‘Yes, you did.’
Silence.
‘Please. Just give me until tomorrow. That’s all I’m asking. I need time to think.’
‘All right. Have it your own way. I’ll come round tomorrow.’
I nodded gratefully. ‘Thank you. So where are you going now? Home?’
‘I guess so. I’ve nowhere else to go,’ he said. There it was again, that note in his voice that made me want to take him in my arms and never let him go. It took all my resolve not to ask him to stay with me. God knows I wanted to. Even though we were together, neither of us had ever felt so alone.
‘I think you should go home before your mum has me arrested for abducting you,’ I said at last.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And Jayna, do me a favour?’
‘Anything.’ Almost anything.
‘Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. Not yet,’ said Andrew.
I nodded. Andrew left my house and turned to walk along the street. After a few steps, he turned back to regard me for a moment, saying nothing, before he continued on his way. I shut the front door. Tomorrow. I’d wait till tomorrow. Maybe there was a way out of this for Andrew, and me. Maybe he was only saying he didn’t want to change because he thought he couldn’t.
But first things first. Right now, all I wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep. And maybe I would sleep my troubles away. Mum always said that things looked better in the morning.
20
MONDAY AFTERNOON WAS beautiful. I woke up with sunshine streaming through my window and warming my face. I felt better; not good, but better. I had a long, cool shower and trotted downstairs for a late breakfast. Only once I was in the kitchen I wasn’t hungry any more. I rattled around like a lone bean in a tin can. I opened the fridge and then closed it. Opened cupboard doors, then closed them. I sighed, about to give up, when the doorbell rang unexpectedly, making me jump.
Andrew? God, I hadn’t expected him to come round so early. The bell rang again. Wiping my sweaty hands on some kitchen towel, I went to open the door, my heart crashing against my ribs.
It was Pete.
‘Hello, Pete. Come in.’ I smiled with relief, stepping aside for him.
‘Hiya, Jayna. You’re pleased to see me,’ he said, surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘What are you after? I don’t owe you money, do I?’
‘Of course not!’ I laughed, shutting the door behind him. ‘Though if you can’t remember I should’ve said you did.’ We went into the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of orange juice and then sat down.
‘D’you mind if I have one?’ Pete asked.
‘Sorry, Pete! Help yourself. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘Yeah, I can guess.’ He frowned. ‘Andy hasn’t turned up yet, then?’
I shrugged, unsure how to answer. Andrew had asked me not to say anything about his return. I wasn’t sure why, but the least I could do was respect his wishes.
‘I just popped round to see how you were after last night. Is there anything I can do for you?’ Pete asked, his head buried in the fridge.
I shook my head as I watched him. ‘No, but thanks for offering.’
Pete looked round and smiled at me. If he and I had been an item, my life would be so uncomplicated.
‘What are you thinking? You look wistful.’
‘I was just wondering what it would have been like to go out with you – if you hadn’t stood me up on our first date. Do you remember?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ he said quietly. His smile had disappeared.
‘Why did you stand me up?’
‘I wanted to explain at the time, but you weren’t in the mood to listen and Andrew was always nearby.’
‘What’s Andrew got to do with it?’
Pete straightened up, a carton of milk in his hand. Frown lines creased his forehead. ‘Jayna, are you and Andrew still going strong?’
‘Yes. I guess . . .’ I replied. ‘You’d better sniff that before you drink any.’
Pete swirled the milk around in its carton. He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut. His expression was a kaleidoscope of indecision before he finally made up his mind and the indecision cleared.
‘Look, I’m not telling you this to stir up trouble between you and Andrew. But I do want to clear the air on this one,’ he said at last.
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked, my orange juice forgotten in my hands.
‘I didn’t stand you up, Jayna. Or rather I didn’t meet you outside the cinema like we’d planned, but I did send you a message to say I couldn’t make it.’
‘I didn’t get any message.’
‘I know.’ Pete’s face was grim.
‘There were no messages on my phone. I double-and triple-checked.’
‘My phone died on me a couple of hours before we were due to go on our date. I had to find some other way to let you know I wasn’t going to make it,’ said Pete.
‘Did you leave a message with my mum?’ I voiced my suspicion. Mum was really bad at passing on my messages.
He shook his head.
I was getting impatient. ‘Stop being so mysterious, Pete Shorman. What happened?’
‘I . . . I asked someone to tell you that I wouldn’t be able to make it,’ he said quietly.
‘Who?’
‘Can’t you guess?’
‘Pete, for heaven’s sake! Just come right out and—’ I stared at him. ‘You don’t mean . . .’
‘I asked Andrew to tell you,’ he said quietly.
‘You can’t be serious. My Andrew?’ I couldn’t believe it.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything . . .’
Why did people say what they wanted, only to wonder afterwards if maybe they shouldn’t have said anything?
‘Let me get this straight. You asked Andrew to tell me you couldn’t make it to our first date, and instead of passing on your message, he took me out himself?’
He shrugged. ‘That’s about right.’
‘I don’t believe it. Andrew would never do anything so . . . so underhand,’ I protested vehemently. I stared at him. I couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. Andrew wouldn’t do something so despicable. He just wouldn’t.
Pete looked at me, then burst out laughing. ‘You have to admit, Jayna, I did have you going for a while.’
‘Pete, you git! I should brain you. I thought you were serious,’ I said, shaking my head.
‘I’m good, aren’t I?’
‘Very,’ I agreed ruefully. ‘So are you going to tell me why you stood me up or not?’
‘Where do you keep your glasses?’ he asked, abandoning the milk after a cautious sniff at it.
Impatiently, I pointed to the high-level cupboard next to the cooker. Pete took out a glass and poured himself some juice, slowly swirling it round before drinking it.
‘Well?’ I asked.
‘It’s as you thought. I simply forgot we had a date.’
I should’ve been annoyed, insulted at the very least, but I wasn’t. ‘At least you’re honest,’ I said drily.
‘Aren’t I just,’ he said, before knocking back the last of his orange juice. ‘Come on, then. If you’ve finished stuffing your face, let’s go out somewhere. It will stop you worrying about Andrew for a while.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
Pete smiled. ‘Jayna, you have a face like an illustrated book.’
I thought about it. Should I wait for Andrew? But how could I? I didn’t know what time he’d turn up. I thought about phoning him but decided against it. I was missing him, but what we both needed was a few hours away from each other. Time to consider. I still hadn’t worked out what we were going to do, what I was going to do.
But I had to make up my mind, and soon.
21
PETE AND I spent the rest of the day together. We just ambled about, talking. Pete didn’t even mind when I suggested that we go into town to do some window-shopping – Andrew hated that sort of thing. The h
ours flew by until finally we hopped on a bus and headed back home. We bought a takeaway pizza and started walking back to my house. The day had flown by to make way for a beautiful evening. Scattered cotton ball clouds blotted the sky, and the low sun was so orange it almost looked like the sky was on fire. I raised my face, my eyes closed, enjoying the feel of the fading sunlight on my face. It was delicious.
‘I never figured you for a sun-worshipper,’ Pete noted with a smile.
‘Who wouldn’t be on a day like today? The whole day was perfect.’
‘It has been fun,’ he agreed.
Once home, we sat in the living room eating the pizza. Pete was good company. He seemed to know when to speak, and when to stay silent. Just the occasional smile as we sat eating pizzas was enough. With a start I realized what it was about him that comforted me. He was normal. He represented normality when everything else around me was topsy-turvy. To think that I should find something so ordinary so attractive.
The living room grew darker. I stood up and went to the window to close the curtains. As I looked out of the window I could see that the sun had now set.
‘What are you doing?’ Pete asked, moving to stand behind me.
‘Watching the sky before it gets dark.’
‘Come and let me thrash you at Olympic Tennis instead.’
I wasn’t really in the mood for a computer game. The only thing I had on my mind was Andrew and what I would do when I saw him again, but I smiled and closed the curtains, wondering why Andrew hadn’t even phoned me yet. Would he come to see me like he said he would? Or maybe he would simply give up and not bother? No, the Andrew I knew would never give up.
Pete switched on the TV and set up our match. Within five minutes he was two games down and losing 15–40 in the third game.
‘Are you asleep or just phoning it in?’ I teased.
‘Right! It’s on now,’ Pete took a firmer hold of his controller, like that would do any good.
Another five minutes and I was serving for the set. Then, to my annoyance, the doorbell rang.
‘Oh, Pete, could you get that?’ I said. ‘It’s probably Mrs Tout from across the street. If I answer the door, she’ll insist on coming in. Don’t let her keep you talking, whatever you do.’
‘What about the match?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll pause our game and thrash you when you get back.’ I grinned.
‘We’ll just see about that,’ he replied.
Fighting words! Pete went to answer the door whilst I practised my backhand. The next thing I heard was the front door being slammed shut and a violent commotion. Dropping the game controller, I ran into the hall. Then I saw something that chilled my soul.
Andrew, his face puce with rage, had hold of Pete by the neck and was holding him up in the air. Pete’s feet were well off the ground and kicking furiously. And he was choking, desperately trying to yell out to be put down, but he couldn’t draw enough breath to fill his lungs and speak coherently. His eyes were furious – and terrified. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Andrew stepped closer into him, his arm tensing as his grip on Pete tightened. A few more seconds and he’d snap Pete’s neck.
‘No . . . Andrew!’ I screamed. ‘Don’t . . .’
Andrew began to extend his arm and I rushed forward to where Andrew would have thrown Pete.
‘Andrew, put him down. Now! Please!’
‘What’s he doing here?’ Andrew asked furiously.
‘Eating pizza and playing computer games, that’s all,’ I said quickly. ‘Now let go of him!’
Andrew glared at me and I stared back. This Andrew I’d never seen before – his face was hard and gaunt, his eyes like lasers burning straight into me. Then he took a deep breath and his body relaxed. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again my Andrew was back. Slowly he lowered his arms and set Pete down.
Pete collapsed onto the hall carpet, coughing and retching as he tried to breathe again. His hands flew to his neck as he tried to rub away the pain he still felt. ‘Andrew, what the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ he croaked, staggering to his feet.
Andrew was still looking at me as Pete drew back his arm and, making a fist, swung for him. Andrew caught the punch so quickly that I didn’t even see his hand move. And he was still looking at me.
‘Go away, Pete. I want to talk to Jayna,’ Andrew said quietly.
‘I’m not leaving her with you,’ Pete said furiously, pulling away his hand.
‘Yes, you are.’ For the first time Andrew turned to look at Pete, and Pete flinched, his head moving back slightly.
‘It’s OK, Pete. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. OK?’ I didn’t want him in a fight he couldn’t win.
‘Jayna, are you going to be all right?’ Pete said after a long pause.
‘Of course I am.’ I tried to smile and failed miserably. ‘Thanks for coming to see me today.’
‘Are you sure you want me to leave?’
I nodded.
‘I’m coming round to see you first thing tomorrow morning,’ Pete said, glaring at Andrew.
‘No, it’s OK. I’ll phone you – I promise. Sometime tomorrow.’
Two spots of colour, red as blood, appeared on Andrew’s cheeks. I went to walk round him to see Pete to the door, but Andrew caught my arm and wouldn’t let me past. So I watched as Pete stepped out of the house. He cast one last look at me.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said softly.
I smiled unhappily. Then Andrew shut the door and I closed my eyes, stretching out my fingers until my joints ached.
‘Take your damned hands off me,’ I hissed up at him, pulling away. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? Morgan?’ A dam had burst inside me and I couldn’t control the rage spewing out of my mouth.
‘You shouldn’t have let him in here—’ Andrew began.
‘Oh? And just when did my mum sell this house to you? If I want the whole of the Manchester United football team in here, there’s not a damn thing you can do or say about it. What the hell did you think you were doing, lifting Pete up like that?’
Andrew regarded me but said nothing.
‘How dare you humiliate me like that? What’s the matter with you? Did that man in Fipoli suck out your brains as well as your blood?’
And still Andrew said nothing, which just made me more furious. I wanted to lash out and hurt him. I yearned to hurt him.
‘I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you,’ I shouted. ‘You disgust me. And you want to turn me into the same as you? Well, I won’t let you do it. I won’t. I won’t. You turn my stomach.’
I saw him swallow. Just that. He swallowed – and I knew I’d gone too far.
22
ANDREW TURNED AWAY from me. His hunched shoulders, his whole demeanour, made him seem like an old man as he walked towards the front door and opened it.
‘I’m sorry I troubled you,’ he said quietly, his back to me. ‘I won’t bother you again, Jayna, you have my word.’ He went out of the house, closing the door slowly behind him.
‘Andrew . . .’
He didn’t close the door but he didn’t open it either. I waited. He waited.
‘Andrew, don’t . . . don’t go.’
An eternity passed. Andrew walked back into the house, his head bent. He shut the door carefully before leaning his forehead against it, his back to me. I couldn’t see his face, his expression. What was he thinking? Was he as unhappy as I was?
So this was it. The moment of decision. It was up to me now. We were a sigh’s breadth away from splitting up. And I didn’t want that to happen. God knows I didn’t.
‘Make me the same as you, Andrew.’ It was a struggle to get the words out. ‘Make it so we can always be together . . .’
‘Why?’
He still hadn’t turned round. It made what I had to say easier.
‘Because I’m miserable. Because we’re not the same any more, but . . . but I’d rather be miserable with you than without you.’
‘Once you’re the same as me, there will be no going back.’
‘I know.’
He straightened up and turned round to face me. ‘I’m sorry about Pete. I lost my temper.’
‘You had no reason to.’
‘I know. I see that now.’
He stood at the front door. I stood by the stairs. Why were we so far apart? I was confused. I did love him, but what he was, what he did, still turned me off. Looking at Andrew now, I tried to tell myself that he was still the same. We were still the same. We loved each other. So why couldn’t I get over this feeling that what I was about to do was very, very wrong?
‘So what happens next?’ I asked at last.
‘When are your mum and Teegan coming home?’
‘Not until Saturday.’
‘Then let’s go upstairs.’
At his words, I shook physically. I was scared – and ashamed because I felt so scared.
‘A-are you going to m-make love to me?’ I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
‘I can’t. Not until you’re the same as me,’ said Andrew. ‘Then I’m all yours.’
‘I don’t understand. Why do I need to be the same as you first?’ I asked.
‘Just something Julius told me. Trust me on this,’ said Andrew.
I opened my mouth to argue with him, to ask for more details, but then I thought better of it. Some things were maybe best left unsaid.
He smiled, guessing at the conflict going on in my head. My curiosity was voracious and I wasn’t usually shy about asking upfront and personal questions. I smiled back ruefully and Andrew held out his hand. I moved forward to take it. This was it. After tonight there would be no going back.
Once in my room, Andrew sat on my chair while I sat on the very edge of the bed. My stomach knotted with tension. Strangely, I wanted to laugh. Laugh and never stop. All day I’d avoided even thinking about this moment, as if by not thinking about it, I could stop it from happening. Now here I was, caught up in something I couldn’t understand or control.
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