Hurry Up and Wait

by Isabel Ashdown

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he says, opening the cupboard doors above the sink. ‘Haven’t we got any biscuits?’

  ‘You look like a tramp.’ Sarah jabs his balding corduroy trousers with her white shoe. ‘And you need a haircut.’

  ‘If I needed a new wife, I’d go out and find one,’ he grumbles, as Sarah reaches into the top of the cupboard and brings down a packet of custard creams.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ she says, passing him the packet and rolling her eyes.

  Her father walks back down the hallway, and Sarah hears the study door shut behind him.

  ‘What about your tea?’ she yells after him.

  ‘You’ve got legs, woman!’

  ‘Miserable old bugger,’ she mutters under her breath, feeling a sudden bubbling rage. She snatches Ted’s lead from the hook. ‘Make it yourself!’ she shouts back down the hall, slamming the front door behind her.

  When she reaches East Selton seafront, Sarah sees the new boy from up the road, standing on the end of the great iron flow-pipe, throwing stones out into the still water. She spots him as she walks along the wooden ledge that separates the lower beach from the stony bank where the wooden huts stand. The beach feels strangely empty now the summer holidays are over, and the haze of autumn coming floats above the water, obscuring the horizon. The boy has his back to her and she slows down, wanting him to turn and see her standing there with Ted by her side. When he doesn’t, she keeps on walking, pushing her wind-blown hair from her eyes, whistling every now and then for the dog to catch up. She wants to know where the boy comes from; what brings his family to their dull street. She saw him walking to school this morning. He has a nice face. The stones he throws appear to sail out for miles and miles, before breaking the sea’s surface with their force.

  When Sarah was little, her father took her to the water’s edge one evening, perhaps at this very time of year, and taught her to skim pebbles. ‘You have to choose the right shape,’ he told her, ‘to get maximum bounce.’ After what seemed to be hours, Sarah mastered it, and now she’s better at pebble-skimming than anyone she knows.

  She crunches over the pebbles, collecting stones as she walks, and stands at the tide line, several breakwaters along from the boy. Ted sits at her feet, gazing up at her expectantly. Sarah squats on to her heels, squinting one eye at the smooth line of water ahead. She launches her missiles one after another, bam-bam bam-bam, and they bounce across the surface, chasing each other like jumping beans, until they disappear from view. Sarah stands and turns back towards the boy. He’s facing her now, his feet planted squarely on top of the giant rusty pipe, his head tilted.

  Sarah feels her heart slowing to a steady thud as she looks at the strange boy, out there on the pipe. Ted jumps at her legs with his soggy paws, and she turns to walk back up the beach towards home.

  Back at Seafield Avenue, her father has already laid the table for supper. He’s had a bath and a shave; she can smell the Old Spice the moment she enters the hallway. The kitchen is thick with steam, which pours out into the hall, giving the house a damp, clammy atmosphere.

  ‘Did you have a nice walk?’ he asks, taking the potatoes off the hob.

  ‘Yep,’ she replies, returning the dog lead to its hook.

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Nope.’ She passes him the butter as he starts to pound away with the masher.

  ‘Did you miss me?’ He smiles, and slops the creamy potato on to two plates, as Sarah serves up the fish fingers from under the grill.

  ‘Nope. Grumpy old man.’ She tries not to return his smile. ‘Did you do any baked beans?’

  Her father holds out his arms, and she reluctantly enters his embrace.

  ‘I love you, Sarah-Lou,’ he says, kissing the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry. I am a grumpy old man. I’ll try harder.’

  ‘Hmph,’ she says, but she’s smiling into his sweater, and she knows he can hear it in her voice.

  ‘It’s my artistic temperament,’ he says, giving her a squeeze.

  ‘You’re senile, more like.’ Sarah picks up her plate and takes it into the dining room.

  ‘Nothing wrong with my brain,’ Dad says, tapping his temple as he sits in the seat opposite. ‘It’s all just fine in here. Just fine.’

  After a couple of weeks of walking the same route to school on opposite sides of the road, they speak to each other.

  ‘You live up my road, don’t you?’ he calls over.

  Sarah turns to look at him.

  ‘I’m Dante,’ he persists, breaking into a jog to cross the road and join her. ‘Jones. Do you go to Selton High?’

  ‘Yep.’ Sarah’s face feels hot. She notices that the hair on the sides of his head is cropped close, right round and under the longer top layer of dark hair. ‘What about you?’

  Dante isn’t wearing a uniform, but a baggy grey T-shirt, black jeans and Converse boots. ‘Lower sixth at the boys’ school. We just moved here from Canada.’

  ‘Canada? You don’t sound Canadian.’

  ‘We were only there for a year. But I can do a pretty authentic Canadian accent when I want to,’ he says, slipping into a soft lilt as he kicks a pebble along the pavement.

  Sarah smiles.

  ‘Want a Polo?’ he asks, offering her the packet.

  Sarah takes one, trying to avoid touching the skin of his fingers as she hands the packet back.

  ‘You lived here long?’ he asks.

  ‘All my life,’ she answers. ‘Too long.’

  He laughs.

  ‘How come you were in Canada?’

  ‘My folks are in the music industry. Dad was producing a few albums out there, and Mum does hair and make-up. You know, for music videos and stuff.’

  ‘Wow,’ says Sarah. ‘That must be amazing.’

  Dante shrugs, looking at her under his fringe. ‘Maybe we could go out? Where d’you go round here?’

  As they near the school gates, Sarah spots Kate and Tina leaning against the railings, eyeing up the sixth formers as they pass through the boys’ school entrance. Kate’s gone back to wearing her short-short skirt again, which is rolled up to mid-thigh. Her shirt is unbuttoned enough to clearly show the swell of her breasts. She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to one side, smugly casting a silent question out to Sarah.

  ‘So what d’you think?’ asks Dante. ‘About going out?’

  Kate nudges Tina, squaring up to Sarah and Dante as they approach.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sarah answers hastily before Kate can hear.

  ‘Well, I’ll walk with you tomorrow, then?’

  Sarah smiles, a closed-mouth smile, and Dante gives her a thumbs-up and jogs through the boys’ gates. Kate and Tina are upon her like hyenas, pawing her, greedy for information.

  ‘Well? Dish it!’ Kate presses. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Dante. He’s moved in down my road.’

  ‘Oo-ooh,’ says Tina, raising her eyebrows and linking arms with Kate. ‘Dan-te.’

  ‘Lush,’ says Kate, rolling her skirt back down as they walk through the corridor towards their form room. ‘Lush. You have got to introduce me to him, Sar!’ She preens herself in the glass of the corridor windows.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Sarah. ‘I don’t even know him, really.’

  Kate punches her on the arm, near her vaccination scar. ‘Of course you do. He’s walking with you in the morning. I’ll be waiting at the gates. Introduce me then. Easy.’

  Sarah spends the rest of the morning preoccupied with thoughts of Dante. He looks like a film star. She’d like to run her fingers under his hair, to feel the fuzzy-felt rub of his crew-cut scalp.

  At the end of the day she rushes out ahead of Kate and Tina, anxious to avoid the usual twitter and trivia of their homeward conversation. She thinks about Dante all the way home, replaying their conversation over and over, trying to visualise everything about the way he looked. He’s nothing like the other boys round here; there’s something special about Dante Jones.


  And the next day, there he is, waiting on the corner just as he’d promised.

  After school on Friday, Dante takes Sarah into town and buys her an ice cream from Marconi’s kiosk on the Parade.

  ‘Want a flake?’ he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  She blushes. ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Course you do.’ He turns to the ice cream man. ‘She does.’

  Sarah smiles as the man presses the flake into the ice cream and hands it to her.

  ‘Aren’t you having one?’ she asks Dante.

  He shrugs. ‘I’ll have a bit of yours.’

  ‘No, you won’t!’ she says, snatching it out of his reach as he tries to take a lick.

  ‘Go on, then,’ he says, fumbling around in his loose change to pay the ice cream man. ‘I’ll have the same.’

  They walk along the Parade in the autumn sunshine, eating their cornets and chatting. The town is buzzing with kids in Selton school uniforms, many of them new starters whose crisp blazers hang long over their small arms. One girl shrieks when her friend points out Dante, and they both blow him a kiss as they pass. He grins knowingly, flicking his fringe aside and rolling his eyes at Sarah. ‘Kids,’ he says.

  Sarah looks back at the girls, who are falling about outside the newsagent’s, laughing into their hands. She smiles to herself and bites into her wafer cone.

  ‘It’s been like that all day,’ she says. ‘Over-excited first years all over the place.’

  Dante finishes his ice cream and brushes off his hands. ‘Mind you, they can’t help it,’ he says, holding out his palms. ‘I mean – look at me.’

  Sarah gasps, letting out a single, ‘Ha!’

  ‘What?’ He flicks his fringe again.

  ‘You!’ she replies. ‘How much do you love yourself exactly?’

  He gives her a serious look and runs his fingers up through the back of his hair, turning his head this way and that for Sarah’s inspection. His nose is beautifully aquiline, his cheekbones sharp and high. He laughs and gives her a little bump with his shoulder as they reach his house at the top of their road. ‘Only kidding.’ He shoves his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

  ‘See you, then,’ Sarah says, backing away.

  ‘Your treat tomorrow?’ he calls after her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The ice cream. We can meet up tomorrow and you can buy me an ice cream.’

  ‘But I’m working tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll meet you after work, then. You owe me that ice cream!’

  ‘Ha!’ she laughs as she watches him walk up the gravel path towards his house.

  He looks back at her from his front door. ‘Deal?’

  She pulls her best incredulous face and starts to walk away. ‘OK,’ she shouts back once he’s out of sight. ‘I finish at 5.30.’

  ‘Cool,’ she hears him reply. She smiles all the way home.

  It’s Wednesday afternoon, and Tina and Sarah have Geography together, while Kate’s in German just across the corridor. She barely spoke a word to Sarah before they went to their different lessons. Tina arrives in the classroom a few minutes late, having dashed off to the loos after lunch. She scribbles a note and passes it to Sarah.

  Kate knows you’re seeing Dante, it reads. Tina widens her pale blue eyes for impact.

  ‘What?’ Sarah whispers, the colour rising up her neck.

  She’s really mad about it, Tina scribbles at the foot of her notepad. She underlines the really.

  Sarah shakes her head and tries to concentrate on Miss Tupper at the front of the class.

  Miss Tupper claps her hands twice, above her head like a flamenco dancer. ‘Tina Smythe! Look at me, not Sarah, thank you very much.’

  ‘It’s Smith, miss.’ Tina licks her thumb and tries to rub away a felt tip doodle on the back of her hand. ‘Smith not Smythe.’

  Miss Tupper frowns. ‘It says Smythe on the register.’

  Tina tuts. ‘Yeah, it’s spelt Smythe, but it’s pronounced Smith.’

  ‘Fine,’ says Miss Tupper, looking annoyed as she turns away to rub the blackboard clean.

  When the next lesson bell rings, Sarah rushes out ahead of the other girls.

  ‘Kate!’ she calls when she spots her among the crowd leaving the classroom opposite. She catches up and falls in step. ‘Walk with you to Maths?’

  Kate walks as fast as she can in her tight skirt. The daylight catches Kate’s shiny new hair, making it gleam like the coat of a red setter.

  ‘Slow down a bit,’ Sarah laughs, her voice almost drowned out by the noise of chatter in the corridor.

  There’s an awkward gap as Kate continues to hobble along stony-faced.

  ‘You know Dante asked me out before you even saw him.’

  Kate throws her a spiteful glance. ‘Yeah. Right.’

  ‘Yes, right, actually,’ Sarah mumbles. ‘He asked me out that morning. And before I had the chance to tell you about it, you were going on and on about how I should introduce you. That’s not my fault.’

  Kate stops short of the Maths room, and turns square on to Sarah.

  ‘Well, Sarah. I just happen to think more of my friends’ feelings than I do about the first pathetic boy that comes along. He’s no big deal anyway. I wouldn’t go out with him if he asked me. I was taking the piss when I said I liked him. Haven’t you ever heard of sarcasm, Sarah?’

  Sarah stares at Kate for a second. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. ‘You were ready to ditch me and Tina for him if he’d been interested. You don’t get first picks of everyone, Kate.’

  ‘Ha! I wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole.’ She starts to walk away.

  ‘You don’t even know him,’ Sarah whispers as they enter the classroom.

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Sarah,’ Kate hisses. ‘I’m sick of you hanging around me anyway. I mean, look at you.’ She runs her eyes over Sarah critically. ‘So, no loss to me, then.’

  Sarah sits down beside Marianne as Kate flounces across to a desk on the far side of the room.

  Sarah shakes her head again and opens her Maths book.

  Halfway through the lesson, a crumpled note is passed across the classroom. Marianne reads it and gives Sarah a sympathetic frown before handing it over.

  Sorry, Sar. It all came as a bit of a surprise. It’s just I had you down as a lezzer. No hard feelings. Hope you and Mr Spaz are very happy together.

  Sarah looks back along the row of girls to Kate, who’s sniggering into her green sleeve. Everyone else along the line has read the note, and they nudge each other and smirk. Zoe Andrews is nearly wetting herself laughing. Kate looks up and blows Sarah a kiss.

  Sarah and Dante lean against the huge brick wall which runs around his house at the top of Seafield Avenue. They’d stopped off at the park after school, and spent an hour on the roundabout, lacing fingers and talking about Kate.

  ‘She’ll get over it,’ Dante says now, squeezing her hand gently. ‘And if she doesn’t, you’ve still got me.’

  Sarah bashes her head against his breast bone, letting out an annoyed little growl. ‘She’s such a cow,’ she says.

  Dante lifts her chin with his forefinger and plants a kiss on her lips.

  ‘Honestly, this time next week you’ll have forgotten all about this. Promise.’

  Sarah walks a few backward steps, giving a little wave as she goes. Dante remains at the wall, watching her, and as she walks the few hundred yards back home alone her mood lifts. He’s right. It’s not a big deal. Soon Kate will set her sights on some other boy and forget all about it. And when that one goes wrong, she’ll come running back for a shoulder to cry on. You can count on it.

  As she turns into the front drive of her house, Sarah’s breath catches in the back of her throat. There on the doorstep is Kate, chatting away with her dad, tossing her head and laughing.

  ‘Ah, here she is now! Sorry, my dear, what’s your name again? Dreadful memory for names, I’m afraid. Hopeless.’ Sarah’s father rubs his deeply lined brow.

&n
bsp; ‘It’s Kate,’ she chirps, touching his wrist lightly.

  The shingle crunches beneath Sarah’s shoes, spitting out little shots of gravel as she walks up the drive towards them. When Kate turns to face Sarah, there’s menace playing around her mouth.

  ‘There you are! I needed to ask you about our Maths homework, Sar. Can I come in and look at your textbook?’ She stands expectantly beside the doorstep, nodding subtly to Sarah, who stands dumbly looking on.

  ‘Come on, woman! Where are your manners?’ Dad scowls, beckoning Kate in. He wanders ahead of them, back up the dark hall and into his study.

  As the door clicks shut, Kate raises her eyebrows and skips through the house ahead of Sarah. Before she can stop her, Kate darts into each of the downstairs rooms, looking them over and wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Urgh. Your kitchen. It hasn’t even got a window!’

  There are dirty pots piled up beside the sink, where Dad hasn’t washed up from breakfast and lunch. In the fruit bowl, an apple on the top has gone off, deeply cratered with a white floury mould.

  Sarah guides her out of the kitchen, out of earshot. ‘Shush! Dad’s working.’

  ‘Where’s your room, then?’ Kate stands at the foot of the narrow stairwell. ‘Up here?’

  Sarah’s eyes are drawn to the damp corner of wallpaper that hangs limply at the ceiling joint. Tiny black spots gather on the plaster beneath.

  ‘Let’s go up.’ Kate has her hand on the banister.

  Sarah can feel the pulse racing through her neck. She’s afraid that Kate can see it, throbbing above her white shirt collar. Kate turns and sprints up the diamond-patterned carpet, towards Sarah’s bedroom.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asks, pausing with her finger on the small black and white portrait outside Sarah’s room.

  ‘My mum,’ she replies, and she urges Kate inside the room and closes the door.

  ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Kate sits on the edge of the bed and bounces vigorously. ‘Bet this bed hasn’t seen much action.’

  Sarah stares on, puzzled.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I don’t really want to talk about Maths. I just wondered why you’ve never invited me back here before.’