Don't Ask

by Hilary Freeman

  ‘Can I ask you something about football?’ I said to him, on the evening of my ‘offside discussion’ with Alex.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, sounding bemused. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘What exactly does offside mean?’

  He laughed at me, which I wasn’t expecting. Clearly, this offside thing was something everybody is supposed to know, like how to boil an egg. ‘Lily, you are such a female cliché. I can’t believe you’re asking me that. OK, basically, it’s when the . . .’

  I’m afraid I can’t remember a single word he said, until, ‘Since when have you got interested in football?’

  ‘Oh, you know . . . I was talking to my dad and ended up watching a bit of the match with him and I quite enjoyed it.’ For extra impact, I added, ‘That Ronaldo goal was so offside!’

  ‘It sure was,’ he said, and I could tell he was grinning. ‘I really like that you’re getting into football. Although I have to say, I’m a bit surprised.’

  ‘Oh, I’m full of surprises,’ I said, and for a moment I really hated myself.

  The consequence of telling Jack that I had suddenly developed an interest in football was that he now insisted on talking to me about it at every opportunity. I hadn’t been aware how much he loved it, in the same way as I’d loved the Spice Girls when I was a little kid. He was a super fan; he couldn’t get enough of it. Talking about it made him sound excitable and knowledgeable and happy, which was kind of cute, if I could have taken away the football part.

  Even worse than having to talk about football was having to watch it. If I happened to be seeing Jack and there was a football match on TV, he’d suggest that we see it together, and I had to feign enthusiasm. He found most matches so riveting that he didn’t even want to snog much (and believe me, I tried), except at half time, just in case he missed an important ball.

  Katie didn’t have any sympathy for me: she laughed and said it was my punishment for what I’d done. ‘Sitting through ninety minutes of football is your penance for lying to Alex and to Jack,’ she said. I think she was half serious too, but then she was brought up a Catholic.

  And, oh, the irony. The result of being forced to watch and talk about football all the time was that, even against my will, I did end up learning quite a lot, so that when I chatted to Alex on Topfriendz, I really did sound like I knew what I was talking about. At the end of the day, it’s a game of two halves (that’s an in-joke). I can now, fairly convincingly, I believe, tell anyone who asks everything they never wanted to know about a four-four-two formation, a corner kick, and an indirect free kick. I really hope I won’t have to.

  I knew learning about football would help me grow closer to Alex; that was the idea. What I hadn’t expected was that it would also bring Jack closer to me. Now that he believed he could share his love of football, he wanted to see me more often. He even seemed more affectionate (except during matches). It didn’t take a genius to work out that he liked me more just because he thought I liked football. At first, that made me feel guiltier than ever, but then it irritated me. It made me see that he’d been holding a part of himself back from me. It also helped me to understand why he had fallen for Alex in such a big way; they were football clones – they even used the same phrases sometimes. I felt jealous that they’d genuinely shared something, when I was just pretending. And that made me even more determined to find out why they’d split up and what else Jack was hiding.

  Chapter 8

  One February afternoon, about five weeks after I’d first made contact with Alex, I arrived home from school to find an unexpected message waiting in Laura’s Topfriendz inbox. This is what it said:

  Hi Laura

  How do you fancy meeting up? My dad has tickets for the Arsenal game on Saturday, and my uncle can’t make it, so there’s one going spare. Would you like to come instead? Dad says you don’t have to pay and he’ll drop us off somewhere so we can have a coffee afterwards. No worries if you’re busy or if you don’t want to come along, but it would be great to see you. Let me know if you can make it.

  Love Alex xxxxx

  ‘Oh my God!’ I said aloud, my voice high with panic. ‘She wants to meet me.’ And then I thought, Of course she does, because that’s what normal people who have become friends online do. Because Alex doesn’t know this isn’t a normal friendship. I know I must sound seriously dense, but of all the scenarios I’d imagined, the possibility of meeting Alex in the flesh was not one of them; it hadn’t crossed my mind. Obviously, I hadn’t thought things through at all.

  Meeting Alex face to face presented an entirely new set of problems. It would mean taking Laura out of the safety of my bedroom, where she was confined to a computer screen, and presenting her to the world as a real flesh and blood human being. It would mean being her for a whole afternoon, not just for a few minutes at a time. It would mean selling myself as someone else, not only to Alex, but to her dad. What if I slipped up? What if I bumped into someone I knew and they called me by my real name? What if Alex met me and decided she didn’t like me after all? All my work would have been wasted. And what on earth would I say to Jack? I’d have to make up a story about where I was going, pretend I was with someone else, somewhere else. I’d be taking my betrayal to another level altogether, no longer just omitting to tell him something, but actively telling him a huge, whopping, dirty lie because he could never, ever find out the truth: that I was meeting his ex-girlfriend behind his back.

  I laughed, one of those nervous, off-key laughs that isn’t about anything being funny. The idea was ridiculous. I couldn’t go to the match with Alex. It was too risky. But what possible reason could Laura have for not wanting to meet Alex, when they were getting on so well? Wouldn’t she be squealing with excitement at the prospect of going to see her favourite football team play? My football knowledge might have been limited, but I did know that football tickets were really expensive and hard to get – Jack was always going on about it. He’d have killed for Alex’s spare ticket.

  I had no idea what to do. I sat staring at the screen, while the cursor blinked furiously at me. Go on, it dared. Blink. Make a decision. Write back to Alex. She’ll know you’re home now and will have read her message. She’s waiting for you. Go on. Blink.

  Hard as I tried, I couldn’t make up my mind what to do. I toyed with a few possible responses:

  I’d love to come, I typed. Unfortunately, we’re going on holiday on Friday. And I wanted to add, we’re never coming back. Delete.

  I would have liked to come but I have terrible toothache and Saturday afternoon is the only time I can get an appointment with the dentist. Delete.

  I’d love to meet you, but I might have forgotten to mention that I have this embarrassing skin condition that makes me come out in great, big puss-filled boils, and the doctor says it might be contagious. Delete.

  Did I say I liked football? Well, I lied. And, by the way, my name isn’t really Laura, it’s Lily. I’m not your friend. I’ve been using you to get information about your ex-boyfriend.

  Funny how the most outlandish, absurd excuse of all was the true one. Seeing my confession spelled out in black type made me feel sick. I left it sitting on the screen for a while, daring myself to send it, a part of me wanting to send it and end the charade. A little fly – too tiny even to scare me – was buzzing around the room and I wondered what would happen if it landed on the return key and took the decision out of my hands. I watched it as if flew towards me, but as it neared the keyboard it seemed to change its mind and spin around, heading for the window. ‘Well, you’re no help!’ I called after it. ‘Useless insect.’ Maybe fate could help. I took a coin out of my purse. ‘Right, heads I go to the match. Tails I send this message and probably have to leave the country.’ It landed tail side up. ‘All right, best of three.’ Tails again. ‘Best of five, then . . .’

  In the end, I did what I always do when I can’t make a decision on my own: I rang Katie.

  ‘You’ve got to go,’ she said, after repeating, �
��Oh my God!’ about thirty times, each time sounding a fraction more excited. Her attitude towards my deception had changed since I’d heard back from Alex. Now, she wanted the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. ‘You’ve been messaging each other for weeks and you still haven’t found out anything juicy. Meet her and you’ll finally be able to get the dirt on Jack.’

  I tutted. ‘I’ve told you, I can’t just ask her straight out. The subject hasn’t come up.’ If I sounded irritated, it was because Katie asked me whether Alex had told me anything about Jack yet virtually every time I brought her name up. It was almost as if she wanted to know more than I did. She didn’t understand how difficult it was to steer our conversations round to personal things I wasn’t even supposed to know about.

  ‘Yeah, but if you meet her, you might get the opportunity to ask. And at least you’ll get to know her a bit better.’

  ‘That’s true. But I feel really bad about the idea. Talking to someone on the net isn’t like real life. I mean, I know it is, but people sort of accept that you’re not completely being yourself when you message them, don’t they? Everybody is cleverer and funnier and has a better personality online. Everyone lies a bit. If I meet Alex I have to lie to her face and I’ll be letting her dad pay for my ticket, and that seems really wrong.’

  ‘Making up Laura in the first place was bad. Pretending to be Alex’s friend was bad. Why is meeting her any worse?’

  ‘I guess you’re right. It’s not worse, it’s just more real. So maybe I should just bail out now. I could delete Laura’s account, make her disappear, and Alex wouldn’t be able to find any trace of her.’

  ‘Pointless. She’d be gutted and you still wouldn’t know any more about Jack.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘So I’ve got to go through with it, then? Shit.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Katie. ‘You’ve got to finish what you started.’

  ‘What about Jack?’ I asked. ‘What do I tell him? I was supposed to be seeing him Saturday.’

  ‘Just say you’ve got to meet me and you’ll meet him later. Say I needed you to come shopping with me for a dress, or whatever.’

  ‘OK.’ I thought for a moment. Maybe there was a way of putting off my decision a little longer. ‘You know what? I’m going to call Jack now and get him to come round. I’m going to give him one last chance to tell me everything, and if he does I’ll end it with Alex. If he doesn’t, I’ll tell her I’ll go to the match with her.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Katie. ‘Good luck.’

  Chapter 9

  I know it was my fault, that nobody made me do it. But if only Jack had made up a decent story about Alex and his dad, instead of being so evasive, then I wouldn’t have had to do it. I wouldn’t have felt the need to do it. Why didn’t he just say, ‘Alex dumped me because she met someone else’ and make me feel sorry for him? Poor Jack, I’d have thought, what a bitch that Alex was, she so didn’t deserve you . . . Why didn’t he tell me his dad had died in a car accident, or a plane crash, or been knifed outside a pub, or something equally tragic? I wouldn’t have asked for the gory details, I’m sure I wouldn’t. I’d have swallowed those stories and I’d have been satisfied and I’d probably have cared about him more.

  Who ever came up with the idea that honesty is always the best policy?

  My pathetic plan didn’t work, which is why I found myself waiting anxiously outside the entrance to Arsenal football ground at two-thirty the following Saturday afternoon. As I stood in the cold, swarms of expectant real fans gathering around me, I felt like a fish out of water, contemplating a terrible fate, which is probably the way my very last goldfish felt when it decided to throw itself out of its bowl in a final act of suicidal desperation. You know those shots in films and adverts where someone is standing completely still, frozen in time, while everything and everyone whirls around them at a double speed? That was me. I was virtually rooted to the spot with fear and anticipation; I think I knew that if I took just one step I’d probably keep on walking until I got all the way home.

  Jack had come round the night I received Alex’s message, just as I’d intended. Unfortunately, we’d spent most of the evening doing my maths coursework. Saying I needed his help with it was the only way I could persuade my parents to allow him to visit on a school night and, annoyingly, he took me at my word. That’s the thing with Jack, he doesn’t do hints or subtlety. If you want him to understand what you really mean, you have to spell things out to him in block capitals and, obviously, in this instance, I couldn’t. I find that boys are often a bit dense like that. You just have to look at another girl in a particular way and she ‘gets’ it, without a word being said. But boys? It’s like trying to take an x-ray through lead. I suppose it has its advantages. It’s certainly much easier to pull the wool over Dad’s eyes than Mum’s.

  Two hours after Jack arrived, we’d endured eating dinner with my parents and we’d listened to a couple of tracks I’d downloaded, but I still hadn’t made any headway, either with the matter at hand or with my maths coursework.

  ‘The “x” goes there,’ Jack said, showing no signs of impatience whatsoever, despite having explained the equation to me at least eight times. ‘See?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Sort of. So the “y” goes there?’

  He sighed. ‘No, Lil. It goes at the end. Like I showed you before. Y equals five.’

  ‘I still don’t get it. We’re going to be here all night at this rate.’ I pouted. ‘Can’t you just do it for me, and then we can do something more interesting?’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘I could do, but then you still won’t understand it and you’ll flunk the exam. And then your dad will come after me.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘It’s not like I’m ever going to use it in life, is it?’

  ‘You might do. You’ll probably use it when you don’t even realise it, like when you’re shopping or in your job.’

  ‘What?’ I giggled to myself. ‘Yeah, but only if I’m shopping for a mermaid’s underwear. Algae bra! Get it?’

  Did I really say that aloud? I must have done because Jack groaned. ‘That’s terrible. Be serious, Lil. I know maths is a big yawn, but it’s kind of necessary. And besides, you’ve got to pass it so you can move on to Sixth Form. Five more minutes, just for me?’

  ‘God, Jack, you sound like someone’s dad. Stop being so sensible.’ I looked at my watch. It was nine o’clock. I was running out of time. How could I get him from algebra to Alex?

  ‘Are you calling me boring?’

  ‘Yes, Jack.’ I faked a yawn. ‘You’re turning into a super nerd. Go on then, do it for me, just this once. Please . . .’ I pouted. ‘Pretty please.’

  ‘No!’ he said. But he couldn’t help smiling. ‘Put your lip back in, I’m not going to fall for it this time.’

  I pictured Jack tripping over a giant lip and chuckled to myself. ‘You know what?’ I said. ‘You could be a maths teacher – you’re so good at explaining this stuff.’ My imagination must have been in overdrive that evening because then a picture of Jack in a horrible jacket, with cord trousers and greasy hair came into my mind, which wasn’t what I’d intended at all. I flicked it away. ‘In a good way, I mean. A cool maths teacher.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a maths teacher,’ he said, frowning.

  I already knew that; Jack wants to be a sports reporter. ‘Yeah, but you’d be good at it. Better than Mr Reynolds. And much, much fitter.’

  He reddened. ‘Anyone would be better than Mr Reynolds. Come on, we’ve got five more questions to get through and then we can chill.’

  I ignored him. ‘The girls would love you. You’d be the most popular teacher ever. You’d have them queuing in the corridor.’

  He laughed and tapped my exercise book with his pen, just like Mr Reynolds does. ‘Stop trying to flatter me, it won’t work. Come on, let’s do the next question.’

  I pretended to sulk. If I wanted to talk about Alex, I was going to have to ri
sk coming straight out with it.

  ‘Did you help Alex with her maths homework too?’ I asked, quietly. I was really nervous of his reaction. I hadn’t dared bring up her name to Jack for weeks.

  He hesitated. ‘No.’ He didn’t sound annoyed, just surprised. ‘She was better at maths than me,’ he added. ‘She didn’t need my help.’

  ‘Did you do your homework together?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘We revised for our GCSEs together.’

  I pictured Jack sitting with his arm around the smiling girl I’d seen on Topfriendz and felt a shard of jealousy slice into me. Was there anything Jack and I had done together that he hadn’t already done with Alex? Was there anything she wasn’t better at than me?

  ‘So was she a total swot?’ I asked. I wanted him to put her down, to say she was boring.

  ‘No,’ he said, a bit too defensively. ‘She was just naturally good at it. It was one of her A-level options. Last thing I knew, she was planning to do it at university.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said, feeling a little hiccup of guilt. Jack was wrong. I knew Alex had dropped maths at the beginning of Sixth Form, because she’d told me.

  ‘You really liked her, didn’t you, Jack? Do you think about her a lot?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. He sounded impatient now. ‘Do you think about your exes?’

  I wanted to answer, ‘I don’t really have any, not proper ones, anyway, not serious ones,’ but Jack’s question was rhetorical. ‘Actually,’ he continued, ‘don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. How did we get on to this, anyway?’

  I knew that was that: he’d slammed the door shut on our conversation about Alex. Same old, same old. Jack wasn’t going to tell me what had gone wrong between them, or why she had finished the relationship. And maybe he never would. Either he didn’t want me to know, or it was so awful he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it.