by Will Davis
And that’s how I find myself at Fit For Life early the next morning when I’m supposed to be on my way to first period. The gym is only a ten-minute walk from school so it’s easy for me to get the bus with Mimi and then double back as soon as she’s inside the building. Sometimes Jack would come here to work out while he waited for me to finish in the afternoon, and then he’d pick me up and I’d joke that he smelled all sweaty and it was disgusting, even though secretly I always liked it and would breathe in the smell and try to memorise it so I could recall it for when we were apart the next day. I remember reading in Cosmo that when you like the smell of a man’s sweat it means you’re genetically compatible, which is one more reason why we belong together. But the reason I’m here is that Jack had quite a few friends at Fit For Life. Someone is bound to know where he is now or how to find him.
I push through the big glass door and walk into the reception room, which is all clean white walls and full of bright plasticky-looking tropical plants, like they’ve uprooted a whole rainforest and dumped it here in this modern little room. Sitting at the desk is a pert woman with a silvery blonde ponytail wearing an ugly mauve tracksuit. She’s probably about forty, but her body is so small and compact that at a glance she looks more like a seven-year-old.
‘Hello, young lady,’ she says in an Australian accent, peering over at me like she’s already assessing my body weight and thinking I could use a few bicep curls. ‘Can I help you with something?’
I clear my throat. I’m going to have to make this good.
‘It’s really important,’ I say. ‘I need to find out someone’s address. He used to come here to work out and I was wondering if maybe anyone knows it . . . it might even be on your system.’
The woman frowns.
‘His name is Jack Gibbons.’
‘Oh Jack!’ she exclaims. ‘But I thought he moved to Edinburgh.’
Edinburgh! My heart skips a beat and I clap my hand over it, worried I’m going to have a cardiac arrest right there and then in front of her. How can he possibly be that far away? I think fast.
‘I know he did,’ I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. ‘But I’ve lost the address, you see.’
‘Who are you, hon?’ asks the woman. She’s smiling but there’s a hint of suspicion there, I can sense it. ‘What do you want to know for?’
‘I’m his . . . younger sister,’ I invent, hoping she didn’t notice the tiny pause I made. The Australian frowns like she’s trying to work something out.
‘He never told me he had a younger sister! And how come he didn’t tell you his address, anyway? Can’t you just call him?’
‘His phone is off, and . . . well, I wanted it to be a surprise.’
The woman stares at me. I stare back, smiling, feeling myself melting under my network of lies. I’m such an idiot. What was I thinking, coming here and imagining I would actually be able to somehow get someone to tell me where he is now? My instinct is screaming at me to just turn around and run. But that’s not what Joni would do, is it? She wouldn’t give up until there was no other option.
‘It’s his birthday soon, you see,’ I say quickly, praying to some higher power the woman is believing any of this. ‘I’ve got to send his present by the end of today or else he won’t receive it in time, and I spent such a long time choosing it. It’s a belt by his favourite designer. It cost me an absolute packet! He’s going to love it, I just know he will. But it has to arrive by Thursday!’
For a second I think it’s all over. The woman stares at me as if she’s never heard anything so preposterous in her whole life. But then she suddenly grins and gives me a wink.
‘Well, we can’t have that happen, can we? Let’s have a lookie here. Maybe his details are on the computer. We’ve got a couple of branches in Edinburgh and we often get clients’ new addresses when they move, so that if they want to carry on they don’t have to go through the whole induction again . . . ah yes, we may be in luck.’
I hold my breath as the woman looks at the screen and clicks a couple of times with the mouse. Adrenalin is running through my veins and I’m full of nervous excitement every bit as intense as I ever felt when I was onstage. It’s funny because I never used to be able to lie, and I can’t help but feel proud of myself. It must be the effect of love. It makes you capable of anything.
‘Hang on a sec,’ says the woman. ‘It says here Jack’s birthday is in January.’
My heart takes a running leap and ends up in my throat. Think, you idiot. Think.
‘Oh, but we’ve always celebrated his birthday this month, on account of January being so soon after Christmas . . .’
The woman turns her head slowly back to look at me. This time she isn’t smiling and so I smile at her instead. But it’s the smile of a desperado and I can tell she’s on to me. My chance of finding out where Jack lives is disappearing before my very eyes down a dark tunnel, getting swallowed up for ever.
‘I’m sorry,’ says the woman, now sounding bitchy and not remotely sorry at all. ‘We can’t disclose that sort of information. I’m sure Jack’ll understand if the present is a day or two late.’
‘But he won’t!’ I wail.
It’s no good. The woman starts to look around and I have the impression that any second she’s going to call for security to come and frogmarch me out. I spin on my heel and race out of the gym, venting my frustration on the door by giving it a good shove as I go out and hearing it slam loudly behind me. Outside I squat down against the wall, hot tears of anger and disappointment streaking down my cheeks.
In a flash I have another idea. It’s so crazy and stupid I hardly dare even to let myself think it, and I’m about to just forget about it when I remember Joni and her words on the TV last night. I think about those times when I went up onstage, and how I performed in front of all those people and how they cheered for me. I tell myself that I’m strong, I must be. That I can do it. The next thing I know I’ve stood up and gone back into the reception. The woman peers up at me.
‘Forget something?’
‘Sorry, but could I use your toilet? I’ve got a bit of a . . . ladies’ problem,’ I say, trying to look small and vulnerable. Luckily that’s something I can do well. She’s still suspicious, but I give her a pleading stare, trying to appeal to a sense of feminine duty, which seems to work because the woman sighs and nods.
‘Through that barrier there, round the corner and on the left.’
The corridor leads up to a glass door, behind which is a gym where a few wrinkly old men are sitting at those scary machines that look like they could crush you, lifting weights that exercise tiny hidden muscles in obscure parts of the body. As soon as I’m out of sight of the reception I start searching along the wall. It’s not long before I find what I need. Screwing up all my courage, partly because I can’t believe I’m really doing this and partly because I’m scared that the glass will cut me – even though I know from fire training at school that it’s supposed to be safe – I make a fist and send it into the alarm.
I don’t even notice the glass breaking because I’m too busy being deafened. Instantly bells start ringing, so loud the noise practically paralyses me. But I have to act. I race back to the reception and almost collide with the Australian.
‘Sorry!’ I cry.
She ignores me and hurries past towards the gym. Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice the shattered glass from the fire point on the floor.
I turn the corner and push through the barrier. That perfume ad for One Time Only races through my head, the one with the gypsy woman who tells the model in it that she’s only got one chance and that she must grab it with both hands before it gets away. Of course her chance turns out to be the scent One Time Only, but for me it’s Jack’s address. I hop round the desk and sit down in front of the computer. My heart is hammering in my chest like a techno beat. But to my amazement and delight, the computer screen still displays the page with Jack’s details. I put my shaking hand on the mouse and
scroll down. At the bottom of the screen is:
9 Fenland Avenue
Edinburgh
Two lines, so simple and yet the key to being with Jack once more. I repeat them again and again until it’s taken up by this mental voice in my mind which chants it like a mantra. As I stand up, my head swimming because of my success, the woman reappears, herding all the wrinkly men who were working out in the gym along in front of her. She catches sight of me and stops dead for a second. Her mouth opens and she starts to shout something, but whatever it is it is lost on me because I’m already hurtling out of the building.
‘It’s been a rollercoaster. I’ve met so many wonderful people and done so many exciting things. But in the end, all that matters is tomorrow night. That’s my time, and I’m going to show everyone that I’m a star. You’re looking at a future Purrfect girl.’
I don’t know how to describe the way I’m feeling. It’s like I’m floating a hundred miles up in the sky and surrounded by stars and rainbows. But it’s also like I’m sinking into this lagoon full of thick dark sludge that’s going to suck me down for ever and leave no trace.
I enter the bathroom and quickly go into the furthest cubicle over by the fire escape. I can hear the sound of my own breath, short but heavy. I’m panting like an actual dog and I can feel sweat building up under my armpits. It’s gross but I can’t help it. I push the door shut and stand there looking down at the toilet bowl, watching tiny ripples cross the pool of yellowy water. The whole thing is disgusting really, coming here like this, and I don’t know why I’m doing it, taking such a risk. Except that when I think of her my skin tingles all over and the beat of my heart quickens, just like in Wuthering Heights or Hollyoaks.
It’s only a crush, of course. It doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian or one of those bisexuals or anything like that. It’s totally normal for teenage girls to get crushes on girls who are older and more experienced than them. I remember old Mrs Hingle, our form mistress back when I was a fifth telling us about same-sex crushes when we had our sex education. At the time I thought it was just her projecting, since everyone knew she was secretly a lesbian because she only ever put girls in detention. But obviously Mrs Hingle wasn’t just projecting, she was telling the truth, because here I am experiencing it. It’s a relief really, to know that, since I don’t think I could handle life as an actual gay. I’m not sure what God would have to say about it either. He’s been very quiet of late, but I’m sure He’s watching over me and blessing my actions as a necessary character-building experience. It’s okay to experiment. So long as it doesn’t get out of hand.
There’s a creak nearby, which almost makes me jump right out of my skin. I listen carefully for the lazy tread of Riana’s feet. She saunters everywhere, like no matter where she is she owns the place. It’s ridiculous, really. She ought to take some body language classes, since there is such a thing as being too confident. I make a mental note to tell her this. But after the creaking there’s only silence – and the annoying sound of me panting. Where the hell is she anyway?
These meetings started by accident. The first time was because we both ended up in here while everyone was concentrating on Joni that day, trying to figure out how to make the fact that she’d abandoned her baby to try and be a pop star look like an act of sacrifice. I don’t know why they bother with her. If you ask me it serves the stupid foul-mouthed bee completely right that the media are all over her, calling for her to drop out and be investigated by social services. What a waste of time and resources! But while they were all busy with her Riana and I were up here, away from the cameras and the microphones and the judges. Maybe it was because of missing home, but suddenly I just had to kiss her. So I did. It was easy, and for a few minutes it felt like we were the only people in the whole world. The next day I found myself here again at the same time, and there was Riana again too, and somehow meeting here has become what we do.
It’s strange. If God Himself had told me when I first entered this house that I’d end up kissing Riana I’d have thought He was the Devil playing tricks on me. I’d never have believed in a thousand years that my first experience would be with another woman. But I genuinely think it’s a good thing, because women always know how to do it right, especially Riana who’s obviously got tons of experience as an ex-stripper. Obviously God wanted me to meet her for this reason, so that when I do eventually come to do it with a man I’ll be really good and he’ll have nothing to complain about.
There it is again, that creaking noise. This time it’s unmistakably the sound of the door sliding open. There’s definitely someone else in here too. A shiver of panic runs through me. What if it’s one of the cameramen sneaking in for a naughty exclusive?
‘Hello?’ I call out. ‘Is there someone there?’
There’s no answer, but I’m sure there is. Suddenly I’m afraid. Why aren’t they answering?
‘Riana? Is that you?’
Silence, but it’s the sort of silence where you know you’re not alone. It feels like one of those scenes in those unbearable late-night films I’m not supposed to watch, where the heroine’s being chased by a stalker and there’s a close-up of her quivering in terror while he slowly homes in on her hiding place. A sick sense of dread is building up inside me. What if it’s that psycho who’s been sending the death threats and breaking in? The blood in my veins runs cold. What if they’ve somehow sneaked in and are now working their way through the house, butchering people one by one? Trying not to whimper I slowly back into the corner of the cubicle and wedge myself in beside the tank. I look down at the light under the divide and almost die as a shadow passes by.
Then the cubicle door bursts wide open. I let out a pathetic squeak of a scream which catches in my throat. For a few seconds all I can hear is the sound of my heart thumping. A familiar hourglass figure stands there with an infuriatingly disproportionate smile plastered all across her infuriatingly smug face.
‘Gotcha!’
I throw myself at her, fists clenched, furious beyond anything I’ve ever felt before and ready to beat the life out of the arrogant piece of trailer trash. But as soon as my body meets hers it’s like I melt into it, just like a slice of cheese on a grill, and instead of thumping her I’m kissing those big lips of hers and putting my hands over those silly perfect breasts.
Each night this week I’ve closed my eyes and tried as hard as I can to hear God’s voice telling me what I ought to do about this. Should I ignore the way I’m feeling or let myself be led by it? The thing is, I still don’t hear Him. It’s worrying, because without His guidance I have to make the answer up for myself. I know He’s planned this, because He plans everything, which means that Riana’s meant to have something to show me. But what if this isn’t what it is? This is a tense time, and a crush is the last thing I need to distract me. Tomorrow is the last night, the one when we sing in front of not only the judges but in front of Purrfect themselves. Tomorrow night the new Purrfect girl is going to be chosen out of one of us three. It’s not that I’m unfocused, because I’m still one hundred per cent in this. I’m still rehearsing my piece every spare second and gearing myself up to give the performance of a lifetime. But the trouble is that instead of my impending moment of glory, I keep thinking about what I’m going to do the day after it, and the day after that – once I’m in Purrfect and my new life has started. What I’m going to do when I can’t see Riana ever again.
Riana lets out a gasp, far louder than she should, and I clamp my hand over her big mouth in case there’s a cameraman skulking around outside in the bedroom, waiting like they often do to catch one of us the second we come out.
‘Shhhh!’
Her lips close over my fingers, wet and warm. She’s got such amazing lips. Sensual, I suppose is the word. I daren’t even think about what other kinds of things might have gone in between them, though.
‘Oh Eddy,’ Riana sighs. I don’t know if this is a word for darling in another language but I don’t want to make myself lo
ok stupid by asking. Riana lets out another gasp and I feel her hot breath all over my hand. Then I feel her fingers digging into my crotch, into that place that’s supposed to be sacred to a woman. I don’t mind touching her there if it’s what she wants, but it always frightens me a bit when she tries to touch me and so I always draw her hands away from the area. Technically I’m still a virgin, and I don’t intend for that to change until my wedding day.
Riana pulls back. She gives me her smug smile, which these days produces these impulses both to slap her and to kiss her and I don’t know which one is stronger, and then goes out of the cubicle. She doesn’t turn back, and a second later I hear the door creaking again as she leaves. I look down at myself and start straightening my clothes. Somehow Riana always comes away looking just like she did when she came in, whereas I look like I’ve been mauled by a caveman. I go over to the mirror and check my face for redness. I can’t help feeling that these days I look different. A tiny bit wiser maybe. Hopefully even a tiny bit more womanly.
Sure enough, outside in the bedroom stands a cameraman. It makes me feel a little light-headed to think that he’s been out here all this time while Riana and I were in there . . . doing what we were doing. I give him a bright smile as I pass, hoping it doesn’t look guilty.
‘I think you’ve got a phonecall,’ he says.
I hurry downstairs to the kitchen, careful not to go too fast so that the cameraman can keep up. The phone is off the hook on the table.
‘Louise?’ says Dad the second I pick it up.
‘Dad!’
I’d almost forgotten that we were allowed to speak to people again today. They only told us this two nights ago and it’s almost for certain they only decided it because of Joni, so that they could get a shot of her making goo-goo noises to her brat down the phone. I watched her doing it earlier, golfball-sized crocodile tears sliding down her face, the common little phoney. When the original band was being put together they weren’t allowed to talk to their families or friends until after the final performance when they got selected and I was totally prepared to be on my own for the last week too, to show them all just how strong I could be.