Kiss (22 page)

‘All right,
don’t
come out,’ she said. ‘See if we care. We’ll go round to Paul’s instead.’

I thought I heard Carl’s intake of breath, but he still said nothing. Miranda sighed heavily, rolling
her eyes. She stamped down the corridor, motioning me to do the same. She stopped at the top of the stairs, her finger on her lips, waiting.

‘What?’ I mouthed at her.

‘I bet he’ll look out in a minute, just to check we’re gone,’ she whispered, as if
she
was the one who’d known Carl ever since he was a small boy.

Jake came out of his room, now dressed in his jeans and baseball boots and his coolest biker T-shirt, obviously intent on impressing Miranda. He took hold of both her hands. Their palms were still red.

‘Great drumming,’ he said. ‘You can play in my band if you want.’

‘Ssh!’

‘Look, if you girls are hoping for a glimpse of the rare Greater Spotted Carl Tit you’ll be here all day.’

‘He’s right, Miranda,’ I said.

‘He’ll have to come out to have a pee sometime,’ said Miranda.

I blushed, hating the way we were talking about Carl, worrying that he could hear us.

‘He’s got a sink in his bedroom,’ said Jake.

‘Oh yuck, that’s revolting,’ said Miranda, laughing, forgetting all about being quiet.

‘Let’s go downstairs,’ I said. I raised my voice. ‘Let’s all give Carl some peace.’

So we went downstairs, out into the garden, where Mick was sitting in a deckchair marking essays. His eyes slid past Jake and me. He stared at Miranda.

‘This is Sylvie’s friend Miranda,’ said Jake.

‘I’m Carl’s friend too,’ she said.

Mick raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you and Sylvie in the same year at school?’ he asked, as if this was astonishing.

‘Yep. I’m the new girl,’ said Miranda. She sat down beside him, picking up his essays and peering at them.

‘Hey, don’t get them out of order,’ he said crossly, but she just laughed.

‘God, these look boring,’ she said.

‘They are,’ said Mick, yawning. ‘And I’ve got twenty more to go.’

‘Are you a school teacher then?’ said Miranda. She was sitting in a consciously kittenish way, hands round her plump knees, boots neatly pointed, head tilted up at him.

‘I teach at the university.’

‘Ah, a lecturer. Cool,’ said Miranda. She was practically batting her eyelashes, chatting him up.

‘In Politics,’ said Jake. ‘
Boring!
’

Mick glared at him. ‘What does your father do, Miranda?’

‘Oh. Telly stuff.’

‘He’s an actor?’

‘No, no, he makes documentaries. My mum’s an actress – well, sort of. It depends what mood she’s in, who she wants to impress. She used to be a model but she’s too old now. She’ll say she’s an actress or a jewellery designer or an artist, but she hasn’t been any of them
properly
, she just plays at it.’

‘No harm in that,’ said Mick. ‘My wife Jules is an artist and you would probably say she plays at it because she’s not recognized or hung in galleries and she doesn’t make any money selling her paintings but she doesn’t think that matters. She teaches art to kids as a day job and then paints for the sheer joy of it.’

I loved it that Mick spoke about Jules so proudly.

‘I paint too,’ said Jake, desperate to impress. He’d always done big sploshy work with paint dribbles and smudges all over. He used to paint dogs and rabbits and horses and big coiled snakes, his fantasy pets, but now he painted great pink women with breasts like watermelons, his fantasy girls.

His painting style couldn’t have been more different to Carl’s careful illustrations in coloured ink, as exquisite as illuminated manuscripts.

‘I hear Carl paints too,’ said Miranda. I sometimes felt she could read my mind. ‘Where does he keep his paintings? In this special Glass Hut? Let’s go and look.’

‘No!’ I said. ‘No, you can’t, Miranda. They’re private.’

‘OK, OK,’ said Miranda, standing up and showing a great deal of her legs in the process. Mick averted his eyes, sighing. Jake stared.

‘I won’t look at a single painting then – but I simply
have
to see the famous glass collection.’

‘No, that’s private too,’ I said.

‘Don’t be silly, Sylvie, it’s just
glass
. And I’ve contributed to his collection, haven’t I? I want to see where he’s put my paperweight.’

‘But it’s Carl’s private place. He doesn’t want anyone to go there, especially without him,’ I said.

‘
You
go there. And he’s taken
Paul
there too. So why can’t
I
go? I won’t touch anything, I just want to look. Where is it?’ She squinted down the bottom of the garden to the yew hedge. ‘Behind the hedge!’ she said. She marched off, bottom waggling beneath her short net skirt.

‘Come back here, Miranda,’ said Mick. He said it quietly, but there was a steely tone to his voice.

She took a few more steps forward defiantly, but then stopped. She turned her head, flipping back her hair, her cheeks flushed. ‘Mm?’ she said, as if she hadn’t quite heard.

‘The Glass Hut is Carl’s. It’s private, as Sylvie says. No one goes there unless Carl expressly invites them. I think you’ll have to wait for your invitation, Miranda.’

Miranda raised her eyebrows but didn’t argue. She nibbled her lip, suddenly looking childish. Then she walked back to Jake and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

‘It looks like I’m settling for a tour of your paintings as I’m denied a glimpse of the famous glass collection,’ she said.

‘Sure,’ said Jake.

She started tugging him towards the house. It didn’t look as if I was included in this
invitation. Then Jake turned, nearly at the house.

‘Aren’t you coming too, Sylvie?’

‘In a minute,’ I mumbled.

I waited until they’d both gone in the back door. Then I looked at Mick. He was gathering his essays, tapping them on his lap, getting them neatly squared up. He caught my eye and went ‘Phew!’ cartoon style, blowing up into his own nostrils.

‘Your friend Miranda makes quite an impact, Sylvie,’ he said.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask you and Jules about her coming to lunch. She just kind of asked herself.’

‘I can well believe that. She’s a bit full-on, isn’t she? I’m not sure our Jake can handle her – although I gather it’s Carl she’s really interested in.’

I shrugged.

‘Well, she’s wasting her time,’ said Mick, and he reached out and gave my shoulder a little pat. Then he paused, his hand resting lightly on my arm. ‘Sylvie, I don’t know what’s going on with Carl. Is he just being a bit of a drama queen, shutting himself away like this, barely talking to anyone? Or is he really unhappy about something serious?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said miserably. ‘He doesn’t seem to want to tell me stuff any more.’

Miranda and I stayed to lunch. Carl didn’t join us. Jules put his meal on a tray.

‘I’ll take it up to him if you like,’ said Miranda.

‘Thank you, dear, but I think Sylvie had better do it,’ said Jules.

I jumped up quickly and took the tray upstairs. I put it down outside Carl’s door. I didn’t knock. I simply put my mouth to the door and said, ‘Here’s your lunch, Carl. I’ve left it just outside. I’m so sorry that we came and banged on your door. I promise we’ll leave you alone now.’

I wanted to add,
I love you
. I mouthed the words, but didn’t dare say them out loud.

Miranda left shortly after lunch. She didn’t like Mick and Jules being firm with her and she got bored of flirting with Jake. I left too. We went back to my house but Miranda was still fidgety and restless.

‘Maybe I’ll phone Paul.’

‘I thought he was going to phone you.’

‘Yes, but you know what boys are like. They
say
they’ll phone but they never do.’

‘Do you want to go out with Paul again?’

‘Yes. Well. Not really, but he’ll do until someone more exciting comes along.’

‘I don’t like him one bit,’ I said. I paused, rehearsing the next words in my head, needing them to come out as casually as possible. ‘Why do you think Carl likes Paul?’

‘Because he’s …’ Miranda waved her hands around for inspiration. ‘He’s a
lad
. He’s good looking and he’s sporty and he likes a laugh.
He’s just got this cheeky fun thing about him. I know you don’t like him, Sylvie, but don’t
you
think he’s pretty fit looking?’

‘He’s nowhere near as good looking as Carl.’

‘Mm. Yes. But Carl’s more your blond choirboy good looking. I think Paul’s more sexy.’

‘Even though he couldn’t do it properly?’

‘Well, most boys are hopeless at it at first.’

‘In your wide experience,’ I said.

‘It’s a whole lot wider than
yours
,’ said Miranda.

She tried dialling Paul. He didn’t answer, so she left a message.

‘Hey, you, it’s Miranda, and it’s three o’clock and I’m bored bored bored. Do you want to get together somewhere? Call me then, asap.’

‘You’re bored bored bored?’ I said.

‘I was just
saying
that as an excuse to ring him, silly,’ she said. ‘Still, I’d better go home, in case he comes round calling for me. Plus the parents might actually be a bit twitchy seeing as I promised to be back by lunch time.’

I felt relieved when she went. I was starting to wish we hadn’t made friends. I didn’t want to be friends with Lucy either. I just wanted Carl for my best friend.

I lay down on my bed. Albert Bear was on my pillow but I flicked him overboard. I reached out for my old teddies on my windowsill and remembered the games Carl and I had first played together when we were little. We were jungle explorers and these tattered nursery-world
creatures, pink teddy, baby blue ted, a Scottie dog with a tartan ribbon and a floppy sheep that looked as if it had been run over – they were our wild animals.

The softest and littlest, baby blue ted, was the most lethal. One bite from him had a devastating effect. We took it in turns to froth at the mouth and fit while the other performed complex medical procedures with a spoon and a pair of plastic scissors and a skipping-rope stethoscope.

My soft animal collection sometimes morphed into our children, Alice Pink, Benjamin Blue, Charlie Scottie, who threw terrible barking tantrums, and Michael Sheep, who was very very stupid but sweet-natured. We must have had our four children out of wedlock because we sometimes played Weddings. I made Alice a bridesmaid’s dress out of a pink silk scarf. Benjamin, Charlie and Michael were pageboys until we got to church, and then Benjamin became a very short vicar, wearing a black glove over a white tissue so that he had a proper clerical collar.

Carl did Benjamin’s voice and asked if I wanted to marry Carl Anthony Johnson. I stood there in my white nightie with a bouquet of dandelions and said,
I do, I do, I do
, promising to love and obey him until death did us part.

I wondered if Carl was still lying on his bed on the other side of the wall. Maybe he was even
remembering the same games, thinking the same thoughts.

My mobile went
ching-ching
. I jumped and pressed the message key, heart leaping, but it was only Mum asking if I was OK and had I had a good lunch at Jules’s. She promised she’d definitely be back by tea time and how did I feel about her bringing Gerry back to meet me?

Oh God. I texted back:
PERHAPS NOT. LOVE S.

I lay back on my pillow and felt so lonely I started to cry a little, tears seeping slowly sideways. Then I fell asleep and dreamed about Carl. We were in Kew Gardens. I was lost again and I was running, running, running, trampling my way through jungle plants, Chihuly glass smashing all around me, and there, just ahead of me, I saw Carl. He was running too, away from me. I couldn’t catch up with him, try as I might. He dodged up the spiral staircase in the glasshouse and I pounded after him, hauling myself up two steps at a time. Then I was at the very top, running along the narrow balcony, gaining on him now. He looked over his shoulder, slipped, lurched backwards, up and over the low rail. I watched, screaming, as he spiralled down and down and down through the great green leaves.

Ching-ching
.

I woke with a start, my throat aching as if I’d really been screaming. I grabbed my mobile, but it was Miranda sending me a text to say she was sending me
Paul’s
text. For the next fifteen
minutes I was forced to read their silly texting banter. I wanted to switch off my phone, but I still hoped Carl
might
text me …

Ching-Ching
.

Not
another
stupid Miranda-and-Paul message! I touched the display button, all set to erase it.

SORRY SORRY SORRY, S. C U IN G H
?
C X

Yes!

I rubbed at my face, ran down the stairs and through the kitchen, giving Miss Miles a quick nod as she made herself a cup of tea. Then I was out the back door, down our garden, through the gap in the fence, until I stood breathless outside the Glass Hut. The light wasn’t on inside. Perhaps I’d got there before Carl? I tapped timidly on the door.

‘Come in,’ Carl whispered from inside. ‘You are on your own, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am,’ I said, slipping inside.

It was so dark I couldn’t see a thing. I felt for the light switch.

‘Don’t,’ said Carl. ‘Let’s stay in the dark.’ He reached out and found my hand. ‘Come and sit with me.’

I sat on the sofa, close beside him.

‘Oh, Sylvie,’ he said, sounding hoarse. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘
I
’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was mad to bring Miranda with me. I couldn’t stop her banging and banging like that. It was so awful.’

‘It was awful
my
side of the door,’ said Carl. ‘I
thought she’d start hacking her way through with an axe any minute. I know it was silly and childish hiding away from everyone but I couldn’t face her. Did she tell you what happened at Kew?’

‘No. Well, just that she went off with Paul.’

‘So maybe he didn’t tell her.’

I swallowed. ‘Tell her what?’