by Andy Robb
“Everything all right, Archie? Haven’t you got a home to go to?”
I have. But I don’t want to go back there. All that waits for me at home is the news that my mum will have allied herself with a Tosser and I will no longer belong to any family in particular. Even the thought of walking back with Sarah has lost its appeal. For a split second, I consider unburdening myself and telling Mr Cook everything that’s going on in my life. He’s my form tutor as well as my Geography teacher and he’s always letting us know that we can talk to him if we can’t talk to anyone else about stuff. But I already did that with Sarah and look where it got me: no friends, no girlfriend, an appointment with Certain Death at the hands of Jason Humphries, and a pink handkerchief in my top pocket. It’s not good.
“Sorry, sir. Daydreaming, I guess.”
“Well, as long as everything’s OK…?”
There’s the Gift Horse again, and I give it a full oral examination, coward that I am.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” The words tumble out of my mouth a little too fast and I get my stuff together as quickly as I can. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you, then.”
The corridors are emptying of students, much like a bath draining of water. My misery is so profound that my Grunt DetectorTM fails to spot two Neanderthal figures lurking by the school gates and before I know what’s what, Paul Green and Lewis Mills have got me by the arms and have dragged me down the little alley behind the History loft. Jason Humphries appears, swathed in smoke, like some creature of the Netherworld. Where my fist connected with his nose, there are now two bruises ringing his eyes, upping his Fear Factor into six figures.
“Bet you think you’re something special, don’t you?” he hisses out of the side of his mouth that doesn’t have a cigarette dangling from it. “Think you’re hard.”
Strangely, I’m too miserable to be frightened; I’ve got too much else on my plate at the moment. Instead of the familiar scream of adrenalin, there’s only the tired sigh of resignation.
“Not really. No.”
“What?” The tendons in his rippling face work together to create an ugly mask of confusion. “Are you taking the piss, Geekboy? From what I’ve heard, everyone thinks you gave me a kicking.”
“No, I’m not taking the piss,” I reply dejectedly. “I got lucky. I’m no fighter. I’m not anything.”
For some reason, this admission unsettles him even more and he cocks his head, either trying to size me up or let a stray thought roll out of one ear.
“Think squealing to Mrs Holly’s going to help, do you? Gonna get your mummy to ring her up again?”
But I’m beyond being goaded and just about manage a feeble shrug.
Finally, Jason reaches some Olympian decision in his head.
“Pathetic!” he spits. “Hold him.”
With that, Mills and Green pull my jacket down over my arms as Humphries primes one of his fists for action. I always thought left-handers were supposed to be the artistic sort.
I wait for the inevitable.
“What’s that?”
I open my eyes and follow Humphries’s battered gaze to my chest.
“My hanky.”
“What? What you wearing that for?” Without waiting for my answer, Humphries pulls it out of my top pocket and it opens, flower-like, in all its pink, frilly glory.
“A pink hanky? Are you gay?” he sneers, a nasty laugh forming on his lips as he shoves it under my nose. “What’s this for? Mopping up the blood after I’ve done with you?” I dimly recall Matt saying something similar; perhaps he’s got psychic powers.
“It’s for calming criminals,” I reply without any thought or irony. But right now, it’s hardly the lump of kryptonite I was hoping for.
“What?” This information causes some sort of systems overload in my attacker and he starts to laugh, waving my hanky around like some sort of Satanic morris dancer. Green and Mills start laughing too and soon the air is thick with murderous mirth.
“Oi! What’re you boys up to?” Mr Cook’s voice cuts through the braying. Humphries stops stone dead and rubs the hanky in my face.
“You’ll keep!” he hisses and the trio of bullies scatters.
“Archie? What’s going on?” Mr Cook appears in the alley.
“Nothing, sir.”
“Well get home, then!”
“Sir.”
Pocketing my handkerchief and shakily shrugging my jacket on, I leave the school premises, slightly unsure as to what’s just happened. I think I’ve just been saved by a pink hanky.
“I wondered where you’d got to.” Sarah is waiting for me on the pavement. “I thought you’d stood me up!”
The irony isn’t lost on me and, despite feeling grateful about my narrow escape, the Fog of Unrequited Love falls on me once again. It’s going to be a long walk home.
Every step I take feels inadequate. My chin is as naked as a baby’s backside and I am a Geek. And each word Sarah speaks hardens to form a knife that strikes straight at my heart. Not even her reassurances that Humphries will probably leave me alone offer me any comfort.
“What’s up, Archie? You’re a bit quiet. And you were very quiet at lunch. Everything OK? You’re not embarrassed by what you told me at the weekend, are you?”
What do I say? That thanks to her thinly disguised flirting with Chris Jackson, my life has no meaning? Instead, I offer up a rough approximation of my concerns about Tony’s proposal to Mum. It’s a futile, last-ditch sympathy card, but I play it anyway.
“I don’t think you need to worry too much about it, Archie. It’s only a piece of paper. It doesn’t really change anything.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I lie. “It just feels a bit weird.”
“It’s only as big a problem as you choose to make it, Archie. Everything’ll turn out for the best.”
“I s’pose.”
“Hey – did you like my trick with Chris at lunchtime?”
She’s obviously completely unaware of how I feel. But who am I to stand in the way of True Love? No one, that’s who.
“Yeah… You had me fooled!”
“Sorry it had to be over lunch, but I didn’t think I was going to get another opportunity.”
I know how she feels.
“Yeah. So, it was a trick? You can’t read palms?”
“Oh, I can a bit, but I just told him what he needed to hear.”
Her self-confidence is chilling. This is more what I’d have expected from the White Witch of Narnia; perhaps she’s watched that film a bit too often.
“OK…” I dread the answer as the words leave my lips. “So, what happens next?”
“That’s up to him and Caitlyn, I guess.”
“Caitlyn?” I’ve never seen a guppy, but I think I might look like one now.
“Yeah. She’s fancied him for ages. I couldn’t tell you, but that’s why she wasn’t there at lunch.”
“What – you were…”
“…pointing him in the right direction, yeah. They both like each other, but neither of them’s had the nerve to do anything about it.”
Within the blink of an eye, the world is suddenly a brighter place. My positively-charged batteries fire up and my PS has enough power to start up again.
PS: The power of positivity cannot be denied!
I think my denial days are over. For fear of opening my mouth and saying the wrong thing, I change the subject and tell Sarah about the protective powers of my pink handkerchief. Pearls of laughter rain down on me, soothing my troubled soul.
“I’m not sure I buy into all that colour stuff,” she giggles. “Not to the point where I’d trust my life to a pink hanky.”
“Yeah,” I laugh in agreement, comfortable in my role as court jester and happy to betray my beliefs at the drop of a hat.
PS: She is the source of positive energy! See how much better you feel in her company!
Once the giggling subsides, the conversation turns to psychic stuff and I
find myself telling Sarah just how different I’m feeling; like I’m coming out of my shell and discovering the real me.
“Well, I think the thing is not to rush it, Archie. It’s powerful stuff and you need to give each phase the weight it deserves.”
“How d’you mean?”
“Everything you’re discovering is new; you’re in a transitional stage, like a butterfly coming out of its chrysalis.”
“One step at a time, sort of thing?”
“Definitely. The way we think and feel is down to years of learned behaviour. You can’t just unlearn it overnight. It’s not a competition; you should just go at the speed that’s right for you.”
Eventually, the time comes for her to peel off and I’m left with a feeling like sunshine in my stomach as I walk the remainder of the journey home. I’m still in with a chance; all I’ve got to do is try and plug into her mindset and the rest will follow. But even the sun has to set: the feeling lasts until I see my house at the end of the street and I stand for a while, just looking at it.
I don’t want to go in.
I don’t want Mum and Tony to be engaged.
But I live there.
With a deep breath and a sinking heart, I head inside.
I walk through the front door and straight into Tony descending the stairs – no doubt from another sortie to the toilet. The newspaper under his arm kind of gives the game away.
“All right, Arch?” He’s either playing his cards close to his chest or suffering from some strain-induced form of amnesia.
“Yeah… How’d it go?”
“What?”
“You know … the ring thing…”
From a normal human being you’d either expect a few “hoorays” to be thrown about or a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Tony gives me nothing to work with but a few chuckles and the instruction to “Go and ask your mother”. This must be what it feels like to be on Death Row.
I follow the sound of the radio to the kitchen, to find Mum on her hands and knees with her head in a cupboard. Despite the burden on my shoulders, this sight makes me smile – especially when she swears to the clatter of pans. Mum has a special way of swearing: it’s not offensive, probably because her favourite curse sounds like it was made up by a Victorian spinster.
“Buggeration!” Clatter, clatter.
“OK down there?”
Mum extracts her head from the cupboard and hauls herself to her feet.
“God, I’m getting old!” she half mutters. “Hello, love – how was your day? Cup of tea?” She can rattle off questions faster than a Gatling gun.
“Good, thanks. Yes, please.”
“How did your hanky go down?”
“Yeah, it was good. What about you?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.”
The usual? Have I missed something? Are marriage proposals a part of my mother’s everyday life? I’m starting to wonder whether I’ve imagined the whole thing, or whether some rogue brain surgeon has been hard at work on Mum while I was at school, when she suddenly remembers the vital part of her day.
“Oh, yes! Tony asked me to marry him today.” It’s casual and non-committal enough to stretch me on the rack just a little bit further.
“And…?” Trying to keep the frustration out of my voice puts a strain on my psychic reserves.
“I said no.”
Anticipation of an entirely different answer makes my eyes widen; it’s like tensing yourself for a blow that never comes. Perhaps there’s more to this pink hanky malarkey than Sarah gives it credit for.
“What? Why?”
“I’ve been married, Archie,” Mum says a bit sadly, but still managing to supply me with a cup of the Holy Brew. “I don’t need to do it again. I think it was marriage that finished off my relationship with your dad.”
When I actually come round to understanding that statement, I’m sure I’ll have to concede that I’ve become an adult.
“Oh. How’s Tony?”
“He’s fine.”
“Really? He’s not upset?” Despite the fact that I was dreading an impending marriage, part of me is morally outraged that Tony could take this rejection so casually.
“Go and see for yourself.”
I lumber into the lounge on autopilot, as I struggle to try and make sense of all this: no one seems that bothered. It’s not that I want to kick up a hornets’ nest or anything, but everyone seems to be handling this so … positively.
“All right, Tony?”
“Yes, mate.” He doesn’t even bother to put down the paper he’s reading.
“I heard about … you know … the ring thing.”
“Oh, yeah!” Another sofa-bound chuckle from behind The Times.
“Are you… Are you OK?”
The paper goes down at this, with all the majesty of a drawbridge being lowered.
“Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Well … she said no…”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t that bad?”
More chuckling, which, quite frankly, is starting to get on my nerves. If there’s some secret at the heart of all this, somebody’d better tell me soon.
“Let me tell you something, Arch…” (I hate it when grown-ups talk like this) “…it wasn’t that she said ‘no’, it’s why she said it.” He knows that this statement demands qualification and I know that I’m going to have to ask for it.
“OK. Why?”
“She said she was happy enough and she doesn’t need a ring to make her any happier. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”
“Oh. Right. OK.”
Either I’ve been party to an incredibly Zen-like approach to relationships or somebody’s been spiking the tea. If he could just leave it there, I might have some respect for him, but Tony being Tony and, therefore, a Tosser, can’t.
“And how’s it going with your little lady?”
“I don’t need to borrow the ring yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A final round of chuckling from Tony’s crisp-packet lungs sends me up to my Lair. I flip open my laptop and head straight for Facebook. Matt still doesn’t exist and Ravi’s uploaded a picture of a figure he’s just completed, possibly trying to get my attention. Beggsy, however, is still trumpeting the news of my tussle with Jason Humphries as loudly as possible. His status reads: “GUESS WHO GOT THEIR ASS KICKED BY ARCHIE?” There are a few guesses from friends, including “Miley Cyrus”, which makes me smile. But at the end, he can’t help himself and puts Jason’s name, with an unnecessary number of exclamation marks. Not the best idea he’s ever had, especially given how Jason found out where I live. I’m just about to message him when I see that Dad’s been trying to get in touch; there are a number of unanswered chat attempts.
ru u there No question mark.
where r u Same.
need to talk 2 u Numbers for words: meh.
call me plse Fail.
But even these don’t pop the bubble of serenity that seems to have formed around me. I check out Sarah’s page: her list of friends is growing rapidly and her status reads “Peaceful”.
I know what she means.
The rest of the week is spent getting to grips with my Psychic Self, courtesy of Dr Hughes. The only hassle is that I’m having to stay up late to keep up with my homework, but Mum thinks I’m tired because I’m on Teenage Time.
This whole positivity thing is a bit like learning to fly; I’m learning to distance myself from my problems and look at them from a higher perspective. But flying tends to be a solitary pursuit, and when Sarah’s not around for lunch or break, I’m alone. Matt, Ravi and Beggsy aren’t avoiding me as such, but they’re keeping out of my way; maybe they think she’s my girlfriend. Maybe I ought to apologize, but to be honest, when Sarah’s around I kind of forget about them. I kind of forget about everything. I haven’t even replied to my dad’s frantic Facebooking yet.
PS: You are spreading your wings and leaving your old life behind!
There�
�s a lot of truth in that. Even the new Next catalogue that arrived has remained unthumbed, thanks to my recently discovered purity. The weird thing is that I can’t even begin to think of Sarah in a sexy way. I think I’ve reached greater heights of spiritual development. But I’m realizing there’s a lot of work to do and I’m trying to work through the book from the top. “Give everything the weight it deserves,” as Sarah said.
Humphries is biding his time. He occasionally surfaces on the horizon like the fin of a Great White Shark, only to disappear silently into the crowds. But he’s letting me know that he’s still there. Even though I’ve stopped wearing the pink hanky, he seems to be able to sense where I am. Maybe he’s got psychic powers.
Friday arrives like a breath of fresh air and at three-fifteen, I find myself waiting at the school gates once more. Sarah arrives, saying goodbye to her growing throng of friends/admirers/palmistry clients.
“Hey, you! How’s things?”
I love it when she calls me that. Strangely, for such a generic term, it sounds incredibly personal coming out of her mouth. Especially when she’s a little breathless, like she is right now.
“Hey, yourself! They’re fine!” I’ve got this down pat.
“What about your mum and Tony? The dreaded proposal. I didn’t know whether to say anything before.”
“False alarm.”
“Told you!” she teases. “Your friends still working on that project?”
“Yeah. Still at it.” This “project” is going to be the longest project in school history. “What’s the goss?”
“Chris and Caitlyn split up. She’s been crying all afternoon.”
“But they’ve only been going out two days! What happened? I mean, I’ve heard of speed-dating…”
“Well, I spoke to him and he fancies someone else.”
I can see this one coming a mile off, but I brace myself just the same.
“Oh, yeah? Who?”