Skylarks

by Karen Gregory

  ‘Yeah, I do. We can’t sit here waiting until half the people round here are gone who knows where. Do you remember the Jubilee?’

  Lorraine’s face brightens. ‘Lovely day that – we were lucky with the weather, weren’t we?’

  ‘And with you. You organised all that.’

  ‘It was a while ago,’ she says.

  ‘I know.’

  There’s a silence and I can see her thinking. ‘If this rent rise goes through, me and Dylan’ll have to move out. Loads of us will.’

  ‘It might not, if we all kick up enough of a fuss.’

  Lorraine’s nodding now and I feel a surge of triumph. ‘Right, when’s this meeting? Give me the rest of them,’ she says and I hand over the leaflets. Lorraine scans through one and then nods, her face determined. ‘We’ll be there.’

  I go back to my house, where Deal and Jamie are waiting, and give them a thumbs up. It feels good to be out doing something, talking to people. Trying to get everyone to see we’re all in the same boat. And with Lorraine on board, I know we’ll get a decent turnout at our meeting.

  Question is, will it ever be enough?

  I work all week on social media, checking in with Jamie, Kells and Deal. Kelly says she’s got a plan, but won’t say what. I think it involves a celebrity – she’s been tweeting everyone she can think of but so far no one’s answered. I’ve barely been bothering with homework. School’s starting to feel less and less relevant these days.

  I got pulled up on it by Miss Lund in French the other day. She stopped me on the way out with that look teachers get when they’re about to tell you that you need to start working otherwise Your Whole Future Will be Ruined. Like I haven’t been hearing that crap since Year Six SATs. Schoolwork is just there, something to get out of the way so you can get on with your real life, like seeing mates, going up on the Downs, going out. Seeing Annabel …

  I try and push thoughts of her out of my head. Remember Miss Lund saying, ‘You need to buckle down, Joni. I know you can do better than a D.’ She was waving my last practice paper in front of me.

  I said sorry, explained there was some stress going on at home, which usually does the trick, and escaped, but I’m still left with that scratchy feeling, like everyone at school and at home is trying to wrestle me into this big costume marked Uni for the Win and I’m not sure I want to wear it at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The meeting is in the back room of The Olde Inne. I’m still worried no one will show up, but when I walk through the door with Kelly, the place is already half full and as Jamie goes around talking to people and handing out leaflets, more come through the door. I reckon there’s a good thirty people by the time Deal starts talking.

  I sit next to Kelly and watch him in action.

  ‘Hi, everyone. Some of you know me already.’ There’s a general murmur at this. ‘I’ve been living here the last three years and I love this place.’ That gets some smiles. ‘If you don’t know me, you’ll all know Jamie and Joni here.’ He pauses to look at us and everyone else follows suit. I feel myself going red, but he’s already launching into his speech.

  He’s good. Really good. He’s toned down the swears and the ranting side I sometimes hear with Jamie, but he still talks with passion, setting out all sorts of stuff, like how expensive houses are to rent outside the estate, using words like ‘social cleansing’.

  ‘Who do they think is going to do the care work, or the bar and restaurant work?’ He nods to someone who’s come in late at the back and I realise with a leap inside it’s one of the TAs from school. ‘Or work as teaching assistants, if we all move out? Loads of you have been here for decades.’ He looks at the many grey heads in the room.

  Jamie’s nodding, his expression similar to Deal’s: fierce, alight. ‘Our family have been here all my life. We’re people too and we matter,’ Jamie says, his voice rising at the end.

  There’s a chorus of approval at this.

  One lady speaks, the TA. ‘But these big companies never back down, they always win in the end.’

  Jamie’s about to speak, but Deal slides in smoothly. He’s walking up and down, filling the space like a natural, all six foot of him. ‘That’s not true. They fought it on an estate in London. Same thing – company came, bought the houses, jacked up the rent and expected people to go quietly. But they didn’t. They had sit-in protests at the Town Hall, picketed the company’s offices, the works. And they won. There’ve been others too.’ He reels off a list. ‘We just need to show White Light we mean business. We’re going to have a march, right here in the town. We’ll force them to listen. And if that doesn’t work, well, we’ll keep going. What you’ve got to understand is how people like White Light think. And I know about that.’ Deal’s gaining momentum now, his voice getting louder. ‘People like the men in charge of White Light only believe in money. They don’t give a shit – excuse me,’ he says to the lady with the biscuits from the other day but she waves a hand and smiles up at him. ‘You’re right, this is a time to be angry, so I’ll say again. They. Don’t. Give. A. Shit. Not about you or me or anyone but themselves. But we can make them. And we will!’ He shouts the last bit, then adds in a voice that seems almost menacing, ‘Believe me, we will.’

  I feel a momentary chill, then look around the room. People are nodding, their faces determined. One or two are smiling, exchanging comments with the people sitting next to them. There’s a buzz in the air as the meeting wraps up.

  ‘Wow,’ Kelly says to me. ‘He’s pretty woke, isn’t he? You reckon this lot will be though?’

  ‘I don’t think they were ever asleep. it’s just they didn’t know what to do before,’ Deal says from behind her. He’s still pumped up, his face flushed.

  ‘And now they do,’ Kelly says.

  ‘Yeah. Now we do. All of us,’ I say.

  I’m smiling too.

  Later on, I’m on my way to Annabel’s house. It feels great to be whizzing along, no sticking gears or falling-off chain, just the air running across my bare arms and the smell of summer approaching. The tree tunnel above me is an explosion of green shadows as I whip by. I’m still buzzing from the meeting earlier. Loads of people signed the petition and took down the web address, said they’d tell their friends about the march or write to Lattimer.

  There’s only one thing that’s bothering me as I go up the driveway to Annabel’s house. I haven’t actually told her about the campaign yet. I’m not sure why, except my impulse to keep things separate seems to be winning out. But it’s also starting to feel odd to keep something this big to myself, now that I’m more comfy telling her stuff.

  Annabel is waiting on the front step, wearing shorts and a vest top. Her legs are about a mile long.

  ‘Hello!’ She gives a big grin and I know there’s an equally wide one on my face. We don’t do the stupid air-kissy thing, just hug for a long time.

  ‘Your parents in?’

  She shakes her head and gives me a look that makes me go hot. I know we’re moving more and more each day to a point we’re not going to come back from and still be the same people.

  When we’re inside she says, ‘Shall we go to my room?’ I gulp.

  It’s predictably gigantic, with an enormous double bed you can easily walk all the way round. The bed has pillows and a duvet that match and look like they’ve been ironed on. There’s a throw over the foot of the bed in the same pattern as the cushions. One corner of the room has this huge antique-looking oak desk. I touch the warm grain of the wood.

  ‘Daddy had it custom-made. He has a matching one in his study. Well, larger, but you know,’ Annabel says.

  ‘It’s nice.’ I’m having trouble getting the words out because my eyes keep sliding towards the bed. I’m pretty sure my face is still tomato-like so I turn away to look around again.

  Everything is nice, understated but in a way you can tell costs a mint. All cream walls and thick rugs on beautiful floorboards, and that desk. That bed. I’m wondering if comin
g up to Annabel’s room was a good idea.

  ‘This place looks like a magazine or something,’ I say.

  Annabel gives an embarrassed cough. ‘Mummy had it all decorated. I didn’t actually choose any of this. Except the poster. Daddy got it for me, and some other things. One for each A star at GCSE.’

  It’s a framed signed picture of the Beatles record ‘Love Me Do’. ‘That’s not real, is it?’ I say.

  She gives a faint nod, looking sheepish.

  Bloody hell. Again.

  ‘Definitely beats my place,’ I say.

  I don’t mean it in a horrible way, it’s just the truth.

  Then because there seems to be no way to avoid it, I leap on to the bed and start bouncing up and down, pushing the covers wonky and revealing a layer of pillows. The mattress is awesome, deep and smoothly firm, no sagging bits or springs you’d have to curl your body round. ‘Come on. Bounce with me.’

  ‘No, I don’t –’

  ‘Come on!’ I snatch a pillow and chuck it at her.

  Annabel laughs and lets me pull her up and then we’re jumping up and down and lobbing pillows, her hair flying up behind her. We bump into each other and fall to one side, so I’m half on top of her, still laughing, and then we both go really still.

  I am lying on Annabel’s bed. With Annabel.

  I’m about to pull back when she reaches up and puts one hand around the back of my head, drawing my mouth down to hers. I can feel her underneath me, her body, her tongue against mine, and it’s there again, bursts of colour behind my eyes, my head light with it. One of my legs is between hers. I push up so I can look at her. Then with my face close to hers, checking she’s all right with my eyes, I reach down and put my hand on her stomach over her vest top and move it up. She makes a little noise, pulls me in for another kiss, so my hand is kind of squashed between us, but it’s OK, and there’s a huge part of my brain that’s just going OMGOMGOMG, because I’ve never touched anyone’s boob before. We roll on to our sides and she reaches for me too, and it feels so good, amazing, her fingers light and then firmer, our legs still tangled up together.

  After forever, we stop for breath. Annabel’s smiling and I am too.

  Part of me wants to keep kissing her, touch her again, to do more, but I sit up instead, knocking a pillow on to the floor.

  Underneath is a tiny bear with matted fur and one ear missing.

  I pick it up. ‘Who’s this?’ I’m still smiling.

  Annabel goes red. ‘It’s nothing. Ridiculous. If Mummy thought I’d kept him …’

  I stare as she tucks the bear away, then turns to face me, her bottom lip caught for a second under her top teeth. ‘The only other person who’s seen Barney is Mary, when she makes the beds. She knows to keep him tucked away.’ She gives a laugh. ‘It’s ridiculous really,’ she says again.

  But I don’t smile back. ‘Why do you hide him?’

  Annabel jerks her chin up; her version of a shrug. ‘Mummy thinks he got thrown out years and years ago, when I went to boarding school. She said I was too old for him, that the other girls would tease me.’

  ‘Did they?’

  Her smile is an odd one I haven’t seen on her before. ‘I know how to keep things hidden. If they need to be.’

  Like me? I don’t ask.

  Instead I let her pull me towards her again, but as we start kissing, a voice floats up the stairs.

  Annabel pulls back so fast she almost falls off the bed. I have to shoot out a hand to stop her.

  ‘That’s Mummy,’ she says, looking horrified.

  ‘Want me to climb out of the window?’ I’m half joking and half hurt.

  Annabel gives me another panicked look and then she squares her shoulders and says, ‘No. Come on, we had better go down.’

  I follow her down the wide stairs. There’s a woman in the hallway with a suitcase, who’s the spit of Annabel if you add on a few years. Not many mind; I wonder if she’s had work done.

  ‘Mummy!’

  Annabel runs over and they air-kiss twice. Then Annabel’s mum spots me lurking at the bottom of the stairs. I swallow hard, think, showtime, and step forwards.

  ‘Mummy, this is Joni from the library.’ Annabel says, in a pretty normal voice considering.

  I feel like I should wipe my palms on my jeans before I take the hand Annabel’s mum holds out to me, saying, ‘Eleanor.’ Her hand is cool, just like Annabel’s. They’re so similar up close; it’s properly freaky, and I stare into Annabel’s mum’s eyes a bit too long as I mutter, ‘Nice to meet you.’ This seems to be the wrong thing to say because I can see I’ve failed some test I didn’t even know I needed to revise for.

  My stomach churns. I never feel nervous like this with anyone’s parents – Kelly’s mum is a right laugh and even Lara’s parents were nice enough – but then, I’ve never really met anyone like Annabel or her mum.

  Eleanor says, ‘Mary’s left something for supper?’ Annabel nods and Eleanor turns to me. ‘Well then, why don’t you stay for supper too? I always like to get to know any friends of Annabel’s.’

  Annabel gives a twitch, like she’s thinking this is a bad idea. I look down at the frayed laces on my boots. ‘Um, thanks, but I’d best get off. I don’t want to put you out or anything.’

  ‘Nonsense – I’m sure Annabel would love you to stay.’ This time her mum’s voice is firm. Annabel’s shoulders seem to slump forward but I don’t feel like I’ve got any choice except to say, ‘OK, thanks.’

  ‘That’s settled then. Perfect.’ She suddenly purses her lips and looks Annabel up and down. ‘Would you like to change into something a little less …’ She wafts her hand at Annabel’s shorts, which I guess are on the skimpy side.

  Annabel flushes and says, ‘Sorry, Mummy.’ She runs off up the stairs. I stand awkwardly in the kitchen as Eleanor goes to the oven, opens it and clucks her tongue, then wrenches a knob around quite hard. Then she turns to me. ‘You like salmon?’

  ‘Er … I’m a veggie – vegetarian actually,’ I say. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Really?’ Her eyebrows arch. ‘Surely not fish though?’

  I try to smile. ‘Sorry,’ I say again.

  ‘Well, I’m sure we can find something for you. It’s no trouble.’

  I’m pretty sure it is, but she goes to the fridge and gets one of those M&S ready meals out, then smiles at me. ‘Here we are. Mushroom en croute.’

  ‘Lovely, thanks,’ I say and hope I can eat it, because I’ve no idea what that is and I’m not a massive mushroom fan.

  Annabel comes back into the kitchen. She’s changed into a below-the-knee floral dress which looks nice but somehow seems to make her stand taller and stiffer than usual. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress before.

  Eleanor gives her a once-over, lips pursed again. ‘I’m not sure that colour does anything for you. And it rather cuts you off at the knees.’ I thought the blue was kind of nice – goes with her eyes – but I don’t dare say it. Annabel looks down at her legs. ‘I saw this gorgeous dress in Browns last week. I’ll pick it up next time I pass,’ Eleanor says.

  ‘Thank you,’ Annabel says and I swear her voice is posher.

  I go with Annabel into the dining room. The table’s big enough to get half my History class round. ‘All right?’ I say, in a low voice. Annabel lays down a cloth serviette and smooths it over with the tips of her fingers, then darts a glance up at me that says it all. She’s terrified.

  ‘I won’t let on anything, you know, about us. I take it your parents don’t know?’

  She shakes her head.

  We’ve got to have a proper talk about this. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, being gay, you know,’ I say in a whisper, then add, ‘I’ll make an excuse.’

  I don’t wait for Annabel’s response before I go into the gigantic kitchen, where Eleanor is opening the Aga.

  ‘I think I need to get off after all. I’ve got … um …’ My brain goes totally blank, just white space where an excuse should be. �
��I’m sure you want to have Annabel to yourself,’ I say finally.

  She turns, holding a dish. On her left hand a diamond above her wedding ring catches the light. ‘Not at all. It will be lovely to hear all about the library.’

  There isn’t much arguing with that, without seeming completely rude. I slink back to the dining room where Annabel’s finished setting the table with proper serviettes and both wine and water glasses.

  ‘Shall we sit?’ Eleanor calls. ‘Annabel, why don’t you get some water.’

  I follow Annabel into the kitchen and watch as she gets a jug and starts slicing a lime. ‘Need a hand?’

  She pulls a face. ‘Could you get some water from the fridge?’

  I grab a couple of bottles and she decants them into the jug, adding lime slices and ice.

  Eleanor’s already sat on one of the lounge sofas, holding a glass of white wine. I sit gingerly on the other one, while Annabel brings in a tray and puts it on a shining wood coffee table near me. The jug’s heavy and as I pour, two ice cubes plonk out, sending water sloshing over the table.

  ‘You’ve put too many in, darling,’ Eleanor says.

  ‘I’ll get a cloth,’ Annabel says, but I’ve already grabbed a slightly grubby tissue out of my pocket and started mopping up. We both kind of freeze and I say, ‘Sorry,’ yet again. Eleanor gives another wave of her hand but I’m sure I catch her lips going tight.

  We sip our drinks. I scan my brain for something to say. Eventually, my eyes land on that photo of Annabel on an orange coloured horse. ‘Is that Puzzle?’ I say.

  Before Annabel can reply, Eleanor gives a laugh. ‘Oh, you did love that pony.’ She looks at me. ‘Annabel insisted on riding her every day. I used to worry about her up on the Downs on her own.’ This sounds like something my mum would say so I smile, but then Eleanor turns to Annabel. ‘I never understood the fuss you made about getting something more forward going. Puzzle was such a plodder.’ She looks back at me. ‘Annabel grew so tall so quickly. Her feet must have been at poor Puzzle’s knees. We had to sell her while Annabel was away at school.’