Love Bomb

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘How old were we?’

  ‘Five?’

  ‘After your dad picked you up, Alfie stapled my finger.’ She points at a tiny white mark just under her nail.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not really,’ she says. Then she laughs and lets her head flop back on the sofa.

  Pearl and I hang out for ages, chatting about when we were little and playing some skilful games like Get the Peanut in the Coke Bottle, and Would You Rather …

  ‘OK,’ says Pearl, ‘this one is hard. Would you rather dance naked or bowl naked?’

  ‘Tricky,’ I say. ‘Any type of dance?’

  ‘Energetic disco dance.’

  ‘Bowl. I reckon I could do it gracefully, but I definitely wouldn’t use the between-your-legs technique.’

  Pearl laughs and feels about under the sofa. Eventually she pulls out two more bottles, but this time it’s beer. ‘You want one?’

  I nod and she opens them with a Homer Simpson bottle opener she’s got tucked under her cushion. The beer tastes even worse than the Bacardi Breezer, but at least it’s distracting me from the sight of Toby, who’s now paired up with a girl in a strappy black and silver playsuit.

  ‘So, you going out with Toby, or what?’ asks Pearl as the girl loops her arms round Toby’s neck.

  ‘Kind of,’ I say, but then I see Toby’s hands fall on to the girl’s hips and I watch as he draws her closer to him. An icy sickness creeps through me. All I can do is sip my disgusting beer, and keep telling myself that they’re probably old mates, just like me and Bill. Only, I’d never do that with Bill.

  I get out my phone to see if he’s texted me. I’m curious to know how he’s getting on with Kat. Nothing, but Toby’s picture has finally come through. I open his message and the picture appears, pixel by pixel. My phone is so annoying.

  At first, all I see is his dark hair, and then his blue eyes are staring straight at me. Next, his grin and then …

  ‘Oh my God!’ gasps Pearl, peering over my shoulder. Together we watch as Toby’s naked torso fills the screen. I slam my phone face down on my lap and feel my cheeks burn. ‘Are you two sexting each other?’

  ‘What?’ I say. ‘I mean, no!’ Even though I’m not looking at the screen I can still see his pale chest, his nipples and, peeking out of the top of his jeans, the elastic on his pants. ‘We’ve never even kissed,’ I say, knowing how pathetic I sound.

  ‘Well, he’s sexting you.’

  The room seems to spin. This photo changes the meaning of Looking forward to tonight … x

  ‘He should be going out with someone like me,’ says Pearl flatly. And, just as I’m thinking, what am I doing here, talking to this girl who hates me and wants to steal my boyfriend, she adds, ‘You shouldn’t be chasing a dumbass like that.’ Then she pulls herself forward and gets unsteadily to her feet. ‘Laters, Sweaty,’ she says, then she ruffles my hair and wanders off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Someone has turned the music up. I feel dizzy so I lean back and stare at the ceiling. I think about what Pearl said. Why would she want to go out with someone she doesn’t even like? Turning my phone over, I try to look at the photo like I’m looking at my boyfriend, but I just feel embarrassed so I turn my phone off.

  ‘Dude!’ The chest, thankfully clothed, looms over me. ‘Been looking for you, B-Cakes.’

  ‘Been right here,’ I say. ‘Just watching the dancing.’

  He grabs me by the hand and pulls me to my feet. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Then he leads me through the dancers, across the polished hall and up the Cinderella stairs. As the high ceiling flies past, my heart speeds up. It’s going to happen. I know it is. The thing I’ve wanted to happen since the moment I set eyes on him … So why do I want to run back downstairs to Pearl?

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Tour of the house,’ says Toby.

  Because his house has about seven bedrooms, the tour takes quite a long time. Eventually, he leads me down a dimly lit corridor and up a second, narrower flight of stairs. It’s quiet up here, and much cooler.

  ‘Shouldn’t we get back to the others?’ I hold on tight to his hand because we seem to be moving too fast and my legs are wobbly.

  ‘They won’t even notice we’re gone.’ We stop outside a door. ‘Behold, B-Cakes,’ he says, pushing open the door, ‘the Toby cave!’

  I walk in and he shuts the door behind me. The sounds of the party disappear. His room doesn’t seem to fit with the perfection of the rest of the house. The walls are dark red and I have to pick my way over dropped T-shirts and jeans. I start to look around. Toby follows close behind. I hesitate by his desk and see a pile of abandoned books and some dirty plates.

  ‘I’m reading this in English,’ I say, picking up Of Mice and Men, but Toby ignores me and steps a little closer. I move away. ‘I like the bit about the dog … I mean, it’s sad, but it’s good.’

  Toby’s only got two posters on the wall. One’s from the second Hunger Games film. It’s falling down in one corner so I stick it back up. The other one, the one over his bed, has ‘Various Babes’ written across the bottom. Toby sits down on his bed and I look closer. It’s a photo of five women standing in a row, all thrusting their hips out at sharp angles. They’re wearing undone denim hot pants and vest tops, and they’re staring and snarling through manes of glossy hair.

  They look like the type of girl every boy is supposed to fancy. They look nothing like me.

  ‘Sit down,’ says Toby, patting his Union Jack duvet cover. My heart starts to thud and I drift over to his bookcase. On the top shelf is a row of model cars, all carefully arranged and pointing in the same direction. ‘This is cool,’ I say, picking up a little VW camper van.

  ‘Its doors open,’ he says. I use the tip of my nail to flip the back door open and shut.

  Then, because I can’t put it off any longer, I go and sit next to him. Close, but not too close.

  ‘So –’ I stare down at my feet – ‘when’s your mum coming back?’

  ‘Not for ages.’ He shifts closer to me. I don’t dare look at him because I can tell he’s staring at me, and I know I’m going red.

  I search the room, desperate to find something else to talk about. Spotting the Hunger Games poster, I turn to him and say, ‘Did you –’ but Toby is suddenly in front of my face.

  ‘Shh,’ he says, leaning against me. I lose my balance and fall back on the bed. I go to laugh, but Toby presses against me and his breath is on my face and his lips are touching mine. I try to shift sideways because my arm is trapped under me, and then his tongue pushes into my mouth. Our teeth bang together, and I feel Toby’s heart beating fast.

  Suddenly, I want to cry and as I’m pressed further into the duvet I see Katniss over Toby’s shoulder shooting a flaming arrow right at me. Katniss is kicking ass. I’m just lying here having my face kissed, and I don’t like it!

  ‘Toby …’ I try to pull my arm out.

  ‘What?’ he says breathlessly, barely listening, his lips all over the side of my face.

  ‘Stop it!’ I say. I wriggle out from under him and off the bed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I try to smile. ‘It’s just that my arm hurt and –’

  ‘God, Betty,’ he says, getting up. He glances in a mirror and sorts out his hair. ‘You,’ he says, laughing, ‘are just so weird.’ Then he pushes past me and walks towards the door, kicking a guitar out of his way. ‘Don’t hang around up here,’ he says. Then he’s gone.

  Shame rushes through me. I pull my dress down and wipe my mouth where I can tell my red lipstick is smudged. I wait a few seconds, my heart pounding, and then I creep along the corridor, down the narrow steps and the curved staircase. My hand shakes on the banister. Quickly, I grab my coat and bag from the pile in the hallway and let myself out of the house.

  As I walk down the driveway, I start to cry, and then, when I get to the road, I start to run. I can’t go home. I never want
Dad to know about this party or what just happened. Rain hits my face and I keep running, turning left, then right, not thinking about where I’m going or stopping when I get a stitch. I don’t care where I end up – I just want to get as far away from Toby’s house as possible.

  It’s only when I stop running that I realise I’m lost. I wander around, trying not to panic, desperately trying to spot a street or building I recognise. Eventually, I realise I’m on the edge of town, somewhere I’ve never been before. I peer over a hedge into a sports field. The houses stopped a while back and I’m not even on a proper road any more. It’s quiet out here. And dark. Beyond the field, black trees bend in the wind. The drizzle hasn’t stopped so I walk towards a cricket pavilion in the corner of the field. I can see a bench lit up by a blue security light.

  I perch on the edge of the wet bench and try to open my bag. I need to look at my phone and work out where I am. It’s hard to do anything because my hands are so cold. Right at the top of my bag are my tub of Cheerios and Pingu pyjamas. They make me feel stupid all over again. I push them aside and feel for my phone.

  Suddenly, I freeze. I can hear something: the purr of an engine.

  I hold my breath and listen as it gets louder.

  Then I see a van driving alongside the field, its headlights beaming over the top of the hedge. I pray for it to pass, but it gets slower and slower and then comes to an abrupt stop. The engine cuts out and for a moment everything is silent.

  I hardly dare to breathe. Is someone in the van watching me?

  Suddenly I feel very alone, sitting on this bench in the middle of nowhere. I find my phone, pull it out and turn it on. Come on, come on. I glance back and forth from the screen to the van, then, just as my phone finally lights up, the van door clicks open. I grab my bag, jump off the bench and run round the side of the pavilion.

  Spotting two wheelie bins, I squeeze in between them. I crouch down and lean forward staring at the entrance to the field, my heart beating hard.

  A dark figure steps through the gate. It’s a man, and he’s tall and wearing a big coat. He stands there, hands on hips, looking slowly from left to right, scanning the field. What’s he doing? He turns towards the pavilion and I shrink back. Did he follow me here? I feel sick with fear and clumsily tap my password into my phone, but my fingers won’t work properly and I keep getting it wrong.

  Heavy panting comes out of nowhere and I drop my phone with a clatter. A fat white dog sticks his face between the bins and stares at me, tongue hanging out, saliva dripping on my boots. A growl comes from deep in its throat. Slowly, I pick up my phone. Then I make my hand into a fist and stretch it towards the dog.

  ‘Nice doggy,’ I whisper, my voice shaking. It sniffs my hand then disappears as quickly as it appeared.

  I sink back into the gap, but suddenly the drooling dog is back and this time it barks so loud I feel the vibrations in my chest.

  ‘Get here!’ shouts the man, and I hear him stomp closer.

  I have to ring someone! I scroll through my address book, my thumb clumsy on the screen. The second I see Bill’s name, I hit call. C’mon, Bill. Please have your phone on. It rings once, twice, three times. I peer out. The man is standing in the middle of the field, staring in my direction. Pick up, Bill! I watch the man light a cigarette – the glowing tip waves in the darkness.

  ‘Betty?’ Bill’s voice is muffled, like he’s far away.

  ‘Bill,’ I whisper, relief flooding my body. As soon as I’ve said this, I put my hand over my mouth, trying to keep a scared sob inside me.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ He’s clearer now, more awake. ‘I can’t hear you.’

  ‘I’m in a field between two wheelie bins,’ I say, ‘and there’s a big man here and his dog and they won’t go away!’

  ‘Tell me where you are,’ says Bill. As quietly as I can, I describe the cricket pavilion, the woods and the dead-end road. ‘I think I know where you are,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, but the line’s gone dead. I make myself as small as possible and hug my knees. My heart is still pounding and I pray the shadow of the man doesn’t fall across the slice of sky between the two bins.

  A few minutes later a low whistle cuts through the night air, followed by a scamper of legs. Then I hear the van door slam shut and the engine start. I listen as it reverses down the track, turns, then accelerates away. I uncurl and peep out of the gap. That’s when I see Bill bombing across the field, standing up as he pedals, beanie pulled low over his ears. I’m so relieved I start crying all over again.

  I crawl out of the space as he comes to a stop in front of me. ‘Hello,’ he says, peering down. He rests on his handlebars, trying to catch his breath. I stand up and his eyes widen. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I got lost.’ I wipe away my smudged make-up and peel a crisp packet off my leg. We stand looking at each other for a moment. More than anything I want to throw my arms round him, but this isn’t the sort of thing we do. Instead I say, ‘I’m so happy to see you,’ and try to smile.

  He frowns. Bill frowns a lot, but this is a particularly long one. ‘Why aren’t you at the party?’

  ‘I didn’t like it,’ I say, tugging the pompoms that hang from my hat, ‘so I left, but then I got lost.’ Bill’s still on his bike, waiting for me to explain, like we’ve got all the time in the world and it’s not one in the morning. ‘Can I stay at your place?’ I ask. ‘Dad thinks I’m at Kat’s. If I go home, he’ll kill me.’

  He studies me for a moment longer. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Climb on.’

  I sit on the seat and put my arms round his waist. After a brief wobble, we set off across the field. As soon as we leave the wet grass and hit the road, we speed up. Houses and street lights flash past us and the air feels so good on my face. ‘You should be wearing a helmet,’ I say.

  ‘I left in a rush,’ he replies. I rest my head on his warm back and shut my eyes. I feel every bump in the road. ‘Where shall we go?’ Bill asks. I lift up my head and the street lamps make me feel dizzy. We’ve been playing this game since we were little. We’d be cycling through the woods, my dad trying to keep up with us, and we’d really believe we could just pedal up and away, and go anywhere we wanted.

  ‘The North Pole,’ I say to Bill’s back. Toby’s pale chest definitely won’t be in the North Pole.

  ‘We’ll make an igloo,’ says Bill, puffing as we start to climb a hill.

  ‘And fill it with furs and light a fire right in the middle of it …’

  ‘… and toast marshmallows,’ says Bill.

  ‘Then,’ I say, ‘a talking snow monkey will knock on the door.’

  ‘Do igloos have doors?’

  ‘Do snow monkeys talk?

  Bill is puffing now, but he never quits on a hill. ‘And,’ he says, ‘he’d have a bag with him.’

  ‘What’s in the bag?’

  ‘A Wii … and a generator.’ With a final push, we crest the hill. ‘Hold on,’ he warns.

  ‘What does the monkey say?’ We zoom down the other side, my hair flying back from my face.

  ‘Three-player Mario Kart, Betty? Mushroom Gorge?’

  ‘Bagsie I’m Toad!’

  *

  At Bill’s, I go straight to the bathroom, scrub my face and change into my pyjamas. As I pass Eric’s room, I see him flopped on top of his quilt, fast asleep, his arms dangling over the side of his bed. A dim orange glow comes from his nightlight.

  I go into Bill’s room and find him pulling a sleeping bag out of a cupboard. ‘Nice jim jams,’ he says.

  I look down at the tiny Pingus parading across my pyjamas. Suddenly, I don’t know what to do with myself even though I’m usually totally relaxed round at Bill’s. ‘I haven’t stayed over at your house for years,’ I say. ‘Do you remember when your mum let us sleep in the bath?’

  ‘Why did we want to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You can have the bed,’ he says. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa.’


  I climb into his bed and pull the duvet round my face. It is the nicest feeling.

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ I say.

  He drops down next to me. ‘I think this is going to be a hard one to explain to Mum,’ he says. ‘You know, how you’ve suddenly appeared in my bed during the night.’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ says Bill. Then he reaches up to his hat.

  ‘You haven’t!’

  ‘Yes I have,’ he says, pulling off his hat. All his crazy blonde hair has gone. Now it’s short. Very short. He runs his hands through it, messing it up. ‘What d’you think?’

  ‘I think,’ I say, reaching out and stroking his head, ‘nice.’ And it is. I tuck my hand back in the duvet, but I can’t stop looking at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. You look different.’

  He leans on the bed and yawns. He looks exhausted. I guess he’s been windsurfing all day and then someone woke him up.

  ‘What happened at the party?’ he asks. ‘I thought you were all having a sleepover.’ I groan and wriggle down under the duvet, hiding my face. ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘I can’t look at you if I’m going to talk about the party,’ I say. ‘It’s too embarrassing.’

  ‘It can’t have been that bad,’ he says. Because I’m hidden, I let a tear slip down my cheek. It wasn’t that bad, was it? Just a horrible kiss when I thought it would be an amazing kiss. Just the feeling that there’s something wrong with me because I didn’t like it. ‘Are you still awake in there?’

  ‘It wasn’t what I expected,’ I say. Now I’m under the duvet I don’t want to come out. ‘Will you talk to me until I fall asleep?’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Tell me about Kat learning to windsurf.’

  Somehow I know he’s smiling. ‘There was a lot of screaming and she had to be rescued by the speedboat a few times. But she was good for a beginner.’ And then he tells me all about how she got out on the sea and about the barbecue and someone called Mikey who played the didgeridoo. It’s nice listening to him. ‘Syd got out her guitar and then Kat sang some song about a pencil.’