by Cat Clarke
No time for a shower, so I gave my face a quick wash and brushed my teeth. As I trudged downstairs I was trying to figure out the best way to play this. It all depended on her. I was going to have to wing it.
I paused at the kitchen door. And there she was, standing in front of the hob, fish slice in hand. With an apron on! She looked a bizarre parody of a domestic goddess. The whole picture was wrong, and I realized why – she was sort of smiling. Just a little hint of a smile, as she flipped the bacon (as crisp as can be, just the way I like it) onto a plate.
I stood in the doorway, quietly surveying this scene of strangeness. Mum turned to face me, and the sort-of-smile even managed to stay in place. ‘Grace! You’re up at last. Just in time for breakfast. Here, you sit down and I’ll get you some orange juice.’ I did as I was told. Who was this woman and what had she done with my mother? Whoever she was, she poured me a glass of orange juice (freshly squeezed!) before making up the sandwiches. I didn’t speak, for fear of breaking whatever voodoo magic spell was going on.
And then we were sitting opposite each other at the table, eating our sandwiches in silence. The sandwich was perfect.
I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone last night. It was in my bag – I didn’t hear it.’
Mum looked me in the eye. I noticed that for once she wasn’t caked in make-up. She looked better for it – lighter, younger. ‘That’s all right. Did you have a nice time?’
‘Yeah, it was fun … from what I can remember.’
Her smile slipped a little. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much, you know.’ I bristled, but didn’t take the bait. Just munched on my sandwich.
‘Congratulations on your results. I’m … you’re so much brighter than I was at your age.’ She laughed a dainty little laugh. ‘I barely scraped through my O levels. No, you certainly didn’t get your brains from me. That’s your dad’s doing.’
The mention of Dad came as a shock. She NEVER talked about him. And every time I tried to talk about him, she changed the subject. I hated that.
Mum reached across the table and put her hand over mine. ‘He’d have been so proud of you, Grace. You know that, don’t you?’ I nodded. My throat felt suddenly tight. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I would not let myself cry in front of her. And then before I knew it, the moment had passed. It was like Mum suddenly remembered who she was.
‘Anyway … I can’t sit around here all day. There’s so much to do. You have remembered I’m away tonight, haven’t you? I’ll be back Monday – no, maybe Tuesday,’ she babbled, clearly uncomfortable. She started rushing around the kitchen, clearing away dishes and wiping the table.
I got up to leave. ‘Thanks Mum. Breakfast was really nice.’
‘Well, don’t get too used to it. I expect you to be pulling your weight around here a bit more from now on. I don’t see why I should spend all my time running after you …’ and on and on and on and on. Oddly enough, I was sort of comforted by this. Here was the mother I knew and loved. Well … tolerated.
I spent the rest of the day in my room, feeling pretty crap about the way things had gone last night. I was annoyed with myself for getting so drunk in front of Nat. I justified it by deciding that if I was willing to be a drunken fool in front of him, maybe it showed I was feeling a bit more secure in the relationship. Yeah, right.
I called him, but he didn’t pick up. This happened more often than I would have liked, and it was starting to annoy me a little. Still, I left a message which I thought was a nice balance of apology for being a drunken idiot and light-hearted flirtation.
Then I called Sal, which went better than expected. She accepted my apologies for springing Nat on her AND for being a drunken idiot with a minimum amount of grovelling from me. She didn’t seem up for the usual post mortem of the night’s events though. In fact, she seemed pretty distracted. Not distant, exactly, but certainly not engaged in her usual Sal-type way. I suggested another night out with Nat – I was determined that they would get to know each other properly. I got a vague ‘Yeah, maybe’ for my troubles. And she reminded me that Nat was off back to uni in a few weeks so it might not be easy to arrange. Like I needed reminding. Nat and I hadn’t really talked about it. The future is a very scary thing, especially when you can’t believe your luck at how the here-and-now is going.
It wasn’t as if Nat was going to be at the other end of the country or anything extreme like that. A fifty-minute train ride is nothing, if you really think about it. And it would be cool going to see him in his flat. No chance of certain little brothers walking in on us. I saw no reason why anything should change between us. I could see him every weekend, and even during the week sometimes – I could just get the train back early in the morning. No worries. I wished Sal hadn’t mentioned it though. There were still a good few weeks of maximum Nat time for me to enjoy, and I intended to make the most of every second. Since Mum was going away yet again (what’s so great about London anyway?), I had the perfect chance for some quality time with him. It almost made me grateful that Mum was so useless. Almost.
I texted Nat, seeing if he wanted to come over the next day. I’d cook something special (or rather, something vaguely edible) and then we’d spend the rest of the weekend in bed. Nat could call in sick at the pub, and I’d have him all to myself for three whole days. The thought of it sent a shiver of anticipation through my body.
Nat didn’t reply to my text for aaaaages. Mum had already departed in her usual whirlwind panic, leaving nothing behind but a faint cloud of too-sweet perfume and a list of the ready meals she had ever so thoughtfully stocked up on. When it eventually did arrive, Nat’s text was short and to the point – a simple ‘OK, see you then.’ Not quite what I’d been after. Maybe he was annoyed at me for being such an embarrassment last night. Or maybe he was just being a boy. They’re just not all that communicative.
I got an early night and slept for a stupidly long time. Woke up feeling groggy and slow, so I decided to go for a run to kick-start the day. The first twenty minutes or so were hideous. My lungs felt like they would burst, and my legs didn’t seem to want to go on at the pace I was demanding. I felt sure I would collapse in a sweaty heap on the pavement. But of course I didn’t. I did what I always do – I ran through it. I started to relish the pain, to enjoy it even. And then it went away, and I was flying.
All I could think about was him. I loved him, I was sure of it. Nothing had ever felt this right before. Nothing had ever felt even close to right before. Being with Nat was so different to what I was used to, in every single way. I hadn’t cut myself for weeks. Was I changing? Had this glimpse of what a normal relationship could be like actually altered me in some fundamental way? Maybe I could be one of those girls after all, living their shiny happy lives with their loving and supportive boyfriends always there to back them up and make everything right.
Before my default setting of cynicism could raise its ugly head, I stomped all over it with thoughts of Nat and how perfect he was. Of course, I knew full well, even then, that he wasn’t actually perfect. There were tiny, little things that I would maybe change if I had the chance. Sometimes he could be a little too serious. And (a lot) more often than not it seemed like I was the one who made plans for us to spend time together. I was usually the first one to call. And there was the whole not-answering-the-phone thing. But that was OK – everyone has their strengths. I happened to be good at organizing things, and Nat happened to excel at being hot.
Should I tell him that I loved him? Or should I wait for him to say it first? This was all new to me. The nearest I’d ever got was having ‘I’d love to do xxxxxxx (insert whatever pure filth you can think of here) to you’ whispered in my ear. Not exactly Romeo and Juliet material. But this actual, real ‘love’ business was a whole different kettle of fish. It just … seemed like something he might like to know. And then he would say it back and we would kiss and have sex (even though we’d just done it twice) and we would live happily ever after in
a cottage with a thatched roof and we’d have a dog named Boy and no children because children are annoying. The End.
But what if he didn’t say it back to me? What if there was an awkward silence? What if my saying those three little words was the beginning of the end for us?
By the time I threw myself down on the sofa, panting like a dog (named Boy?), I was thoroughly confused. There was only one thing left to do: ask Sal. She’d know what I should do. She was nearly always right. It was something we’d joke about: Sal was right eighty per cent of the time, which meant that I was right a measly twenty per cent. You can’t argue with numbers like those.
Sal answered after what seemed like a million rings. ‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey, you, yourself. What are you up to today?’
‘Not much. Don’t suppose you want to do something tonight? I’m so bored.’
‘Aw, Sal, I’d love to, but I’ve already made plans with Nat … He’s coming over later. Little does he know I’m planning to keep him as my own personal sex slave for the rest of the weekend.’ I laughed, but didn’t hear anything at the other end. ‘Sorry, sweetie, I really would like to hang out with you. Let’s do something early next week?’ I thought for a moment. ‘Or maybe you could come over on Sunday and hang out with us? You two could get to know each other better, and I promise to be less drunk.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know, Grace. I don’t want to be a third wheel or whatever – watching you guys groping each other isn’t exactly my idea of a fun evening.’
‘C’mon, it won’t be like that at all. I promise. Pleeeeeeeeeease. Say you’ll come. For me? Go on, you know you want to …’
‘Doesn’t sound like I have much choice, does it?’
‘Nope. That’s settled then. It’ll be awesome – you’ll see.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Actually … there was something I wanted to talk to you about … I think I might tell him that I love him.’ I breathed out in relief. There. I’ve said it. Silence down the line. ‘Sal? You still there?’
‘I’m still here.’ Her voice was quiet.
‘Well? What do you think? I need you to tell me what to do.’
‘Do you love him? I mean, really.’
‘Yes, I do. Really. He’s … I dunno. He’s just right, y’know?’
More silence from Sal. I wondered what she was thinking. ‘Sal, should I tell him?’
She sighed. ‘It’s up to you. I can’t help you with this one. You know that, right?’
‘But what would you do? You’re good at this stuff.’
‘What stuff? Love? Are you joking? Do you even remember the last couple of months?’
‘I meant you’re good at knowing what’s right, and you know me better than anyone does. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Do you think saying it could ruin everything?’
‘I don’t know. Things get ruined for all sorts of reasons.’
‘Er … thanks for the positivity!’
‘Sorry. You just … you never know what’s going to happen. Look, Grace, I’m going to have to go – that was the doorbell. Good luck with whatever you decide.’
I barely had time to say goodbye and confirm our plans for Sunday before she hung up. Now I was none the wiser about the Nat situation. And confused about Sal. I hadn’t heard the doorbell ring. And they had one of those stupidly loud chiming ones too.
Later, I hopped on a bus to the supermarket to stock up for the weekend. I roamed the aisles, waiting for inspiration to strike. What can I cook for Nat that won’t be a complete disaster? Eventually I decided on steak. Surely I couldn’t fuck that up too badly? And red meat seemed like a proper boy dish. I was baffled by the choice on offer: sirloin, rump, rib-eye, fillet. It was all just meat to me. After much pondering, I went for fillet.
‘I wouldn’t get that if I were you. Rump is better – much tastier.’
I turned around to find myself face to face with Devon.
‘Hi! Um … thanks for the tip.’ I felt uneasy. I don’t like bumping into people in random places. I like seeing people in context: Devon in school, for example. It was weird to see him standing there, a basket swinging awkwardly by his side. I noticed that the basket was empty except for three different types of cheese.
‘No worries. I suppose you’re cooking that for my brother.’ I couldn’t quite read his tone, but I thought he might be mocking me somehow.
‘Yeah, he’s coming over later. I thought that he might like steak. Does he like steak? Or should I cook something else? Maybe chicken? Or lamb? Lamb is good.’ I was babbling like a fool.
Devon smiled. ‘Grace, I’m sure steak will be fine. Here, get these two.’ He reached in front of me, brushing my bare arm with his. His touch made me feel strange. I almost forgot that he was my boyfriend’s loser little brother for a second there. I shivered.
‘Thanks. So … how are you? Do OK in your exams? I saw you at school the other day. Sorry I didn’t come over and say hi.’
He looked confused. ‘What? Oh, no worries. Yeah, I did OK. I hear you did really well.’
‘Did Sal tell you?’
‘Er … no. Nat did.’ This surprised me – the idea that Nat talked about me to Devon. Maybe Devon was OK with me seeing his brother after all.
‘It must be a bit weird for you. Y’know, me going out with Nat.’
He shook his head and started to speak, but I interrupted. ‘Yeah, it must be a little bit though. You being friends with Sal, me being friends with her, and now me and Nat. But we don’t really know each other – I mean you and me.’ What am I on about?! Just leave it!
‘Well, maybe it took a bit of getting used to. It’s fine though. Really.’ He looked like he wanted to disappear.
‘Maybe the four of us should hang out sometime?’ Even as I said it, I knew it was the worst idea in the universe and it looked like Devon felt the same way.
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I don’t think Nat wouldn’t be up for it. Or Sal, for that matter.’ I noticed for the first time that his eyes were remarkably like Nat’s. It was just harder to see them behind those god-awful glasses.
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’ I mustered up my most casual, disinterested tone of voice. ‘Have you seen much of Sal recently?’
‘Not really, no. I saw her last week, but it was … I don’t know.’ He paused and looked at his feet, scuffing them on the shiny floor.
‘It was what?’
‘Nothing really. Look, I’d better get going. Enjoy the steak.’ And then he was gone, rushing down the aisle towards the checkout with his basket of cheese.
I wandered aimlessly around the shop, feeling decidedly less contented than before. The encounter with Devon had left me a bit flustered and confused. Why had he made me so nervous? Why had I pushed the issue about me and Nat? And why had I never noticed before that he really was not bad-looking at all? All too weird for words.
Nat arrived twenty minutes late. This was getting to be a bit of a habit, and not one I was particularly keen on. Still, he smelled good and his just-washed hair was endearingly all over the place. I kissed him like I hadn’t seen him in years. He tasted minty fresh, good enough to eat. I pulled him towards me and kissed him harder. I just wanted to get as close as I possibly could, maybe to reassure myself that I hadn’t been attracted to Devon for a few moments of madness in the supermarket. Now that I had the real thing in front of me, instead of a (quite literally) pale imitation, I knew everything was OK after all.
I started to pull at Nat’s T-shirt, running my fingers up and down his spine. He pinned me against the wall in the hall, pressing hard against me, exactly like I wanted him to. Just as things were getting interesting, he suddenly pulled back, breathing hard.
He looked at me and laughed. ‘Er … don’t you think we should maybe shut the door first?’
I looked over his shoulder through the open door, to see the neighbour’s cat perched on the wall, quietly watching us in that supercilious cat way. Then I looked at Nat, belt and trousers undone.
‘Be my guest. Don’t want to give any of the neighbours a heart attack.’
Nat fixed his clothes, then shut the door and turned to face me. ‘I brought some wine.’ He nodded towards the bag he’d dropped in the face of my onslaught. ‘And some flowers.’ He reached into the bag and pulled out some rumpled-looking tulips.
‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’ I put the flowers on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. ‘Now get over here.’ I patted the space beside me.
‘Don’t you want to put those in water first?’ Nat said as he sat down.
‘I reckon they can wait a few minutes. I, on the other hand …’ My fingers crept up his thigh.
‘Hey, hey, hold on a second. What’s the rush?’ He grabbed my wandering hand. ‘Why don’t we just talk for a bit?’
I laughed, and resumed my wandering with my other hand. He grabbed that one too, so now he had both my hands pinned on his thighs, achingly close to their intended target. I tried to wrestle them free, but Nat was too strong for me. He lifted my hands in the air and raised his eyebrows at me, as if to say, ‘What are you going to do now, huh?’ So I clambered on top of him, straddling his thighs where my hands had been moments before. I shuffled in really close and moved my pelvis against him. There was no way he was winning this battle – I could feel it working already.
‘Hey! That’s … cheating.’ His voice was hoarse and his breath was hot on my neck. He let go of my hands and moved his own to my waist.
‘That’s better,’ I whispered. ‘Now, I’ve been waiting for this for days, so be a good boy, take off your clothes and have sex with me. Right now.’
And so he did.
Later that night – much later – I cooked the steak. Nat helped, making sure I didn’t burn it to a crisp. Devon had been right; the meat was tender and delicious.
I woke in the middle of the night to find Nat curled up facing away from me. I watched his back as he slept. God, I loved his back. And his neck. And his hair. And the back of his ear. And all the other bits of him that I couldn’t see right that minute. I’d nearly said those three little words over dinner, but the timing hadn’t been quite right. And I hadn’t wanted to say it after we’d had sex on the sofa – that seemed too crass for words. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever say it at all.