Love Bomb

by Jenny McLachlan

  There is one problem. Today is Thursday, the day when everyone at Bill’s school does an enrichment activity. Bill always goes windsurfing at his club in Eastbourne with other boys in his year. If I leave now, I might get there in a couple of hours. I haven’t got a clue which bus I need or where it will drop me off. I don’t care. I’m on a mission … a love mission!

  After a quick trip up to the attic, I grab my panda hat, my purse and my phone, then I tug on my yellow DMs. I scribble a note for Dad: ‘Decided to go to school after all. It’s the Autumn Celebration tonight. You and Rue should come – 6.00. X Betty’

  I slap it on the fridge, holding it in place with the potato magnet.

  Then I kiss Mr Smokey goodbye and I’m out of the door and legging it to the bus stop.

  ‘Where’s the sea?’ I ask the bus driver. I’ve arrived in Eastbourne, but I haven’t got a clue where to go. The bus has dropped me in the town centre.

  ‘That way, love. You can’t miss it.’ I run down the road she pointed out, dashing past charity shops, bakers, chippies and gift shops. Soon I’m standing next to the pier. I look left and right. The seafront stretches away in both directions. Even though it’s nearly winter, the sun is shining and the prom is busy with foreign students and old ladies in pastel anoraks who are being blown about by the wind.

  I run on to the pier and look right. I see hotels, the gentle dip of the Downs and, in the distance, white cliffs. The dark sea is churning below me, covered in waves that peak and spray in all directions. I can’t see any windsurfers.

  I go to the other side of the pier and grip the railing. I feel the peeling paint digging into my palms. Then, between two waves, I spot them: a group of windsurfers, their triangular sails zigzagging across the sea.

  I run off the pier just as a Dotto train pulls up. The tiny carriages are packed with retired holidaymakers. I pay the driver two pounds and soon I’m squeezed between two elderly gentlemen who are both wearing tracksuits.

  ‘In a rush?’ asks Red Tracksuit. I don’t know what gives me away, perhaps it’s the way I’m muttering, ‘C’mon, c’mon,’ under my breath as the driver checks each door and chats about the ‘glorious sunshine’ with every passenger.

  ‘I’m going to see a friend,’ I say, ‘but I’m not sure I’m going to catch him in time.’

  ‘Ohh!’ says Blue Tracksuit. ‘A feller … You like him, do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘but I don’t know if he likes me.’ Why am I telling them this? ‘You see, he’s been my friend for years.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says the lady sitting opposite me. She leans forward and pats my arm. ‘That’s the best basis for marriage.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘but I’m only fifteen.’ The Dotto train starts to hum and then slowly creeps forward, and I mean slowly. ‘A boyfriend would be nice,’ I add.

  ‘Then let’s go get ‘im,’ says Blue Tracksuit, really quite loudly.

  ‘Wahoo!’ yells Red Tracksuit, punching the air. The train picks up speed and soon the whole carriage is whooping and clapping as we race along at five miles an hour. I glance at my phone: 3.24 p.m. A woman in a mobility scooter overtakes us. We really do need to get moving.

  The train stops outside a wooden building where a Spray Watersports flag is whipping in the wind. Immediately, I spot the Cardinal Heenan minibus in the car park. My hands are shaking so much that I can’t open the train door. My fellow passengers all have arthritic fingers so the driver has to let me out.

  ‘Good luck, Betty!’ shouts Red Tracksuit as I run towards Spray, and soon the whole carriage joins in. The driver encourages the hysteria by giving me three blasts of the train whistle. I wave over my shoulder and scramble up a bank of pebbles.

  Rounding the corner of the building, I see a group of boys my age leaning on a veranda railing, staring out to sea. The windsurfers are still out there, black silhouettes that skim over the waves so quickly they barely make contact with the sea.

  I turn to the boy nearest to me. ‘Do you know where Bill is?’ I ask.

  ‘On the water,’ he says. ‘He was the only one of us allowed to go out.’

  ‘Out there?’ I squint, trying to work out which of the black shapes Bill might be, but they are way too far away and the waves keep rising up and hiding the windsurfers from my view. ‘Is it safe?’ The waves seem to be swallowing them up.

  ‘Depends how good you are,’ says the boy. ‘Bill’s good.’

  ‘Which one is he?’

  ‘That one,’ he says. ‘With red stripes on the sail.’

  I walk down the beach, slipping over pebbles, all the time trying to keep my eye on Bill’s red sail. I watch him flip up on a wave and turn 360 degrees before crashing down into the sea and dipping below the surface. In seconds he’s up again, heading towards the horizon. He is good. Why didn’t I know he could do this? I sit down on the beach and watch him as he flies over the sea. Even with my zero knowledge of windsurfing I can tell he’s one of the best.

  A van pulls up behind me. I turn as a man jumps out. When I look back at the sea, I can’t see Bill. Desperately I study each sail in turn. Then I see someone coming in, sailing straight on to the pebbles and jumping off his board at the last minute.

  The sail has red stripes. I peer at the person hauling the board out of the water. He starts to walk in my direction. Then I see blond hair and a serious expression that makes my tummy flip.

  Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to know if he likes me, and I’m scared. What if he looks at me in horror? What if he laughs at me? Could we ever be friends again?

  C’mon, Betty, I tell myself, you can’t put this off. I’m just about to call out his name when he stops and puts down his board.

  I watch as he unzips his wetsuit to the waist. Slowly, he peels the wet black fabric off his arms, letting the top half fall down round his waist. I stare at Bill’s naked chest. His hot naked chest.

  I look down, cheeks flaming, heart racing. This I was not expecting. Is this chest-love or chest-fear? Has Toby made me fear chests?

  Even though my face is burning, I force myself to glance back up at Bill. I think it’s important to confront your fears. He picks up his board and sail and walks up the beach, heading straight for me. No. I’m definitely not scared of Bill’s muscular, well-defined, broad-shouldered chest. In fact, I’m sort of the opposite of scared. I’m more, loving it.

  I want to hide, to give myself time to compose myself, to get over the discovery that I completely and madly fancy my best friend. Unfortunately, I’m sitting in the middle of a huge pebbly beach. Quickly, I shove my head in my duck rucksack, pretending to rummage for something. Bill might not see me.

  ‘Betty?’

  Oh bum. He must have recognised the enormous orange beak.

  ‘Bill!’ I pull my head out of the bag and smile up at him. Focus on his face, Betty, focus on his face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks.

  Really good question. ‘Well, you see …’ I say, scrambling to my feet, ‘I wanted to invite you to the Autumn Celebration at my school tonight.’

  ‘So you came all the way to Eastbourne to do it?’

  ‘Um, yeah.’ He frowns at me. The face, Betty, do not lower your gaze. I’m really not getting any massive love vibes from Bill, more total confusion vibes. I thought everything would be much clearer. ‘You see, we need to go now, or we’ll miss it.’

  ‘And it’s really important that I go to this thing at your school?’ says Bill, smiling.

  That smile is ten out of ten. How could I not have seen it before? ‘It really is the most important thing in the world.’ I say, looking into his eyes. We’re standing about a metre apart. His hair is dripping and his chest is still totally and utterly naked. I want him to put his board down and wrap his arms round me.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ he says, turning and climbing up the bank of pebbles. ‘I’ll see if I can get you a seat on the minibus.’

  ‘Come on,’ I say to Bill, running up the steps to
school. ‘It’s about to start.’ Avoiding the main entrance to the hall, I lead Bill down a side corridor to a door that opens near the stage. I hold it open and peer inside. The hall is almost full, crowded with parents and students, but I spot an empty seat between two mums. ‘Sit there,’ I say, pushing him forward.

  ‘In the front row?’

  ‘I want you to have a good view,’ I say. He slips into the seat just as the lights go down. Mrs P steps on to the stage. ‘Look out for my dad,’ I whisper.

  Now I need to find Kat so she can convince me I’m doing the right thing. When I explained my plan to her, I imagined I’d have talked to Bill. Instead, I’ve been sitting on a minibus, sandwiched between two Year Ten boys having a conversation about tides. Bill wasn’t allowed to sit with me because his teacher assumed I was his girlfriend and wanted to make sure we didn’t get up to any ‘hanky panky’.

  I find Kat in a practice room, tuning her guitar. ‘Betty,’ she cries. ‘Thank God you’re here.’

  ‘Is this madness?’ I ask, shrugging off my coat. ‘Tell me I’m doing the right thing, Kat.’

  ‘I’m about ninety-nine per cent certain that you’re doing the right thing,’ she says, coming over to help me when I get my zip stuck in my hair. ‘And, yes, it’s madness. That’s why it’s a great idea.’

  ‘You’ve got the music?’

  ‘And I’ve been rehearsing for the past hour.’ She runs through a series of chords while I pull off my jumper and wriggle out of my jeans. ‘You appear to be getting undressed, Betty.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I say, rummaging around in my rucksack. ‘Is this beyond madness?’ I hold up a white mini dress.

  ‘Yes,’ she says, grinning. ‘Which is why you should definitely wear it.’

  I slip the dress over my head. It fits me like a glove.

  ‘It’s one of Mum’s costumes from when she was in The Swanettes,’ I say. I smooth the fabric over my hips and tug down the hem. I pull on my DMs and hat. ‘How do I look?’

  Kat looks at me carefully. ‘Stunning,’ she says finally. ‘Although Mrs P will have a cow when she sees the length of that skirt.’

  Just then, a Year Eight boy sticks his head round the door. ‘You’re next,’ he says.

  My stomach churns. ‘I don’t know if I can do it, Kat. I keep thinking about the last time I was in the hall, when everyone laughed at me.’

  ‘Come on,’ she says, grabbing her guitar and my hand. ‘Last time you ran away. This is totally different.’ She pulls me out into the corridor. ‘Plus, you owe me, big time.’

  She leads me to the side of the stage and we stand in the shadows, watching a Sixth Form girl play her flute. All around us are groups of students who are either waiting to perform or hanging around to watch the acts. Kat squeezes my hand. I look up. On the other side of the stage is Toby, his arm draped over Pearl’s shoulder. Standing beside them are Bollie. Bea lifts up one hand, tucks her thumb in and wiggles four fingers at me. I return the wave and we smile. I look back at Toby. Funny. He doesn’t look so tall and handsome any more. More lanky and a bit of an idiot.

  I look at Pearl and she fixes her eyes on me before turning away and staring at the flute girl. Applause sweeps the hall.

  ‘Thank you, Ellie,’ says Mrs P. ‘That was haunting. And now, please welcome onstage –’ there is a pause while she consults her clipboard – ‘Kat Knightley and … Betty Plum.’ She frowns as she reads my name.

  ‘Come on,’ says Kat, pulling me forward. I follow her on to the stage and pick up the microphone while she plugs her guitar into the amp. The applause dies out and is replaced by an awkward silence. I stare into the depths of the hall, looking at the rows and rows of upturned faces. A light shines in my eyes and the audience shuffles around. I know that Toby and Pearl are watching, maybe Dad and Rue, and that Bill is sitting in the front row.

  ‘Before we begin,’ I say – my voice is a whisper so I pull the mike closer – ‘I want to say something.’ Mrs P looks at me from her place in the front row with narrowed eyes. ‘I am going to sing a song called “Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye” by Bettye Swann.’ There are coughs and whispers from the audience. I ignore them and carry on. ‘I’m singing this for my mum because she loved this song –’ I look down at the front row, blinking into the spotlight, until I find Bill. He’s sitting forward, his chin resting on his hands. He’s watching me intently.

  I turn away from Bill and look straight ahead. ‘And I’m singing it for my friend, Bill, because … I love him.’ There’s a moment of silence and then gasps and giggles surround me, but they’re drowned out by Kat playing the opening of the song. Her notes are true and clear and as the melody fills the hall I grip the mike. I’ve done it now. The worst is over.

  And maybe it’s because Kat is so good, or maybe it’s because the sight of me in a white mini-dress, panda hat and yellow DMs is so strange, but the hall falls silent. My skin tingles from my head to my toes as I wrap my fingers tightly round the mike.

  Then I shut my eyes and I sing my love song to Mum and Bill. And it feels so right that I relax and just let the song pour out of me.

  The music dies away as I sing the last words. The hall is quiet and then the clapping starts. I’m still clutching the mike, too scared to look down at Bill, and Kat takes it out of my hands and puts it back in the stand. Then we walk off the stage.

  Toby and his band brush past us, Pearl trailing behind them.

  ‘Hang on,’ I say to Kat. ‘I want to watch this.’ I’m feeling so brave now. They start setting up and Pearl takes my place at the mike. Kat and I stand with Bea and the three of us hold hands.

  Soon, they are ready. As Mrs P introduces them, Pearl turns away from the audience and peers into the shadows. She’s looking for someone: she’s looking for me. When she finds me standing between Kat and Bea, I refuse to look away. Her face is hard and her make-up is heavy. As she stares at me, the band starts playing. In my head, I count down the seconds to her first line.

  At the last moment, she turns away from me, faces the audience and then, just when she should start singing, she drops the mike on the floor and walks towards the steps at the front of the stage. First, Toby stops playing and then Dexter and Frank catch on and the music stops abruptly.

  ‘What’re you doing?’ Toby calls out as Pearl walks down the stairs.

  ‘Shut up!’ she yells over her shoulder, and then she walks straight out of the hall.

  For the rest of the concert, I hide in the practice room and at the end I make the others leave without me. I don’t want them around when I see Bill … if he’s waited for me. Eventually, the caretaker kicks me out, saying it’s time to lock up. I get my things together and open the door next to the stage – the door I pushed Bill through – and peer into the hall. The strip lights are on and a harsh light fills the room.

  It’s empty.

  I grip my rucksack straps and head for the main exit. Outside, I stand at the top of the steps. A few students are still around, loading instruments into the back of parents’ cars, chatting and calling out to each other.

  Behind me, the door opens and Toby backs out carrying one of Dexter’s drums. He stops when he sees me. There’s a moment when neither of us speak.

  ‘You were epic, B-Cakes,’ he says, then he walks over to his mum’s sports car.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says, leaning out of the window. ‘Did I miss it?’

  ‘You didn’t miss anything,’ he says.

  Mrs P walks up the steps. ‘Well done, Betty,’ she says, slapping her clipboard against her hand. ‘A beautiful performance, really lovely.’

  ‘Thank you, miss,’ I say.

  ‘I believe someone is waiting for you,’ she adds, nodding in the direction of the drive. And then I see Bill. He’s leaning against the gatepost, arms folded. ‘Off you go,’ says Mrs P. ‘Some of us have homes to go to.’

  I walk towards him, grateful that it’s so dark. My cheeks burn and my heart thuds in my chest.

  He strai
ghtens up when he sees me and I stop in front of him.

  ‘Hello,’ I say.

  ‘Hello,’ he replies. Then he smiles and I have to hide my face behind my hands.

  I peek through my fingers. ‘So, what did you think?’

  ‘Well, Kat was a bit slow on the second verse,’ he says, ‘but she managed to catch up … you, on the other hand … you were perfect.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Betty,’ he says, ‘I was rocked by your love.’

  I step into his arms and rest my head on his chest. I feel his heart through his T-shirt and I close my eyes. I know I’ve come home. After a moment, I say, ‘That’s another quotation, isn’t it?’

  ‘A bit of Sappho and a bit of me,’ he says. ‘You know, Betty, you could have told me what you felt on the beach … or the other day at your house … or even just sent me a text.’

  ‘Or maybe I could have dropped hints through mysterious lines of poetry …’

  ‘My own words weren’t good enough,’ he says, and he rests his cheek on my head.

  ‘This is a big hug,’ I say into his T-shirt.

  ‘I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘About two years.’ So Bill and I stand there, under a starry sky, and we don’t need to say anything because our hug says it all.

  *

  Eventually, we wander home and Bill tells me about the awkward conversation he had with Dad and Rue, and how Rue took Dad off to the pub to recover from the shock of hearing me sing.

  At my door, we face each other and I know from all the films I’ve watched and all the books I’ve read, that this is the moment when we should kiss.

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I say. The lights are on in the house so Dad and Rue must be home.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Basically,’ I say, looking at the hedge rather than at Bill, ‘I’m scared of kissing.’

  He laughs. ‘That’s OK. We can do something else.’