You, Me and Him

by Alice Peterson

  ‘Cut it out, you two,’ Mikey ordered, walking past us. ‘Momo will be back in a minute. Finn, your pizza’s ready.’ He plonked it on the table.

  Finn and I exchanged looks, bonded by being told off.

  He sat with his hands behind his head and looked down at the napkin. ‘I promise you my hands will stay here. Come and get it.’

  ‘No, thanks, you can keep it.’ I turned away with a wide smile and walked back to the bar.

  A couple of students walked in holding files and library books and sat down at the corner table. One of the girls blew onto her hands to warm them up. ‘Don’t look now,’ she whispered, followed by a huge sigh because the other instantly turned to gaze at Finn. Frustrated and destined to invisibility, Mikey took their orders. I touched him on the shoulder. ‘You OK? It’s only a few broken plates.’

  He nodded distractedly. ‘Josie?’

  ‘Mmm?’ I said, pouring coffee.

  ‘Do you fancy going for a drink after work?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, still looking at Finn.

  ‘He’s an idiot, leave him to it.’

  Finn walked up to the bar and sat down on one of the stools, leaning towards me. I slid the cup of coffee over to him and then bent down to find the sugar sachets.

  ‘Great view,’ I heard. I tried to pretend I wasn’t thrilled by the comment.

  ‘Are you going to buy that coffee, Finn, or are you just going to hang around Josie all afternoon?’ Mikey asked, slamming ice into Diet Cokes.

  ‘I think I’ll do both, particularly the latter.’

  Mikey stomped off. ‘I didn’t know you could draw,’ Finn said with that smile that was about to happen.

  I crossed my arms. ‘I was doodling. I know I’m no Picasso.’

  He raised his hands defensively. ‘I’m sorry. Other people’s talent frightens me so much I turn into an immature monster.’

  That wasn’t what I’d expected. He smiled properly. ‘Seriously, I really like it. That kind of image would make a great flier for the club. Would you … I mean, I don’t suppose you’d consider helping me design them?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ Tiana would be so proud.

  ‘How about this evening? We could meet and work on them?’

  ‘Tricky. Not sure I’m free.’

  He shook the slim pink packet of sugar between his fingers and I watched him closely as he tore it open with his teeth and then poured it into the coffee.

  Another group of students piled in and sat down. Finn followed me as I walked over to their table with my pad and pen. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Hot chocolate,’ said one.

  ‘Cappuccino.’

  ‘Make that two. Ooh, I might have the chocolate fudge cake too.’

  They were gawping at Finn. ‘Come on, what do you say? Will you help?’ he persevered. ‘I’ll do anything in return.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything?’

  ‘Anything,’ he repeated, running a hand through his hair.

  ‘Are you mad?’ one of the girls exclaimed. ‘Take him up on it!’

  ‘Or if you don’t, I will,’ another said.

  Then Dominique walked in. She was wearing skinny blue jeans which wrinkled under the knees because they were so tight, a pink mohair jumper and beige cowboy boots. ‘Finny!’

  Finny?

  ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Didn’t you get my message?’

  He shook his head.

  She tugged at his arm proprietorially. ‘What are you doing here?’ She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Come on, lectures start in a minute.’

  There were disappointed sighs around the students’ table. The show was over.

  Finn grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair. Then he was ripping a piece of paper out of one of his books.

  ‘What are you doing now?’ Dominique asked impatiently.

  ‘Hang on.’

  She blew a large pink perfect bubble right in front of me. ‘I’ll be outside.’ She slammed the door.

  A piece of paper was thrust into my hand. ‘Meet me outside Kings, under the arch at seven. PLEASE,’ I read.

  *

  Finn and I were sitting together in the college library. The air was static with concentrated energy. Before meeting Finn, I’d had to call Clarky. He’d mentioned buying some food to make a curry tonight. ‘Is it a date?’ he’d asked.

  ‘No, I’m just helping him design a flier for the club.’

  ‘Ah, that’s what he calls it. I’m going out with Sandra anyway.’

  ‘Oh.’ I’d been worried about letting him down and he was going out anyway. ‘I thought her name was Sandy?’

  ‘Sandy. Sandra. Much the same.’

  ‘Great, have a nice time.’

  ‘I will.’

  As I was about to leave Mikey had asked me where I’d like to go for our drink. I had to make up a quick excuse that I’d forgotten it was my dancing class tonight.

  We sat by the window. Finn wanted to be ‘someplace quiet’. I told him we had two options: we could try and find an image from a dance or film book which I could scan onto the computer; or I could draw him something. ‘Draw me exactly what you drew on that napkin,’ he insisted, moving closer. He was almost childlike in his enthusiasm, settling in to watch me as if waiting for his favourite movie to begin while he clutched a box of buttered popcorn.

  As I drew, I could feel a tension between us, something I’d never felt before. Up until now I’d had lots of kisses but only one serious boyfriend, Jonathan. We went out during our ‘A’ levels. I can remember the floor was sticky with beer as we danced to George Michael’s ‘Careless Whisper’ and shared our first kiss. Jonathan had bouncy brown curls and an easy open smile, but he didn’t exactly make my pulse race. One night we had rented a movie and were sitting alone in the dark. He wanted to go ‘all the way’. I was more interested in unwrapping Quality Street. ‘Everyone else is getting past second and third base,’ he’d complained.

  ‘It’s not a rounders match,’ I replied, watching him reluctantly return his attention to Steve Martin and wondering what was wrong with me? Why didn’t I want to do it? ‘Perhaps you just don’t want to do it with him,’ Tiana had reassuringly explained.

  ‘Damn,’ I whispered. I’d given my lady too large a head so carefully had to rub out my mistake, blowing on the paper gently. Finn lowered his head too; our lips were only inches apart. ‘What have you done?’ Normally I wouldn’t have liked anyone sitting so close to me while I drew. ‘Her head’s too big,’ he commented. I could feel his breath on my cheek.

  ‘I know. Don’t back-seat draw.’

  He laughed. ‘Have you been to New York?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Just wondered. I started going there in the holidays with my twin brother, that’s when I started to collect records.’

  ‘You have a twin?’

  ‘Ed. We’re nothing like each other.’

  ‘Is he good-looking?’ I started to laugh at my own joke.

  ‘Very. That’s the one and only thing we do have in common.’

  Damn. Why did he have an answer for everything?

  ‘Actually that’s not quite true. We have good looks and music in common.’

  ‘You sound close.’

  ‘Yeah, we are. There’s no competition between us which is great. The last thing he’d want to be is a doctor and I’d never go into acting. I think he’s deluded. There’s no money in it.’

  I laughed. ‘Unless you’re successful like Robert Redford, he’s my pin-up.’

  ‘You’ve got a nice laugh. Sexy, like you’ve got a sore throat. Is it natural or do you put it on?’

  ‘It’s natural, thank you. Now, how about that?’ Finn leant in much closer than he needed to, our arms touching. ‘She’s more in proportion now.’

  ‘That’s better,’ he agreed, but his eyes weren’t on the drawing.

  ‘Shh,’ said one of the readers.

  ‘Do you want to go somewhere else?
’

  ‘Where?’ I looked out of the window. It was raining heavily.

  ‘My room? Don’t worry, it’s not far. Then we can make all the noise we want,’ he suggested with that raise of the eyebrow.

  Finn gallantly held his file over my head as we ran across the gravelled path. Already I felt protected by his height. He must have been six foot three. It was rare that a man was taller than me. I followed him into an old dark building. Students’ names were painted on a wooden board at the foot of the stairs.

  He opened the door. ‘Well, this is my space.’ He led me into a sitting room with pale walls and an old wooden floor. ‘Easier to do it here don’t you think?’ he suggested as he opened the door to his bedroom. He pointed to a desk under an arched window that was covered in books and papers. ‘My bedder hasn’t been in, sorry ’bout the mess.’ He started to stack books into piles. They formed two tall towers.

  ‘I could do this at home?’

  ‘No, no, better if we do it together.’

  He pulled his jumper off in one swift go and then put on some Aretha Franklin. ‘I love old vinyl, there’s nothing better than that crackling sound just before the music starts. You know what I mean?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Are you into music?’ He gently placed the needle on the vinyl.

  I loved Madonna, Kylie and Fleetwood Mac. ‘Love it, all kinds,’ I added quickly.

  I took out my drawing and started again. We talked. I learnt that he rowed every morning at 6.30 but was often late and got told off. He wasn’t sporty like Christo but liked to keep fit. He was restless if he didn’t take exercise. He lived off adrenalin and lack of sleep.

  ‘Or it could be all that coffee. Why do you drink so much?’

  ‘Because it’s bad for me. How about you, Josie? What do you love?’

  ‘Lots of things.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Art. Ever since I was a child, all I’ve wanted to do is paint. I wasn’t interested in toys. My father built me a tree house and I used to hang out there all the time, painting. It was my escape.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘From the norm. I think we all need an escape. I created my own little private world. Everyone should do it, have a secret obsession.’

  ‘You’re right. My escape is music.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Where do your parents live?’

  ‘Dorset. It’s beautiful there.’

  ‘Isn’t it boring? I’ve always lived in London, find Cambridge way too quiet.’

  ‘I don’t find it boring.’

  ‘This is looking great,’ Finn said, referring to my picture. ‘You’re lucky to have such talent, to know what you want to do.’

  ‘But you do too, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I want to be a doctor, more than anything. I wish the academic work wasn’t so dry though. There’s so much stuff you have to cram into your brain, then when I don’t think any more can physically go in they give me another ten-foot-long reading list.’ He made a fist and tapped the side of his head, as if it were hollow. ‘Still, I’ve got to learn it.’

  I watched him lighting a cigarette and noticed his hands were shaking. I wanted to put mine over them to try and calm him down. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, go for it.’

  ‘I smoke like Pat Butcher. Want one?’

  I shook my head. ‘Just don’t wear the earrings, OK?’

  There was that flash of a smile. ‘What bad habits do you have, Josie?’

  ‘Going back to strangers’ rooms?’

  ‘I’m not a stranger.’ He was standing behind me now. Flustered, I stood up and turned to him with the drawing, bringing us back to more comfortable ground.

  ‘I like it.’ He took the piece of paper out of my hand. ‘Have you thought about what you’d like in return?’

  There was a loud knock on the door and it immediately swung open. It was Christo. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or disappointed. Finn and me, it was going too fast, in a direction I hadn’t prepared myself for yet. ‘All right, mate. Oh, hi …’ Christo had forgotten my name.

  ‘Josie,’ Finn said, his voice back to normal. ‘Look, she’s going to draw our fliers for the club.’

  ‘Wicked! Wow, thanks, Josie.’ He looked sheepish. ‘Sorry ’bout the other day. I was rude.’

  ‘That’s OK. All we need to do is find a cheap printer and get however many copies you need,’ I said. ‘Right, I’d better go.’

  ‘Dominique is looking for you, by the way, she’s in the bar,’ Christo mentioned.

  Finn came to the door with me. ‘Can I walk you home?’

  ‘No, it’s not far.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Thanks for all your help. Are you warm enough? Take one of my coats or … here, take this.’

  Christo stood back in amazement. ‘What have you done to him? He’s never this chivalrous.’

  Finn was holding out his hooded top. ‘Thanks.’ It was cold. It had been one of those days when it started off bright and crisp in the morning, so I hadn’t bothered to wear a coat. He lifted the hood over my hair and brushed a wayward strand away from my eyes. ‘It suits you.’

  *

  My uncle’s house was cold. I wore Finn’s top in bed that night and the night after, until the smell of it became so familiar it was like having him lying next to me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I start to run a bath.

  Finn is reading George a bedtime story.

  ‘I’m bored, Dad,’ I hear him say, ‘can you tell me about the America circus again?’

  Finn was five when his family moved to Connecticut. His father ran an IT consultancy and took the business to America.

  Finn shuts the book. ‘Once a year a horse show would come to our neighbourhood. They put up this large circus-like tent and me and Uncle Ed would climb up onto these wooden boxes with the neighbourhood kids. It was a long way up, almost as high as the clouds. We wanted to reach the top so we could slide down the top of the tent. I don’t think it was safe but it was great fun.’

  ‘Like sliding off the roof of the house, Dad?’

  ‘Don’t get ideas, George. This one time, when I managed to reach the top, I started my descent and then my shoe got caught. It ripped the canvas and I fell through the hole.’

  George laughs outrageously. ‘Did it hurt?’

  ‘Yes, I cut my face. Look at my scar, it’s still there.’

  I can imagine George touching the scar like he always does.

  ‘I landed on a large pile of horse manure.’ Finn laughs. ‘My friend Mick …’

  ‘The skinhead!’ he shouts.

  ‘Calm down, George. Yes, the skinhead. Mick and Uncle Ed rescued me.’

  ‘When am I going to have a brother? If I’m good, can I have one for Christmas?’

  I turn off the bath water and listen to Finn’s response.

  ‘I’m sure Santa will give you one, maybe not for Christmas …’

  ‘Why not then?’

  ‘Because that might be too soon to make one.’

  ‘Why? How long does it take?’

  ‘No more questions, George.’

  Our son’s thoughts are scattered haphazardly in his mind like hundreds and thousands. That’s how I think of it anyhow. ‘How long?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘How do you make them?’

  ‘Time to switch off.’

  ‘Can I make the baby?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’d make a boy just like me!’

  Finn needs rescuing so I open the door and walk along the narrow trail in George’s room that isn’t covered in Lego or soldiers or plastic bags with car-boot junk in them.

  ‘Lights out.’

  ‘My brain isn’t tired, Mum.’ I take hold of George’s restless legs and he pushes them against my hands. I call his legs ‘lucky legs’ because they are so thin they are lucky not to snap. They are smooth a
s marble and each toe is perfect. ‘Mum!’ He giggles, legs wriggling under his Thomas The Tank Engine duvet cover. ‘Stop it!’ Rocky looks put out as he finds another spot on the bed.

  ‘I want another story.’

  ‘No more. It’s a big day tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’ Finn asks.

  ‘It’s his Nativity play.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’

  ‘Tell Dad what you’re going to be.’

  ‘I’m a shepherd and I play the triangle,’ George says, trying to impress him.

  ‘And what exactly is happening when you hit the triangle?’ Finn asks.

  ‘The Kings are arriving. You’ll be watching, won’t you, Dad?’

  ‘I can’t promise, George, but I reckon you’ll be the best shepherd.’

  He shifts position and holds on to Baby tightly. He has lots of toys under his pillow too, including his monkey Einstein which he refuses to move, however much I argue that it must be uncomfortable.

  ‘I want your eyelashes,’ I tell him, wrapping my arms around him in his warm flannelette pyjamas and smothering him in kisses. ‘You’re my best boy.’ I now know what Mum meant when she used to say to me, ‘I could eat you up.’ George is beautiful with his bushy brown hair the colour of a shiny conker, his father’s brown eyes, the light that falls on his cheekbones and those long dark eyelashes that curl perfectly like the shape of a half-moon.

  ‘I could eat you up.’

  ‘With tomato ketchup?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘And chips,’ Finn adds. He presses a pretend button on George’s head. ‘There, brain is switched off.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  We shut the door quietly and walk into our bedroom. ‘Can’t we tell him?’

  ‘No. We’re going to wait three months, in case something goes wrong, like last time.’ I test the temperature of the bathwater.

  ‘I want to see his face when we tell him,’ Finn continues. ‘I think this could be the making of George. It’ll be a great distraction, not all of his attention will be on us, and more importantly not all the attention will be on him. I think a baby will bring us a sense of normality. Life can be too intense with George, you know what I mean?’ Finn’s words are rushed.