Only We Know

by Simon Packham

  ‘I swear that damp patch is getting bigger.’

  ‘Is it, Mum?’

  ‘The surveyor didn’t even pick up on it. How could anyone be so blind?’

  I watch her in the mirror, wondering if a woman over forty should really be wearing a Disney sweatshirt.

  ‘Looks like it’s going to rain again – you’d better take an umbrella.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘If you wait for Dad to get home, he could give you a lift.’

  ‘No. I mean, thanks anyway, but I’ll be fine. It’s not exactly a jungle out there, is it?’

  ‘That’s not the point, Lauren. A young girl like you needs to be careful.’ And she gives me ‘the look’. ‘You will take care of yourself, won’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’

  The headachy aroma of burnt hair and body butter competes with the dull throb of Tilda’s baseline from the room next door.

  ‘You’re going to a lot of trouble for a girls’ night in.’

  ‘Katherine’s a bit obsessed with her appearance,’ I say, congratulating myself on a lie that’s actually funny as well as practical. ‘I thought I should make an effort.’

  ‘I see,’ says Mum. ‘It’s just that …’

  Our eyes meet in the mirror. ‘What?’

  Her fake smile would look better on the catwalk. ‘I’m so glad you’re having such a good time at school.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Tilda. She says you’ve been making new friends.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ How would she know anyway? We’ve barely spoken since Izzy’s party.

  ‘That’s right,’ says Mum, rising slowly from the bed and joining me at the mirror. ‘In fact, she said she thinks you …’ Verbal constipation gets the better of her again. ‘She thinks you might have started seeing someone.’

  And suddenly I see where she’s going with this. ‘It’s a school, Mum. I see a lot of people.’

  ‘Don’t try and be clever with me, Lauren. You know what I’m talking about.’

  I turn to face her, hair straighteners raised in self-defence. ‘Do I?’

  ‘This boy – Harry, is it? – you’re not dating, are you?’

  Cue the sound of hair straighteners tumbling onto a frayed blue carpet.

  ‘Sort of. I mean not dating exactly, but we have been seeing each other.’

  ‘Oh, Lauren,’ she says, screwing her face into a tragic mask. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I’m sixteen years old, Mum. What’s your problem?’

  ‘You know what my problem is.’

  And guess what, I’m losing it again. ‘Scared I’m going to get pregnant, are you?’

  ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious you don’t trust me.’

  ‘Of course I trust you. I just don’t want you to get hurt. And neither does your sister. She’s almost as worried as I am.’

  ‘I won’t get hurt, Mum. Harry’s a nice guy, I know he is.’

  ‘Now where have I heard that one before?’

  ‘Please, Mum, don’t.’

  She grabs her forehead and tries to rub away the wrinkles. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d be like this?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Frightened.’

  ‘It works both ways you know, Lauren. You’ve got to trust me too – especially after everything we’ve been through together.’

  ‘It’s not that, Mum. I have to start making some decisions for myself.’

  ‘And what about this Harry? He doesn’t know, does he?’

  I opt for the simple answer. ‘No, Mum.’

  ‘It’s hardly fair on him, is it, Lauren?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Getting close to the boy, if you haven’t told him about … your past.’

  ‘I’ll tell him if things start getting serious.’

  ‘Oh, good God.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Mum. We moved here so I could have a normal life. You can’t go all mental on me when it starts working out.’

  ‘It’s not that. I just worry about you. You’ve been so happy lately. What if this boy ruins everything?’

  ‘He won’t. I know he won’t.’

  ‘Well, you’d better not bring him round here. Not just yet anyway. You know what your dad would say.’

  ‘I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

  Mum cracks a knowing smile. ‘There’s not a father on earth who wants his daughter to grow up, Lauren – sons, yes; daughters, not so much.’

  ‘So could you and Tilda keep quiet about it for a bit?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with her,’ says Mum, picking my pants off the floor. ‘No point worrying him just now. He was so pleased that you’d sorted things out with Grandma.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far. But at least we’re talking again.’

  Mum starts work on a pile of damp towels. ‘So I assume that’s who you’re seeing tonight then. This Harry, I mean.’ She braces herself for my reply.

  ‘Yes.’

  Mum’s so much better at this than she was; the earthquake inside her registers only the hint of a tremor on her face. ‘And where’s he taking you – somewhere nice I hope?’

  ‘He’s not taking me anywhere. But we’re going to Pizza Express.’

  ‘Right, I think I’ve got a voucher somewhere. I’ll print it out for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘And don’t walk back through the station subway, will you? Go the long way round. And before you ask, I said exactly the same thing to your sister.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mum. It’s miles further that way.’

  ‘That’s what Tilda said.’

  ‘You shouldn’t worry so much. I’m a big girl now, you know!’

  ‘Oh, come here,’ says Mum, stretching out her arms and pulling me towards her.

  I lay my head against Mickey Mouse and drink in the reassuring combination of coffee, hairspray and Anais Anais.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’m over-protective sometimes. I can’t help it. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.’

  ‘I know that, Mum.’

  She strokes my hair. I’ve always liked having my hair stroked.

  ‘That looks nasty, Lauren.’

  ‘What does?’

  She pulls me sideways so I’m under the light. ‘This eczema. You’re not having another flare-up, are you?’

  ‘It’s just a tiny dry patch, that’s all.’

  ‘How long have you had it?’

  ‘About a week. I’ve been using the steroid cream.’

  ‘This isn’t good.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, please.’

  And now the inevitable interrogation. ‘There’s nothing on your mind is there, my love?’

  ‘Why should there be?’

  ‘We both know what stress does to you. That is exactly what happened last year.’

  Lucky I’m wearing jeans. She’d have a fit if she saw the back of my legs – but not half as bad as if I told her about that dinosaur.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Mum. It’s just this house. I think I’m allergic to something.’

  And for some reason she chooses to believe me. ‘I’ve got a nice silk scarf that will cover it up. It will go with your jeans too.’

  And I thought my days of dressing up in Mum’s clothes were long gone! ‘Thanks, that’s really nice of you.’

  ‘Oh and, Lauren?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking you this but —’

  ‘But what, Mum?’

  ‘You have been taking your medication, haven’t you?’

  ‘Of course I have. I’m not stupid you know.’

  25

  PIZZA EXPRESS

  Three mouthfuls into the chocolate fudge cake, I start wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

  ‘What are you looking at, Lauren?’

  ‘Nothing, just the —’

  ‘Have I got chocolate round
my mouth?’

  ‘Oh yeah, yeah, you have actually. Let me just …’ I take a napkin, reach over the table, and run it slowly across Harry’s top lip. It feels just as I imagined it, even down to the prototype bristles that he hasn’t bothered to start shaving yet. ‘That’s better.’

  His cheeks ignite for a second. ‘Thanks. I’ll ask for the bill, shall I?’

  ‘We’re not in a hurry, are we? You said you were going to tell me about your brother’s new band.’

  ‘It’s fine by me, but I thought you said you had to be home by ten.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s right. Better get a move on, I suppose.’

  It’s hard to explain. It ought to be the exact opposite, but whenever I’m with him I feel safe. And it’s amazing how many things we find to talk about when so much is ‘out of bounds’.

  ‘I won’t come to the door with you,’ says Harry. ‘Not if your dad’s the monster you say he is.’

  ‘He’s just a bit, you know, protective. But that’s okay, you can just drop me on the corner.’

  ‘What do you mean “drop” you?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to give me a lift on your bike?’

  ‘You are joking, I hope. I’ve haven’t even got my full licence yet. And anyway, there’s only one helmet.’

  ‘We could cut through the park. No one will see us. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.’

  ‘I’m not breaking the law for a laugh, Lauren.’

  ‘So what are you going to do with your bike?’

  ‘I’ll walk you home first and then come back for it.’ He finally manages to attract the waiter. ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘You’re such a yes man, aren’t you?’

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘Oh come off it, Harry – you’re bloody perfect, you know you are.’

  ‘You think so?’ he says, chasing a slither of strawberry around his plate.

  ‘I know so. I mean look at you. Deputy head what-doyoucallit, captain of practically everything. I bet you’ve even started work on your CV.’

  ‘Sorry I’m such a disappointment.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, Harry. I really like it that you’re so together. Not like me.’

  The waiter plonks a silver saucer on the table. I grab the bill.

  ‘You’re doing all right, Lauren. Better than all right. We both are.’

  And I suppose for two people with Happy Boxes in their bedrooms, he’s probably right.

  Harry breaks into a smile. ‘Why do girls always do that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Add up the bill.’

  ‘Because it’s like being accused of a crime you didn’t commit. We don’t want to end up paying for something we haven’t had.’

  I take his arm and we walk back through town in the rain.

  ‘I was talking to Miss Hoolyhan after the rehearsal.’

  ‘Oh yes, what about?’

  ‘Well, about you for a start.’

  He checks his reflection in the Body Shop window. ‘And the fashion show I suppose. It’s not what I said about that new outfit they want her to wear?’

  ‘No, she was just saying what a nice guy you are.’

  ‘Did she?’ he says, not sounding too thrilled about it. ‘I’d have preferred “sex god”, but you can’t have everything I suppose.’

  I don’t have many hidden talents, but it turns out I can do a great Miss Hoolyhan impression: ‘And it wouldn’t have been very “appropriate” either, would it, Harry?’

  ‘No, miss!’

  It’s probably the perfect moment to wrap my arms round his neck and get that first kiss over with, except I’m about to ruin it all by asking the question that’s been simmering in the back of my mind since we left Pizza Express.

  ‘What did you mean just now?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘When you said we were both “doing all right”. What were you talking about?’

  ‘Well … school, of course,’ he says, pausing for a moment in front of Marks & Spencer and tapping the top of his thigh. ‘You’re the star of the fashion show and I … well, I just got my Duke of Edinburgh Award. We could be like … you know … a power couple.’

  ‘Oh … I see.’

  We walk up to the station in silence. The announcer apologises for the late arrival of the 9.56 train to Victoria and we cut across the empty car park towards the subway.

  ‘I’m supposed to go the long way round,’ I say, trying to kickstart the conversation. ‘My mum says someone was mugged down there.’

  ‘Oh come on, Lauren, it’ll take forever. And it’s not like you’re alone, is it? I thought I was supposed to be the yes man.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was going to do it, did I?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ says Harry as we enter the subway. ‘It’s worse than the reception-block toilets. Do you think graffiti artists have weak bladders?’

  Half the lights are missing and it curves round to the right. So I don’t spot him until we’re halfway down.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s … horrible.’

  ‘What is it?’ says Harry. ‘Is it the smell? You look like you’re going to faint or something.’

  ‘Down there – look.’

  At first he seems as shocked as I am. And then, out of nowhere, he breaks into a deep, throaty laugh. ‘Some people have the weirdest sense of humour.’

  Hanging by the neck, from a green shoelace attached to a broken light fitting, is Woody from Toy Story, a goofy grin on his face. I race towards the swaying cowboy, removing his head from the homemade gallows, like he’s a real person and there might just be a chance of resuscitating him. A quick examination reveals it’s too late. So I stuff him into my coat pocket before Harry can check him over too.

  ‘You should have left him up there,’ says Harry. ‘It’s actually pretty funny.’

  ‘No it’s not.’

  ‘At least he died with a smile on his face.’

  ‘It’s gross – a little kid might see it. And anyway it’s evidence.’

  ‘Evidence of what?’

  ‘I don’t know … vandalism.’

  ‘There’s no need to take it so personally.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  But I can’t reveal the results of my hasty post-mortem and the chilling epitaph scratched into the bottom of Woody’s boots. On one foot are my initials, on the other the abbreviation RIP.

  ‘Nothing; let’s just go home, okay?’

  Harry starts murdering ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’. And now I feel like murdering him.

  ‘Stop it, Harry! Don’t be such an idiot.’

  ‘I was only —’

  ‘Just shut up. Okay?’

  And somewhere between the station subway and next door’s Vauxhall Meriva, I kiss goodbye to our first goodbye kiss.

  ‘Better not come any further,’ I say, checking the curtains for signs of maternal twitching.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what happened back there?’

  ‘Nothing. I —’

  ‘Lauren, wait,’ says Harry, his outstretched arm fluttering in the rain. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

  But all I want is to get inside. ‘Look, I’ll see you later, yeah?’

  26

  SWEET DREAMS (PART ONE)

  Mum’s waiting for me at the door. ‘So how did it go then?’

  ‘Yeah, good thanks.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that.’

  ‘… Yeah.’

  She looks down at the smiley cowboy peeping from my pocket. ‘Well, that’s nice – he bought you a present.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, right.’

  ‘Good choice too – you loved those films, didn’t you? I don’t know how many times we sat through them on DVD.’

  ‘I’m off to bed, Mum.’

  ‘Come and say goodnight to your dad first,’ she says, raising a knowing eyebrow. ‘He’ll want to know how you got on.’

  I pop my head round the doo
r and fake a smile. ‘Night night.’

  Dad and Tilda are watching his new box set about some French kids who come back from the dead.

  ‘How was your friend Katherine?’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, good thanks.’

  ‘And what did you get up to?’

  ‘Nothing much, just microwaved some popcorn and watched a movie.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Er … Toy Story 2.’

  ‘How sweet,’ says Tilda sarcastically.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m really tired. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Big Moe’s still not picking up. So I re-examine Woody for more clues. And I’m so freaked out that when I pull the string in his back, I half expect him to name the killer. But he doesn’t say a word – just smiles.

  Harry texts me again. I don’t text back.

  All that’s left is to smother half my body in emollient, struggle into my straitjacket pyjamas with the special mittens to stop me scratching and climb into bed.

  I try to put it off as long as possible. I even flick through Marie Claire for a bit. But I know what’s coming. No matter how hard I try to stay awake, eventually I’ll close my eyes and I won’t be able to open them again. And whatever anyone tells you, you can’t control your nightmares. It’s like watching a horror movie with your hands tied behind your back.

  But maybe tonight I’ll get off lightly, because the opening scene is more like a happy dream from my childhood. I mean, what’s so terrible about lying in a bath of gummy worms? And although some people might find the white-faced clown hiding in the washing basket a touch disturbing, the clowns were always my favourite part of the circus.

  When the gummy worms turn to snakes and the white-faced clown spits out a small boy carrying a Beretta 92F handgun who starts chasing me through a dark forest, it’s business as usual. Hanging from the trees is a multitude of life-sized Woodys, not smiling but choking. And when I try to run, my feet sink further into the mud. But maybe I’m better off where I am because as the small boy with the gun closes in on me, I have this terrible feeling that whatever lies beyond the forest is even worse.