We’re both shrieking. We’re so loud that people are turning to look. We’re howling so much it takes a few seconds for me to realise I’m holding March’s hand in mine, suddenly feeling its heat. She looks up and I drag my hand away, tucking it safely under the table. ‘Who’s Clementine then?’ I ask, trying to act like nothing strange has just happened.
She shrugs. ‘You could ask the guy who owns this place, but he’s a twat.’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘Where do I start? The way he’s rude to my mum and pays her so badly, that kind of why.’
This makes sense. ‘So, how long have you worked here?’
‘I started a few months after her. So, a year, almost. I stopped around my exams, to study. S’alright,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t leave much time for having a life.’ I go to say something about exams but she’s still talking. ‘But I’m saving so I don’t mind.’
I almost ask what she’s saving for, but I stop. It feels too personal a question to ask so soon.
She looks up to Viv, who’s stretched over the counter, wiping it down. ‘No matter how hard she works or how many shifts she covers, she’s always broke.’ She says it quietly. ‘I just want money in my pocket. I want to be sure it’s there, you know?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. I do.
She smiles and sits back. ‘So, what about you? What d’you need money for?’
Where do I start? ‘Um … everything?’ I say. ‘I’ve got fourteen quid in my account and nothing to wear.’ She laughs, but not in a mean way, more like she relates. She’s quiet again, waiting for me to say more, but I’m wondering why she’s being so nice and how this feels so easy. I realise it’s been a while since I’ve said anything. I should say something. ‘Do you live near here?’
‘Archway,’ she says. ‘Not far. I walk in most days. Only takes fifteen minutes and I listen to music all the way. You?’
‘Opposite Pez.’
‘Yeah, of course, I knew that.’ She nods. ‘It’s nice around there.’
‘Our flat is nothing like his place,’ I say, lifting my cup to my lips. It’s not that I feel a need to point this out, it’s more that I think March might be relieved to know.
She leans her elbows on the table. It might be the two high buns she’s tied her hair in today, but her eyes seem bigger than usual. ‘What’s it like, Pez’s house?’
‘You haven’t been there?’
She shakes her head and pushes air out through her nose. ‘Well, his mum is Luna Boyd, so I expect his place isn’t much like mine.’
‘But I thought you two –’
She shakes the ice in her glass. ‘He never asks.’
I’d already pictured her in his room, on his new T-shirt-soft bed sheets, trying on his baseball caps and being all cute in his mirror. That’s where my head went as soon as Rob told me about the photos on his phone and that’s where I imagined they did all the stuff they’ve done. ‘You’ve been seeing each other for a while, I just assumed. Sorry.’
‘Yeah, we’ve hung out and stuff, but mostly at my place,’ she says, sounding more coy, a bit like Rob said. ‘He never suggests going back to his. Except for last Saturday when you and Rob were there.’ She looks up. ‘But it felt as though Rob was doing the asking that night. Don’t you think?’
Maybe it did? I thought that March was the one who was acting weird that evening, but maybe Pez was being the stand-offish one.
‘He can be a bit … private sometimes,’ I say.
‘Guess you know him better than anyone.’ She holds my gaze like there’s other stuff she’s not saying, and I feel as though I might understand this too.
I sigh. ‘Yeah, but it’s been a while.’
She gazes out on to the cafe floor then looks back. ‘He’s different than I expected,’ she says, before she blows into the tip of her straw. ‘He surprises me sometimes.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Like, a couple of months ago, I was in Ireland with Mum,’ she says. ‘I was at my cousin’s, supposedly revising, when I got a message from him. I was chuffed, because the last time we were together he’d been acting strangely, so it was a relief to hear from him to be honest. Anyway, we were chatting away when he said something about feeling down. Then he asked if I’d send him a picture, to cheer him up, he said.’ She looks in my eyes again and a lump of the oat bar lodges in my throat. ‘A photo of me, you know?’ she adds, like I might need this qualification. If I could speak, I’d tell her I’m already in the picture but I’m concentrating on swallowing. ‘I knew he was like that. I’d seen that side of him before,’ she says, looking at me in a way that makes the chair under me feel too hard. She sits back and I try to swallow what’s in my mouth. ‘It was unexpected, that’s all, and I felt shy about it, which is stupid, I know.’ She bites down on her lip and stares at me.
I look away, stuffing more flapjack into my mouth, but the oats are building like a boulder in my cheeks and I can’t swallow. There is nowhere for it to go and I sit there like an overstuffed hamster. ‘Babe,’ she says, reaching for the remains of the flapjack wrapper and dragging it towards her, ‘the ones in the packets aren’t good,’ she says.
I try swallowing again but the clump of oats won’t go down. March tips my cup, and seeing it empty, she pushes her glass towards me.
‘Drink!’ she says. I start out with a sip but soon I’m guzzling away until the contents of my mouth dissolve and slide down my throat in a strange sea of super-sweet buttery lemon. ‘Y’OK?’ she says, reaching her hand across. ‘Seriously?’
She’s looking right at me, checking my eyes, like she’s noticing every detail. ‘Uh-huh,’ I say, realising that any efforts to keep hating this girl might be futile. She’s so … I dunno the word. It’s just nice to be around her.
‘Hey, if you’re interested in earning more money, I’m going to a casting next Wednesday,’ she says, rescuing a menu which has slipped between the wall and the edge of the table. ‘Why don’t you come along?’ I pull back, double-checking her voice for an edge I might have missed. Is all this niceness because I know Pez better than anyone? But her eyes are soft and her face is open, the exact opposite of mean. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Amira thinks I’ve become obsessed with earning money and she might be right.’
‘I’d love to earn extra money!’ This is true. It’s also true that of all the people I’ve met since moving back, March might be the easiest company.
‘Great,’ she says. ‘It’s near Oxford Circus. And it doesn’t start until six p.m. so you could drop your sister home first.’
My shoulders slump. ‘But—’
‘What?’
I feel like I fool, but I have to say it. ‘It doesn’t make sense—’
‘I guess most people who audition have other jobs so—’
‘Not the timing,’ I say. ‘Look, I’m not putting myself down, but—’ Her eyes scan mine and I come right out with it. ‘You look like a model. I don’t.’
Her mouth opens. ‘It’s not a model casting!’ she says. ‘It’s an agency scouting for films, TV and stuff. They want real people; people you’d see on any street. I saw the ad online. I’ll show you their website,’ she says, taking out her phone. I freeze, waiting for a wave of humiliation that doesn’t come. ‘And model?’ she says, smiling. ‘C’mon, you must have clocked the size of my arse.’ Thankfully, I know better than to make any comment on this. ‘Mum thinks it’s a scam, but the girl on the phone told me you can earn a hundred and fifty quid a day on something like EastEnders.’
‘A hundred and fifty, in one day?’
‘I know!’ she says. ‘And you can get a whole week’s work if you’re picked for …’ She scratches at one of her buns with her pen. ‘Continuity, yeah, that what’s she said. And all you have to do is look normal. That’s all.’ God, she’s got no idea how far from normal she looks and I feel terrible for saying what I said in Pez’s bedroom about her knowing it. ‘So?’ she says. ‘How about it?’
‘Sounds a bit too good to
be true.’
She sits back and folds her arms. ‘Not you too!’ she says. ‘It’s legit. I’m telling you.’ Then she takes the pen from behind her ear and starts to write a web address on a napkin. ‘Trust me, we’ll never get rich working here,’ she says. ‘Besides, what else have you got on next Wednesday evening that’s so important?’
I picture myself on my bed, lounging around in clothes I don’t like, staring at my crappy laptop, or worse, out of the window. Something about this picture is crystal clear. Plus Dad will be home by six and I need the money. Why am I even hesitating? ‘Nothing.’
‘So?’ she says, leaning across the table.
‘So, let’s do it!’
14
I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling when Arial strides in holding her toothbrush in one hand and her Tangle Teezer in the other. In some feat of super coordination, she manages to do both tasks seamlessly. It’s a few minutes before she turns off her toothbrush and spits into an empty glass. ‘Grace gets periods,’ she says.
I lift my head. ‘Grace?’
‘The one who’s good at gymnastics.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twelve.’
I lift my head. ‘Is there no one your own age you can hang out with?’
‘We’re friends now,’ she says. ‘And she’s not that much older.’ She puts the hairbrush down. ‘Can you tell me about periods? It’s just, Grace says she’s on it now and she says stuff like I’m supposed to understand, and I don’t. Not really.’
I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at her face. How is this happening already? How are all these questions coming out of her and there’s no one but me here to help? I’d check with Dad, only neither of us need that embarrassment and I’m not sure I want to draw attention to what Arial’s missing out on by not having Mum. If he knew Arial was asking this stuff already it might do him in altogether. I had these chats with Mum pre-grapefruit, but I don’t remember much of what was said. I remember her being there – here! – sitting beside me on my bed in this room. I was older than Arial but my periods hadn’t started either. Mum was her typical no-nonsense self, but wise and warm and all of the things that I’m not. My eyes sting and I don’t want to think about it. I’m not ready, not when I’ve so much of my own crap to work out. ‘Your face looks funny,’ Arial says. I rub my eyes, then blink a lot. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Seems early for these questions, that’s all.’ It comes out as impatient and she sighs heavily. ‘OK, what d’you want to know?’
‘Forget it,’ she says, getting up and reaching for the door handle.
I immediately want to drag her back and wrap her in a huge hug. ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah,’ she says quietly from the other side. ‘I’m going to watch TV.’
I roll over and bury my face in my pillow until my phone rings. It could be one of two people and for a second, I’m torn as to which of the two I want it to be.
‘Whatcha up to?’ says Pez, sounding super bored. I scoot down the bed and peek out from the blind. There he is, across the street, at his computer. ‘Because I’m over here … reading a book,’ he says.
That he’s taking the piss is a relief. If he’d realised what I saw on his computer, then he wouldn’t act like this. ‘I can see you,’ I say, sighing for dramatic effect.
He pushes away from his desk and comes to the window. ‘This is weird,’ he says, giving me the finger with his free hand. ‘Just come over.’
I really don’t want to sit in that room. ‘Does your house arrest extend to the wall outside?’
‘Two minutes,’ he says, and then hangs up.
I get there first, watching as he skulks down his steep steps wearing what look like pyjama bottoms that are too big. ‘How’s captivity treating you?’ My voice sounds different and I’m afraid he can tell.
‘How do you think?’
‘Does Luna jangle keys outside your bedroom door?’
‘She’s at a meeting.’
‘So technically there’s no guard?’
He shakes his head. ‘This prison is psychological,’ he says, only it doesn’t really sound like he’s joking.
‘Fancy a jailbreak to Tesco?’
‘Ocado delivered this morning,’ he says, pushing himself up off the wall. ‘C’mon in.’
‘Nah, s’all right,’ I say. ‘Just fancied a walk. Any word from Harland?’
He sits back down and faces the sky. ‘He flew out yesterday. Least we won’t have to deal with him for a while.’
Pez is no way near as good at acting as his parents and despite whatever else is swirling, I feel sorry for him. ‘Hey, you’ll never guess who my new waitressing job is with.’
His eyes follow some fast-moving clouds. ‘March.’
I dig his ribs. ‘How d’you know?’
‘She messaged me, on your first day,’ he says, rubbing the back of his head.
I jump down from the wall. ‘She did?’
His legs stop swinging. ‘Why do you say it like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like that,’ he says. ‘You said she did? like you were surprised.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Yeah, you did,’ he says, looking properly pissed off, and suddenly the distance between us feels greater than ever.
‘D’you have a problem, with us being friends?’ I ask, shielding my eyes from sun that’s not there.
He shrinks back. ‘Oh, you’re friends now?’
I don’t like the way he says friends and I also worry I’m being presumptuous in using the word. ‘Well, yeah,’ I say, because I think we are at least.
‘And why would that be a problem?’
‘It’s not, for me,’ I say. ‘I was asking if it was for you.’
‘No,’ he says, weakly, then he turns away and we both watch not much happening on opposite ends of the street. After what feels like ages he shifts back. ‘So, how are we getting to this wedding?’ God, the wedding! It feels like an age since I asked him and I’m honestly not sure whether an entire weekend in Somerset with Pez is something to look forward to any more. I can’t look straight at him in case he’s able to read this in my face. ‘Um … hello?’ he says, angling his face in front of mine.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Dad’s driving, but I think Wendy wants me to come early.’
‘So, we’ll get the train?’
‘Yeah, I guess. I mean, yeah. That’ll work. For sure.’
Sun breaks through a patch of clouds above and I lean back in the new heat but then my pocket buzzes. I’m grateful for the interruption and pull the phone out of my jeans. Rob!
You missed a call from me at 10:56.
I switch it off mute and it pings loudly with a message.
Party at mine saturday.
Pez looks over my shoulder. ‘You gave him your number?’ I don’t answer and he sniffs.
‘What?’
‘That’s not an answer,’ he says.
I drop the phone back into my pocket. ‘It’s about a party.’
‘I know!’ he says. ‘I got the same message, but … earlier.’
For a moment, I can’t work out whether he’s being mean but then he smiles like he realises how petty he just sounded. It’s such a relief to see his teeth that I smile too. ‘I’ll go if you will,’ I say.
He holds up his wrists like he’s handcuffed.
‘Err, next Saturday, shitface! Your two-week sentence will be served.’
He humphs and his shoulders round. I keep watching his face until he cracks, a tiny bit. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he says.
I push him back. I’m already wondering what I’ll do if Rob tries to kiss me again? Or worse, what I’ll do if he doesn’t?
15
Me and March are the only two people on the 88 from Camden Town, or at least that’s what it feels like. In reality the bus is packed but somehow March is the only thing I see with any focus.
‘It’s in Highgate,’ she’s saying. ‘And al
l girls, which Mum, for all her right-on progressiveness, just loves. Amira’s been in my class since Year Seven. We’ve always been friends but we never used to hang out much after school. I’m sure that’s why she wants things to work out with me and Pez so badly. She’s convinced if our boyfriends are friends it’ll somehow bring us closer.’
‘Makes sense, I guess.’
She lifts her knees to let someone pass but keeps her feet on the seat. ‘Most people say they hate school, but I like it. D’you?’ she says, turning to me. I’ve seen this look on her face before. It happens when she asks certain questions: like her eyes get big but her mouth stays soft, like she’s ready to listen and wants to know the answer. Not many people have this look and it’s hard not to take note of it. Pez was always great at noticing stuff but with March I feel heard too. When I think about her question, I picture myself practising Wendy’s deep-breathing exercises in a toilet cubicle at Frome College. I hid in there for weeks after I first joined, and I pray that this September, if I’m lucky enough to meet girls as nice as Jess and Liv and Freya, I might have more courage.
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘But maybe sixth form will be different.’
‘Everyone says it’s better.’
‘Hope so.’
‘I went for drama, politics and English lit,’ she says. ‘What about you?’
‘Um?’ I stop. I genuinely have to think. ‘French, sociology and … history.’
‘I thought about sociology too,’ she says. ‘But decided politics was a better fit in the end. If by some miracle Mum and I can afford the fees, I’d like to take it at uni. Is sociology something you’d like to do after?’ she says. My face twists. It’s not. Definitely not. I’ve had few if any thoughts about sociology or uni, or fees, if I’m honest. My brain can barely stretch to September, let alone years into the future. I shake my head and her face tilts. ‘So, why did you pick it?’
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