Sarah climbs up to the top shelf, and sits on the edge with her legs dangling.
‘Cotton buds,’ John says, passing up a box.
Sarah twists to push them into place, turning to receive the next box. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘So-so,’ he answers. ‘It was a bit boring, to be honest. Just me and Mum.’
‘Did you see any friends over New Year?’ She throws an empty carton on to the floor beyond him. He picks it up and breaks it down flat.
‘Nah. My best mates all went back to uni early, and I’m not really interested in the rest of the losers around here.’ He gathers his ponytail through his hand, and lets it drop to one side. ‘I just sat in my room, listened to Pink Floyd and had a spliff. It was alright.’
‘Wish I’d done that,’ says Sarah. She clicks the heels of her shoes together as she waits for the next box.
‘Why? What did you get up to?’
‘Oh, nothing. It was a party at Kate’s, and it was just crap, really. I left before midnight.’
John pauses to tick off some items on his clipboard. ‘Wasn’t your boyfriend with you, then?’ He doesn’t look up.
Sarah tugs a loose hangnail at the corner of her thumb. ‘I left him there. And he’s not my boyfriend any more.’
‘Really?’
‘You don’t have to look so pleased! It was a rubbish party if you must know, and now he’s going out with my best friend.’
‘Your best friend?’ John looks shocked. He gestures that they’re moving on to the next shelf down.
‘My ex-best friend, I should say.’ Sarah descends the ladder to the shelf below.
John shakes his head, tutting under his breath. ‘Well, sounds like they deserve each other to me. What an idiot.’ The changing light from the stock room windows streams in behind him, creating a halo from the fuzz of his untidy hair. The sun’s coming out.
‘Can we change the subject?’ Sarah asks impatiently. ‘So, have you got a girlfriend, John? As we’re telling each other our life stories today.’
John laughs and gives her a shove with the next carton. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Didn’t mean to go on. No. No girlfriend. Can’t understand why no one would want to go out with a skinny old hippy like me.’
‘You’re not that old. A skinny hippy, yes. But not old.’ She grins.
‘I’m nineteen, nearly twenty. That’s fucking ancient, man. It’s nearly dead, for God’s sake.’
The hall is full of steam and the aroma of casserole when Sarah steps through the front door after work.
‘Hello, Sarah-Lou!’ Dad calls from the kitchen. He’s been uncharacteristically jolly over the past month, spending less and less time in his study. It’s driving her mental.
‘Hiya,’ she says, intentionally sounding depressed. She drops her bag in the hall with a thud, and hangs up her coat by the front door. Ted limps down the hallway to greet her, his sleep-stiff joints slowing him. Every wag of his tail seems an effort, and yet still he does it, smiling up at her and patting her shoes with his paw. ‘Hello, Teddy-boy.’ She scruffs him under the chin and, satisfied, he turns and trots back to his bed in the living room.
‘How was your day?’ Dad asks.
‘Same as ever,’ she replies, leaning on the door frame. ‘Except the fat cow isn’t back yet. So, I suppose it’s better than usual.’
‘Ah, yes. The buxom beauty from the Highlands! Never a smile, has she? Have you noticed? A severe and somewhat disapproving demeanour, which surely masks a heart of fire!’ He waves his teaspoon in the air and bends over the pot to taste his cooking.
‘Urghh. How can you talk about her like that? She’s a nasty old cow. Believe me, all that beats in her chest is a heart of ice.’
Dad laughs, dropping the teaspoon on to the side with a plink. He pulls at the cords of his apron, as if to check they’re still in place.
‘Are you expecting someone for supper?’ Sarah asks, trying to sound casual. He cooks so rarely, there has to be a reason.
‘Only you.’
‘What’s with the cooking, then?’
‘Well,’ he says, placing his hands on her shoulders, ‘I think we should spend some time together, and, as you’ve been at work all day, I thought you’d enjoy a wholesome meal.’
She looks at him suspiciously. ‘Can we eat on our laps?’
‘If we must.’
Sarah shivers as she steps back into the hall. ‘D’you know what, Dad? It’s colder in this house than it is outside. I swear it’s true. It’s freezing.’ She blows out into the tile-floored hallway. ‘Look! You can actually see my breath!’
Dad snorts. ‘Don’t be such a drama queen! This is England, not the bloody Antarctic. Go and have a bath if you need to warm up. Dinner will be about seven. I’ll build up the fire if you’re that ruddy cold. OK?’
‘Yeah, OK. Actually my feet are killing me. They made me stay on the back till all afternoon. It’s a nightmare. See you in a minute.’
Sarah runs the bath hot and deep. As she opens the door to fetch her towel, the steam billows out into the chill landing, partly obscuring the photograph of her mother.
She stops to rest her finger on the little frame, before kicking off her shoes and closing the door against the gloom of the landing.
Her body turns pink in the steaming hot water. She rests her head back against the cold, hard ridge of the ceramic bath. Like the kitchen, there are no external windows here, and the room is penned in by solid walls all around. The damp is a problem, but right now it’s hidden by the plumes of steam created by the hot bathwater. The cold tap drips slowly and steadily, causing small outward ripples to run through the otherwise still water. When Sarah closes her eyes she can see the graphic detail of Dante, as he slides out and away from Kate, both of their faces turned towards her. She blinks her eyes open wide to shake it away. She hasn’t seen him at all since the party, not even walking to school, so he’s obviously staying out of sight. She plugs the tap with her big toe, holding it there for the count of ten, then releasing the backed-up drips in a cold stream. Kate has everything. She’s got a warm, modern, heated home. She’s sexy and cool. She’s got a father and a mother and a sister. She’s got Tina. And now she’s got Dante too. Sarah raises the palm of her right hand and brings it down flat, splash, causing water to spray around the bath. She feels anger at the tears, knowing it’s Kate she’s missing more than anything; Kate, not Dante. Kate with her cutting wit and bubbling laugh. Kate with her dancing eyes and ridiculous bum-wiggle. It’s Kate, not stupid Dante.
Ted scratches at the door, whining to be let in.
‘Go away, Ted,’ she yells.
Jason hovers at the edges of her mind. When he kissed her on New Year’s Eve, the deep yearning he provoked was something she’d never felt with Dante. The hut, the holding hands to and from school was all kid’s stuff, she realises now. Dante’s just a boy. Sarah wraps her arms across her chest, cupping her small breasts protectively. She slips beneath the hot water until her face is fully submerged, allowing the memory of Jason’s firm hands on her body to invade her thoughts, letting it grow into something more. He’s gently laying her down in the dark, enclosed shed, among the fertiliser sacks and patio chairs. She smells the earthy scent of gardening and creosote. She lets him push aside the sheepskin coat he wrapped her in, to ease up her little black dress. He runs his hands across her slim, white ribcage and sighs into her neck, his breath hot and moist. With a burst of exhalation, Sarah ruptures the still film of water, grabbing the handrails to pull herself upright in the damp air. Her breathing is rapid, her heart pumping hard as her body restores its normal rhythm. She draws her knees up to her chin and stares into the grubby white tiles at the end of the bath.
‘I don’t want you, Dante,’ she whispers.
By Monday morning, things have shifted again. When Sarah arrives at the lockers, Tina is already there, getting out her books for the morning lessons. She doesn’t look up.
‘Hi, Teen,’ says Sarah,
searching in her bag for her key.
Tina slams the locker door shut and hurries off along the corridor, her pace somewhat impeded by her long tight skirt. Sarah watches her retreat, and sees Kate waiting at the far end of the corridor, propped up against the wall with her arms folded over her chest. The two girls stop and talk; Sarah stands and watches them. Kate turns towards her with disdain, hooks arms with Tina, and the pair vanish into the toilets without a backward glance. Sarah turns and stares into the back of her locker. Tina was fine on Friday, sympathetic even. They’d laughed and joked in Geography, and Sarah had asked about Ed, showing an interest. She knows what’s going on: Tina’s chosen Kate. She stares blankly at the timetable pinned up inside the metal door. Typing. She’s on her own in Typing.
The week grows progressively worse, as Kate and Tina start pursuing Sarah around the school at break times. They follow her wherever she goes, calling out her name and ducking behind doors and bookshelves.
‘Sarah Ribbons!’ she hears them echo wherever she goes.
She hopes they’ll lose interest after a while, but they keep it going, gaining confidence all the while. ‘Nice hair, Sarah!’ they call as she passes. ‘Vir-gin!’
When she takes refuge in the toilets at the start of lunch break, they find her, following her in, guarding the outside of her cubicle, discussing her as if she’s not there.
‘Did you see her dress at my party? Oh, my God, it was sad. She said she made it herself. As if we couldn’t see that for ourselves.’
Tina laughs.
‘Honestly, Teen, I can’t believe we even hung around with her at all. She’s so immature, it’s an embarrassment.’
Inside the dark cubicle Sarah stands rigid, clutching her school bag to her shoulder. She tries to decide what to do next. She wants a wee, but she’s afraid they’ll look over at her while she’s on the toilet. She hears the sounds of fingernails drumming lightly against the door. Someone else enters; another cubicle slams shut.
‘Anyway, Dante says her tits are so small you’d need a magnifying glass to find them.’
Tina screeches with laughter. ‘Really? He said that? That’s so mean.’
‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? She’s completely underdeveloped. There’s probably something wrong with her.’
Sarah’s panic deepens. She wants to know who else is in the toilets with them; who else heard what Kate just said.
‘I used to think she was alright. But she’s a stupid cow, if you ask me.’ Tina sounds less certain of her words, but still she says them. ‘We’re better off without her.’
The fingernails continue to tap on the door, gradually becoming a scrabbling noise, like scratching mice. They’re both doing it now.
‘And what about her Dad?’ says Kate. ‘Have you seen how OLD he is? Oh, my God!’
Sarah pulls back the lock and flings the door wide, barging between them so they have to lurch backwards.
Kate shrugs. ‘Oh, sorry, Sar. Didn’t know you were in there.’
The light in the room is dull, subdued by the thick black rainclouds gathering beyond the toughened glass windows high above the basins. Sarah stops at the sinks to wash her hands. Kate and Tina stay where they are, their arms folded like a pair of bouncers. ‘Think we touched a nerve there, don’t you, Teen?’
The toilet flushes inside the closed cubicle and Marianne comes out. Kate and Tina turn to look at her.
‘Ignore them,’ Marianne mumbles to Sarah as she washes her hands in the next basin along.
Kate gives Marianne a shove. ‘What was that?’
She takes a step back.
Kate moves towards her with a sneer. ‘What did you say, fatty?’
Tina looks ready to run.
‘I said, ignore them,’ Marianne replies, failing to look unruffled.
Kate shoves her shoulder with the tips of her fingers. Marianne doesn’t respond. ‘Oh, I get it!’ Kate laughs, looking to Tina for back-up. ‘Lezzers.’
Kate turns to go and Sarah plants a flat-handed slap across her face, with such force that spittle sprays from the edge of her lipsticked-mouth.
Kate gasps, bringing her hand up to her cheek. A deep crimson mark rises instantly.
Tina clutches her own hands, the thumb of one scratching madly in the palm of the other.
Sarah’s breaths are short and rapid, but her eyes are unblinking with rage.
‘You stay away from me, Kate. And you stay away from Marianne.’
Kate’s shock is short-lived, and she tugs Tina’s sharp elbow and struts towards the exit, combing her fingers roughly through her crispy-gelled fringe. ‘Bitch,’ she hisses as they turn the corner and clatter away along the corridor. Their footsteps fade to nothing.
‘Sorry,’ Sarah says to Marianne, who is now standing beside the sinks looking close to tears.
She shakes her head, suddenly breaking into nervous laughter. Sarah laughs too, uninvited tears rising in her eyes. She looks at Marianne’s Cornish pasty shoes and A-line skirt, and thinks about Kate and Tina taking the piss out of her for being so straight.
‘Thanks,’ Sarah says as they leave the toilets. ‘Thanks for sticking up for me.’
Marianne smiles shyly and walks off towards the library where she’ll eat lunch alone. Her heavy limbs move awkwardly, as if she knows she’s being watched at all times. She doesn’t look back, but Sarah knows she knows she’s still there. She breathes deeply and walks along the corridor in the opposite direction, wishing the week away with every nerve in her jangling body.
Dad’s not in his study when Sarah gets in from school on Friday, and she wonders how his project is coming along. He hasn’t talked about it for weeks.
‘There’s post for you on the mantelpiece,’ he calls from the kitchen in a sing-song voice.
She leans into the kitchen and cocks her head to one side.
He raises his eyebrows and smiles. ‘They look like Valentine’s cards to me!’
She drops her bag in the hallway and saunters into the living room, trying to show him she’s not that bothered. There’s already an opened card on the mantelpiece, for Dad. It’s big and frilly, with a horrible romantic poem on the outside. Yuck. Dad stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips.
‘Alright, Dad, I don’t need an audience, thank you.’ She turns her back to him and inspects the handwriting on the envelopes. She doesn’t recognise either. ‘I need a knife,’ she says without looking back at him.
‘Righto,’ he says, his jolly mood unaltered by her curt manner. He returns from his study with the letter opener.
‘Here you go.’
Sarah feels him standing behind her, waiting to see who the cards are from. She turns to look at him. ‘Dad!’
‘Alright, alright,’ he says, holding his palms up in surrender. ‘I get the message. I’ll leave you to it, Sarah-Lou.’
Sarah turns back to her envelopes.
‘Cup of tea?’ he calls back from the kitchen.
‘No!’
‘Keep your hair on. Only asking.’
Sarah slides the knife under the first envelope, and pulls out the card. There’s a teddy bear on the front, holding a big squashy red love heart. It says ‘I ♥ You’. It’s really naff. She can’t think who would send her a saddo card like that.
The second one is handmade from dark red card, the front carefully stencilled in black ink. Inside is a handwritten poem:
My heart beats like a drum
Whenever you are near
You’re all that I think of
Whenever you’re not here
You make me feel like a bumbling fool
’Cos Sarah Ribbons, you’re so cool
X
Sarah raises it to her nose and breathes in the scent of card and ink, as if its secrets might be locked inside.
Dad reappears in the doorway holding a cup of tea. ‘I made you one anyway,’ he says, handing Sarah the mug. ‘So, two admirers, eh?’
Sarah shrugs. ‘Don’t know who they�
�re from. Probably a joke.’ She sips her tea.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman! You’re a rare beauty.’
‘Dad, do you have to? I really don’t know who they’re from.’ She nods at the mantelpiece. ‘I see you’ve got one.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he replies, looking delighted with himself. ‘Haven’t had a Valentine’s card in, well, years! Good to see I can still charm the ladies, eh? Eh?’ He tries to put his arm around Sarah, but she dodges away.
‘From Deborah, I guess?’
‘Well, I hope so! Can’t imagine who else it might be from!’ He laughs with gusto and leaves Sarah alone by the fireplace.
She hears the door to his study bang shut. The three cards on the mantelpiece ripple lightly with the vibration. She hates Valentine’s Day.
As she walks to work the next day, Sarah glances through the gates of Dante’s house. All the cars are there, and the curtains are still drawn. Yesterday, as she’d entered the classroom for morning registration, Kate was showing off the Frank Zappa tape Dante had got her for Valentine’s Day. She’d clammed up when she saw Sarah, snatching the tape back from Tina and sliding it inside her pencil case. Sarah had pretended not to notice, and searched around in her bag for lip balm.
She walks along the alleyway and into the fire escape at the back of the chemist’s. She’s glad of her job now that she’s fallen out with the others, and she resolves to put Kate and Dante out of her head entirely. It’s no good dwelling on it, Dad would say.
Because it’s Valentine’s weekend, the chemist’s is busy and they’re still short-staffed with Barbara being off. Sarah quickly says hello to John and hurries out front to help serve on the tills with Kerry.
‘We’ll sell loads of smellies today,’ Kerry says. She seems happier than usual, and Sarah wonders if she’s actually pleased to see the back of Barbara. ‘We’ll get loads of men who’ve had an earful from their other halves for forgetting,’ Kerry goes on. ‘Though I’d be really narked off if my boyfriend waited till the day after Valentine’s to get me something. It sort of defeats the object.’
Hurry Up and Wait Page 13
