by Lee Evans
As I held my new-found friend Torpedo aloft in his little watery bag and performed my now ever-more exuberant dolphin-carpet-dance, I quite literally fell head over heels into Heather again.
I didn’t see her coming as she walked with a couple of her friends behind me. So as I moon-danced, I thumped into her. The force of the collision knocked us both down on to the grass. There we were lying together, her lovely white dress now sporting its attractive new Coke stain.
I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Did you know your eyebrows look like two furry caterpillars kissing when you get all angry?’ I’m afraid that’s all I could think of.
‘Yeah?’ she snarled in reply. ‘Hang around and you might see what they do when I punch someone.’ I took that as a sign that she was still angry.
I looked up at Torpedo. Luckily, he hadn’t sustained any injuries in the fall. As the string from the bag was wrapped firmly around my fingers, he hung there looking embarrassed between our faces.
I looked at the fish, then back at Heather. ‘You’re not going to let a fish come between us, are you?’
‘Is he with you?’ Heather asked, spitting out grass and rolling her huge eyes.
‘Who are you talking to, me or the fish?’ I tried joking with her.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Heather tried to get up – she wasn’t having any of my nonsense.
‘I’ve just won him,’ I blurted out.
‘What are you talking about? Get off me, you idiot!’ Fuming by now, she looked down at the Coke stain, which only made her more livid.
‘I called him Torpedo. What do you reckon?’ I was desperate to keep her attention.
‘I reckon you’re a bit weird.’ Her face began to soften a little. She even gave a little smile. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was completely hypnotized.
But she soon snapped me out of it. ‘So!’ Heather shunted me off her quite firmly. I rolled across the grass, still holding Torpedo in the air. I quickly jumped to my feet and tried joining her two friends as they bustled around her, brushing her off, but they gave me a look that told me maybe I should step away and perhaps jam my fuzzy head in the Waltzer for a while.
I didn’t actually join in this activity, of course – that would have felt wrong. Plus, I got the impression that if I’d tried to brush Heather’s dress, one of her friends would have seriously smashed my face in. So I contented myself with jumping around like a cat on a hot plate making all kinds of hand gestures and pointing frantically at bits of grass and dirt.
I was panicking. I knew I was out of my depth completely, but somehow I felt compelled to stay near her. Usually on such occasions, if I was within a five-mile radius of a girl, I would break out in a sweat, my acne would swell roughly to the size of the Pyrenees and I would begin stammering faster than a stuck DVD.
But this time I felt calm. I just stood there with my tongue hanging out to one side like a recently tranquilized chimp, staring at her. Blimey, she looked good. I’d never seen such a figure – her long legs seemed to go right up to just above her head some place …
I was interrupted.
‘Lee, come on, mate. We’re over by the shooting gallery.’ One of my friends had come over to get me, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I just had to stay with her.
‘Yeah, I’ll see you there in a minute – as soon as my brain starts working again.’ I spoke to him in a trance-like state. He just shrugged his shoulders and walked off.
My immediate concern was that I had messed up my chances with Heather. After all, I had been dreaming of this very moment for a month. Here she was right in front of me and, like a fool, I had made her angry. I was annoyed, frustrated at myself; I kept going over and over it in my head.
‘Can I buy you another Coke?’ I asked, without thinking, just for something to say.
‘Why? Do you want to throw another one over me?’ She held up the Coke stain on the front of her white dress.
I immediately went the colour of a ripe beetroot. ‘If I buy you another one then you do know, there’s a lot of sugar in Coke …’
‘So what?’
‘Well, look on the bright side …’ I had no idea what I was going on about. I was flailing badly, on fire and going down. Mayday, Mayday! But I did what I always do when I’m nervous – I just kept talking. ‘When your mum puts the dress in the wash, she’ll have free candy floss in her tumble dryer for a week.’
Her face changed, like I had touched a nerve. ‘Goodbye.’
She began to walk away. One of her friends hissed at me, ‘You dick-head!’ She spat out the words, shaking her head with derision and disbelief that I could have said such a thing. Then I remembered my friend Spencer telling me about her mum being ill and thought it must be that.
‘How’s your mum?’ I blurted it out with urgency, just desperate to keep her there.
Heather stopped and turned round.
Her two friends looked as if they wanted to slice and dice me, shave my head and drag me through the streets of Billericay as an example. ‘What have I said?’ I wondered what could be so bad.
‘She died,’ Heather said quietly, then turned back and went to join her friends.
I felt all the blood in my body sink to my feet and begin packing a case to leave me through sheer shame. I thought of collapsing into a heap, curling up into a ball and blubbering like an idiot. But now I felt I needed to redeem myself quickly. I couldn’t leave it like that. I reckoned by then I had nothing to lose and went for it.
‘Look, I really … I really like you – like, a lot, loads. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you for a month, not since I first saw you with all those feathers floating around your angry head.’
Heather stopped in her tracks and spun round. ‘I know who you are now! It’s been bugging me since I saw you.’ She began to scrutinize my face as I stuttered and stammered my way into a dark hole of shame. I could see the tell-tale signs of the dreaded caterpillars begin to rise up again in the middle of her smooth forehead. You could tell her mind was slotting me into place.
‘You’re that idiot, aren’t you?’
I carried on regardless. ‘I think you’re amazing – no, not just amazing, more than that, oh, bollocks … I’m really sorry, all right, about the bag of feathers. If it’s any consolation, I sneezed for a week afterwards – I had a terrible allergic reaction.’ I began to go into a mock sneeze.
But my words ground to a horrible halt …
LEE, EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! MUST … DO … SOMETHING … NOW!
‘I came out in errrrgh, lumps, eerrrgh, the size of space hoppers. My eyes looked like Alan Minter after a title fight. Look, my ears haven’t gone down yet. Just thinking about it makes me snee-snee-sneezeeeergh!’ I stopped fooling around and looked serious for a moment. ‘I didn’t know about your mum. I’m sorry.’
She pondered for a second. It looked like she was reappraising her attitude towards me and spoke softly. ‘Look, don’t worry about it. My mates are a bit on the defensive – that’s why I’m out tonight. I don’t really want to be, but they just thought I might need to get out of the house for a bit. They said it would help take my mind off things, you know.’
‘Well, I know a really good joke that’s guaranteed to take your mind off things,’ I said, changing tack.
‘Guaranteed?’ She smiled again. I noticed that when she smiled a tiny dimple appeared in her cheek. I instantly, directly and without passing go, fell in love – not just with her, but with that dimple. I could have quite happily run off to Benidorm with that dimple there and then.
‘Parts and labour guaranteed for three years. If the joke doesn’t make you laugh within three years or if any bit falls off it, you can ask for it to be replaced by another one.’
She laughed. ‘Go on then. And I hope no bits fall off it.’
She came a little closer. Her friends stayed where they were, but Torpedo lo
oked interested, so I had a crowd.
I told her my joke, there in the middle of the field surrounded by hundreds of people, side stalls, generators, fairground rides and the noise of the giant disco in the field next door. But it wouldn’t have mattered if we’d been standing in the speaker at a Led Zeppelin gig in a breakers’ yard next to a panel beater with physical Tourette’s. I couldn’t hear any of what was going on around me – all that seemed to be filtered out somehow. All I could see was her beautiful face, so innocently staring at me in anticipation of the joke that I hadn’t even thought of yet. So I did what I always do: said the first thing that came into my head.
‘So, there are these two women in a field picking carrots,’ I began, really laying it on thick, adding some texture and colour by acting out the entire joke complete with characters, using my full range of hand movements and body coordination. Basically I fell back upon my natural skill as a professional buffoon.
‘And so one of them pulls this carrot out of the ground, turns to her mate and says, “Do you know, this carrot reminds me of my Fred.” The other woman looks at the carrot and asks, “What? That carrot? Your Fred?”’
I was encouraged at this juncture, as I could see Heather start to giggle at my antics. The same couldn’t be said of her two friends, who stood behind her, arms folded, staring at me with real contempt and looking like they were chewing down on a mouthful of nails soaked in nettle juice.
I kept going. ‘“Yeah,” says the woman, “my Fred.” “What?” asks her mate, “the colour of it?” “No,” replies the woman, “not the colour of it.” “What then? The length of it?” “No, not the length of it.” “Well, what then?” The woman looks her mate right in the eye, holds the carrot up and says, “The dirt on it!”’
Heather laughed, hard. Then, turning round, she laughed even harder when she saw her two friends, who hadn’t even flinched but just stood there locked into a deadpan stony stare as if still waiting for the punchline.
‘The dirt on it,’ I repeated to her friends, trying to make them crack a smile, but their nonplussed glares were still fixed on me. Heather found this hilarious. Great, my joke had worked! It’d had the desired effect: she was laughing.
‘Do you know?’ she exclaimed, taking in a huge gulp of air and wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘I haven’t laughed like that for such a long time.’
That was it.
25. Are You Going to Scarborough Fair?
The rest of the evening, Heather and I spent strolling around together, hardly paying any attention to the bustling crowds that had now packed the fairground and the disco in the field beyond. We were just content to be in each other’s company, able to talk to one another with such ease. It was suddenly as if we’d known each other for years. We never stopped talking – somehow it just felt natural that we wanted to tell each other everything.
When we left the fair, Heather let me walk her home. Although we nattered all the way, I noticed she’d forgotten to mention one important detail. She lived so far away that if I’d known, I’d have taken some survival supplies, a good camel and a couple of Sherpa guides, or at the very least dropped bread to find my way back home again.
But the time seemed to fly by as she told me about her mum’s illness. She said she’d had to leave the newly rented flat (need I be reminded – the one where I’d burst the big bag of feathers) to move back home in order to help her dad and look after her little brother while her father was busy organizing the funeral. We talked a lot – well, she talked a whole lot more than I did. She talked loads, actually. In fact, between you and me, and I’ve never mentioned this to her, ever, she didn’t friggin’ shut up!
That was OK, though, as I got the impression she hadn’t been able to just chat to someone, get it off her chest. So I was glad to be there. It also meant I didn’t have to tell her about my family, as I was always – not exactly embarrassed – but aware that people from more conventional backgrounds might not fully understand the eccentricity of the way our house worked.
Whenever anyone asked me to tell them about my family, I’d always revert to my little diversion routine. ‘I was adopted. Then one day my dad gave me some sad news: “Son, I’m afraid we are your real parents.”’
That sort of thing covered my tracks. If I ever had to introduce Heather to my parents … well, I just figured I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, but thought it best to leave it blank for the moment. I don’t want you, the reader, to think I am in any way ashamed of my parents. They’ve changed over the years. After doing better for us all and moving to Billericay, they’ve mellowed.
I’ve also always hated trying to explain the whole thing about what my dad does, finding it much easier just to say he works in public relations – well, he does in a way. Then if anyone asked what that was, I would say it was the opposite of private relations. Then, I would add, of course there are all the relations he doesn’t even know at all. Usually, by then, they’d be so confused they would just wander away in a trance to smash their head against the nearest solid object.
As Heather and I walked, then walked some more, my feet began to swell up to the size of two giant lilos you might find being towed behind a boat by a bloke called José. I felt sad as Heather explained to me that her family home – once a sunny place filled with her mother’s effervescent, breezy personality – had become so depressing since her mother had passed away.
‘Mum always had flour up to her elbows, cooked all the time,’ Heather reminisced. ‘She had queues of local people at the front door willing to wait ages for the curtains or clothes she would make for them.’ Then her mood changed. Dropping her head towards the floor, she added sadly, ‘Now our house is a dark, cold place.’
Her father, she went on, was only going through the motions and, however much he tried not to show it, he was very down. Her two brothers were just walking around like robots, not having accepted it at all. Most of the household chores were now left to her.
As we arrived outside her house, she told me how much she’d enjoyed our chat. I told her I’d also enjoyed it. I said, ‘Perhaps we could meet up again soon so that next time I can get a word in edgeways!’ She laughed, thanked me for listening and wondered if we could really meet up next week.
I couldn’t believe my luck! She actually wanted to see me again. But before I could get excited, I suddenly remembered that I was leaving for Scarborough in a few days. I had to go; I desperately needed the money for college. I’d failed at everything else, and there was no way I could fail this time. I’d also told Scott, the pub landlord, that I was coming to work for him.
Then it struck me, so I just said it without really thinking about it. After all, it was an outrageous idea – she had only just met me. It was ridiculous, but it just exploded out of my mouth without really giving my brain the chance to catch up. I asked Heather if she fancied going with me to Scarborough.
As I said it, I already knew the answer would be ‘No’. I am a dreamer. I always think things are so simple, but of course they’re not. How could I ever have imagined that a beautiful girl like Heather would even consider –
‘Scarborough, you say?’
‘What?’
‘Scarborough? I’ve never been to Scarborough. I’ve never been anywhere.’ She looked up at her house, and I could see her come back to reality. ‘What about my dad and my brothers? What would they do?’
‘Look, I shouldn’t have interfered, I’m a dreamer. I have these big ideas, but I don’t really think them through properly. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I’m sorry.’
But I could see in her eyes that she liked my idea. I don’t know if that was because her mum had just passed away – they do say these sorts of things make us more aware of our own mortality and eager to grab opportunities before it’s too late.
She asked if I could come over tomorrow, a Saturday, and meet her dad. I told her that would be great, but first I’d have to adju
st my sleep pattern as the journey to her house from mine would probably take me through at least five time zones, three different language barriers and take at least a light year to get there. She laughed again, and I set off home.
As I walked away, Heather called after me and asked me pleasantly enough if, before meeting her dad, I could make a small detour to the nearest barber’s for a haircut. She was obviously not familiar with the art student standard-issue attire of really long hair and baggy, cheap clothes. But I agreed anyway because, basically, if she’d told me to bend over and bite my own bum, I would have done it for her there and then.
Once home, I got a really good night of no sleep what-so-frigging-ever. I was far too worried about meeting Heather’s father to drop off. The next morning, I was out the door and up the hairdresser’s begging for a short back and scrape. Then I went straight back to our house and did the best I could to hide my art-college, scruffbag image. I was desperate to create a good impression with Heather’s old man.
So there I was, nervously tapping on the door of Heather’s small semi in the middle of nice-wife-2.4-kids-and-a-Ford-Mondeo-on-the-drive territory. I was all done up like a doughnut, plimmies, some old Mod drainpipe trousers that looked as if the bottoms had had a right barney with my feet and retreated halfway up my shins, a bespoke, off-the-peg jacket from Oxfam and enough Brylcreem on my head to grease up the Chippendales for a fortnight.
Luckily, I needn’t have worried. Mr Nudds was great, and my training from Mum and Dad always to call people ‘sir’ and remember the pleases and thank yous went down a treat. I found him a really nice bloke. In fact, he made me feel so relaxed, it was the very first time I’d visited a girl’s house to meet her parents without creating mayhem, being thrown out on my ear or being sick in their kitchen.
