All About Mia

by Lisa Williamson

Sam crouches down to pick up the cuddly toys I’ve rejected, gathering them up in his arms.

  ‘Yes!’ I cry.

  ‘What?’ he asks, straightening up.

  ‘Found one.’

  ‘Found what?’

  ‘A lizard. Look!’ I found him at the very bottom of the box, the lone reptile.

  ‘Are you sure he’s not a crocodile?’ Sam asks.

  ‘No. Look at its tongue.’ I thrust the lizard in Sam’s face. ‘See. One hundred per cent lizard.’

  ‘But why lizards?’

  ‘Because. Lizards hardly ever get to be cuddly toys. They’re the total underdog of the cuddly toy world.’

  ‘You gonna buy him for Bean, then?’ he asks.

  The mention of the baby throws me, reminding me why we’re actually here. I hesitate, holding out the lizard so it’s facing me, its red felt tongue dangling out of its mouth hopefully.

  ‘Nah. It’ll get a ton of cuddly toys when it’s born,’ I say, shoving it back on the pile.

  We continue round the toy department, struggling to find anything unique enough to warrant a secret bathroom meeting.

  ‘How about a baby shower?’ I suggest eventually. ‘That’s what they always do on the reality TV shows I watch.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ Sam says, chucking his arm round my shoulder. ‘Mia, you’re a genius! We can do it in August, after the wedding.’

  We abandon John Lewis and head to the massive twenty-four-hour Tesco superstore. I usually hate supermarkets, but shopping with Sam is actually kind of fun, even if it is all for Grace’s benefit, and for a bit I forget about how horrible yesterday was. It probably helps that we’re buying fun stuff – bunting and banners and balloons – and that Sam (who has already offered to pay for everything) lets me put whatever I want in the trolley, no questions asked. I sit cross-legged in the bottom and shout out orders as he steers. A couple of other shoppers throw us disapproving looks, but we ignore them, Sam pushing me even faster down the wide aisles, jumping on the back of the trolley so it almost tips up.

  In the party aisle, as we argue over what colour napkins to buy, I find myself wondering if this is what it would be like to have a big brother. I’m so used to sisters, to living in a house so full of oestrogen you can almost see it in the air – pink neon sparks crackling like lightning. All I know is, it’s nice to hang out with an older boy and not feel the need to flirt or show off or act sexy. It just feels, I don’t know, easy and relaxed. Nice.

  The feeling doesn’t last long.

  We’re heading for the checkouts when I see them.

  Jordan and his mum.

  They have their backs to me, but I know it’s them right away. They’re loading their shopping into bags. Jordan’s wearing the maroon hoodie he used to drape round my shoulders when I got cold. I swallow hard. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh since we broke up. With him suddenly only metres away from me, it seems miraculous I haven’t run into him before now – Rushton isn’t a small town but it isn’t a particularly big one either. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact I haven’t had a shower or bothered to put on eyeliner or cover up the spots on my forehead or do anything to my hair, which is currently in two wonky bushy pigtails on either side of my head. Not to mention the fact I’m sitting cross-legged in the bottom of a shopping trolley like a little kid.

  ‘This one?’ Sam asks, about to steer into the checkout next to theirs.

  ‘No,’ I say in a low voice. ‘Let’s try further down.’

  I dare to peek over my shoulder as we pass. Jordan is stuffing a Kellogg’s Variety Pack into a bag for life. He likes Coco Pops the best, he once confessed. I remember finding his childish taste in breakfast cereal cute at the time. What a sucker.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Sam asks.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, facing forwards.

  ‘That boy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who is he? Do you like him?’ Sam teases, tugging on one of my pigtails.

  I bat him away. ‘He’s my ex.’

  ‘Oops. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t expecting to see him, that’s all.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  I can’t relax though, not until Sam is able to report Jordan and his mum have definitely left the building.

  I’m still in a funny mood when we leave the shop ten minutes later, laden with bags, my eyes automatically scanning the car park for Jordan’s mum’s Mini.

  ‘You hungry?’ Sam asks. ‘Maccy Ds drive-in? My treat.’

  ‘Grace hates McDonald’s,’ I say, as we park up again shortly afterwards, removing our seatbelts and unwrapping our food on our laps.

  ‘Why do you think I suggested it?’ Sam asks. ‘I’ve been craving a Big Mac ever since I arrived in Rushton.’ He sinks his teeth into his burger and sighs with pleasure.

  ‘Does she email you links to articles about thirty-year-old hamburgers that still haven’t decomposed?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes!’ Sam says. ‘All the time. I thought I was the only one.’

  ‘Nope. She’s being doing it to me for years.’

  We laugh.

  I peel the bun off my cheeseburger and remove the two slithers of gherkin.

  ‘You not eating those?’ Sam asks.

  ‘Uh-uh. Gherkins are rank.’

  ‘Sacrilege! They’re the food of the gods!’

  I flick them into his burger box.

  ‘So, do you want to talk about it?’ Sam asks, arranging the gherkins on top of his patty.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The guy in Tesco.’

  ‘Jordan? Not especially.’

  ‘You sure?’

  I hesitate. It’s weird, because part of me does want to talk to Sam about Jordan. I haven’t really talked about him to anyone, not even Stella and the others.

  ‘There’s nothing really to say,’ I say eventually. ‘We went out, then we broke up. Isn’t that how most relationships go?’

  ‘Who called time on things?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’

  I shake my head hard.

  ‘But you still miss him, right?’

  I pick up a napkin and begin to shred it into ribbons. Do I miss Jordan? Most of the time we were going out, I wasn’t even sure if I liked him. We only really got together because that was what was expected of us. I was cool and popular, and so was he. People had been shipping the two of us as a couple since Year 9. Getting together was just a matter of time. But it never felt right. For a start we argued all the time, about anything and everything. But it wasn’t just that. I kept waiting to feel something more, the stuff they describe in books – fireworks and butterflies. But I never did. I just figured maybe I’d never be one of those girls who just ‘fell in love’.

  I realize Sam is still waiting for my answer.

  ‘I dunno if I miss him. Does it sound really messed up if I say I want him still to be heartbroken over me? Even if I don’t necessarily want him back?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. In fact, I think that’s probably a pretty natural response. When did you guys break up?’

  ‘The beginning of May.’

  ‘Were you together a long time?’

  ‘A bit less than a year,’ I say, shrugging. ‘I just hadn’t bargained on him getting a new girlfriend so quickly, you know.’

  ‘It’ll get easier. You do know that, don’t you, Mia?’

  ‘I suppose so. I just wish it would hurry up … You won’t tell Grace about any of this, will you?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  ‘I just don’t like her knowing my business,’ I say.

  ‘How come?’

  I don’t really know. I used to tell her everything. I’m not quite sure when I stopped. I don’t think it was really like that. It wasn’t like there was ever a big betrayal or argument or anything that marked the breakdown in
communication. It was more of a slow fade. If I was forced to pinpoint when things started to change though, it would have to be when I started at Queen Mary’s. The teachers’ eyes would light up the moment they realized I was Grace’s little sister, their excitement dissolving the moment they cottoned on to the fact a shared surname is pretty much all we had in common. It was different when we were little kids, back when things like grades didn’t matter so much, but with us both at Queen Mary’s, the differences between us were impossible to escape.

  Grace is clever, I am not.

  Grace is good, I am not.

  Grace is going places, I am not.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ I say eventually.

  I’m relieved when Sam doesn’t push me on it.

  23

  That night Mum and Dad are off on their respective hen and stag dos. Mum is going to a pole-dancing class (cringe), followed by tapas, while Dad is going on a pub crawl. They have the monopoly on the bathroom, which means I don’t get the chance to finally have a shower until gone six. By the time I’m done, I have to start getting ready to go to Paul’s next door. I’m about to pull on my usual babysitting ‘uniform’ (tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt), when I find myself reaching for my denim mini skirt and a black vest top instead, and taking extra care with my hair and makeup.

  ‘You look nice,’ Grace says when I stick my head behind the living-room door to say goodbye. She and Audrey are sitting on the sofa watching a nature programme about penguins. ‘Where are you going again?’

  ‘Next-door. I’m babysitting.’

  ‘Bit dressed up, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’d hardly call a denim skirt and a vest top dressed up,’ I say. ‘It’s a hot night, what am I supposed to wear?’

  Grace points the remote control at the TV to turn down the volume. ‘What is with you today, Mia? You’ve been moody since the second you got up.’

  ‘Er, no I haven’t.’

  ‘Yes you have. You were miserable as sin at the fitting earlier.’

  ‘No I wasn’t. I just don’t see why you need to make snarky comments about what I’m wearing.’

  ‘There’s kind of a big difference between being snarky and making an observation.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel like it sometimes.’

  She sighs. ‘Look, I’m sorry if it felt like a criticism; it wasn’t meant to be. You look really nice.’

  I inspect my fingernails. The mint-green polish is all chipped.

  ‘So how was shopping with Sam?’ she asks. ‘You guys have fun?’ With Sam at work tonight, she’s been bugging me for clues ever since I got home.

  ‘I told you, fine.’

  ‘I love how close you two have become.’

  ‘We’re hardly BFFs,’ I mutter, wrinkling my nose.

  Grace just smiles this incredibly annoying smile, like she’s somehow masterminded some deep friendship between Sam and me.

  ‘I’m gonna go,’ I say, backing out of the room.

  ‘OK, night,’ Grace says, her eyes still lingering on my skirt.

  ‘Night,’ Audrey echoes, looking worried for some reason.

  ‘Mia, you’re early,’ Paul says when he opens the door. I guess he’s just finished in the bathroom because he smells strongly of minty shower gel and has a smear of shaving cream on his neck.

  ‘Do you want me to go away and come back?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course not,’ he says, smiling. ‘Come on in.’ He steps aside to let me pass.

  Duncan is already in his bedroom from the sounds of it, the faint noise of explosions and gunshots just audible from where I’m standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  I step out of my flip-flops and follow Paul into the living room where I perch on the edge of the sofa while he fastens on a pair of silver cufflinks.

  Paul’s house has the exact same layout as ours, only it’s the opposite way round and about a thousand times tidier. Paul has a cleaner who comes every Monday afternoon. I see her sometimes when I get home from school – a squat Portuguese woman with silver-streaked black hair, vacuuming the curtains or polishing the TV. All of Paul’s furniture and decor is brand-new and what Mum would probably describe as ‘tasteful’ with a wrinkle of her nose. The sofa I’m sitting on is an L-shaped chocolate-brown corduroy number, dotted with coordinating scatter cushions and a cream cashmere throw. A flat screen TV, three times the size of ours, is mounted on the opposite wall and the lights are artfully dimmed, bathing the entire room in a soft romantic glow. Being at Paul’s is the closest I’ll probably ever get to stepping inside a Galaxy Bar commercial.

  ‘Off anywhere nice?’ I ask.

  ‘Work do,’ Paul replies.

  I realize I have no idea what Paul does for a living, only that he wears a suit, drives a company car and earns enough money to have a cleaner, the latest iPhone and weekly Ocado deliveries.

  ‘A work do on a Saturday?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s the company’s fiftieth anniversary. The CEO is taking the entire staff out for dinner.’

  ‘Does that mean you don’t have to pay for anything?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Drinks and everything?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Dangerous, more like.’ Paul’s phone bleeps. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, picking it up off the coffee table. There’s a pause as he taps at the screen, before sliding it into the back pocket of his trousers.

  I like his outfit; a powder-blue shirt teamed with well-cut grey trousers. Grownup but not too stuffy.

  ‘Paul, can I ask you something?’ The question leaves my lips before I can stop it.

  ‘Of course you can,’ he says, sitting down on the sofa beside me. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Er, OK, this might sound stupid, but what did you want to be when you were in sixth form?’

  Even though I’ve tried to shove it to the back of my mind, yesterday’s showdown with Ugly Tie Man keeps invading my thoughts.

  ‘I never made it to sixth form,’ Paul says.

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No. I left school at sixteen with four GCSEs to my name.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep. A combination of undiagnosed dyslexia and spending too much time showing off in front of my mates.’

  ‘But you’ve got a really good job,’ I say.

  ‘Well, yeah, but that’s now, twenty-four years on. There’s been a lot of hard graft in between.’

  I do the maths in my head. That means Paul is forty.

  He tells me all about his first job, how he started out selling printer cartridges over the phone before rising up through the ranks. It’s a bit boring to be honest and I switch off after a while, glazing over as he reminisces.

  ‘And now I’m sales director for the entire region,’ he says, puffing out his chest.

  ‘Wow, sounds great,’ I say automatically.

  ‘Why’d you ask, Mia? Something bothering you?’

  I find myself telling him about my confrontation with Ugly Tie Man. I hadn’t planned to at all, but it actually feels good to get it off my chest and have someone listen patiently and nod and make sympathetic noises in all the right places.

  ‘He just made me feel so stupid and, I don’t know, insubstantial almost,’ I say. ‘Like there’s nothing more to me than big hair and attitude.’

  Paul sits back and folds his arms. ‘Now, Mia, come on, your hair isn’t that big.’

  It takes me a second to realize he’s making a joke, albeit a very lame one. ‘Are you taking the piss?’ I ask, poking him on the bicep and noting its firmness.

  ‘Only a little bit,’ he says, grinning.

  I stick out my lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

  ‘Seriously though, Mia,’ he says, swapping his grin for a straight face. ‘You can’t let wallies like this supply teacher bloke get you down. You’re a bright young woman. You’ll figure out what your thing is, I have no doubt.’

  No one has called me a woman
before. I like it.

  I notice Paul’s eyes drift away from me and over to the clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Shit, it’s nearly half past. I’d better get a move on,’ he says, standing up.

  I can’t help but feel disappointed.

  ‘Now, I shouldn’t be back too late, but it’s hard to know with these things.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I say.

  I watch as he moves about the living room, scooping up his wallet and keys from the arm of the sofa and pulling on a matching blazer.

  ‘Duncan!’ he yells up the stairs. ‘I’m off. Be good for Mia.’

  ‘OK!’ Duncan yells back.

  ‘Are you not going to come down and give your old man a kiss goodbye?’

  ‘No thanks!’

  Paul laughs and rolls his eyes. ‘Kids.’

  ‘Kids,’ I agree, mimicking Paul’s eye roll.

  ‘As always, help yourself to anything from the fridge,’ Paul says. ‘And if you need me for any reason, don’t hesitate to call.’

  The smear of shaving cream is still on his neck. I stand up, rising onto my tiptoes to wipe it away with my index finger. His skin feels both rough and smooth at the same time.

  ‘Shaving foam,’ I explain.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he says, his face and shoulders relaxing. ‘Thank you, Mia.’

  I shut the door behind him and go back into the living room, flopping on the sofa and scrolling through the Sky Planner. Paul clearly has a thing for moody American crime dramas because they make up the majority of his watch list, along with the odd football match. I find a couple of films I wouldn’t mind watching and a heap of trashy reality TV stuff, before heading to the kitchen to investigate the contents of the fridge. It’s packed with olives and wheels of brie and three different kinds of hummus and those little cheesecakes that come in their own glass ramekins. I load up a plate and head back into the living room.

  I select an episode of mine and Stella’s favourite reality TV show, dunk an artisan cheese straw into a tub of taramasalata and wait for my mind to empty.

  I’m lying on the sofa watching one of the films I earmarked earlier when I hear a car in the driveway. Paul’s back already? It’s not even eleven. I grab the compact mirror from my bag and quickly check my reflection.