Skylarks

by Karen Gregory

  Annabel shudders again. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever even climbed a tree.’

  ‘You are kidding me.’ I jump up, put one foot into the bit where the trunk makes a V and pull myself into the branches. ‘Come on, climb up too.’

  She shakes her head, half smiling, her eyes worried. I stomp on one of the boards and a bit chips off and falls. ‘Heads!’

  Annabel takes a step back, then screws up her face. ‘Come down.’

  ‘Come up. It’s safe, honestly. Look, I’ll pull you.’ I hook one arm around a branch and lean down so my hand’s dangling, but that really seems to freak her out. She shuts her eyes.

  ‘I can’t watch.’

  I lose the smile and swing down, landing with a thud right next to her. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  Annabel lowers her hands. ‘You must think I’m completely pathetic,’ she says.

  ‘No I don’t. There’s plenty of stuff I’m scared of.’

  ‘Really? You don’t seem afraid of anything,’ she says.

  I think about losing our home, how someday soon I might never be able to climb our tree again, about how I’m getting to feel about her. ‘I get scared, believe me.’

  She doesn’t ask of what and part of me is relieved, because how do I tell her that not only can’t we afford Domino’s, but also we can’t even afford to live here at all?

  I change the subject. ‘You never needed to order the pizza, you know, but thanks. Jack thinks all his Christmases just came at once.’

  ‘He’s so sweet. And you don’t need to thank me.’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’ I pause, then I add, ‘It might not be a big deal to you, but it is to –’ I substitute ‘me’ for ‘Jack’.

  Annabel nods, and suddenly I know I have to be myself with her if this is ever going to go anywhere. I take a big breath and look her in the eye. ‘Thing is, you know we’re pretty skint. We can’t afford stuff like you can.’

  ‘I know,’ she says and I can see she’s trying hard to be all inclusive or whatever the word is, but that she doesn’t really get it. It’s like Kelly but twenty times worse.

  ‘Yeah, you say that but you don’t. Do you know what a zero-hours contract is? Or how much a loaf costs, even? I’m betting you’ve never taken a cleaning job to pay for your brother’s school trip, have you?’

  Her mouth falls open and then she closes it again.

  ‘I’m happy to do it, that’s not my point. The point is …’ I look up at the new leaves on the tree. ‘That life’s not easy for us like it is for you, and stuff could get a lot worse.’

  I’m about to tell her about the buyout and the campaign, but she’s giving me this odd look, her head on one side. Then she says quietly, ‘You’re right, I don’t understand all that. But having money doesn’t mean life’s easy.’

  ‘Seems it from where I’m sitting. My family would be totally sorted if we had enough cash,’ I say. I’m not saying it in a horrible way, but it feels good anyway, to let her know what I think.

  But to my surprise, Annabel’s eyes are full of tears. ‘Yes, I think you would.’

  I’m about to ask her what’s up when Jack’s overexcited voice comes down the garden.

  ‘You guys! PIZZA!’

  Later, with everyone stuffed and the leftovers shoved in the fridge, me and Annabel go up to my room. She looks around as I fiddle with my docking station. It’s only a cheapo one and the sound’s pretty tinny, but I shove it on random and turn to Annabel just as Rihanna’s ‘Diamonds’ comes on, which makes me think of the time I caught Annabel in the library singing. I reckon I already knew, right then, but I don’t say anything. I look around too, trying to take in through her eyes the clothes hooked over the back of my chair, the spare books stacked up on the floor because there’s no room on the bookcase for them. Annabel touches one of my blue WALL-E curtains and I laugh to cover up my embarrassment. ‘I loved that film. Got the curtains for my ninth birthday.’ I don’t add we haven’t had the cash to replace them since; pretty sure Annabel’s twigged that.

  ‘They’re sweet. And they go with your rug. It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?’

  She means the rag rug, done in blue and purple, my favourite colours when I was little. ‘My nana made it. It took her months,’ I say.

  ‘Wow. I couldn’t imagine my grandmother making anything like that.’

  ‘No?’

  Annabel laughs. ‘Definitely not. We don’t see her often in any case; she stays in the Toulouse house mostly.’

  ‘How many houses have your parents got, exactly?’

  ‘Well, home of course and the Toulouse house and a little flat in town for Daddy.’

  ‘Town? What, like, London?’ I pause, then say, ‘How little?’

  ‘Only three bedrooms, so we don’t often …’ She stops, probably remembering we’re currently in one of three bedrooms. Or two point five really, given there’s only about enough room between my desk and bed for the rag rug.

  Annabel sits on the edge of my bed and because there’s nowhere else except the loaded up chair, I sit next to her. Jazzy hops down from my windowsill and comes over to investigate. Annabel tickles him behind his ears.

  ‘You’ve got his seal of approval. He doesn’t let just anyone stroke him, you know,’ I say, smiling.

  When her phone buzzes for the third time since we went up to my room I say, ‘You going to look at that?’

  ‘It’s just everyone on SnapChat,’ she says, but doesn’t say anything else, and I realise apart from that Charlotte girl, she’s never mentioned any friends. It’s like this massive part of her I don’t know anything about.

  Then again, how much have I told her about Kelly and the gang? Cuts both ways, I guess.

  I’m thinking about this and wondering yet again if it’s all just too complicated when she says, ‘Joni?’

  I look at her.

  ‘I wanted to …’ She swallows, then gives me this tentative look and leans towards me. I stay still, letting her come to me, liking that she’s moved to kiss me, not the other way around, and then I’m getting lost in this kiss that goes on forever. We pull close together, enough so I can feel her chest pressed up against mine and my heart is beating hard, heat spreading right through me in a hot rush. I put one hand up to the back of her head, feel her hair soft under my fingers.

  Me and Lara were seeing each other for three months in all and the most we ever did was kiss, but this … I want to do everything. I want to touch her. The sensation’s so powerful I actually feel myself starting to shake and I pull back and take a deep breath. Bloody hell. What is happening to me?

  Annabel breathes hard too, her face flushed. She’s so beautiful. ‘Is this OK?’ she says and there’s something so sweet about the way she says it, how she bites her lip after, the words I said after our first kiss echoing back to me, that I smile. ‘I think … let’s go back downstairs, yeah?’

  For a second she looks disappointed and that sends another shot of excitement through me, but there’s a bit of my brain that knows this is moving really fast, that I’m thinking with my pants and not my head here. I take her hand, give it a squeeze. ‘It was more than OK. But let’s just … take it steady.’

  She nods and lets me lead her downstairs.

  At the front door, she says, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  Obviously she will, it’s a library day, but I know what she’s really trying to do is check in. It makes her seem less … I was going to say posh and scary, but I realise as I wave her off I haven’t really been thinking about Annabel that way for a while now.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Work the next day is almost painful. Not because it’s a tricky day or because of anything Annabel does – she’s great actually, relaxed and smiling loads more than usual. She’s come up with this plan to do a seniors’ yoga class, which of course Mrs H loves, and we spend some time making up posters and updating the library website. First lesson will be next week, taught by none other than Annabel who, surprise, surpris
e, has had private lessons. I don’t feel snarky about it though.

  No, work’s painful because of last night, how all these feelings seemed to leap up and ambush me, and how much I keep thinking about kissing her … so much so, it’s kind of hard to concentrate on much else.

  Even Mrs H notices. Me and Annabel are sitting next to each other working at the PC and she leans over me to point to something, her leg pushing up against mine, a second before Mrs H comes up.

  ‘Are you feeling OK, Joni? You look very flushed. You’re not coming down with a cold, are you?’

  ‘Er, no, I’m good, thanks. It’s just a bit hot,’ I say and Mrs H goes off to open a window. I look at Annabel and quickly look away, but not before I catch her eye and see her smile.

  ‘Gonna go to the store cupboard for … something,’ I say.

  I take a little while in the cupboard, telling myself I need to get a grip. I’ve got too much else to worry about without getting so hung up on someone I hardly know: the community meeting and how behind I am with my school work, for starters. But it all seems to fade to the back of my mind when I think about Annabel. Which is pretty much most of the time right now. And even though I should have seen this coming, did see it really, it still feels overwhelming, like climbing right to the top of a huge tree and then looking down and not knowing whether to be exhilarated or scared.

  All of a sudden I want to chat to Kelly. I send her a quick text to see if she’s about later, and go back out.

  Annabel’s disappeared, but in her place is a group of girls and lads about my age I’ve never seen in here before, looking around the place and talking loudly.

  ‘Do you think they’d have it?’

  One of the girls laughs. ‘Why don’t you ask?’ The way she says it sounds like a dare.

  My stomach drops. It’s the black-haired girl from the restaurant, along with the two lads and another girl I don’t recognise. One of the boys spots me and walks over casually. I flash back to the restaurant, his chair tripping the waiter and the feel of the sundae spreading across my lap. ‘Hello. We were wondering if you had a particular book?’ he says.

  His voice is polite, friendly even, but I’m sure I catch something in his eyes. But these are Annabel’s friends, so I smile and say, ‘I can have a look. What is it?’

  ‘It’s called The Plum in the Golden Vase,’ he says. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?’

  ‘Er, no … I don’t think we have many Chinese authors, but I could look? Was it published recently?’ I notice I’m doing this weird thing with my voice, making sure I pronounce all my words carefully. I sound like a pale imitation of Annabel.

  The black-haired girl says something to the other girl and I swear she looks like she’s about to burst out laughing. I get the uncomfortable feeling something I don’t quite get is going on, but I sit behind the computer and do a quick search of the catalogue. Nothing comes up.

  ‘Sorry, no, we don’t have that,’ I say.

  ‘What about The Fabliaux?’ he says. I pause and look up at him. He has this totally innocent expression, but the black-haired girl is smothering a laugh.

  ‘Henry!’ Annabel has appeared out of nowhere.

  The boy turns and then they’re all saying hello and mwah-ing each other. I take the opportunity to do a quick Google search.

  Yeah, so they’re both dirty books from medieval times. What a knobber. I do another quick search and scribble down something on a piece of paper.

  Annabel’s in full-on posh mode, chatting away to the girls, flicking her hair and laughing. She looks like she’s grown about an inch somehow; she’s holding herself totally differently. I sit behind the desk, trying not to go red. The black-haired girl, whose name I gather from their talk is Izzie, says, ‘I don’t know how you’re managing it, Annabel, I really don’t.’ She says it like Annabel’s working in some Third World sweatshop or something.

  ‘Oh, you know Daddy, he always gets his way,’ Annabel says with a laugh. ‘And besides, if he hadn’t intervened the library wouldn’t be here any more.’ She gets this proud look on her face.

  The two boys are standing closer to me, so I catch Henry say lazily, ‘Or his name on the crest outside.’

  I don’t think Annabel hears. She turns at something Izzie’s asked and says, all smooth, ‘That’s Joni. Joni, come and meet everyone.’

  I tear the paper off the pad and go over.

  ‘Joni, this is Henry, Max, Izzie and Helena.’

  ‘Hi,’ I say, trying not to sound awkward. They all say hello back.

  Helena looks at me. ‘Don’t mind Henry, he’s a total bastard. He’s forever teasing us all, aren’t you, Henry?’ She gives him this big-eyed flirty look while he does what’s quite possibly the smuggest grin I’ve ever seen. Honest to God, I don’t know how he’s never had a smack in the chops. It also didn’t feel much like teasing to me, but I think she’s trying to be nice, so I just smile. Then I push the paper into his hand. ‘Here you go. Sorry we didn’t have those other books but you might want to check this one out. The Amazon reviews say it has a good section on masturbation.’

  There’s complete silence for a minute, and I get the satisfaction of seeing the smug look wiped right off his face. Then they all start laughing and this time it doesn’t feel directed at me. Izzie gazes at me with new respect. Annabel looks confused.

  They go soon after, in a flurry of more kisses. Izzie says to Annabel as if I’m not there, ‘She’s fun, isn’t she?’

  Annabel says something indistinct to this and as they walk away she turns to me and makes a face. ‘Was Henry …?’

  ‘Being an arse? Yep.’

  She sighs. ‘Urgh, sorry. He’s such a dickweasel.’

  I grin at her use of the word. ‘That’s all right,’ I say. But it’s not really.

  Later on, we lock up and say bye to Mrs H, then stand in the car park watching her go. I turn to Annabel. ‘Do you like him? Henry?’

  I may have been stewing on this all afternoon.

  She pauses. ‘I know he takes it a little far sometimes, but he can be good fun. And his father’s got something to do with Daddy’s business. We have them over for dinner parties fairly regularly. I think Daddy would love it if Henry and I were – you know.’

  ‘Seriously? Eww. He’s a prat. Henry, not your dad, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, a lot of the time he is. I remember this one dinner party, Henry came with his parents, made a load of ridiculous jokes, got pissed and I found him throwing up into the lake. He tried to kiss me straight after he’d vomited.’

  ‘Nice. What did you do?’

  ‘I sidestepped him.’ She smiles like this is funny, but I keep my face straight and her expression fades. ‘I suppose he is a bit … He celebrated when Donald Trump got elected. He’s really into winners and losers, “survival of the fittest”’ – she puts on a deep voice – ‘that sort of thing. It’s irritating.’

  I give her a long look. Sounds more than ‘irritating’ to me. Annabel’s face has clouded over.

  ‘Do you remember the Grenfell Tower disaster the other year?’ she says.

  I nod. We did a bake sale for the appeal at school. Mum and Dad scraped together the money for ingredients for an epic chocolate cake. Jamie helped me bake and decorate it.

  ‘Henry’s father was talking about how some of the survivors were going to live in a luxury block nearby – and how it was so ridiculous they were being given those flats for nothing, when people had worked hard to buy them, and I remember sitting there, listening to Henry agreeing, and no one said a word. I had to excuse myself and say I had a headache. That’s when I first started thinking … Oh, I don’t know.’ She makes an impatient gesture and I can see she’s about to say she’s being silly or ridiculous or whatever the word is she always seems to use to put herself down.

  ‘It’d be weird if that didn’t hack you off,’ I say, my voice careful.

  ‘Yes. And it made me feel like, well … that I don’t fit.’ There’s a lo
ng pause, then she shakes herself and says, ‘Anyhow, I’m sorry if he was rude to you. Don’t pay him any attention.’

  We leave it at that, but the conversation has let me know another thing about her I was pretty sure of anyway: her parents definitely don’t know she likes girls.

  Which is going to be a problem, sooner or later.

  I sigh and start to unchain my bike, and Annabel gives this little squeak. ‘I almost forgot! I have something for you.’ She pushes me gently back up the steps so I’m in the doorway to the library, her car just out of sight around the corner. ‘Wait there. And close your eyes,’ she says.

  I hear her rustling around and some banging, then the sound of a boot slamming.

  ‘Open your eyes,’ Annabel calls in her clear voice.

  I do.

  The next second she appears at the bottom of the steps on a bike.

  A gleaming red mountain bike. She dings the bell and grins at me.

  ‘Huh?’ I manage.

  Her smile widens. ‘It’s for you!’

  ‘Huh?’ I say again. Articulate as always.

  ‘Do you like it? I had the saddle lowered so it should be just right for you, but I didn’t know exactly how high. It’s not a problem though, we can alter it if we need to …’ She trails off.

  I come down the steps slowly, and put one hand on the handlebars. She’s got a bike? For me? This is way more than pizza. Too much more.

  ‘Annabel …’

  Her smile fades. ‘Oh no, don’t look like that, Joni, please. I just wanted to say how much I … I wanted you to have something … nice.’

  I close my eyes for a second, feeling a sudden urge to cry. ‘And it is, it really is. But you’ve got to know I can’t take it.’

  Her eyes shimmer.

  ‘I’m sorry, Annabel, but I can’t. It’d be like charity or something.’

  ‘That isn’t what I meant though, not at all.’

  ‘I know you didn’t, but –’

  ‘A loan then.’ Her voice sounds almost desperate. ‘I didn’t buy this. Daddy got it for me a year ago and I’ve never ridden it. I wanted you to have it, but what about if you borrow it? Just for now?’