Unstoppable

by Bankes, Liz

  ‘Callum,’ she says, dabbing at nothing on her chin with her napkin. ‘What have you been doing with your summer?’

  Cal looks up and swallows food too quickly, almost choking.

  ‘I work in this awesome pub. You guys should come down for a drink. It does great burgers!’

  His voice is so loud. I scan the room to see if anyone is looking at us and meet Martin’s eye. The Morton-Spitzes are on a different table, but he is right in my eyeline.

  ‘It’s all work experience,’ says Dad, like he’s imparting great wisdom.

  ‘As long as you move on at some point,’ says Mum crisply and then she looks over at Poppy, who looks up with a mouth full of food.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Don’t want to be working in a pub all our lives, do we?’

  ‘Oh I got sacked from there,’ says Poppy. ‘I teach old people to dance now.’

  ‘Cool!’ says Cal and Mum and Dad give each other a look.

  ‘Seriously,’ says Cal to Poppy, stabbing a potato with his fork. ‘You just do stuff and don’t care what people think. I love it.’

  He looks at me. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest.

  ‘What’s up with Steven?’ Poppy whispers to me.

  When Cal gets up, unsteadily, to go to the loo, Mum leans over to me.

  ‘Is everything usual with you and him, Rosie?’

  It’s like someone asking if I’m okay. I don’t trust my voice to answer without shaking.

  ‘They had an argument,’ Poppy chimes in. ‘Nothing major.’

  How does she know?

  ‘What about?’ Dad looks to me and then Poppy. He looks concerned and maybe a bit hurt. I think maybe he’s offended I didn’t mention anything during any of our phone calls. He’s always telling people how close we are. Poppy does her usual vague shrug. But I know it’s a fake this time.

  Mum and Dad share another look before Mum speaks again.

  ‘You’re very young, Rosie. Perhaps it might be an idea to, you know, cut your ties. You’ll meet so many new people at uni.’

  Dad looks like he might say something, but doesn’t.

  ‘It was just an argument,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Look, you know how . . . fond we are of Callum,’ Mum says delicately.

  Dad nods. ‘Very lively.’

  ‘But you may find that as you get older you outgrow him a little. You’re so bright and ambitious and Callum’s . . . well, rather on the laid-back side, isn’t he?’ I see her eyes flick over to the Morton-Spitzes’ table. ‘You might find that there are others who are more . . . suited to you.’

  ‘If that happens, it would be great if you could let me know.’ Cal is standing by the table. He stays there, trying to look defiant, but I can see his eyes are shining. Cal’s hardly ever sarcastic. Then a guest walks up to him and tries to order a bottle of wine. Cal looks down at his shirt, tie and black trousers.

  ‘I’m not a waiter,’ he says and sits back down.

  No one says anything and Cal drains his wine glass.

  ‘Listen, mate,’ says Dad in his taxi-driver voice. ‘Relationships aren’t easy.’

  Cal doesn’t say anything.

  Dad throws his hands up. ‘We haven’t made a toast!’ He fusses round the table making sure everyone has something in their glass. When he gets to Cal he deliberately gives him only a dribble.

  ‘Rosie,’ says Dad. ‘A very happy birthday and congratulations on top-notch A-levels. And I’m quite sure you’ll make a success of everything you do.’

  Well, except for my relationships and the fact I’m the worst-performing person in the company at my job.

  Mum clinks my glass. ‘And we’ll appeal on that B,’ she says.

  Thanks, Mum.

  Cal has a smile plastered on his face. When our glasses clink our eyes meet. Cal frowns for a moment.

  ‘I’d like to make a toast, too.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Mum under her breath.

  Cal holds his now-empty glass above his head.

  ‘What I want to say . . .’ He’s slurring his words and his arm sways to the side. ‘Oh sorry.’

  He’d bumped into the waiter, who was bringing out the puddings.

  ‘Pannacotta – get in!’ says Poppy.

  I’m hoping Cal’s been distracted.

  ‘What I want to say,’ he says even louder, ‘is that, actually, “mate”’ – he points at my dad – ‘it is easy. I love you.’

  ‘What?’ says Dad.

  ‘I love Rosie. I was looking at Rosie,’ says Cal.

  It was quite hard to tell as he’s gone a bit cross-eyed.

  I look down at my hands, wanting it all to stop.

  ‘I love you!’ he shouts and his voice echoes around the room. ‘And I’m so sorry I lied, but it was only because I never feel good enough for you. But I love you and that’s what matters, isn’t it?’

  I feel all the eyes on me. I just want him to shut up.

  ‘Cal, stop it. Everyone’s looking.’

  ‘So?’ he says and then turns to look round the room. ‘Hello!’ he waves. ‘Don’t mind me – just telling my girlfriend I love her. You go back to talking about money or bringing back slavery or whatever it is.’

  ‘She said stop,’ says Mum, her voice low and cold. Someone at another table is talking to a waiter and pointing in our direction. The waiter comes over.

  ‘We’ve had a request that you either quiet down or leave, sir.’

  Cal and the waiter look to the table.

  ‘Probably best if you go, son,’ says Dad.

  Cal stands up. I can’t meet his eye. And then I accidentally catch Martin’s across the room and he gives me a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Rosie.’ Cal is watching us. He doesn’t sound angry any more, just sad. He starts taking off the tie and it gets stuck, and he fiddles with it to try and undo the knot. Then he stops and looks at me.

  ‘You wouldn’t do this for me,’ he says.

  ‘Take your tie off?’ I almost laugh at how random that seems.

  ‘No, tell me you love me in front of loads of people and not care what anyone thinks.’

  Oh.

  He wrenches the tie free and throws it over to Martin, who picks it up off the floor. ‘Thanks . . .’ Martin says, his eyebrow raised. Then the waiter puts his hand firmly on Cal’s shoulder and leads him away.

  Ten minutes after he’s gone I get a text from him.

  I dropped out, by the way.

  Chapter 30

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVE TO MY FAVOURITE SISTER!’

  Poppy bats the side of my face with her hand until I open my eyes.

  ‘Get up! We’re going out for breakfast,’ she says and I turn over, away from her. Then she pulls the duvet completely off me and onto her side of the bed.

  I reluctantly sit up. ‘Why can’t we eat here?’

  ‘The milk’s gone hard,’ she says, shoving me out of bed with her foot.

  I look around the room. Poppy’s flat is on the top floor of one of those big Victorian houses, which means her room is big, but it is also freezing, as there’s no double glazing. And the wallpaper is peeling in places. And I spent a while earlier staring at some odd stains on the ceiling.

  ‘That’s because you don’t have a rota for buying it,’ I say and examine my face in the mirror. I don’t really look like I’m on the brink of becoming a proper adult. More like an irritable person with mad hair.

  ‘I didn’t realise you were turning forty tomorrow.’ She hunts for her bag. When she finds it she looks inside.

  ‘Um, Ro?’

  ‘I can pay for breakfast. My birthday present from Mum and Dad looks very much like it might be money.’

  It’s an envelope with R – birthday money written on it.

  ‘Oh thanks, Ro.’ Poppy takes off her pyjama top and looks around on the floor for her bra. ‘I always get vouchers.’ She frowns.

  ‘That’s because you’d spend it on something weird, whereas th
ey know all I’ll do is go crazy buying stationery or sensible shoes.’

  ‘Do you think it’s because of the time I bought a goat?’ She chucks her pyjama trousers on the bed.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  I grab what I hope are Poppy’s keys off the side as she wanders out into the stairway leaving the door wide open. Then I suddenly panic as I am locking it that a neighbour will see me. Poppy told me that this place isn’t a squat, but I think that one of her flatmates could have just told her that and she wouldn’t question it. Also, it isn’t very clean and no one appears to have a job.

  Can you get in trouble for being the guest of a squatter?

  But, as I follow my sister down the grimy concrete stairs, I think how much I’d rather be here in my sister’s grotty London flat than at home with Mum and Dad going on about uni. Or in Oxford where I’d have to see Cal.

  There’s a café on the same road as Poppy’s house, so we pull up some chairs and sit at an outside table. Poppy orders two of their ‘best breakfasts’ so I’m not entirely sure what we’ll be eating.

  ‘Thanks for having me,’ I say and Poppy shrugs mid-cigarette.

  ‘Any time. Do you need to stay tonight?’

  ‘Oh no – I’m going back to Oxford.’

  Poppy nods. ‘You sorting things out with Cal then?’

  I look up in surprise. Poppy asking a question relevant to the situation is very rare. And she got his name right.

  ‘No – well, not really. Maybe. I’m, um, going for a drink with that guy from the other night,’ I say quickly.

  ‘Who was that?’ she says suspiciously.

  Well, this is a brilliant time for Poppy to turn into Miss Marple.

  ‘Just that guy Mum and Dad were talking to. He’s my mentor on the internship programme I’m doing. It’s his birthday today so he’s having a party and he said I should go and I don’t have anything else to do, so I am.’

  Am I talking too much? I shouldn’t have to hide it. I can go for a drink with whoever I want. I can meet up with people I hardly know and be spontaneous and have a wild time.

  I’m not so sure that I can really, but perhaps if I say it enough it will become true.

  ‘Cool,’ says Poppy. ‘Oh, eggs. Brilliant!’

  Chapter 31

  I’m meeting Martin at the crossroads that leads down to his college at five-thirty. The party starts with drinks outside apparently, so he wanted to make sure it would still be warm enough. Is it a bit sad that my birthday-eve plans are tagging along to someone else’s party?

  All the way from the station I was panicking that I would see Cal or one of the other housemates. Then when I was waiting at the crossroads (early as usual) I saw someone who looked a bit like Simon, had a mini heart attack and ran down the High Street. Then I saw someone who looked like Dan coming the other way and I dived into the nearest shop. Which turned out to be one of those shops that sell the ceremonial robes and those gowns Oxford students wear (and always reminded me of something from Diagon Alley). I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t meant to go in there so I ended up saying I wanted to buy a robe. The man asked if I was matriculating in September and I said no, I just liked the robes. He told me to come back on Monday as he was about to close, which is code for ‘Please leave, you weirdo.’ I don’t even think it was Simon and Dan anyway.

  The street now seems clear of housemate doppelgängers, so I walk back up the road. My heel catches on a gap in the pavement, my ankle gives way and I nearly go flying. I’m not doing a very good job of sneaking through town.

  I did think of telling Cal I was here. Then I could stay in the house. But Martin said he could arrange for me to stay in one of the rooms in college if I wanted. And I haven’t heard from Cal since I replied to his dropping-out text to say I hoped he was okay.

  I stumble again on another pavement crack. It’s because I hardly ever wear heels. I’m taller than Gabi and Mia when they are in them anyway. Nish isn’t bothered about towering over all of us with her long legs, but I don’t like to stick out. And everyone is small next to Cal.

  But Martin said there was a smart dress code. So I borrowed these shoes from Poppy and then we went shopping for a new dress. It was like being kids again. When I was nine and Poppy turned thirteen she was allowed to take me into town. (Although Mum did ask me to make sure Poppy didn’t do anything silly, so I’m not sure who was taking who really.) We’d spend all morning trying on different outfits and then get milkshakes. I hadn’t realised how much I miss hanging out with Poppy since she left home. Today we tried on loads of dresses and argued just like old times. I couldn’t zip up one of her dresses and she blamed my ‘fat hands’. I didn’t say that the dress was at least two sizes too small. Not that Poppy would care – she’ll squeeze herself into a tight dress and flaunt her curves without being at all self-conscious. Whereas I try to hide my lack of curves in shift dresses. Poppy persuaded me to try this dress on. It’s much more on the figure-hugging side than I am really comfortable with. And it has gypsy sleeves, so it’s more low-cut then my usual style too. I tried to argue that I have no boobs, but Poppy just shrugged and said, ‘So?’

  For a moment I really wish I was still with her. We could have stayed at hers and watched films. She said she didn’t have any plans tonight and it was a shame I have to go to this thing.

  Only I don’t have to go, do I? But here I am. Or I could have invited her. But I didn’t. I tap on my handbag uneasily as a guilty thought strikes. It’s because I would be embarrassed introducing her to the people from the course. It was like Cal said – she does what she wants and doesn’t care what people think. So does he. But I can’t seem to not care what people think.

  I’m rescued from the soul-searching by Martin arriving with a group of people in suits and nice dresses, chatting and laughing loudly.

  This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have tried to be spontaneous; I should have stayed at home in the possible squat where the only danger was accidentally drinking hard milk.

  ‘Good evening,’ he says, one eyebrow raised.

  He is a bit like Draco Malfoy, actually. There’s something slightly sly about him. He’d definitely be in Slytherin, anyway. I’m not sure what to make of that since, according to my friends, I am one hundred per cent Hufflepuff.

  ‘Hello!’ I say. ‘Happy birthday.’ I smile at him and then wave at the others behind him. Some of them are from the course, but most I don’t know.

  ‘Just to warn you,’ I say as we start down St Aldate’s. ‘If there is a “getting served alcohol” issue, I can’t lie in those situations. I’ll just run.’

  ‘So we need to keep you hidden until midnight?’ he says. ‘Shame, when you look so lovely.’

  I don’t really know what to say to that. And my mind immediately flicks to a memory of Cal and when I was doing one of my mad early-morning revision sessions and I woke up at four in the morning and couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t realised he’d woken up too and was looking over at me. I was in pyjamas with all my hair piled on top of my head and frowning through my glasses at the piles of notes. He said, ‘You look lovely.’ I said, ‘I really don’t.’ He said, ‘I love you.’

  ‘So I’ll just be on the Diet Cokes till then,’ I say to fill the huge, awkward silence that followed his comment.

  ‘No problem.’ He smiles at me.

  I’ve had more than my usual two drinks. Now is definitely the time to stop. When the first Diet Coke arrived I took a sip. It was Diet Coke and whisky. Martin caught my eye from across the quad and winked.

  I smiled back and held the glass in the air, but I felt a twinge of annoyance. I know he probably thought he was helping me get past the age problem, but I didn’t ask him to.

  I managed to make the drink last for the rest of the outside bit (mainly because it tasted really strong and quite horrible), before we were led in to dinner. We were at one end of one of the tables in the Great Hall, which is as grand as it sounds – all wooden panelling and the walls lined with portraits. T
here was wine already out on the table and through the meal Martin kept pushing my glass towards me. I noticed he was doing it to other people too, but they didn’t seem to mind. When he got up to go and speak to a waiter at the other end of the room I heard a ginger guy whispering to the girl with long brown hair next to him.

  ‘Martin’s, like, so full-on today, isn’t he?’

  The girl rolled her eyes at him. ‘Well, yeah . . .’ she said, but she didn’t get the chance to finish, because Martin came back over.

  ‘It’s absinthe,’ says a guy with dark, wavy hair.

  We are in an upstairs room somewhere in the college. I must have been staring at this guy without realising. I did vaguely wonder what he was up to, pouring water over sugar into a glass of something green, but mainly I was wondering if Cal is going to wish me happy birthday. I’ve just been sitting on the sofa hardly talking to anyone. And thinking about all of the people I could have been spending my birthday with. The guy hands the glass to me.

  ‘Have you never tried it before?’ he says.

  ‘Oh no, I’ve had it loads of times. Yum!’ I take a sip.

  It is in fact the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted.

  ‘Mmm. I’m just going to . . . tell lots of other people how nice this is.’

  I creep off to the toilets, planning to throw it away and get a normal drink.

  I walk straight into Martin. He puts both hands on my shoulders and smiles at me, his eyes sparkling. I remember his friends’ conversation from earlier about him being full-on and I’m suddenly struck by the thought of how little I really know about him.

  ‘Having fun?’

  ‘Yep!’

  ‘Good,’ he says softly and grins at me. Then he says, ‘What?’ and I realise I’ve been frowning at him.

  ‘Oh, nothing. I was just going . . .’ I point to the other side of the room, where I assume the toilets are.

  I’m not used to not knowing what is going on behind someone’s eyes. I always thought Cal was an open book. If he smiles it’s because he’s happy (usually due to something food-related) and if he looks sad it’s because he’s sad. Like when he left the meal.