‘Near the back, hopelessly out of time as always. She has no sense of rhythm, not that it puts her off. Let’s eat and come back. There’re fast food outlets on the ground floor.’
They doubled back, rode the lift down again and ordered at a burger bar. Sam took his tray and found a place at one of the communal tables.
‘So, who’s the guy I always see you with at school?’ he asked when Eva joined him.
She unwrapped her cheeseburger and took a bite, chewing slowly before swallowing. ‘You mean Trent, I think. He’s my boyfriend.’
‘Oh,’ Sam said and sucked on the straw of his drink, making a slurping sound. It was the answer he had expected but not wanted.
‘He’s a good guy,’ Eva said, ‘in spite of what some people say about him.’
‘And what do some people say?’
She set her burger down in its wrapper and frowned. ‘The usual kind of thing is that he’s a dumb jock. But anyone who says that doesn’t really know him, just the company he keeps. Trent’s actually really smart. He’s only using sports to get a college scholarship, you see. He wants to study Economics, but if you’re lucky enough to be good at something, why not use it to your advantage?’
‘I’ve never been very good at sports,’ Sam said.
‘I think the two of you would get along, as it happens. Do you have plans this evening?’
‘You mean besides watching TV with my parents?’
‘Doug and Colette are away, so I’m having some friends over. You should come.’
They emptied their trays and took the lift back up. As Sam stepped out on the upper level, the door to the pharmacy opened. A large woman wearing an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth appeared in a wheelchair. Her hair hung in dank clumps around her face and rolls of flesh overflowed the sides of the chair. Brandon was behind her, pushing.
‘Look,’ Sam said, ‘isn’t that―’
‘Hide!’ Eva hissed. She grabbed Sam’s T-shirt and dragged him into the recessed doorway of a fire escape. It was a squeeze and the metal bar on the door dug into his ribs. Eva pushed right up against him so that their faces were only an inch apart and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. He bit down hard on his tongue and tried to think unsexy thoughts (his parents kissing / kittens / the bunions on his grandmother’s feet) but overriding everything was the scent of Eva’s hair, a thick lock of which had fallen onto his shoulder.
‘Get me out of here fast, I wants me a smoke,’ a rasping voice said. It sounded very close.
‘But Ma,’ came Brandon’s voice, ‘the doctor says you mustn’t no more, for your health.’
‘Nonsense, boy. I ain’t letting no hoity-toity physician tell me what to do.’
‘But Ma―’
‘Leave it be, Brandon! You’re not so grown I can’t still show you the back of my hand.’
There was a ping as the lift doors opened, followed by silence. After a few seconds Eva poked her head out. Cautiously, Sam did the same. Brandon and his mother were nowhere to be seen.
‘God, I hate that guy,’ Eva said. ‘I hope Trent hasn’t invited him this evening. You think he saw us?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sam said.
He turned to see Nicole standing outside the ballet school with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.
‘Aren’t you both a bit old for hide and seek?’ she asked.
10
Chrissie and Lance climbed off the night bus and, hand in hand, walked the rest of the way home. Dawn was beginning to break as they made their way up her road, turning the sky a wishy-washy shade of grey and filling the cool morning air with bird song.
‘That was a cool party,’ Lance said as he followed Chrissie up the path to the house and past the FOR SALE sign that had been erected the day before.
‘Yeah,’ she said and unlocked the front door. ‘You hungry?’
He stifled a yawn and shook his head. ‘Think I might just hit the sack.’
‘Okay, I’ll join you in a bit. And keep the noise down. I don’t want to wake Grandma and Grandpa.’
Lance mimed zipping his lip, slid his shoes off and crept up the stairs.
Chrissie went through to the kitchen to find her grandfather sitting at the table with a mug of tea in his hand and yesterday’s newspaper spread out before him.
‘Morning Grandpa,’ she said, wondering what it was about aging that made people go to bed and get up ever earlier.
‘Oh, you’re awake already,’ he said and flattened the few remaining hairs on the top of his head. ‘Kettle’s just boiled, if you fancy a brew.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Want a top up?’
He drained his mug, then passed it to her. ‘Well, if you’re offering, love.’
Chrissie fetched a clean mug from the draining board, placed it next to her grandfather’s on the kitchen counter, then dropped a teabag in each and poured in boiling water. She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening and, after a night of nonstop dancing, felt ravenous. The fridge was disappointingly bare, however, but there was a block of cheese that wasn’t mouldy yet close to the back.
‘We’re running low on a few essentials,’ she said, taking it out. ‘I might pop to the supermarket later. Is there anything you need?’
There was no reply.
She turned around. ‘Grandpa?’
He was staring at her with one eye half-closed. The entire left-hand side of his face had sagged, and a stream of frothy saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
Chrissie dropped the block of cheese on the floor and ran for the house phone.
11
Raindrops spotted the tarmac as Sam walked up the drive to Eva’s house. The air was several degrees cooler than on any night since he’d arrived in America, as though the summer had finally realised its number was up. The house was even larger than Sam’s own, which he still occasionally got lost in. As he climbed onto the pillared porch, he heard laughter from somewhere inside. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his finger hovering over the doorbell until he summoned the nerve to push it.
Eva answered. She was wearing heavy eye shadow and had straightened her hair so that it fell like curtains of dark silk. For a moment Sam lost the ability to speak.
‘Come on in,’ she said. ‘You’re one of the first to arrive.’
He gave her his coat, which she hung on a hook, and followed her down a hall lined with abstract paintings; random splashes of colour that resembled nothing in real life. There was a high-tech burglar alarm on the wall that looked like something used to operate a nuclear reactor. The place reminded Sam of an art gallery, expensive and breakable, making him afraid to touch anything in case he left smudge marks or damaged it.
At the end of the hall they entered a large, open-plan room. On one side a kitchen was separated by a long breakfast bar, on which an Italian-style coffee machine sat. On the other side a short flight of steps led down to a den, where three low-slung leather sofas surrounded a glass-topped coffee table, all facing a huge, wall-mounted television above a fireplace. There was a long dining table directly in front of Sam that supported an impressive selection of drinks and snacks, and beyond this a set of sliding patio doors leading out to the garden.
A few other people were there already, some of whom he recognised from school. Eva led him over to where a boy and girl were chatting next to the dining table.
‘Trent, Kimberly, this is Sam,’ she said. ‘He’s just started at school.’
‘Hi,’ Kimberly said. She was chewing gum and, in spite of the low light, wore sunglasses.
Trent grinned. He had his hair swept into a gravity-defying quiff. ‘Hey, guy, want some punch?’
Sam accepted a glass. ‘Thanks. What’s in it?’
‘Orange, strawberry, kiwi, banana,’ Trent winked and withdrew a mostly empty bottle of rum from his pocket, ‘and my own special ingredient.’
Sam held the glass to his nose and sniffed. The thick pink liquid smelled toxic, but not w
anting to seem uptight he took a sip. It was sickly sweet and burned the back of his throat. He coughed and decided he would try to drink the rest as slowly as possible.
‘I think he likes it!’ Trent said. He turned to Eva and took her hand. ‘Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.’
‘Make yourself at home,’ Eva said over her shoulder as she allowed herself to be led away.
Much as Sam didn’t want to admit it, they made an annoyingly good-looking couple. He smiled at Kimberley and took another sip of punch.
She flashed him a smile back and began fidgeting with her bracelet. ‘So, uh, what did you say your name was?’
‘Sam.’
‘And how do you know Eva?’
‘Our parents work together,’ he said. ‘This house is amazing, don’t you think?’
‘Yeah, sure. Got a cigarette?’
‘I don’t smoke.’
‘Never mind.’ She crossed the room, went out through the patio doors and tried to scrounge a cigarette from someone else, leaving Sam conspicuously alone. Half-wishing he’d stayed at home, he walked over to the den and descended the four short steps. There was a cabinet against the far wall which was lined with DVDs. Sam started flicking through in an attempt to look busy. It contained an extensive collection of Westerns, mostly dating from the 1950s and 60s, and a row of Disney films on the shelf below. He pulled out Toy Story, remembering how it had been one of his favourites when he was young, and started reading the cover blurb.
‘We can watch it if you want,’ a voice behind him said, ‘but I prefer Frozen.’
He turned to see Nicole standing barefoot on the last step. She was wearing pyjamas with a ballet-dancing hippo motif and had her hair tied in bunches.
‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’ Sam asked.
‘Don’t be a loser, it’s not even ten yet.’
‘Oh, right. What time do you usually go to sleep then?’
‘When I’m tired,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Are you hungry? There’s ice cream in the freezer.’
Sam returned Toy Story to its place on the shelf. Although he may not have anticipated spending the evening in the company of Eva’s eight-year-old sister, it was better than standing around on his own. He followed her to the kitchen and poured the rest of his punch down the sink. Nicole fetched bowls and spoons, while Sam opened the freezer.
‘Not that drawer, the middle one,’ she said, perching herself on a stool at the breakfast bar.
He retrieved several large tubs of ice cream. A truck load of sugar probably wasn’t the best idea in the evening, but seeing as how Nicole was already wandering around unsupervised at a teenage party, Sam decided it was the lesser of two evils. He draped a dishcloth over his forearm like a waiter. ‘We have raspberry ripple, vanilla, cookie dough and chocolate fudge. The cookie dough is a particularly fine vintage. Which flavour does madam desire?’
Nicole giggled. ‘All of them please, except vanilla. That’s just dull.’
‘An excellent choice.’ He dished out two healthy servings and handed her a bowl.
‘Where’s my sister?’ she asked between mouthfuls.
Sam glanced around the room. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
Nicole quickly polished off the contents of her bowl. The doorbell rang as she passed it back for a second helping and Kimberly dashed past to answer it.
Nicole licked her spoon. ‘You like her, don’t you?’
‘Who, Kimberly?’
‘Not her, my sister.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ he said. ‘Eva’s been really kind showing me around and, you know, making me feel welcome.’
‘No, I mean you like like her. I can tell.’
There was something unsettling about such awareness in someone so young. It made Sam suspect that, if Nicole could work this out, his feelings for Eva must be pretty obvious to everyone else.
‘Does it even matter?’ he said.
Nicole helped herself to another serving of raspberry ripple. ‘I don’t know, you’d have to ask Eva.’
All of a sudden the sound of raised voices came from the hall, followed by shouts and whooping. Sam looked up to see Kimberly return, followed by four boys wearing the matching jackets of the school football team. Last in the line was Brandon.
12
Brandon followed his friends in, eyeballing Sam all the way, then slumped on a couch in the den, popped open a beer and took a swig. Froth spilled down the neck of the bottle, dripping onto the cushions.
‘Who’s that?’ Nicole asked.
‘No one,’ Sam said. ‘I think you should go to bed now.’
She dropped her spoon, splattering melted ice cream across the counter. ‘I thought you were fun, Sam, but you’re just like the others, always treating me like a little kid.’
‘You are a little kid, Nicole.’
Sam wished Lewis was with him. He needed someone to talk to, someone who had his back. He took his phone out and was about to call his friend when he realised it would be the middle of the night in London. At that moment Trent came in again. His quiff was a flattened mess and there was a strange red line on his nose. Eva wasn’t with him.
‘Yo, Trent, over here!’ Brandon called.
‘I think I’m going to go now,’ Sam said to Nicole. ‘Thanks for the ice cream’
‘Don’t go,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it. You are fun really.’
‘It’s not that. I…I just don’t think I should be here. Tell your sister I said bye, will you?’
Sam was at the door to the hall when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned to see Trent’s fist flying towards his face and just managed to duck so that it skimmed the top of his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, Trent grabbed him, twisting the material of his shirt, and shoved him back against the wall. Sam’s phone flew from his hand and shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces on the tiled floor.
‘You were with my girl this morning,’ Trent said, spraying Sam’s face with specks of saliva.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t lie to me, man. Brandon saw you at the mall.’
‘Oh, that. That was nothing, just―’
Trent wound up to deliver another punch, but Sam saw it coming and hit him low in the stomach. It took the wind from Trent’s body, leaving him hunched for a second.
Someone in the background was chanting, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’
Trent’s next blow landed under Sam’s eye, slamming his head against the wall. The world melted to shapeless blurs without sound. As Sam stumbled forward, Trent tackled him, carrying them both to the ground. Sam’s chin connected with the floor and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He knew there would soon be pain, but in the moment felt nothing. Instead the taste somehow clarified his senses, washing the fog from his brain. Trent may have been bigger and stronger, but he had also been drinking, and there was no way Sam was going to take a beating without fighting back.
Sam sprang to his feet and, as Trent rose, punched him in the head. Although it wasn’t the blow he had intended, it caught Trent square on the ear. Trent yelped and, for a moment, neither moved, as if they were both confused by this sudden deviation from the script. Trent’s face gradually reddened. He let out a deep roar and charged at Sam, his arms whirring like lawnmower blades. Sam raised his hands to shield his face, but only succeeded in deflecting a couple of blows before Trent’s fist struck him in the mouth. He went flying back, twisting in the air like a stuntman, and bounced down the steps to the den, finally coming to a rest in a crumpled heap at the bottom.
Sam sat up and dabbed his mouth with his sleeve. It came back smeared with blood. Gingerly, he got to his feet. Trent was on the top step, clenching and unclenching his fists, his breathing ragged and shallow.
Why were they even fighting? Sam wanted to put an end to it. He held his hands out, palms up in the universal gesture of peace, and began to climb the steps. ‘Listen, I don’t know what Brandon tol
d you or what you think happened―’
A hand clamped around Sam’s ankle and yanked it back. Sprawling forwards, he instinctively stuck his hands out to prevent his face slamming into the top step. His momentum took his weight from his standing leg, which shot back, connecting with something soft and fleshy that felt suspiciously like somebody’s face.
There was a shout, followed by an almighty crash.
Sam rolled over. Brandon was on his backside on the floor behind him, surrounded by shards of the glass coffee table. He was clutching a gaping cut on his left forearm, his face pale as thick blood pumped through his fingers.
13
Sam walked alone through the night. It didn’t matter that he was lost because there was nowhere he wanted to be. Slanting rain lashed against the pavement. A fast-flowing stream had risen along the gutter, washing the first fallen leaves of autumn along like tiny boats. Soon he was drenched, his hair slicked to his forehead and his feet squelching in his shoes. He was beyond caring, though. His body ached and throbbed as countless bumps and bruises surfaced. The cut on his lip had begun to scab, but every twitch of his mouth reopened it and sent a trickle of blood down his chin.
He clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands. The clean slate was ruined, his only friend in America lost. Now Sam doubted if Eva would ever speak to him again, and the idea of going to school on Monday morning made him want to vomit. He hated his parents for forcing him to come to this place with them, and for one dreadful moment he wished they were dead.
After a while the rain slackened off and the clouds parted to reveal mocking stars. Without even meaning to, Sam had wound up at the end of his road. Although he had no idea how long he’d been walking for, he suspected his midnight curfew was long gone. He checked his pockets for his phone, then remembered seeing it smash on the floor at Eva’s.
As he approached the house, Sam realised that all the downstairs lights were on and at that point knew he was definitely in for it. He sneaked inside, hoping to make it to his bedroom without being heard, but his mum called his name from the kitchen before he’d even shut the door behind him.
The Pages of Time Page 4