Max shakes his head and allows the corner of his mouth to crack a smile. I feel to smile too, but I don’t.
“Is he OK?” I say.
“He’s fine. Split lip and a bit of a bruise. He was so out of it he probably doesn’t remember much.”
For a second I feel a pang of disappointment, before allowing the relief to flow. “He wasn’t in today, I thought, I dunno …”
“Luke, when you’re Simeon Mckenzie, getting battered in front of everyone you know might take a while to get over, you know? Nothing even remotely like that’s ever happened before.”
And now the look on his face is clearer. I think he’s grateful.
I allow myself to smile. “I guess.”
“I reckon he’ll wait a while, let the marks fade.”
We could be friends. Me and Max. In a different life.
He’s staring up at the church. I look down at my hands. Her name runs up and down my throat.
“What about Leia?” I say, finally.
Max’s mouth tightens as he shakes his head. “I dunno, man, that’s different.”
I nod like I already knew that.
“After what happened to her brother and stuff.” What?
“What happened to her brother?”
“Oh,” he says.
“What happened?”
Pause.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He stands up.
“Max? What happened to him?”
Pause.
“They put him in a coma. About a year and a half ago.” He swings his bag over his shoulder. “He was at a cash point. It really messed him up. Her too.”
“Who did it?” I say. It feels like there’s a ball bearing in my throat. Max shrugs. “Just some guys.”
And looking up at him, we both know it doesn’t matter who.
Just like it doesn’t matter when, or why.
All that matters is that she saw it in me.
Toby got put in a coma. That’s why he doesn’t go out. That’s why he was so awkward. And that’s what Leia thinks I am. Somebody capable of that. The pit of my mistake just dropped to the core of the earth.
EXT. – DAY
Walking through crowded shopping street. Sound muted. Bright windows and blurred faces.
I know it’s stupid.
But I just wanna feel near her.
I ride the slow escalators up between the floors, standing statue-still as the scene moves around me.
I get tea and sit in the same place we sat together. It’s a little later than it was that day, but the scattered cast of afternoon old people are all here.
I take out my notebook and my pen and I scan the room, watching eyes staring into space, lost in memories.
Over by the window I recognise the old mixed-race lady from the retired spy couple I saw last time. She’s alone, staring out of the window, one pot of tea on her table. Where’s her partner? My pen taps the page.
He died. He died a couple of weeks ago in his sleep and now she’s on her own. Name?
Rose
Charmaine
She’s here, sitting where they used to sit, remembering him.
I’m sure of it. That’s her story.
She’ll come here every day now, sit at the same table, in memory of him, until she fades away herself.
I should speak to her. I should go over, ask to sit down and speak to her. Give her some company.
What makes you think she wants company?
Cos her husband just died. The love of her life.
I stand up, take my tea and start to walk over.
Nobody’s looking, but it feels like I’m watching myself.
She’s still staring out of the window. Her hair’s back in a bun. She’s wearing a cream cardigan and there’s a thin gold chain against the skin of her neck. She looks like an older Leia.
“Excuse me, young man.”
I step back as her partner moves in between me and their table holding a tray with two plates covered with silver lids. He’s not dead.
“Thank you. Here you go, princess.” He lays the tray delicately down, places her plate in front of her and sits. His dark brown pinstripe suit is immaculate and he smells like soap.
She smiles at him and I’m standing too close to their table for a stranger. They both look up at me.
“Are you OK, son?” says the lady, her voice silky and calm. I’m gripping my cup tightly.
“Sorry,” I say, backing away from them. “I was just … checking the view.”
We’re walking back from football. Me, Marc and Dad. I reckon I’m nine, in my coat and woolly hat. Marc’s got his jacket on, over his muddy black shorts, socks pulled up, carrying his boot bag. Him and Dad are talking about the game. Marc got Man of the Match. Again.
We’re waiting to cross the road on the corner. There’s a big silver car trying to park next to us, on my side. I watch the red brake lights go on and off. Dad and Marc are busy talking and don’t see it and, as we step out, the car reverses right towards me. I freeze.
Then Dad jumps in the way. The car jerks to a stop. I look up at Dad. His face goes hard, then he smacks both his hands down on the boot of the car. It sounds like a fridge falling over and the whole car bounces. The driver’s door opens and a man who looks like a teacher gets out and he’s like, “What the hell are you doing?!”
Dad moves me back on to the kerb next to Marc. “Wait here,” he says, and walks round to the front. Next thing, he’s pinned the guy against the side of his car and he’s saying. “You could’ve killed my boy! Why don’t you use the eyes that God gave you?” and his voice is full of thunder, but he’s not shouting and I’m scared, for the guy and myself, for what might happen. Dad grips the guy’s head and turns it so he’s looking at me and I’m embarrassed and excited and Dad says, “Apologise to him.”
The guy looks confused and my stomach drops, cos it feels wrong, but part of me’s buzzing, and the guy says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.” Dad holds him there for a second, then lets him go, walks back round to us, grabs both our hands and leads us across the road. His eyes look straight ahead the whole time.
I turn around and the guy’s just standing there, shaking. I look up at Dad and he must feel it, cos he says, “Some people don’t understand anything else, son.”
I try to work out what he means as we walk. I look at Marc and he’s staring up at Dad, like he’s looking at the coolest man in the world.
INT – AFTERNOON
Three men sit in a living room, like Russian dolls, watching the TV.
“Quality,” Marc says, as Russell Crowe floats through tall grass into the afterlife. “Father to a murdered son.”
“Are you not entertained!” shouts Dad, holding his arms out to the packed coliseum. They both look at me like it’s my turn to say something.
But I just check my phone, again. Nothing.
Marc and Dad are exchanging looks.
“What?” I say.
They give synchronised shrugs and pull their best oblivious expressions.
“She can’t stay mad forever,” says Marc, like it’s a line from the big brother comfort handbook.
“Who can’t?” says Dad. Nice one, big mouth.
“Leia,” he says. “Luke’s girl, he upset her the other night.”
And just like that, I’m on stage, like it’s Jeremy Kyle or something. Marc’s hosting. He explains his version of my version of what happened. Dad’s the relationship expert, nodding along, murmuring his approval.
“She might need some time,” he says. “Time’s your best friend.” I look at Marc. He’s not even smiling. They’re both completely deadpan.
“I smacked her ex-boyfriend in front of her, Dad. He was wasted and couldn’t even really defend himself. She hates violence, like properly. Everybody saw it.” I see Leia’s face. I don’t mention Toby. “I messed up.”
Dad actually rubs his chin like he’s contemplating the best course of action. Marc mimics h
im.
“Why are we even talking about this?” I reach for the remote control.
“Easy, Lukey,” says Dad, patting the air in front of him.
Marc gets up. “Time for steak. Joseph, medium-well?”
Dad nods.
“Cassanova?”
He’s trying to make me laugh. I’m having none of it.
“Calm down. We’ll sort it,” he says. “And in plenty of time for your birthday.”
And that’s when it hits me.
I’m seventeen in a week and a half.
INT. KITCHEN – NIGHT
Girl finishes drying a plate. She checks her phone on the sideboard, shakes her head and leaves the kitchen.
“Stop bloody thinking, will ya?” Dad says, as I hand him the wet frying pan. He’s drying, Marc’s putting away. His steak was amazing.
“I told you, give her some time.” The pan looks small as he rubs the tea towel over it.
“Can we just leave the relationship advice, Dad, please?” I dig into the hot soapy water for cutlery. “Does Mum even know you’re here?”
Dad shrugs too dramatically. “Of course she does. I told her I was popping over to see you both. She’s fine with it.”
“I bet she was.”
I feels his eyes burning me.
“What’s that mean?” says Marc. I stare into the dark glass of the window and see the three of us. We look like weight lifters on the podium. Dad’s gold in the middle, me and Marc look the same height, though, so who’s silver?
“Nothing,” I say, pulling the plug out.
“Unexpected gift at an unexpected time,” says Marc, closing the cupboard.
Me and Dad look at him. He shrugs. “I’m telling ya.”
“Where’s that from?” says Dad, racking his brains.
I’ve heard it before too, but I can’t place it. Marc’s beaming. “The key to a woman’s heart, is an unexpected gift at an unexpected time. Remember? The one with Sean Connery. He’s the old writer geezer and the basketball kid breaks into his house and that.”
Dad’s still trying to figure out what it is as he fills the kettle.
“Finding Forrester,” I say.
“That’s it!” says Marc. “Remember, Dad?”
Dad clicks the kettle on and shrugs. “Nope. Getting old.” He taps his temple. “Sounds like good advice though.”
“But what gift?” I say.
Marc takes mugs out. “That’s on you, mate. Great players make things happen, Lukey.” He spoons two sugars into all three. “Something personal.”
Dad brings the milk from the fridge. “Something from when you first met. Best gifts are the ones you make,” he says, sitting down opposite me. “I used to make tapes for your mum, back in the day.” He smiles at the memory.
“What’s she into, Lukey?” asks Marc. “What’s something that’ll feel special?”
We sit with our teas. Three boys, thinking about three girls.
I see Leia’s face in the light from her fire as we sat in front of it. The heat. Stealing looks at her as we watched the film on her sofa. How much do I really know her? I feel like I got closer to her than any other girl ever, but what does that really mean? I didn’t know about Toby. What else don’t I know? Probably loads more than I do. I didn’t even have time to find out important stuff, and now I’ve blown it.
“Well?” says Marc.
I shake my head. “I haven’t got a clue.”
I never saw anybody nervous.
Growing up as Big Joe Henry’s son, little brother of Marc Henry, what’s to be nervous about?
They’ve got everything under control. Nothing rattles them. That’s what you think.
That’s what I thought.
What’s gonna happen?
Relax, Lukey, what’s the problem?
Like all you need to do is highlight the problem to deal with it. Like it’s all under your control.
Decide what the problem is, then either hit it or walk away. Job done. Problem solved.
Nerves don’t even come into it.
Five days since I saw Leia. Five days since her question. Five days of me not replying. How many minutes staring at my phone?
Max and Jono are walking out of the refectory as I approach it.
No Simeon. I keep my head up. They both blank me as we pass.
I watch them walk away. They look kind of awkward without their leader. Like they’re not even speaking to each other.
Max turns back and sees me looking. I shrug. He nods. And I know it means that Leia’s here today.
Mum said: Nothing’s ever as bad as you imagined it, but nothing’s ever as good either.
She sits next to Jono.
Everyone else just gets on with their work, oblivious to Leia clearly avoiding me, even though it feels like the loudest statement to me. Her hair’s out. I’ve never seen it like that before. It’s gorgeous. She’s wearing a man’s cotton checked shirt with the sleeves rolled up and she looks like the fittest dancer from a music video.
She won’t even look at me.
Gutted.
Noah’s definitely noticed. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Our idea seems dead without her. It’s dead anyway, thanks to me. Is that what you are?
Forget her. Just do your own thing.
And what’s that?
I feel to leave, to walk out, but I don’t want her to see me do that.
I pretend to write in my notebook for the first half of the lesson. Leia seems to be writing loads. What’s she writing? Just forget her.
A phone beeps and people look up. Leia too. Everyone checks their phone. I stay staring at her. The phone beeps again. Everyone’s looking at me. It’s my phone. Noah’s frowning. I force a smile, then check under the desk as everyone goes back to working.
Yo. Football tomorrow night. Come. Let’s squash this. Z
I picture Zia in the freezer behind the milk display, sneakily typing the text. I haven’t spoken to him or Tommy since the weekend. Does Tommy know he’s asked me?
“I generally prefer mobiles to be switched off.” Noah’s standing in front of my desk. I scan the room; nobody’s watching us.
“Sorry,” I say, pushing my phone into my hip pocket.
“No worries,” he says. “How’s it going?”
He’s looking at my face. The bruises are fading, but they’re still there. He points at my notebook. “With your story?”
“Oh.” I stare at my page of doodles and notice I’ve drawn a pattern of knives. “Yeah.” I look up at him. His beard’s almost full now. He looks older. “I might have to re-think,” I say.
Noah nods. “I see. Well maybe we should talk it out, help you get it clear?”
I nod back.
“I thought we’d watch a film tomorrow,” he says. I frown.
“In class, I mean. Inspired by you. I thought we’d watch Leon.”
And as he says the word, that’s when I sense her watching, past him, from the other side of the room. I don’t look over, but I know her eyes are on me, I can feel them, and not in the way that I want.
The feeling rolls over me, like a tractor wheel.
It’s done.
INT. – DAY
A deep plastic bowl full of coarsely cut homemade coleslaw is placed on to a fridge shelf. The sound of a man whistling, happy in his work.
Mum’s coming down the stairs in her work clothes, tying her hair back.
I close the front door.
“What happened, love?” She stands there, looking into me.
“Nothing.” I drop my bag next to the phone. “I’m fine.”
Mum smiles. “You need a cup of tea.”
She’s right. I do. I need a cup of tea and to talk about what’s happened with someone who isn’t gonna quote Sean Connery. Can I smell cake?
“I saw Zia at the supermarket,” she says, straightening her collar.
“Did you speak to him?”
“Not really.” She checks herself in the mirror. �
��Just a quick hello. You should play football tomorrow night.”
I picture her and Zia chatting in the cereal aisle and shrug. Mum turns to me. “You should. It’s important to make time for your mates too, you know. All work and no play and all that.”
She smiling, and there’s something different about her, the way she’s moving. Something lighter.
“I’m on all night, but your brother said he’d be back later.” She takes her jacket off the banister. She’s going.
“Where’s he gone?”
“Somewhere with Donna. He mentioned cooking for your birthday, you all right with that? He’s been practising. You could ask your mates over?”
“What about my cup of tea?”
“Kettle’s just boiled, love. You can sort yourself, right? There’s fish fingers in the freezer and Marc made bread and lovely coleslaw.”
She brushes past me to the door.
“See you tomorrow.” A blown kiss, then a frown. “Phone your mates. Sort it out.”
And she’s gone. Just me in an empty house.
I don’t bother with the tea and go up to my room. Lie down. Open my laptop. Long Time Round still inside. I stare at the ‘The Brothers Different’ folder I created on my desktop. Guess I need to start again.
Shit.
Click DVD player. Menu. Play.
Everything’s black and white.
I’m on top of him. My knees either side of his chest. My fists swinging, hitting his head. His face is pale. His eyes are closed. Blood dark as tar.
The thud of each impact shooting up my arms. Growling.
Hands reaching from all around me, pulling at me, trying to stop me hitting him. His face is broken.
The side of it caved in.
I keep hitting, the whole time feeling this sharp stabbing in my throat, in my chest.
Like I’ve swallowed a kitchen knife. Simeon. Simeon.
His eyes creak open. Not Simeon.
Her bloody mouth moves. Craig. Craig.
But it’s not Craig.
Her mouth.
It’s Leia.
Battered. Staring.“Is that what you are?”
I sit up, chest heaving, sheen of sweat on my back. It’s a dream.
I was dreaming.
Is that what you are?
Guilt in my skin.
My room’s all dark and silver edges. Like those pictures where you scratch off the black to reveal the image.
I feel my face.
It's About Love Page 20