Hurry Up and Wait

by Isabel Ashdown

  ‘Whoa!’ she laughs, righting herself by grabbing at Kate’s clothing.

  Kate’s top slips off her shoulder, revealing the black lacy bra strap underneath.

  ‘Arghh!’ shrieks Kate, pulling it back up, and the three girls scream and dance and scan the room to see who might be watching.

  By 9pm, Dante still hasn’t shown up. The girls sit on the plastic seats in the far corner, munching on smoky bacon crisps. Kate and Sarah have been laughing at Tina, who’s just eaten a Mars Bar and two packets of crisps.

  ‘Bloody hell, Teen. It’s all or nothing with you!’ says Kate, digging her in the ribs. ‘Won’t make any difference, though. You’re still a stick insect.’

  Tina brushes the crumbs off her lap.

  Kate gives Sarah a knowing look of pity when she asks if the clock above the door is accurate.

  ‘Face it, Sar. You’ve been stood up.’

  ‘Kate,’ urges Tina, ‘Don’t make her feel worse than she already does.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ insists Sarah, with a casual wave of her hand. ‘He’ll be revising or something. Or he forgot.’ She claps her hands together, aware of how false she seems. ‘Anyone want a Coke?’

  Jason’s voice cuts across the room into their dark corner. ‘I met a smashing young lady tonight, and I have a special request from her. Her name is Sarah Ribbons; the track is a classic from the seventies, and an old favourite of mine – “Sunday Girl” by Blondie!’

  The girls rush to the dance floor, linking arms as they chant the lyrics together. The brightly coloured disco lights flash across the darkened room, and Sarah feels intoxicated; alive. Together they dance and spin and sing and laugh. And when the track ends, Jason plays it all over again.

  Just as she promised her father, at 10pm Sarah waves goodbye to her friends from the edge of the dance floor. She stops at the coat rail in the shadowy foyer to collect her jacket. As she reaches for her khaki parka, she feels a warm hand gently stroke the curve of her neck. She turns sharply, to see Jason standing close behind her, his face half-lit by the outside lamplight.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Sarah. I hope we’ll see you again, sweetie.’ His blue eyes sparkle as his face moves in and out of the shadows.

  Sarah nods and runs across the empty street towards her waiting father.

  The clock reads 08:50. Sarah is drained of energy, having been woken in the early hours by a horrible dream. In the dream, she was peering out from the covers, and she had to reach Ted, who lay on the floor of her bedroom, cut in half, alive and bleeding. She could clearly see the white wisps of fur between the toes of his paws as she tried to reach him through her paralysis. She struggled to breathe as she rose from the fog of sleep, until she realised it wasn’t real at all.

  Today is her first Saturday off work in weeks. She stares at the ceiling, wondering what happened to Dante last night. He’d said he was going to meet her at the youth club, but now she wonders if he hadn’t wanted to go at all. With a sick lurch, she realises how young everyone was at November Night. There was no one below her year there, and no sixth formers at all. If he had been there, Dante would have been the oldest by far. Embarrassment rises to her cheeks and her stomach shudders.

  ‘Shit,’ she mouths at the ceiling, before kicking off her sheets in one violent motion.

  In the dull November light of the downstairs hallway, Sarah bends to pick up a pale blue envelope from the doormat. She recognises Dante’s handwriting immediately. She wants to rip into the envelope, but can’t bring herself to open it so carelessly. She finds the little vegetable knife on the draining board in the kitchen, and uses it to carefully slit open the letter. Inside is an A4 sheet of lined paper, with a few neatly written words from Dante.

  Sorry. See you at the hut at 3pm? D. x

  Her blushes return as she thinks of the youth club, and she vows she’ll never go there again. It’s for kids, not for someone like her. She’ll tell her dad later; let him enjoy being right. It’s good to let him win, sometimes.

  She creeps around the kitchen, so as not to wake him. She doesn’t hear Ted patter in as she butters her toast, and she nearly drops the knife when he licks her toes with his small smooth tongue.

  ‘Hello, boy! I suppose you want a walk before I go into town.’ She scratches beneath his chin to make his eyes close and his mouth smile. ‘Well, I think I can just about fit you in. Yes, I do!’ She picks the terrier up and pulls him close, listening to him snuffle against her neck, as she recalls her nightmare dream with a sickening lurch.

  She seizes him tight in her panic and whispers into the warm grey hair at the back of his collar. ‘You’ll be alright, boy. You’re not going anywhere.’

  Her father moves about upstairs, coughing and clearing his throat. Ted’s ears prick up and he leaps from her arms to sprint up the stairs.

  ‘Hello, boy!’ says her dad up on the landing. Sarah shakes her head and turns back to the toast.

  She unplugs the kettle and fills it at the sink. ‘One – two – ’ she counts, re-plugging the kettle and flicking the red switch down, ‘three – ’

  ‘Kettle on?’ Dad bellows through the house.

  ‘Yep,’ she calls back. ‘Want a coffee?’

  There’s a pause, before he answers. ‘Naturally!’

  She reaches into the cupboard for a mug. One and a half teaspoons of coffee, two of sugar, one third filled with milk. Mix it before adding the water.

  ‘Good girl,’ he says as he enters the kitchen. He kisses her on the top of her head, and watches as she pours in the boiling water and stirs it rapidly. He takes the mug from her before she’s even removed the spoon. ‘Mmm,’ he says sipping it. ‘Very good.’

  She leans against the sink and watches him take a few more sips before he crosses the hall and shuts the study door behind him.

  ‘I’m going out in a while, Dad!’ she calls through the door.

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘Into town with Kate.’ She waits for his response. ‘I’ll be back about six?’

  ‘Yup! OK.’ Pause. ‘Have you walked the dog?’

  ‘Just about to. I’ll let you know when I’m off.’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  Sarah sighs and returns to her bedroom to get dressed.

  Kate slips a Heather Shimmer lipstick inside her fingerless glove as she and Sarah are leaving Woolworths. ‘You know it’s my sixteenth coming up? Well, we’re having a bonfire party – next weekend.’

  Sarah resists the urge to look over her shoulder for the shop staff. She wishes Kate would do her shoplifting when she’s not around.

  ‘Mum says I can have you and Tina over for the night.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ says Sarah, fumbling with the top button of her donkey jacket as they turn down a cobbled alleyway into Needle Street. ‘Do I need to bring anything?’

  ‘Nah. Dad’ll do hotdogs – and I’ll get Mum to buy some marshmallows.’

  ‘Sparklers?’

  ‘Oh, we’ll have tons of them.’

  Sarah shivers, clapping her gloved hands together and smiling through her chattering teeth. ‘That’s great. We didn’t do anything on Bonfire Night this year.’

  ‘You’ll have to stand well back, though. My dad can be a bit mental with the fireworks. Reckons he’s still a teenager.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ smiles Sarah as she pushes against the glass door to the Coffee Garden. They sprint up the narrow staircase and into the tiny café on the first floor. It’s more expensive than Marconi’s, but the superior hot chocolate and cakes are worth the extravagance. Tina rarely joins them at the Coffee Garden, saying she prefers the atmosphere at Marconi’s. But Kate and Sarah both know it’s because she can’t afford it. Sarah wouldn’t have suggested it if Tina had been coming.

  They choose one of the snug seats that look on to the side street below, in the smoking section of the café. The usual middle-aged woman takes their order. Wendy – Proprietor, her name badge reads. They spy out of the window as they wait for their drinks to arrive.


  ‘Want one?’ Kate holds out a packet of Benson & Hedges.

  Sarah shakes her head. ‘I’ll have a puff of yours.’

  Halfway through Kate’s cigarette, Wendy places the hot chocolates on the table, with an inch of squirty cream brimming over the top. With delicate long-handled spoons they silently scoop away at their mugs, until the warm cocoa is revealed beneath.

  ‘Man, my mum is being a bitch at the moment,’ Kate sighs, laying down her spoon.

  Sarah can’t imagine calling her mother a bitch. ‘How come?’

  ‘I think it’s since Jen left home. So now it’s just me and Dad for her to have a go at. Honestly, she’s either asleep, because of those bloody sleeping pills, or blowing her top at us.’

  ‘How long is it since Jen went?’

  ‘Almost a year – not long after we moved into the Amber Chalks house. As soon as she turned seventeen. She never wanted to move here in the first place, so she shacked up with her boyfriend, who’s a complete dope-head.’

  ‘Doesn’t your dad mind?’

  ‘He’s not her dad, is he? Mum had Jen before she even met Dad.’

  ‘Does he get on with her OK?’

  ‘No way! She hates him, says we only moved here because of him. And she’s so jealous of me, even though he’s always tried to treat her like his own. She calls me “Princess Kate”. Jealous cow.’ Kate runs her finger across the top of her coffee cake, making patterns around the three walnut halves. ‘Some people are never happy.’

  ‘I’d love to have a sister,’ says Sarah, mopping up a spill of hot chocolate.

  ‘It’s over-rated,’ Kate snorts. ‘Believe me. Anyway, Mum’s on at Dad non-stop now she’s gone. She reckons he drove her away. I reckon it was Mum’s fault, myself. Miserable cow.’

  Sarah glances up at the cuckoo clock above the till. 2.30pm.

  ‘I’ve got to go!’ She swigs back her drink and hurries into her coat. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting Dante at three.’

  Kate looks incredulous. ‘Even after he stood you up yesterday?’

  ‘He didn’t “stand me up”. That’s why we’re meeting. He’s really sorry. He just forgot.’ Sarah digs around in her purse and places the exact money on the table. ‘See you Monday!’

  Kate smiles grudgingly, piling the coins up beside her plate. ‘Alright. See you Monday.’

  Dante’s already waiting when Sarah arrives at the hut, sitting cross-legged among the cushions, listening to his Walkman.

  She smiles uncertainly as she pushes the wooden door closed behind her, feeling the flush rise to her cheeks again. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a handful of dusty old nightlights she found in the camping equipment under the stairs.

  ‘Oh, well done – I’ll light them,’ Dante says, jumping up to arrange them around the room. ‘I’ve brought another blanket from home – it’s freezing.’

  Sarah nods and stands awkwardly in the centre of the hut. ‘It’s almost dark already, and it’s only just gone three.’

  The wind sings and whistles wildly around the hut, sending pebbles scattering loudly past its wooden walls.

  Dante takes a step towards her. ‘Sorry – ’ he says, reaching out. The door crashes open, as wind howls through the hut, extinguishing all the newly lit nightlights.

  Sarah screams.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Dante forces the door back and pushes a heavy rock up against the frame to prevent the wind from blowing it in again. He relights the candles and flops down into the cushions. ‘Right,’ he says, patting the pillows beside him, ‘where were we?’

  Sarah folds herself down under the covers.

  ‘I made you this,’ he says, and he hands Sarah a compilation tape. ‘To say sorry about last night.’

  Sarah reads the back of the cassette case, which lists all the tracks he’s recorded in careful black block letters. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she says. ‘You’d have hated it anyway.’

  Dante scratches his chin, then kisses her on top of her head. ‘There’s some classic stuff on here,’ he says, taking the tape back. ‘Nick Cave, Visage, Siouxsie and the Banshees. Took me hours. Actually – I might keep it – ’

  ‘No! It’s great. I love it!’ says Sarah, snatching it from his hands and kissing his neck. She wriggles down under the covers.

  ‘Good,’ he growls. Then he laughs madly, like Count Dracula from Sesame Street. ‘Good! Ha-ha-ha! Velly, velly GOOD! Ha-ha-ha-ha!’ They wrestle under the blankets, laughing and squealing as the wind whips around the hut, hurling shingle and flotsam and brackish weed against the flimsy wooden defences of their sanctuary.

  On Monday morning, Sarah sleeps late, only woken by the dog whining and scratching at the bedroom door.

  She steps into her slippers and pulls her dressing gown tight, breathing white air into the icy hallway as she heads down the stairs to the kitchen. Her father still refuses to install central heating, insisting that a log fire and hot water bottles are more than sufficient when there’s only the two of them to worry about.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Dad frowns as Sarah squeezes past him to reach for a bowl. ‘It’s gone ten o’clock.’

  She tuts, waiting for him to finish with the milk. There are coffee rings all over the worktop, which she knows he’ll leave for her to clear up.

  He takes a sip of his coffee and talks over his shoulder as he idly butters the toast. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ His white hair curls wildly around the collar of his faded dressing gown.

  She looks him up and down from behind. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of exam revision?’ she huffs.

  He turns and raises his eyebrows at her, taking a bite from his toast.

  ‘Your hair needs cutting,’ she says sharply, turning back to pour a bowl of Rice Krispies.

  ‘So you keep telling me.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. You look like a tramp. Or an old hippy. That’s it. A leftover hippy from the sixties. God, it’s embarrassing.’ Sarah scatters sugar over her cereal, and scoops a large spoonful up into her mouth. ‘Really.’

  Dad stares at her for a moment, then smiles knowingly. ‘Someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning. And you don’t look as if you’re doing much revision to me, you stroppy madam.’ He picks up his toast and coffee and leaves the kitchen.

  ‘God! Can’t I even have any breakfast? For God’s sake!’

  He laughs heartily from his study. ‘Women! Bloody temperamental, the lot of you! It’s all those complicated female hormones. An absolute mystery to us mere mortals.’

  ‘Arghhhhhh!’ she screams, hurling a teaspoon out through the doorway and into the hall. ‘You – you OLD GIT!’

  He laughs even louder. ‘Have a good day. Revising.’ And with that he shuts the door to his study, leaving Sarah to stew alone.

  She pokes around in her English literature books, flinging them aside to fetch biscuits and chunks of cheese, reopening them to scan the words without commitment. She considers walking Ted, just for a change of scene, but decides that she can’t be bothered. She turns on the TV but it’s just news and some primary school programme about the journey of a baby kangaroo from its mother’s womb to the pouch. The baby looks like a little grub. She watches it for a while, as she nibbles a chunk of cheese into a near-perfect circle, with her feet up on the coffee table and Ted on the sofa beside her. He stares at her cheese, licking his lips every now and then to remind her he’s there. When the baby gets to the pouch, Sarah switches off the TV and picks up her books again.

  After a while, Dad puts on his coat and says he’s popping out. He wanders out into the hallway, patting his pockets as he tries to locate his keys.

  Sarah flicks a book across the table in irritation. Why would anyone give a toss about She Stoops to Conquer? She’s so bored she could cry. ‘Where are you going?’ she shouts from the living room,

  ‘Out!’ he replies, clattering about in search of an umbrella.

  ‘But where?’

  ‘Just out! For coffee with a friend
, if you must know.’

  Deborah. Sarah chews on a loose bit of thumbnail. ‘When are you back?’

  ‘Later!’ The door slams behind him, sending a blast of cold air up the hallway and into the room.

  She shivers and pushes the books to the floor, patting her legs for Ted to stretch out on the sofa with her. He wriggles along the length of her body, resting with his face in the crook of her shoulder. He lifts up a front leg, inviting Sarah to rub his chest.

  ‘Lovely Ted,’ she whispers, lulled by the sleepy warmth of his body. The rain starts to fall more heavily, tapping solidly against the windows outside, and Sarah feels comforted by her small dog and the rhythm of his breath. In. Out. In. Out.

  Last night, in the beach hut, Sarah and Dante had kissed for hours before drifting off under the heavy warmth of their blankets and cushions. When Sarah woke with his head still cradled in her arms, she thought she’d never felt happier.

  ‘What time is it?’ she whispered.

  Dante stirred and looked up into her face. ‘It’s nearly nine.’

  ‘No!’ she gasped, pushing back the covers.

  ‘You know, I can’t wait forever, Sar,’ he said, propping himself up on his elbows. His dark fringe fell across half his face, so he looked at her with just the one eye. ‘I’ve told you countless times that I love you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m still only fifteen,’ she’d replied, avoiding his eyes, scrabbling around for her shoes. ‘And anyway. It’s not never. Just not yet.’

  ‘But you’re so gorgeous,’ he pleaded, reaching out to pull her back down.

  Sarah dodged out of his reach and started to pull on her coat. She didn’t want this. ‘Just not yet.’ She smiled, expecting a smile in return.

  But Dante flopped back against the cushions, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. ‘I suppose you’ve got to get back before Daddy notices you’re late?’ There was acid in his tone.

  Sarah returned an angry scowl. ‘He’ll go mental if I don’t get back soon. It’s alright for you. You can go back whenever you like, and your folks’ll be cool with it. My dad’s just not like that.’ She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for him to look at her. ‘Aren’t you going to walk me back?’