by Fiona Foden
“Soon,” I say irritably. How should I know? I don’t even know where she is! You don’t wear a leopard dress and high heels to aerobics. No, she’s gone out out. To a pub or the Steak Shack, maybe with a man, despite being bankrupted by my haircut and Dad only leaving about six seconds ago.
The doorbell rings, and I fling my guitar on to the sofa and rush to answer it.
Riley’s standing there, dampened by drizzle. “Hi!” I say, my heart leaping.
“Er, can I come in?” he says. “I, um, like your hair, by the way…”
“Oh, do you?” My cheeks surge pink. “Um, yeah, course you can,” I add, leading him into the kitchen. He glances around awkwardly. I wonder if I should explain why Lily’s still up and watching Dumbo, but decide it’s far too complicated.
“I … I just wanted to ask you…” he begins.
“Ask me what?” I say, trying to seem casual and normal.
“I just wondered…” He pauses. Cartoony music filters through from the living room. “Um, is something wrong, Clover?” he asks. “I mean, did I do something to upset you?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I—”
“‘Cause since I came over,” he cuts in, “and Lily answered the door and said you’d gone out to look for your dog…”
“Uh-huh…” I say, my ears sizzling as if they’ve been dunked into Tony’s deep fryer.
“…You’ve hardly spoken to me,” he adds.
“Well,” I bluster, “I’d had this hair disaster and I was just trying to keep out of everyone’s way…”
Riley gives me a you-are-crazy look. “It wasn’t just that, though, was it? I mean, you’ve said hi and stuff when you really had to, but more often you’ve gone out of your way to avoid me…”
I look down, wishing I could slip down a crack in the floor. “I just felt a bit … embarrassed, that’s all,” I murmur. The house feels too still and hushed as I glance back up at Riley. Even Dumbo’s gone quiet.
“What about?”
“That … that day you came round,” I say, clearing my throat. “It was a bad time. Mum has these … these things sometimes, when she plays her music really loud and doesn’t care about it blaring into the street or anything—”
“So you were in the whole time?” Riley gives me an incredulous look.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“And you thought I wouldn’t want to come in when your mum was playing that stuff.”
I nod wordlessly. “God, Clover, d’you think I don’t know about embarrassing parents? Never met my dad, have you?”
“No…”
“Never seen him in his hairy old sweaters and tie-dyed trousers?”
I splutter as the grin spreads across my face. “Honestly? Your dad wears tie-dye?”
“Does it himself,” Riley says, smirking. “T-shirts, trousers, even my bedroom curtains once – anything he can get his hands on. He had a market stall before we moved here, but I guess the demand for tie-dye dried up. He ended up having to get a boring old office job doing filing instead. What he’d really like to be is a musician, but three chords are about his limit…”
“So,” I say, “did your dad get you into playing guitar?”
“Yeah. And he’s too kind to say I’m rubbish.”
“But you’re not—” I try to argue.
Riley smirks. “It’s OK, Clover. I can take it, y’know. I see how stressed Niall gets, dealing with me, holding up the whole class…”
I can’t help smiling, because it’s true.
“How about you?” he asks. “What made you start playing?”
A scene flashes into my mind. Jupe in Crickle Cottage. Me on the old, bashed-up sofa, being handed a guitar that felt almost as big as me. And Jupe saying, “Just strum it, Clover, like this.” We’d all planned to go to the beach that day, and Mum, Dad and my toddler sister were all waiting, laden with plastic buckets and spades.
“I don’t want to go,” I announced, to their amazement. “I want to play guitar with Jupe.”
“Clover?” Riley’s voice jolts me back to reality.
“Oh, it was my uncle,” I say quickly. “He was in a band years and years ago. I suppose he got me started.”
“Was he famous?” Riley asks.
I look up at him. I could say no, and that would be that – conversation over, neatly folded away. “Yeah,” I say, “kind of.”
“Is that why you’re so good? ’Cause he’s still teaching you?”
“No, um, he died a few weeks ago…”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Riley’s hazel eyes meet mine.
“It’s OK,” I say, shrugging. “I hadn’t seen him for years. We had … a sort of family falling out and Mum never spoke to her own big brother again.”
“Really? Was it that bad?”
I shrug. “Yeah. I’ve never understood why they didn’t try to patch things up…”
“God,” Riley breathes. “So was he, like, really famous? Would I know him?”
I hesitate, because I’m so used to keeping the Jupe thing pretty secret. But something about Riley makes me think he won’t laugh about my mad uncle, or spread it around school. It’s so much nicer being with him here, just the two of us, instead of having Skelling forever hanging around, shooting me snidey looks. “Well, he used to tour the world with his band,” I explain, “and he wore these … gold leather trousers.” I pause, waiting for him to splutter or something, but he doesn’t. He just keeps looking at me. “And ages ago,” I continue, “way before I was born, he was on the cover of every music magazine…”
“Wow,” Riley says, eyes wide. “So who was he?”
I sense myself blushing slightly. “He was in a band called Falcon…”
Riley frowns. “D’you have any pictures?”
“Yeah, just one.”
I take him upstairs to my room and show him a crinkly old picture I keep under my socks in my drawer. It’s been cut out of a magazine. You can tell it’s really old because on the other side is an advert for make-up and it looks really old-fashioned.
Riley studies the photo. Jupe’s wearing a terrible scarlet blouse with ruffles all down the front. Now I expect him to laugh, or say something rude about the blouse, but he doesn’t.
“I know who he is!” he exclaims. “My dad likes him. He’s got some of his records, used to play them when I was younger before our old turntable broke…”
I study the photo over Riley’s shoulder. I’ve only ever shown Jess this picture. She laughed when I told her that he’d named himself after a planet – Jupiter – because Uranus wouldn’t have looked good on posters. But she didn’t get his music, and why should she? She didn’t know him.
“Riley,” I say hesitantly, “I can’t come to lessons at Niall’s any more.”
He pushes back his fringe and places the photo on the cluttered dressing table. “I know. Jess told me what happened with your mum. Listen, we’re going to fix something, OK? I called Niall and told him. He wants you to go round and see him, soon as you can.”
Dumbo’s credits are rolling and I hear Lily bounding upstairs. “Hello, Riley,” she says shyly, poking her head around our bedroom door.
“Hi, Lily. Good movie?”
She nods, and I detect a hint of embarrassment over her viewing choice. “Bed for you,” I announce as the front door bangs open.
Ah. Mother returns. I step out on to the landing with Riley beside me, my stomach swirling anxiously. “Mum?” I call down.
“Sorry I’m late, honey,” she cries. “Oh, hello … um, Riley, isn’t it?” She peers up at us, looking a little unsteady on her feet.
“Yeah, hi,” he says, heading casually downstairs as if all of this is completely ordinary.
Mum tries, unsuccessfully, to smooth down her hair. “Had a few drinks with a friend,” she explains with a giggle
. “Hey, they’ve done a great job at that Cutting Room, don’t you think, Riley?”
I glare at her. She is drunk. I can smell it on her as I head downstairs. How does she manage to squeeze maximum embarrassment out of any situation? How?
“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” Mum adds teasingly.
I try to figure out how to liquefy myself so I can sink into our carpet, like a stain.
Riley nods and mumbles something I don’t catch. He’s snatched his jacket from the chair in the hall and is speedily pulling it on. Desperate to escape from Lunatic Mansions, I guess.
“Maybe I should get myself down there,” Mum babbles on, her words melting into each other, “and have the same person cut mine. Time for a new image, I reckon – what d’you think, Clover?”
I shrug and look away. Riley flicks me a quick glance. Compared to Mum’s performance, having a parent tie-dye your curtains counts for nothing.
“Can’t remember who it was,” I say quickly.
“Oh, come on. You must remember.” Mum giggles idiotically.
“It was Janice, I think, or maybe Jenny…”
“Well, we’ll have to find out, won’t we?” Mum says. “Maybe you were right, love. I’ve been seeing Babs for years and sometimes you can fall into a rut with the same old hairdresser…”
“Mum, come upstairs and see me!” Lily demands from our room. Thank you, little sister. Quickly, I open the front door and step out with Riley, breathing in a lungful of cool air.
I look at him. “Sorry,” I say lamely.
He smiles. “Don’t be. It’s fine.”
There’s a moment of stillness and then, far away, the squawk of a gull. “Can I come over again?” he asks.
“Sure you want to?”
“Course, why wouldn’t I?”
I smile. “Yeah, that’d be good.” I don’t ask about Skelling and whether she’s his girlfriend or whatever, because right now, it doesn’t seem to matter.
Even Mum being drunk in that leopardy dress doesn’t matter.
Nothing does. Because, as Riley lifts a hand to my face, right now is all that matters. Gently, looking at me the whole time, he pushes away a strand of hair. There’s a pause, and I think I’m holding my breath. Then his lips are on mine, soft and sweet.
And I am really kissing Riley Hart.
For ages and ages.
I think I’m going to explode or faint. Then I feel myself dissolving, like that heart-shaped cookie, melting away to nothing.
We stop, and every cell in my body is tingling madly as I say, “Riley … we don’t have a dog.”
When your heart’s about to explode into billions of sparks, a little white lie doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about Bambi, our fictitious dog. He just looks at me and turns a bit pink, then murmurs, “I, um … I like you, Clover.”
I like you, Clover! I know he’s hardly declared undying love or anything. But still. He likes me. He likes me! And I don’t know whether to tell him I like him too, or to say, “That’s nice” or something equally feeble. I’m completely awestruck. Maybe that’s why I start babbling, “Well, if we did have a dog, and I wish we did, I wouldn’t call him Bambi. I’d call him, er, Brian or something.”
“Brian?” Riley repeats, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, you know, as a joke … ha ha…”
“Yeah,” he says, looking confused, “Brian’s so much better than Bambi…”
“No, I didn’t mean…” Stop it, Clover! Stick a sock in it. Riley looks at me. Then we shuffle a bit, and I can’t risk saying anything else in case I blurt out more ridiculous dogs’ names. Which kind of kills the romantic moment.
“So, er, see you at the weekend maybe?” he asks.
“Uh-huh,” I croak.
“Great. Bye then, Clover.”
As he mooches off down our street, I stand at our front door for a moment, hanging on to his words. I like you, Clover.
“I like you too,” I whisper, my heart pounding madly as he disappears from view.
By the time I’m back in the living room, I’ve started to wonder if I actually imagined Riley saying those words or even kissing me. Can the human brain actually do that – make you think you’ve kissed someone when it’s just your mind playing a terrible trick? I touch my lips with my fingertips. They certainly feel kissed – kind of warm and tingly. Trust me to spoil the moment by going on about dogs.
I glance over at Mum, who’s watching me sleepily from her curled-up position on the sofa. “So, you had a boy in your bedroom?” she asks with a frown.
“He’s just a friend, Mum,” I say quickly.
“I know he is … but be careful, darling…”
“Mum, it’s nothing! We were just chatting and stuff.”
She nods, meeting my gaze. “Well, I hope so.”
I turn away, wanting to curl up in bed and replay that thing Riley said over and over until I’m asleep. I like you, Clover…
“Goodnight, Mum,” I say.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Before I’ve even left the room, Mum’s fallen asleep in her leopardy dress and red patent heels, a crazy smile on her face.
Next morning, there’s no mention of Mum’s mystery night out, although I detect that she’s squirted herself with a new perfume called Hint of Guilt. She flaps around us, cooking our usual Saturday fried breakfast. Although I probably should be annoyed with her, I’m in too good a mood after my kiss with Riley (which I’ve decided definitely did happen). Anyway, maybe Mum was just out with a friend, trying to chat up men or something. I can’t believe she’d do that when it still feels as if Dad’s only just gone. But it’s better, I suppose, than her feeling all bitter and angry. I just hope Mum remembers she has me and Lily and doesn’t need anyone else.
Later on, when I’ve wondered about eight hundred times whether to call Riley just to say hi, he phones me on my mobile (thank God I managed to get it back from Mum). “Just wondered,” he says, “if I can come over with my guitar?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say, trying to sound as if it’s completely normal to hang out with a boy at the weekend.
Five things I do before he arrives:
Carry out thorough check for embarrassing items left on bedroom floor (knickers, bras, scraps of paper on which I’d been absent-mindedly merging my name with his – Clover Hart. The cringe-making shame of it).
Pay Lily two pounds to clear off.
Breathe heavily and pace around a lot.
Explain to Mum that my, uh, friend Riley’s coming over in about an hour and will it be OK for us to play music in my room? I.e., could she please not put on her own CDs full blast? “Of course I won’t,” she says. “You only have to say, darling.” As if it’s usually that simple.
Call Jess to tell her about last night’s kiss, and the fact that Riley’s due at my house in approximately forty-five minutes and sixteen seconds.
“Does this mean he’s your boyfriend now?” she yelps.
“I don’t know,” I tell her.
“Well, are you going to ask him?”
“Of course not!” I shriek, my stomach swirling with panic. How is anyone supposed to know what to do in this kind of situation? It’s not as if I’d ever even kissed a boy until last night. The thought of more kissing, in my bedroom with Mum likely to burst in at any moment, almost makes me want to call Riley back and tell him not to come.
I manage not to do that, and in fact, apart from both of us acting a bit shy and awkward when he shows up, it’s actually not stressful at all. “Sorry about Mum last night,” I say as we try those bar chords again.
“Your mum’s fine,” Riley says with a grin. “She probably just wanted to go out and have a good time.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m just not used to it…”
“What, your mum having a good time?” he laug
hs.
I nod and my face breaks into a smile.
“Are you good at guitar, Riley?” Lily blurts out from the doorway.
“Lily,” I hiss, throwing a stern look at her.
“It’s OK,” Riley says. “C’mon in, Lily. No, I’m not very good, but Clover’s helping me get better – I hope…”
“Can you show me?” she asks, stepping into our room, obviously forgetting that I paid her two quid to stay out.
“Yeah, sure,” Riley says. Now, this isn’t what I’d imagined at all: the three of us here, with Riley patiently showing Lily how to make an A-chord shape.
“Clover never shows me,” she retorts. “She won’t even let me touch her guitar.”
“Big sisters can be so mean,” he chuckles.
“Oh, right,” I retort. “Like all the times I’ve taken you swimming, and sat drawing with you, and spent all my money on Cedric’s tunnel…”
“She’s all right really,” Lily chips in with a grin, and my heart softens a little. Sometimes my little sister can be almost … sweet.
In fact, weirdly enough, I start to feel pleased that she’s here with us. While Lily’s in the room, there’s no chance of any more kissing, which means I’m not stressing out about it either happening or not happening, or Mum walking in and catching us and making a huge fuss. The next couple of hours fly by, and as Riley gets ready to leave, I don’t even feel like asking Lily for my two quid back.
“So you’ll speak to Niall about your lessons?” Riley asks at the front door.
“Yep, I’ll definitely do that.”
“It’ll be fine,” he says, turning to go. “See you Monday, OK?”
“Yeah, see you at school…” I pause, wondering if I should just say it: D’you want to go out sometime? Riley stops too, as if he can read my mind, and knows I’m trying to pluck up the courage.
“Bye, Riley!” Lily trills, skipping downstairs from our room and stopping all breathless at the front door. “Thanks for the guitar tips!”
The grin warms his face, and those hazel eyes sparkle in the pale afternoon sun. “Any time,” he replies, before nodding his goodbye and striding off down the street.