It's About Love

by Steven Camden

  “I’ll come.”

  Leia can’t hide her smile, and I don’t even try to hide mine.

  We’re almost the last ones out of the room and as we reach the door I’m ready to breathe out, happy that I haven’t had to speak to Noah, when his voice stabs me in the back.

  “Luke. Can I have a word, please?”

  Leia looks back at me. I try to keep a straight face.

  “I’ll catch you up,” I say. “Down behind the science block, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She looks past me to Noah and then leaves. I turn to face him at his desk.

  INT. CLASSROOM – DAY

  Blocks of afternoon light slide across empty tables and chairs. YOUNG MAN stands like a soldier addressing a general.

  “How’s your foot?”

  Noah points. I look down.

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  I feel stupid.

  “Listen, Luke, I just wanted to say—”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” I don’t look up.

  “Yeah. I know,” he says. “But I want to.”

  And the change in his voice makes me look at him. He’s not quite smiling. “I know what it’s like.”

  The phrase rings every lame alarm bell in me. I’m taken straight back to beige rooms with school counsellors after Marc got sent down. Old Mrs Martin with her young haircut and clothes. Me staring at her plastic cheese plant, as she stares at me, waiting for some Good Will Hunting moment. “It’s OK, Luke. I understand what you’re thinking. You can talk to me. I know what it’s like.”

  No, I can’t, Miss. I can’t even talk to my own family, so how the hell am I gonna talk to you, some stranger with soft skin and a cotton-wool voice? You don’t know anything.

  I stare at Noah. I want him to be different. He’s from the same place. Maybe he does know. Maybe he’s got more of an idea than anybody. I want that to be true, I really do, but …

  “Can I go now?”

  Noah looks down at the papers on his desk. “Yeah. Course.”

  I turn to leave, grateful.

  “Luke?”

  I look back, and it feels like a scene from one of Dad’s old westerns, the loner about to move on after helping the oppressed villagers.

  Noah says, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  What’s my line? I’m Clint Eastwood, gimme a good line. I guess you will.

  I shrug. “I guess you will.” Then I turn and walk out.

  Perfect.

  Nan said: For every strength, a weakness; for every weakness, a strength.

  I count six of them, sitting on the little wall and steps under the overhanging fibreglass roof behind the science block. It looks like the place where teachers would steal a quick smoke. Simeon, Jono, the ginger kid, Leia, the girl from film with the shaved side of her head and another girl with a jet-black bob, who I don’t know, but have seen before. They look like the cast of Skins and I try not to hate them.

  “Waterboy!” Simeon calls out, and everyone turns and watches me approach. I concentrate on lifting my feet as I walk so I don’t trip. He’s sitting with Jono and the ginger kid near the wall. Leia’s slightly lower down the slope in between Shaved Head and the other girl.

  You gonna let him call you that? In front of people?

  I don’t respond. Leia waves me over and I sit on the step down from hers. The girl with the bob is staring at my scar. Shaved Head is eyes down, in her phone.

  “What did he want?” Leia says.

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”

  “This is Luke,” she says, pointing at me.

  “Luke, this is Megan.” Shaved Head gives the minimum acknowledgement it’s possible to give, lifting her chin a millimetre. “And this is Michelle.”

  The girl with the bob holds out her hand and smiles. “We do English together. I’ve heard about you.”

  I shake Michelle’s hand, trying to place her in English class. “Hi.”

  What’s she heard?

  “Come to hang with us then, Waterboy?” says Simeon, like I didn’t hear him the first time.

  I feel my arms tensing.

  I don’t look at him as I say, “My name’s Luke,” and I meant it strong, but not as aggressive as it came out. Nice. The girls watch. I try to neutralise it. “We’ve met, remember?”

  I stare up at him. Jono and the ginger kid stare back.

  Simeon smiles. “Sorry, man, just kidding. It’s a pretty sick nickname though, right? I mean, as far as nicknames go. Stupid film. Funny though. Ask Jono what they call him.”

  He slaps Jono’s wide back and Jono looks embarrassed. I don’t say anything. Simeon gives it a second then says, “Jugs.”

  Him and the ginger kid laugh. Jono looks at the floor, shifting his thick legs.

  I look at Leia; she’s avoiding my eyes.

  Simeon shakes his head. “But I’m with you, Luke, let’s leave the nicknames to the Rugby Club.” Then he points at me with both hands like guns. “You can help us.”

  I look at Leia and Michelle. Both their faces are blank and I’m wondering who decided he was the leader.

  “Six degrees of Kevin Bacon, but with different actors,” Simeon says. “You any good at it?”

  And he’s not kidding. I can feel the sighs as Michelle and Megan roll their eyes. It feels like some kind of initiation test, but I like this game. I still play it with Dad sometimes; connect the actors via as few films as possible. I play it cool.

  “Not really,” I say.

  “Course you are,” he says. “Jonah Hill, to George Clooney. Go.” And he stares at me, waiting. I do it in my head, the whole time acting like I’m not.

  Then Leia cuts in. “Jonah Hill in Moneyball with Brad Pitt, Brad Pitt in Ocean’s Eleven with George Clooney.”

  She leans back on her arms, pleased with herself, and I look down so I don’t give away how sexy I just found that.

  Simeon scoffs, “Too easy. Let’s crank it up.” And it hits me that I’ve never played this game with anyone my own age before and it feels good.

  “OK,” he says. “Erm, Jack Nicholson, to … let me see …”

  Ginger kid leans forward. “Billy Crystal.”

  Everybody looks at him. Ginger kid closes his eyes and nods. Simeon nods too. “Sick. Good one, Max.”

  Come on then, Lukey boy. Do it.

  This feels important. Everybody’s staring into space, trying to make the steps in their heads.

  “Got it,” I say.

  Leia smiles. Simeon frowns. “No way. Go on then.”

  I use my hand. “Jack Nicholson was in The Pledge with Robin Wright.” I look at them for approval. Jono looks confused, so does Michelle, Max is nodding and so is Simeon. I carry on. “And Robin Wright was in The Princess Bride with Billy Crystal.”

  I spread my hands like I’ve just served them dinner.

  “What the hell is The Princess Bride?” Simeon says, looking at me, then everyone else. Michelle and Leia shrug, so does Jono and my heart drops.

  “I’ve seen that,” says Max, and I have to fight to hide my smile.

  “You kidding?” says Simeon.

  Max shakes his head. “No. I watched it when I was little. My dad loves it. It’s pretty old. With the six-fingered man and the giant called …”

  “Andre,” I chip in, then ride the wave of my win. “It’s brilliant. Has no one else seen it?” I’m looking at Leia. She pouts and shakes her head. I give myself a lisp and say, “Inconceivable!”

  Me and Max laugh at the in-joke.

  “Fair play,” says Simeon. “Come on then, your turn.”

  Doesn’t matter where you go. What you do. Where you end up.

  You can’t change where you’re from.

  It’s nearly dark when I get off the bus. The quickest way home is the way I walked the other night, but I go the longer way round to stay on the better lit high road as long as possible, my front door key gripped between my fingers.

  There’s no car. Of course there isn’
t. But my ears are still pricked for any kind of engine and it’s like a place I’ve known all my life now has an edge with my name on it.

  I hear Eminem through the front door and I feel nine again.

  Mum must be at work. I wonder where Dad is right now.

  “Lukey!” Marc shouts over the music from upstairs.

  I pretend I don’t hear and go to the kitchen to make a tea. She’s never seen The Princess Bride. We could watch it together.

  “What d’ya think?” He’s standing in the doorway wearing the jeans and white shirt we bought on Saturday. He looks like a catalogue model, everything sharp and crisp and I can smell the Davidoff. His face scrunches up. “Too much?”

  “Too much for what?” I fill the kettle.

  “I knew it. Stupid. I look like I’m going on a blind date or something. Make us one too, will ya?”

  I let the tap run for longer and notice a selection of vegetables I can’t name next to the bread bin.

  “Why you dressing up?” I say, clicking the kettle on.

  “I’m meeting Donna.” He pulls an exaggerated nervous smile. “I rung her.”

  “And she agreed to meet you?” I fetch mugs.

  Marc sits down at the table and he seems young.

  “Big mistake, probably. Haven’t got a clue what to say to her.” And he’s talking to me, on a level, about Donna. Maybe that’s how it goes. Maybe nobody tells you when you graduate in conversation, it just happens.

  Act natural.

  “I’d start with hello,” I say, spooning sugars into the mugs.

  “Yeah,” says Marc. “I’ll be fine. No big deal. You good?”

  The water bubbles.

  “Yeah.”

  Craig Miller.

  “How’d it go with Leia the other night?”

  Craig Miller.

  The water boils. Forget it.

  “Lukey? What’s up?”

  Click.

  “Nothing. Where you meeting her?”

  “At hers. Hopefully her mum and her sister aren’t there.” His thumbs are drumming the table.

  “And you’re driving?” My hand wobbles as I pour the water.

  “Nah, I’m gonna walk. Build up some courage, plan my lines.” He forces a little laugh.

  “Drive,” I say, spilling hot water on the sideboard.

  “Steady on, mate, I think it’s full.”

  I grab the tea towel and mop up the spill. “You should take the car. Did Mum leave it?”

  “Yeah, but I’m gonna walk.”

  I fetch the milk. “Take the car, Marc.” My voice sounds wrong.

  “What’s the problem?” he says.

  “Nothing.” I pour the milk. “I just think it’d be better. What if her mum’s there? If you’ve got the car, you can go somewhere else, you’ve got the option, you know?” I stir, feeling his eyes on me.

  “Jesus, who are you? Hitch?”

  I put his mug in front of him on the table then lean against the side with mine. “I’m just saying. Be prepared, yeah? You don’t wanna get stuck in their living room sitting with her mum and her sister, do ya?”

  I sip my tea to hide.

  Marc nods. “Pretty smart. Anybody’d think you were in college or something.”

  And relax.

  “So come on then, Princess Leia, spill it.” He leans back in his chair and for a second I picture jumping on him, trying to pin him down, whether I could do that, what would happen if we fought.

  “Nothing to spill. She’s a mate, we’re in film studies together, she knows her stuff.”

  Sip again.

  “Shut up, Luke! You kiss her yet?”

  “It’s not like that.” I picture Leia, in the light of the open fire.

  “Ha ha! You’re thinking about her right now!”

  “Piss off, Marc!”

  “Nah, I’m just messing. That’s a good thing, man. Feels good, right?”

  And it does.

  We both sip. Him thinking about Donna, me about Leia, and maybe I feel closer to him. In a different way.

  “One thing I know, mate,” he says, staring into his mug, “the stuff you think will impress them? It’s all bullshit. They see straight through it.”

  He looks up at me. My brother. Do we get to have actual conversations now? Ones about things that matter?

  “You know what I mean, big man?”

  I nod. “Is that why you’re wearing two litres of aftershave?”

  We look at each other.

  And we laugh.

  When I was six Marc nearly killed me.

  We were at Nan’s house. He thought I was asleep.

  The room was all night-grey light and I felt him creeping across the floor from his bed and his shadow slide on to me. Then his pillow was over my face.

  I tried to scream through the fabric, but his older arms pinned my head to the mattress. I can remember the hot cotton in my mouth, the dry air seeping away as my body wriggled like a dog in a noose. I started to see white spots in the black and I couldn’t tell whether my eyes were open or closed, I just felt the weight of him on top of me and knew it was pointless to fight.

  So I stopped.

  I let my body go limp and didn’t try to breathe. My head swam in the hot dark as I felt the last drops of air scrape out from my throat.

  I don’t know how long he waited before he got off. I just remember my gasp as the cold hit my face and my lungs filling, pushing against my ribs.

  I lay there, eyes open, still seeing spots, mouth gulping like a fish out of water, as he moved back to his bed without saying a word.

  Years later he’d deny it. Laugh it off. Tell me I’d dreamt the whole thing, but I know it happened.

  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he wanted me dead. I don’t think murder was his plan.

  I honestly think he just wanted to see what would happen.

  Dad’s under a car, tongue out as he concentrates on unscrewing a nut.

  Screen splits.

  Mum’s staring at a syringe as it fills with blood from an old man’s arm.

  Screen splits again.

  Zia’s in the staff toilets at the supermarket, practising a new joke.

  Screen splits again.

  Tommy’s smacking the shit out of an old shed with a lump hammer while two older builders watch, smiling.

  Screen splits again.

  Noah’s in the college staffroom, forcing a smile as an older woman tells him again about her husband’s operation.

  Screen splits again.

  Donna’s laughing, trying to wash up as Marc tickles her in our kitchen.

  All these films, happening now, at the same time. Always. All of them moving.

  All of the

  “What are you writing? More ideas?”

  Leia’s trying to read upside down. I close my notebook.

  “Just stuff. We going?”

  She nods and we’re walking through campus at lunchtime and it feels different. Familiar. Like I’ve known her longer than three weeks.

  Like we’re already on disc two of the box set of our relationship. Why do you talk like that?

  Then Michelle runs up.

  “Did you ask him?” she says, and Leia looks everywhere, but at me.

  Michelle clocks that she’s put her foot in it and backs away. “Gotta go. I’m supposed to meet Megan. See you later, Luke.” Her eyes flick to Leia, then she’s gone.

  “Ask me what?”

  But Leia’s already walking. I follow her. “What did she mean?”

  I put my hand on her arm. Leia looks down at it. “Nothing.”

  I let go. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”

  “I said nothing.”

  And we walk, both feeling the weird air of an argument that should make absolutely no sense for two people who are just friends.

  Then Noah’s there.

  He must’ve come out of the staffroom block. He’s holding one of those padded yellow jiffy bags. He nods hello at Leia then holds the envel
ope out to me. I read my name and address in black marker.

  “What’s this?”

  Noah shrugs. “I was gonna post it, didn’t want to make a big deal of it in class, but you two are working together so …”

  We both stare at the envelope. It’s just a bit bigger than a DVD. I look at Leia. She shrugs. We both look at Noah.

  “I’ll see you Friday. For your eyes only, yeah?” he says and walks back inside. I look down at the envelope. The handwritten words.

  “Open it,” says Leia, but for some reason I don’t want to. What if it’s something about Marc? Why the hell would it be?

  So I tear it open.

  It is a DVD, called Long Time Round.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I say.

  Leia reads the title. “Me either.”

  I skim the blurb on the back and see the words ‘Birmingham’ and ‘honest’ and ‘trouble’ and ‘perfect’ and then I see his name.

  Written by Noah Clarke.

  “This is his film.”

  “What do you mean?” says Leia.

  “He wrote it. This is the film he wrote.”

  “Noah wrote a film?”

  “Yeah. This one.” It suddenly feels important in my hand.

  “No way!” Leia’s face looks like mine feels. He’s given me a copy of his film. Why does it say Birmingham?

  Because Noah wrote a film about Birmingham.

  “We have to watch it!” Leia says. “We have to watch it right now!”

  And she’s right. We do.

  “You want to come to mine?” she says, both of us buzzing with excitement.

  Then an idea, and I smile. “No.”

  I look at my watch and feel my skin tingling.

  “I’ve got a place.”

  It’s not until we’re climbing the dark narrow staircase to Dad’s flat that I realise that it’s probably gonna be a smelly mess. I’d only thought as far as the privacy it would give us. This was a bad idea. I’m bringing Leia to an art installation of my dad’s pants and empty beer cans. What was I thinking? Calm down. If a bit of mess scares her, she’s not worth it anyway.

  I feel her behind me as we climb. Can’t change my mind now. I start trying to come up with stories about whose place it is. Maybe it’s not Dad’s. Maybe it’s a mate of Dad’s, from work. Some grease monkey bachelor who lets me watch films at his place. Is that better?

  Creepy, is what that is.

  “Maybe we should go to yours,” I say. Not turning round.