Flow handed the vodka and lemonade under the blonde mop and she reached for it gratefully.
‘What did you get grounded for?’ asked Kim, intrigued.
‘For trying to jump out of my bedroom window,’ she said, so shyly and quietly that they only just heard her.
‘Trying?’ questioned Kim – this was getting better.
‘Lemming!’ said Jackie under her breath.
‘I was meant to be going to a party,’ said Clate, a little more loudly.
‘Why didn’t you use the front door?’ asked Kim, teasing her now but not unkindly. ‘It’s what most people do, you know? Much safer and more conventional than jumping out of a window!’
‘I’m aware of how most people come and go from their houses,’ said Clate testily, flicking her hair out of her face again and fixing Kim with a stare that said don’t fuck with me. ‘It’s just that I wasn’t meant to be going out, stupid!’
Flow and Jackie stifled giggles; it was a first for a girl not to respond to Kim’s charms and… stupid? What kind of insult was that?
Jackie wished Paula would hurry up and get there; Paula hated snobs and would give La Di Da a run for her money.
Kim suppressed a laugh, too, and resolved to stop teasing; Clate obviously didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be disrespectful to Maureen, who had trusted them to look after her, and he had made enough girls cry lately.
‘Well, if I jumped out of my bedroom window I’d end up in a morgue,’ he said.
‘Are your parents strict too, then?’ said Clate in surprise.
‘No, we live on the seventh floor of Sullivan Court!’ said Kim, taking it for granted that Clate would have heard of the biggest council estate in Fulham. She hadn’t. But she got the joke and smiled, won over just a little.
She had finished her drink more quickly than she’d meant to and thought she would like another one but she didn’t like to ask. ‘Besides, you did end up at a party,’ said Kim, ‘in the end!’ He reached across her as he spoke, beckoning for the barman, brushing Clate’s arm by mistake as he did so. He ordered her another vodka and lemonade. ‘A good one, too!’ he said, handing her the fresh drink.
‘Dance!’ said Flow, pulling Jackie onto the dance floor. The lights had been dimmed and it was a relief for Clate, who didn’t feel so exposed now.
‘Shall we?’ Kim offered her. It was all pretty low-key, middle of the road stuff that traversed the age groups. Funnily enough the one thing Clate was comfortable doing was dancing, nothing flashy or anything, she just had rhythm and enjoyed the beats; she didn’t get to hear much music at home.
Jackie prickled to see Clate getting so much attention from Kim, and she caught Flow stealing a few glances at her, too. She’d had enough of La Di Da stealing the spotlight so when Maureen came over and asked whether Kim could walk Clate home to meet her ten o’clock curfew, she was only too pleased to say goodbye to the girl.
As soon as Kim and Clate were alone an awkward silence descended upon them. She was too prickly, too posh and too weird, thought Kim, and the sooner he got her home and away from him the better.
‘So…’ said Clate eventually, struggling to keep up with his long strides. ‘Do you live with your mum and dad?’
‘Yep,’ said Kim.
‘Does Maureen live on the same estate?’
‘Yep,’ said Kim.
‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’ she asked.
‘Look, what are you, a trainee journalist or detective or something?’ said Kim, stopping in his tracks and swivelling to face her.
‘I was trying to be friendly,’ said Clate, stopping too.
‘Well… stop it,’ said Kim, firmly.
The strangest thing was that being near her gave him a physical buzz. It had happened when he’d accidentally brushed her hand at the bar and quite a lot when they had been dancing, and it was happening again now. He’d never experienced it before but he’d heard of physical chemistry, and he’d seen the power Jackie had over Flow, presumably because of just that.
He got to decide how he felt, not some outside uncontrollable force, thank you very much.
So they carried on walking.
‘Well, I know you’ve got a front door that you are able to walk in and out of!’ Clate quipped, hoping to lighten him up a little.
Kim didn’t answer and they walked in silence again until she stopped in front of a smart terraced house.
‘This is my house,’ she said.
Kim looked the house up and down. He recognised it because he and Flow had helped on a decorating job just opposite and they had often taken the piss out of a man coming and going, getting into his Porsche – must be her dad or something. ‘It’s nicer than my place,’ he said, turning on his heel. ‘See you around!’ he called with a dismissive wave over his shoulder.
‘See you around,’ whispered Clate with a single windscreen wipe of a wave at his fast departing back.
Once in her room she began to replay the evening in her mind. She lay on her bed, fully dressed, on top of the bedclothes, with her hands locked behind her head, a little smile on her face. She had been out! True, she would probably never see any of them again and Kim couldn’t wait to get away from her, but she had tasted friendship and freedom and vodka lemonade and it had been wonderful.
Inside Clate’s house
Ever since the party a tension, worse than usual, had been building. It was as though the lasting high Clate had experienced from the event had made her glow and the light was causing her stepfather pain.
She didn’t understand why it was bothering him so much. Knowing he was discussing it with her mother, she lay with her ear to the floor of her bedroom so that she could just about hear what was being said in the kitchen below.
‘Because,’ he was saying, ‘she was with those young skanks from the council estate! She was probably taking drugs and fornicating. It’s how it happens, you know, the slippery slope and it’s our responsibility to find out what went on’.
Hugo called her downstairs and began to question her more about the party, demanding every detail, even though Clate had been through it many times. He wanted to know exactly who had been there, who had walked her home, what they had talked about, whether she had drunk alcohol, and so on and so forth, and it was wearing her out.
‘Yes, I had vodka and lemonade – so what? I’m eighteen, it’s legal and why shouldn’t I go out for a good time now and again?’ she said, exasperated.
Whack! It was harder than usual because he had used one of his heavy brogues as a weapon, swinging the heel heavily against the side of her head.
‘You insubordinate bitch!’ The words left his mouth like well-aimed bullets made of hate and rage.
Flow was on his way to the corner shop to get a pint of milk for his mum when Clate came hurtling out of nowhere and nearly knocked him over.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
‘It’s you!’ said Flow, not remembering her name but knowing it was something weird.
Clate looked at him through her hair; it was one of the guys from Maureen’s party, the nice one who’d bought her a drink at the beginning. ‘Are you all right?’ he said, full of concern. He could tell she’d been crying and her lip was split.
‘Not really,’ she said, shaking. ‘My stepdad lost it…’ She looked as if she was going to collapse any minute, so he made her sit on a garden wall.
Clate was too unsteady to stand again so he told her to wait on the wall for him while he completed his mission for milk, then steered her back towards his place for a cup of sweet tea, which he knew was the best thing for shock. Kim had been knocked out by one of his mum’s clients on a bike pedal once, when they were seven. Kim’s mum had carried him over to their place in her arms, hysterical, wearing nothing more than a pair of knickers, saying she couldn’t take Kim to hospital because they’d send him into care.
Flow’s mum had wrapped her in a dressing gown and given her sweet tea, and had told Flow to stay in his ro
om. She had been the one to take Kim to the hospital. Later on Flow’s mum and dad had spoken to Kim’s mum in the kitchen for hours, with the door shut.
‘Drink this,’ said Flow, handing Clate the cup of sweet tea. She did and she felt much better.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Sorry that some idiot smashed you up? What’s the matter with ya?’ He peered at her under her hair to see whether he could coax a smile. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you come out with us, Friday night?’
‘I don’t think your friends liked me that much,’ said Clate. ‘Besides, what about my lip?’
‘Lip, shmip,’ said Flow dismissively, ‘it’s not that bad and it won’t even show by the weekend, you’ll see!’
What was he thinking? How was he was going to get Jackie out of the way, she would go mad! These were puzzles for later.
Flow’s dilemma
Kim was surprised to find Flow on his doorstep asking nervously for a favour. Would Kim go to Clate’s house for him and say he couldn’t make it? Jackie’s mum was throwing a small engagement dinner for her family and he had forgotten, they had him on a tight, mean leash, helping with preparations.
Not a problem for Kim, he was seriously over the moon that Flow had shown any interest whatsoever in a woman other than Jackie, even if it was prickly posh whatever her name was.
‘Wouldn’t want her to think you stood her up!’ He smirked. Flow said that it wasn’t like that but they both knew that it was like that.
‘There’s something about Clate and I thought… well, doesn’t matter what I thought. I just have to work out what to do – it’s bad timing with the engagement thing and all.’
Maybe Flow was being paranoid but he’d begun to suspect that Jackie was not all that she seemed. He had seen a call from Ryan come in which Jackie had sent to answer phone and she had told him it was Paula. He was pretty sure some texts had come in, too.
His interest in Clate had shown him that Jackie might not be the be all and end all after all. In fact, everything about his relationship with Jackie was beginning to feel a little bit wrong.
It was a worry.
The frog theory
It was unusual for Clate to lie to her mother and Hugo and she thought that she would feel guilty. Tonight, however, she felt nothing but excitement.
The cover story was a self-defence class with Sarah followed by a lecture. It was a risk, but it was unlikely that Sarah was going to phone since the many attempts to make up after the window incident had been ignored.
She had bathed and shaved her legs, washed and dried her hair and put her underwear on. Now she was in a panic because she didn’t know what to wear. As she thumbed through her scanty wardrobe she realised, with a sick jolt, that the selection of shapeless clothes had all been chosen to stop Hugo leering at her figure.
Now, for the first time in her life, she actually wanted to look attractive. She picked out a dark blue wool coat, which was belted and hung just above the knee. She tried it on with some longish boots and it looked pretty good – showed off her legs. All she needed now was something to go underneath, but before she had the chance to address that problem, the doorbell rang.
Kim had decided to pop in on Clate to tell her the change of plan on the way to the off licence. Ryan’s dad was away on another job so he, Ryan and Paula were going to get some beers and go for a smoke at Ryan’s place before the pub tonight and, consequently, he was half an hour earlier calling on Clate than planned.
As soon as the bell rang Clate took the stairs like a bounding ostrich two at a time, to get there before her mum and Hugo, and yelled her goodbye.
Slam! The front door banged closed behind her.
‘Where’s Flow?’ she asked, taken aback at seeing Kim.
‘He couldn’t make it… family reunion,’ he improvised. ‘Said he was sorry and would come ‘round soon.’
‘So what am I meant to do now?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Kim nonchalantly, unable to look her in the face in case the chemistry got him again.
‘What’s the hold up?’ called Ryan from the gate, eager to inspect whatever girl Kim had picked up.
‘I can’t go back in,’ said Clate in a hushed whisper.
Reluctantly he looked at her properly and found that he couldn’t stop. He took in her fair skin with a sprinkling of little freckles and her big amber eyes; she was definitely beautiful rather than ugly.
‘Come on, then,’ he said impatiently, taking it for granted that she would follow.
They arrived at Ryan’s place on the estate.
Paula was pretty unfortunate looking but she had nice eyes and nice hair, thought Clate. Ryan wasn’t bad looking and talked a lot. He kept staring at her legs, which didn’t make her feel sick the way it did when Hugo looked at them.
Kim was a mystery. He had been defensive with her to the point of rudeness so far, and she felt hurt and insulted by it. He was obviously well liked and well respected by his friends, though; she noticed Paula had a little crush on him. To look at, he was amazing – tall, dark and the greenest eyes, but it was more than his looks; he radiated a calm presence and strength of spirit.
‘Smoke?’ said Ryan, passing Clate a joint. She took a few drags without coughing (she was proud of that), thanked him and passed it back.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ said Paula. ‘You were meant to pass it to me!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Clate, politely.
‘The puff!’ Paula raised her eyes to heaven; she hated it when Kim brought his girlfriends out with him. ‘It goes this way!’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Clate. ‘I didn’t mean to be impolite, I didn’t know it worked like that.’ She looked at the floor while an uncomfortable silence surrounded them, feeling Paula’s glare penetrate her like a couple of death rays.
‘Where’s the loo, please?’ Clate asked Ryan. She didn’t actually need to go but it was boiling in Ryan’s place with the heating on and she needed to open her coat for a little while to cool off mentally and physically.
As soon as she’d left the room Paula asked Kim what he was doing with a snob.
‘I’m not with her,’ he said, fishing around in his bucket of quick excuses and explanations. ‘She was at the Legion do and Maureen asked if I’d take her out one night, that’s all.’
‘Hasn’t she got her own friends?’
‘I don’t fucking know, ask her!’ he said aggressively to stop her questions.
‘What’s your sort doing with the likes of us?’ Paula asked Clate as soon as she returned. ‘Shouldn’t you be haw hawing outside the White Horse with the rest of them?’
‘Leave it,’ said Ryan, ‘she isn’t doing you any harm.’ He’d noticed the legs on her and wouldn’t mind a bit if Kim wasn’t interested. He recognised her now from the party.
‘Yeah, well, her accent gets right on my tits,’ snapped Paula, taking the joint from Ryan so that it bypassed Clate this time.
‘Look here,’ said Clate, ‘I don’t appreciate your rudeness very much.’ Paula picked up a plant and prepared to chuck it, dropping the joint on the floor in the process.
‘Oy, oy, oy!’ said Ryan, plucking the plant from her hands and retrieving the joint. ‘What do you think you’re playing at? Have some respect for my house.’
‘You’re fucking asking for it,’ said Paula, pointing at Clate, her blue eyes icy.
Clate opened her mouth to reply.
‘Don’t you know when to leave it?’ interrupted Kim, not wishing to see Clate plastered around the walls.
‘I just don’t understand why she’s got such a problem with me,’ said Clate.
‘You’re a snob,’ said Paula, ‘never done a hard day’s work in your life!’
‘You don’t know that,’ said Clate.
‘I know enough. Coming round ’ere, leaving your coat on – ’fraid you might catch summink?’
‘A bigoted attitude, maybe,’ said Clate, getting up to leave.
Walking around in the cold for a couple of hours was preferable to this. Paula blocked her way.
‘Who do you think you are?’ Paula said, pushing her back into the room.
Before Kim or Ryan had a chance to intervene Clate swiped her leg around Paula’s legs and pushed her shoulders. Thwack! Paula was on the floor and Clate soon had her in a body lock.
‘You’re fucking dead!’ choked Paula.
‘Looks like it,’ said Clate. ‘I can get this grief at home, I don’t need it from you!’ With that, she released her hold and Paula sprang to her feet, breathing heavily, jumping from foot to foot like a fiery little bull.
For a moment, Clate’s eyes met Kim’s and she detected a spark of amusement. She resisted the urge to smile and left, taking the lift.
Kim went after her using the stairs and easily made it to the bottom first, leaning against the wall to wait for her.
‘Smells of piss, doesn’t it?’ said Kim, smiling when the doors opened on the ground floor to reveal Clate holding her nose. ‘That’s why we use the stairs!’
Clate ignored him and began to walk fast – out of the building, off the estate.
‘Wait,’ said Kim, hurrying to keep up. He kept pace with her, thinking that she would probably speak eventually. ‘Er… you walked past your street,’ he said as she carried on down Hurlingham Road towards the bridge. They reached the bridge and she still hadn’t said a word.
‘Clate, come on, aren’t you taking the silence thing just a little bit too far?’
At last, a reaction.
‘A little bit too far?’ she said. ‘One of your mates tried to beat me up! That’s what I call taking things a little bit too far!’
‘Agreed,’ said Kim, ‘and I’m sorry about that, I really am’.
‘It’s what you think as well, though, isn’t it? Because I’ve got a posh accent I have a nice little life with a… with a…’ she stammered, thinking of Sarah, ‘a loft full of pearls and a trust fund!’ she finished.
The Frog Theory Page 4