Unstoppable

by Bankes, Liz

  I walk quickly past Martin, hoping there won’t be a queue for the toilet because I think I’m about to cry.

  I lock the door and lean against it. And I finally let all the sad things I’ve been thinking show on my face.

  And Cal will never know because I’m crying in silence in a place full of strangers.

  Last autumn was the first time I visited him in Oxford and he picked me up and spun me round as soon as I came through the ticket barriers, making me drop all my bags and annoying all the other people who’d just got off the train. I hit him on the shoulder to make him put me down.

  Walking along the platform, holding his hand, I was making a list in my head of things to worry about.

  1. I realised on the train I missed a bit when I was shaving my legs. I may have to angle my leg away from him the whole weekend.

  2. I think my hand is turning clammy holding his. Maybe I should mention it in case he thinks I’ve got clammy skin all over.

  3. What if his housemates make a group decision that they don’t like me and ask me to leave?

  4. What if when Cal said we could have a long-distance relationship he was just being polite and he’s leading me off to dump me?

  5. It would be nice if I could stop spending all my time in my head and just enjoy something.

  I’d only been going out with him for about two months, and that had been the summer holidays, when we were in the same town with all our friends around us. I’d started to relax around him and begin to be more myself, when the summer ended. He was going back to his uni life, which didn’t include me at all. What if I didn’t fit in to it?

  We got into his house and only Arlo was in the front room, so I was introduced to him and was slightly relieved to meet someone else who was socially awkward.

  As he closed the door to his room Cal narrowed his eyes at me.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  ‘Nothing, I’m fine! We should probably start getting ready for dinner.’

  ‘It’s three-thirty.’

  He tried to peer at me and I turned away. So he went over to the bed and lay down with his arms folded.

  ‘I’ve got all night.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ I said. ‘We’re going out for dinner.’

  He shrugged. ‘You may as well tell me now because I can be really annoying when I want to be.’

  I gave him a look and he patted the bed next to him. I walked over and sat down, then I looked at him and his smile made me smile too. And I thought that I could tell him what I was thinking and it would be okay.

  While I was thinking that he shoved his knee in my back.

  ‘What’s up?’

  And he kneed me again.

  ‘Give me a chance!’ I shouted. And he did it again.

  ‘STOP IT!’

  Cal gave a huge laugh.

  ‘I knew your mean side would come out sooner or later.’

  He made me smile again.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you. But you’re going to end up thinking I’m a nutcase.’

  ‘I can deal with that. Everyone’s a bit nutty really.’

  So I told him all the things I worried about. About how I spent all my time in my head. And I was afraid of letting myself enjoy being with him, or admit how much I liked him, in case it all went wrong.

  I didn’t mention the hairy leg and the clammy hand. Some worries should remain secret.

  He listened, just letting me talk, and when I’d finished he looked up at me with a thoughtful expression. When he spoke his voice was lower and quieter than usual.

  ‘You know, it’s a relief to hear that you’re scared, because I’m bloody terrified.’

  ‘Really? You don’t seem like you’d ever be scared.’

  ‘Yeah! I’m scared you’re going to turn round at some point and realise you’re going out with a complete idiot! I didn’t care about anything before I met you. Now there’s something that matters to me.’

  We never went to the restaurant.

  I look at my face in the mirror. I look a mess. I dab at the mascara so I don’t have to go back in there with panda eyes. I pause for a moment. And then I call him.

  Chapter 32

  ‘Where have you been?’ says Martin. He’s leaning on a wall by the door and puts his hand out to stop me as I pass.

  ‘Just mingling.’

  In the toilet. On my own.

  ‘You’ve finished your drink.’ He taps the empty glass.

  If by ‘finished’ you mean ‘tipped down the sink’, then yes I have.

  ‘We can’t have you empty handed.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks – I don’t really feel like another.’

  Despite what I’ve said, Martin appears a few minutes later with another drink. He smiles at me and says that as I’m the ‘birthday girl’ I should be having a good time.

  And I should be. I should be having fun and forgetting I care about anything. Just like Cal is right now, from the sounds of it.

  Before I can reply, Martin’s gone again. I watch him, walking up to different groups, throwing lines into their conversations. Up until now I’ve been sort of in awe of his confidence – how smooth he is and how he always seems to say the right thing. But now it’s annoying. And patronising. He puts down drink after drink on the table. And I manage to dispose of each one without him noticing. Sometimes giving them away, sometimes running off to the loo.

  I’m doing a good job of convincing him I’m having a good time, although he may think I have cystitis.

  I look around the room and it lurches slightly. The drinks from before are definitely more than enough.

  The guy with dark, wavy hair holds out his hand.

  ‘Hi, I’m Peter. But my friends call me Paedo.’

  I’m not entirely sure what to say to that. How nice, I’m Rosie, but my friends call me Sex Offender?

  ‘As bants,’ he adds.

  Oh, well, that’s okay then.

  I’m all ready to come up with some excuse and quietly go to the room I’m staying in. Martin pointed it out earlier, so I should be able to find it. But then I remember what I heard when Cal answered the phone. He’s not moping around, crying in toilets and going to bed early. He’s out with a load of laughing girls.

  Two can play at that game.

  Maybe.

  I tell ‘Paedo’ I’m just going to make a quick phone call and duck out of the door, which leads to the top of a winding staircase. I take out my phone and go on Facebook. Just a quick status about who I’m out celebrating my birthday with and what an amazing time I’m having. So he knows I’m not a loser who can’t have fun without him.

  Then I see it.

  He’s changed his profile picture. It’s not the one of him with his arms round me while he’s biting my ear. It’s him standing on a boat and brandishing a punting pole. The cover photo isn’t the Will and Lyra bench any more, it’s them all on the punt. Everyone in the house except me. And his relationship status has disappeared.

  I feel hollow. Two days ago he was telling a restaurant full of people he loved me. Now he’s publicly moving on.

  ‘Paedo’ is sitting by one of the windows that look back down over the quad. I wave at him, take a deep breath, go over and sit on the sill next to him and start talking. It turns out it is actually quite easy to talk when everything you say is the opposite of what you mean.

  ‘The placement – it’s just so . . . me, you know? I thrive on the rush of clinching a sale.’

  I dread going in every morning and when I did sell some insulation to an old lady I went and hid in the toilets for ten minutes because I felt so guilty.

  ‘Absinthe is like, okay – I mean, I’ll drink it if it’s there, but it’s by no means my favourite of the spirits. When I’m out socialising I prefer a G & T.’

  I want some Ribena.

  ‘I’m actually glad we broke up. Now I can do what I want and come to things like this, which is so much fun.’

  I have no idea what I mean.
Or think. Or feel.

  Peter Paedo looks interested in what I’m saying and nods in all the right places. He’s not bad-looking, even though he is slurring his words and says ‘bants’ a lot.

  After a few more minutes of inane conversation he leans in close and his fringe flops over his eyes.

  ‘You know, Ruby, I’d really like to kiss you.’

  I could say ‘Oh no thanks’ or ‘It’s getting late’ or ‘That’s not my name’, but, because I’m me, I say, ‘Ooh, go on then!’

  Go on then? That will be a lovely story to tell our grandchildren. Who will know me as Grandma Ruby.

  It’s not the most amazing kiss. A bit like those first kisses at school discos when you are just working out that mouths are for kissing as well as eating and there is a bit of overlap in the technique.

  His tongue is squirming around in my mouth like a slug. Not that I’m much better, I’m sure, seeing as my head is spinning and my mind is somewhere else. At one point I actually forget to keep moving my mouth. I can hear people commenting in the room and a few voices calling out from down in the quad.

  I feel sick.

  ‘What’s the time?’ I say suddenly. Into his mouth.

  ‘Huh?’ he says, into mine.

  I pull my face away from him. ‘What’s the time?’ I repeat, but I don’t give him a chance to answer. I pick up my bag and move away from the window and out of his reach. I don’t know what I was thinking.

  I take my phone out and press the menu button. The photo of me and Cal appears. The same one that he’s just taken off his Facebook profile. The time is displayed across our faces. Midnight.

  I’m eighteen.

  And I’m with a whole load of people I don’t know.

  Soon my phone starts buzzing as Mia, Gabi and Nish all message me. Mia sends a picture of a sloth with its thumbs up. Nish sends one of four old ladies on a night out with a message saying, The one with her skirt tucked into her knickers is you. Happy b’day dude x

  Gabi’s is all capital letters and exclamation marks and her saying how she has the celebration weekend all planned and she thinks I’m going to love it.

  I need to leave.

  I say a general goodbye, but I don’t think anyone really notices. When I look back at Peter he’s already chatting to another girl, so I don’t think he’ll be too heartbroken.

  When I walk out of the door someone is sitting on the top step of the winding staircase.

  Martin twists round and looks at me. His face is flushed and his eyes are bloodshot. Then I see he’s holding a bottle of whisky.

  ‘I thought you didn’t drink?’

  ‘Well, it’s my birthday, isn’t it?’ he says in a low voice. He lifts up the bottle, does an imaginary cheers and smiles, but no part of his face looks happy.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I say, slightly unnerved. He seems so different to his usual confident, controlled self. And he’s blocking my way down the stairs.

  ‘Fine,’ he snaps and takes a swig from the bottle.

  ‘Okay, well I’m going to head to bed now.’

  ‘I thought you were having a good time.’ He’s looking at me and frowning. And he still hasn’t moved from the stairs.

  ‘I was – I did. But I’m going, so if you could . . .’

  To my relief he stands up. But as I go on to the first step he suddenly puts his hand on the bannister, trapping me.

  ‘Come on, don’t be boring. Life’s too short!’

  He has tears in his eyes.

  I duck under his arm and move a few steps down, my heart thumping.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I am going. I think maybe you should go to bed too.’

  Then I see his expression. His face is pale white and twisted in pure hatred. He’s looking at me, I think, and then I realise he’s looking down the stairs behind me. His eyes look like they’re on fire.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  I turn to look, but as I do I get the familiar racing heart and sudden cold feeling. The whole staircase swims in front of my eyes and then it all goes black.

  Chapter 33

  ‘Cal was worried after you called. So he phoned your sister to find out when/if you were coming back. She told him you’d gone out with someone called Spitty Marvin. I talked to her and worked out who she meant. He’s bad news, so I told Cal I’d come down and find you.’

  Cleo is sitting on her windowsill and I’m on her bed with my hands wrapped around a big mug of tea. Nigel the cat is kneading Cleo’s leg, but she doesn’t appear to mind.

  ‘So who was the dude you were kissing in the window?’ she says.

  ‘You saw?’

  She nods. ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘Oh God.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘He said his name was Peter, but his friends call him Paedo. As banter,’ I say miserably.

  Cleo bursts out laughing. I look at her and can’t help laughing too. I turn a bit hysterical and I can’t stop.

  ‘I don’t know if I’m laughing or crying!’ I say.

  There’s a short silence and Cleo scratches Nigel’s chin. I slept in here last night after she rescued me. I’ve thanked her about twelve times, until she told me it was annoying. But seeing as she caught me just as I fainted and stopped me falling down a flight of stairs I thought twelve thank yous was fair.

  ‘How did we get home?’ I say as it occurs to me that I have no memory of it.

  ‘With difficulty,’ she says. ‘You’d gone delirious so I shoved you in a taxi.’

  ‘I remember someone carrying me.’

  Cleo flexes her muscles.

  ‘You seemed to want to take me to your sister’s – you said I needed to find a squat next to a café.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

  She shrugs. ‘It’s fine. At first I thought you were telling me to squat next to a café, which was more weird.’

  ‘So how do you know Martin?’ I say.

  Cleo stiffens. ‘He . . . uh, we used to hang out last term. I was good friends with his sister, but we kind of all fell out.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say.

  Cleo doesn’t reply. She’s frowning and concentrating on stroking Nigel. She looks like she might be trying not to cry.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she says. ‘So, you’re eighteen.’

  ‘And I celebrated by throwing myself down the stairs.’

  She laughs. ‘There’s a gift for you somewhere. We had to go on a “house shopping trip” to buy it.’

  I don’t ask if that was Cal’s idea. In case she says no. Instead I say, ‘Well, you’ve had the day out, the movie night and the shopping trip. That makes you a fully initiated housemate.’

  She rolls her eyes but has a slight smile. ‘They’ve worn me down. I guess it’s not so bad, having friends. I’ve even got used to the stupid cat. Had to, really – it never leaves my room except to shit.’

  I think for a moment. About all the times I’ve been sitting with my friends and laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. And the hours of phone calls and messaging sessions and crisis coffees. That’s what matters, isn’t it? You can keep trying to get the Life part right, but the main thing is you have people to share it with. And that’s what Cal was too. Someone to share things with. And laugh about them with. To be happy for you when things are good and there for you when they’re not. It’s like everything is suddenly in sharp focus. I slam my fist on the bed and say, ‘I know what I’ve got to do!’

  Tea sloshes over the side of my cup and onto Cleo’s duvet and I apologise.

  ‘Well, spit it out,’ she says.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to sit here being miserable about things not being how I want them. I’m going to go out and change them.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ says Cleo. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well . . .’ I say. I don’t want to lose the momentum. I’m sort of making this up as I go along, but at the same time feel like I’m finally saying something I’ve be
en thinking the whole time.

  ‘I’m going to make them take me off the phones on the internship,’ I say firmly. ‘And I’m going to phone up uni and tell them I want to do something else.’

  ‘Wow, a girl with a plan,’ says Cleo in her usual dry way, but she’s smiling.

  ‘Because if it still all goes wrong, it doesn’t matter,’ I carry on. ‘Because I have awesome friends I can moan and laugh about it with.’

  Cleo nods. ‘Sounds like you do.’

  ‘And do you know what else?’ I hit the bed again with my hand.

  ‘You’re going to ruin my expensive duvet with tea?’

  ‘Cal and I need a crisis coffee.’

  Chapter 34

  ‘My name’s Patience and I’m calling to talk to you about that accident you had.’

  I always forget that Bruiser’s name isn’t actually Bruiser.

  I marched straight over to Clint’s office when I arrived this morning. Well, I walked quickly up to the door, went to knock, decided he was probably busy and I should come back later and then he opened it anyway.

  ‘I have something to say and I want you to listen —’ I mumbled quietly.

  ‘Rosie,’ he interrupted. It is possible he didn’t actually hear me. ‘You’re disappointing.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Four weeks and one hit. You know what it is? You’re a nice person. And that’s great if we’re – I dunno – eating biscuits and talking about the weather, but this is business. I need you to be a dick, but in a good way. Do you see what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yes?’ I wonder if I could get a job eating biscuits and talking about the weather?

  ‘You don’t have what it takes, Rosie.’

  ‘Oh . . . dear.’

  ‘For the last week of the placement I’m demoting you to making tea and doing data entry. And I’m cutting your pay. What do you say to that?’

  ‘Thanks, Clint!’

  He walked past, looking back in confusion at how happy I sounded.

  I put Bruiser’s tea down on the desk and she gives me a thumbs-up, before bringing her fist crashing down on the table and shouting, ‘YES you can ignore the THOUSANDS of pounds of unclaimed money, but it’s your children who will SUFFER when you can’t afford to buy them birthday presents.’ There’s a brief pause while the person on the phone says something and then she adds, ‘Or FOOD.’