‘Yeah.’
With a flick of her wrist, yoghurt shoots out of the pot. Max yelps and jumps backwards, but he’s not quick enough and the yoghurt lands squarely on his crotch and drips down his legs. A cheer goes up around the common-room.
‘Oops, sorry about that,’ she says with a grin. ‘Just think of it as a political protest.’
Max backs away, cursing and swearing, dabbing ineffectually at his jeans as all his mates roll about with laughter. Zoe grins at me cheerfully.
‘He had that coming to him. Waste of good yoghurt though.’
She looks so pleased with herself I can’t help grinning back. ‘Um? Remind me? What’s the difference between throwing paint and throwing yoghurt at someone?’
‘Yoghurt tastes better. I waited a long time for that.’
‘Revenge is sweet.’ We smile at each other in satisfaction. But then, stupidly, I can’t resist adding, ‘You’ve got to admit it though, he’s got a point.’
She shakes her head impatiently. ‘That tosser doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just reciting garbage he’s heard other people saying.’
‘These graffiti artists,’ I persist. ‘This guy, JAWS. He’s making a political statement.’
‘Is he? And there’s me thinking he’s just a sad loner with no one to talk to. So he writes up his thoughts for all the world to see instead. But nobody cares …’
‘I care!’ I say, but she rants on regardless.
‘… plus, he’s not quite brave enough to use his own name.’
‘Rubbish!’ I spring automatically to Jem’s defence. ‘He’s amazing! He’s anti-authority. He’s fighting against the establishment … against consumerism. He cares about people … about society. He’s a rebel. An urban terrorist.’
‘Yeah? So why doesn’t he come right out and say who he is then? Put his money where his mouth is. Osama Bin Laden – we all know his name, don’t we?’
I could scream with frustration. Zoe is so hard to beat in an argument.
‘Because he’s not an egotist, that’s the point. He doesn’t want to be in the limelight. It’s what he believes in that’s important, not notoriety.’
Where did I pluck that word from? I’m pleased with it though because it shuts Zoe up at last. Then I realize she is staring at me, wide-eyed.
‘You seem to know a lot about him.’
‘So?’ My heart starts to beat rapidly. Me and my big mouth. We’d be in big trouble, if anyone found out. ‘You can’t help knowing about him. He’s everywhere. He’s on my dad’s flat, my dad’s office.’
‘I know.’ Her eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘Why would you stick up for someone who scrawls stuff about your dad?’
‘Because it’s true,’ I say bitterly. ‘Lawyers do earn too much, everyone knows that. My dad’s got money coming out of his ears. He’s taking The Bitch to New York, Christmas shopping.’
She looks at me, her face blank.
‘Anyway, it’s not personal,’ I backtrack. ‘This guy doesn’t know my dad. He just hates lawyers in general. I guess.’
Still she says nothing.
‘I don’t know!’ I say wildly. ‘I don’t know the first thing about him, I’m just … speculating! I don’t even know if it is a him, come to that. It could be a her. It could be more than one person. It could be anybody!’
Zoe’s eyes look as if they’re about to pop out of her head.
‘Now,’ she says, ‘you are really freaking me out!’
On the whole he was pleased with the way things were going. Couldn’t afford to get complacent though.
You never knew where you were with women.
But he knew how to handle them.
They were putty in his hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Mum and Livi think the sun shines out of Jem. It’s quite the norm for me to come home from college to find Jem laid out on the sofa, drinking coffee and chatting away to one or the other. I swear he talks more to them than he does to me! Livi hangs on to his every word and sometimes I think Mum’s just as bad.
Our house has become his second home. Let’s face it, it’s much nicer than his first home, the manky staff hotel room he shares with two other guys.
But that’s not technically his first home, is it? When he’s in London he lives in a bedsit. I think. Though even that’s not his real home.
Actually, where does he go when it’s not term-time? Why don’t I know that?
Not for the first time it strikes me how little I actually know about Jem. When we’d talked, that first night on the boat, he’d poured his heart out to me and I’d thought how open and honest he was.
He told me he’d been hurt in the past and that’s why he’d backed off. He was scared to commit again – and I couldn’t blame him. A whole catalogue of women had let him down, starting with his mum and ending with his last girlfriend, who’d gone off with some older guy.
But it was no good. He couldn’t stop thinking about me.
I was so flattered.
But since then, I really haven’t found out that much more about his background. He’s a dark horse, my boyfriend.
Where are you from, Jem? I wonder. Who are you? Where do you call home? So I ask him and he looks surprised, then he does that annoying thing of tapping his nose and winking at me. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he says.
‘Yes. I would, actually.’
‘All in good time,’ he says infuriatingly. So I tickle him and he’s roaring laughing, but he still won’t give. ‘I’m your mystery man,’ he says. ‘It’s part of my charm.’
‘I’ll find out!’ I warn him but he just laughs.
Then he kisses me and I don’t care any more.
On the evenings Jem’s not at work, he eats with us now. He always thanks Mum politely for his meal.
‘What a nice boy!’ I hear her sighing to herself as we go up to my bedroom after dinner one night. I smile to myself. He’s got her wound round his little finger – she’s already planning what she’s going to feed him tomorrow night. Actually, if you think about it, he’s probably the first person in a long while who hasn’t taken Mum for granted. He thinks she’s ace and the feeling is mutual.
Upstairs, Jem waxes lyrical about my mum’s cooking, I tease him about it.
‘I’m starting to think you’re in love with my mother, you go on about her so much.’
His face breaks into a smile. ‘Oh no, you’ve discovered my secret! Say what you like about your father, he does have impeccable taste in women.’
‘He went off with The Bitch, let me remind you!’ I explode and dive on him. We are rolling over and over on the floor, playfighting, and then we are kissing, touching …
And the door opens and Livi walks in.
‘Oops! Sorry!’ she says and backs out quickly. Jem groans with frustration and I sit up and pull my top back down.
‘This is doing my head in!’ I say through clenched teeth. ‘We are never on our own in this place.’
‘We need to find somewhere we can be alone together.’
Downstairs the phone rings. I can hear Mum answering it and then she calls up the stairs, her voice sounding a bit strange. ‘Anna? Olivia? Someone wants a word with you!’
‘Who?’ I yell down but she doesn’t answer. I disentangle myself from Jem, who is still lying on the floor, and go downstairs.
When I come back up, I’m in an even worse mood.
‘What’s up?’ asks Jem.
‘Guess who it was? The Bitch!’
He sits up. ‘What did she want?’
‘They’re off to New York tomorrow, shopping. She wanted to know what we wanted from them for Christmas.’
‘Kind of her.’
‘Cow! I don’t want anything from her. She’s just rubbing it in. I feel like going down there now and writing all over her wall: Jude is an evil bitch. I don’t think she got the message last time.’
‘Can do. Just wait till they’re safely tucked up in bed. Better still,
wait till tomorrow when they’re in mid-air over the Atlantic and you can write what you like. How long are they going for?’
‘I dunno. Three nights, maybe four.’
‘Plenty of time.’ His face takes on a dark, brooding quality that I’ve seen so many times before when he’s deep in thought. He knows how much I hurt inside. Then all of a sudden his expression changes, like a light has switched on inside his head.
‘What is it?’
‘Problem solved!’ He throws his arms around me, squeezing me so tight I can hardly breathe. ‘Don’t you see?’
‘See what?’
‘We’ve found our place to be alone!’
‘You don’t mean … ?’
‘Your dad’s flat. It’s perfect! It’s going to be empty and you’ve got a key!’
‘I dunno …’
‘Anna, come on! It’s not like we’re breaking in or anything.’ Jem’s eyes are shining with excitement. ‘We’re just taking over an unoccupied building for a while. Squatters’ rights. It’s perfectly legal.’
‘Four days on our own.’ It is so tempting.
‘And four nights!’ His eyes soften and he picks up my hand and kisses it. ‘Anna, I can’t believe it, it’s the answer to our prayers. We can be together all night long.’
‘Jem, I can’t … Mum will be asking questions if I disappear for that long …’
‘Don’t worry.’ He kisses me – a long, unhurried kiss. ‘We’ll work something out.’ His lips move down to my throat. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’
Almost where he wanted to be.
Not with who he wanted to be with.
But he was getting there.
One step at a time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The next day at college I can hardly contain my excitement. I’m going to meet Jem after work and, if we feel like it, we’re going out tagging. Then it’s back to Dad’s.
I’m elated, but scared.
In my free period I go down to the library to try to get some work done. I’m so behind it’s difficult to know where to start. I need to revise for a test in Sociology but I’m missing half the notes. I bow my head and read over what I’ve got, trying to fight down a rising feeling of panic. I’m never going to pass.
‘Hi.’
I look up. Zoe’s standing in front of me.
‘Hi.’
There’s an awkward silence. We’ve hardly spoken since the incident in the common-room. she’s a bright girl, Zoe. I was afraid she’d found us out but she’d never mentioned it.
‘What you up to?’
‘Revising. We’ve got a test next lesson, haven’t we?’
She nods, eyeing my thin file dubiously. I close it with a thump. ‘There’s no point, I’ve missed too much.’
‘Borrow mine,’ she says and she hands me her file. ‘I’m up to date.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile at her gratefully. ‘You’re a life-saver.’ She smiles back.
‘Look,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you come round to mine tonight after college?’
I hesitate.
‘Sorry. Silly me. You’re busy,’ she says, her voice clipped, and turns away. I don’t want her to go.
‘No, wait!’ I’m trying to work it all out in my head. Jem’s going to work straight through today, he won’t be waiting for me at home. I could do it. I could go home with Zoe then nip back to mine to change and pick up my stuff and meet him as planned after work. I come to a decision.
‘That would be great, Zo, I’d love to.’
Her face lights up in surprise. ‘Brilliant! We can go out if you want? Or get takeaway? Whatever you want.’
‘Fine. I just need to phone to say what I’m doing.’
‘Jem?’ Her smile turns into a scowl. ‘He’ll talk you out of it.’
‘No he won’t! Anyway, it’s my mum I have to ring, not him.
She has the grace to look embarrassed. ‘Sorry. It’ll be great to catch up. It’s been ages.’
Damn right it has. Too late I remember I’ve been deliberately keeping my distance from Zoe since the newspaper incident. But it looks as if she’s forgotten all about it.
‘Better get on with my work,’ I say, indicating the file. ‘Thanks for the notes.’
I start working my way through them but it’s like wading through treacle. I’ve missed too much. I’ll never catch up.
My tutor thinks so too. At the end of the test he flicks through the meagre pages I hand in, his lips pursed.
‘Maybe you should consider dropping Sociology, Anna, and concentrate on your other subjects,’ he says, in front of everyone. My cheeks flame as the others exchange startled glances. Hypocrite! His voice is full of oily concern but all he cares about is his exam results.
The day goes from bad to worse. In English, where I thought I’d been more or less keeping up, Mrs Hopkins, my favourite teacher and my personal tutor, tells me my latest essay is not up to its usual standard. In French I get into trouble for not handing in my work. When I walk into the Art room, my Art teacher pretends to do a double-take. ‘How nice to see you, Miss Williams! We’d thought you’d left the country. Blah, blah, blah-de-blah …’ I walk straight back out again. I can’t take much more of this.
I’d have gone home, only I’d promised Zoe I’d wait for her, so I hang around in reception. Wrong move. Mrs Hopkins comes past and stops when she sees me.
‘Everything all right, Anna?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good. Only, I’ve just had a word with Mr Hall. He tells me he’s advised you to drop Sociology.’
Blimey, he didn’t waste much time! ‘Yes. It’s probably a good idea.’
‘Is anything wrong, dear? The thing is, Madame Cassian says that you’re struggling with French too.’
‘No. I’ve just fallen behind a bit, that’s all.’
Her kind, round face is full of concern. ‘You’re such a talented girl, but A levels are hard work. I have to admit even in English, I’ve noticed that your heart isn’t in it any more.’
She looks so sad, I deny it fiercely. ‘I love English! It’s just that I’ve got a lot on at the moment …’
‘Would you like to talk about it? I’m sure we could find some way to help you organize your time better …’
I wish. My phone rings. It’s Jem. ‘Not now. I can’t …’
She pats me lightly on the arm. ‘Come and see me tomorrow, morning break. We’ll have a chat. See if I can help.’
I nod blindly, her kindness making me want to cry, and watch her back view waddling away down the corridor.
‘How you doing?’ says Jem’s voice.
‘Terrible,’ I say flatly. ‘I’m in trouble with everyone. English, French, Sociology, Art. The lot. I might as well give up now.’
There’s silence on the other end. Then he says, ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.’
‘What?’ I wasn’t expecting that. I was hoping for a bit of encouragement.
‘Pack it in. Who needs a degree anyway? All you’ll get is a headache, a massive debt and no job at the end of it.’
‘But I thought you wanted me to come to London with you?’ I say in surprise.
‘I do. Of course I do. But you don’t have to go to uni to do that. Get a job. Live off the state. University isn’t the only option.’
I swallow. It was for me. It was my dream.
Was.
I watch my dream mutate and disappear.
English degree in Newcastle.
English degree in London college.
Art degree in London college
Any sort of degree in any sort of college …
A vision of me telling my father I’d changed my mind again about my future passes before my eyes. ‘It’s OK, Dad, I’ve seen the light. I’m not going to that obscure college of higher education to study Art after all. I’m going to sell The Big Issue on Oxford Street instead.’ My father had very strong views indeed about what he referred to as ‘The Benefit Society’. He would
probably have a heart attack.
‘Look, we’ll talk about it later. Don’t worry about it.’ His voice, calm and even, riles me. He has no idea. ‘Are you on your way home now?’
‘No, I’m going to Zoe’s.’
There’s silence at the end of the phone. ‘I thought we were meeting up?’ His voice is altered now, accusatory.
‘We are! But not till you finish work.’
‘Well make sure you’re not late then.’
My temper flares. ‘Don’t talk to me like that! I’ve had a shit day, Jem. I don’t need this!’
Silence.
And then the phone goes dead.
Spoilt bitch. Always wanting her own way.
He was too nice, that was his trouble. Too nice for his own good.
Maybe it was time to teach her a lesson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It’s good to be at Zoe’s again. She lives in one of those tall, draughty, Victorian terraces and I’d forgotten how much I love spending time here. Tonight we’ve got the house to ourselves. They’ve an open fire and we end up making mountains of toast, blackened and burnt but dripping with butter, and totally delicious. We wash it all down with mugs of strong, sweet tea. Mine comes in the Best Friend mug I’d bought Zoe for her twelfth birthday.
‘Just what I needed,’ I say with satisfaction, placing the empty mug down beside me. ‘Aahh. Can’t believe you’ve still got this old thing.’
‘Of course! I’m still your BFF, aren’t I?’
‘You bet!’ I grin at her. I don’t know what I’d do without Zoe. We’ve been through everything together. School, college, periods; first bras, first dates, first loves. We’d shared our hopes, our dreams, our innermost thoughts. Nobody knew me as well as Zoe.
Until now.
She smiles back at me. ‘You OK, Anna?’
Suddenly I want to tell her. Everything. I want to say I’m worried sick because Jem and I have had a row. I want to say he rang me straight back but I turned my phone off because I need time to think. I want to say that this relationship with Jem, it’s amazing, but it’s running away with me, it’s all going too fast. It’s taking me places I’m not sure I want to go …
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