Truly, Wildly, Deeply

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘Kości,’ says Fab’s mum. She’s been so quiet next to me that I’m startled when she speaks.

  ‘Bones,’ explains Fab. Then, after a quick conversation with his mum, he adds, ‘Apparently I got it wrong. Filip is an archaeologist.’

  After we’ve eaten more cake, everyone starts to pack up. Before I can climb back into Emil’s van, Fab’s mum presses a bag on me, saying, ‘Blackberries and cake for your mother.’

  Then she talks to Fab in Polish and this starts an animated discussion among everyone. The only people not joining in are me and English Simon.

  ‘Annie,’ she says, patting my arm, ‘are you free on Saturday in two weeks?’

  Unsure what I’m letting myself in for, I nod my head.

  ‘Then you come with Fab to Simon and Julia’s wedding!’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, trying to hide my alarm. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, nodding and smiling.

  Then everyone else joins in with the nodding and smiling.

  I don’t know what to say. Going to a wedding with Fab seems like such a massively girlfriendy thing to do, but I have to make up my mind because everyone is staring at me, waiting for an answer. Obviously I can’t say, ‘I’d like to come, but just to make it clear: I’m not going out with your son.’ So instead I say the first thing that pops into my head: ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I have the right clothes. The only shoes I have are trainers.’

  For the first time this afternoon, English Simon decides to pipe up. ‘I’m going to be wearing trainers,’ he says.

  Jeez. Thanks for nothing, Simon.

  ‘Well, OK,’ I say, fixing a big smile on my face. ‘In that case, thank you. I’d love to come.’

  General rejoicing breaks out and, despite my reservations, it’s hard not to get swept up in the good mood.

  Soon, Fab, Emil and I are in the van, and I’m waving goodbye to Fab’s family.

  As we drive out of the car park, Paulina runs after us shouting, ‘See you at the wedding, Annie!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Fab, as we pull on to the road. ‘Polish weddings are much better than English ones.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘Vodka,’ mutters Emil.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Once Mum went out with someone who was a detective and he told me that a technique used during questioning is to ask a suspect to explain what happened chronologically, and then in reverse order. Apparently it’s harder to lie backwards.

  This evening, it appears Mum is using this technique on me.

  ‘So what did you do again?’ she asks, glancing up from Poldark. She always watches reruns of Poldark on a Sunday night and claims that looking at Captain Ross is the only thing that takes her mind off work the next day.

  I stay focused on my phone. ‘We picked blackberries, ate cake, did the Blue Experience, had a barbecue, ate cake, then I agreed to go to a wedding.’

  She smiles and turns back to the screen. ‘Remember when you wore jeans to Auntie Jo’s wedding and made her cry?’

  ‘Yeah, well, her dress made me want to cry, but unlike her, I was too polite to do it.’

  On the TV Ross and Demelza argue in a candlelit room.

  ‘Ahhh,’ sighs Mum. A few minutes later, she asks, ‘What did you do after the blackberry-picking?’

  ‘Ate.’

  ‘And who was there?’

  ‘Loads of Polish people. And English Simon.’

  ‘Right …’

  Ross and Demelza kiss … then argue … then kiss.

  ‘And what’s Fab’s mum like?’

  ‘Amazing. I love her. She hardly talks.’

  Mum laughs. ‘I’m only curious about what you got up to with this boy you’ve never mentioned before.’

  ‘Well, suppress your curiosity.’

  She looks back at the TV. Billowing white blouses are being tugged over heads and garments unlaced.

  ‘Hello … here we go …’ she mutters. Then, oh so casually, she adds, ‘Anything like this happen when you were blackberry-picking?’

  ‘Mum, Fab and I are just friends.’ As I say the word friends, a pang of guilt creeps into me, because this wasn’t entirely the message I gave Fab up on the hill. ‘He definitely knows that’s all we are,’ I add. ‘I’ve told him loads of times that I don’t want to go out with him, or anyone for that matter!’ By the end of my little speech, I’m not quite sure who it’s aimed at: Mum, Fab … or me.

  Mum’s eyes are fixed on me. After a moment, she says, ‘He seems like a really nice boy, Annie.’

  ‘Yes. And your point is?’

  ‘Be nice back to him, that’s all.’

  And that is my cue to jump to my feet. ‘Goodnight, Mother.’

  ‘Get away from the screen!’ she yells as I walk past.

  The next day, I’m sitting on the train with Jackson and we’re doing our usual morning thing. He’s messaging Amelia and I’m staring out of the window and fantasising about not getting off at college, just staying on the train and going somewhere I’ve never been before in my life. Maybe I’ll carry on all the way to London, and from there I’ll go by Eurostar to Paris. When I arrive, I’ll just look up at the departure board and get the next train that’s leaving. I could end up anywhere in Europe …

  ‘Cows,’ says Jackson, pointing out of the window, but without taking his eyes off his phone.

  Sure enough, we’re going past the field that’s always full of cows. Jackson and I have both got our favourites. Mine’s number thirty-two, a skinny black cow who always scratches her bum on a broken fence, but never seems to be able to reach the right spot. One day, I’m going to go down there and give that cow a good old scratch myself.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ says Jackson, chuckling and glancing at me over the top of his phone. ‘What have you been up to?’

  I tear myself away from the itchy cow. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When were you going to mention that you’re going out with Fab Kaczka?’

  I burst out laughing. ‘Never, because I’m not going out with Fab Kaczka.’

  He raises one eyebrow. ‘That’s not what Snapchat’s telling me.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that because I’m not on Snapchat.’

  ‘Oh yes you are,’ he says, passing me his phone.

  The picture Fab took of us on Saturday fills the screen. I’m resting against him and we’re surrounded by the bright blue sky. Moja Angielska dziewczyna! is written in bouncy letters at the top of the screen.

  I shrug. ‘Don’t be so infantile, Jackson. It’s just a picture. I’ve got hundreds of pictures of me and my rats on Facebook. Doesn’t mean I’m dating them.’

  He shrugs too and takes the phone back. ‘True, but Fab has written “My English girlfriend” across your forehead, which kind of suggests that you’re, you know, his English girlfriend.’

  ‘What?’ My stomach lurches. ‘How do you know that’s what it says?’

  ‘Just Googled it.’

  I force myself to laugh. ‘Well, that’s … bizarre. I wonder why he’s saying that.’

  ‘Who knows? He’s an unpredictable guy.’

  I sit back and look out of the window, really wishing Jackson would just disappear so I can get my head round this. A moment ago, I was looking forward to getting to college. I was looking forward to seeing Fab! Now I’m going to have to find him and sort this mess out.

  ‘How come you know Fab anyway?’ I ask Jackson.

  ‘He’s friends with everyone, plus we bonded over our mutual love of roast chicken.’

  ‘Of course you did,’ I say. ‘Well, either Fab’s joking or Google Translate isn’t working properly because I am not Fab’s girlfriend and he knows it.’

  ‘Does he?’ says Jackson. ‘Because he’s also changed his Facebook status to “In a relationship”.’ He looks up at me and laughs. ‘Welcome to the couples club, Annie! Hang on …’ He starts tapping at his phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘As
king him if he wants to go on a double date. You and Fab, me and Amelia, this Saturday, Nando’s!’

  I try to grab his phone, but he holds it just out of my reach and my attempts to get it make him laugh hysterically. After a few seconds of struggling, his phone pings and he reads the message.

  ‘Fab says, “Yes, if Annie wants to go”.’

  I stare at him, open-mouthed. This perfectly sums up why I could never go out with Fab: my life would slip out of my control. It already is slipping out of my control! First, Fab announces to the world that I’m his girlfriend, and two minutes later I’m practically locked into a double date with Jackson and Amelia … at Nando’s!

  ‘Well, tell Fab Annie doesn’t want to go!’

  Jackson laughs. ‘Why not?’

  I count the reasons off on my fingers. ‘One, I’m a vegetarian and Nando’s is quite meaty. Two, I’m going bowling with my mum on Saturday. And, three, I’m not going out with Fab!’

  ‘Maybe you should give him a chance?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Why? I already know I don’t want to go out with him – I don’t want to go out with anyone. Watching him eat flame-grilled chicken won’t change that.’

  ‘So ring him up and put him straight.’

  ‘Oh, I’m going to put him straight,’ I say, ‘but I’m going to do it in person. Fab seems to find it difficult understanding my words, and it’s got nothing to do with him being Polish.’

  ‘Annie, do you want a chillax Chomp?’ Jackson holds up a little chocolate bar.

  Since I explained my mum’s tendency to give me inspirational food, he’s come up with a few of his own, for example, sadistic Skips and sexy Starburst. This is the first sensible suggestion he’s had.

  ‘I nicked it out of my brother’s packed lunchbox, but I think you need it to help you get over the shock of almost being in a couple and not just thinking about yourself every second of the day.’

  ‘Man, that’s low,’ I say, but I take the chocolate anyway because you should never turn down free chocolate.

  I watch the cows and chomp on my Chomp. They look blissfully happy, independently munching grass in their field of freedom. I bet they never get some bull falsely claiming they belong to him and then advertising the fact on social media like they’re some sort of trophy cow. Stupid, Annie, stupid. A bull wouldn’t even be able to type with his cumbersome hooves. I stick the last bit of Chomp in my mouth just as the train pulls in to the station. The Chomp and my cow thoughts have cheered me up a bit.

  Jackson and I get our stuff together.

  ‘For the record, Annie,’ he says, ‘going out with someone isn’t all about losing your freedom.’

  ‘What is it about then?’

  ‘One,’ he ticks off a finger, mimicking me a moment ago, ‘it’s about always having someone comfy to lie on when you watch films. Two, it’s about always being able to play two-player Turtles in Time. And finally, three, it’s about having someone else’s wardrobe to dip into.’ The train comes to a halt and he jumps to his feet. ‘Argue that, Demos!’

  ‘One, I have cushions. Two, I don’t even know what Turtles in Time is. And three, Jackson, what are you talking about? Don’t tell me you’re wearing something of Amelia’s right now?’

  He smiles. ‘Oh yes I am!’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At college, I leave my wheelchair in my form room and go to find Fab.

  He’s leaning on the counter of the coffee shop, eating toast and flirting with Peggy. It’s where he is most mornings, because Peggy lets him have the crusts half price. Today he’s wearing his usual tracksuit bottoms and shirt combo. Plus espadrilles. I’m momentarily thrown from my kick-Fab’s-butt resolve because his sleeves are rolled up and he does have exceptionally good arms. But as I walk across the room, I force myself to stare at his salmon-pink espadrilles. I need to stay focused.

  ‘Annie!’ he says. ‘Piekna dziewczyna!’

  I roll my eyes. Beautiful girl. I suppose one upside to hanging out with this delusional person is that I’m learning Polish.

  ‘You and me, Kazcka,’ I say. ‘We need to talk.’

  He raises one eyebrow and puts down his buttery toast. ‘Why? What has happened?’

  ‘Er, you put a photo of us on Snapchat.’ He looks confused, so I carry on, ‘You know the one, Fab. You slapped “My English girlfriend” right across my face.’

  ‘Aww, sweet!’ says Peggy.

  ‘Do you want some toast?’ Fab holds out his paper plate. ‘A hot chocolate?’

  I shake my head. ‘Stop trying to feed me up and just tell me what you were thinking.’

  Fab glances at Peggy, who is standing watching us, her arms folded, obviously not going anywhere. ‘Come with me,’ he says.

  I follow Fab to a sofa in the corner.

  ‘Annie,’ he says, the moment we’re sitting down, ‘what have I done wrong? You are angry about the picture? You don’t like having pictures put online?’

  ‘No, I don’t, but the picture’s not actually the problem, Fab. It’s more the words.’

  He leans back and throws his arms out wide. ‘But I don’t understand.’

  ‘Fab, I am not your girlfriend and you are not my boyfriend, so don’t tell people that we’ve got something special going on, because we haven’t!’ My mouth is on a roll now and it can’t stop. ‘I mean, when did that conversation happen? In between the cheese and leek sausages and szarlotka? Or was it during the Blue Experience? Was I so relaxed I fell asleep and you decided my snore meant I want to go out with you?’

  He leans forward. ‘But we were sitting so close and you said that I smelt nice.’ He smiles. ‘I added up the evidence!’

  ‘You added up the evidence? Fab, I’m not Wuthering Heights. It was a nice afternoon, and I might have wanted another nice afternoon like it – as friends – but now I don’t want to because you took some random events and concluded that we were dating. Then you announced it to the world! Fab, I don’t like people telling me who I am!’

  ‘Wait a minute, random events? Annie, we nearly kissed!’ He looks right at me as he says this.

  Over at the coffee shop, Peggy’s mouth drops open.

  ‘Does nothing embarrass you?’ I hiss.

  ‘Life is too short for embarrassment!’

  ‘Yeah, you said.’

  ‘Being with you, in the countryside, in the sun, cuddling. It was the best afternoon. I loved it!’

  ‘We didn’t cuddle, Fab. I rested against you. Cuddling involves arms and squeezing.’

  ‘That,’ he says, wagging his finger, ‘is a mere technicality.’

  ‘No,’ I say, wagging my finger back, ‘it’s the truth. This is a rest …’ I press my shoulder against his shoulder. ‘And this is a cuddle …’ I go to put my arms around him, but then I realise what I’m doing and let them fall back down by my side. ‘Well, you get the idea.’

  He leans back on the sofa again and frowns. ‘No, I still don’t understand. Show me what a cuddle is again.’

  I can’t help smiling. ‘No way. You’ll tell everyone we’re engaged.’

  With a shake of his head, Fab pulls out his phone. ‘OK, OK, I will take the picture down.’

  ‘And change your Facebook status.’

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘Fine.’ A few seconds later, he puts his phone back in his pocket. ‘It is all done. Now we will just wait and see what happens.’

  He looks at me and I look at him, and I’m suddenly so aware of everything about him: his blue eyes, his hand that’s resting on the seam of the sofa, his foot that’s tapping up and down. My heart races and it’s not just because I’m annoyed about the photo. It’s also because, despite the espadrille that’s jiggling up and down in front of my face, there’s something I find a teeny bit attractive about Fab.

  No! I need to put a stop to this flirting. Right now. Finding Fab a teeny bit attractive is not a good enough reason to give up my freedom. I find Jim a teeny bit attractive. I find the girl I sit next to in English language a teeny
bit attractive. I even find Phil my sociology teacher a teeny bit attractive. It doesn’t mean I should go out with any of them!

  ‘Fab, nothing is going to happen. I like you and we had a really good afternoon together, but that doesn’t mean I’m ever going to be your girlfriend.’

  ‘Annie, I promise I will never call you my girlfriend again.’

  ‘But you still want a girlfriend, don’t you? Your girl? Someone who you can look after and take on dates and show off to the world?’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ asks Fab. ‘If you were my girlfriend I would want to take you to wonderful places. I would be proud to go out with you. I’d want to show you off to the world!’

  Automatically, an image springs into my mind of Fab parading me around the common room. ‘I’d hate that,’ I burst out. ‘I don’t want to be shown off like a new pair of shoes!’

  ‘I care nothing about shoes,’ he says, entirely missing the point.

  ‘Look, Fab, starting college is a big deal for me. It’s the most freedom I’ve ever had in my life, and I want to enjoy it without the complication of being someone’s girlfriend. Why’s that so hard to understand?’

  Fab doesn’t look convinced. ‘I suppose because I do not believe it would be a complication. But I think I do understand. I think maybe you want someone who isn’t me. I’m the complication.’ His smile is fading and, although he doesn’t move his arm, that feeling that’s buzzing between us … it fades a little bit too.

  I shake my head. ‘No, I don’t want to be involved with anyone right now. At all.’

  ‘So you will not come to the wedding with me?’

  ‘No. It’s not a good idea, but please say thank you to Julia and Simon for asking me.’

  He puts his hands on his knees and stares at them. Then he nods. ‘I’m sorry I embarrassed you with the picture and the words. From now on, we are Annie and Fab, friends.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Put it here, my friend.’

  I put my hand in his and he squeezes it. We’re supposed to be saying hello, but for some reason this feels like we’re saying goodbye.