Kiss (14 page)

IT LOOKED AS
if Paul was now part of us, like it or not. When Carl and I were walking home together he turned to me and said, ‘So, what do you think of Paul?’

I shrugged. ‘He’s OK.’

Carl looked crestfallen. ‘Only
OK
?’ he said. ‘What’s the matter? Why don’t you like him?’

‘I do like him. Sort of. It’s just he’s so …’ I searched for the correct word. Dull? Ordinary? Boring? I settled for ‘boyish’.

‘Well. He’s a boy. What else would he be?’ said Carl.

‘Yes, but he mucks around so. He’s a bit manic, don’t you think? What was all that hot-dog stuff about?’

‘Oh, Sylvie, that’s just his wacky sense of humour. He’s always larking around. Even in
mid-run on the football pitch he’ll suddenly start capering about like a loony and Mr Grisby, the sports teacher, screams at him but then Paul whacks out a foot, kicks the ball and scores a goal.’ Carl tried to demonstrate, looking ridiculous.

‘You’re not getting into football too, are you?’ I said.

‘No, of course not. I’m hopeless at it, you know I am. But it’s good fun watching Paul. He’s brilliant, he really is. The school want him to try out for the boys’ team of one of the big football clubs. He’s the best at football in our whole school and yet he’s not a bit big-headed about it.’

‘Fancy you being friends with a football jock,’ I said.

‘Well, why shouldn’t we be friends?’ said Carl. ‘And he isn’t a football jock. He’s clever – he’s in the top set in nearly all subjects. He reads a lot. He’s into Fantasy. He’s lent me a couple of his favourites. There’s one that’s a bit like Glassworld. I’ll let you read it if you like.’

‘I’d sooner make up
our
Glassworld.’

‘Paul’s quite good at writing too. He does this cartoon thing in the school magazine. We’re thinking of doing a whole picture strip together.’

Carl went on burbling about Paul all the way home. It was almost as bad as having Paul physically with us. I wondered if he was taking Miranda all the way home or leaving her at the bus stop. I wondered what would happen when they said goodbye.

‘Do you think they’ll kiss?’ I said.

Carl stopped. ‘What?’

‘Miranda and Paul.’

‘No. Maybe.
I
don’t know. Why, do you think he really liked her then? I thought she went totally over the top, all that waggling her bum about. I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed for her – she’s so
obvious
. She can be fun, I suppose, but I don’t really know what you see in her, Sylvie.’

I was infuriated. Carl felt free to criticize my friends. He was rude about Miranda and totally cruel about poor Lucy, yet he didn’t seem to like me being even mildly critical about Paul.

‘Still, it’s good we’ve got another girl. Threesomes can be a bit awkward,’ said Carl. ‘And it’s a seriously cool idea going to see the Chihuly glass at Kew.’

‘Can’t we go on our own?’ I asked.

‘Well, it was Miranda’s idea. And I’ve asked Paul now and he said he wanted to come.’

‘What about me?’ I said. ‘You didn’t ask me.’

‘Oh, Syl, I didn’t have to ask you. I knew you’d want to come,’ said Carl, putting his arm round me. ‘Come on, stop being Sulky Sylvie.’

He so rarely put his arm round me nowadays that I couldn’t possibly stay stand-offish. I snuggled up as close as I could. He was wearing his denim jacket and the round metal buttons dug in painfully but I didn’t care if they became permanently embedded in my flesh. We turned the corner into our street. I wished the road would stretch from here to China so we could
carry on walking for ever, Carl’s arm warm and protective round my shoulders.

When we got to our gates Carl stopped, looking me straight in the eyes, still holding me. I thought this was the moment at last. Our moment. Carl’s lovely mouth puckered into a kissing shape. I started trembling. But then he just blew me a kiss, turning it into an affectionate joke.

‘Night, Syl,’ he said, and went indoors.

I went into my house, feeling so churned up. I wanted to go straight to my bedroom to brood in private but I bumped into Miss Miles shuffling in her slippers to
her
bed, cup of herbal tea in one hand, book in the other. She asked where I’d been, and when I said bowling she became surprisingly interested and said it was something she’d been considering taking up herself. This was such a totally bizarre idea I was struck dumb. It wasn’t until she asked me if it was compulsory to wear all white that I realized she meant that bowling-green game for old codgers. I couldn’t help snorting with laughter.

‘Someone sounds happy,’ Mum called from the living room. ‘Come and have a chat, Sylvie. Did you have a good time, darling? Tell me all about it.’

Her computer was still on and it gave a little
ting
to show she had a message. Mum kept her eyes dutifully on me, not even glancing at it. I squinted at the screen suspiciously, hating the
thought of some creepy guy sending lewd lovey-dovey messages to my mum.

‘Hey, you’re not meant to peer at my messages,’ said Mum, pink and beaming. ‘Gerry phoned me up tonight too. That was a huge relief, because I’d been a little bit bothered he’d have speech difficulties because of his stroke and I was scared I wouldn’t be able to understand him. Thank goodness he speaks absolutely normally. He’s got a lovely voice, actually, really warm and friendly. He’s still very keen on us going swimming on Sunday.’

‘Do you want to borrow my costume?’

‘I’d never squeeze into it! No, I’ve treated myself to a new one.’ Mum went and rifled in a plastic bag. ‘Look, what do you think?’

It was scarlet with little white roses.

‘It was so hard finding anything
decent
. I like the shape of this one but they only had it in red and it’s ever so bright. Do you think it’s
too
bright?’

I did my best to reassure her. Then she asked me all sorts of stuff about Carl and Miranda and Paul. She went on and on about Paul.

‘What’s he like? Is he good looking? What sort of clothes does he wear? Is he a
nice
boy? Did you have fun together?’

‘We
weren’t
together, Mum. It was him and Miranda, Carl and me,’ I insisted.

‘I know you’re totally Carl’s girl, darling, but maybe … maybe it would be good to start seeing other boys.’

‘No thanks. I don’t want to. Come on, Mum, you know I just want Carl.’

Mum sighed. ‘Yes, I do know, but … Oh well. Whatever. I’m sure things will work out. I just want you to be happy, darling.’

When I got into my room at last my mobile rang. I hoped it would be Carl, but it was Miranda.

‘Well, I think our little friend Paul belongs in an aquarium,’ she said. ‘Talk about an octopus! I let him have this little weeny snog when we were saying goodbye and it was suddenly hand up here, hand down there, hands all over the place. Is Carl like that, Sylvie?’

‘Um. No. No, he’s not a bit like that,’ I said. ‘So, do you like Paul, Miranda?’

‘Mmm. Well. He’s OK. Ish. I’d sooner have Carl though.’

‘Well, he’s taken,’ I said.

‘I know, I know.’

‘Don’t sound so disappointed! Miranda, this outing to Kew, do you think it’s really going to work? I mean, maybe we could go bowling again? Or we could go for a pizza together? It’s just that Kew’s such a weird place for us, especially with Paul tagging along too.’

‘Oh, Paul will like it all right. He’ll be grabbing hold of me and whisking me behind the potted palms at every opportunity,’ said Miranda, giggling. ‘Oh well. It might be fun.’

It didn’t look as if there was any way I could talk her out of it. Kew was
our
place, Carl and
me. Jules had taken us there and we’d had a picnic under a willow tree and then we’d wandered in and out of the glasshouses. Carl and I climbed the rickety steps all the way up to the balcony under the roof. We peered down at all the palms while trapped birds flew in and out of the branches as if we were truly in the jungle. We’d introduced a glasshouse into Glassworld, a gigantic crystal palace where albatrosses soared overhead, casting shadows with their great white wings, and enormous red roses and white lilies and pink orchids bloomed in the artificial warmth while snowflakes patterned the outside of the glasshouse like lace.

Why hadn’t
I
known about this special glass exhibition? Why did Miranda have to push in everywhere and take control? I wondered if I was sick of Miranda. But when she phoned on Saturday and asked if I wanted to come round I was pleased.

‘Come right now! I’m soooo bored,’ she said. ‘Bring Carl too.’

‘I can’t. He’s watching the Boy with the Golden Boots play flipping football,’ I said.

Miranda chuckled. ‘Just so long as
I
don’t have to go and watch him. I find football the most tedious game on this planet. OK then, Sylvie,
you
come. Don’t be long, will you?’

‘OK, I’m coming now,’ I said, though I wasn’t sure how I was going to get there.

Mum was out, taking Miss Miles to visit her mother in some nursing home in Worthing. Miss
Miles seemed ancient enough to me. It seemed bizarre that there was an even older, wrinklier version propped up in a bathchair somewhere. I decided I was never ever going to get really old.

I wondered about nipping next door and asking Jules if she could possibly drive me to Miranda’s. It seemed an awful cheek but she was almost like an aunty to me. I hurriedly changed into my best jeans and a T-shirt and an embroidered ethnic waistcoat thing that Mum used to wear way back before I was born. I hoped it might make me look vintage and funky. I suspected I just looked like I was dressing up in my mum’s old clothes but I didn’t have time to try out another look.

I grabbed my keys and ran next door. Jake answered, eventually, wearing a sweater over his pyjamas, his hair sticking straight up.

‘Hi, Jake,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got you
up
, have I? It’s two o’clock!’

‘Heavy night last night,’ he said, scratching his head and yawning. ‘We were rehearsing, working on my new number.’

Jake’s part of this silly schoolboy band, playing the lead guitar. He talks like he’s part of a mega-band playing to millions.

‘Did it go well?’ I said politely, as if I cared.

‘Yeah, it did actually.’ He paused, playing air-guitar. ‘But we need to try it out on an audience. You should come, actually, Sylvie. Bring some friends.’

‘Like … Miranda?’ I said, guessing his game.

‘Yeah, whoever,’ he said.

‘Well, maybe,’ I said. ‘Look, Jake, is your mum in?’

‘Mum? No, I think she’s gone up to town to see some art exhibition. Dad too. And Boy Wonder’s watching football.’

‘I know. Oh. I was rather hoping to beg a lift to Miranda’s from your mum.’

‘
I
’d give you a lift. If I could drive. You can hitch a lift on the handlebars of my bike if you like.’

‘Oh, ha ha.’

‘I’m serious. You’re only a little titch.’

I winced at the nickname.

‘I suppose I’ll have to walk it,’ I said, and waved goodbye.

It was a very
long
walk – all the way across town – to Miranda’s house. I’d put on my boots with heels. I realized this was a serious mistake by the time I’d got to the end of the road but I didn’t want to waste any more time going home and changing. I staggered on, and then ran for a bus. Big mistake. I’d come out without any money whatsoever so I had to get off again and carry on walking. I thought I’d take a short cut down the back streets but I got a bit lost. It was about half past three when I
eventually
rang the doorbell of the white house.

No one answered. I wondered if Miranda had gone off somewhere without me. I rang the bell again and again and then turned and
started limping dejectedly back to the gate.

I heard the door open behind me.

‘Dear God, you took your time,’ said Miranda. She was wearing black but seemed oddly speckled with white.

‘Fairy dust?’ I said, touching it.

‘Hey, you’re making it worse,’ said Miranda irritably, slapping my hand away. ‘What took you so
long
?’

‘I’m sorry. I got a bit lost. I hadn’t realized it was so far,’ I started, but she wasn’t interested.

‘Come
in
, then,’ she said. ‘We’re in the kitchen. We’re cooking. You have a lot of catching up to do.’

She’d called Alice when I’d failed to materialize within ten minutes. Miranda had made Alice a smoothie in her mum’s special blender, and that had suddenly given them the idea of making cakes. They’d never made cakes before but that didn’t deter them. They had flour and eggs and sugar and butter and jam spread all over the long kitchen table, with bowls and cups and spoons scattered all around.

Alice was listlessly beating a gloopy mixture in a bowl, her hair tied up in a topknot. Her face was as pale as the flour. She smiled at me wanly. It seemed obvious that she wished she had Miranda all to herself. They carried on making their cakes, chatting together, occasionally asking me to pass them more flour or milk as if I was their little scullery maid. I had half a mind to walk straight out, all the way home again.

Miranda flicked a little flour at me. ‘Don’t look sulky, Sylvie. I expect you’ve still got time to make a cake yourself if you get a mad move on. Although you seem in total
sloth
mode today.’

‘I practically
ran
here, Miranda,’ I said, flicking her back.

‘Well, no one but a madman would
walk
all that way. Why didn’t you get a lift?’ said Miranda, flicking again.

‘I tried, but my mum’s out and so is Carl’s. Look,
stop
it, I don’t want to get covered in flour.’

‘Why on earth didn’t you get a cab?’

I very nearly grabbed the big bag of flour and tipped it right over her head. ‘Because I don’t have any money as I’m not a spoiled little rich girl like you!’

‘Look, you two, don’t get into a fight, for God’s sake,’ said Alice. ‘And stop messing around with that flour.
I
need it. Look, my eggs have gone all funny. Do you think they’ve curdled?’

‘They’re coming out in sympathy with Sylvie,’ said Miranda. She suddenly put her floury arms round me and gave me a big hug. ‘Hey, sorry sorry sorry sorry! OK? Now, grab a bowl and get cracking, Sylvie. Do you know how to bake a cake?’