by Karen Osman
Just before the first party, she’d told her mum about the Queen Bees and the two of them had enjoyed a rare moment of mother-daughter bonding. Together they’d chosen an outfit for Claire to wear to the party while her mum had sat on her bed and for once, she didn’t criticise or complain; in fact her mother had even told her about the club she used to be in when she was a teenager and for just a brief moment, Claire saw her as the girl she once was and not as a nagging, annoying mother.
But later, when she snuck a bottle of wine into her bag from her parents’ cupboard, the good feelings evaporated. At the party, she’d managed to work out that most of the girls used Helen’s older brother to get the alcohol and Claire placed her order for the next party, relieved she didn’t have to go sneaking around her parents’ wine cabinet any more. Why Anne hadn’t just mentioned that option in the first place, she would never know.
‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ replied her mum, slowly navigating the roads. ‘What are you planning to wear?’ Like a tried and tested recipe, her mum had found a fail-safe topic on which to communicate with her daughter. Clothes. For a moment, Claire thought about telling her about Paul and how, over the weeks, that trip to the cinema had developed into a relationship. She knew Paul thought of her as his girlfriend and she knew he was confused and hurt about her insistence on keeping their relationship a secret. But somehow, she’d convinced him that it was more fun and exciting that way.
But it wasn’t. Not really. It was stressful, and it made her edgy, constantly having to look over her shoulder. But she didn’t have a choice. The Queen Bees had made their feelings on Paul clear – he was the school nerd, the lowest of the low, and not even worth a moment’s consideration unless it was for their own amusement. If any of them found out about her and Paul, she would be out of the club for sure. Instead, Charlotte and the girls had already picked out someone who they thought would be perfect for Claire.
‘What?’ exclaimed Claire when the Queen Bees had gathered together one break time.
‘Chris Carmichael would be perfect for you! Oh my God, can you imagine the two of you? The babies you’d make!’ squealed Nicola.
‘He’d be perfect,’ echoed Anne after Claire had instinctively turned towards her friend. Since then, the Queen Bees had come up with a multitude of ways to get Claire and Chris together including inviting Chris to the Queen Bee parties. So far, he’d never turned up and Claire was half relieved, half disappointed. She had to admit she was curious. But then she thought about Paul. She wondered what her mum’s advice would be and decided not to risk it – she would have no clue. No, Claire thought, perhaps instead she could test out the topic of Paul tonight at the party. If she told them how much she liked him, how nice he was, how intelligent he was, then they might see him differently as well?
It was worth a shot.
*
‘Have fun!’ called her mum as she dropped her off outside Charlotte’s house.
‘Thanks. Anne’s mum will drop me back home tomorrow,’ confirmed Claire.
‘Okay, have a good night and I’ll see you in the morning.’
While Claire was thankful her parents were early sleepers, it was better to stay over at Charlotte’s. While she never drank too much at the parties, she was aware that she probably smelled like a brewery when she came in. But for now, the night was just getting started, and Claire walked quickly up the pathway and rang the doorbell.
‘Password!’ cried a voice from behind the glass.
‘Bros!’ giggled Claire, naming Charlotte’s favourite band. She was obsessed with Matt Goss. The door opened and Vivian, clad in tight jeans and pink crop top, let her inside. U2 boomed through the house. Down the hallway into the kitchen, Claire could already see a group of people mixing drinks and she dropped her sleeping bag in the hallway and walked towards them.
‘Claire!’ cried Charlotte. ‘Hi!’
Charlotte hugged her, and Claire could smell Eternity by Calvin Klein. As she leant in to her, she heard her whisper, ‘Guess who finally came?’
Claire looked up and saw a group of lads holding bottles of beer and laughing. She recognised them of course as they were known as the best-looking, most popular lads in their year. Taking Claire by the arm, Charlotte led her over to the group, which parted immediately as they approached.
‘Guys, this is one of our newest members, Claire Sharpe. Claire this is George, Matt, and Leo.’
A low chorus of hellos met Claire’s casual ‘hi’.
‘And this,’ exclaimed Charlotte dramatically swivelling Claire around to a guy who was getting a beer out of the fridge, ‘is Chris Carmichael.’
Chris nodded at Claire with a smile.
‘Right, guys, let’s leave these two to it – I have jelly shots in the living room,’ announced Charlotte and just like that, Claire and Chris were alone.
*
Several hours later, Claire and the girls were in their sleeping bags on the living room floor, the others around her like caterpillars except for Charlotte, who had brought down her duvet from her bedroom and was on the sofa, the height making her look like she was holding court.
‘I think he really likes you, Claire,’ said Anne.
‘Come on, Claire – share the gossip – what happened?’ prodded Vivian.
‘He’s nice,’ said Claire noncommittally before trying to change the subject. The girls screamed in protest and Claire knew she wasn’t going to get away with being coy.
‘He asked me out,’ admitted Claire, unable to hide her smile, and the girls whooped and hollered as if she’d won the Nobel Peace Prize.
‘And what did you say?’ prompted Vivian.
‘I said, I’d think about it,’ replied Claire. More claps and whistles.
‘I like your style, Claire,’ replied Vivian. ‘There aren’t many girls who would keep a guy like Chris Carmichael hanging!’
The topic moved on and Claire snuggled down into her sleeping bag, listening to the girls recall the highlights of the evening. She hadn’t had a chance to bring up Paul and decided she would do it another time. But then she heard one of the girls mention something that made her sit up.
‘Got the shit kicked out of him. Poor guy, but he really doesn’t help himself.’
‘Who did?’ asked Claire, hoping she’d misheard.
‘Paul Jones,’ came the reply. ‘Oh yes, of course, he was your challenge! Well, apparently, the new boy from Manchester, Danny Lewis, has got his eye on him.’
Claire’s stomach fell. She knew the lads gave each other a hard time but the arrival of Danny Lewis had definitely given everyone a lot to talk about. Even from the way he walked around school, you could tell he was trouble.
‘Paul’s not that bad, you know,’ attempted Claire. ‘He’s actually a really nice guy – he just comes across a bit, you know…’
The girls looked at her in surprise and she quickly backtracked. ‘Of course, compared to Chris…’ She didn’t need to go any further as the whistles resounded around the room.
‘So, when are you going to say yes to Chris?’ asked Charlotte. Claire looked up towards the sofa and she felt a ripple of energy emanate from her. It was a simple question, but Claire sensed the challenge in her tone. The message was clear.
‘He said he’d call me tomorrow,’ replied Claire and as she saw Charlotte’s slight nod, she knew that she and Paul would have to remain a secret.
23
No one had been more surprised than Paul when Claire agreed to come over to his house. They’d been sneaking around for weeks and for Paul, the school library was no longer enough. He needed to be with Claire alone. He’d already taken her to the bike track where he and Brian regularly met, but he was still on edge in case they came across Gavin, or – even worse – Mohican, and he felt she was too. Claire seemed distracted. He’d taken her hand then and they’d walked through the woods without speaking.
Gradually, as the minutes passed, he felt the woods work their magic. It was a place he’d always felt h
appy, surrounded by nature, the trees camouflaging his movements as he walked, ran, or biked his way through the undergrowth. Here and there, the occasional strobe of sunlight managed to make its way through the thickness of the leaves and branches, casting flickers of sunlight. He rarely saw any movement with the exception of birds who preferred to remain in the branches or the odd squirrel who would quickly dart up the nearest tree upon sensing his presence. When they were deep into the woods, Claire stopped, closed her eyes and breathed in the air. When she opened them, she smiled.
‘I can’t believe I’ve never been here before and it’s been right on my doorstep the whole time,’ she said. ‘It’s so peaceful – unlike my house!’ she joked and Paul sensed a hidden meaning behind her words.
‘Really?’ asked Paul, trying to keep his tone casual.
‘Yeah,’ replied Claire tentatively. ‘You know, just my parents…’
Paul waited.
‘They argue a lot.’ Claire shrugged.
He looked at her and she looked so sad that in that moment, Paul knew he would do anything to make her happy.
‘Yeah, mine too,’ confided Paul. ‘It’s a bit crap to be honest. Especially my dad – once he loses it, he loses it. And my mum just never stops fussing.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. I don’t know if all parents are like that, but mine definitely are. My mum’s all right though. She would like you, I’m sure.’
Claire looked up at him with a smile. ‘Are you inviting me to meet your parents?’
Paul looked horrified and Claire couldn’t help but laugh.
‘I’m just kidding,’ she said and Paul grinned. Spontaneously, he put his arms around her, breaking their stride. Putting his hand under her chin, he looked into her eyes. He was half a head taller than her and he leant down to kiss her. She responded to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Paul thought he was going to explode. He pulled his mouth away and buried his embarrassed face in her neck.
Suddenly, voices startled them both and they repelled apart like opposing magnets. Paul’s body was taut and he tried to control his breathing. His first thought had been that it was Gavin. But it was just a pair of elderly walkers coming towards them up the path.
‘Afternoon,’ said the man politely while the woman behind him smiled indulgently at them. Claire returned the greeting, but Paul dropped his hands and his head and scuffed his trainers against a nearby rock. After they passed, he looked up to see Claire watching him curiously.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’ He kicked the rock once more before taking her hand in his. ‘You know maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for to you meet my mum,’ he said. ‘We could do our homework together there rather than hiding in the school library.’
At first, he thought Claire was going to say no, but then she smiled.
‘Sure, how about tomorrow?’ she suggested, and Paul was so overjoyed, he didn’t see the shadow of relief cross Claire’s face.
*
Paul watched Claire’s gaze take in the gate hanging off its hinges, the overgrown front lawn, and the peeling paint on the front door. His mum had been nagging him to mow the front lawn for weeks but now it was almost winter and it was hard to find a day where it wasn’t raining or bitterly cold.
As he took in Claire’s first impression of his house, he wished he’d done as he was told. But shouldn’t his dad be doing those jobs? Paul bristled silently. His dad never did anything around the house and both he and his mum knew that was never going to change. As Paul slid his key in the lock, he led Claire down the hallway. It smelled of baking. His mum hurried out to meet them.
‘Hello! You must be Claire! Are you cold? Come through, I made a crumble. What would you like to drink?’ Maureen chattered on and Paul knew she was nervous.
‘That’s okay, Mum, we’re just going to go up to my room to study,’ said Paul. But Claire interrupted him.
‘Hello, Mrs Jones. Nice to meet you. Some crumble would be lovely, thank you.’
Paul groaned inwardly, but he watched his mother scurry about the kitchen and he knew she was impressed with Claire’s manners. Good breeding, he could imagine her saying to him later after she’d left. He’d made the mistake of telling his mum that Claire lived on Cherry Drive in Castlefield.
‘What, the posh part?’ she’d said earlier.
‘Mum, for God’s sake don’t say that to her,’ replied Paul tersely.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Fancy, my son bringing home a posh girl.’ She smiled at him then and he could see she was happy for him.
Now, as the three of them sat round the kitchen table, Claire chatted easily with his mother and by the end of the twenty-minute conversation, even Paul felt at ease.
‘Right, Mum, we’re off to do our homework,’ he said as he finished his last mouthful. ‘Come on.’
Claire got up and began gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink.
‘Oh, that’s all right, pet, I’ll do that – you go and get started on your homework.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Jones – that was delicious,’ said Claire and Paul could see his mum instantly fall in love with her just like he had. Claire had walked ahead of him into the hallway and as he left the kitchen, his mother gave him a pointed look. He knew what it meant – a reminder to keep his bedroom door open, but he pretended he didn’t understand.
Climbing the stairs, Claire in front of him, he wished he’d tidied his room up a bit. But as he walked in, he saw that his mother had already been in, and even changed his bedding. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to her that she’d saved him from having his childish superhero duvet on display and shut the door behind him. They both sat on the bed, Claire already pulling her books out. Paul tried to concentrate but Claire’s proximity, the fact that she was sitting on his bed, was like a dream. Maybe it was a dream, thought Paul, but when he felt her toes playfully touch his, he wanted to pinch himself.
*
A firm knock on the door made Paul leap up.
‘Paul, your father’s going to be home in twenty minutes,’ came his mother’s voice. It was a warning.
‘Okay,’ he replied. He stood up and tucked his shirt into his trousers. Claire ran her fingers though her hair self-consciously.
‘I’d better go,’ said Claire and Paul felt a rush of disappointment. He’d wanted to do more with her, more than kissing and holding hands but instead, despite the privacy, she’d gently moved his hand away when he tried to undo the top buttons of her school shirt.
‘Soon,’ she whispered, and Paul had had to supress his irritation.
Claire gathered up her books and Paul helped her with her bag. It was probably better she was gone before his dad came home from work anyway. As they clambered down the stairs, Claire sought out his mother.
‘Nice to meet you and hope to see you again soon,’ said Claire as she made to leave.
‘Nice to meet you too, pet. Will you be okay getting home?’ she asked as she followed them through the hallway.
‘Yes, it won’t take me long to walk and it’s dry,’ replied Claire opening the front door.
As Claire stood on the doorstep, Paul didn’t know what to do. His mother was still hovering. Why didn’t she go away?
‘Bye then,’ Paul said eventually and gave her a clumsy kiss on the cheek.
‘Bye,’ said Claire, hoisting her bag on her shoulder. Paul felt like an idiot but as he turned to look at her one last time, she turned and waved and he grinned back. Closing the door, he heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been sure about bringing Claire back to meet his mum but if it was between her and the prospect of meeting Mohican and Gavin, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.
He hoped that soon Claire would feel comfortable telling everyone they were together. He tried not to let it bother him that she wanted to keep it a secret. She’d mentioned something about her parents not being keen on her having a boyfriend. He didn’t really believe her. But for now, nothing else mattere
d except her, and together they would build an incredible life, one far away from Mohican, Gavin and his stupid mates, and even his dad. He’d show them all.
November 1989
24
Claire closed her diary with a snap, lifted up the mattress and placed it on top of the wooden slats, letting the mattress spring back into place. She usually hid her diary under a few books in her bedside table drawer; however, she was pretty sure her mother had read her diary once before and, as she’d written several pages about Paul, she didn’t want to take any chances on her mother finding it. Claire knew it was a bit of risk writing about him, but it felt like the only way she could unravel her confusion. Compared to Chris with his rugby-player physique and blonde classic good looks, Chris was definitely more attractive; so why did Paul, the school nerd, have such an effect on her, like an invisible power?
As her pen scrawled across the page, word by word her feelings became clearer. Simply put, Paul was unlike anyone she’d ever met before. She’d fancied boys in the past, her and Anne giggling about how gorgeous they were, but this was the first time Claire had been attracted to a boy not just physically but mentally as well. His intellect fascinated her, and their conversations ignited her imagination to such an extent that afterwards she would go and read up on subjects that she would never have even thought about before. The cure for AIDS. How seahorses procreate. Buddhist practices. The state of Burma. It didn’t matter what the subject; her desire to learn was almost as intense as her desire for him.
She recalled sitting on Paul’s bed, their limbs touching, their maths books open in front of them. His presence was so powerful, she couldn’t even think straight let alone solve complicated calculus. It was only the thought of Paul’s mother downstairs that had made her push his hand away when he wanted to go one step further.
Since then, they’d seen each other every day even if it was just for a few minutes in the school library during break time. But Claire’s favourite times with him were when he took her down to the woods, him leading her through the maze of paths as they talked. He could be moody and uncommunicative, but Claire had learnt how to draw him out and little by little, he opened up. He told her about Gavin and his pranks, his dreams of being a doctor, and a little about his friend Brian. He talked about his dad and his ferocious temper and how he and his mum had to assess his mood each day. How he and his mum had a secret code to signal warnings to each other.
