‘Yeah… like yazagaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’ She made a funny face and laughed.
Clate didn’t have to wait long for her mum and Hugo to go to bed; they always retired early in the evening. They watched TV, read books, and the other thing they might be doing, Clate didn’t even want to think about.
She’d left the patio door downstairs unlocked in preparation and had already opened her bedroom window to minimise noise later, as planned. She watched the digital clock radio in her room flick to eleven twenty-nine, her heart hammering, and went to check that the sliver of light under their bedroom door had gone; it had.
She was ready. She had promised, she wasn’t going to let Sarah down.
Shakily, Clate sat on the window ledge and turned herself around so that she was kneeling on the sill with her bottom pointing towards the garden. She then lowered herself so that she was dangling from the sill by her hands. She looked down to the hard, cold patio below, realised how far it was to drop and completely lost her bottle – at the very least she would surely break her legs.
‘Muuuuuuuuuum!’ she cried hoarsely at the top of her lungs. She hung there in terror, scared that she wasn’t going to be able to hold on for long enough. She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the sill as hard as she was able. ‘Heeeeeeeelp!’ she yelled as loudly as she could.
It was a primal noise that only sheer terror could invoke, prompting her mother and Hugo to leap out of bed – they were in her bedroom in seconds.
Hugo snapped the light on and at first they couldn’t see her, despite scanning the room. Finally, Hugo’s eyes rested upon the two white-knuckled hands clinging onto the sill and found Clate hanging there.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Ground me for as long as you want, just get me up!’ she said, still not able to open her eyes.
They grabbed an arm each and hauled her onto the sill so that she was able to scramble back in, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor.
‘Thank you!’ she said, out of breath, holding her heart and looking up at the naked couple. ‘Thank you so much!’
*Yazagaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Repercussions
Clate had been confined to her bedroom since “the window incident”, and now the smell of Sunday lunch wafted up the stairs: inevitable doom.
‘What are you doing in there, masturbating?’ said a red-in-the-face Hugo, standing in the doorway of her bedroom with his hands on his hips.
‘You’re disgusting, Hugo.’ She looked at him disdainfully; how could he appear so silently, like a spider?
‘I don’t want any of your lip!’ he said threateningly, ‘I can make life extremely miserable for you, do you understand?’ He looked at her chest. Instinctively she crossed her arms to cover herself. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling you for lunch? It’s ready.’
She went downstairs, seated herself at the table and braced herself.
‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself, girl? Waking us up like that – gave your mother the most terrible shock to see you hanging there.’ He took a healthy slug of red wine and popped a roast potato into his mouth.
She began to explain.
‘Don’t interrupt, I hadn’t finished!’ he said through his mouthful of food. They waited while he chewed a bit more. ‘What your mother and I want to know is, are you suicidal?’
The idea took her by surprise; she’d never contemplated suicide, would it help to pretend that she had? Probably not.
She started to explain for the second time but didn’t get halfway through her sentence before Hugo accused her of interrupting again.
‘I told you not to interrupt!’ he barked.
‘I thought you’d finished!’
‘There you go again!’ She didn’t even bother to look at her mother; she knew she’d get no support from her, she might as well be a piece of tissue paper between them. ‘That’s the trouble with you,’ continued Hugo, ‘you never listen. Maybe if you did you’d actually learn a thing or two instead of going through life like a blinkered idiot – and what’s wrong with your food, you’ve hardly touched it? You never eat properly, that’s why you look so ill and sallow and why your hair’s so lank, it’s the first sign of not eating properly’.
In actual fact, and unknown to herself, Clate’s complexion was beautiful and her hair glossy and healthy.
And so it went on with the following outcome:
An hour more of lecturing during which her mother said nothing.
Grounded for six months.
Apple crumble, home-made.
A slapped face, bruised arm and confinement to her room.
And a best friend who had disowned her by text because the man of her dreams had got off with someone else at the party and it was all… Clate’s… fault.
Dear Diary,
Thank God I have you to talk to, my only friend. I’m locked in the bathroom yet again after one of my ‘turns’. A rising of the blood, dizziness and a feeling of overwhelming panic as life seems to drone past without me. I feel that I have become trapped inside myself; have lost the power of speech, that I am invisible…
Probation
‘Let’s get breakfast,’ said Leigh, one of Kim’s on/off flings. She had not been pleased to hear on the grapevine that Kim had started going out with a girl called Sheema, so she’d pulled out all the stops to make him stay with her last night because she was his girl, even if he didn’t realise it yet.
‘I can’t, I’m helping Flow’s old man out on a decorating job today and I’m already late.’ It was as good an excuse as any; he still had time to go home for a shower before his appointment with his probation officer, if he hurried.
Last night was the last night he was going to spend with Leigh; it was already a night and a morning too much – she could be very persuasive.
‘There’s no need to lie, I know you’re going to see her!’ Leigh said, pouting.
‘If by her you mean Sheema, then no, because unlike you she has a job and she’s at work! You know? That thing that isn’t the dole?’
That shut her up. Leigh couldn’t imagine working, it was hard enough just getting through every day as it was.
‘Don’t go!’ she pleaded, grabbing his hand.
‘You knew this wasn’t serious, Leigh, don’t start.’ He extracted himself.
He hadn’t got Sheema into bed yet and he was enjoying the challenge. Besides, if he missed another session with his probation officer he’d be in serious shit.
Knick a couple of cars, borrow a bus, graffiti the odd wall and you had to sit and talk about your life every Thursday to some fucking sop who didn’t have a clue, or go to jail.
Sometimes he considered jail, especially today as he sat in the uninspiring little room.
‘For God’s sake, Kim, don’t you care about your future? You’ve missed more than six appointments!’ his probation officer was saying.
‘I was working!’ he said defensively.
‘I can’t keep protecting you.’
Kim eyed the mousy, middle-aged woman as she nervously worked out what to say next. ‘You don’t seem to realise that I’m on your side,’ she said.
‘On my back, more like!’ interrupted Kim. Defensive behaviour got you further with these people.
‘And in return,’ she continued, after a pause, ‘when you do turn up you’re defensive, uncooperative and rude, which makes me wonder why I bother.’
‘So you can go to bed with your halo glowing,’ he returned.
Something about the change in her countenance made him regret his words; he’d hit home – exposed her need to ‘do good’ to try and compensate for some personal feeling of inadequacy.
‘Well, I was going to suggest a special college, but with an attitude like that…’
‘What do you mean, special college, do you think I’m thick or something?’ he said, his temper flaring, patronised.
‘I know you’re not thick, Kim – managing to get
eight GCSEs, all above ‘C’ average when you hardly ever went to school shows quite the opposite.’
‘That!’ Kim shrugged. He had been surprised, too. ‘What’s the name of this… college, then?’
Catching the train
The principal took the train to and from work. It was quick and it gave her the chance to read the paper, prepare, relax. Only lately she couldn’t help noticing a man who got on the same train as her, always surreptitiously checking her out.
She supposed he was what you would call attractive, if you were looking for a man. She observed that he was in his late forties, always in a smart suit, and wore a gold band on his wedding ring finger – which made it a no for her, even if she was looking for a man, which she most definitely was not.
The principal was used to being looked at and it hadn’t bothered her up until now. Maybe it was the fact that his attention didn’t strike her as altogether unpleasant?
He caught her eye and smiled a little, as if he was confused about something. It was hard not to respond but she retreated behind her paper, crossing her long legs.
Gossiping girls
‘You’ve been seeing Leigh, you bastard!’ Sheema accused, as soon as she opened the door to Kim, keeping him in the hallway.
‘Who told you that?’ he asked, caught unawares.
‘Does it matter?’ Jackie was such a good friend to have filled her in.
‘It matters to me.’
‘She’s a fucking slapper, Kim. There’s more bleach in her hair than what’s down my toilet!’ Her eyes began to brim. ‘Get out!’ she yelled, angrily wiping her hand across her face, tears had not been in the plan.
She’d let him stew for a week, and then think about taking him back if he grovelled hard enough. She put his infidelity down to the fact that she, herself, had not slept with him yet and besides, Leigh had probably thrown herself at him, the cheap slut.
Ousted, Kim digested the information. He knew that it must have been Jackie who’d opened her mouth to Sheema and he also knew that he should let it go, because purposely fucking up people’s lives was Jackie’s hobby, yet he found himself at the Glass Block knocking on her door.
Jackie’s mum answered; Jackie was in.
‘You sneaky bitch, you told Sheema I was still seeing Leigh, didn’t you?’ Kim asked as soon as they were in the privacy of Jackie’s bedroom, unable to conceal his anger.
Jackie went red and played nervously with her cigarette packet. Even though it wasn’t done to grass and Flow had said there was nothing in it, seeing Sheema all lovey-dovey had been getting on her nerves so she’d got her pin out and burst her bubble. She deserved it, the smug cow.
‘I didn’t say anything, Leigh was mouthing off to everyone that she was going out with you, everyone heard!’
‘Mouthing off to who? Leigh doesn’t know anyone from our estate, so who was she mouthing off to? No one, that’s who!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she found herself saying, faltering, looking at the floor. Kim’s presence was powerful and being alone with him now, she felt like he could see right through her.
‘Why would you do that? Upset your mate for fuck all?’ he asked, confused.
‘I told you, I didn’t!’ she said, ‘and if I did it wasn’t on purpose, and anyway, you can make it up to her and she’ll take you back, honest, she will, I know her’.
‘I don’t want to make it up to her.’ His temper was gone now. He knew that whatever he said would go straight back to Sheema and he wasn’t going to grovel his way back into her life. He didn’t want a girlfriend holding him back, being a pain in the arse, anyway.
‘Then maybe I could make it up to you?’ Jackie said, lying back on the bed, stretching out her neat figure for him to appreciate. He took in her body language; was his best mate’s girlfriend honestly expecting him to fuck her?
‘Not in a million years,’ he said, embarrassed and disgusted. ‘You don’t deserve Flow, he’ll see through you one day and when he does I’ll be there to help him celebrate.’
‘Your loss!’ she shouted after him as he slammed her bedroom door.
The fight
That evening at the playground there was no sign of anyone apart from Paula, who was sitting on the wall, idly swinging her legs as Kim made his way over.
‘Got caught out, then?’ she said with a friendly chuckle, lighting a fag for him as he sat next to her. She treasured these moments of camaraderie with the boys. ‘Never mind, love.’
‘Bad news travels fast.’ Kim took the lit fag. ‘Because unlike you, some people can’t keep their mouths shut.’
‘And some people just can’t keep their dick in their trousers!’ Paula quipped back with a sideways glance full of glee, seeing whether he’d take the bait.
Nobody gets it out for you, though, he thought, but he didn’t say that because it was the kind of comment that would make her cry in the dark late at night and he didn’t want to hurt her, so instead he drew in a long lug of smoke.
‘Just watch your back, will ya?’ she advised; she had a soft spot for Kim.
Jackie had told her there was a lot of ‘shit’ going down, which meant some new drama, probably of Jackie’s own twisted making, was about to unfold. She had always been a devious troublemaker and got off on other people’s pain; it was her nature.
Paula didn’t question their friendship, built of habit and loyalty, she simply accepted Jackie for all that she was.
The playground was beginning to fill with people now, one of whom was Leigh. Her finest asset was her looks. She was wearing a figure-hugging red smocked stretchy dress that was more like a long vest top, and she clearly wore no bra underneath.
‘Here comes the tart!’ Paula said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Not put off, Leigh made directly for them.
‘Hi stranger!’ Leigh said to Kim, completely ignoring Paula, fixing him with a look that meant one thing.
Kim shifted uncomfortably, aware of Paula watching. ‘I want to talk!’ she continued, her lips pleasantly glossed and inviting, eyes glittering slightly with whatever she had taken.
‘Not here,’ said Kim, steering her off towards the benches by the river.
Once they were alone, Leigh put a condom into his hand. ‘I’m horny as hell.’ She French kissed him passionately and pulled him into the trees.
‘I thought you wanted to talk,’ he said breathlessly between kisses, caught in the moment, hungrily kissing her back.
‘Changed my mind.’ She pulled the front of her dress down to expose her chest, nipples pink and erect, then released Kim from his jeans and wiggled the little dress up so that it was now nothing more than a wide belt.
She pulled her G-string off and put Kim’s hand there, lost in another kiss. She was high on amphetamine and vodka and lust, taken away to the place that made her forget mortality; nothing in life was better than these moments, she lived for them, especially when they were with Kim.
Kim rolled the condom on and lifted her onto him so that she could wrap her legs around him, and fucked her hard at the angle he knew she liked best, using the tree to support her, the bulk of the dress the only thing stopping the skin on her back from being ripped to shreds while they were lost in their world.
‘Yes!’ said Leigh. ‘I’m coming now!’ She began to rub herself while Kim still pumped. He could feel the orgasm shake her body and finally he came too.
They panted, exhausted and dizzy.
As the high passed all Kim wanted was to push her away. He snapped the condom off and held it up to check it. His heart skipped.
‘It broke!’ he said in amazement.
‘No big deal, I’ll go for the morning-after pill tomorrow.’
She said it like she did that all the time so he didn’t give it a second thought.
‘I’ve got to go.’ He threw the condom into the bushes and zipped himself up.
‘That’s ok, I’ll go with you. I haven’t got anything else to do,’ she said, ignoring his brush
off.
‘I’ve got some business to sort out.’
‘What sort of business?’ She tried to take his hand.
‘Puff.’
‘I want to come with you,’ she whinged, straightening her dress, ready to follow him anywhere.
That was the trouble with Leigh, she could outdo most women when it came to looks and she was magnetic when she wanted to be fucked, but the rest of the time her neediness was like a spinning vortex.
What he needed now was a pint and a game of pool with Flow; he wondered where he was.
He went to the pub on the bridge to clean himself up in the loos then made his way back to the playground. Thankfully, Leigh had made herself scarce, but Sheema was sitting on the wall with Paula.
‘You’ll catch summink, the way you carry on,’ she sniped as he passed by on his way over to Pat and Ryan.
He looked around yet again for Flow and finally saw him walking purposefully in his direction, closely followed by Jackie who had her arms crossed, mouth set in a tight line.
Instead of greeting Kim as he usually did, he punched him square in the face.
‘Woah!’ Kim held his jaw and staggered backwards. ‘What the fuck’s up with you?’
Flow gave him another punch that put him on the ground. ‘What’s this about?’ Kim was bewildered, he had never hit Flow and he had no intention of doing so now.
‘I never thought you’d sink so fucking low!’ Flow scorned, pulling him up by the collars so that only the tips of his feet were touching the ground and he had partially disappeared into his shirt.
‘Flow,’ said Kim in bemusement, ‘what do you think I’ve done?’ He hung in Flow’s grip like a wounded puppy, willingly subservient, while Flow searched his expression for the tiniest tell that would give him away.
There was none. Either Jackie was a fucking good liar or Kim didn’t consider himself out of order.
The Frog Theory Page 2