by Louisa Reid
‘What’s it really like in Spain?’
‘Hot,’ I said, looking into the distance. The whole sea was in the sky, rose-pink clouds morphing into a cutlass, a flag, intrepid divers with spears chasing fish and whales, mermaids combing their long flowing hair, flicking their tails.
‘Can we go there for a holiday?’ Peter asked. ‘Luke from my last class went to Spain every year.’
‘We’re right there now, Pete,’ I told him. ‘Look.’
We stared together, sitting on the top step.
‘See, we’re in the market – look there, the piles of slimy octopus, shrimp, fat red tomatoes.’
‘Yuck.’
‘No, it’s good, different – breathe in – the air’s full of spice, hot and delicious. You smell it? Your skin’s all warm, golden with the sun; you smell yummy too, of sun-tan lotion, the seaside. Fresh air.’
He pulled a face, so then I told him about the beaches: golden sand, clear blue sea, waves to ride. All of us – even me, not afraid – splashing, laughing, getting hot and sipping ice-cold drinks, licking ice cream.
‘Let’s ask Mum if we can go,’ he said, his face full of the thought.
‘It would be nice if we could. Tell you what, when I’ve left school and got a job – next year maybe, or the year after – I’ll save up and take you. OK?’
‘OK.’ He nodded, edged closer, thumb back in his mouth. He was really too old for that now. I put my arm round him.
‘We should go in, it’s getting chilly.’
Before I pulled him inside I took one last look at the horizon, the long blue sunset, spreading its arms round the edges of the planet. Then something caught my eye, something real: a flash of white dipping in and out of the trees, getting closer. Peter was pulling at me.
‘Hang on.’
We watched together as the figure approached. Tall. Fast. Still too far away to see me if I waved, which I wouldn’t. What made me blush, I don’t know; perhaps the thought of calling out. Saying his name like I had a right to.
‘Is it Leo?’ Peter leant on tiptoes over the railing, arms waving. I pulled him back.
‘Come on. Let’s get something to eat. Mum’s been shopping. She’s made her spag bol. Fancy it?’ I didn’t want Leo to spot me. What if he banged on the door and stepped inside and started asking questions again? He was all right, maybe, but Peter and I were OK on our own. We didn’t need other people. And Leo was too different. We couldn’t really be friends.
I stared down. Leo was nearer. Fast. Something told me I had to trust someone, some time. But how could you be sure? How did you know who?
October
Leo
The first Saturday evening in October, they gathered at the table. Sue had made roast lamb. ‘No, not one of ours,’ she said, laughing in response to a question from Peter.
Lorraine and Sue laughed some more. Leo wasn’t sure when this soirée had been organized but he wished Sue had consulted him. He got the feeling he was being set up. Or that Sue was lonely, and both thoughts made him worry.
Audrey wasn’t looking at him though – she was busy chopping up Peter’s dinner into bite-sized chunks. Leo cleared his throat.
‘So,’ he said when she’d eventually finished and had begun to eat her own food. ‘How’s it going?’ She had started vanishing, just as he’d started to look out for her, so they hadn’t spoken in a while.
‘Yeah, I’m all right; just the same.’ Her voice: soft, gruff, like smoke. It was at odds with everything else about her. The sharp bones of her face, the long sweeping line of her neck.
‘Good.’ Leo poured water into their glasses. ‘I’m glad.’
‘You don’t have to keep asking me, you know,’ she said, and then turned away to help Peter with his drink and stop him feeding his dinner to Mary. Leo hunted for another topic, rolling his eyes when he was sure she wouldn’t see.
‘So, what about school? Are your teachers all right?’
‘Mostly.’ Audrey brushed her fringe out of the way and looked at him properly. ‘I like English. This book, about Jane Eyre; that’s good.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve read it?’ She sounded surprised.
‘Yes.’ He’d studied the Brontës at his old school; it felt like forever ago.
‘I like how when that cousin beats her up she doesn’t take it; she fights him,’ Audrey said, her face serious but with something gleeful dancing in her eyes. Leo wanted to laugh again, but he coughed instead and concentrated on his dinner for a second.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I forgot about him. He comes to a sorry end.’
Audrey shot him a look. ‘Don’t flipping tell me what happens.’
‘Sorry.’ Leo sucked in his cheeks and raised his eyebrows while she stared at him as if he were an idiot. Were all their conversations going to be this weird?
After they’d cleared the table, Leo helped Sue carry in bowls of apple crumble and ice cream. He went to put one down before Audrey. Her eyes flicked towards her mother.
‘It’s all right, Leo, Aud’s allergic. I’ll take that,’ said Lorraine, reaching out and helping herself to Audrey’s portion as well as her own.
‘Oh. OK, well, I’ll get you something else, then – fruit, Audrey, all right?’ he said. She looked again at Lorraine and then nodded.
They finished the meal and Leo beckoned Audrey into the living room, leading her to a wall of shelves crammed with books.
‘When you’ve finished with Jane you might like this.’
He found Wuthering Heights and put it into her hands.
‘Have you read all these books?’ She examined the cover, then ran her eyes up and down and along the titles.
‘No.’ He laughed again. ‘Maybe a quarter, if that.’
‘Why not? If they were my books, I’d have read them all,’ she said, her voice outraged, and he sat down, giving up. The television was on for Peter, and Leo pretended to watch with him as Audrey settled herself into an armchair, legs tucked against her chest, burrowing into the novel.
Voices drifted from the kitchen; Sue and Lorraine were taking their time over coffee and Leo wondered what they had in common. A few things, he supposed. He listened more carefully, trying to hear what was being said, didn’t much like the sound of it and cleared his throat. He wanted to talk to Audrey. That would definitely be more fun.
‘So you like reading?’
‘Yeah, I had some books, poetry books mostly. But not any more.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘I dunno. I lost them.’
That was odd, but he didn’t ask and Audrey didn’t elaborate. Blood, stone, he thought, shaking his head, then he caught her watching him before her eyes darted away, back to the page.
Audrey
Not much happened in the sticks. We went to Sue’s for dinner – well, they called it supper, which sounded silly to me – and then after that every day was the same. I didn’t mind though; there was enough to do with just getting Peter ready in the mornings and getting to school on time and remembering where everything was, the names of other kids and teachers and making sure there was something for our tea. I had the book from Leo and homework, and Mum was working all the time. The book went everywhere with me, in case it disappeared, and because maybe I wanted to be like that Catherine Earnshaw, half savage and hardy and free, and, well, just because. Mum came home with flowers one day, windswept and bright-eyed.
‘Look at these, Aud.’ Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure and I buried my face in the bouquet of roses and breathed in. They smelled of nothing, but I didn’t say so.
‘Who gave you them? They’re lovely, Mum.’
‘Oh, one of my patients. A lovely bloke. I’ve been caring for his son. Poor little lad. But, hey, we do our best. And it’s nice to be appreciated,’ she said, then frowned. ‘I don’t know why your dad couldn’t have shown a bit of bloody appreciation, Aud, then we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we?’ I didn’t know wh
at that meant and didn’t ask. But I knew how much Mum’s patients loved her. They were lucky to have her and they knew it too; she fussed over them worse even than she fussed over me. Sometimes they wrote her notes, gave her flowers – like these ones – or chocolates. Mum kept the thank-you letters sealed up in a special folder, said it kept her going when she felt low.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘put them in water for me, Aud, arrange them. And then do us a cuppa, would you, while I watch a bit of telly? I’m knackered.’
I nodded and arranged the flowers, placing them in the living room where she could see them. She nodded absent-mindedly, checking her face in her compact mirror, tweezering her eyebrows, then turning back to the television and flicking through the channels before checking her mobile phone.
Time passed. Our fourth week in the Grange Mum was working nights so I had to get Peter up for school on time. So far October had been nothing but rain and the mornings were colder and darker. On Thursday we overslept.
‘Pete, come on.’ I pulled him gently out of his dreams. ‘We’ll be late if we don’t hurry.’
He snuggled deeper under the covers, so I tickled and cajoled until he pulled himself up and crammed down some breakfast. It was almost half eight already. The pills from the new GP knocked me out and it was hard to really wake up. I made myself coffee. Swigged it back, poured another.
‘Come on, mate,’ I said. ‘Piggyback.’
I hitched my brother on to my back and set out across the field towards the route Leo had shown us. It was definitely the quickest way, but we were still going to be late.
Peter clung to my shoulders.
‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Wrap your legs round, I’m going to try and run.’
It was more of a hobble: he was heavy and I was slow and the ground was so muddy that I slithered and slipped, but I set my shoulders forward, ploughed on as if I meant to turn up the soil, plant a story of our own whatever the cost. Peter liked it, laughing and cheering me on.
‘Go faster, Aud! Come on!’
I couldn’t. When we got to the embankment he slid off my back while I bent over to catch my breath. It wasn’t just that; it was my ankle too. It always got like this when the weather was bad. Mum said I might need another op on it some time, but I couldn’t face the thought of that.
‘I want another piggyback,’ Peter said when I stood up, so I hauled him up again, shifting him higher, and plodded along. He kicked and waggled his legs like I was a horse he could persuade to go faster and I laughed, losing more breath, almost losing my footing. It was pointless. I stopped and tried to gather myself.
‘Maybe you should walk, Peter,’
‘No way. This is better.’
‘Yeah, for you maybe. But you’re getting heavy, mate.’
‘But there’s someone coming. Look. Race them.’
I swung round. Of course. Leo: pelting along like he was in the Olympics in a dark-blue hoody and mud-stained trainers. His cheeks were pink. His eyes bright and amused.
‘What are you two up to?’ he said, looking at Peter first, then at me. ‘I saw you in the distance, thought I’d catch up.’ He grabbed a breath. ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah, I was just trying to get Peter to school on time. But he’s heavy.’
‘No, you’re not, are you?’ Leo said, grabbing Peter and swinging him up on to his shoulders like he weighed nothing. Peter squealed, half in fear, half in delight.
‘Come on, then,’ Leo said, and off we went again. I just about kept pace, jogging all the way to town, my heart punching against my ribs.
We dropped Peter off, just in time. For once he didn’t look round or check over his shoulder to stare at me with wide woebegone eyes. For once he ran along without a murmur and I was glad. Leo checked his watch.
‘We’re the ones who’ll be late at this rate,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘So, come on.’
When we got to the road Leo moved to walk beside me, his body between mine and the cars.
‘It’s busy,’ he said, ‘the traffic’s ridiculous at this time of day.’ And I understood that he meant to shield me as a gentleman might his lady and a great hot blush began in my chest and ran its fingers up my neck and face and scalp. Taken, Lizzy had said. I wondered if he walked with her like this.
‘I’m OK,’ I said, but he stayed right next to me and slowed his stride to match my steps. Our arms brushed when the pavement narrowed and I jumped away like he’d got me with a cattle prod. He pretended not to notice, and I pretended I hadn’t done it. Staring straight ahead, I walked. Never looking at Leo. Well, not that much – once, maybe twice.
‘Thanks for the rescue,’ I said, thinking about how he’d carried my brother all that way and with a smile on his face and everything. Not a lot of people would do that.
‘No problem. Although for it to be a proper rescue mission, there ought to have been a white horse with a flowing mane and I should have been in armour. I think that’s how it goes, at least.’
‘Oh, I don’t mean like that.’ He made me feel silly. I wasn’t a damsel in distress.
‘No?’
‘No, well, I don’t know.’ I looked at him, no idea what to say. Was he flirting with me or something? I stared at the floor and tried to rearrange my face to make it bland and neutral. Blank. But I was blushing like an idiot. If I actually wanted him to flirt with me, that was worse. Especially if he wasn’t. Oh, I just didn’t know.
Leo
‘So.’ He hunted for another topic, something easier. ‘You coming to the fair?’ It was at the weekend and now he knew he really wanted her to come. With him. Even if she only wanted to talk about the books he hadn’t read.
‘I dunno.’
‘Well, it should be good.’ He nudged her, very gently.
‘Oh.’ Audrey blushed, her cheeks flaring a hotter pink. Leo was confused again; damn – this was all over the place. He forged on, determined to save the conversation even if he ended up making an idiot of himself. Try and make her laugh, he thought. Employ wit, irony, anything. Break the ice all over again.
‘You don’t have to – it’s not a required extra-curricular activity.’
‘What?’ Audrey was the one wearing armour. Leo shifted, trying to stand so she’d see him, alarmed at his inability to flirt. Had he always been this bad?
‘Nothing. Joke, not funny.’ She giggled then. She had a great smile. Really goofy, it took up half of her face. There, mission accomplished. She was still glowing from their run. But her glasses needed cleaning, he noticed, her shoes too – she was covered in mud but she hadn’t complained.
‘You will come though?’ His mouth had a mind of its own. Straight away he wished he hadn’t said it. Desperate, or what.
‘All right, well, if I can. I’ll have to bring Peter.’
‘That’s cool. You should meet more people. Have fun. Otherwise it’ll get rather dull, won’t it, stuck in the Grange the whole time. All work, no play. And so on.’ He sounded like Graham now, doling out life lessons and clichés, and cringed. Maybe he should go into social work. Maybe he should back off.
‘Maybe. Just, well, I don’t know; I’d better go,’ Audrey said, moving away, shaking her hair back, her chin jutting up with that defiant pride. She started to walk away, but Leo followed; he couldn’t stop himself. Now he noticed that she was limping a bit, trying to hide it.
‘Audrey.’ The bell was summoning them inside; Leo pretended not to hear it and when she paused and looked at him with her big solemn eyes he spoke without thinking.
‘Is everything OK? Are you all right, Audrey?’
‘Course. I’m fine. Totally fine.’ Her expression changed, he felt a glare, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing again.
‘Yeah? Good. Well …’
What was it he was going to say? Her face was a distraction, her eyes full of shadows, blue and grey and green. They were like water. The bottom of the sea. He wanted to take the glasses off, look properly. Stare for
the rest of the day and work her out. A tricky equation. More like a sonnet. My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun. He realized she was staring at him. They were staring at each other.
‘Just, come if you can, yeah?’
‘Sure.’ And she smiled so sweetly; it was a pure sort of smile, no side to it. No flirty, sugary let me hook you up and reel you in and get you dancing to my tune kind of thing. And that had been worth the whole horrendous conversation.
Audrey
Everyone was talking about it. Jen shrugged, said it was something to do. Better than watching paint dry. I didn’t tell her Leo had asked me. I wasn’t sure if I’d said yes or not. But Lizzy hung over my desk, annoying me.
‘You going tomorrow?’
I shrugged.
‘We’ll look out for you, if you do. See you in the haunted house. Whooooo!’ she wailed in my face, then grinned, like that was funny. I didn’t trust her smile or her shiny hair. She wasn’t a flower; she was a weed. A foxglove.
‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘I’m going with Leo, actually.’ I don’t know what made me say that. Her mouth fell open.
‘God, you’re a bitch, aren’t you?’ Lizzy said, and for a second I felt really mean until her mouth puckered into that tight little O! of disgust I’d learned to watch out for. Not bothered, it didn’t matter, I talked back.
‘I guess I must be, if you say so, since apparently you know everything.’
Jen linked my little finger with her own, shook. This was congratulations. I got back to my chapter – Heathcliff was shouting at Cathy again – hoping Lizzy hadn’t seen my hands shaking as I turned the page, and she walked off with her gang, looking over their shoulders, not ready to give up yet.
The next afternoon when we got back to the flat there was a note pinned to the door. My name was on the envelope, written in black ink, in flowing writing. I snatched it, tore it. Gobbled the words: Just in case you forgot. Fair tonight. I’ll be the one in the armour. Love Leo.
Love Leo. Boys did not write messages to me like that. That was the kind of thing that happened in one of Mum’s soppy magazines, not real life. Nobody had ever asked me, me in particular, to go somewhere or be somewhere, as if I were important. As if my presence would make a difference. I hadn’t known I was waiting to be chosen. And the fact that it was Leo who’d seen something he wanted. I swallowed and looked at Peter, who squinted his eyes.
