Bitter Sixteen

by Stefan Mohamed

  Powers, remember?

  OK, as far as Daryl could throw him.

  And what about the talking dog, genius?

  Oh, forget that. That just . . . kind of . . . happened.

  ‘Oi watch it!’

  I jumped, shaken out of my tangle of thoughts. Whoever I’d almost walked into had already disappeared down the street. Whatever. I slowed down and looked around, seeing that my walk had led me to St. James Park.

  What’s the date?

  Twenty-ninth of May, I think.

  What exams would you have been having today?

  Who cares? We don’t need to do exams! Powers, remember? A possible calling? Of sorts.

  Shiny.

  The park smelled alive, bright and green and full of trees and birds and blossom. It reminded me of home; this oasis of nature in the middle of an artificial steel and concrete entity. This place was the eye of the storm, silent peace at the centre of a dark mass. All I could hear were birds, children having fun, and water. I wandered towards the lake. People sat on blankets and ate ice cream, teenagers played football, young couples lay side-by-side, kissing in the grass. Children giggled and screamed and their parents half-heartedly told them to be quiet, but everyone was enjoying themselves far too much to be cranky. This was exactly what I needed. I wandered to the edge of the water and stood, staring into it, breathing deeply, listening to the symphony of the park.

  Something made me look up. Kloe was on the other side of the lake, staring at me. She was alone. She’d had her hair cut slightly, and there were blonde highlights in it. For several seconds neither of us could move, and then she smiled and the world was perfect. The smile held more happiness than I ever thought I was capable of inspiring, and she started to run around the edge of the lake. I ran as well, both of us keeping our eyes locked on each other, smiling, laughing, and finally we reached the path and kept running, and when we met we wrapped our arms around each other and hugged tightly, and I kissed her and she kissed me, and I remembered the taste of her lips from opening night, only this time we were meeting, not parting, and the beautiful bittersweetness was just sweetness, because I wasn’t going anywhere. Hundreds of thoughts flashed through my brain. Had Miss Stevenson given her my message? How could she possibly be here when there were exams going on? How could she possibly be here, of all places? Would she stay? Was she even real?

  Who cares?

  We kissed for a long time that didn’t feel long, and when we broke apart we were flushed and gasping. Kloe caught her breath and looked at me like I was a time capsule from centuries ago. ‘You . . .’ she said, breathlessly, ‘you . . . you’re . . .’

  ‘Um,’ I said, smiling. ‘Hi.’ Well done.

  She smiled back, and the smile quickly became a grin, and then a laugh. ‘Yeah, hi.’

  We found a café and shared a massive chocolate and vanilla sundae. When we weren’t eating we were talking, and breathing came third. Kloe was here for four days – her first exams had been on Tuesday and Thursday, and they started again next Tuesday. She had come down yesterday, ostensibly to go around some museums for exam research, and had been staying with her aunt down in Surbiton. She was supposed to be heading back on Monday. I tried not to think about that bit.

  ‘Mum and Dad weren’t too happy about me coming down right in the middle of revision,’ Kloe said. ‘I don’t think they believed me when I said I was doing research. But I just had to get away for a bit. I told them I could revise wherever I was. And I feel on top of things, mostly.’

  ‘What exams have you had?’ I asked.

  ‘Music, German and English. Music was a total bastard. German was pretty easy.’

  ‘You were always really good in German,’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘Danke schön, mein liebchen.’ Her eyes dropped to the table. ‘Sorry. Yuck. Cheesy.’

  ‘It’s OK, I don’t know what liebchen means. How was English?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘You’d have found it easy, I think.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. The Romeo and Juliet questions were obviously easy, and the Of Mice and Men stuff was pretty straightforward.’

  ‘What about the poem?’ I asked. ‘Isn’t there a poem as well?’

  Kloe nodded. ‘I didn’t find it hard. I’d read it already, though. What are the odds?’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Emily Dickinson,’ said Kloe. ‘“The Mystery of Pain”. Mr Grant said he was quite surprised about that because it was fairly high level.’

  I couldn’t think of anything to say for a minute. What did missing all my exams mean for my future? Did I have one? Best not to think about that. ‘Did Miss Stevenson give you my message?’ I asked.

  Kloe nodded, and swallowed a mouthful of ice cream. ‘Oooh . . . cold . . . ow . . . OK, gone.’ She exhaled sharply. ‘Sorry. Um . . . yeah, she gave me your message. At the time I was pretty pissed off that you didn’t call me.’

  ‘I couldn’t find your number,’ I said, lamely. ‘Genuinely.’

  Kloe scowled, but couldn’t help laughing. ‘OK. Well . . . worst excuse ever. Congratulations.’

  ‘I did find it, though,’ I said. ‘Really. And I did ring . . . I spoke to your mum.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘You did? When? She didn’t —’

  ‘She told me not to call again. That . . . that we shouldn’t speak to each other.’

  Kloe frowned. ‘Hmm. Yeah. That sounds familiar. They . . . ah, whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’ve stored up nearly seventeen years of goodwill with my parents, especially compared to my siblings. If I want to see you, I’m going to see you.’

  Eight ball, corner pocket. I smiled. ‘How were things at school after . . . you know?’

  ‘Same but different.’ Kloe had another spoonful of ice cream. ‘Ben was suspended.’

  ‘I heard. Miss Stevenson said that’d probably be about it.’

  ‘So unfair. If it hadn’t been for his parents . . .’

  I shrugged. ‘Never mind, eh?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Everyone was talking about what happened.’ I suddenly pretended to take an interest in the red and white checked tablecloth. Kloe leaned forwards. ‘What did happen?’

  ‘You were there. You saw.’

  ‘I saw Ben try to cave your head in with a wooden pole,’ said Kloe. ‘And then I think I saw you throw him out of the room without touching him.’

  ‘That’s about what happened,’ I said.

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ said Kloe. ‘I said at the time, it was impossible. There had to be another explanation. ’Cos it’s impossible.’

  ‘Kloe —’

  ‘But it wasn’t, was it? I mean . . . it’s not. ’Cos you can do it.’

  ‘I can do quite a lot of things,’ I said. ‘And I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you all of it, I’ll show you. If you want. But I . . . I just want to be sure you’re not completely freaked out. That you’re not going to run away.’

  ‘Look,’ said Kloe. ‘I don’t understand it, but I’m not going to treat you like a freak. Sure, it was weird and . . . well, yeah, pretty bloody weird. But . . . sorry. Where was I? Um . . . yeah, sure it was weird. But I don’t care. All I care about is you, and that you’re OK. And that we’re together. Everything’s good.’

  I nodded. ‘Me too. That’s how I feel.’ I held out my hands and she took them and I squeezed hers.

  ‘You’re right, though,’ she said. ‘You are telling me everything. And showing me. If I’m going to have a boyfriend with magic powers, I want to know all about them.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re magic,’ I said.

  ‘I think you might be, though,’ said Kloe. We held each other’s gazes for a long while, then Kloe looked away, giggling. ‘God. The cheese just keeps on coming.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We should probably st
ick a plug in it. But before we do, quick question. You remember you gave me a Christmas card at . . . Christmas?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Did I get an extra kiss?’

  She affected an unimpressed face. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I knew it!’ I grinned. ‘Knew it.’

  ‘Don’t get cocky,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And don’t call me “ma’am”.’

  ‘OK.’

  Kloe sat back in her seat. ‘So. What the hell have you been doing for two months?’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘I have time. I don’t have to meet my aunt until later.’

  ‘OK.’

  I told her everything. Well . . . not everything everything. Just enough. I told her that I’d illegally driven to London – she was impressed by that – and that I’d gone to Eddie’s, and that he’d set me up with Connor and Sharon. I told her about the job at 110th Street and Blue Harvest and Eddie on his clarinet. I told her about my powers, and about how fast they’d been developing, although I glossed over the extent of my flying and omitted Mr Freeman and Smiley Joe entirely because I wasn’t sure she was quite ready to handle those revelations. She accepted the power stuff fairly readily, but seemed to have trouble wrapping her head around the idea of a talking dog. That actually surprised me – I was so used to Daryl that it seemed as though everyone else should have been, too. ‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll meet him soon,’ I said. ‘Then trust me, you will believe.’

  ‘Rightio.’ She shook her head and looked into the empty sundae dish, taking it all in.

  ‘I assume that the play didn’t run Friday and Saturday nights,’ I said.

  She looked up, and for the first time there was anger in her eyes. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘If I could have —’

  ‘I know,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I know. Don’t worry. It’s fine. It’s just . . . it’s just a shame we couldn’t have one night.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Change the subject, right now. ‘So,’ I said, not at all smoothly, ‘what does everyone else think about my little telekinetic thing? What’s the official theory?’

  ‘Most people think you just threw him,’ said Kloe. ‘Selective memoryness.’

  ‘Makes sense, I guess. So everyone doesn’t think I’m a freak?’

  ‘Well . . . a few people do. Because if you didn’t have mind powers, you at least had some kind of super strength, which is freaksome in its own way. Zach said he’d known for ages, that you’d had a fight and used some sort of power on him. No-one really gave much of a shit what he had to say, though.’

  ‘Zach?’ My mind was blank. Then . . . ‘Oh, Zach! Wow. I’d forgotten all about him.’

  ‘He’s going to some farming college in Scotland in September,’ said Kloe. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘Sixth Form,’ said Kloe. ‘Staying on at school with Mark and everyone.’

  Mark . . . ‘How is Mark?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine,’ said Kloe. ‘He was pretty freaked out about you, but then so were most people. Charlotte swore you were on PCP or something. That you’d taken it to help your performance and gone mental.’

  ‘Great.’

  Another long silence, during which there wasn’t much in the way of eye contact. We were definitely good at chatting, but there were some kinks to be ironed out. Too many awkward pauses. ‘You’re going back on Monday, then,’ I said, finally.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kloe. ‘And . . . what about you?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know. I can’t really go back. Not yet. Things are happening. Well. They might be.’

  ‘What things?’

  I didn’t answer. ‘Stanly!’ she said.

  ‘Things I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘There’s stuff to work through. I have to think about what’s going to happen.’

  ‘Don’t you want to come back with me?’

  I couldn’t say what I wanted to . . . could I?

  Of course you can.

  Say it.

  Kloe leaned forwards and lifted my face by my chin. ‘I said to myself that I shouldn’t say this,’ she said, ‘because it’s silly and rash and mental and far too early and we barely . . . but . . . seeing you now, and how I felt when I saw you in the park, and when you left, I . . . sod it. I love you.’

  She beat me to it!

  Don’t be a fool.

  Me or her?

  You, you berk. Tell her.

  I looked into her eyes. ‘Me too.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘You . . . love you?’

  I stared at her for a moment, and then we both pissed ourselves laughing. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I love me. It’s . . . it’s taken a while for me to come to terms with it. But yeah, I really do love me.’

  ‘That’s great,’ she giggled. ‘I’m really happy for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The laughter subsided, and I looked at her. ‘You know what I meant.’

  ‘I know what you meant.’ She took my hands again and we sat for a very long time without speaking. This time it was fine, though.

  Congratulations. You only completely and utterly ballsed up the key moment.

  Got away with it, though.

  Playah playah.

  Later on I walked Kloe to the station and we did some impressively awkward standing around, looking at each other and then looking away. ‘So,’ I said.

  ‘So.’

  ‘Can I . . . see you again?’

  ‘Er . . . no. Our paths must never cross again.’ She made a you-are-an-unutterable-cretin face. ‘What kind of a question is that?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’re a slight numpty, do you know that?’

  OK, marginally better than unutterable cretin. ‘I do now.’

  ‘I mean, for ages I thought you were really cool,’ she said. ‘Ever since we started doing the play. Your whole quiet, reserved thing. Observing from the sidelines. Never giving up more than what was necessary. Pretty sexy.’

  Wow. Good to know. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘But it’s all just a cover, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘A tangled web of lies to conceal the fact that you’re a massive spaz.’

  I laughed. ‘OK. I hold up my hands. You’ve found out my terrible secret.’

  ‘And I’m going to tell everyone. They’ll run you out of town.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Sorry! That was really tactless.’

  ‘It’s fine. To be fair, I kind of ran myself out of Tref-y-Celwyn.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ She leaned over and kissed me. ‘I’ll phone you tonight. And see you tomorrow.’

  ‘OK. Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ We held each other’s gaze for a long minute. ‘It’s amazing to see you,’ she said.

  ‘You too.’

  She turned and ran towards the escalator, stopping at the top to blow me a kiss and stick out her tongue. Then she was gone, and I didn’t feel light anymore.

  ‘Touching.’

  I didn’t need to turn around. ‘What do you want?’ I said.

  Mr Freeman walked around and stood in front of me. ‘I thought perhaps another chat was in order.’

  I shrugged. ‘Fine. Whatever.’

  ‘Let’s walk, shall we?’

  ‘Walking sounds good.’

  The station smelled of food and hot metal. We strolled towards the exit, past shops, entrances to the underground system, signs for buses and taxis, boards showing train times and, of course, people. You tended to see the largest number of dfferent people in and around train stations and I looked around, interested as always, but also glad to be distracted from my new, mostly unwanted companion. A little girl in dungarees was jumping up
and down with excitement. Her mother wore a floaty, flowery summer dress and exhaustedly brushed a sweaty lock of hair from her daughter’s eyes, telling her that Uncle George would be there soon. A man in a business suit and an overcoat walked by checking his watch, and a twentysomething guy in beige shorts, sandals and a loud Hawaiian shirt open over a heavily-tattooed chest sloped past in the opposite direction, fanning himself with a newspaper and dragging a sports bag like an un-cooperative pet. We left the station and walked silently down towards the riverfront, Mr Freeman very subtly taking the lead. I looked around and pointed to a bench where two men sat, hidden behind newspapers. ‘Yours?’ I asked.

  Mr Freeman looked impressed. ‘Very good. Yes, they’re mine. Highly paid. Very professional. Usually very discreet. How did you guess?’

  Truthfully, I wasn’t sure. ‘Superhero’s intuition,’ I said.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘You must be fairly high up in the sinister, shadowy corporate hierarchy to merit minions.’

  Mr Freeman laughed. ‘Minions, eh? I like that. I’ll tell them.’ He reached into his jacket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes. The suit was either the same one he’d been wearing the last time we’d seen each other or he had a wardrobe full of duplicates, which wouldn’t have surprised me. He lit a cigarette with a match instead of a lighter. ‘Sinister, shadow corporation, did you say? Lovely. Who’s been filling your head with such preposterous notions?’

  ‘Good word that. Preposterous.’

  ‘Isn’t it? A wonderful word to get your tongue around. It’s like soliloquy or ethereal or somnambulist.’

  ‘Yeah.’ We walked alongside the river, past human statues and buskers and other novelty acts. The humidity had returned and the sky was having a half-hearted crack at rain, managing a very light drizzle that was more annoying than refreshing.

  Mr Freeman blew out smoke. ‘So, who has been filling your head with such notions?’

  ‘Just every film and TV series I’ve ever seen,’ I said. ‘And every book I’ve read. And most of the stuff you’ve said to me.’

  He laughed. ‘If I were to tell you that it’s a tad more complicated than that, would you believe me?’

  ‘Why not?’ I watched a large boat chug by, with people eating lunch on the top deck.