“I forgot! I got you something.” She’s up and leaving the kitchen. We hear her climb the stairs.
Marc lets out a sigh. “Man. This is kinda full on, eh?”
I nod. What things has he done inside? What things has he had to do?
He takes a sip of his tea. “She’ll calm down soon enough, mate. You know what she’s like.” And him saying it is annoying. Like he somehow thinks things haven’t changed in two years. Like we’re just the same as before. I stare across at him. He’s looking at my scar and I don’t want him to say anything about it. Please don’t say anything about it.
“It’s healed good.”
I resist the urge to cover my face with my hand. He points with his fork. “Actually looks pretty cool.” His face betrays the fact that he knows how lame that was to say. I tell myself this is how it’ll be for a while, and that it’s OK. Then he says, “So you got a girlfriend then?” And it’s like he’s laughing at me. Like he doesn’t think I could have one. Maybe he doesn’t mean it like that, but it’s annoying. He’s annoying.
I squeeze my fork and stare at his hands as I answer; his knuckles are scratched and scarred.
“Nothing serious,” I say, and it sounds like the dumbest reply ever. Marc laughs and my back teeth are grinding.
“I see,” he says. “Playing the field are ya?” And I don’t want him to know me. I don’t want him to know anything about what I’m doing. I don’t want him to take it over and undermine it. You don’t know anything about me, Marc.
Mum walks back in and places a small white box on the table next to Marc’s plate and sits down again.
“What’s this?” He picks it up. I recognise the Apple logo.
Mum looks at him excitedly. “You’ll need one. It’s a good one.”
She’s bought him an iPhone. She’s gone and spent like three hundred quid on a brand-new iPhone for him.
“You bought him an iPhone?” I say and I know I sound like a little kid, but I can’t help it.
Mum looks at me briefly and frowns. “He’s gonna need a phone, Luke. It’s important.”
Marc puts the box down. “It’s great, Mum, thanks.”
“An iPhone?” I say again. I’m trying to remember the last time she bought me anything. My laptop cost me a birthday and a Christmas and that was Dad’s idea.
Marc can see I’m pissed off.
“Maybe you could show me how to use it, mate?”
And it’s too much. This is like some twisted two-person reunion scene with me as the third wheel. Help him use it? Like he’s some caveman who’s just been dug out of ice after ten thousand years, or something?
“Forget this.” I’m standing up.
He’s looking up at me. “What you doing, Lukey?”
“I’m getting out of here, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Don’t be daft, sit down, man.”
He points at my chair, like he’s some mafia boss who doesn’t need to raise his voice. Mum won’t look at me.
“I just got home, Luke. Sit down and let’s finish our meal.” His eyes harden slightly, letting me know not to mess this up, but I don’t care. What’s he gonna do?
“She’ll show you how to work it,” I nod towards Mum, my stomach twisting. Marc seems surprised and it feels stupid, but it feels good. I’m stealing this scene.
“Welcome back,” I say, in my most sarcastic tone and they’re both looking at me and I should just leave it there, but out of nowhere I look right at him and say, “your highness.” And I leave.
I just walk.
I’m so stupid.
I was so concentrated on storming out that I forgot my jacket and my phone. The second the front door shut behind me I realised, but what could I do?
I walk round to the playground and keep going past the flats. I think about buzzing for Tommy, but I don’t want to have to answer a bunch of questions about Marc so I carry on to the high road.
It’s not even seven yet but it’s nearly dark and there’s already gangs of people starting on their nights out. I pass a group of three girls at the cash point that I recognise from a couple of years above us at school. They’re all dressed up for town in outfits that scream ‘try hard’. The kind of clothes Leia would never have to wear. What? You think she’s better than us? That’s not what I said. Yeah it was. So what? It’s true.
I get a waft of sickly sweet perfume as I pass them and as I walk away, I swear I hear them whispering.
I can see a line of men heading my way further up, so I cut down Poplar Road, by the petrol station, and walk past the big houses. I think about going all the way to the reservoir, walking through the trees, finding a bench and sitting by the water, but I’m already cold and at this time on a Friday night it’ll just be creepy guys walking their old dogs. So I carry on down City Road, walking faster than normal to try and keep warm.
By the time I reach the bottom my arms are freezing. I’ve gotta go home soon. Stupid. Then I hear the growl.
I’m standing on the corner and look down both streets, but I can’t make out where it came from. That same engine.
Both sides of the road are lined with parked cars and I can’t see any headlights, but it definitely sounded close. Someone is watching me. I can feel it. My gut is telling me to move.
INT. SUPERMARKET – NIGHT
Furry bristles where sliding glass doors come together. Cases of Carling on special offer. Supermarket sounds.
“What the hell you doing here?” Zia’s on his knees, stacking tinned tomatoes on to the bottom shelf.
“What do you mean?”
He points at me with a jar in his hand. “I mean, you can’t just show up, Luke. You need to warn me, yeah?”
“Why?”
“I dunno, it’s just weird, innit?” He carries on stacking.
“How’s it going?”
“You kidding? I’m on my knees stacking tomatoes.” Zia shakes his head. “You seen Tommy?”
“Not since Saturday,” I say.
“He’s pissed off with you.” Zia neatens the front tins. “We needed you the other night, man.”
I look away. “Yeah. Sorry, man, something came up at college.”
Zia stands up holding the empty cardboard box. “So who is she?”
“What you talking about?”
Zia shakes his head. “Come on, Lukey, who you talking to? The only reason you’re letting us down is for a girl.” He expertly flattens the box against his chest. “So?”
“Shut up, man.”
“Fine.” He starts walking away down the aisle. I step after him.
“OK, OK. It’s someone at college, all right? It’s nothing serious. Happy?”
Zia stops walking and smiles. “What’s her name?”
Then a man with greasy blond side-parted hair is standing in front of us. He’s wearing a dark blue fleece with the supermarket logo sewn into it. I reckon he’s late twenties, or older. He’s my height, but he looks weak.
“No time for chat, Zia,” he says. The tone in his voice is one of a teacher who’s not sure you’re gonna listen to him. Zia looks at me like dogs look at you, trapped inside parked cars on summer days.
“So you think long-grain rice would be best, then?” I say.
Zia understands straight away. “Yeah, I’d say so. We’ve got a couple of different brands, all at the top end of aisle three.” He points.
The fleece guy’s eyes narrow. “Is he helping you, sir?”
I nod like I’m grateful. “He really is. I’m trying to get things together for an important meal and he’s been a big help.”
That was too much. The man looks at Zia. Zia forces a smile and turns to me. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I’ll get the rice and if I’m stuck I’ll come and find you, if that’s OK?”
“That’s fine, sir, I’m here to help.”
The fleece guy knows he’s got nothing and walks away, frowning.
I slap Zia’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
Zia’s shaking his head. “You think he’s not gonna remember that later and make me clean the toilets?”
“You’re just doing your job.”
“You don’t understand, Luke, you haven’t got a boss.”
And for the first time, I can feel resentment in him.
Zia punches my arm lightly. “I’m sorry, man. Ignore me, just been a shit day. Shit week.”
I want to say something to make him feel better, something to make things less crap.
“Marc’s home.”
Zia’s face drops. “Course he is! Sorry, man, I completely forgot. You OK?”
I shrug. “I’m fine. Pretty weird, but what you gonna do?”
Zia’s face is sheepish. “Dunno, look, I’m done at ten, you wanna come to mine, I mean, if you wanna get out of the way and that? We could watch something, you could stop over?”
But I’m only half listening, because Noah just walked past us along the end of the aisles and turned down the next one.
“Luke?” Zia’s staring at me. “You wanna?”
“Nah, I’m good, man. Thanks, though. I better go.”
And I walk after Noah, feeling Zia watching me.
Noah’s choosing cereal and I think about Zia’s shopping with his dad routine.
I’m walking straight towards him. What are you doing?
“All right?” I say, immediately lost for words.
“Luke,” he says, looking a bit confused but not weirded out.
“You don’t like my Friday lesson much, do you?”
I look down, embarrassed, and stare at his shoes; they’re a grey pair of those dusty suede desert boots.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Family stuff.”
Noah nods. “Can’t hide from blood, can you? What brings you over this side of town, anyway?”
“I live here.”
Now he looks confused. I point in the direction of home. “I live in Bearwood.”
And he’s laughing. My body’s tensing up on the defensive and all kinds of comeback lines are starting to brew on my tongue.
“Why’s that funny?”
Noah sees my face and stops laughing. “Oh, no, no, I’m not laughing at you, Luke. It’s just funny that we’re both from Bearwood.”
And he’s holding out his hand for me to shake it and that’s what I do. I shake his hand and his grip is just firm enough and he’s smiling and I’m smiling too. It’s weird. I never would have said he was from round here.
“Well bloody hell,” he says and lets my hand go. “A boy from Bearwood who’s into film. What are the chances of that?”
I just shrug, unsure what to say, but a connection’s been made. He’s from where I’m from.
“Noah? Noah Clarke?”
Zia’s boss with the greasy hair and the fleece is walking towards us. Noah’s face freezes and I can see his body tightening.
“It is you! Bloody hell!”
And fleece guy is standing next to us, his hands on his hips, shaking his head.
Noah’s smile is painful. “Hello, Pete.”
“What the hell you doing here, Noah?”
Pete moves on the spot like his knees and elbows don’t bend, like he’s an excited robot who just won a game show. “I’m shopping,” Noah says, deadpan.
Pete snorts a laugh that’s either fake or really unlucky. “Classic Clarkey! Smart arse.”
Noah looks at me and he knows he doesn’t have to explain.
“Is this your little brother? I’ve heard about you, trouble.”
Pete’s looking at me now. I don’t move. He’s got a little brother? Trouble? Noah nips it in the bud.
“No. This is a friend from work. Luke, this is Pete, Pete, this is Luke.”
Pete sticks his hand out. I take it. It’s like shaking a fish. His eyes stay on Noah. “Noah Clarke. I thought you were off living the big life in London.”
Noah shrugs. Pete’s waiting for more. So am I. Big life?
“You were in a film, weren’t ya?” he waits, like a dog, for Noah to throw him a bone. In a film?
Noah shakes his head. “No.”
“Yeah you were, I heard all about it off Tuffy. It was a couple of years back.”
Noah’s face stays straight. “Think you heard wrong, Pete. I’m not an actor.”
Pete looks at me and rolls his eyes. “He’s playing it cool, eh?” Then he slaps Noah’s arm. “Back in the hood, Noah, we should go out.”
Noah doesn’t respond.
“I’m manager now.” Pete pats the company logo on his fleece. “Give it two or three years and I’ll be going for regional.”
He’s nodding proudly. Noah nods back. “That’s great, Pete. Listen, we need to go. I need to drop Luke home. We’ll see you later, Pete. Good to see you.”
And he starts walking down the aisle towards the tills. I follow.
Pete calls after us. “All right, Noah, good seeing you! I’ll make some calls, sort a night out, eh? Like old times! Shiland boys on the town!”
INT. SUPERMARKET – NIGHT
Close-up: Girl’s hand moves over scanner. Baby blue nail varnish.
Too many rings. Barcode beeping.
Noah loads the stuff from his basket on to the conveyor belt in silence. I stand next to him like his sidekick.
The girl on the till is not much older than me but she looks hard, her hair pulled back, eyebrows forced up. Her name badge says Kylie. She cuts Noah a look like she knows him, but he’s not paying attention to her as he packs his bag and puts his card in the machine.
“I’m on Park Road, bottom end. You near there?” he asks.
I nod. “Linden Road. You sure it’s all right?”
“Course it is,” he says.
Then Kylie points at me. “Aren’t you Marc Henry’s little brother?” And every muscle goes tight.
She’s looking right at me and I want to say no, but something won’t let me.
So I nod, and I can feel Noah’s eyes on me too, and I slide my hands into my pockets to stop them shaking.
“I thought so,” Kylie says. “Liam, right?”
“Luke.”
“That’s it! Little Lukey. With the scar. You’re bigger than I remember. You look a bit like him, you know.”
I’m just nodding nervously like one of those little plastic dogs in the back of cars. Please let this be over. Please let this be over.
“We proper fancied Marc at school you know. All of us.”
I watch Kylie drift off into a memory. Noah can see me squirming and says, “We should go, come on, Luke.”
Kylie looks at Noah like she couldn’t care less, then turns back to me.
“He’s coming out soon, right?”
And I want to disappear. Not in front of Noah, please.
“Everybody was proper glad when he got Craig.”
I can feel the heat in my face. She’s staring right at me. “He got what he deserved, eh?” And I swear she’s literally about to point to my scar, then Noah walks away.
I stand there, caught in her tractor-beam stare, then I follow him, walking sideways, split between where I’m going and where I’ve been.
“See you later, Lukey,” she says. “Say hi to Marc for me, yeah? Kylie Burdle! I was in the year below him!”
I walk out the exit into the cold air. The side of my face on fire.
It’s a Fiat Punto.
My legs are squashed against the glove compartment, but I don’t say anything as Noah pulls out of the supermarket on to the main road. The air inside the car is thick with what just happened. Please don’t ask about Marc. Please just leave it.
He’s got one of those little traffic light air fresheners hanging from his rear-view mirror and his stereo is far too good for the car. I feel proper awkward. I should’ve walked.
We pull up to lights and we’re just sitting there, looking forward. I shouldn’t be here. I should get out the car.
I think about Dad and ho
w he’s probably in The Goose, talking to his work mates about everything except Marc, and it suddenly makes the most sense. What good will talking do?
“You said Linden Road, right?” Noah looks at me. I nod. The lights change and we pull off.
We’re driving along streets I’ve always known but in this different car, with this new person, who says he’s from here too, but who I don’t really know. I pull my shopping bag closer into my lap, gripping the handle.
“A bag full of the past, eh?” says Noah.
And it sounds like a fortune cookie or something, but it makes perfect sense. A bag full of the past, that you have to carry around, weighing you down.
“Yeah.”
I put my left elbow on the inside of the door and rest my face in my hand, staring out. I think of Leia. I wonder how pissed off she was. If she spoke our dialogue on her own, or if someone else helped. Simeon probably came to the rescue. I should’ve gone to the lesson. Should I ask Noah what happened? I should call her. Say sorry.
We’re waiting behind a number eleven bus and he must know as well as I do that it’s the bus that goes to the prison. Is he gonna say something?
Noah bangs both his fists on the steering wheel and I jump, nearly hitting my head on the inside of the roof.
“OK. Let’s do it,” he says. “One each.”
“What do you mean?”
“One question each. You get one, then I get one, deal?”
We’re both staring at the back of the bus, the amber indicator flickering.
“OK.”
“Cool. You first.”
“What did he mean, you were in a film?” I say.
Noah nods as he weighs up his answer, then shakes his head. “I wasn’t in a film. I wrote one.”
“You wrote a film?”
“Yeah. It was a while ago.”
The bus pulls away and we follow.
“What was it called?”
“Hold on, that’s your one question. My turn.”
He glances at me. I look out of the window.
“So Marc Henry’s your brother?”
Bam.
He knows Marc. Or he knows of Marc. Maybe he’s heard what happened. He’s from Bearwood, course he has. Maybe he already knew who I was. My throat’s itching again.
This is too much. It feels like somebody just pulled my towel away. I press my face against my hand, feeling the heat pass from scar to palm as Noah waits for me to say something. Silence.
It's About Love Page 9