Truly, Wildly, Deeply

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

  ‘It think it’s some sort of dance-off,’ she says. ‘Yep, some boys are doing a dance-off. I saw the vibe being passed, you know, like this.’ She points at me and kind of waves her arm like an octopus.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I get up and join her at the edge of the clapping circle. ‘I thought dance-offs only happened in films.’

  She shrugs. ‘Want to watch?’

  ‘Do I?’ I say, and we push our way to the front.

  And there, right in the middle of the dance floor, throwing all six feet something of his body around with wild abandon, is Fab.

  Am I surprised to discover Fab breakdancing at the centre of this clapping crowd? Not a bit. He seems very at home. He’s wearing one of his loosely buttoned shirts and showing too much chest, but then so am I, so I can’t really criticise. He’s also wearing an old man’s flat cap, back to front, which I’m fairly certain I last saw on Sophie’s grandad.

  Along with everyone else, Hilary and I cheer Fab on. The fact that he can’t actually breakdance isn’t putting him off. He drops down to the ground, spins on his shoulders and then sort of humps his way backwards across the empty space, banging his fists together at the same time. Which is how he ends up by my feet.

  ‘Annie!’ He reaches for an upside-down high five, then pops up – actually, he does this pretty well – and shouts, ‘I gave Miss Cuddle’s lawn stripes!’ He pulls his flat cap round the right way, spins on his toes à la Michael Jackson and points randomly into the crowd, and the person he points at is Mal.

  For a second, my heart goes out to quiet Mal, but I don’t need to worry because, unlike Fab, Mal can actually breakdance – or at least he knows three moves, which is enough to get everyone generously whooping at his efforts. After a couple of quick backspins, he passes the vibe on to Jim.

  Jim makes a big show of getting the crowd going, strutting round the circle clapping his hands over his head, before dropping to the floor and doing a totally lame windmill. He looks like he’s fallen over and can’t get up – like a turtle on its back – but no one cares. He scrambles to his feet and his eyes flick round the circle as he looks for the next victim.

  His eyes fall on me and linger, but then he turns and points at Hilary.

  She groans and her hand finds mine. I know exactly why Jim chose her and not me. He wanted to save me from an awkward situation because I wouldn’t want to dance in front of everyone, would I? I mean, I can’t even walk ‘properly’, so how could I ever dare to dance in the centre of a clapping circle?

  Since the day I was born, I’ve been hit with moments like this, when people decide what I can and can’t do. Most moments of ableism I choose to ignore – actually, loads, because I have to live my life – but every now and then, I think, damn it, I need to teach you guys a lesson.

  And now is one of those moments.

  The claps are losing their momentum and people are jostling Hilary, pushing her forward. No one wants this impromptu dance battle to end.

  Suddenly, the DJ blends ‘Sex Machine’ into Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy in Love’.

  I let go of Hilary’s hand. ‘I’ll dance for you,’ I say, then I walk straight into the middle of the empty dance floor.

  ‘Crazy in Love’ is totally MY song.

  All around me, expressions of delight are frozen in place as people try to show how cool they are with this situation, but one girl gasps and puts a hand up to her mouth with horror. I lift my head a little higher. There’s no going back now. Then I fix my eyes on the gasper, put my arms above my head and start to dance. I dance just like I do at home, like everyone should: like I’m happy and free, and loving my body and loving the music.

  ‘Yeah!’ Fab’s deep voice cuts above the claps. ‘Shake that ass, Annie!’

  I’m definitely shakin’ my ass. It’s my signature move.

  Fab’s words seem to release something in the room because then everyone joins in, shouting, clapping and telling me I’m killing it.

  Sophie’s mum calls out, ‘You’re better than Beyoncé, darling!’, which is so clearly rubbish I burst out laughing.

  I do some on-the-spot robot dancing to give my legs a break, then turn round and point at Sophie. The birthday girl doesn’t need to be asked twice. She runs towards me, skids on a grape and hits the ground like a ton of drunk bricks.

  And so ends the epic dance battle …

  I think I won!

  NINETEEN

  I know it’s time to go home when the DJ puts on James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’.

  I watch from my seat as the dance floor clears in seconds, leaving a handful of couples shuffling in circles and either trying to avoid touching or making sure their entire bodies are glued together.

  After I’ve called Mum, I go to find Hilary, who disappeared ages ago in search of birthday cake. That’s when Fab suddenly appears in front of me. He does one of his bows and holds out his hand.

  ‘Oh no,’ I say, laughing, because I know what’s coming next.

  ‘Dance with me, Annie,’ he says, and I swear he almost goes down on one knee.

  I shake my head. ‘Sorry, Fab, but I’m a solo dancer. Dancing with someone else would ruin my moves.’ This is only partly true. The couples dancing do look a bit dorky, but who cares? Actually, it’s the intensity I’d hate: standing face-to-face with someone, trapped in their arms, with nowhere to look except into their eyes. I suppress a shudder at the thought.

  ‘But you have never danced with me,’ Fab says, patting his chest. ‘How do you know I would ruin your moves?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say firmly, ‘but slow dancing’s not my thing.’

  After a moment, he shrugs. ‘I understand. It’s not really my thing either.’

  ‘So why did you ask me?’

  ‘You will only know if you dance with me,’ he says.

  ‘Looks like I’m never going to know then,’ I say with a smile, then I head towards Hilary, who l’ve spotted back at our table.

  ‘You will regret it!’ he calls after me.

  ‘Maybe,’ I shout back, ‘but at least I won’t be slow dancing.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ asks Hilary.

  ‘Just Fab being Fab-ish,’ I say, and she nods as if I’ve made perfect sense.

  Twenty minutes later, Hilary and I are outside the hotel, waiting for Mum to pick us up. Hilary’s full of beans and has climbed on to the back of one of the stone lions that flank the doors to the hotel. ‘Take me to the moon!’ she yells, throwing back her head and slapping the lion’s bottom. The sequins on her top glitter in the orange street lights.

  I sit on a low wall, leaning against a pillar. It would be fair to say that I’m experiencing a colossal amount of leg ache right now, but nothing a hot chocolate and eight hours’ sleep won’t sort out.

  ‘Annie!’ Fab bounces down the stairs towards me. ‘We didn’t say goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Fab. Bye.’ I give him a wave.

  He smiles, but he doesn’t go anywhere. Instead, he sits next to me, stares out to sea and starts drumming his hands on his legs. Then he turns to me and says, ‘So, I have something to ask you. I was going to do it when we were dancing, but then you didn’t want to dance and I lost my courage. But when I saw you sitting on this wall, I thought, it is a sign.’

  I laugh. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’

  He takes a deep breath and says, ‘Annie Demos, will you be my girl?’

  ‘Your girl?’ I look at him, smiling and frowning at the same time. My ears are still ringing from the music and my mind is buzzing from talking to so many people. ‘Fab, I don’t get it.’

  ‘In Poland, we don’t say “girlfriend” or “boyfriend”. We say “my girl”, moja dziewczyna, or “my boy”, mój chłopak. So, Annie, I am asking you: will you be moja dziewczyna?’

  ‘He’s asking you out!’ Hilary yells from her lion.

  ‘Exactly!’ Fab takes my hand. ‘Annie, will you be my girl and go on a date with me?�
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  I’m so surprised that I nearly burst out laughing. ‘Are you joking, Fab? Because it’s really hard to tell right now.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Annie, you know I wouldn’t joke about this.’

  I sit up a bit taller. ‘No, right, sorry. It’s just … I didn’t see that coming.’ And it’s true – I didn’t – although, now I think about it, from the moment I met Fab he’s been very into me. But I didn’t think I was getting special treatment: he’s very into everything.

  ‘So, what’s your answer?’ His voice is quieter now.

  Behind him, I see Hilary looking at me with big eyes and barely concealed excitement. I look away quickly before she makes me laugh.

  ‘I’m sorry, but my answer is no,’ I say, giving his hand a squeeze then letting go. ‘But thank you for asking me. I mean, you’re great and everything, Fab, but I’m not interested in being anyone’s girl. I don’t want to be anyone’s anything! I just want to hang out with my friends and have fun.’

  ‘But, Annie, you can have fun with me. We are perfect for each other. Everyone can see it: we’re Fannie!’

  I laugh and shift a little bit away from him. ‘That’s just a silly name Romilly’s given us because we sit next to each other and talk a lot. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘I think you are wrong. It does mean something. I knew you would become moja dziewczyna the moment I walked into the English room and our eyes met.’

  Now I do laugh. ‘Fab, our eyes only met because everyone else looked the other way. You don’t believe in all that stuff, do you?’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Fate bringing two people together … Eyes meeting across a crowded room … It was written in the stars … “I am Heathcliff!”’

  He smiles. ‘Of course. Don’t you? Without love, life is pointless.’

  ‘Life is pretty pointless,’ I say, ‘but human beings are good at inventing meaning.’

  ‘No, no.’ He shakes his head. ‘If love is an invention, then why do people feel incredible when they fall in love? If you feel it –’ he thumps his fist against his chest ‘– then it is real.’

  ‘No, my friend told me about this. When we’re drawn to someone, our brains think, danger, and go into fight-or-flee mode, flooding our bodies with cortisol. The cortisol makes our hearts pound and everything feel hyper-intense. Basically, being “in love” is the same as being really scared, which should tell you something, but human beings have just put a romantic gloss on it.’

  Hilary has flopped forward on the lion and is listening to our conversation with interest. ‘But even animals love each other,’ she says. ‘I watched this documentary where this polar bear nearly starved to death just to keep her cub alive.’

  Great. Now she’s joining in! ‘That’s the instinct to survive,’ I say.

  Fab frowns. ‘So you really think love –’

  ‘– is a fairytale, a narrative we’ve spun around our basic animal instinct to keep the human race going.’

  ‘And I am asking you out because?’

  ‘You’re programmed to do it.’ I tap my head. ‘Even though it’s illogical and will lead to heartbreak.’

  Fab puffs his cheeks out and sighs. ‘That is depressing, Annie.’

  I shrug. ‘No, it’s realistic.’

  ‘So what’s the point of life then?’

  ‘I’ve already told you: to have fun, to have an adventure!’

  Fab’s eyes light up. ‘And I’ve already told you: there is no greater adventure in life than love.’

  I laugh. ‘Really? Well, I’ll travel the world – visit Machu Picchu, snorkel the Great Barrier Reef, see the Northern Lights – and you can go on a load of dates, and in ten years’ time we’ll meet up and see who’s had the best adventure.’

  ‘So, you’re saying you won’t go out with me?’

  ‘No, I won’t. But thank you for asking me.’

  For a moment he looks crestfallen, then he brightens up. ‘Maybe we can go out as friends until you change your mind.’

  A small part of me wants to say ‘yes’: I’d enjoy hanging out with Fab – he’s funny and unpredictable and I love the way he argues with me – but I could never be the girlfriend he would want. He’d want dates and devotion. He’d want to hold hands. I hate holding hands with people. It makes me want to scream! I can hear the sea crashing on the beach and a cool wind is blowing into my face, but right now, sitting next to Fab, I feel hot and uncomfortable.

  ‘We’ll see each other at college,’ I say, looking out for Mum’s car.

  He studies me a little longer, then shrugs and smiles. ‘OK, no worries.’ Despite his height and his confidence and his bare arms where he’s rolled up his sleeves, Fab suddenly seems like a little boy. ‘I’ll see you at college,’ he says, then he stands up and walks back up the steps and into the hotel.

  I turn to Hilary. ‘Did I just imagine that?’

  ‘Nope,’ she says, hugging the lion. ‘Fab asked you to be his girl. You said, “No, thanks.” So, essentially, nothing’s changed.’

  She’s right. Nothing’s actually changed … And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that in the past few minutes everything has changed.

  TWENTY

  Somehow, Hilary manages to keep quiet about the whole Fab thing all the way home in the car.

  ‘What’s up with you two?’ asks Mum. ‘You’re very subdued. Didn’t you have a good time?’

  ‘It was great,’ I say in my cheeriest voice. ‘Wasn’t it, Hilary?’ I turn round and give her a look, a look that says, Speak!

  ‘It was brilliant,’ she bursts out. ‘Loads of dancing, cake, crisps. It was brilliant! Especially the crisps.’

  I give her another look, a look that says, OK, stop speaking!

  ‘Well, I’m glad you girls had fun. You’re going to have lots to talk about tonight.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ says Hilary, leaning forward so that her head pokes through the gap between the seats. ‘Won’t we, Annie?’

  * * *

  An hour later, Hilary and I are lying on my bed eating curry toasties.

  It’s amazing how quickly I’ve got used to having Hilary around. I did have a moment of wishing she wasn’t here when Alice and Mabel ran on to her lap and made a big fuss of her, but then I reminded myself that friends share their favourite things, and that includes their rats.

  ‘This is the best,’ says Hilary, holding up her toastie. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never thought of putting curry in between two pieces of buttered bread and frying the whole thing.’ Her eyes slide towards me. ‘Sooo, a few weeks at college and already someone’s asked you out.’

  ‘I know. I didn’t realise I was so desirable. No, that’s not true. Obviously, I know I’m gorgeous, but Fab? And, bam, “Will you be my girl?” Just like that!’

  ‘He obviously doesn’t believe in taking things slow.’ She nibbles her toastie. ‘So do you really not want to go out with anyone, or were you using that as an excuse to let him down gently?’

  I think about the couples I knew at school. ‘The thing is, I know loads of people who’ve changed after they started going out with someone. They become all boyring.’

  Hilary laughs. ‘But you wouldn’t have to become boyring.’

  ‘Oh, everyone says that, but they always change in the end. They wear black because the object of their desire wears black, or they become a vegetarian overnight even though they’ve been declaring love for bacon sandwiches for years.’

  ‘But that could be good, couldn’t it?’ says Hilary. ‘For pigs at least.’

  I laugh, flop back on the bed and stretch out. ‘Maybe, but I guess I don’t think it’s worth the hassle. Urrgh, and the fights!’

  ‘You’re not selling it to me,’ says Hilary, looking disappointed. ‘I’ve never even kissed anyone, but I was kind of looking forward to it all.’

  ‘I’m into kissing. It’s the you’re-my-girlfriend-now-never-speak-to-another-person part that I’m not into.’

  ‘So i
f Fab had asked for a kiss?’

  I consider this for a moment, then shake my head. ‘No way. You could never just kiss Fabian Kaczka then go back to being friends the next day. You heard him. He practically proposed to me back there! Look, I’ll be totally honest with you, Hilary. You’re the first person I’ve invited round to my house in years. I like my own time and my own space too much. I need it. I suppose I’m protective of it.’

  She sits up a little taller and smiles. ‘I’m honoured! What made you ask me?’

  I look at her and smile. ‘Well, you’re pretty undemanding.’ This is true. Hilary never seems bothered if I tell her I have to work during lunchtimes or break. (She just says, ‘OK. See you later, alligator,’ and floats off somewhere.) ‘Also, I realised you were worth losing a bit of my freedom for.’

  ‘Unlike Fab?’

  The way she says this makes me feel bad for him. ‘No, he is a great person – like you – but he would be seriously high maintenance.’

  ‘Like a vintage Aston Martin?’

  I laugh. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Whereas I’m more of a Beetle.’

  ‘Or a yellow Mini.’

  She smiles, obviously liking the sound of that. Then her smile switches to a frown. ‘Poor Fab!’ she says.

  ‘Not poor Fab. Lucky Fab, because I would drive him mad. Tonight, I saved him from a miserable experience.’

  ‘He didn’t look too pleased about it.’

  I think about Fab’s face just before he walked back into the hotel. ‘No, but one day he’ll thank me.’

  ‘I love his chest,’ Hilary says dreamily. ‘It’s ultra manly.’ Then she makes this long, drawn-out mmmmm, similar to the one she did when she bit into her toastie.

  I curl up on my side. ‘That chest comes with conditions, Hilary.’

  ‘You think he’s got the message?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  On Monday, I discover that Fab has not, in fact, got the message.

  I’m sitting in the common room, chatting to Oliver and Hilary, when Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ comes on. Piano music sweeps across the room and I start swaying along as Kate Bush breathily whoops and sings about Heathcliff and being ‘so cold’.