Kiss (25 page)

‘To Carl? Hey, have you found out about this fight?’

‘No,’ I said quickly.

‘Are you
sure
you don’t know something?’ said Miranda. ‘Hey, Sylvie, what are you
doing
in there? Have you got galloping diarrhoea or something?’

‘Shut up! I’ve got my
period
,’ I hissed.

‘Oh. Right. Have you got a tampon then?’

‘No.’

‘’S OK, I’ve got one in my school bag. Half a tick.’ She passed one under the door.

‘I can’t use them,’ I whispered.

‘What? I can’t hear you.’

‘Miranda! Look, I don’t want to announce this to the whole
world
. I don’t use tampons, I can’t get them to work, OK? They’re too big or I’m too little, whatever. Shall I broadcast it on the Tannoy system?’

‘Yes please,’ said Miranda, giggling. ‘Try my tampon. Go on, it’s a special little one.’

She gave me full instructions on how to use them. I prayed no one else was in the toilets. But eventually I triumphed.

‘Yay! I’ve managed it. Oh God, what a palaver!’ I said, coming out of the cubicle and washing my hands.

‘You’re acting like you’ve never had a period before, Little Titch,’ Miranda teased.

‘Well. It is my first time if you must know.’

‘
Really!
I started when I was ten.’

‘Typical. Precocious brat.’

‘That’s me, babe. You come to your Aunty Miranda whenever you need practical advice. What lesson have I got next? I can never remember at this stupid school.’

‘I’ve got PE,’ I said grimly.

‘Poor you. I hate prancing around in those awful baggy school knickers. God, they’re such depressing garments.’

‘Lucy wears two pairs of knickers when she’s got her period,’ I said.

‘Oh, Lucy would. She’ll wear two pairs of knickers the first time she goes out with a boy,’ said Miranda.

We giggled unkindly. I knew I was being mean but it made me feel so much better.

I was still desperately worried about Carl, but I told myself he’d manage somehow. Boys had fights all the time. No one would know
why
.

I WENT ROUND
to see Carl as soon as I got back from school but he wasn’t there.

‘Isn’t it his drama night?’ said Jules. ‘Do you know when
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
is going to be performed?’

‘Oh God, an all-boy
Midsummer Night’s Dream
?’ said Jake. ‘What’s Carl playing? Please tell me it’s not Titania.’ He started running about the kitchen, flicking back imaginary long hair and flouncing non-existent skirts, proclaiming,
‘Begone, proud Oberon. Where are my fairies?
’

‘Do you really think you’re
funny
, Jake?’ I said, and slammed out of their kitchen.

I went and made myself a sandwich at home and sent Carl a text.

R U OK
?
HOW IS PAUL SITUATION
?
C U L
8
R. LOVE S

He didn’t reply. I got a text from Miranda instead.

RAJ JUST TEXTED ME THIS
!!!

SOME YR
9
BOY IS SENDING ROUND IMAGES OF YOU TOPLESS TO ALL HIS GRUBBY LITTLE MATES
–
WITH COMMENTS. SHALL I SUMMON FORTH HIT SQUAD AND EXTERMINATE HIM
?
LOVE R. P.S
.
HE
’
S ALSO STARTING GAY-BASHING YR NICE PAL CARL
.

I rang Miranda immediately.

‘Oh God, Miranda, what’s he
saying
?’

‘I don’t know exactly, something about me and my figure and what he’d like to do. In his dreams, matie! As if I’d let him near me now. Still, it’s kind of
weird
being a telephone pin-up.’

‘No, no—’

‘I
know
you told me not to, but that was kind of like a dare. It was just a bit of fun—’

‘Never mind about you and your silly photo! What’s he saying about
Carl
?’

‘It’s not silly. It’s rather a good photo, actually. I’m not
totally
topless. I’ve got this silky little jacket and my boobs just peep out. I tell you, the
Sun
would pay a fortune for it. Maybe this is the start of a whole new career—’

‘Miranda. Please. Tell me about Carl.’

‘Well, there’s nothing to tell. Raj says they’re just all picking on him, saying he’s gay. I must admit, I have wondered myself, but you’ve always gone on and on about him being your boyfriend, you funny girl.’

‘You wanted him as
your
boyfriend!’

‘Of course, because he’s gorgeous and funny and imaginative – which, come to think of it,
definitely
makes him gay. Still, it’s every girl’s fantasy, isn’t it? You’re the one girl in the world who can make him change his mind.
So
, is he utterly gay, Sylvie, or simply undecided? And why do you think Paul has suddenly grown three heads and is acting so grossly? I mean, I understand if he wants to send a photo of my tits to all his pervy little pals because they
are
pretty spectacular, but I never thought he’d be a creepy fascist fag-hater. They were best friends, for God’s sake.’ Miranda paused. I could
hear
her mind going tick-tick-tick.

‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Did he try it on with Paul?’

I said nothing. I didn’t need to.

‘So that’s why they had the fight! Oh God, Paul’s
pathetic
! Well, I think we’ll cross him off my list. To be honest, he always came a very poor second to Carl.’

‘How was Carl taking it? Did Raj say he seemed very upset? What
exactly
were they saying?’

‘I don’t know. You know how stupid boys can be. Oh dear, everything’s adding up now. Poor Carl. Shall I come round?’

‘No, no! He isn’t at home anyway, he’s out at his drama club.’

‘Paul’s in that too, isn’t he? Oh dear, they’ll be acting out their own little drama. You go round later though, and give Carl a big kiss and hug from me and tell him Paul’s a little shit and
I’m not having any more to do with him, OK?’

I tried sending another text to Carl the moment Miranda got off the phone but he still didn’t reply. I tried phoning him in case he was on his way home but the phone switched straight to his message service. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to tell him that all these people were talking about him, he’d hate it so. In the end I just said, ‘Hi, Carl, it’s me. I’m thinking of you. Phone me as soon as you can. Lots of love.’

Mum was late getting home from the building society. I nibbled at another sandwich. I wondered if I should start getting anything ready for supper. There didn’t seem to be anything promising in the fridge. I found some old cheese, hard as a brick. I rifled through the cupboard to see if we had any macaroni but I couldn’t find any.

I heard Mum’s key in the door. She started talking to someone in the hall. Miss Miles was up in her room with ‘Richard and Judy’ – I could hear the faint buzz of her television.

‘Is that you, Carl?’ I shouted, wondering if he’d come straight round to talk to me.

It wasn’t Carl. It was a total stranger, a tall dark man limping towards me. Oh God oh God oh God.

‘This is Gerry, Sylvie,’ Mum said brightly.

I glared at her but reluctantly held out my hand. Gerry shook it enthusiastically, smiling at me. His hand was damp, as if he was nervous.

‘Why didn’t you tell me Gerry was coming round, Mum?’ I said.

‘I didn’t know! He came to pick me up from work as a surprise,’ said Mum quietly. ‘I thought it would be nice if we all had supper together.’

‘We haven’t got much in,’ I said. ‘I hope you like bread and cheese, Gerry.’

‘No, no, we stopped off at Marks,’ said Mum, lugging carrier bags into the kitchen. ‘Take a look at this!’

Gerry obviously had a large wallet. There was smoked salmon, chicken, salads, rolls, peaches, cherries, white chocolate, fruit juice and wine.

‘Feast time!’ said Mum, happily unpacking.

‘It looks fantastic,’ I said. ‘I hope you both have a lovely supper.’

‘It’s for you too, silly,’ said Mum.

Gerry was giving her a hand, unwrapping all the food carefully to show he was a well-trained new man.

‘No, I’ve said I’m eating next door,’ I said.

‘Sylvie,’ said Mum. She took a deep breath. ‘Eat with us. You’ve eaten round at Jules’s enough recently. Come on, help lay the table.’

‘Well, I’ll just nip next door to explain—’

‘For heaven’s sake!’ said Mum. She rubbed her forehead for a moment. ‘Lay the table, please.’

‘I can lay—’ Gerry started.

‘No, Sylvie can do it. She knows where the plates and knives and forks and everything are kept,’ said Mum.

‘OK. I’ll lay the table. In a minute. I
have
to see if Carl’s back.’

‘When will you learn to stop running after Carl?’ said Mum. ‘Where does it
get
you? Honestly! Stop behaving like a five-year-old, please.’

I laid the table, slamming the plates down and rattling the forks and knives. It was so unfair. She didn’t understand – though there was enough truth in what she’d said to make my eyes sting. It
didn’t
get me anywhere. But I was still Carl’s friend, no matter what. It sounded as if he’d had a terrible day. He
needed
me.

But Mum wasn’t going to let me go. She made me sit down with her and Gerry and we ate the salmon and the chicken and the salads and the rolls and the fruit and the chocolate. Well, Mum and Gerry ate. I just picked at the food, a forkful of chicken, a tiny tomato, a bite of roll. Mum kept looking at me reproachfully, her eyes bright as if she was near tears. I wasn’t picking
deliberately
. I was just so het up and anxious that I could barely swallow.

‘Eat some cherries, Sylvie,’ said Mum, pushing the plate towards me.

‘No thanks.’

‘Well, what about a peach?’

‘No, really.’

Mum looked as if she’d like to ram the pound of cherries and all four peaches down my throat. Gerry tried to make polite conversation, asking
me questions about school and favourite subjects and friends and hobbies. My answers were monosyllabic. He changed gear and chatted about his job and shopping and swimming while I shifted around in my chair, barely nodding. He eventually ground to a halt, exhausted.

There was a long silence. I wondered if I dared ask if I could go next door again.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Gerry?’ said Mum.

‘I’ll make it,’ I said. ‘You two go and sit in the living room. I’ll bring it in.’

Mum hesitated. It was the first move I’d made towards being a good daughter.

‘All right,’ she said.

They took their glasses and what was left of the wine into the living room. I heard Mum murmuring and Gerry saying, ‘No, no, she’s lovely. I expect she’s just shy, that’s all.’

I didn’t want him to defend me in that patronizing way! Why did Mum feel she had to parade me for his approval? He was nothing at all to do with me. I didn’t mind Mum having a boyfriend. She could keep company with an entire football team if she was so inclined. It was fine with me, just so long as I didn’t have to meet any of them.

I got the coffee percolator out and started shoving coffee grounds in. I knew Mum would fuss if I made His Lordship a quick mug of Nescaff. I piled the dishes in the sink, leaving
the water running. Then I cautiously turned the key in the back door and inched it open. I couldn’t risk going out of the front door. Mum would be bound to hear me, no matter how engrossed she was with Gerry, but hopefully she’d not know I was sneaking out the back with all the kitchen noises going on.

I crept furtively down the dark garden, dodging round the old apple tree, stumbling over a little pile of flowerpots, till I got to the hole in the fence. I edged through it into the Johnsons’ garden, jagged wood catching at my school cardigan.

I looked up at Carl’s bedroom. There was no light on, but that didn’t necessarily signify anything. He could well be lying there in the dark.

Then I saw a dim light in the Glass Hut window. I ran across the grass and tapped our Morse code password on the door. I waited.

‘Carl?’ I whispered. ‘Carl, can I come in?’

He didn’t answer me. I stood listening, waiting for a rustle, a sigh, a sob. I could hear a distant dog barking and the faraway strum and wail of Jake playing his guitar in his bedroom.

‘Carl, I’m going to come in,’ I said, and I turned the hut handle.

I opened the door and stepped into the hut. Something crackled under my feet. I stared around, blinking in the light, catching my breath. The five shelves were heaped with shards and fragments, a grotesque kaleidoscope of colour. The little glass animals were all
mutilated. The elephant was minus his trunk, the giraffe’s head missing, the pelican beakless, the rabbit lop-eared, the crocodile without its tail.

The drinking glasses were keeling over drunkenly, the stems snapped off. Two vases rolled on the floor in a jumble of red and blue glass. The ashtrays were chipped, a paperweight smashed, millefiori flowers scattered like confetti. And the Glass Boy, oh the Glass Boy, Carl’s special irreplaceable Glass Boy was smashed into splinters, his beautiful glass face gone, his arms shattered, his legs stumps, one bare glass foot still fixed on his glass plinth, uselessly poised on tiptoe.