Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1) (21 page)

Ollie looked at me through heavy eyelids. ‘Sweetheart, they’re girls. They are going to talk about you. Even I know that. It doesn’t mean anything. Accept it and move on.’

I leant into him, nudging him with my shoulder. ‘You’re quite wise really, aren’t you, Ols?’

He interlocked his fingers, turned his hands inside out and stretched his arms in front of him. ‘You’ve only just realized?’

My phone vibrated a text alert and I leapt out of my seat to grab my bag, but it was just spam from some hair salon I’d been to once over a year before. Shit. I hated spam texts.

‘Bad news?’ asked Ollie.

I threw the phone back into my bag. ‘No. Just not what I was expecting.’

‘Right … Anyway, I’d better get back to it.’ He slapped his knees and stood up. ‘You’re OK though?’ he said, seriously.

I gave him a hug. ‘I’m fine. Thanks, Ollie.’

He hugged me back. He was kind of broad and solid – really different from Joe’s slenderness. ‘Anytime, flower.’ He went back into his sound booth and closed the door, then tapped on the window and mouthed,
Talk to them!
He accompanied this with
ridiculous sign language culminating in twirly finger to side of head. I laughed and gave him an exaggerated double thumbs-up. He responded with a huge cheesy wink then turned away. Still smiling, I made my way to English, where I apologized to Rich for being a drama queen. Of course, being a boy, he’d almost forgotten it ever happened in the first place. Now all I had to do was sort it out with the girls.

That night, in my room, I phoned Donna. She was the only one I genuinely felt bad about.

‘Hey.’ Her voice was neutral, which was not necessarily a good sign. She did a pretty good line in quiet-but-dangerous.

I knew what I had to say. ‘Donna, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have hung up on you.’

‘You’re right, you shouldn’t …’ She paused, and my stomach clenched, but then she said, ‘But it’s OK. To be honest it was nice to see you standing up for yourself for once.’

I closed my eyes and smiled with relief. ‘Great. Thanks, Don.’

‘But you need to speak to Cass,’ she continued. ‘Leaving her in the lurch like that was low. She was really hurt, Sar.’

Now I wasn’t smiling. In fact her words had flipped some internal switch and all at once I was livid. ‘I
didn’t bloody leave her in the lurch – she practically told me to go!’ I was nearly shouting. ‘And what about
her
hurting
my
feelings by practically refusing to even LOOK at me?’

‘Oh yes. Sorry, Sarah, I forgot. It’s always about you,’ said Donna, her voice like ice.

I was almost crying with frustration. How could someone who was supposed to be my friend get me so wrong? I was still working out how to respond without bursting into tears, when Donna said, ‘I’m going now. Bye.’

I looked at the display on my phone. Call Ended. Just because she’d said goodbye didn’t mean she hadn’t hung up on me. ‘Fuck you, Donna,’ I said out loud. Now what? I wasn’t going to call Cass. She could piss off too, with her hurt feelings. What a pile of horseshit. So I tried Ash.

‘Sarah, I’m on the phone to Donna. Can I call you back?’

Shit.

‘Yep. Speak to you in a bit.’ But I knew she wouldn’t, not after speaking to Donna, so I sent her a text instead.

Really, her only beef with me was that I’d had a row with her best friend. All I could do was hope that Ash’s unconventional attitude to life meant that she’d see that as none of her business. But I wasn’t hopeful. She might eschew shoes and want to sleep with a girl, but underneath it all Ashley was as conventional as the rest of us. Always wanting to be different was basically just following a different kind of rule book IMHO.

I sat at my desk and logged on to my PC while I waited for Ash to get back to me. I hadn’t told anyone, least of all my parents, but I’d been thinking about changing my uni choice. Depending on my grades I was planning to apply to do history of art at respected universities like Manchester and Leeds, but I was seriously considering adding Joe’s uni as well. Joe was in his final year, but he’d told me he was thinking about staying on to do an MA. Everything was perfect when we were together, so it made sense for us to go to the same place, especially now I seemed to be losing all my friends.

My dad would die laughing (after he’d finished ranting) if he knew I was considering applying to do politics, even if it was joined with art history. He was always going on about how astounding it was that an intelligent person like me could be so ignorant of what’s going on in the world, and what
are
they
teaching you at that school of yours. And so on. Blah blah.

But I wasn’t scared of a bit of hard work. If it meant I had to start actually watching the news rather than turning over to the music channels as soon as I heard Big Ben’s bongs, so be it. And, anyway, London was far closer to Brighton than either of my original uni choices. Mum and Dad would be pleased about that, at least. I was pretty hopeful of my chances, too. Joe’s uni didn’t have the same reputation as Manchester or Leeds: I knew they’d want far lower grades. Maybe they’d even give me an unconditional offer. Not that I’d necessarily definitely take them up on it if they did. I was just looking into it.

Which reminded me. I left another voicemail asking Joe to let me know what train he’d be on.

I clicked on Firefox and logged on to my email. Nothing, just some spam promising me ‘an extra 6 inches to make her scream!!!!’ Ash had once replied to one of those emails: ‘Dear Sir/Madam, I am female and therefore not a possessor of a penis. Please refrain from bothering me with your sicko fake product. Best of luck with your future endeavours in the genital-enlargement market. Yours, Ashley (girl).’ We’d thought it was hilarious at the time, but then Ash was bombarded with literally hundreds of similar spam messages, so we didn’t do that again.

As if she knew I was thinking about her, Ashley chose that exact moment to reply to my text. By phoning me. My stomach lurched, but I answered the call straight away, before I had time to chicken out.

‘Hey, Ash, how are you?’ Even to my own ears my voice sounded false: too hammy and bright.

‘Not bad … I heard what happened with Donna.’ It was impossible to tell which way this was going to go. Ash sounded monotone at the best of times.

‘Hmm,’ I mumbled warily.

‘For what it’s worth, I’m kind of with her on this one.’

What a surprise. Not. I said nothing.

‘You have been a bit … single-minded recently,’ she continued. ‘Like, there are more important things in life than chasing a boy, especially one who’s as flaky as Joe.’

‘He’s not that flaky,’ I protested. ‘He’s just busy.’

Ash sighed, her breath crackling in my ear. ‘You’re missing the point, babes. We’re worried about you, and we miss the old you. You’re no fun any more.’

‘Wow. Harsh.’ And then, before I could stop myself, I added, ‘What about Devon?’

‘What about Devon?’ said Ash coldly. Then, before I could answer: ‘Shit, Sarah. I’m grateful for what you did – I’ll never forget it, actually – but it doesn’t give you the right to be a crap friend.’

Did her voice break on those last two words? I swallowed the knot of confusion, anger and hurt that was lodged in my throat.

‘I don’t want to be a crap friend,’ I said, my voice wobbling. ‘I want us to be the way we were.’

‘So do I, babes,’ said Ash. ‘But, until you ditch all this Joe stuff, that’s not going to happen.’

I picked at a thread on my jeans. ‘In that case, I don’t think there’s anything more to say.’

I ended the call and flopped back on my bed, letting my phone clatter to the floor. So that was that. I’d lost my three best friends. The calm way we’d ended it almost made it worse. At least with a blazing row you can blame the heat of the moment. But this moment had no heat. It was chilly, and menacing, like in the middle of a long winter that feels like it’s never going to end.

When I woke up I was in my pyjamas and under the covers. I fervently hoped that I’d done it myself, half asleep, and that my mum hadn’t undressed me. Groggily I leant over the side of the bed and groped for my phone. Using its display as a torch, I swept it around my room. Clothes everywhere. I lay back down again, relieved. No way Mum wouldn’t have folded my clothes after she’d taken them off me. Ugh. Perish the thought. Ash and her mum were
always parading about naked. They never even locked the bathroom door. In fact it didn’t even have a lock, which meant I only ever used the loo if I was really, really desperate. But that wasn’t for me. My naked body was for my eyes only. And Joe’s, of course.

Ashley. Joe. I covered my eyes with the back of my hand. Why did life have to be so complicated? I checked the time: just gone midnight. I needed to hear a friendly voice, and I knew Ollie was always late to bed. I texted him:

And seconds later he rang back.

‘What’s up?’ he said, his voice thick with sleep.

‘Oh shit, sorry, Ollie. I didn’t mean to wake you. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you at school.’

‘’S’all right. I’m awake now. What’s the problem?’

I coughed. ‘Well. Nothing really. I just wanted to talk.’

He paused. ‘D’you know what time it is?’

‘I know. I just thought you might be up … Sorry.’ I closed my eyes. I couldn’t do anything right.

I heard the sound of bedsprings. ‘Look, whatever it is, don’t worry about it. Go to sleep, and in the morning you’ll have, like, a clearer perspective.’

‘Thanks, Ollie, I knew you’d make me feel better.’
I looked at my ceiling stars. One of them had come loose and was hanging precariously.

‘Yeah,’ he said wearily. ‘Look, flower, it’s late …’

I bit my lip. ‘I know. You’re right. I should never have called you. I was taking advantage. I’ll see you at school.’ I thought I heard him start to say something else, but I ended the call.

When I woke up six hours later, my phone was still in my hand.

I spent the next two days in bed. I didn’t want to see anyone – what was the point? – and I couldn’t dredge up any kind of enthusiasm for the French subjunctive, mid-twentieth-century art or even
Jane Eyre
. So I told my parents I had a migraine and settled down to my new life as a social recluse. Ollie called me twice and Rich and Jack both tried once, but I ignored them. Everything that came out of my mouth seemed to be wrong, so it was probably best to keep it shut. Needless to say, not a word from Cass, Donna or Ashley. I texted Joe three times and called him twice, but didn’t leave voicemails. Not a word from him, either.

And then on Friday afternoon, after a day and a half of reaching new levels of hair-greasiness, PJ-wearingness and needing-a-showeryness, I got a text.

I was so monged through lack of activity that I
didn’t even move from my position on the sofa watching … I don’t even remember what – probably something tragic like
Everybody Loves Raymond
– when my phone chirruped. It wasn’t until the next ad break when I hauled my arse into the kitchen to get another bowl of cereal that I saw my phone on the table and remembered the text. Funny how these things happen when you’re least prepared. My pulse quickened when I saw it was from Joe. I smiled. About bloody time. I clicked on the button to open the message.

I think I was beginning to get a pretty good idea of the score, yes. It went something like this: I wait ages for Joe to arrange to meet up; he eventually arranges to meet up; I get excited; he blows me out. It was no way to live, and definitely no way to conduct a relationship. Letting my vaguely whiffy carcass flop into the nearest chair, I read the message again. Was this the response I’d been waiting nearly a week for? A totally lame brush-off?

Suddenly it was like I was looking down on myself from above. I hadn’t showered or changed my clothes in nearly two days. I’d alienated my friends and wasted
forty-eight hours of my life watching shitty telly and feeling sorry for myself, and now Joe – the cause of all this grief – had casually blown me off after nearly a week of radio silence. I’d had enough.

If Joe couldn’t come to me, I’d go to him. If we had any kind of a future together, he needed to sort himself out. Even if I had to make him.

As if I’d been conserving all my energy for this moment, I leapt into action. I showered, put on my favourite outfit – the jeans and big jumper – and dried my hair. I bunged some overnight stuff in a bag, brushed two days’ worth of fur off my teeth, swilled with mouthwash, and I was ready to go.

I sat in front of a Post-It for a minute, tapping my pen on my teeth and wondering what to tell my parents, then thought,
Sod it
, and wrote: ‘Gone to London. Will call you later. xxx’. Honesty was the best policy and all that. Anyway, they both had meetings after work. By the time they saw the note, I’d be on the train.

It was nearly dark when I got to the station, and the adrenalin rush had all but disappeared. The whole idea was beginning to seem ridiculous, but I forced myself to buy a ticket. I couldn’t see how else I was going to see Joe. And face to face was the only way I could be sure of pinning him down and making him sort it out.

On the train I found a seat and purposefully opened my book. A couple of girls I vaguely recognized from school – Year Tens I think – walked past. One of them was saying, ‘Can you believe her?’ and the other one shook her head and sucked her teeth. I went scarlet, like an idiot. I don’t know in what reality they could have been talking about me. They didn’t even know me.

I splayed my book page-down across my lap and used the dark window as a mirror to stare at a couple sitting in the seats across the aisle. They weren’t much older than me. She had her legs thrown over his and was resting her head on his shoulder. He murmured something to her and she laughed and reached up to stroke his cheek. She was wearing a ring on her fourth finger. It was a solid band with a diamond – or whatever – kind of embedded in it. It was exactly the sort of ring I’d choose. I thought: what must it be like to be her? To be loved by someone so much that they want everyone to know they’re going to be with you forever? I literally couldn’t imagine. All I knew was that I thought I might hate that woman. It’s not like I was looking to get married – that would be stupid. I just wanted to be wanted.