by Louisa Reid
‘Cool.’ He unsheathed the black disc, holding it at the edges, balanced between fingertips. ‘These records belonged to Sue’s husband. She lets me play them. Thinks maybe he’ll hear, wherever he is.’
‘Why? What happened to him?’
‘He disappeared; just walked out over the fields one day and never came back. Sue reckons he stepped in the sinking sand, you know, a few miles down, along the embankment. It was early; no one would have been around or seen it happen, heard him call.’
‘Sinking sand? You’re kidding?’ I shivered. Imagine it: trying to save yourself, grabbing at handfuls of dissolving earth, mud filling your mouth, your eyes, swallowing you up. My breath quickened; my blood thumped.
‘Yes, sorry. Not a very jolly tale.’ Leo bit his lip; he looked guilty for some reason.
‘No.’ I shook myself. ‘It’s my worst nightmare, that’s all. Drowning, like that. Like anything. Getting buried alive.’ I rubbed my ankle; it was hurting again after the walk, but I stood up, pushing the pain away. ‘Let’s not talk about it.’
He dropped the record on the turntable, pressed a button, the speakers crackled and the music began. ‘Love Me Do’. Shit, that was embarrassing.
‘Pete,’ I called, ‘Peter, come and dance.’
Peter ran in, stuffing in the last of his jam sandwich, Mary chasing behind. I took Peter’s hands, like Dad had once taken mine, and spun him until he was squealing and I was dizzy. When I let go we stumbled into a heap. The next song was slow. Leo picked up the needle and dropped it on the last track.
‘ “Twist and Shout”. You’ll have to get up again now, Audrey. No excuses.’
‘All right. Bet I can twist better than you.’
‘We’ll see.’
Jumping up, John Lennon’s raucous voice egging me on, we stamped and twisted and shouted and roared, competing for who could hold the top notes longest, who could scream hardest. Peter put his hands over his ears and I was laughing and singing at the same time, Leo too. Leo could move. He wasn’t embarrassed; he didn’t care, so nor did I. The dog jumped and barked, up on hind legs now and then; that made me laugh too. When the record ended, the room faded into silence and we stood there, staring at each other, out of breath, still smiling.
‘It’s a long time since I did that,’ Leo said. ‘Why did I forget?’
‘Me too. I think we should do it every day.’
‘For sure.’
‘Not me,’ said Peter, running off again. ‘I’m going outside.’
He belted off, Mary at his side.
‘My choice now.’
Leo picked up the Velvet Underground record I’d been looking at and as the music played more memories flooded back: a little sitting room, Dad lying on a sofa, feet up, smoking a roll-up, flicking through a magazine, the windows open, curtains flying in the breeze, and me, dancing my dolly round the furniture. Leo held out a hand, I took it; he pulled me close and began to waltz. I followed where he led.
‘What is it? Glockenspiel?’ I listened, head on his shoulder.
‘No, celesta; similar sound though,’ he murmured.
‘Wow. I never heard of that before,’ I said, as Lou Reed breathed out the words to ‘Sunday Morning’, Nico singing all weird behind him. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Audrey, I have to warn you – I know a lot of pointless and random information. I apologize in advance.’
We glided across the rug; he tipped me back and pulled me straight, my hair streaming like a sail.
‘It’s not pointless. It’s good.’
Leo shrugged and spun me.
‘Can you play?’ I asked.
Pulling me in, closer, he ignored the question.
‘Course he can, Audrey. He just won’t.’ I jumped; there was Sue, popping her head round the door and smiling. How much had she heard? And seen?
‘Thank you, aunt.’ Leo waved her away.
‘Pleasure, dear,’ she said, disappearing again.
‘Why don’t you play?’ I asked Leo when he pulled me back. His chin rested on my head.
‘Because my mother forced me to play the piano for years when I was a kid. I hated it. I hate it still. It was a form of torture, actually.’ He waggled the fingers of one hand. ‘Surprised I have any hands left. There was hours of it.’
‘My mum never made me do anything like that. I would have liked lessons though; maybe piano. Or the trumpet.’ It must be weird to have a mother who thought you could do stuff – no, believed you could. Expected it.
‘Piano was just the start. The Mandarin Chinese and all the tennis and the fucking violin.’ Bitterness dripped off him. It was the first time his mouth had looked ugly. But it was because it hurt; I got that. The track ended and Leo let me go. He stretched. Then he smiled, walking over to the bookshelves, pacing back. I threw myself on to the sofa, curling up to listen.
‘Sorry, saw her last week. She was just the same.’
‘The same how?’ I caught his eye.
‘She’s spent her life wanting me to be something I’m not. Some hideous little genius kid.’ He laughed, embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid I’m a bit of a disappointment.’
‘No way.’
‘Oh, yes. But don’t worry. I’m perfectly happy with that.’
‘So, is that why you don’t live with them? Because you don’t get on with your mum?’
‘Not exactly. Don’t get on –’ he mulled over the words – ‘that isn’t it really.’ He scanned the room, stared out of the window for a minute, then looked back at me. ‘This sounds awful. Don’t get me wrong, Mum’s actually great – clever and sharp and funny. You’d like her, I think.’ I nodded because I knew how this felt and Leo’s face was anxious, he was trying to find the words, and rubbed his face with his palms. ‘But, I don’t know, when I’m with her it’s like we’re playing this hideous game of ping-pong; she just keeps hitting those little balls as hard and fast as she can and every time I return one she whacks it back, double the speed. Eventually she catches me out. Every time.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘But Sue doesn’t care about exams, or extra-curricular or anything; she just wants me to be happy. It was my dad’s idea for me to live here. After I had this breakdown. I suspect he was embarrassed.’
‘Yeah?’ I pressed my chin into my knees. Leo had had a breakdown. I’d never have thought it; I’d never have guessed. I blinked slowly, letting it sink in before I looked at him. I tried to make my face show what I felt. That it didn’t matter and that I got it. I got him. He sat down next to me.
‘It was a couple of years ago now, Aud. I freaked out, I guess; too much pressure. I couldn’t take it. But, hey –’ he touched my hand briefly – ‘don’t look like that. I’m fine now. Totally sorted.’ I thought he was sad, but then he grinned. I had to smile back. And I felt like telling some secrets of my own.
‘Mum told this new therapist that she can’t cope with me any more and that she wants to send me away, but I don’t believe her.’
‘Why would she say it, then?’
‘I dunno. Maybe she thinks she’ll scare me into being good.’ I shrugged again, and tried to look like it didn’t matter, but it hurt. Mum saying she didn’t want me. I’d hurt her, not helped myself, and she’d had enough.
‘Are you bad?’
I laughed again. It was stupid to laugh.
‘I have no idea. I don’t try to be. I’m just me. Maybe that’s the problem; she just doesn’t like me.’ Coughing up bits of truth here, like pebbles, shiny and hard, spitting them at Leo’s feet like the bottom of the sea was in my lungs. All those secrets. The doors in my mind creaked and swung. I slammed each one shut, dropped my head for a moment, dizzy. I could never tell him everything; he’d hate me if he knew.
‘I don’t know how that could be.’ His voice was soft and sorry and my blood rose, staining my face. I put my palms to my cheeks, hiding.
Leo reached out and put his arm round me.
‘Don’t worry.’
‘I’m not. I’m sorry; I
’m fine.’ I looked up. ‘It’s just sometimes, you know, sometimes I hate her.’
‘What?’
‘Sometimes I hate my mum.’ I swallowed. Even saying it hurt. And it wasn’t true, really, was it? I screwed my fists tight. Leo was about to say something but I stopped him, putting my finger on his lips.
Leo
Make a move, Leo. Come on, this is pathetic, he thought. But it had all got too intense, like some impromptu therapy session. Not that he didn’t want to help Audrey and be there for her, of course he did. What she was going through was horrible. But she didn’t need to hear his mess too; he hadn’t invited her back for that. There had been other reasons. Very different reasons. The problem was she was too easy to talk to – so still and gentle and intent; like every word he said sank deep, like she really gave a damn.
Audrey dropped her finger from his lips, jumped up and headed for the door, grabbing her stuff, saying something about Peter and getting their dinner.
‘No, hang on.’ Leo chased after her, crossing the room before she could disappear. He held her arm, gently though.
‘Don’t go yet, Aud.’
‘I have to,’ she said, turning and smiling.
‘No, wait.’ His arms were round her. It was that easy. He pushed the door shut with his foot. The room dimmed, twilight was creeping in, and in the shadows her eyes looked darker and deeper than ever, like he could drown there. Her hair glowed, moonlight.
‘You can’t go. Not yet,’ Leo said.
‘I can.’ She laughed, twisting a little. He held her, not so tight, nearly letting go.
‘Well, all right, you can. If you want. But I wanted to say –’
‘Yeah?’ she appeared to be teasing him. He caught her eye and produced his best serious look.
‘I really missed you. At half-term. I kept thinking about how I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to call.’ He took a deep breath. For God’s sake, they’d kissed. Now this? It was ridiculous. He should just go for it. ‘Will you give me your number?’
‘Course. Well, the home number. I don’t have a mobile.’
‘Bugger.’
‘Why bugger?’
‘I wanted to text you. All night. Drive you crazy with evidence of my devotion.’
Devotion. That was a big word. That word meant things. So what, Leo, he thought, you mean it, don’t you? You wouldn’t say it if you didn’t mean it.
‘Sure. You’ll have to send a pigeon though,’ Audrey said.
‘Right. It’s a plan.’
‘Cool. So, can I go now?’ She put her head on one side, half smiling. Leo was never sure.
‘No. One more thing.’
The room fell quiet. Their bodies touched, close again, she pulled back, then moved forward, near, her fingers tangling with his. If this were the rest of his life, he’d be happy, he thought. Leo kissed her. That definitely wasn’t enough. He kissed Audrey again, for longer this time, and she kissed back, her hands round his neck, her body very close. He put his hands in her hair and closed his eyes. Eternity was in our lips and eyes, he thought, bliss in our brows bent.
‘Heeeelp! Audrey, Aud, heeelp.’ The hollers broke the spell and Audrey pulled away from him.
‘It’s Pete,’ she said, and Leo followed her out of the house and into the garden, where Peter was waiting, high up in a tree, pretending not to be stuck now they were near. Leo climbed up, swift and sure, helped him to find his footing and climb back down and to pick out a splinter. Then he touched Audrey’s arm one last time before she set out for home.
‘Here, take my jacket,’ he said, ‘you’ll freeze otherwise.’ She nodded and smiled like that was sealing a pact, and off they went: one tall, one small, their figures melting into the dusk. Leo hoped she could hear him calling goodbye and he watched them until they disappeared.
Audrey
‘Where’ve you been?’
Mum was supposed to have been asleep, but the flat was full of choking cigarette smoke and I opened the windows, walking straight past her.
‘Where’ve you been, Aud?’ She followed me, lifted my hair, sniffed at my neck, my skin. I shrugged her off and pulled away. It was Leo I wanted. My mouth felt swollen. I closed my lips tight.
‘At Leo’s,’ Peter piped up. ‘We could have stayed too. But Aud said you’d be doing the tea. I wanted to stay.’
Mum stared at me, her mouth hanging open.
‘What do you think you’re playing at, Aud? I thought I said no more going round there, didn’t I?’ She was so rough, like sandpaper, scratching my skin with her words.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you and Leo. Forget it.’ She had her hands on her hips. Mrs Bossy Boots.
‘Yeah, all right, whatever.’ No way.
I unpacked the shopping and started heating soup. Peter hovered close, like he always did when Mum and I rowed, checking my face, then Mum’s. Mum was just standing there watching us, and I moved stiffly under her stares.
She lit another cigarette – she must have got through a whole pack this afternoon – and then said, all casual, as she took a drag, ‘I know what you’re up to, Aud, and I’m just saying, I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself if I were you. I’m not being funny, but no lad’s going to want to touch you, believe me.’
I pushed my hair out of my face and tried to smile when Peter looked at me, his face all in a worry. My brother tugged my sleeve, and I crouched lower to hear him.
‘I think you’re pretty, Aud,’ he said, and I dropped a kiss on his head.
‘Look at the state of you,’ Mum continued. ‘He’ll be sorry for you, that’s all. And you don’t want sympathy like that.’
Mum’s words were little daggers that scored and stabbed. But Leo had touched me. He’d kissed me. He liked me. The soup began to bubble; I turned down the heat and stuck some bread in the toaster, smiling at Peter and pretending I couldn’t hear her.
‘Are you mad with me,’ Peter whispered, ‘for telling?’
‘No, no. You’re fine. Don’t worry, mate. Here. You stir. Carefully, so it doesn’t slop over and splash you; it’s hot, all right?’
He nodded and took the wooden spoon, standing on tiptoe and biting his lip with concentration, stirring round and round and round, and we pretended Mum wasn’t there.
The next morning Peter and I got up early to cook pancakes. I’d told him he could be head chef after he’d done such a good job with our tea the night before, and I watched him mixing, like I’d taught him, then going too fast and slopping the batter over the sides of the bowl. Mum watched with me and we exchanged a glance, smiling. There was no point in my staying mad at her. For Peter’s sake I had to forget it. Tell her what she wanted to hear, then do my own thing. When Peter was born I was almost eleven and she said I could be his mummy too. What I wanted most was to push the pram, and Mum let me put him in the buggy and push him around as if he were my toy. I was careful though. I fastened the straps round him, made our perambulations slow and gentle. He never fell out, not when I was pushing, not when I was in charge. Peter never had a dad. At least I’d had mine for a little while.
‘Ready!’ called Peter, as I helped him flip the first pancake and catch it before it fell. We clapped and cheered and he put it before Mum as if he were presenting her with the Crown jewels. Slathering it with syrup, she ate slowly, savouring each mouthful, and my own mouth filled with saliva; I wanted to take a bite, just a little, to please Peter and because it smelled so good. She saw me reaching out, raised an eyebrow.
‘Can I, Mum? Just a mouthful?’
‘Audrey.’ There was a warning note in her voice.
‘I’m fine though, Mum. I’m sure it’ll be all right. I could try.’
‘Allergies don’t just disappear, love. The reason you’re fine is because you’ve been steering clear. I know it’s hard, but we can’t be too careful.’ She pointed at me with her right hand, another forkful coming to her mouth with her left. ‘And do you really want to end up like me? Bursting ou
t of your clothes? That’s not going to do your health any good, is it?’
I looked back down at the table, at my fingers spread there, long and thin and empty, but when she’d gone to get a shower Peter passed me a bit of his pancake that he’d saved.
‘Eat it,’ he whispered. ‘Quick – it tastes of sunshine.’ And I crammed the lot in, all at once, chewed it slowly and helped him with the washing up.
Mum checked the mail on our way out of the Grange. I knew what she was looking for – the next appointment card. It had arrived two days ago and I’d found it first, taken it to the moat and stood there and shredded it into tiny pieces, impossible ever to reassemble. It wouldn’t give me much time, but maybe a little more.
‘Nothing. Again.’ Mum riffled through the envelopes she’d snatched from the letter box. The front door was still broken, swinging on its hinges and I shuffled leaves underfoot and waited. It was all junk. Mostly.
‘I mean, where are we, mid-November now? They usually send the cards out straight away. I’ll give them a ring,’ she said, then: ‘What’s this?’
Something fluttered out of her fingers and she snatched it up, staring.
‘Give it here.’ I held out my hand. The paper was a little crushed, but you could still see what it was. A flower. Five petals. Someone had folded paper, old and yellowing, and I made out the words: tiny print, disappearing into the petals, the stem. There were few words left whole: I, and, love, sure, bird, my, at last. Unless I unfolded the paper, smoothed it out flat, I wouldn’t know what they said. The mystery was better.
‘Can I keep it?’
She shrugged and I took it, put it in my pocket, planned to plant it later in my room, like a magic talisman to chase away a bit of the dark.
On Friday evening after school Mum and I worked on the blog again. I kept looking out towards the farm, wondering what was happening there, which record Leo was listening to, which book he was reading, what he and Sue were talking about. So I was watching for him as he ran past. Every night this week he’d stopped in exactly the same spot and waited, ten seconds, then lifted his hand before running on.
