Just a Girl, Standing in Front of a Boy

by Lucy-Anne Holmes

  He quickens his step towards me. Quite a lot of cars are arriving now.

  ‘Is it you?’ he says. He’s only a few feet away.

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Jenny?’

  I used to love the way he said my name. I used to think that he said my name as though he liked me.

  ‘Jenny.’

  I close my eyes.

  ‘Jenny.’

  He’s really close now.

  ‘Wow,’ he whispers. ‘You look like a model.’

  I don’t respond but a part of me knows I’ll revisit that comment at a later date and it will have me dancing around the flat.

  ‘You really do, Jenny.’

  ‘Steve!’ It’s Michelle calling from the entrance. ‘There’s a bloody Rod Stewart lookalike in here! Steve!’ She’s walking quickly towards us when suddenly she stops.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she shouts. ‘Blonde now, are you?’

  I don’t reply.

  ‘So was this all you?’

  I don’t feel like a scared girl any more. I feel like Jenny Taylor being shouted at by a bully. But this time she can’t hurt me.

  ‘Do you know how stupid we looked in there?’

  Oh no, a tiny smile escaped my lips.

  ‘Go on,’ I say.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Say whatever you want to say, Michelle.’

  It seems to throw her for a moment.

  ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek.’

  Funny, I spent my time at school not being able to say boo to a fish. Hearing that I’ve got a ‘bloody cheek’ is rather flattering.

  ‘Thank you. And you should probably thank me for organising the funeral Steve’s gran wanted.’

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I turn to Steve now. ‘What were you thinking trying to do it at the golf club after we told you what she wanted?’ I ask the question gently.

  ‘We’d booked the golf club. It’s a non-refundable deposit,’ Michelle blusters.

  ‘I’m not having a go. But I’m not going to apologise for what I did.’

  I start to smile because Joe is jogging towards me.

  ‘Hello, hello.’ He nods to both Steve and Michelle. ‘I’m Joe.’ He slides his arm around my waist.

  ‘Are you all right,’ he whispers to me, obviously feeling the tension.

  ‘Yeah, I’m good, thank you. This is Steve and Michelle.’

  ‘I’m really sorry to hear about your gran, mate,’ Joe says.

  Steve nods.

  ‘I hear she was quite a girl.’

  Steve smiles and nods again.

  ‘I mentioned to Rod Stewart that I played guitar, he was wanting me to play a few numbers with him. But I told him we had to make a move,’ Joe tells me. I nod in reply.

  ‘You should go in and thank people for coming,’ I say to Steve.

  ‘Don’t tell him what to do!’ screeches Michelle.

  ‘Come in with us,’ Steve says to me.

  ‘I don’t want her coming in!’

  ‘Shhhh. Come in,’ Steve repeats, and then he looks at Joe. ‘And you, you have to play with old Rod in there.’

  Joe looks at me. I look at Steve.

  ‘Thank you,’ I tell him. ‘I’d really love that.’

  The four of us stand rooted to the spot for a few moments. Joe breaks the silence.

  ‘Shall I lead you in, gorgeous?’ he says, cocking an arm for me.

  ‘You certainly can, handsome.’

  We walk towards the entrance of the hall.

  ‘You’re the one that I want,’ Joe sings in my ear.

  ‘Ooo, ooo, ooo.’

  Chapter 51

  ‘That Steve bloke can’t take his eyes off you.’

  We’re smoochy dancing to ‘We Are Sailing’ along with most of the town. I only booked Rod until 6 p.m. He did stop at 6 p.m. and I paid him, but then he said he’d carry on for free as we were such an appreciative audience. It’s 7.30 now and he’s still going. Although he’s assured us that this is definitely his last number. Doris would have been so proud. It’s the sort of night where children are made.

  ‘That Steve bloke’s missus, the bulldog, is going to give him a right rollicking unless he stops looking at your bottom,’ Joe whispers in my ear.

  ‘Is he looking at my arse?’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s not the only one. Your bottom in that catsuit is the stuff of schoolboy fantasies. I have been trying very hard all day not to grab it.’

  ‘You can have a little grab.’

  ‘No, I’m a gentleman. Besides I’d want to unwrap the bottom. Best leave it till later.’

  ‘I can’t wait until we… you know…’

  ‘Until we have our first row in a DIY home store?’

  ‘Yes, how did you guess?’

  We stop and applaud the Rod Stewart impersonator. I do my wolf whistle. The ovation goes on for quite some time. Steve Wilmot, of all people, has made his way to the sound system, presumably to put a CD on. A few people drift off to the toilets or the bar but most of the crowd on the dance floor stay where they are, waiting for more music.

  ‘Well, let me tell you what I can’t wait for,’ Joe says huskily in my ear. ‘I can’t wait until we have a whole night together. I want to explore every bit of you until you squeak that you can’t take it any more.’

  ‘I’m not really a squeaker. I’d probably scream.’

  ‘When you’ve screamed “I can’t take it any more!”’

  ‘Why have I got an American accent?’

  ‘I’m such a good lover it happens. Anyway, once you’re screaming I want to slide my massive and humungous penis gently inside you and hold you close so I can hear your uneven breath and then I’m going to tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world and then I’m going to give you fifteen orgasms.’

  ‘That’s quite a lot to live up to.’

  ‘I know. You might have to bear with me. It could be over in the first twenty seconds.’

  ‘We’d just have to do it again.’

  ‘Oh yes, I think I’d make the forty-five-second mark the next time.’

  ‘Well, then we’d just have to do it again.’

  I kiss him on the mouth.

  ‘And again,’ he says.

  ‘Oooh, how appropriate, someone’s put on Tom Jones, “Sex Bomb”,’ I snigger.

  ‘Fanny, he’s back staring at your arse. At what point should I tell him to stop staring at your bottom?’

  ‘Oh, that I don’t know. I don’t think The Child Of Destiny mention it in any of their work.’

  ‘The Child of Destiny?’

  ‘Destiny’s Child.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘The Survivor album in particular is practically a bible for the modern woman.’

  ‘But they don’t mention how long a fella’s allowed to stare at a girl’s bottom before he gets a talking to?’

  ‘Not unless it’s very subtly put and I missed it.’

  ‘I have to go and say something. I mean how would he feel if I stared at bulldog’s arse for half the night?’

  Joe releases me.

  ‘I’ll be friendly,’ he says in my ear. ‘Just a little… Oh, will you look at that. Bulldog must have read my mind. Ouch.’

  I turn around in time to see Steve clutching the side of his face and Michelle storming out of the community centre.

  ‘Ah, that’s harsh, hitting a man at his gran’s funeral,’ Joe says. ‘She could have just had a gentle word.’

  ‘Michelle Cullet,’ I tell Joe wisely, ‘wouldn’t know a gentle word if it shoved itself up her —’

  Joe kisses me on the lips, cutting me off.

  ‘Such a pretty girl,’ he says. ‘Such a filthy mouth.’

  ‘I have to tell you, this is one of the best nights I’ve ever done,’ the Rod Stewart impersonator says, striding towards us. ‘Argggggghhhhhh.’

  Woah. He’s just been whisked away and spun around by one of Doris’ friends from bridge club, a well-built pensio
ner in a cheerleader’s outfit. Our Rod Stewart impersonator looks very concerned as to whether he’ll get out alive. I can’t blame him. There are over fifty women on the dance floor, the majority being over seventy and all of them full of cheap, fizzy wine; any man who steps on the dance floor is devoured by bingo wings, handbags and sod-the-hip-replacement dance moves. Most men are choosing to congregate around the bar, cheerfully moaning about the lack of beer.

  ‘He won’t be getting out of here in a hurry,’ Joe King muses, surveying the scene, and Joe should know. He spent the best part of the last hour being passed around the bowling ladies. Dr Flemming has been dancing since he arrived after the surgery closed. Marge is line dancing with some of the old girls from the surgery. She’s gone for the sexy Sandy catsuit as well. Her massive bazooms and rolls of Lycra-ed flesh have been flying about the dance floor for hours.

  Now that Michelle has left, Steve Wilmot has started working his way around the sides of the room, shaking guests’ hands and thanking them for coming. I watch him, Joe King next to me squeezing my hand. It’s ten years ago this summer since he broke my heart. For years afterwards I’d lie in bed at night and close my eyes and revisit the pain and humiliation. But now there are ten whole years between me and that event; days upon days and days. What was once a raw, red wound has now healed to just a thin little white scar that you can barely notice. I look at Steve tonight and all is see is an overweight, tired, sad-looking man.

  ‘Poor bugger,’ Joe says.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘What’s going on in the corner there?’ Joe asks, pointing at a huddle of elderly pink ladies busying themselves around a table.

  ‘Jägerbombs in plastic cups for all.’

  ‘Well, of course.’ He chuckles. ‘Er, Fan…’

  ‘What? Why are you looking all guilty?’

  ‘I’m not. I just need to establish whether or not you’ll still want to go out with me if I go up on the stage and take the mike for a minute. I don’t want to embarrass you.’

  ‘You couldn’t embarrass me, Handsome Pants.’

  ‘I love a challenge, Sweet Cheeks.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Surprise!’ he calls. He’s already jogging towards the stage.

  He mounts the stairs two at time, lunges at the amp, fiddles with some knobs so that Tom Jones stops sex bombing and then picks up the microphone and spins round to face us. He smiles cheekily at the crowd beneath him on the dance floor. There are a fair few female murmurs of approval. I do one of my wolf whistles. He winks. One of the ladies on the floor shouts, ‘Hello, sailor.’ People laugh. Joe holds the mike to his mouth for a few moments while everyone settles. Then he starts singing.

  ‘Summer loving, had me a blast…’

  Everyone, it really does sound like everyone, cheers. Even Dr Flemming and he’s normally such a quiet man. But it’s Marge’s screams that can be heard above them all. She’s quickly waddling up the stairs to the stage. Joe stands open-mouthed as Marge, flushed and a little sweaty, snatches the microphone out of his hand and delivers the next line of the song into it herself. The over-seventies are screaming in delight. The pair go on to perform the whole song, the rest of us joining in for the ‘awella wella ahs!’ Marge wraps one of her legs around both of Joe’s at the end and plonks a huge kiss on his cheek.

  One of the pink ladies, who was busy pouring the drinks in the corner, taps me on the arm. ‘They’re ready, over there, they are, we thought you might like to propose a toast, since you did all this work,’ she tells me.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know whether it should be me…’ I say, but she pats me on the elbow towards the stage. I walk up to Joe on the stage and take the microphone out of his hand.

  ‘Um, hello, hello, could everyone just go and pick up a plastic cup from that table. We’re going to have a toast,’ I say quickly into the microphone, and then I run back down onto the dance floor, careful to dodge the stumbling exodus of people moving from the dance floor to the drinks table and back again.

  I spot Steve. He was already looking at me. I walk towards him. I hold the microphone out. Surely he should be doing this toast.

  ‘Will you do the toast?’ I say.

  But he shakes his head and nods towards me as if to say go ahead. I stay where I am.

  ‘She’d like you to do it,’ I whisper.

  I see the muscles in his neck tighten briefly and then after a few moments he nods.

  ‘Will you come up there with me?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah, if you want.’

  We take two full cups from the drinks table and climb up the stairs to the stage. I hand the microphone to Steve and step back. I look at all the flushed, excited faces and a little smile escapes my lips.

  ‘To Doris,’ Steve says raising his glass. A hundred voices echo his words.

  ‘I hope you’re enjoying this, Doris,’ I whisper, so that no one can hear me. ‘The only thing that’s missing is you.’

  Chapter 52

  You know that thing I can’t wait to do to you??

  Have a stinking great row in B & Q or give me 6 million orgasms?

  I think I said 15…

  Yes?

  May I take you away at some point and ravish you?

  This is the photo of the smile that text just gave me.

  Beautiful.

  Do you want to pick me up now?

  I was thinking tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 4 p.m.

  How can I cope till then???

  Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx all of these to be applied to your body tomorrow.

  Chapter 53

  ‘Did you think this was cheesy?’

  ‘What? Bringing me to a hotel with a four-poster bed?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘And log fires, and champagne and big fluffy bathrobes and a free-standing bath.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes. Very cheesy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘But I bloody love your cheese.’

  ‘You bloody love my cheese? That is a remark that could be misconstrued.’

  ‘Most of my remarks could be misconstrued.’

  ‘What does your mother think of your dirty mind?’

  ‘It’s my mother’s mind that needs the good clean.’

  ‘She sounds like my sort of girl. When am I going to meet her?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know. Whenever you want. I haven’t seen her properly for days myself, not since I went on a date with this bloke, Joe King’s his name. Since then my mother’s been eclipsed.’

  ‘Do apologise from me.’

  ‘I shall.’

  ‘We could take her out.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘We could take your mum out, somewhere nice.’

  ‘Are you just the most perfect man in the universe?’

  ‘I hate to tell you this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘And I hate to tell you this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You owe me thirteen more orgasms.’

  ‘Coming up,’ he says, rolling on top of me. He pulls his torso away from me suddenly and regards me with a quizzical expression.

  ‘Fanny,’ he asks. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m pinching myself,’ I say, as I squeeze a good inch of the soft skin on my upper arm.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just can’t believe this is real, you and me.’

  ‘Don’t pinch yourself. Don’t hurt my girlfriend. It is all real, baby.’

  ‘I’m a bit scared, Joe King.’

  ‘Why are you scared, Jenny Taylor?’

  ‘I’m so high, so happy. I’m dizzy up here with you. I’m worried how far there is to fall.’

  ‘I’ll catch you,’ he says and then he tenderly kisses my lips. ‘You know, I think if we’re always honest with each other, with how we’re feeling, then there’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing at all.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

 
‘Me too.’

  ‘I hate secrets and lies more than anything.’

  ‘Hmmm. Me too.’

  ‘I should tell you something,’ I say, all of a sudden very serious.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s quite embarrassing. And you’ll probably think less of me. But I’d like you to know, for some reason.’

  He nods and leans on his elbow by my side, giving me his undivided attention. Then I take a deep breath and I tell him my story.

  How I had a breakdown just before my eighteenth birthday, followed by a spell when I was very depressed. I tell him how ashamed I felt during that time, ashamed that I couldn’t pick myself up, dust myself off, cheer up, pull myself together. How shame was the overriding thing I remember about that time, that and the feeling that everybody would be better off without me. And it’s funny because as I’m telling him, I don’t feel ashamed. It’s as though depression has become part of my story, part of who I am, just another fact about me. I tell him how I got better. How Dr Flemming helped. And I tell him how grateful I am to Philippa. Grateful isn’t even the word. Words always fall short when it comes to describing what Philippa means to me. And then I tell him how, since that time, I’d always avoided falling in love. Until now.

  And when I finish my lengthy dialogue, I look at him and he’s still there. He hasn’t got dressed and run outside to hail a cab to take him far from me. He’s there by my side.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘For telling me that.’

  ‘Not many gags in that story. Need to put a few knob gags in it to liven it up really.’

  ‘I really do think you’re amazing, Jenny Taylor.’

  ‘Excellent! Now, I’d like thirteen orgasms, please!’ I say arching my back like a cat.

  Chapter 54

  ‘I can’t believe you made scones!’

  ‘Sc-ohns,’ he mimics. ‘They’re sconns, love.’

  ‘Can’t believe you made sconns, love!’

  We’ve invited Mum to cream tea at Rose Cottage. She seemed really excited.