Tape

by Camden,Steven

  Nan turns her head, cracking her neck.

  — Time for bed, don’t you think?

  Ameliah nods. Nan smiles.

  — You know sometimes I look at you and it’s like a time warp or something.

  She shakes her head slowly. Ameliah looks at her.

  — What was she like, Nan, I mean when she was my age?

  Nan closes her mouth and breathes deeply through her nose.

  — She was tough.

  Ameliah watches Nan remembering.

  — Am I like her?

  Nan looks at her and smiles.

  — Sweetheart, the apple never falls far from the tree.

  Nan walks towards her.

  — My mother used to say there’s fire in our blood and it takes a lifetime to tame it.

  She presses her hand against the side of Ameliah’s face. Ameliah feels the heat against her skin and presses her cheek into Nan’s hand.

  — Why would it happen, Nan? How is it fair?

  Nan lowers her head so their eyes are level.

  — Sweetheart, most people don’t even get half a day of what your mom and dad had with each other. It’s hard for us left behind, but maybe they just had to be together.

  Ameliah feels her lungs against the inside of her chest. She gets a flash of Mom sticking her tongue out at her from the school gate, lined up with the other moms at the fenced entrance, the others waving seriously, Mom blowing raspberries, her dark hair blowing in the wind. She remembers Mom whispering in her ear as she hugged her goodbye.

  — Be good, and never be afraid to ask.

  She feels her eyes welling up. Nan strokes the side of her head.

  — She would be so proud of you.

  She leans in and kisses Ameliah on the forehead then straightens up.

  — Come on, I think it’s time to sleep. We’ll go together in the morning, say happy birthday.

  She strokes Ameliah’s hair. Ameliah looks up at her

  — I’m sorry for what I said, about Richard.

  Nan nods and steps towards the door.

  — I know you are, love. Don’t worry about it.

  — Do you like him?

  Ameliah watches Nan lean against the door frame.

  — Yeah, I think I do.

  — You should tell him.

  Nan smiles.

  — I see. Is that what you do?

  Ameliah thinks about the supermarket boy and feels the blood in her cheeks. Nan bites her bottom lip.

  — Who is he?

  Ameliah shrugs and looks away.

  — I don’t know.

  Nan’s smile widens.

  — Well, when you get to my age, it’s a little more complicated. You can’t just dive in, you know? You need to test the water a bit first, before you’re ready. You know what I mean?

  Ameliah shrugs. Nan pushes off the door frame and stands up straight.

  — The waters change. And once you jump in, it’s harder to get out, you know?

  Ameliah looks at her.

  — So it’s like swimming?

  — Yeah, in a manner of speaking, and maybe you haven’t been swimming in a while, so you have to be ready. You have to be ready to jump in.

  Nan stares into space as though trying to listen to herself. Ameliah can hear the hum of the fridge. Nan looks at her.

  — But I guess you can’t just stand there on the side forever either, can you? You need to move on, right?

  She smiles.

  — Listen to me, I’m talking to myself now. Come on, you, time to sleep.

  Ameliah smiles back and wonders what the boy is doing right now.

  The caravan was quiet. Ryan stared at the electric blue numbers on the microwave display as he lay on the thin cushion of the sofa bed. He could feel the wooden edge of the seat digging into his spine, like he was balancing on the edge of a cliff. The flimsy blinds didn’t really block much of the strip light from outside.

  He looked down his sleeping bag to where his feet reached the corner of the L-shaped seating. The bottom of Nathan’s sleeping bag was just a couple of inches away from his and he pictured them from above looking like three o’clock. He thought about Eve, leaning over him as he lay on the long grass of her nan’s back lawn. How it felt like he was telling her things without opening his mouth. How he wanted to do something big—

  — Don’t touch me.

  Nathan’s whisper was angry. He tried to shuffle himself further along the sofa, moving his feet away from Ryan’s, but nearly slid off the narrow seat. He grabbed the back cushions just in time to stop himself. Ryan giggled.

  — Shut up. This is a joke.

  Ryan tried to see Nathan’s face through the legs of the cheap breakfast bar in between them.

  — How the hell are you supposed to sleep on the edge of a knife? How come they get the bed?

  Nathan’s voice forgot to whisper. Ryan imagined sharing a bed with Nathan and suddenly felt a lot more comfortable where he was.

  — It’s not that bad.

  He heard the angry rustle of Nathan’s sleeping bag.

  — Shut up, Ryan. Not that bad? You don’t always have to play the angel, you know.

  — Angel?

  Nathan mocked his voice.

  — It’s not that bad, ooh, yes please, Sophia, you’re right, Dad, can I help you with that?

  — What? Shut up!

  — A caravan holiday, oh whoopee! Does anyone need me to lick their bum?

  — Shut your mouth, Nathan! You think I want to be here? With you, and them, in there?

  Nathan didn’t answer. Ryan sat up, his body and arms still inside his sleeping bag.

  — If you weren’t always such a knob, we wouldn’t even be here.

  Nathan sat up and stared at Ryan. Ryan stared back, his eyes trying to focus.

  — It’s all your shit that’s making them think we need to ‘bond’ or whatever, so don’t have a go at me like I’ve done something wrong.

  — What did you call me?

  Nathan lifted his arms out of his sleeping bag. Ryan looked down.

  — Did you call me a knob?

  Ryan lay back down on his side, pulling his sleeping back up higher around his neck.

  — Get lost, Nathan, just go to sleep.

  Nathan nodded aggressively.

  — Yeah, I thought so. Lie down, baby.

  Ryan felt his stomach tighten as Nathan lay back down. He stared at the cheap carpet, the dark swirls matted like little dreadlocks, and imagined waking up to the aftermath of a hurricane, Nathan’s side of the caravan completely destroyed.

  Nan turns the car out of the cemetery on to the dual carriageway. Ameliah stares out of the passenger window at the semi-detached houses. Nan folds down her sun visor as light streams in through the windscreen. She lets out a heavy sigh. Ameliah looks across at her, her cheeks still flushed from crying.

  She thinks about Mom’s funeral. Strangers standing silently, waiting for someone to tell them they could breathe out. She remembers Nan staring down at the ground, her eyes dry, like she was too angry to cry.

  — She would’ve been thirty-four, I mean how’s that—

  Nan stares ahead as she speaks. The car approaches an island. Ameliah tries to picture what a thirty-four-year-old woman looks like, but all she sees is Nan’s face, staring down at the ground.

  She thinks about the graves, side by side like grey stone twins. The small squares of marble where the flowers go. Her mind moves in closer, down to the dirt, through the soil, layers of dark and worms to the coffins and—

  — Idiot!

  Ameliah is thrown forward and feels her seat belt dig into her chest as Nan slams on the brakes. A large silver saloon car moves past, the driver shaking his middle-aged head at them.

  — Oh, get lost! I’ve got right of way, you idiot!

  She sticks up two fingers. Ameliah is shocked, but before she knows what she’s doing her fingers are up too, backing Nan up in their angry salute. Nan glances at her and nods.
The driver looks away as the saloon car pulls off. Nan holds her pose, her breathing ragged.

  Ameliah looks at their hands next to each other, old and young, and thinks of those posters showing the evolution of man. Mom’s hand the missing link between their two.

  Nan lowers her hand and looks at Ameliah.

  — I’m sorry, love. Some people.

  Ameliah lowers hers and feels her fingers relax.

  — It’s OK, Nan, he looked like an idiot.

  A car beeps behind them. Ameliah knows they are both fighting the same image in their heads. The crumpled car wreck. The blue lights. Nan takes the wheel.

  — He really did, didn’t he?

  Ameliah nods. Nan smiles as they drive round the roundabout.

  — I don’t know about you, but I could eat.

  Ameliah remembers after the funeral, people back at the house eating small bits of food on paper plates. Old relatives she’d never met sitting in little horseshoes of chairs, silently shaking their heads as she moved between them. Nan cleaning up after people before they’d really finished. A couple of older men with red faces holding thick glasses half full of dark liquid. Dad at the back door in his dark suit talking to someone.

  Walking through the kitchen towards him. His body gets more animated, his hands gesturing in front of him as though he’s arguing a point. His body blocks the doorway as she taps him on the back. Dad turns to her, his face angry. His expression softens as he sees her, he leans forward and she can see past him, out on to the small garden patio, and there his is, wearing a brown suit that’s too small for him, holding a rolled cigarette, looking at Dad.

  Joe.

  His face screwed up under his rough nest of dirty-blond hair.

  Ryan dug at the damp sand with his fingers like a shovel, scraping a small trench next to his crossed legs. The perfect white shell sat on his thigh like a miniature Japanese fan. Nathan stood at the edge of the water a stone’s throw in front of him, shot-putting rocks into the murky sea.

  The beach was mostly empty. Scattered families role playing like they were on the French Riviera, huddled against stripy windbreaks. Behind them, the jagged wall of the cliffs stood solid as, high above, seagulls circled, waiting for someone to drop a sandwich.

  Ryan thought about breakfast earlier, Dad and Sophia giggling like teenagers as they all ate Dad’s car-crash omelette. Dad and Sophia telling him and Nathan to spend time together, him and Nathan rolling their eyes in unison, nodding begrudgingly.

  Now here they were on the beach, both of them keeping their distance.

  Ryan watched water collect in the bottom of his little trench and thought about the scene from Star Wars when they get trapped in the garbage disposal on the Death Star. He pushed the sand on either side of the trench with his hands, making the walls cave in.

  — Come in, 3PO!

  A shoe-sized rock hit the sand inches from his knee. He looked up and was about to go mad when he saw Nathan’s expression.

  — Those kids are here.

  He nodded to his left, keeping his eyes on Ryan. Ryan turned his head.

  — Don’t look, you idiot.

  — What kids?

  — Them older ones, from the arcade. I told you.

  — You didn’t tell me anything.

  — Whatever, they were giving me grief.

  Ryan noticed Nathan was holding a tennis-ball-sized rock in his right hand.

  — What’s that for?

  — Don’t worry about that. Stand up.

  Ryan felt a stab of nerves as he lifted himself on to his feet.

  — Act like you’re talking to me.

  Nathan exaggerated a nod, faking conversation. Ryan could feel him pumping himself up.

  — What’s going on, Nath?

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed.

  — The one kid, the big one, he seemed like the hardest. Just stay calm.

  Ryan wondered whether Nathan was talking to him or himself. He felt out of his depth as Nathan turned to face the group of boys making their way over. Ryan turned too, standing next to Nathan, feeling the muscles in his arms tense.

  There were four of them, all dressed in versions of the same ripped jeans, dark T-shirt or checked shirt outfit. All of them had hair to their shoulders. All of them were bigger than Ryan. He figured they must be eighteen, seventeen at least. The one leading was as big as Liam. Ryan wished his best friend was with them now.

  — We should run.

  He glanced at Nathan. Nathan dug his heels in the sand.

  — If you run, I’ll hit you myself.

  He stared at the boys.

  — Just do what I do, all right?

  Ryan tried to puff up his chest as the boys stopped a table-width away, curving round them like a boomerang. He noticed a couple of them had stubble on their chins. He made out Nirvana album T-shirts on at least three of them.

  — You in the arcade again last night?

  The big one spoke like he thought he was in a film. Ryan decided it was best not to point that out. Nathan stared straight at the boy.

  — Yeah, we were, so what?

  The two boys furthest to the left looked at each other and smiled. Ryan could taste his breakfast in his throat.

  — Which one of you is Ryu?

  Ryan gulped as he remembered the night before, playing the Out Run machine in the arcade and completing the game. He had tried to enter his name, but accidentally pressed ‘u’ from the letters board. He hadn’t told Nathan because he knew he’d give him grief about thinking he was a Street Fighter character.

  The boys all stood waiting. The big one stared at Nathan. Nathan looked at Ryan like that wasn’t what he was expecting them to say. Ryan opened his mouth to tell Nathan, but before he could speak Nathan turned back to the boys.

  — I am.

  Ryan watched Nathan as he stepped forward. The big kid stepped forward too and squared up to Nathan while the others bunched together behind him.

  — What kind of name is Ryu?

  Nathan didn’t wobble.

  — It’s my kind of name.

  The boy was nearly a head taller than Nathan and half an extra body wide, but Nathan didn’t seem scared.

  — Why do you care?

  The boy lifted his shoulders, like he was getting ready to bench-press a caravan. The boy on the right with greasy black hair chipped in.

  — He cares cos you beat his top score.

  The big boy cut his friend a glance; his friend looked down. Nathan glanced back at Ryan. Ryan shrugged. Nathan turned back to the boy.

  — On what?

  The big boy looked confused.

  — What do mean on what? Out Run.

  Nathan shrugged.

  — Well, I’m sorry, mate, I can’t help it if I’m good at the game.

  — Knock him out, Deano!

  The boy’s voice was higher than the others, like a car’s screeching wheels. Ryan looked at him, standing behind the big one, his pale face egging his friend on. Ryan imagined a long lizard tongue shooting out of the boy’s mouth as he spoke.

  — Go on, Dean, he’s well cocky.

  Their accents sounded strange, like they were stretching words out for no reason.

  Ryan felt panic course through him. He thought about running. There were other people on the beach — Nathan wouldn’t get beaten up too badly before somebody stopped it.

  Deano planted himself. Ryan watched Nathan’s hand squeeze the rock, his knuckles empty of blood from the tightness of his grip. This wasn’t going to end well—

  — We should compete, I mean you two should compete, on the game, that’s the only way to know who’s best.

  Everyone looked at him. Ryan felt himself shrink a little bit.

  — It makes sense, right? If you want your top score back, just play him. You can even play other games, like a tournament.

  He felt everyone’s eyes narrow.

  — A tournament?

  The boy with greasy hair seemed to not know what
the word meant. His head moved like it was trying to snake away from his shoulders. Ryan clarified.

  — A competition. They both play a bunch of games and the winner is the one with the highest scores.

  — What are you talking about?

  The spotty boy on the far left stared at him.

  — That’s stupid. Just deck him, Deano.

  The others grunted their agreement like a pack of apes. Nathan looked at Ryan like he was just seeing him for the first time. Ryan felt the twist in his gut of a bad idea. He saw Deano pull his arm back as Nathan turned back to face him.

  — Nath!

  Nathan’s body folded in half as the punch hit his stomach. He fell to his knees as all the air left his body. Deano stood over him with clenched fists. Ryan ran to Nathan, dropping to the ground next to him. Nathan’s eyes were closed in pain.

  — You OK? What do I do?

  Nathan opened his eyes, his face flushed red, his mouth gasping for air. Deano’s voice sounded louder from above them.

  — Let’s go. This midget’s not worth breaking a sweat.

  He turned to go. The others followed, mirroring his turn like foot soldiers.

  Ryan put his hand across Nathan’s shoulders. Nathan coughed and shrugged him off.

  — Get off me.

  — Can you breathe?

  — Of course I can breathe, you idiot, he caught me with a cheap shot.

  He lifted himself to his feet, leaning with his hands on his knees, and spat on to the sand.

  — I can’t believe you stood up to him. They must’ve been at least eighteen, d’you reckon?

  Nathan stood up and tested his lungs before wheezing and bending over again.

  — Nath? Seriously, you got some balls, man.

  Nathan looked at him.

  — Tournament?

  Ryan looked down.

  — I dunno, I was trying to distract ’em, stop us getting a kicking.

  — Tournament?

  — OK, OK, it was stupid, I’m sorry.

  Nathan stood up again. Along the beach the older boys looked like small Warhammer figures.

  — Since when did you get top score on Out Run?

  Nathan stared at him. Ryan shrugged.

  — And Ryu? Why would you do that?

  — It was a mistake. The joystick slipped.

  — You’re such a weirdo, Ryan.

  Nathan started to walk away. Ryan followed him.