Kiss

by Wilson, Jacqueline

  ‘You said you thought they had a fight?’ I said quickly.

  ‘What? Oh, Paul and Carl. Well, something happened, but Paul just clammed up and wouldn’t say. What did Carl say then?’

  ‘He wouldn’t say anything either.’

  ‘Boys! They can be so moody at times, especially your Carl, if you don’t mind me saying so. Anyway, Paul was absolutely all over me, saying such sweet stuff. He can be really romantic when he puts his mind to it. Yes, I know, it doesn’t seem likely but I swear it’s true. He offered to walk me all the way home from the station, and I said I had taxi money, but he wouldn’t hear of me going in a taxi on my own. So he came home too. Mum and Dad were out at some boring dinner party, and Minna, our au pair, was holed up in her bedroom, crying on the phone to her boyfriend back home, so I asked Paul down into the den and … well, we did it!’

  ‘Oh yeah, like I believe you.’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘I’m not Patty and Alison and all that gang. I know you like to kid people you do all sorts of stuff.’

  ‘I don’t kid you, Sylvie. I swear to you, we did it. Well. Sort of.’

  ‘Aha.’

  ‘We tried to do it. We lay on the sofa and snogged for a while. It’s all a bit hazy because we had quite a lot to drink, and for the first time ever it all started to mean something. I wanted him to do it and he kept mumbling that he’d be careful—’

  ‘I can’t believe this!’

  ‘Yes, all right, I know, I’ve had all the safe-sex lectures too, but somehow in the heat of the moment I didn’t really care. But then the moment got too heated, if you see what I mean.’

  I looked at her blankly.

  Miranda sighed impatiently. ‘It was all over before he could quite get started. I didn’t realize at first. I wondered why he didn’t get on with it. It was all a bit embarrassing, actually. I didn’t mind too much – in fact I kind of sobered up and decided it was maybe just as well. I was a bit scared it might hurt, and I decided I could sort of count it anyway. But Paul got angry, punching the arm of the sofa and swearing.’

  ‘Angry with you?’

  ‘Angry at himself, I think. Though he didn’t seem to want much to do with me, I must admit. So much for all the sweet-talk! He cleared off. Goodness knows how he got home. I did wonder about phoning him but I didn’t want him to think I was chasing him. Maybe you could get Carl to phone him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, go on. Look, let’s pop next door and see Carl.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said.

  ‘Go on, go on, go on,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m dying to see his Glass Hut.’

  ‘He certainly won’t take you there,’ I said.

  ‘How do you know?’ said Miranda.

  ‘I know Carl,’ I said. ‘And he wants to be on his own right now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s upset.’

  ‘Then he’ll want to see us because we’re his friends,’ said Miranda. ‘Come on.’

  ‘You can’t just barge in on him.’

  ‘Why not? He can always tell us to get lost. You’re hopeless, Sylvie, you always make things so complicated. You think things over and over in your head and dither about and end up not doing anything. Why won’t you just go for it?’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Come on then. We’ll go next door.’

  IF I’D BEEN by myself I might have gone the back garden way to see if Carl was in the Glass Hut, but I wasn’t going to do that with Miranda.

  I took her out of our house and round to the Johnsons’ front door. I rang the bell. I heard Jules shouting from the back of the house. Nothing happened. Miranda rang the bell again, insistently.

  ‘Miranda!’ I hissed, grabbing her hand.

  Jules opened the door awkwardly, her hands white with dough, as if she was wearing pastry gloves.

  ‘I’m busy making a pie, and will any of my idle men folk stir themselves to answer the door? No!’ She smiled at us both. ‘Hello, Miranda. I didn’t know you were coming to lunch too.’

  ‘Neither did I, but thank you very much for asking me,’ she said, marching in.

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to ask us both, Jules, but really we just popped round for five minutes to see Carl.’

  ‘Ah. Well. I’m not sure he’s in the mood for visitors,’ said Jules. ‘He’s a bit down at the moment.’

  ‘Then we’ll cheer him up,’ said Miranda. ‘Is he upstairs?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  She was already bouncing up the stairs, short black net skirt swaying, her fishnet calves taut above her killer boots.

  ‘Well, maybe she’ll divert him,’ Jules muttered, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, and ran after Miranda.

  She went flying off in the wrong direction, briefly knocking at the first door she came to and then bursting in without waiting for any response. Jake was stretched out beside his bed wearing his boxer shorts, doing press-ups. He stared boggle-eyed at Miranda, lost all concentration, and crashed onto his chin.

  ‘Whoops! Wrong guy!’ Miranda giggled.

  ‘No, no, feel free! Invade my bedroom any time,’ said Jake, rearing his head up like a seal and rubbing his chin. ‘Hi, Miranda. Hi, Sylvie. Give me one second to find my jeans and I’ll be able to stop blushing.’

  ‘It’s actually Carl we’re chasing,’ said Miranda. ‘But thanks for the open invitation.’ She marched out again.

  ‘How about you staying, Sylvie?’ said Jake. ‘I’ll serenade you with my guitar.’

  ‘Er, maybe not,’ I said, and rushed after Miranda.

  Carl must have heard us rattling along the corridor. I heard the quick click of his door key. Miranda tried to barge into his room but she couldn’t get the door open.

  ‘Hey! Carl! It’s Miranda. Miranda and Sylvie. Come on, let us in,’ she said, rattling the door handle impatiently.

  Carl said nothing. I wondered if he was standing right the other side of the door. Miranda had the same thought. She went down on her knees and tried to peer through the keyhole, but the key on the other side was blocking her view.

  ‘Carl, come on. We know you’re in there. Please!’ Miranda started knocking hard on the door. She tapped with both hands, making an insistent drumming beat.

  ‘Don’t make so much noise!’ I said.

  ‘That’s the point. He’ll open that door in a minute just to shut me up,’ said Miranda, banging harder.

  She underestimated Carl. He stayed silent behind his battered door. Miranda had to give up eventually. She stood there, breathing heavily, shaking her hands in the air.

  ‘All right, don’t come out,’ she said. ‘See if we care. We’ll go round to Paul’s instead.’

  I thought I heard Carl’s intake of breath, but he still said nothing. Miranda sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. She stamped down the corridor, motioning me to do the same. She stopped at the top of the stairs, her finger on her lips, waiting.

  ‘What?’ I mouthed at her.

  ‘I bet he’ll look out in a minute, just to check we’re gone,’ she whispered, as if she was the one who’d known Carl ever since he was a small boy.

  Jake came out of his room, now dressed in his jeans and baseball boots and his coolest biker T-shirt, obviously intent on impressing Miranda. He took hold of both her hands. Their palms were still red.

  ‘Great drumming,’ he said. ‘You can play in my band if you want.’

  ‘Ssh!’

  ‘Look, if you girls are hoping for a glimpse of the rare Greater Spotted Carl Tit you’ll be here all day.’

  ‘He’s right, Miranda,’ I said.

  ‘He’ll have to come out to have a pee sometime,’ said Miranda.

  I blushed, hating the way we were talking about Carl, worrying that he could hear us.

  ‘He’s got a sink in his bedroom,’ said Jake.

  ‘Oh yuck, that’s revolting,’ said Miranda, laughing, forgetting all about being quiet.

  ‘Let’s go downsta
irs,’ I said. I raised my voice. ‘Let’s all give Carl some peace.’

  So we went downstairs, out into the garden, where Mick was sitting in a deckchair marking essays. His eyes slid past Jake and me. He stared at Miranda.

  ‘This is Sylvie’s friend Miranda,’ said Jake.

  ‘I’m Carl’s friend too,’ she said.

  Mick raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you and Sylvie in the same year at school?’ he asked, as if this was astonishing.

  ‘Yep. I’m the new girl,’ said Miranda. She sat down beside him, picking up his essays and peering at them.

  ‘Hey, don’t get them out of order,’ he said crossly, but she just laughed.

  ‘God, these look boring,’ she said.

  ‘They are,’ said Mick, yawning. ‘And I’ve got twenty more to go.’

  ‘Are you a school teacher then?’ said Miranda. She was sitting in a consciously kittenish way, hands round her plump knees, boots neatly pointed, head tilted up at him.

  ‘I teach at the university.’

  ‘Ah, a lecturer. Cool,’ said Miranda. She was practically batting her eyelashes, chatting him up.

  ‘In Politics,’ said Jake. ‘Boring!’

  Mick glared at him. ‘What does your father do, Miranda?’

  ‘Oh. Telly stuff.’

  ‘He’s an actor?’

  ‘No, no, he makes documentaries. My mum’s an actress – well, sort of. It depends what mood she’s in, who she wants to impress. She used to be a model but she’s too old now. She’ll say she’s an actress or a jewellery designer or an artist, but she hasn’t been any of them properly, she just plays at it.’

  ‘No harm in that,’ said Mick. ‘My wife Jules is an artist and you would probably say she plays at it because she’s not recognized or hung in galleries and she doesn’t make any money selling her paintings but she doesn’t think that matters. She teaches art to kids as a day job and then paints for the sheer joy of it.’

  I loved it that Mick spoke about Jules so proudly.

  ‘I paint too,’ said Jake, desperate to impress. He’d always done big sploshy work with paint dribbles and smudges all over. He used to paint dogs and rabbits and horses and big coiled snakes, his fantasy pets, but now he painted great pink women with breasts like watermelons, his fantasy girls.

  His painting style couldn’t have been more different to Carl’s careful illustrations in coloured ink, as exquisite as illuminated manuscripts.

  ‘I hear Carl paints too,’ said Miranda. I sometimes felt she could read my mind. ‘Where does he keep his paintings? In this special Glass Hut? Let’s go and look.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘No, you can’t, Miranda. They’re private.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Miranda, standing up and showing a great deal of her legs in the process. Mick averted his eyes, sighing. Jake stared.

  ‘I won’t look at a single painting then – but I simply have to see the famous glass collection.’

  ‘No, that’s private too,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Sylvie, it’s just glass. And I’ve contributed to his collection, haven’t I? I want to see where he’s put my paperweight.’

  ‘But it’s Carl’s private place. He doesn’t want anyone to go there, especially without him,’ I said.

  ‘You go there. And he’s taken Paul there too. So why can’t I go? I won’t touch anything, I just want to look. Where is it?’ She squinted down the bottom of the garden to the yew hedge. ‘Behind the hedge!’ she said. She marched off, bottom waggling beneath her short net skirt.

  ‘Come back here, Miranda,’ said Mick. He said it quietly, but there was a steely tone to his voice.

  She took a few more steps forward defiantly, but then stopped. She turned her head, flipping back her hair, her cheeks flushed. ‘Mm?’ she said, as if she hadn’t quite heard.

  ‘The Glass Hut is Carl’s. It’s private, as Sylvie says. No one goes there unless Carl expressly invites them. I think you’ll have to wait for your invitation, Miranda.’

  Miranda raised her eyebrows but didn’t argue. She nibbled her lip, suddenly looking childish. Then she walked back to Jake and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  ‘It looks like I’m settling for a tour of your paintings as I’m denied a glimpse of the famous glass collection,’ she said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Jake.

  She started tugging him towards the house. It didn’t look as if I was included in this invitation. Then Jake turned, nearly at the house.

  ‘Aren’t you coming too, Sylvie?’

  ‘In a minute,’ I mumbled.

  I waited until they’d both gone in the back door. Then I looked at Mick. He was gathering his essays, tapping them on his lap, getting them neatly squared up. He caught my eye and went ‘Phew!’ cartoon style, blowing up into his own nostrils.

  ‘Your friend Miranda makes quite an impact, Sylvie,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask you and Jules about her coming to lunch. She just kind of asked herself.’

  ‘I can well believe that. She’s a bit full-on, isn’t she? I’m not sure our Jake can handle her – although I gather it’s Carl she’s really interested in.’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Well, she’s wasting her time,’ said Mick, and he reached out and gave my shoulder a little pat. Then he paused, his hand resting lightly on my arm. ‘Sylvie, I don’t know what’s going on with Carl. Is he just being a bit of a drama queen, shutting himself away like this, barely talking to anyone? Or is he really unhappy about something serious?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said miserably. ‘He doesn’t seem to want to tell me stuff any more.’

  Miranda and I stayed to lunch. Carl didn’t join us. Jules put his meal on a tray.

  ‘I’ll take it up to him if you like,’ said Miranda.

  ‘Thank you, dear, but I think Sylvie had better do it,’ said Jules.

  I jumped up quickly and took the tray upstairs. I put it down outside Carl’s door. I didn’t knock. I simply put my mouth to the door and said, ‘Here’s your lunch, Carl. I’ve left it just outside. I’m so sorry that we came and banged on your door. I promise we’ll leave you alone now.’

  I wanted to add, I love you. I mouthed the words, but didn’t dare say them out loud.

  Miranda left shortly after lunch. She didn’t like Mick and Jules being firm with her and she got bored of flirting with Jake. I left too. We went back to my house but Miranda was still fidgety and restless.

  ‘Maybe I’ll phone Paul.’

  ‘I thought he was going to phone you.’

  ‘Yes, but you know what boys are like. They say they’ll phone but they never do.’

  ‘Do you want to go out with Paul again?’

  ‘Yes. Well. Not really, but he’ll do until someone more exciting comes along.’

  ‘I don’t like him one bit,’ I said. I paused, rehearsing the next words in my head, needing them to come out as casually as possible. ‘Why do you think Carl likes Paul?’

  ‘Because he’s …’ Miranda waved her hands around for inspiration. ‘He’s a lad. He’s good looking and he’s sporty and he likes a laugh. He’s just got this cheeky fun thing about him. I know you don’t like him, Sylvie, but don’t you think he’s pretty fit looking?’

  ‘He’s nowhere near as good looking as Carl.’

  ‘Mm. Yes. But Carl’s more your blond choirboy good looking. I think Paul’s more sexy.’

  ‘Even though he couldn’t do it properly?’

  ‘Well, most boys are hopeless at it at first.’

  ‘In your wide experience,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a whole lot wider than yours,’ said Miranda.

  She tried dialling Paul. He didn’t answer, so she left a message.

  ‘Hey, you, it’s Miranda, and it’s three o’clock and I’m bored bored bored. Do you want to get together somewhere? Call me then, asap.’

  ‘You’re bored bored bored?’ I said.

  ‘I was just saying that as
an excuse to ring him, silly,’ she said. ‘Still, I’d better go home, in case he comes round calling for me. Plus the parents might actually be a bit twitchy seeing as I promised to be back by lunch time.’

  I felt relieved when she went. I was starting to wish we hadn’t made friends. I didn’t want to be friends with Lucy either. I just wanted Carl for my best friend.

  I lay down on my bed. Albert Bear was on my pillow but I flicked him overboard. I reached out for my old teddies on my windowsill and remembered the games Carl and I had first played together when we were little. We were jungle explorers and these tattered nursery-world creatures, pink teddy, baby blue ted, a Scottie dog with a tartan ribbon and a floppy sheep that looked as if it had been run over – they were our wild animals.

  The softest and littlest, baby blue ted, was the most lethal. One bite from him had a devastating effect. We took it in turns to froth at the mouth and fit while the other performed complex medical procedures with a spoon and a pair of plastic scissors and a skipping-rope stethoscope.

  My soft animal collection sometimes morphed into our children, Alice Pink, Benjamin Blue, Charlie Scottie, who threw terrible barking tantrums, and Michael Sheep, who was very very stupid but sweet-natured. We must have had our four children out of wedlock because we sometimes played Weddings. I made Alice a bridesmaid’s dress out of a pink silk scarf. Benjamin, Charlie and Michael were pageboys until we got to church, and then Benjamin became a very short vicar, wearing a black glove over a white tissue so that he had a proper clerical collar.

  Carl did Benjamin’s voice and asked if I wanted to marry Carl Anthony Johnson. I stood there in my white nightie with a bouquet of dandelions and said, I do, I do, I do, promising to love and obey him until death did us part.

  I wondered if Carl was still lying on his bed on the other side of the wall. Maybe he was even remembering the same games, thinking the same thoughts.