-up!’ she started, sitting opposite him. ‘How’s school?’
‘Fine.’
‘What’s your new timetable like?’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Mr Calvert for biology, isn’t it? What’s he like?’
‘He’s okay.’
‘Does he give you lots of homework?’
‘It’s fine – manageable.’
‘Of course it is, pet.’
There was a pause in the conversation and Paul slurped his drink, relishing the sweet fizz of the unexpected treat. He knew his brief responses were frustrating for his mother, but he also knew that if he started opening up to her he might never stop.
She tried again. ‘How’s Gavin? You never seem to mention him these days.’
Paul felt his stomach drop at the sound of his name.
‘Well, we’re not in the same classes any more so I don’t see him that often.’
‘That’s a shame – shall I call Susan and see if she and Gavin want to come over?’
‘Mum! I’m too old for playdates!’
‘I know, I just thought it might be nice to catch up – I haven’t seen Susan for ages and Gavin – well, I’m not sure I’d recognise him! Do you remember when the two of you were learning to ride your bikes?’
She laughed, a high unnatural sound and Paul knew he had to get out of there.
‘Just don’t, Mum. Just don’t call anyone, okay?’
She looked up at the tone of his voice as he stood and the expression on her face all but broke him.
‘I’ve got homework. Thanks for the cake.’
And with that, he fled.
16
Claire rubbed at the lipstick with a tissue in disgust, leaving her lips stained. What was she doing? She hardly ever wore make-up. Why was she making so much effort for him anyway? Claire stared at herself in the mirror. With her long blonde hair, blue eyes and a forehead she’d always thought too big, she looked the same as she always did. So why did she feel different? Was it the thought of having to kiss him?
Since the Queen Bees had given her the challenge, she’d been so relieved that it wasn’t anything too horrible (she’d eventually found out that Anne had had to storm into the staffroom and scream fire, getting detention for a week, for her challenge). Claire hadn’t really thought about the impact of her own actions. But
when she remembered the look on Paul’s face when she approached him in the library, she was conscious of the fact that she was using somebody, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. She knew her parents would be horrified if they found out.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, thought Claire crossly. It’s one trip to the cinema not a marriage proposal. Paul would be fine. Afterwards, she would just tell him that while she liked him, she didn’t have time for a boyfriend while preparing for her exams. Unexpectedly, Claire thought of Paul’s hands as he pointed out the method in her textbook, his long fingers caressing the page.
Don’t be stupid. He’s the class nobody.
Impatiently, she rubbed off the rest of the lipstick and smoothed her lips with her kiwi lip balm. She debated whether to crimp her hair. She decided just to brush it, leaving it loose around her shoulders before slipping on her denim jacket. She had told her dad she would walk to the cinema and she would call him from the phone box for a lift after the film. The thought cheered Claire that in just a few hours, this stupid dare would be over and she would back to her normal life, but this time with the prestige of being in the Queen Bees. And it was then that Claire realised it wasn’t having to kiss him that bothered her, it was the deceit.
*
The walk into town was cool but despite this, she could feel the sweat under her armpits and she was glad she’d brought her denim jacket to put over her top to hide the damp patches. She’d tried shoving tissues under her arms, but they had moved around. She had been going to wear her black lace top but had changed at the last minute because it felt too dressy for the cinema. She shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to think about anything but the upcoming evening, but as she turned the corner and saw the cinema ahead, her palms started to sweat. Would he be waiting for her? Would he even turn up? She thought of the last glance they’d shared before she’d left the library and knew instinctively that he would. As she drew closer to the building though, she couldn’t see him.
