by David Jester
I was so shocked I didn’t even correct it. I just stared, praying that the world would end at that exact moment or I would wake up and discover it was all some horrible nightmare (which, admittedly, had followed a fantastic dream).
The world didn’t end, and the laughing continued. In the embarrassment the bulge was rapidly dying, but I covered what was left regardless and trotted outside, keen to get away from the taunts and the laughter.
Word spread around school and I tried to persuade my parents to move to America, they weren’t interested. I also tried to convince them I had Leprosy and needed to take a year or two off, they weren’t buying it.
I was a laughing stock at school, but it could have been worse. The rumour mill chewed me up blue and spat me out red, some stories said I had been caught having sex with a teacher, most seemed to say I was masturbating. The convolution meant that Chris never recounted the story of pushing me into the girls changing room because he didn’t find the connection between that and whatever version of the story he had heard.
The girls knew of course, but it didn’t seem to cross their minds that I had been spying on them. Thankfully the story died before the year was out.
I tried talking to Penny after I was sure the incident wouldn’t be mentioned, but every time I looked at her I saw what I saw in that mirror. I couldn’t look at her or talk to her without my brain jumping up and down like a little kid, screaming: I’ve seen you naked, I’ve seen you naked. I knew where those thoughts led, and was keen to not go down that road again.
7
First Love
A few months before my sixteenth birthday, I had my first girlfriend.
It was the summer holidays. I was fifteen and had just finished my last year of school. I was going back after the summer to join the sixth form, but my days as a mandatory pupil were over. I had completed my exams and had achieved passes in most subjects.
I wanted to celebrate. I wanted to spend the summer getting drunk with unruly friends on street corners. I wanted to chat up girls in clubs and pubs. I wanted to lounge around all day, eating junk food and playing computer games.
My parents had other ideas.
‘I’m fifteen,’ I told my mother firmly. ‘I can’t go to the caravan site, it’s for old people.’
‘You used to love it when you were a kid,’ she said, ignoring the old people comment.
‘I’m not a kid anymore, things change,’ I told her.
She seemed amused.
‘He’s right,’ my dad butted in, peering over the top of his newspaper. ‘Look at his face for example, he used to be cute.’
‘Ha-ha Dad,’ I said with as much exaggeration as I could muster.
He grinned with pride and ducked back behind the paper, his part in the argument over.
‘Everything has been booked and arranged,’ my mother said sternly. ‘You’re going.’
‘UN-book it, UN-arrange it,’ I pleaded.
‘And what else do you plan on doing all summer?’
I shrugged and glanced instinctively at the computer console at the foot of the television. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, when you find out you let me know won’t you, in the meantime we’re going to the caravan site. Get packed.’
I maintained a visage of disgust all the way to the site but I warmed to the idea by the time we arrived. I didn’t want to admit it to my nearly sixteen year old self but the thought of spending a couple of weeks on arcade machines and cheapened theme park rides stimulated me.
It was raining when we arrived, the sun had been out all morning but over the last thirty minutes the clouds had darkened with the contents of an afternoon shower. I helped my parents take the suitcases into the caravan and tried to get comfortable inside the tinny confines.
The last time we had been to the caravan site was three years ago, it had been one of the wettest summers on record and had rained for the entire two weeks. We were desperate to leave after just six days, but my parents didn’t want to admit it to each other or to concede defeat to me, so they had persevered.
I stared out of the window and glared at the sky. ‘It’s going to rain for two weeks again,’ I said.
‘You brought your trunks didn’t you?’ Dad said as he lugged the final suitcase into the caravan.
Technology had come a long way in those few years, but the television in the caravan hadn’t. The picture had degraded beyond the realms of sight and it emitted a constant whining crackle. The alternative was a portable television approximately the size of a paperback book, apparently designed with Borrowers in mind.
I turned to my mother who was shaking raindrops from her coat. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ I asked her. ‘It’s pissing it down, you said it wouldn’t rain.’
‘That’s what the weatherman told me.’ She hung up her coat and picked up mine, casually discarded on the kitchen unit.
‘No sun, no television,’ I complained. ‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘We have a television,’ Dad said joyously, holding up the portable.
‘I hate that thing.’
‘Good, coz I want to watch the golf.’ He sat down at the dining table and lifted his feet onto its surface.
‘Read a book,’ my mother offered.
‘All day?’
She shrugged and looked out of the kitchen window. ‘It’s just a shower, it’ll end soon, then you can go to the park.’
I stomped my feet and let out an annoyed grunt. ‘I told you this was a bad idea,’ I said grumpily.
‘Hey,’ Dad said calmly, without looking up from his television. ‘I’ve told you before, if you talk to your mother like that, I’ll kill you when you’re sleeping.’ He spoke without a hint of sarcasm or anger. He enjoyed playing the placid clown.
I groaned again and rose angrily to my feet. ‘I’m going out,’ I said, ripping my coat from the hook.
‘In the rain?’ Mum asked.
‘Beats lying around this hellhole all day.’
‘Goodbye, have fun,’ Dad called merrily as I slammed the wafer-thin door and bounced into the rain drenched afternoon.
In the park I was reunited with the equipment that was a permanent fixture of my childhood holidays. Some of the apparatus had fallen beyond repair and was unusable, but the swings were still in working order.
I brushed a pool of water from the seat of one and sat down. Instantly I felt the remaining slithers soak into my pants. I gripped the dripping metal chains, stared out into the bleak distance, and rocked.
There was a certain ambiance in the silence, with only the sound of the rain and a horizon of glumness to keep me company. It gave me time to think, although I had very little to think about.
After half an hour or so, the sun began to break through the clouds in the distance, and before long it had penetrated the greyness and illuminated the world. The rain had stopped and was quickly drying underneath the intense heat of the sun’s rays.
Now I had something to think about. Where to go, what to do?
I decided I was going to hit the arcades. Gun games, penny-slot machines and kids the same age as me. I would need a lift from my parents, the promenade was a short drive from the park, but they would probably be happy to join me. They could do some shopping.
I hopped off the swing and turned, ready to sprint back to the caravan.
I stopped. Someone was blocking my way.
‘Hello,’ she said.
She was young, no older than me. She had blonde hair and blue eyes; a dazzling curiosity on her lips and an intense intelligence in her eyes.
I recognised her.
‘Hey,’ I replied.
She smiled at me then walked past me and sat down on the furthest swing. Grasping the chains she turned to look at me expectantly. My own discarded swing was still rocking.
I looked at her, unable to speak.
I knew it was Lizzie. It had to be. She was sitting on the same swing, holding the chains and rocking in the same gentle manner. It
had taken me a year before I had forced myself to forget her, and that year was a further three years ago, but now it all came flooding back.
I cautiously moved back to my swing and climbed on. I exchanged a smile with her and began to rock back and forth.
She caught me looking at her after a few minutes. She giggled. We both turned away.
It was her, definitely, but did she know who I was? Did she remember me?
I shook my head and turned to the quickly sunning horizon.
Of course she didn’t recognise me. She had disappeared after that day. She had gone home, happy in her ignorance. Leaving me to stew over the memory of her and what could have been.
She spoke, softly, friendly: ‘Kieran right?’
I snapped my head back to her. ‘Yes,’ I said, practically screaming.
She smiled, looked down and then turned away, back to the horizon. ‘Beautiful day isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed.
I wanted to talk to her; I rued the fact that I hadn’t done so last time. I had felt so comfortable then, so at ease, and I felt that now. I didn’t feel awkward. I didn’t feel the need to fill such a beautiful silence just for the sake of filling it, but I didn’t want to let this moment slip away.
‘So, Lizzie,’ I began, being sure to slip her name in, letting her know I remembered. ‘Do you want to go to the arcade with me?’
She had reacted to her name as I had reacted to mine, she was smiling broadly. She halted her swinging by placing a foot on the ground. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I would love to.’
I was forced to let my parents meet Lizzie, it was as awkward as anticipated, but it was worth it.
We rode together on the back seat of my dad’s car whilst he played love songs on the radio and exchanged jokes with my mother in the passenger seat.
‘I don’t think Kieran’s had a female friend before,’ Dad said after a short while, his eyes glistening in the rear-view mirror. ‘There’s Max, he’s very feminine, but he’s a boy. Olly and Peter are boys as well, yep,’ he nodded to himself. ‘All boy friends. I guess that makes you his first girl friend, eh Lizzie?’
I released a long groan and dropped my head into my hands.
‘I guess,’ Lizzie replied softly.
I hadn’t been expecting that. I lifted my head and looked at her, overcome with an internal joy that threatened to explode me. She was staring at me, smiling her sweet smile.
I felt a warmth rush through my body and at that point I was sure I was in love.
‘Have you had many boy friends Lizzie?’
‘Drop it Dad!’
We parked in a hotel car-park and were soon walking down the promenade. The brisk sea air spiked goose bumps on my bare arms which warmed underneath tepid rays from the sun.
The sounds of the arcade -- the beeping-whirring calls of artificial thrill; the jingle-jangle rings of boisterous bandits -- whistled to my ears long before we reached its neon facade.
With hasty footsteps, Lizzie and I were already a few paces ahead of my parents, but when we were just a dozen feet short of the noisy, luminous building, Lizzie grabbed my hand and pulled, skipping to the entrance with me in tow.
I thought my face would flush with embarrassment or sheer joy, but it didn’t, and I held onto her hand even when we were inside the arcade, standing in front of the array of whirring machines.
‘I love these places!’ Lizzie said, disappointing me by letting go of my hand. ‘It reminds me of my childhood.’ She turned to me, her eyes a vision of intoxicated joy. ‘Come on, I’ll play you on Time Crisis!’
She rushed off, leaving me smiling in her merry wake.
‘You and your girlfriend be quick,’ My dad had caught up, he and my mother were just passing the arcade, the sun beating down onto his sardonic eyes as my mother ducked out of its rays. ‘Be nice to your girlfriend, if your girlfriend wants to go somewhere else, let your girlfriend go-’
‘Dad!’
He beamed and continued walking. ‘We’ll be in the tooth mausoleum if you need us.’
That was what he called the sweet shop. He thought he was hilarious.
‘Tell your girlfriend--’
I didn’t hear the rest; I was already weaving through the machines, searching for Lizzie.
I found her holding a plastic gun and pumping coins into a machine, she beckoned me to join her.
‘We didn’t have any of this when I was a kid,’ she said, like her childhood was a lifetime ago. ‘I’ve always wanted to come back, thought it sounded a bit childish so I didn’t.’ She handed me a bright yellow gun. ‘I’m glad you invited me,’ she added, as if my childish personality had been the ticket she had been waiting for.
I took the gun, took up a stance beside Lizzie and waited for the countdown to finish on the screen, my finger on the trigger as pixelated enemies readied to shoot.
‘So, is this, are we...’ I trailed off, looking at her. ‘You know what my dad says...’
‘Your dad is funny.’
I laughed abruptly, but Lizzie had an earnest look on her face. ‘Oh, you’re being serious.’
‘I like him.’
I shrugged and turned hastily to the screen when inept bank robbers began to shoot at me. I took a few out and watched as Lizzie annihilated entire fleets of them. Then I caught a staccato of fire from a balaclava clad beast. The screen flashed up huge red letters, declaring Game Over and asking me to pay more to jump back in.
Lizzie continued on her own, her arms up in military fashion, the tip of her tongue poking out of her mouth in a concentrated effort. Eventually she finished with a sigh, the game sighed its death knell.
‘Beaten by the boss,’ she said.
‘He was a big guy; don’t be so hard on yourself.’
She giggled and replaced the gun in its plastic holster by the side of the machine. ‘So, what were you saying about your dad?’ she asked.
It was harder to ask her when she was staring directly at me. ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘It’s not important. Come on, there’s a racing game over there.’
I tried to pull her away; she remained, staring fixedly at me.
She grabbed my hand, her fingers clasping the ends of mine. She leant in close and kissed me gently on the lips, then she pulled away, a smile spreading across her face. ‘A racing game it is then,’ she said with glee. ‘Come on.’
For two hours we played together and laughed together. We blew pocketfuls of change on slot machines, racing games and dancing games. I beat her at Sensible Soccer; she beat me at just about every other game we played.
Afterwards she threw her arms around my neck and grinned at me in close-up. I thought she was preparing for a long, passionate kiss, but instead she popped another quick peck on my lips and then released me.
When we left the dizzying lights of the arcade, the natural sunlight burned. The clean air and the bright glare took a few minutes adjusting to.
She wrapped her arm in mine and we moved down the street. After a few steps in silence her face took on a more forlorn persona.
‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she told me sombrely.
I stopped in my tracks, my arm slipped from hers. ‘Wh--what do you mean?’
‘Me and my parents, we’re going home,’ she explained.
‘You can’t!’ I was crestfallen.
She laughed softly. ‘We have to eventually.’
‘Bu--but not now!’
‘No, not now. Tomorrow.’
‘Bu--bu--bu’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said calmly, ‘I’ll give you my number. You can call me whenever you want. We can see each other during the holidays.’
‘You live what? Three, four hours away?’
She shrugged, ‘More like two.’
‘It’s still a lot,’ I pouted and lowered my head.
‘Don’t be so glum,’ she planted a hand on my chin, pried it up with her forefinger.
‘But I thought we--’ I allowed my sentence to trail off. ‘I like you,’
I clarified. ‘I like you a lot.’
‘I like you a lot too,’ with her finger still pressed to my chin she leant in for another kiss, this time it was more than just a quick peck.
When she released me from her puckered lips she rested her forehead against mine and looked into my eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said assuredly. ‘We’ll always be together.’
I smiled, content. She pulled away.
‘If you want me to stay, I guess one day you’ll have to ask me to marry you,’ she said.
I nodded, determined to do just that, then I took her hand in mine and we set off to find my parents.
Lizzie wrote her number on a small slip of cardboard, torn from a box of chocolate raisins. I placed the torn slip in the thin watch-pocket on my jeans, wedging it between the denim material so it wouldn’t fall out.
I spent the afternoon and evening with Lizzie. On the beach we walked hand in hand over the lapping shore and tossed pebbles into the rushing waves. On the pier we watched the sea and ate fish-n-chips from polystyrene containers whilst my father entertained Lizzie with the worst dad jokes he could muster. At the caravan park, when the light was fading and night was setting, we swung side by side on the swings, talking of anything that came to mind, but mostly just happy to sit, swing, smile and admire.
The following day I reluctantly agreed to accompany my parents to the rocky shores of a cave infested beach which we often frequented. It took half an hour or so in moderately congested traffic to get there, all the while my hand rested on my pocket, making sure the card didn’t climb out and fly away.
After parking the car we trekked down a gravely slope and marched across a path of thick, wet grass. A ground cobbled with uneven natural sediment lay before an expanse of rocks and sea. In the distance I could see cave entrances; the blackened openings looked ominous in the gloom.
My dad pointed to a large cave in the distance, beyond what looked like miles of algae covered rocks. ‘Let’s head to that one,’ he declared.
‘Long way,’ I noted, not wanting to stay out too long.
