by Cat Clarke
I’d already turned back to my homework and was furiously scribbling with a black pencil in a column that was supposed to be red. ‘Yeah, whatever.’
I could hear her stand and move towards the door. There was a few seconds of silence and then, ‘I love you, Alex.’
‘Yeah.’
The door shut quietly and my head met the desk. I felt like she’d broken some sort of unwritten pact we had – Mum and I didn’t talk about that kind of stuff. We just didn’t. We talked about TV and took the piss out of Dad. This was … wrong.
I struggled to sleep that night, thinking about my reaction and wondering what Mum made of it. Did she believe my denial, even though I hadn’t said the actual word I was supposed to be denying? Or did it just confirm what she clearly thought was the case?
I was angry. Mum and Dad had clearly been talking about me behind my back, thinking there was something wrong with me just because I wasn’t the female equivalent of Jamie. He brought girls home all the time. Two years older than me and the kind of good-looking that’s impossible to ignore, Dad’s always saying Jamie’s a chip off the old block (and Mum’s always saying, ‘You wish’). Clearly they thought he was doing his teenage years properly. Sowing his wild oats or some such bollocks. But it was hard to believe Dad would have been cool with me bringing random boys home. That’s how it works – one rule for boys, another rule for girls. So maybe they just wanted me to have a boyfriend – a boring, responsible one who wore shiny shoes and had a neat parting. Whatever it was they wanted, they obviously thought there was something wrong with me. Never getting in trouble at school, never drinking or taking drugs or missing my curfew … that wasn’t good enough. That wasn’t normal enough for them. And according to them, there was only one explanation: I was gay.
How dare they? How fucking dare they? I could just picture the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and listening to Radio 4. They did it every night – Mum called it ‘us time’, which was kind of sickening. They weren’t supposed to be talking about me though. I’d done everything I could do be the best possible daughter but they still weren’t satisfied.
Gay. I rolled the word around in my head, testing it. It was a ridiculous idea, plain and simple. I’d had pictures of boybands and actors on my wall a few years ago. I thought the drummer in Saving Serenity was pretty hot. Anyway, Jonni and Fitz were boys, weren’t they? And they’d been round to our flat at least twice. So what the hell was the problem?
There had been a time last year (about two weeks, to be precise) when I’d wondered if I fancied Jonni. There was nothing really wrong with his face, he looked nice when he smiled, and he had reasonably interesting things to say, which was more than could be said for Fitz. Still, I couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm for the idea and the thought of kissing Jonni kind of turned my stomach. But that wasn’t because he was a boy, it was because he was my mate. You don’t go round randomly kissing your mates.
The thing is, there was no way on earth Jonni would have ever kissed me. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he didn’t think about me like that. Sometimes I think he even forgot that I was a girl at all. He’d be talking about some girl or other (usually the pathetic groupie-types who hung around Bristo Square hoping to bag a skater boyfriend) and he’d say something unbelievably crude and me and Fitz would both laugh but then Jonni would look at me funny and say sorry. As if I cared.
If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I knew that Jonni and Fitz weren’t that keen on me hanging out with them all the time. They didn’t mind at first, when I first turned up at Bristo Square. I was a bit of a novelty, I guess – a girl who could actually skate. And we were into the same kind of music so we had a fair bit in common. But when I started turning up every day after school (and started showing them up in front of the girls), they didn’t seem so happy. I didn’t realize anything was up at first – only when Jonni texted that they weren’t going to be at the Square after school one Friday and I went anyway and found them there, just like always. Jonni tried to cover it up, saying he’d changed his mind at the last minute, but I knew the score. I was hurt but I was never going to let him see that; I just shrugged and said ‘whatever’.
After a couple more incidents like that I knew Jonni was trying to phase me out. The novelty had well and truly worn off for him. This was only a couple of months before I met Kate and I was pretty down about the whole thing. Maybe not depressed, but definitely not happy. I’d thought that meeting Jonni and Fitz might be the start of something good for me – a new life away from school. Skating at Bristo Square was my escape. I felt like I was finally fitting in, like I’d found my place in the world.
Getting the tickets for the Saving Serenity gig was pretty much a last-ditch effort to impress the boys. I said I’d won them in some competition I saw online, but the truth is I used most of my birthday money. Jonni hadn’t seemed all that impressed and wouldn’t even commit to turning up. But then Fitz texted the day before the gig to say they’d meet me outside. Like I should have been honoured by their presence or something. It was a pretty desperate move, I suppose, buying those tickets. And if you look at it in a certain light it might seem like I was trying to buy friends. That wouldn’t be quite fair though. Loads of things can look bad if you look at them in a certain light.
chapter four
I had no idea if the boys tried to find me at the end of the gig; I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. If I’d told them I was meeting a girl they’d have come to find me for sure. Kate had asked where my friends were and I’d pointed vaguely at the seething mass of bodies in front of the stage. Maybe she wanted to meet them to check they were real, but I was desperate for them not to meet. And not just because Jonni might take the piss out of me. That was when it really began, I suppose. If I had to pinpoint a single moment, that would be it. That pure blast of panic that shot through me at the thought of Kate meeting the boys. Because one of them would say something and she would find out the truth.
I guess I thought she’d realize as soon as we met and she might be a bit embarrassed, but she’d get over it and we would laugh about it. It’s not like I purposefully dressed up as a boy to deceive her. I was just wearing my normal clothes, like I wear every day as soon as I can get out of that godawful school uniform. That skirt was the bane of my life. None of the other girls seemed to care. When I tried to get a petition going to allow us to wear trousers, at least in winter, there were a grand total of seven signatures (including three fakes). That was the first and last time I ever tried to participate in the school system. When Marcy Davies set up a petition to get them to serve tropical fruit in the cafeteria, almost every girl in our year signed it. Democracy favours the pretty, I suppose. And those who are really into mango and pineapple.
So I really hadn’t gone out of my way to trick Kate. Jeans, Converse and a hoodie. And I hadn’t done anything special with my hair. It was shorter than it is now, but not really short. I didn’t have anything against long hair – it just wasn’t for me. Too much maintenance and a baffling array of haircare products. Anyway, it’s not like I was totally masculine or anything: most of my clothes came from the women’s section of the shop (even if they did look kind of unisex). I didn’t really like wearing skirts or tight tops and I never bothered with make-up because I didn’t know how to apply it and no one ever bothered to show me. Plus I’m not exactly blessed in the chest department. Girls at school used to moan about their boobs all the time, saying that they couldn’t wait to get boob jobs and inane things like that. But having small boobs never bothered me – it was better for running, for one thing. I just never got why girls cared about shit like that. Seems to me there are a lot more important things to worry about in the world.
So, Kate and I met up at the gig and it was obvious she still didn’t realize I was a girl. What the hell was I supposed to do? Slip the information into the conversation somehow? There’s just no easy way to do that. She would have been mortified if I�
�d told her the truth. She probably would have run off and never spoken to me again. After twenty minutes or so in her company I knew that I didn’t want that to happen. It felt good and easy being with her and I wasn’t about to let that slip through my fingers.
There was one potentially tricky moment during Saving Serenity’s only boring song, when I said I was going to the toilet and she said she’d go too. I had to think fast, telling her we’d lose our spot on the balcony if we both went at the same time. Thankfully you couldn’t see the ladies’ toilets from the balcony, so Kate didn’t see me go in there. The toilets were a mess: loo roll clogging up three out of four sinks, water flooding on to the floor from the cubicle at the end. When I was washing my hands I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I didn’t think I looked like a boy. And no one ever batted an eyelid when I went into the ladies’ changing rooms or toilets. So why did Kate see me differently? Was it all down to that profile picture on the forum? Was that all it was? Plus me not saying anything to make her think any different. We were both to blame, a little bit, maybe.
Kate grabbed my arm again when the band came back on for the encore, asking if I reckoned they’d play her favourite song (everyone’s favourite song, really). I just smiled and she jumped up and down saying ‘Tellllll meeeeeee!’ and at that exact moment the drums kicked in. Kate’s face lit up, and it was this perfect moment. She didn’t sing along this time, she just took my hand and held it in hers and we stood and just listened.
It didn’t feel strange to be holding hands with a girl. It felt like something I’d been waiting for.
As soon as the band left the stage for the second and final time, we headed for the doors. Kate had to rush to catch the bus if she wasn’t going to get busted for lying to her mum. It suited me just fine because I knew Jonni and Fitz would be hanging around after the gig, trying to impress random girls with how sweaty they were.
Kate was buzzing on the short walk to the bus stop. ‘That was incredible. Incredible. I mean, I knew it was going to be good, because how could it not be good, you know? But that was SO good!’
‘I’m really glad you had fun.’ We weren’t holding hands anymore so I jammed my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. I’d put the hood up too; it was bloody freezing. I worried that Kate would get cold waiting for the bus but she didn’t seem to notice the chill in the air.
‘It was … Honestly? It was one of the best nights of my life.’ She said this quietly, almost shyly.
I wasn’t sure how to react to this. I wasn’t sure whether it made me feel sad or happy that this night had meant so much to her. But when I really gave it some thought, I realized I felt the same way. I didn’t tell her though; I should have told her.
The 26 pulled up just as we arrived at the bus stop and there were only a couple of other people getting on it, so Kate couldn’t hang around. She gave me a quick hug, said ‘I’ll text you’ and before I knew it I was standing alone on the pavement. Wondering what might have happened if the bus had been delayed by a few minutes.
My phone buzzed in my jeans pocket maybe thirty seconds after the bus pulled away. A text from Kate: Sorry we didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. Next time, OK? x
I grinned at my phone. Next time. There was going to be a next time. With a ‘proper’ goodbye, whatever that might mean. Neither of us had ever put an ‘x’ at the end of our texts before. This new development made me feel nauseous in the best possible way.
chapter five
It’s hard to remember what it was like, back then. I mean, I can remember everything that happened clearly enough. But it’s hard to remember exactly how it felt. I suppose that at any given moment there were a whole bunch of feelings, all mixed up in varying quantities. There was guilt, obviously, for not telling Kate the truth when I had the chance (even though I maintain I never really had the chance). There was excitement that something good was finally happening to me. This excitement was tinged with a healthy dose of disbelief. Then there was the anxiety. It was always there, lodged somewhere around the middle of my chest. A heavy, hard lump I was never able to get rid of. But that first night? Walking home that first night, there was one feeling eclipsing all the others. I had my headphones on, listening at full blast to the last song Saving Serenity played and I was walking down Princes Street past the shops, all closed and shuttered. Actually, I wasn’t so much walking as strutting, you know that way you do when you feel like you’re in a music video? I must have looked so stupid, but I didn’t care. Because I was happy.
*
I bounded up to the front door and unlocked it. Mum and Dad had a couple of friends over for dinner and they were being raucous as anything. Four empty wine bottles on the kitchen table went some way to explaining the noise. Mum’s laugh is ridiculous at the best of times, but when she’s wasted (‘tipsy’, she calls it), it’s something else entirely.
‘Alex! My little girl’s home at last! How was the gig?’ Mum’s face was flushed in the candlelight. She said the word ‘gig’ like it was something exotic to her. She wasn’t the gig-going type when she was my age if the embarrassing old pictures are anything to go by.
I shrugged and headed over to the fridge to grab a smoothie, then scarpered along the hall to my room before Mum could say anything else. Before I closed my bedroom door, I heard her say, ‘What is it with teenagers these days, eh?’ She probably didn’t even realize she sounded exactly like my grandmother.
I lay down on my bed and took out my phone. I must have spent at least ten minutes trying to work out what to say before ending up with: No worries. I like the sound of next time. x
The ‘x’ was a hard call to make, but I added it in at the last minute. It’s raising the stakes, isn’t it? That tiny little letter. As soon as someone brings it to the table, you sort of have to respond in the same way, otherwise it’s a bit rude. I thought Kate might be disappointed if there was no ‘x’, and disappointing her was the last thing I wanted to do. But I didn’t want to go over the top and seem too keen, so I left the rest of the message fairly low key.
I stared at my phone until I got a reply: Tomorrow? x
I hadn’t even considered that she might want to see me again so soon. This time I didn’t hang around: Tomorrow sounds good. x
I was supposed to be going through to Glasgow with Mum and Dad, but there was no question of me saying no to Kate.
We texted a bit more before I went to bed – nothing major, just stuff about the gig and arrangements for meeting up the next day. She suggested a walk down by the Water of Leith so we arranged to meet in Stockbridge. It was a little too close to my flat for my liking, but I just had to hope we wouldn’t bump into anyone I knew.
Kate sent the last text, a little after midnight: Sweet dreams. x
The feeling I had inside was something like marshmallows, only a bit less sickly.
*
My dreams were definitely sweet. I woke up early and stayed in bed listening to my iPod, the same song on repeat. When I went through for breakfast Mum was frying up some bacon, which she only ever did when she was massively hungover. She didn’t kick up much of a fuss when I said I had too much coursework on to go to Glasgow – she was always weirdly agreeable the morning after the night before as if arguing was just too much of an effort for her fragile brain. Dad didn’t seem bothered at all, probably because he gets annoyed by the music blaring from my headphones in the back of the car. He thinks we should all listen to the same thing or have an intellectual discussion or something.
By ten o’clock I had the flat to myself. I jumped in the shower and let the hot water pound against my head. I reached for the shower gel and hesitated. Mine was some kind of fruit concoction – some overly sweet one that Mum had got from the Body Shop. Standing next to it was a tube of Hugo Boss shower gel. It was nearly empty, which must have been why Jamie left it behind when he went off to uni. I flipped open the lid and gave it a sniff. The smell was pure Jamie; it made me miss him even though I’d only seen him last week.
I was sure he wouldn’t mind me using a tiny blob of his shower gel. Maybe he’d even approve.
After my shower I wrapped a towel round myself and headed into Jamie’s room. I was pretty sure he had some Hugo Boss deodorant too – some girl had given him a gift set for his eighteenth birthday. It made sense to use the Hugo deodorant rather than mine, because what was the point in using the fancy shower gel if you go and cover up the smell with Impulse deodorant? I sprayed myself a little bit too liberally but I was sure the smell would dissipate as soon as I got outside. It was a bit weird, me smelling like Jamie, but I sort of liked it too.
I spent longer deciding what to wear than I’d like to admit – way longer than the previous night. It seemed different somehow. Before the gig I’d been fully expecting Kate to realize I was a girl. And now I was really, really hoping she wouldn’t.
I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s not like I thought she was never going to find out. I was trying not to think about it, I suppose. But of course I had to think about it: I’d got myself into something and instead of trying to get out of it, I was digging myself in deeper and deeper. It didn’t matter that I was a girl – that wasn’t the point. Kate liked me for being me. That was the important thing. I would tell her when the time was right – which was definitely not today.
I eventually put on one of my favourite T-shirts. But when I stood in front of the mirror I winced. I’d never really noticed before because I’d never given it any thought, but you could definitely see my boobs. There was no mistaking the fact that I was a girl. I tore off the T-shirt and chucked it in the bin. I was shaking a little – almost panicky. I checked my watch – I was supposed to be meeting Kate in half an hour so I needed to get a move on. Then I had a brainwave. And this is where things start to look not so good for me. This is where it looks like it was all premeditated but it wasn’t like that. It really wasn’t.