“Fuckin’ Emos,” one shouted. “Fuckin’ gay too, he is,” yelled another, and Kyle hurried her through and across the road.
“Be careful.”
“Where d’you think you’re going?”
A man suddenly stood in front of them, his head shaven, his eyes red. He was wearing a black leather jacket.
He took a swig from a bottle and steadied himself.
“Just keep walking,” said Kyle, trying to walk around him.
“Fuckin’ Emos, fuckin’ shit, fuckin gays.” The man stood in front of them, swaying, blocking their way.
Marilyn clutched Kyle’s arm, praying he’d protect her. That’s what boys were meant to do. But Kyle was a different kind of boy, not like any boy she’d ever met.
I can’t breathe. I can see us. There’s me, and there’s Kyle. We’re on the road, and the man… he’s right there.
He swung the bottle towards Kyle. Kyle stepped back, shielding himself with one arm, holding on to Marilyn with the other.
Marilyn couldn’t believe this was happening. She could feel her heart beating.
“Stop him!”
I’m yelling, but there’s no sound.
The man swung his other arm and caught Kyle in the face.
Marilyn was frozen to the spot, too terrified to breathe, still hanging on to Kyle. The hand caught the stud in Kyle’s eyebrow. Kyle pulled back and put his hand to his face and then swung his arm back to hit out.
Marilyn couldn’t move.
“Don’t let him fight back!” My voice is coming now. I’m looking down at us. Like I’m in a helicopter.
The man punched Kyle in the stomach. Kyle dropped to the ground with a grunt of pain. Marilyn stared at the man in disbelief. Then she looked up. There was a small crowd of people standing on the pavement opposite, watching what was going on. She saw a flash of light, and then another. People were taking photos.
Marilyn had to do something. She had to do it now.
She took a deep breath.
“Stop him!” she yelled.
But it wasn’t a yell, more like a whisper.
Nobody moved.
Marilyn took a deeper breath. It made her feel calmer somehow.
“Stop him, help us!”
This time her voice was stronger.
Then one figure separated himself from the group. It was Saleem.
He would come and help.
Surely he would.
But Saleem turned away.
He walked off towards the clock tower.
Marilyn couldn’t believe it. How could anyone let this happen? How could they stand there and watch? Some of them were even laughing.
Kyle groaned and tried to get up.
The flash lights kept on popping.
“Stop him, you stupid bitch!”
Now I’m standing behind myself. Rooted to the ground.
Marilyn heard a voice, somewhere in the back of her mind. She couldn’t quite catch the words. She tried to focus, willed herself to listen.
“He’s going to kill Kyle. You have to stop him!”
This time Marilyn heard it. Was it her, trying to will herself into action?
It was Holly’s voice. Incredible. No time to think.
She steadied herself. She had to do something. But what could she do, Marilyn, the scared one, the shy one, the one who couldn’t even speak up for herself?
The man was getting ready to kick out at Kyle again.
She stepped forward.
“Stop! What are you doing? What has he done to you?”
She heard her own voice, loud and shrill.
The man landed a kick in Kyle’s stomach.
He moaned and curled into a ball. Then he coughed. A strange, painful cough.
“Get his attention!”
Marilyn desperately wanted to run, but she took another step towards the man. It was down to her now. No-one over the road was going to help. The man lent towards her, leering. She looked him straight in the eyes. His skin looked purplish. His eyes were puffy. She could see the lines on his forehead. The man grinned and swayed towards her.
“That’s it! Give Kyle a chance to get his breath.”
“STOP!”
Marilyn stepped out in front of Kyle and pushed at the man’s shoulder. She had never pushed anyone before in her life. He didn’t move. His jacket was tight round his body. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. She forced herself to stop shaking.
Now just get out of there!”
Marilyn pushed again, harder this time.
The man raised his fist, muttered something Marilyn couldn’t hear.
She shut her eyes, waited for him to hit her. But the punch never came. She heard a siren, getting closer. She opened her eyes.
The man was turning away.
“Get out!”
Marilyn turned to Kyle. “Let’s get out of here.” He put his hand to his face. There was a trickle of blood on his cheek.
“Get him up and walk!”
The man stopped, turned back, and spat on the road.
“You fuck off, that’s what I say. Fuck off out of here, fuckin’ Emos. Fuckin’ gays.” Marilyn saw the man put his hand in his pocket.
The voice came again, urgent.
“He’s got a knife!”
Marilyn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The man pulled his hand out of his pocket. Marilyn saw the knife flash.
She pulled back. Suddenly she was thinking clearly, in control. She could do anything, anything to protect Kyle, and herself.
“Come on, we need to get the cab.” She kept her eyes on the knife. Behind her Kyle struggled to his feet, coughing.
The man was swaying. The knife was hanging in his hand.
Then he gripped it firmly.
“He’s going to use it. Listen to me, Marilyn! It’s me, Holly.”
Marilyn was listening. Her eyes were glued to the knife.
The she looked the man in the eyes, held his unfocussed stare.
Kyle stood up, steadying himself on Marilyn’s shoulder. The man lifted his hand, and Marilyn stepped between them, her arm raised, ready. She knew what she had to do.
She felt the sharp sting of the knife. And something hot and wet on her arm. It was her own blood.
The man stepped back, but his hand was still raised. Marilyn half turned towards Kyle. Now she was calm, in control.
“Just walk,” she said quietly, urgently. They backed away, and the man swung at them again with the knife, wildly.
“Yeah, you fuck off.”
And she saw Saleem, walking up quietly behind the man.
She stood her ground, willing him to keep his attention on her.
Then Saleem jumped on him, pinning back his arms. The man turned, and loosened his grip on the knife. A police van swung round the corner, sirens blaring.
Marilyn and Kyle ran away down the pavement, Kyle trying to straighten up. The worst was over. They stopped at a safe distance. They saw the police surrounding the man, pushing him into the back of the van. They saw Saleem walk off towards the club.
The photographs stopped. The action was over. The girls across the street had huddled back together, laughing. One of them was sitting by the road, curled up, hugging her knees.
A taxi pulled up on the road beside them.
“Enough looking at the scenery! Get out of there.”
Marilyn heard the voice again. “Okay okay,” she flashed back.
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Get in the cab.”
They reached the waiting cab. The driver wound down his window.
“You bleeding?”
“Not much,” said Kyle.
“You bleed on my car, you pay, right? Fifty quid for bleeding.”
“Just take us to Uppingham Road.”
Marilyn helped Kyle into the cab. He sprawled on the back seat. She got in behind him, pulled out the bunch of toilet paper. She tore it in two and gave half to Kyle. He put it to his face. The blood on her arm wa
s soaking into her jacket.
“Do your mothers know you’re out?” The man began to pull away.
“132 Uppingham Road please.”
Marilyn was taking control. She didn’t know how she’d found the strength and the courage to face the man. She didn’t know how that voice had got into her head. She leant back on the seat, holding her arm, the feeling slowly burning back into it.
I think it’s over.
The cab drove off, finding its way through people milling about in the middle of the road.
“Are you okay?” She put a hand up to touch his cheek, but Kyle flinched away.
“Thanks for that. You were brilliant. I’m okay. Saturday night. Can’t let it get to you.” He touched the cheek himself. He looked close to tears. Marilyn held his hand, squeezed it.
“Saleem – Saleem helped. He was there. I thought he’d walked away.”
“He came through – for us – for you.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Welcome to planet earth, babe. Wherever you think you’ve beamed down from, this is the real thing.”
“He could have killed you.”
“I wouldn’t be the first. How’s your arm?”
Marilyn’s arm was throbbing now, though the bleeding seemed to have slowed down.
“It’s okay. I’ll live.”
She couldn’t believe how calm she felt now it was over.
The roads were empty now, except for police cars cruising and an ambulance that sped past them. The sirens were alien and forbidding after the familiar bell she was used to.
Kyle leant his head back against the seat, his eyes closed, one hand over his stomach where the man had kicked him. His make up streaked down his face.
“This is how it is here?”
Kyle turned his head slightly. “You’ve been acting so weird. But tonight you were back to normal, my Holly, out there taking action, not afraid of anything. I really thought before – I thought you’d lost it, seriously.”
And then the tears started running down her face.
Marilyn was glad Kyle couldn’t see her. They sat in silence, their shoulders touching, Kyle’s hand in hers.
When the cab stopped, Marilyn almost fell out, relieved to see home. But of course, it still wasn’t her home.
She was still in the nightmare.
Turn over.
I can sleep now.
My arm’s tingling.
Stinging.
Hurting.
Burning.
The cab disappeared on towards Kyle’s. Marilyn watched it go. Kyle waved at her through the back window. He didn’t seem to think anything was strange. All this was familiar to him. She got out her key and let herself in. There was nobody around. Two empty wine glasses were on the table in the front room. She crept upstairs and huddled into bed. But she couldn’t get warm.
Never in her life had she confronted anybody. Not even her mum. But now she’d faced up to a man who intended violence. Faced up to him and stopped him. She knew she couldn’t have done it on her own. She knew she’d heard a voice in her head that wasn’t hers. She knew it must have been Holly’s.
She couldn’t sleep. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home so badly. That brought on the tears, and she wept silently into the pillow, until she cried herself into a deep, heavy sleep.
I wake up. It’s still dark. Open my eyes. Close them again.
I try to go back to sleep. Sunday. No need to get up till lunch time. Kyle will text. We might meet up. Go to town or something. I can do my project. 1962.
I turn over. My right arm hurts. Stings. Nothing I can see. No graze or cut. Makes no sense. But nothing does. Where am I?
Remember where I am.
There’s a sick feeling in my head. Like a hangover. Only orange squash doesn’t work that way. Maybe I OD’d on sugar.
I’m still finding out so much. But I can’t write any of it down. Because if – when – I get back I won’t have the piece of paper. So I need to remember.
I think I’d rather do the research on the internet. This is a bit too much like real life.
My arm stings again, I could swear I’d cut it. Not that I do cutting, but this must be what it feels like. I always wondered. A sting, when I move. And when I don’t move. Hold my hand over the place on my arm.
And remember the dream.
The man, in the shadows, outside the club. Kyle, on the ground. The man kicking out.
Shouting. At Marilyn.
I shouted at her.
And she heard me.
And she knew it was me.
The man slashed her arm.
My arm throbs.
Marilyn woke up late. The sun was streaming through the windows. She put her head under the duvet. It felt fuzzy, and there was a pain in the back of her brain.
She tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t. Images of last night kept running through her mind. The dancing, the wonderful dancing. Then the girls, pulling at each others’ hair and clothes. The man swearing at Kyle and swinging out at him. Kyle looking frightened and fragile. Saleem. Her own shrill voice in the middle of it all.
And the other voice, the one in the back of her head.
She heard sounds outside her room, a man’s voice, then a woman’s, whispering at him to be quiet. Then muffled laughter.
What was a man doing here? Holly’s dad didn’t live here for some reason. Then she remembered the man Holly’s mum had been meeting, the architect. Perhaps he had slept in the spare room. But in the middle of everything that was happening, Marilyn wasn’t sure. She understood so little.
There was a knock at the door, and Holly’s mum came in, wearing the white dressing gown. She was smiling, looking a bit tousled.
“Morning love. Have a good night? Didn’t hear you come in. You okay? Good time with Kyle? I wish I’d had friends like him when I was your age.”
Marilyn was used to Holly’s mum not waiting for answers to her questions. She stayed under the duvet, pretending to be asleep.
“Hung over I suppose. Binge drinking, not good for you, you know that. Don’t suppose I’ll see you till lunch time. I’m going to have a shower, then I’m going out for breakfast, with Martin. He’s a sweetie. See you later.”
Martin? Breakfast out? Nobody had breakfast out.
Marilyn sighed and turned over in bed. As she did. a piece of paper slid onto her hand. She picked it up. It was the paper she found behind the cupboard in the kitchen. She’d forgotten about it with everything that happened yesterday.
She opened it out and put her hand over her eyes so she could read it without her head hurting too much. She noticed a dull throbbing in her arm.
The writing was big and straggly. It looked like whoever wrote it didn’t often write much down. Or it was someone who was upset.
Read the letter. Read the letter, you stupid cow!
Didn’t you find it? In the kitchen? Behind the cupboard?
She must have. Unless someone else did. Mum maybe. My mum. My mum would chuck it away without even looking. Maybe she’s missing me? But then I realise she doesn’t know I’ve gone anywhere. She thinks Marilyn’s me.
She probably likes her better than me.
Not that I care.
If I could get to Marilyn in the dream – if I can feel the sting on my arm, where she was stabbed, then we’re connected. Somehow. I can’t believe it. Can’t begin to think how it’s all going on. Does my head into try. But we’re connected, I know we are. I just need to work it out. Work out how to make her listen.
Can’t see why she should want to come back to this dump.
I’m not Marilyn Bolton. I’m Holly Newman. Holly.
The word sounds strange in my head.
Holly.
I drift off back to sleep.
Dear Marilyn
Marilyn sat up in bed. This was a letter, addressed to her. How did it get behind the cupboard? How did it get covered in cobwebs, and look so old and tatty?
<
br /> Nobody knew she was Marilyn here. Except Saleem, and this couldn’t be from him.
Marilyn remembered Saleem, walking away last night, then saving them. She shivered, and pulled the duvet over her shoulders. It brushed on her arm, and she winced.
I’m Holly, and I’m living your life here since yesterday.
Holly? This was Holly, writing to her?
Holly was living Marilyn’s life, in 1962, in her house, with her family? Why hadn’t she guessed? She’d been so busy trying to work out what was going on – and enjoying herself.
Some of the time.
I’m guessing you’re living mine.
Holly was right. How did she work it out? Marilyn felt embarrassed to think of Holly in her place, her shabby bedroom, her terrible clothes. What was she doing?
I mean, I know I wanted to be back here in 1962, but that was only for my project. I didn’t want to stay.
But Marilyn had wanted to stay here, in Holly’s life. She’d badly wanted to stay. Until last night. Now she wasn’t so sure.
No offence or anything, but I’d like my own life back. I’ve got plans.
Marilyn had plans too, to go to university, get away from her family, live her own life.
Please get in touch with me, any way you can think of.
What did she mean? What was Marilyn supposed to do, phone her? Drop in? This girl was really stupid.
Let’s try and meet up, on Sunday at 4, at the bus stop. It’s where we swapped in the first place.
It was only thirty-six hours since she’d arrived here, since she found herself sitting in Kyle’s brother’s car. It felt like days, weeks even.
Maybe we can get back then, I don’t know how.
Did Holly think Marilyn had a time machine or something? She had no idea how to get out of this mess. A mother who was worse than any teenager Marilyn had ever known. A boyfriend who wasn’t a boyfriend, who was in danger when he went out at night. Crazy people doing crazy things.
Vintage Page 10
