‘That’s what’s so awful. Paul’s taken everything away from him. I hate him.’
‘I hate him too. You’ll let me hate him, right, even if I can’t love Carl?’ Miranda said, giving me a little shove. ‘He is just so uncool, turning on Carl like that. You’d think he’d be flattered. He must be terribly insecure about his own sexuality, making such a fuss. Maybe he didn’t fancy me at all? Maybe he was just trying to prove to himself he wasn’t gay? Well, Carl’s well rid of him. I am too. Poor, poor Carl, it’ll be horrible at school for him.’
‘I’m going to meet him at McDonald’s at lunch time.’
‘Good plan. Yeah, we could maybe go somewhere great for the afternoon, the three of us.’
‘I think Carl just wants me to meet him. He doesn’t want anyone to know.’
‘I’m not anyone. You’re my best friends,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m coming.’
I couldn’t stop her. I half wanted her to come anyway because I was scared about bunking off school on my own. Miranda walked boldly out of the school at lunch time, as if on some official errand. I dithered along beside her, anxiously peering over my shoulder. She paid our fare on the bus and then bought us both French fries and Coke in McDonald’s. Carl wasn’t there yet. There weren’t any grammar school boys in their purple uniform today.
‘He said he would come?’ said Miranda.
‘He promised.’
‘Text him.’
‘I have. He’s not answering.’
‘What do you think they’ll be doing to him? They can be so horrible at their school – it’s like it’s still in the Dark Ages. Raj said there was even one little gang that kept calling him Paki, and making out he was some kind of terrorist. I don’t think they really thought that, but every time he put his hands in his pockets or opened up his school bag they’d shout “Duck” and drop to the floor, like he was going to throw a bomb at them.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Oh, he was so brilliant! He bought this pretend hand grenade from some tacky joke shop and pulled the pin out and hurled it at them. It made this wonderful screeching noise. They nearly wet themselves. Raj is so funny.’
‘Why can’t you have him for your boyfriend?’
‘Oh, I did go out with him for a bit, but his mum and dad started fussing. They thought I was a bit wild for their precious boy.’
‘Well, you are!’
Miranda smiled, taking it as a compliment. She took a mouthful of French fries and then choked. ‘There’s Carl!’
I turned. He was walking towards us, his bandaged hands poking awkwardly out of the sleeves of his blazer. When he saw us looking he waved his hands in the air like a minstrel, clowning.
‘Wow! Impressive bandages!’ said Miranda, running up to him. She gave him a big hug, kissing his cheeks, pressing her face close to his, all the things I never dared do spontaneously. Carl played up to her, making a fuss of her too. I had to stand there, waiting my turn. Carl smiled wanly, not so good at pretending with me.
‘How did the morning go?’ I asked.
‘Fine fine fine,’ said Carl, sitting down. ‘Hey, feed me a few chips, will you? Can’t get my bandages all greasy.’
‘Really fine?’
‘Of course not really fine. The bastards will be making his life hell,’ said Miranda.
‘Well, they did stuff my head down the loo, but hey, my hair needed washing anyway. No, only joking. They did all scream, “Backs to the wall, boys”, when I walked down the corridor but it was obvious they all wanted to face front to admire me. And there was mass hysteria in the changing rooms for football, with Paul locking himself in the bog to change into his football strip. Perhaps he had a violent stomach upset and needed his privacy.’ Carl said it all lightly, on one note, like a camp comedian.
‘Oh, Carl,’ I said.
‘Is Paul being a total pig?’ said Miranda.
‘He hasn’t really got any alternative. If he’s nice to me, or just mildly friendly, then all the others will call him gay too. So he’s got to be the guy who starts all the rubbish behaviour and says the worst things,’ said Carl.
‘Stop being so insufferably understanding,’ said Miranda. ‘He’s behaving like a little shit and we both know it. We hate him, Carl.’
‘I’m the only sane one. I’ve always hated him,’ I said.
‘Oh well. Simple. I’ll hate him too then,’ said Carl. He couldn’t keep his voice totally expressionless. I prayed he wouldn’t start crying in front of us, in the middle of McDonald’s.
‘That’s right. Hey, hey. I’ll make it easy for you,’ said Miranda, holding a chip in front of his face. ‘Look at the chip, Carl. Follow it with your eyes.’ She wafted it slowly from left to right and back again. ‘See the chip. There now. You’re falling into a trance. A soft and starchy potato sleep.’
‘Do McDonald’s fries contain potato?’
‘Shut up and concentrate! Follow the French fry with your eyes. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow French fry. Now you’re in a trance and you will believe everything I say, even when you wake up. You hate Paul, OK? You love Miranda,’ said Miranda.
‘No, you love me,’ I said.
‘OK, you love Miranda and Sylvie – but she’s your old old old girlfriend, I’m your exciting new girlfriend, all set to entice and beguile you.’
‘You’re both lovely,’ said Carl. ‘But—’
‘No buts!’ said Miranda. ‘Look, you can’t be rock-solid decided yet that you’re totally one hundred per cent gay.’
‘I know.’ Carl looked at me. ‘Mum says I might just be going through a phase.’
‘And might you?’ said Miranda, eating her hypnotic chip.
Carl shrugged. ‘How should I know? I just know what I feel now. What I think. What I want.’
‘You want to shag Paul?’ said Miranda.
Carl blushed painfully, going as red as if she’d slapped him.
‘Shut up, Miranda,’ I said, giving her a shove.
‘Maybe,’ Carl mumbled. ‘No, actually, I just want to kiss him.’
‘Well, his loss,’ said Miranda. ‘You’re a great kisser.’
I felt as if she’d stabbed me in the stomach. I hated the way she always had to be the leading part, centre stage. I stuffed cold French fries in my mouth even though I wasn’t hungry.
‘Have you had any proper lunch, Carl?’ I asked.
‘Here, get him a burger,’ said Miranda, giving me money.
‘You go and get it for him!’
‘I don’t want it. Can I have a sip of your drink though?’ said Carl.
He put his big bandaged hands on either side of the paper cup and raised it carefully. He drank it down steadily. ‘I wish it was beer,’ he said.
‘We could get some,’ said Miranda. ‘Yeah, let’s go and buy some. We’ll go to the park this afternoon. I’ve got heaps of money. We could buy some vodka too, get really really wasted.’
‘Not a good idea,’ said Carl. ‘No, I’m going back to school.’
‘We don’t have to do the drinking bit,’ I said. ‘Let’s go to the park, though. Go on, Carl.’
‘No. Thanks for the offer though, girls. See you, Miranda.’ Then he looked at me. ‘See you tonight, Sylvie.’
He walked off, his cheeks sucked in, his chin up.
‘He looks like a cowboy going to a shoot-out,’ said Miranda. ‘Oh, wouldn’t he look great in a cowboy hat and denim and boots. He’s going to be such a hit at the Alhambra.’ She looked at me pityingly. ‘It’s this pub in town where all the gay guys go.’
‘I know,’ I said, though I’d never heard of it.
‘It’s such a cool place. You can dance there too, and they have drag acts. It’s great.’
‘Have you been there?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ said Miranda. ‘Well, I haven’t actually been inside, but I’ve seen it. I wanted Raj and Andy to go there with me for a laugh, but they wouldn’t. Maybe we could go with Carl, Sylvie?’
‘
Oh yeah, like I’d be allowed in a gay pub – in any pub,’ I said.
‘I don’t know. I think you’re starting to look a little bit older,’ said Miranda, tucking my hair behind my ears and staring at my face.
I started to believe her, thinking that all my misery over Carl had given me a new knowing expression, but when I went to the ladies’ toilets in McDonald’s I looked as baby-faced as ever. I stuck my tongue out at myself unhappily. Miranda came out of her cubicle and laughed at me. She stuck her own tongue out. I crossed my eyes and made my tongue touch my nose. She screwed her face sideways and stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, drooling.
‘The great kisser?’ I said.
Miranda waggled her tongue around lasciviously, looking revolting.
‘Stop it!’ I shrieked.
A woman came into the toilets with her little girl and frowned at us. We giggled weakly and escaped.
‘Are we going back to school?’ I asked.
‘Are we hell! No, I’ve just had a brilliant idea for later. But first let’s have that picnic in the park.’
‘With vodka?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Of course.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘Don’t be silly, it doesn’t have any taste. You can’t not like it.’
Miranda marched us off to Oddbins. She whipped off her school tie, rolled up her sleeves, undid the top button of her blouse and tucked her skirt up at the waistband so it was even shorter. Then she looked me up and down. ‘You stay outside,’ she said.
I watched her saunter inside, strolling around, peering at bottles of white and red wine, tossing a packet of peanuts from one hand to the other. Then she picked up a half bottle of vodka and took it to the counter.
I watched the bored guy behind the counter say something to her. She laughed at him, tossing her hair, sticking out her chest. He said something else. Miranda flushed and banged the vodka down hard on the counter. She flounced out of the store, marching straight past me in her buckled boots. I had to run after her.
‘Creep,’ Miranda muttered.
‘What?’
‘Not you. Him. What a jerk. He called me a little kid, can you believe it!’
‘So, no vodka?’ I said, very relieved.
‘Don’t worry. We’ll go to Waitrose.’
Miranda got a wire basket in the supermarket and threw some chocolate and crisps in too, plus a couple of magazines. Then she walked over to the wine section, while I hung back. It wasn’t any use. As soon as she put her hand on a bottle a middle-aged woman came over and told her she wasn’t old enough to purchase alcohol.
‘But I’m eighteen,’ said Miranda.
‘Yes, and I’m Queen of the May,’ said the woman. ‘Go back to school, you silly little girl.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do, you sad old woman,’ said Miranda, but she had to put the bottle back on the shelf.
She abandoned the wire basket in the middle of the aisle and walked out. She had her head held high, tossing her hair. I shuffled along after her, worried that everyone was looking at us. Miranda swore under her breath as she stomped out of the exit. First all the four-letter words she could think of. Then she embellished them with adjectives. Then she made up new swear words of her own, inventive and disgusting. Then she tailed off into childish invective.
‘Old snot-nose suck-a-toe sniff-a-bum,’ she said.
I burst out laughing and she did too.
‘Oh well. Third time lucky,’ said Miranda.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Miranda. It’s not going to happen. They won’t let you buy any.’
‘I’m not going to buy it. We’ll go home and take it. It’s a bit of a bore trailing all the way back, but it can’t be helped.’
‘Won’t your parents mind?’
Now she rolled her eyes at me. ‘They won’t notice. No one will be there. Dad’s at work. Anorexic Annie will be at her yoga class. The cleaning lady will be done by now and Minna’s got the day off. So come on. We haven’t got all day. We’ve got to be back in town by three thirty.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see,’ said Miranda.
‘Tell me.’
‘I said, you’ll see,’ she said.
We caught the bus to her end of town. The posh end. I walked along Lark Drive, wondering what it would be like to live there.
‘You’re so lucky living here,’ I said.
‘What? It’s so boring. I’m leaving home as soon as possible. I want to live in London in one of those great warehouse apartments with high ceilings and shiny new furniture and views right over the rooftops. It will be so cool. I can’t wait to get my own space.’
Miranda seemed to have a great deal of space already. I thought about my own tiny box room at home. I could touch both side walls when I was lying in bed. I thought of Mum squashed into the small bedroom so she could charge Miss Miles that bit extra for her big room. We could all do with high ceilings and shiny new furniture and any kind of view, not just the similar shabby semis opposite.
‘What sort of a bedroom have you got, Miranda?’
‘Oh, that’s so boring too. It’s all deep purple and bead curtains and velvet cushions and fancy glass mirrors,’ said Miranda, shuddering. ‘I thought it divinely decadent when I was, like, eleven. I keep nagging to get it all redecorated.’
I thought it sounded divine, full stop. ‘Can I see it?’ I asked as we got to her front door.
‘Sure,’ she said, twisting the key. ‘Funny. It’s not double-locked.’
She stepped inside, into the beautiful cream hall, the stained glass in the door panels casting lozenges of red and blue and green on the pale carpet.
‘Come on, then,’ she said, starting up the stairs.
Then she stopped, so abruptly that I bumped into her.
‘What?’
‘Ssh! Listen,’ she said.
We stood still. There was a sound upstairs, a little gasp, two voices whispering.
‘Is it burglars?’ I mouthed. ‘Oh God, should we dial nine-nine-nine?’
‘No, we don’t want the real police. We want the moral police to come and give my mother a good bashing with their truncheons,’ said Miranda, not bothering to keep her voice down. ‘Yoga class! Well, she’s up there in her bedroom with someone. I’m sure they’re simply trying out the lotus position together – not.’
‘You mean—’
‘Yes. Honestly! I wonder who it is this time,’ said Miranda.
‘Miranda? Is that you, darling? I’ll be down in a minute, sweetheart.’
‘Darling! Sweetheart!’ Miranda muttered. She marched back down the hall. ‘I’m not going to wait to find out.’
She darted into the living room, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the drinks tray and then went to the front door.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Miranda, slamming the door hard behind us.
‘Will you tell your dad?’ I asked.
‘I might,’ said Miranda. ‘But then again, he has girlfriends, I know he does.’
‘So did my dad,’ I said.
‘But your mother left him,’ said Miranda, taking a swig out of the vodka bottle straight away.
‘Actually, he left her.’
‘So, that’s men for you. I bet your mum doesn’t have boyfriends. I bet she does real mumsie things like cooking and cleaning and fusses around you and kisses you goodnight.’
‘She does. But she has got a boyfriend, actually.’
‘She has?’ Miranda looked surprised. ‘You’ve never mentioned him.’
‘I’ve only just met him.’
‘What’s he like?’
I shrugged. ‘OK, I suppose. You know. A bit dull and boring. My mum keeps on about how funny he is but I can’t see it myself.’
‘I bet your mum doesn’t sleep with him though.’
‘Well. He spent the night at our place.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
&n
bsp; ‘I didn’t really think about it. I was at the hospital with Carl. I was too busy worrying about him.’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll fix things for Carl,’ said Miranda.
‘How?’
‘You’ll see.’ Miranda took another swig of vodka.
A passing woman frowned at her. ‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell your mother.’
‘Yeah, tell her. Like she’ll care,’ said Miranda. She took a longer swig.
‘Miranda! Come on!’ I dragged her away down the street. ‘Let’s go to the park where no one can see us. I wish we’d bought that picnic – I’m starving.’
Miranda bought us large 99 ice creams from the van at the park gates. She sprinkled hers with vodka.
‘Mmm, yummy! Maybe I’ll start marketing my own alcoholic ice cream,’ she said, licking enthusiastically.
‘You’re turning into an alcoholic,’ I said. ‘Do you drink like this on your own?’
‘Sometimes. When I’m feeling fed up.’
‘I don’t get you. Why should you ever feel fed up? You’ve got everything.’
‘Money,’ said Miranda, walking towards the children’s playground. ‘Possessions. That’s about it.’
‘Looks. Personality.’
‘Yeah. Well. Maybe.’
‘So lucky lucky you! Don’t start a poor-little-me rich girl rant, please.’
‘Oh shut up, Titchy Face,’ said Miranda, sprinkling more vodka on her ice cream. She licked again. ‘Oh double yum. Mmm. No, more like double yuck, it’s gone all oily. Maybe it’s not such a good idea.’
She threw her ice cream into a rubbish bin and sat down on a swing, stuffing the vodka bottle into her blazer pocket. She started swinging violently, kicking hard with her mad boots, her skirt flying up, showing holes of white flesh in her black tights.
‘I look like a Dalmatian,’ she said, plucking at them. She put her head right back so that her hair nearly swept the ground. ‘Hey, come and swing, Sylvie.’
‘Carl and I used to come here when we were little,’ I said, standing on the swing beside her and jerking it into action. ‘We’d pretend the swings were our magic horses. Mine was a black filly with a white star on her forehead and Carl’s was a pure white stallion. We’d gallop for miles through the air, racing each other. Then when we were tired and dizzy we’d set up home on that twirly roundabout thing. We played that it had real rooms, one for each section, and we’d squash up between the metal bars pretending we were in the kitchen making our food, and then we’d climb over into the dining room and make out we were eating it, and we’d watch television in the living room, humming all our favourite theme tunes, then use the computer in the study, tapping our fingers in the air, then we’d go to the bathroom and wash, and finally we’d go to the bedroom and curl up together in our tiny bed.’ I stopped swinging. ‘It was so real. It was as if we were really doing it, even though we were making it all up. I thought it would all be real one day. Carl and I would be sweethearts all through school and then we’d go to art college together and we’d share a little flat, and it wouldn’t matter even if it was as pokey as our roundabout house, just so long as we could be together. Then one day we’d get married. I even had my dress planned. Not a white meringue. I thought I’d have something soft and silky and simple with high-heeled glass slippers like Cinderella, only you can’t really get glass shoes, can you? And I can’t really marry Carl now, only I still can’t get my head around it because it’s what I’ve been planning for so long and it’s what I’ve always wanted and I always thought it was what he wanted too.’ My voice cracked and I started crying.
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