I hop on, then quickly turn back. ‘You’re going to have to work hard to earn Pez’s trust again. He’s hurt, and no one could blame him, so give him space.’ I tap my Oyster card, staring down at Rob as he nods up from the kerb. ‘And, so you know, I’m not finished being angry with you,’ I say. ‘Not even close.’
Then, in another exquisitely timed move from London Transport, the doors shut in time with my mouth, whizzing me and my delicious last word towards home.
37
I wake to a ping and reach for my phone. Amira has added me to a group called Results Night. It’s just me, her, March, Nick and three numbers I don’t recognise. At least Rob won’t be there. The screen flashes with a message from Amira.
Hope it’s not too soon to send this but we can start here on thursday night. Who’s in?
I’ve hardly thought about school or results all summer and since the accident they seem less important now. I think about replying but there’s something I need to do first. Soon as I’ve dialled, it goes straight to voicemail.
‘Alright, it’s me. Leave a message.’
‘Hey, March, just wondering whether you fancy trying that Shake Stop place after work today. Well, um … if you do … I’ll be there at five. OK, bye.’
I hang up, then scroll back through my photo library to find the selfie she took of us eating our Korean surprises on a bench in Chinatown. I look like I’ve been electrocuted and March has splodges of sauce on her chin, face all screwed up. Looking at us makes me think about what Wendy said about not having one wedding shot of her and Fran that they both really liked. I swipe frantically right back to early June and the night they danced along to Lauryn Hill in their kitchen as I watched from the courtyard outside on the other side of the glass doors.
I stare at the image and I’m not sure whether it’s technically any good, but there’s something about how private it looks. They stand apart but their hands are held together, silhouettes bold against the bright kitchen light and all of it framed by the darkness outside the window. You can barely see their faces but you know it’s them and you can almost see everything they’re feeling in that moment.
I stroll up Kentish Town Road to Snappy Snaps with the sun warm on my face and it feels good to be alone on the busy street. Oiled by the movement of my limbs and the gentle wind that brushes my arms and legs, my thoughts seem looser, and I manage for at least four minutes not to think about whether or not March will turn up at five.
I walk inside and show the woman behind the desk the photo of Wendy and Fran and then I select the image size and she shows me how she can adjust the lighting effect on her monitor in a way that the self-service machines can’t. I select a plain black frame and then she tells me to take a seat.
I’m flipping through my phone and saving my new school’s email and phone number when the Snappy Snaps woman returns to the counter at the back, sliding the framed print over it. I walk up and examine it more closely, then I stand back, almost to the door, to take it in. ‘Everything all right?’ she asks, like there might be a problem.
I can’t move. I can’t drag my eyes away. The contrast is so much sharper than it was on my phone. ‘It’s perfect,’ I say, searching for my debit card. Then I carefully lift it down and walk out on to the street, holding it proudly under my arm. I’m in such a spin, getting off the bus and galloping towards the High Street, I almost don’t see March waving at me from the window of Shake Stop. I step closer to the glass to check that it’s her, then I round the corner and stroll inside. As soon I’m through the door, she waves from the far corner.
‘Alright,’ she says, like only she can. ‘Thought I’d nab us a booth.’ I slide along and sit down, tucking the framed photo in carefully behind my back
A waitress appears, hovering a stylus over her device. ‘I’m Cathy, I’m your server today, may I take your order?’ She says all of this without looking up.
March hands me a menu, which I quickly scan. So Shake Stop is basically an expensive Shakeaway but with more comfortable chairs.
‘Um …’ My eyes race through the chocolate bars, then the sweets, and then the fruit options. ‘Could I please have a … Toblerone, After Eight and Skittles super blend.’ The waitress looks up at me, then she and March share a look.
‘Just a mango lassi for me,’ March says. The waitress stabs her device several times then vanishes. March leans in. ‘So … how’s he doing?’
I sniff. ‘Giving out about the food.’
She smiles. ‘That’s a relief. I mean, that’s got to be a good sign, right?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘For sure.’
She picks up her phone. ‘Amira has asked us to her house on Thursday night. Did you see?’
I nod. ‘I’ll see how Pez is doing.’
‘Course,’ she says. ‘And so you know, it’ll only be us and a couple of friends from school. No Rob.’
‘I saw.’
‘So, you could come anytime. Thing is, Amira’s dad doesn’t let us drink so we might move on quite early. Don’t know what time you wanna come, so make sure you call.’
‘I’d like to see how I feel.’
‘Sure, babe,’ she says. ‘Nervous about your results?’
She has no idea how nervous I am just sitting here, trying to work out what I’m about to say. The corner of Fran and Wendy’s framed photo is jutting into my back reminding me it’s there. I think about showing March, but if I veer off topic I might bottle it. ‘Um … a bit.’
‘Yeah, me too. I worked hard though, at least I can say that.’ When I look up she’s pinching skin from the cuticle on her thumb. For once, there’s no bright coloured polish on her nails. They look bitten down. ‘Hey, can I ask?’ she says. ‘Is it true, what Rob said, about Pez and the porn?’
I sit back. There must be some military term for what Rob did; scoring maximum damage in one hit. ‘Is everyone talking about that?’ Her face doesn’t move. ‘He’s afraid everyone thinks he’s some kind of pervert now.’
She lets air slowly out of her nose but shakes her head. ‘That’s not what I think. It’s just … hearing it like that … It sounded serious and I’m wondering if he’s OK.’
‘It’s true that it’s a problem,’ I say. ‘But it’s not how Rob was making it sound. He was wrong to make out that Pez is twisted in any way, because he’s not. He was hurting, and that’s—’
I stop because I’m picturing him, lying on the road, bike and body twisted, and my teeth begin to chatter like I’m cold.
Her hand lands on my shoulder. ‘Vetty?’ she says. ‘You’re crying?’
I look up. ‘I don’t want to lie to you any more. I don’t want to hide.’
Her beautiful face changes. ‘OK?’
‘It wasn’t just a bit of fun for me. The kiss,’ I say, wiping my eye with my sleeve. ‘It wasn’t fun because I really like you.’
Her eyes flash wide and she looks at me for a long time, studying my face like she might see how hard it was for me to say this, and everything inside me stirs up and up until I’m liquid inside. She moves her hand along the table in front and spreads her fingers wide on the tabletop. It looks like she’s about to say something when the waitress lands our drinks.
March pulls her hand back and drags her mango lassi closer to her. ‘I had no idea you felt that way,’ she whispers once the waitress has left. ‘Well,’ she says, circling the straw with the tip of her finger. ‘Maybe I did, a bit. But I thought that was more … mutual appreciation, you know?’ It’s hard to watch her mouth and my eyes fall downward towards my strange, mud-coloured shake. ‘I shouldn’t have kissed you,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry.’
I sit back in my chair. ‘Don’t be. I know you don’t feel the same. I needed to say it because I needed to be truthful.’ I take a sip of my drink. ‘I hope you don’t feel weird about it, that’s all.’
Everything falls quiet and she sucks in a long breath. ‘Being your friend,’ she says, ‘… is everything. And not just because of the obvious st
uff, like you love Tunnock’s caramel bars and Friday Night Lights almost as much as me.’ Her hand reaches out to mine. ‘If you’re OK that we’re just friends then it changes nothing,’ she says softly. I look into her eyes and for some reason I believe her. ‘There’s no world in which we can’t figure this out.’
I feel my insides settle. ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking another sip.
She dabs her mouth, dubiously eyeing my shake. ‘That nice?’ she asks.
I shake my head, trying to swallow, but it’s hard. ‘It’s … gross.’
She reaches across and takes a big sip, then she looks at me like she wants to vom. ‘Oh god,’ she says, leaning in for one more sip. ‘That’s proper rank.’
I laugh, and she does too, and soon we’re both in hysterics, like my revolting drink is so much funnier than it is, but god, it feels good.
38
One week later …
Pez leans against the white willow tree. ‘Do you hear that?’ he says.
A radio plays somewhere close by. ‘The music?’
‘No,’ he says, closing his eyes. ‘Birds, singing. They’re so … loud.’ I lie down on the warm grass, eyes closed like his, listening to the chirping above our heads. After a while, Pez sits up and takes a blue freezer bag out of his backpack. ‘Hey, it’s for you?’ he says, handing it to me. I sit up and take out the rectangular cream card, examining it. It’s the order of service from Wendy and Fran’s wedding. ‘Other side,’ he says.
I turn it over and stare at myself on the train, looking out of the window. It’s a beautifully detailed portrait of my face in scratchy black ink and I run my fingers down paper me, tracing the grooves where his pen has pressed into the card. I look up at him, sitting cross-legged under our tree in the shade, and my heart swells.
‘Do you like it?’ he asks. I nod and I keep nodding because I can’t think of words.
‘Well, happy birthday,’ he says, standing the drawing up beside him, against the trunk of the tree. I look at my face again and see that it’s the second picture of me in existence that I really like. I reach over and hug him tight. He’s a bit stiff but I don’t care. ‘Ouch!’ he cries. ‘I’m still injured, remember.’
I let go and grab the large package from behind my back. ‘I want to show you something too,’ I say, dragging it between us and opening out the brown paper on the grass. ‘It’s a wedding gift for Fran and Wendy. A late one. They’re heading back to Somerset today so I thought I’d drop it off.’
He holds it up and stares at it a moment. ‘Where did you take it?’
‘Outside their kitchen. On my phone.’
He peers around it. ‘It’s like you stole it.’
I smile, because I kind of did. ‘I’ll never forget how lovely it was to watch them dancing. I’m kind of hoping they might feel this way again when they see it.’
‘Sweet,’ he says, lifting the frame closer to his face, then he places it gently back on the grass and looks up at me. ‘Helvetica Lake?’
I blow a stray hair off my face, cringing. ‘It’s pretentious to sign it, right? But I thought, with the mount and—’
‘No,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to see your full name. That’s all.’
‘You don’t think it’s wanky?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘It’s great. It’s you.’
‘I’ve changed my A-level subjects too.’ His eyebrows arch. ‘I’ve swapped out sociology for photography.’
A huge grin takes over his face, then he digs my arm. ‘I’m proud of you, girl,’ he says, in a stupid funny voice that makes me feel absurdly happy.
‘You seem better,’ I say. ‘How was it with doctor what’s-his-name?’
‘David,’ he says, in the same silly voice. ‘And technically he’s a therapist, not a doctor, and he takes no shit, but he’s OK.’
‘Hey, I’m proud of you too.’
‘Thank you,’ he says, more slowly and more serious than I was expecting. ‘It was tough to start off, but once I said a load of stuff out loud, things got kind of easier. I’ve told him I need to be normal again before school starts.’
He snorts then like he knows how stupid this sounds. I wrap my arms around my knees and watch some kids messing about on the swings. ‘At the start of this summer I wanted that too, you know … normal? But now I just want something real.’
His head dips. ‘I hear you,’ he says. ‘I hope one day all that stuff will feel … normal again.’
I take in his face. ‘What stuff?’
He sighs and looks away. ‘There’s so much pressure and I don’t know how I’ll be. Like I don’t know if I’ll be able to just kiss someone again and for it to ever feel … natural.’ He trails off and I feel him follow my eyes, as I watch the kids who are on the slide. What Pez said gets me thinking about the night of the wedding when he mentioned how physical everything is. He starts to shifts about on the grass like he can read my mind or else he regrets what he’s just said because when I open my mouth he moves his face, like he’s afraid what I’m about to say will hurt.
‘There are other ways –’ I reach for his hand – ‘to touch someone. Like, there are different paths to our heads and our hearts, like you said that night in Somerset—’
‘I was a mess then,’ he says, tugging a loose thread on his jeans. ‘It wasn’t that deep.’
I nudge him with my shoulder. ‘You said it, Pez. I heard you, and I’d like to—’
‘What?’ He looks at me.
‘I’d like you to feel what it’s like.’
‘What what’s like?’ he says.
‘The feeling … the closeness?’
‘So, you’ve scored some magic drugs?’
I ignore this and inch in. ‘Perhaps … I could kiss you? Er, feel free to say no, but… I’d like you to remember what it’s like to kiss someone who cares about you. It won’t be like it was with her, and I’m not trying to make it like that. Just to … remember what that closeness feels like. I haven’t kissed that many people so it’s not like I’m saying I’m any good—’
He goes to stand but stops. ‘You’re serious?’ he says.
I shrug.
‘You’ve finally gone mad.’ He says it so sincerely, I think he’s genuinely worried for me, which is funny because I’ve rarely felt more sane. I pick up the bottle of Mars Milk from the side of his backpack and take a drink.
‘It doesn’t have to be weird,’ I say, wiping my mouth. ‘We’ve done it before.’
‘Four years ago,’ he says.
‘Well, yeah.’
‘And you made me pretend to be our tennis teacher.’
‘This time it’s got nothing to do with George, I promise.’
He laughs, then he leans in, frowning. ‘What kind of kissing are you talking about?’
I stare at his forehead, creased into that perfect Wi-Fi sign. It’s comforting to see this in a way I can’t explain. I wonder if he even knows it’s there. ‘I dunno, just a kiss.’
‘Um … all right then,’ he says.
I get a flash of how bizarre this should feel but doesn’t.
‘I’m going to count to three and then I’m going to do it. You all right with that?’ I ask. He dips his head. ‘So,’ I say, taking both of his hands, and I feel them shaking in mine. ‘I’m going to count backwards, from three down to one, and when I—’
Then his face moves closer and his skin is against my skin. Traces of the rough stubble above his top lip brush against mine and the tip of his nose is cold against my cheek. My mouth feels small on his and I keep it closed. His lips are fixed and I leave them there and it’s a few seconds before I kiss him back. I’m wondering if he’ll pull away, but he leans in and kisses me again and his lips feel wet now, mine do too, and our mouths open into each other’s. I’m not thinking of anyone else. I’m focused only on Pez and I no longer hear the nearby children or the birds, or the music drifting from an open window. It’s as though a stethoscope sits over my ears and all I can hear is the pounding of ou
r two hearts.
He pulls away and I straighten but he shifts closer on the grass towards me. I lean into him and when our lips touch this time my eyes open because it’s not that kind of kiss. There’s a tiny drag as he pulls away and I watch as his mouth closes and he bites his lower lip.
‘So,’ he says, wiping his mouth with his arm, ‘guess that was OK.’ He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close as the two kids from the swings pelt past us on their way to the bench. I could sit like this forever. This is everything. This is enough.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Was alright.’
He smiles and grabs his bag. ‘C’mon, we should eat. Your call, birthday girl.’
‘What about that expensive pizza place with the tables outside?’
His hand reaches for mine. ‘Chancer!’ he says, pulling me up.
‘Wendy’s AirBnB is only up the road,’ I say, lifting the photo from where it’s stood against the trunk of the tree.
Pez checks his phone. ‘Something we have to do first,’ he says, taking the photo and slotting it under his arm. ‘I’ll carry it.’
It feels good to walk together and we fall quickly into step. It’s the best kind of quiet; nobody needs to speak and still everything feels easy.
We cross Camden Road and turn into Rochester Place and my legs start to tingle as we pass the gates to the terrace gardens where we sat after he crashed Harland’s car. We keep going all the way to Kentish Town Road and turn right, past the church and the pub and the chemist, wandering on up past the Tesco Express towards Nando’s. Here he comes to a stop.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ he says, untying the shirt from around his waist. ‘Put this on.’ I hold the shirt up. ‘Here,’ he says, ‘Let me.’ He takes it by the sleeves and lifts it to my face, covering my eyes before tying the sleeves in a knot behind my head. I feel his hands on my shoulders as he starts to spin me gently around and around. ‘Now,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘Keep walking.’
‘Um … what are we doing?’ I say. But the truth is, I know.
All the Invisible Things Page 28