She takes my hand and leads me through a door off the hallway and into the living room. She flicks on the lights and opens a large glass cabinet containing at least twenty bottles of different spirits.
‘Vodka OK?’ Alicia asks, peering at the label of one of the fuller bottles.
‘Sure.’
She pours us each a glass of clear liquid. We take a sip in unison. It burns the back of my throat and I have to fight to keep myself from coughing.
‘Let’s take the bottle up with us,’ Alicia says, beckoning for me to follow her out of the room and up the stairs.
It’s not the first time I’ve set foot in Alicia’s bedroom. But this is the first time I’ve done so without her parents milling around downstairs and a strict door open, lights on policy in operation.
Alicia shuts the door and turns on a lamp, casting a soft pink glow across the room. She turns her back and bends to plug her iPod into its dock. Seconds later the room is filled with soft, jazzy music. My head starts to pulse.
‘Ella Fitzgerald,’ she says, smiling and setting down her empty glass.
I nod.
She holds out her arms. Wordlessly, I move towards them. Our lips meet, mine buzzing with alcohol. This is good. Kissing is distracting, safe. Only then Alicia’s foot is hooking round my ankle and leading me towards the bed.
‘I’ve still got my shoes on,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Alicia murmurs, falling on to the bed and taking me with her.
‘But they’re dirty.’
‘I said, don’t worry about it.’
I try to concentrate on the kissing again, cupping her face with my hands and concentrating on how amazing her lips feel against mine, how soft her skin is, her little sighs.
‘Leo,’ she whispers between kisses, ‘have you got … a … you know?’
‘Er, no, I haven’t, sorry,’ I say, my body flooding with relief. ‘I didn’t think …’
‘That’s OK, I’ve got it covered.’
‘Great,’ I lie, the relief exiting my body just as fast as it entered.
We continue to kiss. Alicia’s hands snake under my hoodie and T-shirt, my body tensing up the second they do. And suddenly we’re back in Becky’s cupboard under the stairs. My breath quickens and I feel dizzy and hot as Alicia’s fingers continue to creep upwards. I sit up, panting.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.
‘Nothing. Just thirsty,’ I reply.
She pours me a second glass of vodka. As I take a sip, Alicia wriggles out of her top and jeans so she’s wearing just her matching bra and knickers, pink and satiny, and arranges herself on top of the duvet. I gaze across at her. She looks so sexy and amazing. And all I want to do is touch her, smell her, be with her. But I know I can’t.
I let her pull me down on the bed again. She crawls on top of me so she’s straddling me and at first we’re just kissing but then she’s fiddling with the buttons on my jeans. I push her away and sit up, my heartbeat going wild.
‘Is it your first time? Is that it? Because it’s mine too. We’re in this together,’ Alicia says, kneeling up on the bed. She looks so beautiful I want to cry.
‘It’s not that,’ I say.
‘Then what is it? Because every time I touch you, you go totally weird. You claim you fancy me loads, but every time things get heavy, you push me away.’
‘I do fancy you. Shit, Alicia, I think I might even love you.’
‘And I think I might love you too. So what’s the problem?’
The enormity of what she’s just said makes my head hurt. I love Alicia. Alicia loves me. I should be walking on air right now. But I’m not. Because I know I’m on the edge of wrecking everything.
‘There isn’t a problem,’ I say desperately, ‘I just can’t do this. Not tonight.’
‘But why?’ she pleads. ‘What’s the big secret? We’re boyfriend and girlfriend, you should be able to tell me everything.’
‘Even if it means you’ll end up hating me?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t hate you, Leo.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes, I do.’
I stare at her, beautiful Alicia, her eyes full of fear and hope all mixed up together.
‘Just tell me, Leo. I don’t want us to have secrets.’
My heart feels like it’s going about ten thousand miles per hour.
‘You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for,’ I begin.
‘For God’s sake, Leo, I’m a big girl,’ she interrupts. ‘Whatever it is I can handle it. Just tell me.’
‘Maybe you should get dressed first,’ I say.
Alicia frowns but climbs off the bed and pulls on a turquoise robe with a Chinese dragon embroidered on the back. She ties the belt round her waist and returns to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the duvet. I hesitate before perching on the edge next to her. She shuffles round on her bum so she’s side-on to me.
‘What I’m about to say is going to sound really weird,’ I say, looking straight ahead. ‘So you’ve just got to promise me that you’ll let me get to the end, OK?’
I dare to look at her. Her face is serious, her eyes unsmiling for once.
‘OK?’ I repeat.
She fixes her eyes on mine. ‘I told you, Leo, whatever it is I can handle it.’
I could still make a run for it, but if I do I know I’ll lose her for certain. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny chance she won’t get totally freaked out by what I’m about to say.
I close my eyes. I can hear Alicia breathing next to me and I can tell she’s nervous about what I might be about to say.
‘You know how I’ve been pulling away from you and stuff, when we get, you know, intimate,’ I begin.
Intimate. It seems like such a stupid word all of a sudden. Stiff and formal. It couldn’t communicate how I feel when I’m doing stuff with Alicia in a million years. Alicia reaches across and takes my hand in hers. I have to resist the urge to pull it back into my lap. Instead I try to ignore her thumb gently massaging the palm of my hand as I continue to talk.
‘Well, there’s a reason I’ve been acting that way, pulling away and stuff. And you’ve got to believe me when I say it’s nothing to do with you, OK?’
Alicia squeezes my hand as if to say go on, and I know I can’t put it off any longer. Suddenly I feel dizzy, like if I opened my eyes, Alicia’s bedroom would be spinning at one hundred miles per hour. I take a deep breath.
‘OK, the reason I’ve been acting so weird is because I’m not who you think I am.’
I feel Alicia’s grip on my hand slacken ever so slightly.
I need to say it now, quickly, like ripping off a plaster, before I can change my mind.
‘I wasn’t born Leo,’ I say, my voice growing quieter and quieter, so I’m almost whispering.
Ella Fitzgerald has stopped singing. The room is silent.
‘I was born a girl.’
I keep my eyes closed as Alicia’s hand shoots from mine.
26
The day after the fireworks display in Eden Park, Leo doesn’t eat lunch in the canteen.
‘Are he and Alicia Baker going out then?’ Essie muses as she picks the carrots out of her chicken pie with her fork.
‘How should I know?’ I reply.
‘It certainly looked like it last night,’ she says. ‘They were all over each other.’
‘Like I said, I don’t know,’ I say irritably.
Essie and Felix exchange looks. I pretend not to notice.
That afternoon, when Mum picks Livvy and me up after school and we drive past the bus stop, Leo is nowhere to be seen.
I don’t see Leo the following Monday either.
On Tuesday, I wait in the library until five o’clock but Leo fails to appear for our maths session.
*
During morning break the following day, I spot Alicia Baker with Ruby Webber and Becky Somerville outside the tuck shop.
‘
Alicia?’
She doesn’t hear me at first. I cough and repeat her name, louder this time.
She turns to face me. Her eyes are all bloodshot.
‘Yes?’ she says, looking through me like I’m a ghost.
‘Er, is Leo poorly? I haven’t seen him all week.’
Becky Somerville puts a protective arm round Alicia’s shoulder.
‘No, she hasn’t. And she doesn’t want to either.’
‘Becky, don’t,’ Alicia says quietly.
‘Why? What’s he done?’ I ask, looking from Alicia to Becky.
‘Only gone and broken my best friend’s heart!’ Ruby interjects, shoving an unwrapped Snickers bar into Alicia’s hand.
‘Guys, stop it,’ Alicia says, looking at her feet.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘Like she’s going to tell you! Alicia is too upset to even talk to us about it,’ Ruby says, stroking Alicia’s hair. ‘That’s how heartbroken she is.’
‘But when she is ready to tell us,’ Becky says. ‘Leo Denton is going to wish he’d never been born.’
Alicia closes her eyes.
‘Guys, I said stop,’ she says softly.
‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ Ruby snaps at me. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us.’
She tosses her hair over her shoulder and together she and Becky link arms with Alicia and steer her away from me.
I stare after them. The last time I saw Leo and Alicia together they were snuggled by the bonfire, looking totally loved-up.
This doesn’t make any sense.
After school I head to the admin office where Miss Clay, one of the school secretaries, confirms Leo has not been in school since last Thursday – the day of the fireworks display in Eden Park.
I head to the library, sit down at our usual table and try to complete some of the maths problems we were working on last week, but I can’t concentrate. Without Leo, the numbers twist about on the page, mocking me, and after twenty minutes I give up and go home.
I would ring Leo, but I don’t have his mobile number. I suggested exchanging numbers several times, but he always resisted, making an excuse or changing the subject. I consider asking Alicia whether she has it, but when I see her at school the next day she’s flanked by Becky and Ruby – her unofficial bodyguards.
This is how, on Thursday after school, I find myself boarding the number fourteen bus bound for Cloverdale. Luckily Mum thinks I’m meeting Leo for tutoring, so I’ve got a few hours to kill before she sends out a search party.
The journey takes what seems like for ever, quickly leaving behind the tree-lined streets of Eden Park and heading south for unfamiliar territory. We pass Cloverdale School, its grounds dark and empty. The building itself resembles a fat office block marooned in the centre of a concrete car park. Behind the school, I can just about make out a tangle of trees, the only greenery in sight. When we stop a bunch of Cloverdale kids clamber on to the bus, rattling past me and up the stairs, and I can’t help but feel glad I chose to sit downstairs, near the driver.
A few minutes later a robotic voice announces the next stop is Cloverdale Estate – East Side. I haven’t a clue which side of Cloverdale Leo lives on, so I figure this is as good a place as any to get off and press the bell.
Although at least five other people get off the bus at the same stop as me, they quickly scatter, disappearing down alleyways, or into waiting cars, swallowed up by the estate, and within a minute I am all alone.
Cloverdale is even quieter than I remember it. I glance over each shoulder before taking out my iPhone and waiting for the GPS signal to kick in. I type in the name of Leo’s street – Sycamore Gardens, and begin to walk, following the pulsing blue cursor on the screen. The route takes me past a small parade of shops in the centre of the estate, some of them already shut up for the day, thick metal grilles pulled down over their windows. Others are unoccupied altogether, just empty shells with faded signs and whitewashed windows. The only shop open for customers appears to be a small supermarket at the far end of the parade. Half the window is boarded up, shards of broken glass glinting on the concrete paving slabs like glitter. Outside the shop, a group of boys wearing the Cloverdale School uniform of grey trousers and navy and yellow sweatshirt are mucking about, shouting and throwing crisps at each other. I look down to check my Eden Park blazer is not visible beneath my coat, and slide my iPhone into my pocket. I suddenly regret not postponing my mission until the weekend, when I could have come in the daylight with Phil at my side. Not that he’s a very effective guard dog, plus he gets sick on the bus, but still, it would have surely felt less scary than this.
It’s dusk when I finally enter Sycamore Gardens. I identify Leo’s house immediately by its overgrown garden and broken front gate. I’m relieved to find the living-room lights on, and the faint drone of the television just audible as I tread through the long grass towards the front door. I look for a doorbell. There isn’t one so I rattle the flimsy letterbox and wait. A few seconds later I hear the jangle of keys followed by the turning of the lock. The door eases open a few centimetres, constricted by the safety chain, and a small pale face belonging to a little girl peeks up at me through the gap. She has watery blue eyes and something dark, chocolate maybe, smeared round her mouth.
‘What do you want?’ she demands.
‘Er, is Leo in?’ I ask.
‘Nope.’
‘Tia, who is it?’ a female voice calls.
‘Dunno, someone for Leo,’ the little girl, who I guess is Tia, calls back.
Another few seconds pass before a second face appears above Tia’s, its owner in possession of a very familiar pair of eyes. They appraise me for a moment before the safety chain is released and the door is opened fully, revealing a teenage girl dressed in a leopard print onesie with bleached blonde hair piled on top of her head.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks, folding her arms.
‘I’m looking for Leo?’ I stammer, peering behind her into the living room. I can make out an orange three-piece suite that dominates the small space, and half of a huge TV set. The girl notices me looking and puts her arm on the doorframe to block my view.
‘And you are?’ she asks.
‘Er, David, a mate of Leo’s from school.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘The one he’s been spending all this time with?’
‘I guess so.’
‘I’m his sister, Amber.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, extending my hand. Her arms remain folded and she stares at me, as if to say, are you for real? I drop my hand to my side and pretend to wipe it on my trousers.
‘Leo’s not here, by the way,’ Amber says.
‘He’s not? Oh. Well, do you know where he is?’
‘Down the baths, I think.’
I screw up my face apologetically. ‘Sorry, down the where?’
‘The baths? The old swimming baths. Down the bottom of Renton Road?’
I shake my head.
Amber rolls her eyes again. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘Er, no.’
‘That was a rhetorical question by the way,’ she says.
‘Oh.’
‘Tia!’ she calls.
By now Tia has scampered back into the living room and is engrossed in a noisy episode of Horrible Histories.
‘Yeah,’ Tia calls back.
‘I’m going out for about ten minutes. Don’t open the door to any strangers.’
‘OK!’
Amber grabs a coat from the pile draped over the banister and pulls it on over her onesie.
‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ I say quickly. ‘If you give me the road name I’m sure I could find it on my phone.’
Amber slides her feet into a pair of fluffy pink boots and straightens up.
‘No offence, but a kid like you will get eaten alive around here. I’m surprised you made it this far, to be honest. Nah, best I take you.’
And with that she slams the
front door shut behind us and sets off across Sycamore Gardens, leaving me with no choice but to hurry after her.
Amber walks quickly, her mass of white-blonde hair bouncing up and down on her head.
‘Leo didn’t tell me he had an older sister,’ I say, as I scurry along beside her.
‘Probably because he doesn’t,’ she replies.
‘But you said—’
‘We’re twins.’
‘You are?’ I say in surprise. ‘Leo never said so.’
Amber shrugs.
‘It certainly explains it,’ I continue.
‘Explains what?’ Amber says sharply.
‘Your eyes. They’re identical to Leo’s.’
‘Are they?’ she murmurs, before taking a sharp right and leading us down a narrow alleyway. We come out on a main road.
‘There they are,’ she says, pointing across the road towards a large building surrounded by a tall corrugated iron fence, only its arched roof visible over the top. We cross over. Amber leads me round the perimeter of the fence. Every few metres, large signs declaring, ‘Private Property – Trespassers Will be Prosecuted’ are attached to the fence, pretty much all of them daubed with graffiti.
‘What is this place again?’ I ask, folding my arms across my chest and shivering.
‘The old swimming baths,’ Amber replies. ‘Been here since the Victorian times. They closed down a few years ago.’
‘Why?’
‘Health and safety, I think.’
‘And now it’s just derelict?’
‘Pretty much, yeah. There was talk for a while about turning the place into luxury flats but nothing’s happened so far. They’ve probably finally figured out that anyone with enough money to buy a luxury flat wouldn’t be seen dead living in Cloverdale.’
By the time we get round to the back of the building, away from the glow of street lamps, dusk has melted into actual darkness. Amber takes out her mobile phone and shines it over the fence.
‘Here we go,’ she murmurs, loosening one of the fence panels to reveal a small rectangular hole. She motions for me to crawl through it. I hesitate before dropping to my knees and squeezing through the narrow space. I turn, expecting to see Amber crawling after me, but instead she’s pulling the fence panel back into place.
The Art of Being Normal Page 14