Clementine and Rudy

by Siobhan Curham

  Hey, sweetheart, how are you? All is good here, although it’s freezing! Ada sends her love.

  Thankfully her morning sickness has finally come to an end. Love you and miss you. xxxx

  As usual, when I get a message from Dad, it triggers a bittersweet mixture of emotions. My happiness at hearing from him is instantly soured by the fact that he’s so far away and I can’t be with him. And, ever since Ada got pregnant, a creeping sense of dread that he might not want to be with me once they have their new family.

  I wish you were here… I type, then instantly delete it. There’s no point telling Dad how sad I am and how tough things are here. He can’t do anything about it.

  All good here thanks. I miss you too. Really glad Ada’s feeling better. Love you. xxxxx

  I look at the time. It’s almost six o’clock. Six hours until I meet Rudy and Tyler down on the front. Mum and Vincent usually go to bed early on a Sunday night so I’m hoping they’ll be fast asleep by the time I slip out.

  “Clementine!” Mum calls up the stairs.

  “Yes?” I call back.

  “Do you want to help me make the dinner?”

  Cooking used to be the thing that Mum and I did together. But that was back when she and Vincent still got on OK. Over the past couple of years, as things have got more tense between them, Mum never seems to want help with anything.

  “OK,” I call and head downstairs.

  The first thing I see when I come into the kitchen is an open bottle of wine on the counter. Mum is standing by the fridge, a half-drunk glass in her hand. Her cheeks are flushed and her normally immaculate eye make-up is slightly smudged.

  “Hey!” she says, a little too cheerily.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Of course.” She raises her glass. “I thought I’d have a little tipple, seeing as the boys are away. While the boys are away the cat will play,” she says, her words slurring slightly.

  I’m not sure what to make of this. Like everything else in her life, Mum’s alcohol consumption is usually strictly measured and controlled. She never normally has more than one drink at a time. She’s always the designated driver when she and Vincent go out – and even when he goes out without her, he’ll usually call to ask her to come and pick him up.

  “Dad messaged me,” I say, deciding that it’s probably safer to change the subject.

  “Oh?” Instantly, Mum’s smile fades.

  “Yeah. Ada’s feeling better now – you know, after her morning sickness.”

  “Great.” Mum tops her glass up. “I’m so happy for her.” She doesn’t sound remotely happy, though.

  “Are you sure you’re OK?”

  “Not really.” Mum’s shoulders crumple. “Oh, Clem. I don’t know what to do.” She says it so quietly I’m not sure I’ve heard her correctly.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know what to do.” She says it much louder this time.

  “About what?” I ask, hardly daring to hope that she might finally be getting sick of Vincent.

  “About my non-existent career, about my husband no longer finding me attractive, about my starting the menopause ten years too early – take your pick!” She downs a large swig of wine.

  Yikes. As much as I want Mum to open up to me, this feels like a bit too much information. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Mum gives a sarcastic laugh. “How can you help me? It’s all right for you, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Your life is a blank slate. God, what I’d give to be your age again!”

  “Seriously?” It blows my mind that anyone would want to be a teen. “But your life doesn’t have to be like that. You can change it.” I hold my breath, hoping I haven’t said the wrong thing.

  Mum gives a dramatic sigh. “And how do you suggest I do that?”

  “You could get a job, build your confidence again.” I feel as if I’ve strayed into a conversational minefield, where the slightest false move could result in a Mum explosion.

  “What kind of job? I’ve been out of work for years. I’m on the scrapheap.”

  “No, you’re not! You’ve got so much going for you. What about all of the years you worked as a radio producer? And you’re still working for Vincent behind the scenes. Surely that must count for something.”

  Mum slams her glass down on the side and wine sloshes onto the counter. “I’ve been working as his effing skivvy!”

  Wow. Mum never – not ever – swears. Things must be really bad for her to say “effing”. She’s also completely ignoring the wine spillage, which is now dripping from the counter onto the floor.

  “Why don’t you leave him?” It bursts out before I have time to rein it in.

  “If only it were that easy. Where would we go? What would I do for money? I’m completely dependent on him.”

  “You could get a job. Seriously, Mum. You’ve got so much experience. We could start again.”

  “And who would pay your school fees?”

  “I don’t care about that stupid school. I could go to the comprehensive.”

  “But you’re doing your GCSEs.”

  “Honestly, Mum, I don’t care. I just want you to be happy.”

  Her eyes start shining with tears.

  “I could help out. I could get a part-time job in a café or something.”

  Mum shakes her head. “I can’t leave him. I’ve got nothing.”

  We both jump as the front door slams shut.

  “Julia?” Vincent calls from the hallway.

  Mum quickly wipes her eyes and smiles weakly at me. “Let’s talk about this another time,” she whispers.

  I nod and give her arm a squeeze.

  Vincent comes through the door holding a massive bouquet of red roses.

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he says, handing the flowers to Mum and completely ignoring me.

  “They’re beautiful,” Mum murmurs. “Thank you.”

  My hope swirls away like water down a drain. “I’m going to go and do my homework,” I mutter and quietly slip from the room.

  RUDY

  I meet Tyler in the stairwell just before midnight. He’s crouched in the corner looking at his So Dark Fairy.

  “Maybe this is what I should get as my first tattoo,” he whispers.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I love it. I think it would look awesome on my arm.”

  As we head downstairs I can’t help grinning. The thought of my artwork permanently etched upon another person’s skin gives me even more of a buzz than thinking of it out on the street.

  Outside, the rain has stopped and the sky is clear and starry-bright.

  “You managed to escape from Dave then?” Tyler says as we start heading into Brighton.

  “Yeah. He went to bed at nine, so that’s something at least. Oh, Ty, it’s been a nightmare today having to hang out with him.”

  Tyler grins. “I think it’s quite sweet.”

  I glare at him. “Oh yeah? How exactly?”

  “He wants to be friends with you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got all the friends I need.”

  “What, me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about the poet?”

  “I suppose.”

  Tyler pulls a fake shocked pose. “Holy guacamole! You’ve doubled your number of friends in one week.”

  “Ha ha, very funny.” I punch him lightly on the arm. “I wouldn’t exactly call Clementine a friend. I mean, I don’t really know her properly yet.”

  “Is she still coming tonight?”

  “I think so. She hasn’t texted to say no.”

  “Cool.” There’s something about the way Tyler is grinning at this news that sets off an alarm bell in me. I might be paranoid but he seems remarkably happy at the prospect of seeing Clementine and I’m not quite sure how I feel about this.

  We turn onto the road running along the seafront and head past Palace Pier. This is the time I like the new pier best, when it’s steeped in
silence, with no gaudy lights and pumping music. The waves swish back and forth in the darkness below us and an icy wind races in off the sea. I pull my hood up over my hat. It’s good that the weather’s freezing though, as it’s hardly going to encourage anyone to go for a late-night stroll along the beach. Tyler starts beatboxing. I swear that boy can make pretty much any sound using just his body. Once he gets his proper studio equipment there’ll be no stopping him.

  “How’s the fund for the mixing console going?”

  He sighs. “Don’t ask. The telly broke so I had to buy a new one.”

  “Oh no! Couldn’t your mum and dad have bought it?”

  “They don’t have any spare cash. Mum’s just had her benefits cut and the Jobseekers people are on Dad’s case.”

  “You’re such a good son.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “You are. One day it’ll come together for you. Keep the faith, bruv.” We link arms and he pulls me close and rests his head on mine for a second.

  “Thanks, sis.” We walk on in silence. It’s as if the wind has whipped the city clean of people. Apart from the sea, the only sound is the rattle of discarded beer cans being swept along on the breeze.

  “There she is,” Tyler says, pointing ahead of us.

  I see a small figure huddled by the railings opposite the old pier. When she sees us she waves in greeting.

  “Hey,” Clementine says as we draw close. She’s wearing a black Puffa jacket, jeans and a woolly hat pulled down so low I can’t even see her fringe.

  “Hey.” I unlink my arm from Tyler’s. “You got out OK then?”

  “Yeah. My mum and stepdad went to bed early.” There’s a bitterness to her voice as she says this that instantly makes me feel sympathy. I look from Clementine to Tyler.

  “OK, are we ready, team?”

  “Yes,” Tyler and Clementine chorus.

  “I was thinking that maybe one of you could keep lookout up here and the other one down on the beach.”

  “Sure,” Tyler says. “How about I stay up here and you two go down there?”

  “Sounds good to me. Is that OK with you?” I ask Clementine. She nods. “All right, let’s do this.”

  As Clementine and I go down the steps I point to the pathway running parallel to the beach. “Can you go down there and see if anyone’s coming?”

  “Sure.” She heads over to the path and gives me a thumbs-up. “It’s OK, no one’s coming.”

  “How about up there, Ty?” I call to him.

  “All clear,” he replies.

  I take the can of black paint from my bag and give it a shake. Then I pull my scarf over my face to stop me inhaling the fumes and spray the wall until I have my night sky backdrop. Then I take the can of silver paint and add some stars and a crescent moon. Once I’m happy with the backdrop I take the pot of paste and rolled-up picture of Lightning Girl from my backpack. As I try to prise the lid off the pot my fingers tremble from a mixture of cold and excitement. I’m making my third piece of street art! Fourth, if you count adding the shorts to LADZ’s Butt Cheeks of Shame. Finally, the lid comes free and I quickly slop the wall with paste. Then I wait a moment for the wind to drop, unroll the picture and smooth it to the wall. Just as I’m covering it in paste Clementine hisses, “Someone’s coming.”

  Crap! I put the lid on and shove the paste back in my bag.

  Clementine hurries over.

  “How many people?”

  “Just one.”

  “OK, let’s pretend we’re having a chat,” I whisper. I’m so nervous the palms of my hands are actually sweating. We sit on the steps. Clementine huddles so close I get a waft of floral laundry detergent from her clothes.

  “Do you want some gum?” I say, pulling a pack from my jacket pocket.

  “No, thanks.” She looks really scared. For some weird reason this makes me want to put a protective arm around her. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth instead. As soon as I start chewing my nerves calm. OK, so it’s a bit weird that two girls are sitting here on the steps in the middle of the night in the cold but this is Brighton, the city where anything goes. I hear the footsteps approaching. Clementine huddles closer. A figure appears. It’s a young guy carrying a sports bag. We sit frozen to the spot. He glances at us for a second, then carries on walking along the beach.

  “Holy guacamole!” I whisper as he disappears from view.

  Clementine giggles. “Oh my God, my heart was beating so loud I thought he was going to hear it!” She stares at the picture on the wall. “Wow, it looks amazing!”

  “Thanks. I’ve just got to do the stencil of your poem and the tag.” I open my backpack and take out some more cans. “Can you check the coast’s clear?”

  “Sure.” Clementine goes back to her spot on the path and gives me a thumbs-up again.

  “All OK up there, Ty?” I call softly.

  “Yeah, all good,” he replies.

  I take out the stencil of the poem and attach it to the wall. Then I take the lid off the turquoise paint, pull my scarf back up over my face and quickly spray over the words. Once the poem’s done I get the can of gold paint and spray my usual FIERCE tag beneath the picture. Below that I add a stencil of the word “ink” in typewriter font. I peel the stencils from the wall and step back to look at the finished piece. I’ve sprayed over the edge of the poem stencil in one corner but apart from that it’s exactly how I imagined it. I shove the cans and stencils back in my bag. “OK, I’m done,” I say quietly.

  “It looks amazing,” Clementine says, walking over. “I can’t believe a poem of mine is actually in a piece of street art.” Her mouth drops open in surprise. “You’ve changed your tag to Fierce Ink.”

  “Our tag,” I reply. “I was trying to think of a way to combine our two names. Is that OK?”

  “It’s fantastic!”

  “How’s it going?” Tyler calls down.

  “All done,” I reply. “Come and see.”

  Tyler bounds down the steps. “Wow! That looks fricking awesome.”

  “Thank you,” I say, pride glowing inside of me. “We’d better get going before someone else comes along.”

  Tyler takes some photos, then we head back up to the street.

  “Great work, Fierce Ink,” Tyler says with a grin.

  “Thank you,” Clementine says quietly. Then she suddenly grabs me and gives me a hug. I’m so taken aback I stand there stiffly, not moving, and she quickly lets go. Her eyes are shining in the orange glow from a nearby streetlight. “Seriously, thank you so much. This has been brilliant.”

  “Team Fierce Ink,” I say, high-fiving her and Tyler.

  “Team Fierce Ink,” they both reply.

  Down below a wave crashes on the beach as if the sea is cheering us.

  CLEMENTINE

  As I make my way back home I feel so happy it’s as if I’m floating above the streets of Hove. The disappointment at not getting the part in the dance show, which had coiled itself round me like a rope, has finally fallen away. For the first time in ages, if not forever, I feel something close to free. And the best thing is that this feeling is coming from real life and not just a dream. An image of Tyler pops into my mind but I immediately push it away again. I have to ignore the fact that he looks as if he’s just stepped out of my daydream. From the way he and Rudy turned up arm in arm tonight, I’d say they’re definitely together. But it doesn’t matter. At least I know now that boys like Luc really do exist.

  It’s only when I get to my road that nerves start chipping away at my newfound excitement. What if Mum woke up while I was gone? What if they hear me coming in? Thankfully, no lights are on. I sneak around to the back of the house. As I creep to the door I hear a rustling behind me and my heart practically stops. A fox darts across the lawn. I stand rooted to the spot until it’s gone, my heart now racing. I put my key in the back door and turn it slowly. It only makes the softest of clicks but in the silence of the night it sounds loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood. I step int
o the utility room and breathe in the warm, sweet-scented air. I shut and lock the door behind me and take off my coat and shoes, deciding to leave them down here. At least if I get caught coming upstairs I can just say I’d come down for a glass of milk or something. To add credibility to my cover story, I tiptoe into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of milk. Then I creep up to my room and hurriedly get changed into my pyjamas. I sit down on my bed, relief flooding through me. I did it. We did it! Team Fierce Ink.

  The next morning I get up extra early. I’m going to go for another pretend jog to take some photos of our picture in daylight to use on Instagram. I’d been hoping I’d be up before anyone else but when I go downstairs I see Vincent coming out of the kitchen, wearing his tracksuit and trainers.

  “What are you doing up so early?” he says. No “Good morning”. No greeting.

  “Going for a run,” I mutter. “How about you?”

  “Yeah, I’m going running too.” He shifts awkwardly and I realize that he’s probably having the same thought as me, that, in a normal situation with a normal stepdad we’d laugh at this coincidence and go running together. But instead, here we are in some kind of awkward stand-off.

  “So, I’ll be off then,” he says, hurrying past me. I see the outline of his phone in his tracksuit pocket. I wonder if he’ll be ringing the person he called “darling” the other day when he was meant to be running and I feel a surge of anger on Mum’s behalf.

  I have a glass of water, put a note on the kitchen table for Mum, telling her where I’ve gone, and head out of the door. As I run along the street I replay the events of last night and adrenaline starts pumping through my veins. Vincent might be the biggest a-hole to walk the planet but at least now I have Team Fierce Ink. I turn onto the seafront and get my first glimpse of the morning sun, burning gold on the horizon. It’s going to be a good day, I tell myself. I’m going to get a photo of some street art that actually features one of my poems. The starlings that roost on the remains of the West Pier in the winter are waking up, swirling and looping through the pale blue sky. As the steps come into view it’s hard to believe that I was here last night with Tyler and Rudy. It’s all starting to feel like a dream. I wait for a gap in the traffic and run across the road. A couple of cyclists whizz by along the cycle lane. Normally, it annoys me that they zoom up on you out of nowhere but not today. Today, I don’t think anything could annoy me. I run down the steps, taking my phone from my pocket. And then I stop, rooted to the spot.