What We Hide

by Marthe Jocelyn

  “I never …,” he said.

  One second later, we were kissing like crazy, hot mouths, teeth gnawing lips while we grabbed each others’ bums and rocked and humped all the way to rocket launch.

  I wanted to cry, I truly did. Better than winning a football match, better than any music, better by far than a girl. I held on to him for a minute more, and he was hugging me too, our faces buried in each other’s necks, sweaty as hell.

  A solemn gong sounded in the main building. He cursed and peeled himself off me, yanking his clothes straight, swiping his crazy hair off his face.

  “Gotta go,” he said. Then, “Wait. What’s your name?”

  “Robbie.” My lips were chafed, burning.

  “I’m Luke.”

  “Nice to meet you.” We laughed, ordinary.

  He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the packet of mints.

  “I got these for you,” he said. And then he left.

  brenda

  “You be a good girl, now, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Eggers.” Brenda’s jacket hood snagged on the door handle. She fumbled to tug it loose, hating the man’s yellow eyeballs. How could he see to drive? He reached across the seat to help, but she wrenched the jacket free in time to avoid him touching her by accident.

  “Cheerio!” Brenda jumped down, ignoring a tweak of pain in her ankle as she landed. The truck rattled off behind her but she didn’t turn. Urg. Blech.

  A face was pressed inside the window of the house, making fishy-mouth against the grimy glass. “May your little self never grow up to be a yellow-eyed, hairy-knuckled, mucus-spewing dragon.” Brenda waggled her fingers like worms in front of the boy. His face disappeared and a second later the door opened.

  “Hello, Auntie Bren!” shouted Christopher. “I saw you first!”

  “Awesome child,” said Brenda.

  “Before Jerry. I saw you before Jerry did.”

  “No fair, Chrisfer!” Jerry was right behind him, shoving to get past, fists yanking on his brother’s back pockets.

  “Steady on.” Brenda laid a hand on each shaggy head, steering the boys back inside. “I need a bicky, how about you?”

  Kath peeked out from the kitchen, circles stained under her eyes. “Thank the sodding Lord you’re here. I’m ready to smack heads together, I’m so fed up.”

  Brenda dropped her schoolbag beside the radiator in the hallway.

  “How was your limo drive today?” asked Kath.

  Their dad had arranged with Mr. Eggers to bring Brenda into town after lessons, seeing as he worked out at the school, digging and fixing, moving the rubbish bins around.

  “First, there’s the gurgling accent. And that little hiccupping cough,” said Brenda. “And then the juicy clots that he loosens up, while I’m pretending not to notice that he’s got to have a great green glob of mucus sitting in his mouth, waiting to spag it out the window, if he can get the window rolled down while he’s driving like a yellow-eyed fiend along the York Road.… It was hideous, thank you for asking.”

  “Auntie Bren said bicky.” Jerry banged his mother’s bum with a small fist. “Bicky, bicky, bicky.”

  “He’s treading on my last brain cell whenever he opens his yapper,” said Kath. Funny how quickly she could move when getting out of the house was the goal; snatching up keys, dumping coins from the Marmite jar on the back of the cooker, jamming arms into the sleeves of her denim jacket, slinging a purse over her shoulder. “We’re out of biscuits.”

  “Biscuit!” demanded Jerry.

  “Shut it,” said Kath.

  “All right,” said Brenda. “Off you go, then. Jerry, let’s have honey crackers instead.”

  Kath worked at Bigelow’s every day from four till seven. Brenda stayed with the boys for those hours, before she went home to make supper for Dad. She wished more than anything she could be a boarder at Illington Hall instead of a day girl, even though she loved Christopher and Jerry like crazy. She secretly thought that she loved them more than Kath did. Her sister was such a grouch.

  “You’re my saviour, today, Bren, I kid you not. I was nearly one of those mothers you read about in the Daily Express. ‘Mother of Two Sets Fire and Kills Tots.’ I swear to god.”

  Brenda would have laughed except that she believed her. “Anything I should know?”

  “Christopher pissed the bed, Jerry spewed his Cheerios all over the breakfast table, the telephone’s been cut off, oh, and the greasy munter who is Jerry’s father did not bother to mention the fact, which I heard from Suze at the chip shop, that his wedding to Lanny Giles is back on despite her miscarriage.”

  “Simon fecking Muldoon.”

  “The blighter.”

  Brenda ran her finger around the rim of the honey jar and licked it before screwing the lid back in place. “Thank your lucky stars, Kath. What if it were you?”

  “Don’t I know it? One bloody bonk got me Jerry. Imagine what hell a wedding night could bring!”

  Brenda glanced around to make certain her nephew was not listening.

  “I’m going down the Red Lion for a pint after work, all right? With Alison,” Kath said. “Do me a favor? Give them a bath? Ta.” The door banged shut and then opened again. “Oh, and Bren? Stay late Friday, would you? I’ve got something going on.” Her eyebrows did a little dance to show Brenda there was a bloke involved.

  “What if I do too?” said Brenda. Empty threat.

  “It’s Dad’s dart night, so no asking him. All on you, sorry, love.” Door shut.

  Bugger. Why did Kath always get to be boss? Brenda rested a hip against the kitchen counter. Christopher came in to lean against her, kneading her tummy.

  “Don’t do that, Chris, I’ve told you.”

  “I like the squishy,” he said.

  “Well, I’ve plenty of that,” she sighed. “But girls don’t want boys playing with the blubbery bits, you hear me?”

  He scooted off with his brother to smear honey on furniture. The little boys’ bodies surprised her every time, the smallness of them under their clothes, tiny wiry arms and tough stick legs, so unlike the large lazy limbs of her friends at school, or the lumbering, slouching boys Brenda knew in town. She retrieved her schoolbag and rummaged through. She might as well get the reading done for English. They were just starting Great Expectations. She was swallowed up by Pip and Magwitch until Christopher came in to poke her.

  “Auntie Bren? Jerry’s been sick again. In the toy box.”

  One thing about Jerry being ill, the evening sped by. No wrestling, no spills, no fuss. “You’re good as girls tonight, you are,” said Brenda. But what with the bath and Kath stopping for two drinks instead of one, it was too late to worry about her dad’s supper—he’d have got takeaway by now. She’d stop in and pick up chips for herself on the way home, thanks to Kath actually paying her. They had chips for tea at school on Tuesdays, so why shouldn’t she?

  The chip shop was packed this time of night. Brenda would have to wait her turn, it being only Suze and her dim helper, Gus. There was a table of boys near the door: Alec and a couple of others, one of them a stranger, and oh crap, the other was Robbie Muldoon. Brenda and Robbie usually pretended that his brother had not knocked up her sister. (If Jerry had been Kath’s first, things might have been different, but Jerry being the second accident, it made her look like a slag, meaning that Simon fecking Muldoon got off scot-free and never paid support or nothing. “Could be anybody’s!” Simon had protested.)

  Most times, Robbie avoided Brenda—there not being a way to say you’re sorry if you didn’t have anything to do with what happened. But they were stuck till doomsday, related to each other because of his brother’s prick. It didn’t make sense.

  So what was the smile for? Brenda waggled fingers at him and looked away quick, as if she’d spotted a friend. Only she couldn’t move because she’d lose her place in line. When her gaze casually passed Robbie again, she blinked to see him holding out a chair, inviting her to sit down with
him and his mates.

  “You know Alec. And this is his mate from Albury High School. What’s your name again?”

  “Michael,” said the boy, flushing. Dead fit, actually. Dark hair and crooked eyebrows, but looked straight at you, which was rare as a two-pound note.

  “Sit down. Let me get you some chips.” Robbie slipped off before she could say, No, no, please don’t, I want to go home and curl up in front of the telly. She’d have to make chat now, with barely known boys. She’d pretend to be Penelope, that’s what. She’d make them laugh.

  “Haven’t seen you before,” she said to the dishy stranger.

  “We lived in Leeds, but my dad got a new office here about awhile ago. So now we’re here.”

  “What do you think?” she said. “Must feel squat after a town as big as Leeds.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “The girls are pretty.”

  And then he flushed and she flushed and Alec went, Ooh, baby, and Robbie came back with the chips. It could have been awful but Brenda laughed and said, “They grow them cheeky in Leeds, don’t they?” And he flushed again, but he laughed too and Robbie said, “What did I miss?”

  “These two are practically snogging already,” said Alec, before Michael gave him a poke.

  Why was Robbie talking to her?

  “Brenda’s at the boarding school,” Robbie said. “Illington. Did she say?”

  “Ill Hall,” she said. “For how you feel after dinner.”

  That got a laugh. She was doing brilliantly.

  “You must be posh like Michael here,” said Alec, “going to that place.”

  “Scholarship,” said Brenda, cheeks heating up again.

  “She’s brainy,” said Robbie. What did he know?

  “I know a girl goes there,” said Alec. “And she knows me, if you take my meaning. Name of Penelope.” He made a rude little hand gesture. “Mean anything to you?”

  “She’s in my form,” said Brenda.

  “I met a kid last term,” said Robbie. “I was going to ask about. Goes to your school.” He dipped his chip in a puddle of vinegar. “His name, I think, was … Lou?”

  “Luke?” said Brenda. “Long hair?”

  “Yeah,” said Robbie. “Luke. Is he back this term?”

  “He’s there. His sister is my mate Kirsten.”

  “Right,” said Robbie. “That’s the one.”

  “I heard about your brother,” said Brenda. “And Lanny. Being back on.”

  “You and the entire county,” said Robbie.

  “Why’s she doing it, now there’s no baby?”

  “We’re all stumped,” put in Alec. “He’s like a bleeding horsefly, one twat to the next.”

  “Brenda knows that, you wanker,” said Robbie.

  “Oh. Right.” Alec grinned, the twerp. What did he care what it meant to have two little boys?

  “What?” said Michael. “Fill me in.”

  “His brother.” Alec pointed at Robbie. “And her sister.” He jabbed a chip through circled thumb and finger. Brenda would have liked to crack a plate over his head. “And Rob’s yer uncle!” Alec cackled like a nutjob.

  Robbie smacked Alec’s hand, knocking the vinegar bottle off the table.

  “That’s it, boys!” called Suze from behind the counter. “Table’s wanted. Out, you lot.”

  “Take the chips,” said Robbie as Brenda snatched up her bag. “You’ve had hardly any.”

  “Ta.” She folded the packet closed and held it, warm and oily, in her hand.

  Outside she was going up the hill, the boys heading down.

  “Nice chatting.” Brenda still wondered why they had.

  “Tell your friend Penelope hello from Alec.” Alec cupped his nuts, letting his tongue hang out.

  “Tosser,” said Brenda.

  “And that kid, Luke,” said Robbie. “Say hello from Robbie.” He pulled on a cap with a little visor, made him look like an American.

  They started off, but Michael turned back before she’d even done zipping her jacket, what with balancing the chip packet in one hand, not wanting to squish it into her bag.

  “Brenda,” he said. He came close enough that she could see the pink in his cheeks even at twilight.

  “Yeah?”

  “I come here most nights at this time,” he said. “Puts off going home.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I wonder … maybe …”

  The other boys were making noises, ooeeee, and woooo.

  “Just, only … could I meet you again?”

  A boy was asking to meet her. A boy with brown eyes, a sharp crease in his school uniform trousers, and a bit of dark fluff along his jaw. A boy nobody else knew, not her sister or the girls at school or anyone.

  “Or, perhaps not here.” He tipped his head toward the chip shop. “By the library, how about?”

  Brenda nodded.

  “Friday?” A nervous smile. “Can you come Friday?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Brenda waited with Penelope and Lilly, a new girl in the third form. Penelope was unnaturally quiet, slumped on the bench with eyes shut, head resting against the wall. Hairy Mary glanced at her watch about forty times, not liking how the doctor wasn’t there yet.

  “Is he always late?” asked Lilly. “Only we’ve got a quiz in maths.”

  “If Dr. Stern finds your throat to be infected, you’ll be popped into sick bay,” said Hairy Mary. “Not attempting to complete a quiz.”

  Brenda thought sick bay sounded wonderfully girl-school-y, as if there’d always be sunlight through white curtains, dishes of rice pudding, and cool, clean sheets. Someone tending you instead of the other way around.

  The doctor strode along the corridor, smiled at the waiting patients, nodded at Hairy Mary, and banged through the clinic door as if announcing that rescue was at hand. The matron slipped in behind him with her clipboard.

  “He’s quite dishy, isn’t he?” whispered Brenda. “For an older bloke. My family goes to Wallace, in town.”

  “Dishy, and he knows it,” said Penelope. “You watch. He’ll have your top off in under five minutes.”

  “I’ve only got a sore throat and a bit of a cough.”

  “No matter.” Penelope shifted to a more alert position. “Why do you think we call him Dr. Sperm?”

  “Ew,” said Lilly. “That’s gross.”

  “Trust me, a vast improvement over Death Breath who was here before. We only got Sperm last term.”

  Hairy Mary opened the clinic door. “Brenda? I believe you were first?” She settled herself at her little desk. “Go on in, the doctor’s waiting.”

  Penelope shot Brenda a big, fat wink before closing her eyes again.

  “Hallo. Brenda, is it? I’ve not seen you before, have I?” He’d changed from his wool jacket into a white coat with a stethoscope stuffed in the pocket.

  “I’m a day girl,” said Brenda. “I usually go to Dr. Wallace in town. Only I’m not often sick, so …”

  “But today you’ve got a bit of a throat, have you? It’s going around Illington like fleas on a dog. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  Brenda sat where he told her to, tilted her head, opened her mouth while he pointed a wee torch and flattened her tongue with the wooden depressor.

  “Mmm,” he said. “It’s pretty pink, but no nasty white spots, so you’re lucky there.” He tugged out the stethoscope and fit it into his ears. “I’d like to have a listen, just to be sure. Could you”—he nodded at her blouse—“unbutton?”

  Heat raced to her cheeks. Brenda undid her top two buttons, showing half her bra, which, thank goodness, was the pretty lilac one that Kath had given her last birthday.

  He was warming the pad of the stethoscope by rubbing it on his sleeve. “Breathe normally to begin.” His fingertips were colder than the instrument that he pressed against her chest, moving the disc, listening, pressing again.

  “It would be more comfortable if you’d slip out of your blouse,” said the docto
r. “Instead of me poking around underneath it. I want to listen from the back as well.”

  Penelope’s prediction of five minutes had been generous.

  “You’re not shy, are you?”

  Her arm got caught coming out of the sleeve, and he held the shoulder so she could wriggle it off. Her tits suddenly seemed ginormous.

  “There we go,” he said. “That makes the task easier for the doctor, doesn’t it?”

  Brenda felt the press of smooth metal, here, here, here, as the doctor listened. And then, whoa! His palm cupped her entire left tit, fingers grazing the nipple under its lilac sheath, making it stand up in surprise. Brenda jerked back on the chair, eyes springing open when she hadn’t known they were closed.

  “Oops-a-daisy,” said the doctor. “I should have warned you I’d need to shift things a bit.” His hand remained firmly in place, lifting the breast to press the stethoscope beneath it. Brenda shut her eyes again, ears buzzing. Did Penelope feign illness, she wondered, just to let him have a feel?

  “Keep breathing.” His voice seemed to be right next to her ear. She realized that her lungs were clamped shut as well as her eyes. “Good, that’s better. Your chest is not congested. Matron will give you drops for the scratch in your throat, but you needn’t miss any lessons.”

  Brenda buttoned up so quickly that she missed one and had a shirttail dangling, but never mind now. She opened the door to the hallway.

  “Goodbye, Dr.—” She couldn’t call him Sperm but couldn’t remember for the moment what his name was. “Doctor.” Dr. Doctor. She must sound a complete ninny.

  The end of the week came finally. Part of Brenda wished more than ever that she could dump her books under a dormitory bed and toddle down the woods to sit with the smokers before tea and a night of fun with a throng of girls. The other part was thinking about her promise to meet Michael on a bench beside the library at half seven. What if Michael thought she was dull and fat? What if, up close, he was spotty and posh? What if, alone together, they neither of them was bold and funny as they’d been the night they’d met?

  Ah well, Friday to get through first.