No Longer Safe

by A J Waines

  With nothing to lose, I’d tried my luck in B2.

  ‘I’ve not seen you before,’ said Karen, introducing herself with a show-stopping smile as she skimmed past with a tray of beers. ‘It’s all-comers here. Grab a seat. Fancy some noodles?’

  I felt like a valued customer in an exclusive restaurant. Everyone was chatting, sharing jokes and even toasting marshmallows on that first visit. I found out that, in the evenings, students gathered with instruments to form an impromptu band, drawing in an audience from other floors in the block. While the concerts were underway, another group would put together a huge pile of food – spaghetti bolognese or risotto – and share it with anyone who turned up. Karen, I discovered, was the one who instigated this communal supper idea; her generosity was a revelation to me. She regularly handed round bottles of wine and pieces of cheesecake; she never seemed, like me, to buy any of those meals-for-one. I didn’t hesitate. I shifted over my tins and jars from one locker to another and made ‘B2’ kitchen my new home.

  I’ve thanked fate a thousand times for that encounter. It was as though my life really began that day.

  I blew on my hands and, gritting my teeth, planted my feet inside my furry slippers and pulled on my bathrobe. I glanced at my reflection in the speckled mirror on the wall and caught the frown on my face. I was still mystified that at such a poignant, delicate time, Karen had chosen me to be here.

  At University, Karen had throngs of friends and they all seemed to have more in common with her than I ever had. She’d made a point of befriending me, but I wasn’t so naïve not to realise that there were plenty of others she was fond of. What about the friends she’d met since then, through her jobs or in Brixton? Why had she invited me?

  Icicles had formed like dried glue on the inside of the window, but I didn’t marvel at them for long. A knock at the front door shook me and I stood still to listen. I heard Karen hurtle down the stairs to answer it, as if she was expecting someone.

  ‘Yay – they’re here!’ she squealed.

  I ran out onto the landing.

  ‘Who’s here?’ I called, hurriedly tying the belt of my bathrobe, my mouth wide open.

  ‘The others…’

  Others? Karen hadn’t mentioned any others…

  There were whoops and screams at the front door. Karen’s arms were wrapped around a man’s neck, dislodging his backpack. She was jumping up and down, circling around the two of them like a puppy. I didn’t remember her face lighting up with such unbridled joy when I arrived on the doorstep.

  ‘Didn’t I say? You remember Jodie and Mark,’ she cried. I tried to raise a smile as I tentatively descended the stairs. I was crestfallen. I thought it was just going to be the three of us.

  I stood still on the bottom step. I did know Jodie and Mark – we’d been at Leeds together for three years, but they’d always been Karen’s friends not mine.

  ‘Hi,’ I managed eventually, nodding in their direction.

  Mark Leverton still looked about nineteen. He was tall and wiry like a bendy cartoon come to life. He’d created a stir with the female population at Uni – black shaggy hair, shifty eyes that made him appear inscrutable and out of reach. I’d never seen the attraction myself.

  ‘Hey – how’re you doing, Sugar?’ he said to me. I’d forgotten what he sounded like. I’d expected a squeaky voice to match his body, but it was deep and rumbling, like thunder was on the way. It all came back: the way he used to call me after anything sugary – as if he could never remember my name.

  Mark had always been a ‘bad boy’; the dark, moody sort that girls seem to drool over. I remember asking Karen at the time why so many fell for blokes like him.

  ‘Because they’re exciting, I suppose,’ she’d told me. ‘You never know what they’re going to do next. They’re mysterious, intriguing. Women want to work out how they tick; they see dangerous men as a challenge.’

  Mark invariably wore black back then; most of his t-shirts featured skull and crossbones or logos of indie bands he’d seen at Glastonbury. He’d been a talented drummer (his studies had suffered), and he’d lapped up the kudos of being in a band. Musicians were allowed to be glum, irritable and leave their dirty dishes about the place. I was pleased to see he’d ditched his trademark black eyeliner and his t-shirt was maroon, instead of black, and had an Armani label, with the logo of a US department store printed across the front. He still had three holes in one earlobe, sporting two studs and a silver scorpion.

  Jodie Farringday had always been gorgeous; five foot ten, with thick frothy dark hair tied up into a ponytail and striking supermodel looks. Her legs were twice the length of mine and her typical facial expression was built around a plump pout; her lips enviably claret-red without the need for lipstick. She looked exactly as I remembered her – complete with kitten heels encrusted with snow – she hadn’t changed a bit.

  I felt a pang of inadequacy. I wasn’t dressed and hadn’t even brushed my hair. I was acutely aware of the bruise that now resembled a plum stuck to the side of my forehead. I hadn’t had the chance to dab a blob of make-up over it.

  ‘We’ve had a staggeringly awful journey,’ Jodie moaned. ‘We got here so late last night, we had to stay in Fort William.’ She shrugged off her leather jacket in my direction. I caught it and hung it up. She did a double take as she saw the bruise on my temple. ‘Why did you choose this godforsaken place?’

  Jodie had been that odd mix of super-confident on the outside and insecure on the inside. She’d been obsessed with fashion and self-grooming, always washing her hair and making appointments at the tanning centre. She never went anywhere without a glossy magazine and even in company, she used to plonk one on the table to browse through in coffee shops, the pub, restaurants.

  Mark did a circuit of the sitting room and emerged looking forlorn. ‘There’s no bloody telly! How am I going to survive without Strictly...?’

  ‘He’s not joking,’ snorted Jodie.

  Karen threw her eyes up in mock offence and took Jodie and Mark each by the hand. ‘I’m making you both a bacon butty,’ she declared, dragging them into the kitchen.

  Karen turned to me as I lingered in the hall. ‘It’ll be fun, Alice. Come on – you’ll see.’

  I hurried upstairs to change and we settled in the sitting room with hot drinks and bacon sandwiches. Jodie had Melanie on her knee, but didn’t seem to know what to do with her. The child didn’t look too pleased to be there, either. She started whinging and flapping her hands in Jodie’s face. Jodie couldn’t wait to hand her back.

  ‘She’s a bit overwhelmed with all the new faces,’ said Karen, picking her up and cooing.

  ‘Does she have to have that mask on all the time?’ asked Jodie, appalled.

  ‘The doctors want me to wean her off it gradually, but she needs it most of the time, for now.’

  Melanie still wasn’t happy. Karen tipped a pile of toys onto the floor and tried to interest her in something. ‘Look – how about we play with the shiny ball? Or the jolly truck?’ Melanie reached out instead for the little playhouse Karen had made out of a large cardboard box.

  It must have taken her ages to put together, to paint the brickwork blue on the outside, cut the four-pane window in the side and ruche the paisley curtains with string. There was a soft blanket and toys inside, so Melanie could explore her own little space. Karen set up the oxygen tank outside the box and lifted Melanie into the middle.

  I played peek-a-boo at the window with her for a while before Karen insisted I stop to have a bacon sandwich. I took half a slice to join in, but I wasn’t hungry. I was still in shock from this intrusion and still had a headache. Why hadn’t Karen said anything? Why hadn’t she warned me? Then, it suddenly clicked: she hadn’t mentioned it because she must have known there was a chance I wouldn’t have come if I’d known Jodie and Mark would be here. She wanted all of us – her own select reunion.

  Karen got to her feet, poised for an announcement. ‘I know it’s not Christmas – bu
t Santa got his dates mixed up this year and came early.’ I looked on in horror as she produced immaculately wrapped gifts for everyone. There was a CD for Mark, a fitness DVD for Jodie and for me a thick book on photography. I felt terrible – I hadn’t thought to bring any Christmas presents, not even for the baby.

  Jodie prolonged the embarrassment by pulling out a parcel of her own from the bag at her feet. A delicate necklace with the letter ‘M’ on it for Karen. She turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got these.’

  She dipped into her handbag, gave me an unwrapped box and sat back to watch me open it. ‘I made them on the train,’ she added with pride. She reached over and held an earring up against my ear, at which point her face fell. ‘Oh – you don’t have pierced ears.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I was thinking of getting them done.’

  ‘I can do it for you if you like – we just need a sharp needle...’ She looked like she was about to get to her feet to find one.

  ‘No – it’s fine,’ I said hastily.

  Even Mark had brought a gift for Melanie – a toy piano, which played a different tune with each key pressed.

  An awkward silence followed the impromptu gift-giving ceremony. Jodie was looking at me – I was off the hook as far as she and Mark were concerned – but she was waiting for me to produce something for Karen and Melanie. I hadn’t come up to scratch. I’d failed to grasp the unspoken etiquette. The odd one out. As per usual.

  Karen saved me. ‘Alice brought some lovely things for Mel.’

  ‘Oh – what?’ Jodie asked.

  ‘They’re upstairs. I’ll show you later,’ she said, without a blink.

  I tried to thank Karen with my eyes, but she was watching Jodie, who had started telling some story about a friend at work. Unfortunately, Jodie was giggling so much I missed the punchline. As the others laughed, Mark was stabbing at burnt logs in the fire with the poker, sending sparks everywhere. A cluster of embers shot out on to the rug.

  ‘Careful,’ said Karen, touching his shoulder.

  Jodie stood over a hole. ‘Look - you’ve burnt it!’ she said. ‘Stop it – it smells like a dead sheep.’

  ‘How would you know?’ he retorted. He took hold of her ankle. ‘Give me a kiss and shut up.’ His Geordie accent made him sound friendlier than he really was. Jodie did as she was told, then the pair of them cuddled up together on the sofa.

  When Karen took the plates into the kitchen, Jodie called over to me. ‘I don’t really like little kids, do you?’ I noticed her hands were trembling.

  I glanced over at Melanie. ‘I haven’t got a clue what to do with babies either, but I just follow what Karen does.’

  Melanie was wearing a woolly hat indoors, because it was so cold. It made her look cute. ‘She’s adorable,’ I said.

  Jodie grimaced. ‘I’m not doing any of that nappy stuff.’

  Mark nibbled her ear and I took the mugs into the kitchen. From what I remembered of her, Jodie needed a lot of male attention and Mark was good at that.

  Karen rolled her eyes as I joined her by the sink. ‘They’re just as soppy as they were at Leeds,’ she said.

  I leant against the fridge and folded my arms in silence. She spotted me staring into space and waved her hand in front of my face.

  ‘I was just thinking back,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Do you remember at the end of our second year when Jodie told us that Mark wanted them to get engaged?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘She started looking for a platinum ring with an oval stone – do you remember?’

  ‘Mmm…wishful thinking, I reckon. It certainly never happened.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can’t see him setting a date any time soon, can you?’

  I pulled a face in response.

  ‘You don’t mind cooking tonight, do you?’ she said, pointing to an open cookbook on the table. She’d left the relevant page pinned down with a potato. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’ She draped the oven-gloves over my shoulder, playfully. ‘We’ll eat around eight o’clock.’ Beside the recipe were all the ingredients for shepherd’s pie.

  ‘Of course not. It’s my turn.’ I grabbed her hand. ‘Thanks, by the way – for earlier.’

  ‘You owe me one,’ she said, with a wry smile and left me to wash the dishes.

  Chapter 7

  We spent the next hour sharing banal anecdotes about ‘the old days’. It didn’t take long for the stories to get tedious. Then Mark insisted on a snowball fight in the front garden. I ended up on Jodie’s team, but she was hopeless, dissolving into giggles and, leaving me to fend off a barrage of solid balls of ice. Karen was a demon. I should have remembered she’d be competitive even when we were supposed to be having fun.

  My headache was still hanging around – Jodie’s raucous laughter hadn’t helped, a bit OTT if you asked me – and I was desperate to be on my own. All I wanted was to lie down in the warmth, but once again, Mark had other plans.

  ‘Okay,’ he declared. ‘Lunch at the pub. Last one in the car is a slag.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ protested Karen, ‘I’ve got to get baby gear.’

  ‘Rules are rules,’ he said emphatically, enjoying his moment of unjustifiable authority.

  We all squashed into Karen’s 2CV and rattled off to The Cart and Horses as though we were having a great time.

  On the way back, Karen told us about the loch nearby.

  ‘They have an archaic crossing system,’ she explained, ‘with two rowing boats tied at the shore on either side, so people can cross back and forth whenever they need to.’

  ‘How long does it take to get across?’ I asked.

  ‘About an hour, apparently. There’s a sign that says you must always leave at least one boat on each shore.’

  ‘That’s one little ritual I’d like to mess up,’ said Mark. ‘Let’s go over there now and take to the water.’

  Karen laughed. ‘Not today,’ she said. ‘I need to get this little one back for a nap.’

  ‘You’re just chicken,’ he said. He made a stupid clucking sound and Jodie tutted.

  Mark fell asleep in front of the fire once we got back, while Jodie and Karen bathed Melanie. It wasn’t a big deal to slice a few vegetables. I put the radio on and listened to a programme about fly fishing and gave them a call when it was ready.

  Karen put Melanie to bed and the four of us sat around the small wobbly table and helped ourselves. The whole set-up felt staged and stilted, although it was hard to pinpoint exactly why. It was probably just me, feeling out of sorts.

  Seeing them again had brought it all back, reminding me of how hard I’d found life at University, trying to be hip and cool like the other students. I’d done my best to fit in, but I was too withdrawn, prim and plain to do anything about it until Karen came along. I’d felt like I was walking round with the words pitiful loser stamped across my forehead.

  To add insult to injury, somehow it got around that my dad was an undertaker, instantly setting up a distasteful impression. I could see the reaction in their faces: Woah – her dad works with DEAD people…! No matter how much I tried to avoid the subject it always seemed to crop up and stain whatever credibility I had. It set me up as weird before I even opened my mouth.

  Karen had rescued me back then and we’d become good friends, but I had no regrets about losing touch with Jodie and Mark. We’d rubbed along and I’d made an effort, because they were mates of Karen’s, but there was no real love lost between the three of us.

  Jodie had seemed glamorous at the time, but now I wondered about her hidden self. Was she happy? Something about her seemed forced. I was getting that feeling with Karen too – like she was playing at being upbeat, when she was really anything but.

  Mark sat next to me and jiggled his elbow against mine in a playful way as I handed him the pepper. Had he changed, I wondered?

  ‘What have you been up to, Honey?’ he asked.

  I wanted to sound impressive
. ‘Oh, I love London – I go to lots of photography exhibitions, concerts, films. I’m going to train as a primary school teacher.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘No. Not at the moment…but you never know…’ I added an optimistic smile for good measure.

  Jodie didn’t say a word to start with, taking tiny precise forkfuls of food at irregular intervals. When she finally spoke it was to ask a question.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but is there anything else to eat?’ She nudged a lump of carrot around the plate. ‘This is a bit…mushy.’

  ‘There’s pudding,’ said Karen helpfully. ‘Alice made blackberry crumble and custard.’

  ‘Or there’s fruit,’ I added, pointing to two navel oranges and a banana in a basket near the window.

  Jodie winced as if we were offering her dead insects.

  ‘You’ve done really well, Alice,’ Karen said without a trace of condescension, chewing heartily.

  ‘Very tasty,’ reiterated Mark.

  It didn’t take long before the reminiscences resumed.

  ‘Remember the time Karen managed to wangle tickets to see U2,’ said Mark. ‘She got those tickets just for you – I remember.’ I waited for him to point his finger at me, but he prodded it against Jodie’s chest, instead.

  ‘Yeah – totally wicked,’ said Jodie. Mark was wrong. Karen had told me she’d got those tickets especially for me, at the time. U2 was my favourite band in 2005.

  I was still silently smarting at Mark’s mistake, when he turned to me. ‘What’s your favourite U2 song, Alice?’

  ‘I love Where the Streets Have No Name,’ Jodie jumped in, which led to a heated debate about our greatest hits.

  ‘Mine would have to be I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,’ I said.

  ‘And have you, Alice?’ Mark asked, over a fork piled high with mince and mash. ‘Found what you’re looking for, that is?’

  ‘That’s a big question.’ I couldn’t work out if he was trying to make fun of me or not.

  ‘Come on – tell us. Have you found out what it’s all about, since Leeds?’