Kiss

by Wilson, Jacqueline

  ‘Sylvie?’ Miranda sat up, groaning. ‘Oh God, I feel sick. Don’t cry. Look, maybe you still will marry him.’

  ‘You mean he might just be going through a phase, like Jules said?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think we can all fall in love with anyone. And even if Carl stays gay he does love you, Sylvie.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes! You never know, you could still get married, and even if you don’t have sex you could still have a lot of fun together. You’d probably be very happy together, unlike nearly all the other married couples in the world. Oh God, I seriously think I am going to puke.’

  She heaved herself off the swing and staggered to the wastebin. I held her hair back for her while she was sick. She made a horrible retching noise and groaned and grunted. I’d have wanted to die with embarrassment, but once she’d finished she wiped her mouth and then grinned at me.

  ‘Thanks, Sylvie. This is what best friends are for, eh? Stopping you getting sick all over your hair!’

  ‘Any time,’ I said.

  She reached for the bottle of vodka.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t drink any more! That’s why you were sick!’

  ‘No, it was because I was swinging too much. I need to wash my mouth out with something.’ She took a mouthful, but then shuddered and spat it out. ‘Maybe not such a good idea. Have you got any gum? I really have to clean my teeth.’ She checked her watch. ‘I suppose we’ve just about got time to get back to my place. Though you’re nearer the park. Can I clean my teeth at your place? Or do you think we’ll discover your mother in bed with her boyfriend?’

  ‘Oh God, I hope not.’

  ‘No, I know! We’ll walk in on little Miss Lodger Lady having it off with her boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so mean! Poor Miss Miles,’ I said, but I couldn’t help snorting with laughter.

  It was even harder to keep a straight face when we got home and encountered Miss Miles peeping out of her room in her kimono!

  ‘Oh, girls, you startled me,’ she said. ‘You’ve caught me out!’

  We goggled at her.

  ‘I was just having forty winks on my bed after lunch. Tut tut. You’ll think me such a dozy old soul.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Miles,’ I said warmly, pulling Miranda into my bedroom.

  We collapsed inside, hands over our mouths, eyes streaming. When I stopped giggling I glanced round my bedroom anxiously. It looked even smaller and shabbier with Miranda sprawled all over the bed. She’d kicked off her witchy boots and they lay toes up on my grubby fake-fur rug. She wrapped herself in my old duvet cover. It had a faded pattern of fat teddy bears, all gurning with alarming cheeriness. Miranda imitated their expression and then sucked in her cheeks.

  ‘Yuck, I so need to clean my teeth. Can I be really gross and borrow your toothbrush, Sylvie?’

  She padded along the landing to the bathroom. I fussed around my bedroom, hiding old socks and underwear in my wardrobe, stashing a sheaf of Glassworld jottings in an ancient pink Barbie suitcase, and rearranging my bookshelves, tucking old Flower Fairy and Little Bear books behind all my teenage titles in case she thought me retarded.

  Miranda smelled strongly of Colgate and my mum’s best Boudoir perfume when she came back.

  ‘Do I look a bit better?’ she said, striking a pose. ‘I couldn’t find any make-up in the bathroom. Can I use some of yours, Sylvie?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said anxiously. I ferreted in my drawer for my make-up bag. It was embarrassingly frugal – natural foundation, two pale lipsticks and one waterproof mascara.

  Miranda’s lip curled. ‘How am I meant to look beautiful, babes?’

  She improvised, using my pinkest lipstick as rouge for her cheeks and commandeering my deep-red felt pen for lipstick. She outlined her eyes with the black felt pen and gave her lashes three coats of mascara. Then she brushed out her hair and retied it into two little decorative plaits, the rest hanging loose and glossy down her back.

  ‘You look lovely,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she said, smiling at herself in my looking glass. ‘OK, Sylvie, you get tarted up too.’

  ‘Mmm, bit of a waste of effort for me,’ I said.

  ‘No, no, come here. Let me have a go,’ said Miranda, sitting me down on the bed.

  ‘Don’t put too much on. I’ll just end up looking like a clown,’ I said.

  ‘Have faith, little chum,’ she said.

  She did her best. She used my felt tips again, but the softer shades, peach for my lips and grey for my eyes. Then she restyled my hair, back-combing it on top so that it couldn’t go into its little-girly parting.

  I peered at myself in the mirror. ‘I look … OK,’ I said. I was secretly thrilled.

  ‘You look flipping fantastic,’ said Miranda. ‘Almost as gorgeous as me. Maybe I’ll be one of those makeover women on television. I’ve improved you one hundred per cent. Now, get out of that manky uniform and put your jeans on. I’ll need to change too. I’ll have to borrow something of yours.’

  ‘But it won’t fit you.’

  ‘Yes it will. Granted, you’re a little matchstick but I’m not Elephant Woman, you know. I’ll squeeze into something.’

  Squeeze was the operative word. Miranda tried on several T-shirts but could barely tug them over her breasts. Then she picked out the blue sleeveless vest top of my pyjamas. It always looked totally little-girly on me. It looked incredible on Miranda, the straps tight on her plump white shoulders, the lace edging straining over her cleavage, clinging to her curves.

  ‘This will do,’ she said complacently. ‘Now, your jeans are going to be useless on me. What about a skirt?’

  She wanted something short and tight. They were all too short and way too tight on Miranda. She couldn’t even get them zipped up.

  ‘Haven’t you got anything with an elasticated waist?’ she said crossly.

  She flipped through the few clothes in my wardrobe, making disparaging remarks.

  ‘Look, I’m not running a dress shop,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, what about this?’

  She pulled out my old purple gypsy skirt. It came down almost to my ankles but it swayed round Miranda’s knees, somehow looking just the right sexy length. The waistband stretched to its limit, just fitting.

  ‘Tra-la!’ said Miranda, wiggling her hips so that the lacy hem of the skirt flew out. ‘Now I’m looking good.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ I said, sighing.

  ‘Right, we’re ready!’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’ll have to get a move on.’ She picked up the vodka again.

  ‘Miranda!’

  ‘Just one more weeny swig for courage!’

  ‘Why? What are you going to do?’

  ‘We’re going to Kingsmere Grammar.’

  ‘Oh no we’re not!’

  ‘Yes we are! Don’t pull that silly face at me. We have to go, for Carl’s sake. Don’t you want to help him?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but—’

  ‘This will work. Trust me!’

  I didn’t trust her at all, but I went with her all the same. She wouldn’t tell me what she was intending to do.

  ‘I don’t know yet. We’ll just have to see how it goes. How they’re all reacting to Carl. Maybe he was exaggerating a bit before.’

  ‘Carl doesn’t exaggerate,’ I said.

  We saw that for ourselves. We got to Kingsmere just as their bell went for the end of afternoon school. There was a pause for a minute, then boys started to stream out, a purple army, running, shouting, shoving, cheeky little Year Sevens with piping voices, great loping sixth formers, and all the years in between. The Year Nines came out last, when we were beginning to think we’d missed them. Carl was there at the front, his head up, whistling as if he was strolling down a deserted country lane, though all the boys were baying at his heels, shouting insults.

  ‘Bender.’

  ‘Queer.’

  ‘Faggot.’

  Paul was there, calling too.
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  ‘Glass boy.’

  ‘Ass boy.’

  They all guffawed. Carl strolled on, still whistling, though his face was bright red.

  ‘Glass boy, ass boy,’ Paul chanted, and they all chorused it.

  ‘That bastard,’ I said, trembling. ‘We have to shut him up.’

  ‘I know how,’ said Miranda. ‘Come on.’

  We marched through the school gates into the playground.

  ‘My God, it’s that girl with the tits!’ someone shouted.

  ‘The tart on Paul’s phone!’

  ‘Paul’s girl.’

  ‘I’m not Paul’s girl. Paul’s an idiot,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m Carl’s girl. Hey, Carl.’

  She left me and went right up to him. Then she put her arms round his neck, snuggling up close, and kissed him on the lips in front of everyone. It was a long slow kiss, stunning everyone into silence.

  ‘But he’s gay!’ someone muttered.

  ‘Gay or straight, he’s a better kisser than any of you lot,’ Miranda said. ‘Silly little boys. Come on, Carl.’

  She gently took his bandaged hand. They started walking. I thought they would walk straight past me, but Carl put his other hand out for me.

  ‘Who’s that girl?’ someone said.

  ‘She’s Sylvie. She’s my girl too,’ said Carl, holding my hand as well.

  We walked on, the three of us, out of the school gates. There was a stunned silence behind us.

  ‘There you are!’ said Miranda triumphantly. ‘Was that not brilliant!’

  ‘Not brilliant,’ said Carl. ‘But thank you, Miranda. Thank you, Sylvie.’

  We were still holding hands.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I said. ‘Walk off into the sunset?’

  WE WALKED BACK to Carl’s house. Jules was waiting white-faced in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh! Hello, Sylvie and Miranda,’ she said. She paused. ‘Hello, Carl. Good day?’

  ‘Could have been better,’ said Carl. He paused too. ‘It caused a bit of a stir having the two girls come to meet me.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ said Jules, glancing at Miranda in my pyjama-vest. ‘Coffee, girls? And I’ve made chocolate caramel shortbreads.’

  They were Carl’s favourites, usually kept for high days and holidays. The four of us sat round the table drinking coffee and eating shortbread. Miranda started showing off, but Jules had some inkling of what she’d done for Carl and indulged her now.

  We heard the front door slam and then Jake bounded into the kitchen. He did a classic double take when he saw us sitting there. A triple take for Miranda’s chest. He gave me a little grin and then turned to Carl.

  ‘Watcha, squirt,’ he said. ‘What’s your secret, eh? How come you get two girls stalking you like crazy and I haven’t got any?’

  ‘My natural charm?’ said Carl.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Jake paused too. ‘Good day?’ he said.

  ‘You’re all starting to sound like spies in a James Bond film,’ said Carl. ‘I take it Good day is code for Did the little shits beat you up now they know you’re gay?’

  ‘Dad says you can’t know you’re gay at your age, squirt. Same-sex crushes are part of normal adolescent development, blah blah blah.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Carl.

  ‘Quite,’ said Jake. ‘Still, did they beat you up? Because if you tell me which ones I’ll be round to sort them out.’

  ‘You’re too late, mate. I’ve sorted them out,’ said Miranda.

  ‘In her own inimitable way,’ I said.

  ‘Phew!’ said Jake. ‘Fancy sorting me out some time, Miranda?’

  ‘I think maybe I’m going to start getting more choosy,’ said Miranda. ‘You guys don’t seem able to cope with my physical charms. I’m not sure I like being called the Girl with the Tits. Maybe I’ll bind them up and wear a modesty tent for a few years.’

  ‘Spoilsport,’ said Jake.

  He aimed a mock punch at Carl’s shoulder. ‘Glad you’ve got your girl army, kiddo. Just pass them my way when you’re done with them.’ He sat down and started munching.

  ‘I said, I’m afraid I’m no longer available,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m intending to lead the life of a nun.’

  ‘OK, OK, I get the picture, Sister Miranda,’ said Jake. ‘But you’re not the only girl, you know.’

  He paused. He looked at me significantly.

  I sighed, thinking he was sending me up. ‘Yeah, right, ha ha,’ I said sourly.

  Jules nudged me. ‘He’s seriously got this big crush on you, Sylvie,’ she whispered.

  I blinked, astonished. Miranda raised her eyebrows. Jules smiled at me encouragingly. Carl looked hopeful.

  Oh God. I could see them thinking this was the perfect solution. I could have Jake as a boyfriend and Carl as a best friend, a neat and cosy arrangement with the two boys next door. But it wasn’t as simple as that. I didn’t love Jake. I loved Carl.

  Jake was looking at me, very red in the face, though he was trying to act cool, drumming his fingers in a syncopated rhythm on the table. He shook his head, tossing his wild fringe out of his eyes. I didn’t want to hurt him.

  ‘Oh gosh,’ I said in a little-girly voice. ‘Stop teasing me, Jake! And anyway, even if you were serious, you’re like, so much older than me, practically grown up. Mum would never let me go out with you.’

  I don’t know whether I convinced him but he laughed shakily. ‘Yeah, I’d be seriously cradle-snatching hanging out with you, Little Titch.’

  Jules sighed and poured herself another cup of coffee. Miranda started talking about all the older guys she’d been out with, seventeen – and eighteen-year-olds, even some guy in his twenties. I couldn’t tell if she was making it all up or not but it didn’t really matter. Her voice went on and on, while we nodded and gasped and laughed, her captive audience.

  Then Jake slouched off to do his homework. He ruffled my beautifully styled hair and made silly kiss-kiss noises at me, turning it all into a joke. He went to ruffle Miranda’s too, but she caught his wrist and twisted it.

  ‘Don’t try that game on me, matie. No one messes with me.’ She yawned and stretched. ‘I suppose I’d better be sloping off home. Oh God, it’s miles away. Maybe I’ll get a taxi.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ said Jules, getting her car keys out of her bag.

  ‘You’ll have to change back into your school uniform, Miranda,’ I said.

  ‘Can’t be bothered. I’ll come to school like this tomorrow, eh? That’ll wind them up.’

  ‘You’re the biggest wind-up merchant I’ve ever met,’ said Jules. ‘But you’re a great friend to my Carl and that’s all that matters to me. Come on, sweetheart.’

  ‘OK, OK. Thanks, Jules.’ She looked at Carl and me. ‘You guys are coming for the ride, yeah?’

  ‘Sorry, Miranda, we’ve got things to do,’ said Carl.

  She moaned, but Jules led her away firmly.

  Carl and I were left alone in the kitchen together.

  ‘Things to do?’ I said softly.

  ‘I want you to come to the Glass Hut with me,’ said Carl. ‘I can’t face it by myself.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, though my heart started racing. I took hold of his hand without thinking and he winced.

  ‘Sorry! Are your hands still very sore?’

  ‘It’s my own fault. Sylvie, do you think I’ve smashed everything?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe – maybe I can’t stand to look just yet.’

  ‘No, let’s go now. We’ll have one quick look, just to check.’

  ‘OK. What are your shoes like? You be careful, you mustn’t cut your feet. And put on Dad’s gardening gloves, OK? Just in case you touch anything.’

  We walked slowly down the garden. We came almost to a standstill as we approached the hut.

  ‘I want to hold your hand, but look at us, we’re like bloody boxers,’ said Carl, tapping his big bandage against my leather gardening glove.

  ‘Deep breath,’ I sai
d.

  I reached forward and gently edged the door of the Glass Hut open. I sniffed the familiar earthy smell, wondering just for a split second if it had all been some mad and terrible dream. I’d have given the whole world for Carl’s collection still to be there, carefully lined up and colour coordinated. But my foot crunched on broken glass as I stepped inside. I switched on the light. We stood together, breathing heavily.

  The Glass Boy was still shattered, only one foot intact. All the little glass animals were horribly maimed. The vases were smashed too, great shards of colour creating crazy stained glass on the shelf. But the paperweights were mostly OK. I picked up Miranda’s Remember Me.

  ‘Thank goodness.’ I turned it round and round, holding it up to the light. ‘It’s not even got the tiniest scratch. How lucky, it’s your most valuable piece.’