Flick

by Abigail Tarttelin

  “Erm. Maths, statistics, English language and literature, err . . . biology, chemistry, physics, animation, French, tech and history.”

  “Wow, that’s a cool mix, I’d have loved to do animation when I was at school!” Scottish Mum exclaims.

  “Yeah, me too,” murmurs Rainbow.

  I hear myself say I really enjoy it and tell them we do adverts and get to design our own cartoons.

  Rainbow’s brother, Tim, suddenly pipes up. “Mum has a friend who does that.”

  Everyone apart from me and Tim is eating, so no one replies at first. Don’t say “Which one,” my inner voice advises me, it would be inappropriate.

  “Yeah, I do,” Scottish Mum says. “I should get in touch with him about it for you, you could get an internship, he has quite a large group of artists working with him.”

  “They’re doing a book at the moment, aren’t they?” Mum-from-Hull.

  “Yeah, an ensemble sort of thing. You could be involved, Will, wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Well, yeah.” I squirm, suddenly embarrassed, like when you open a present in front of the giver and don’t know what to say. “Thanks, that’d be wicked.”

  Tim starts talking to me about comic books and Rainbow teases him about his obsession with muscular men in tights. We all laugh and I start to let go and enjoy myself. A weird feeling surrounds me. I’m actually having fun at the dinner table. With a family. The last time I had real family fun at our dinner table was about a year ago when Dad was out and Mum and Tommo joined in with me and Nikki and got stoned and giggled and snorted roast out of our nostrils through five episodes of Friends.

  Back at Rainbow’s hummus and tabbouleh salad I tell myself to relax and actually relate my very funny psychiatrist joke well, which, timing being such an issue in comedy, is hard to do under pressure, with erratic breathing being many a nervous comedian’s downfall. I am urged into it by Rainbow, who pisses herself every time I tell it: “It’s just the way you say it!” Here it is:

  A patient says to his psychiatrist: “Last night I made a Freudian slip. I was having dinner with my mother-in-law and wanted to say: ‘Could you please pass the butter?’ But instead I said: ‘You silly cow, you’ve completely ruined my life.’ ” . . . Fucking funny, right?

  Everyone laughs and I relax even more. Scottish-Trinidadian Mum, Aisha, tells us about meeting Lucy (Hull Mum)’s parents for the first time, which is very funny also.

  “My parents were always cool about everything,” Aisha says. “My dad has always been a real trade unionist and feminist and loved the idea of me being this strong woman who had no need for a man. My mum’s from Trinidad and women are often the head of the household there, so she just said”—Aisha breaks out a heavy Caribbean accent—“ ‘Good, you’ll ’ave no man to fool around on you and drink away all your money!’ ”

  Lucy laughs.

  “What were your parents like about it, Mum?” asks Tim.

  “Hmm.” Lucy thinks. “The main thing for my mum was that there would be no grandchildren. But then we had you two! So now she’s fine. She has two kids to buy presents for and boast about to her friends.”

  “Did you ever wanna have kids yourself? You know, like, err . . .” Oh bollocks, my inquisitive mind spoke without thinking and now I’ve started a sentence that can’t end without a reference to sperm, or pushing a baby out, or one of Bow’s mums’ wombs.

  Aisha touches my wrist kindly. “We do have kids ourselves, Will. Some families are born and some families meet each other. But it’s a good question, and we’ve talked to the kids about it before,” she says, nodding at Rainbow and Tim, happily shoveling couscous into their mouths with none of the insecurity I’d expect from them in this conversation. “We did consider having a sperm donor and one of us carrying a child, but we felt very strongly that we wouldn’t love a child more just because we shared similar genes or traits, and it seemed somehow wrong to ‘make’ a baby when we knew there were kids already out there, waiting for us.”

  There’s a pause and Lucy adds, “Plus, babies are so much work.”

  “I knew it!” I crow, and everybody explodes with laughter.

  This is great, I think. Familial. I feel comfortable enough to just be myself, which is wicked, ’cause I want to be able to be myself around Rainbow all the time. I’m dreamily musing on this when Rainbow snorts up her orange juice (very prettily) and says: “Hey, d’you remember Kyle, the other day, calling across the road to his mum, telling her she was sex on legs?” (Kyle does this—he is weird.)

  “Yeah!” I laugh. “That was gay!”

  Shit.

  CINEMATIC

  Here’s one for you, Kyle. A scene worthy of cinema.

  Later.

  Back at mine.

  Eyes wide open.

  A long take.

  I follow Rainbow into my room, the light dim through the heavy curtains and cheap, plastic motel-room blinds.

  The sea whispers outside.

  She turns to face me, curling her top round her body and over her head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, walking backwards towards the mattress.

  I feel myself moving towards her in the half-light.

  She lies in slow motion upon the sheets, long arms behind her head, delicate fingers held in her hair.

  Ocean eyes stare me down.

  I kneel before her, kiss up her soft brown stomach, catch her eye.

  We kiss.

  And my hands go to the zip of her jeans at her waist.

  And hers go to mine.

  Only then do I blink.

  End Scene. (At least all of the scene you’ll ever see, Kyle, you dirty bastard.)

  PART IV

  * * *

  PLEASE DON’T SAY “PUSSY”

  “FLICK.” Me and Rainbow are out in Langrick, walking back from Ritzies with Danny and Danny’s girl, passing a rank little side street, when I hear my name being called. A little way down the street there is a white pebble-dash terrace house, in front of which Fez is stood. I remember too late he lives around here. We saw him earlier in the evening, about to score with some girl called Hannah (or perhaps even scoring—they were stood pretty close), so I knew I could avoid him. If there’s one thing more important to Fez than business, it’s pussy. I’ve always hated the word “pussy.” In my head it’s fine but said out loud it sounds rank. Say “cunt” if you want but don’t say “pussy,” it’s fucking horrible.

  So there we are, approaching Fez, me looking for a way out, trying to signal to him with my eyes, “My girlfriend’s here, let’s leave this for another time,” and most probably failing.

  Hannah walks out of the front door, takes a look at us and carries on down the street, and as she passes the kebab place Fez nods after her and says: “Well she’s a fucking whore if ever I saw one.” With this he flicks his cigarette in the drain, gives me a hard stare and nods across the street to where a car is parked. Its silent driver sits inside. Fez gets in his car and drives away with a screech of tires and a loud rev and the undercover cop car follows. I let out a massive sigh of relief.

  “Didn’t he just screw her?” Rainbow asks with disbelief in her voice, which I tried to describe to Wally (some lad, didn’t know him, anyone polite or stupid enough to listen to me wax lyrical about my girl would’ve done) yesterday and failed. After ten, maybe fifteen minutes of trying I concluded that it was posh-ish but without sounding inbred. He said, “Oh ay.”

  And yeah, Rainbow, Fez did just fuck her. “Fez has got this theory. He can treat all the girls who get with him and the rest of the crowd like dirt because as Fez puts it, he has ‘no respect for women who shag stoners.’ ”

  She looks dubious. “But Fez is a stoner.”

  “Hence the reason he is also a wanker,” Danny says, and Danny and me and Danny’s Girl nod knowingly.

  KILL KYLE AND LET KENNY LIVE

  It is at this exact moment that Kyle dances Bruce Forsyth style down from the opposite end of the street. “A
ll right, Mr. Will Flicker!”

  Shit. Kyle. Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up.

  “Here, have you been at Fez’s? I’ve got some news about the deal, boyo! You wanna do it tomorrow?” Wanker.

  “No.” I eyeball him angrily.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes? You all smacked up?” He laughs, making hurr-hurr breath noises. My brain rolls its eyes within my head and says darkly: let’s twat him.

  “No, I’m not!”

  “I was thinking of buyers and there’s one at your fucking school, man—”

  “Kyle, not now—”

  “—who I bet could use some blow!”

  “KYLE!” I yank him over to the front door of the house by the jacket as he bounces up and down in enthusiasm. “Kyle, I said I can’t right now, Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “What? Why?” Kyle looks so dejected I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy. A fucking annoying idiotic bastard puppy.

  I stare at him wordlessly and my eyes slide to my right, where Rainbow is stood. He whirls around trying to see what I’m signaling at.

  “What, what? What’s happening? Is it the feds? DUCK AND ROLL!” He dives onto the gravel drive and throws a bag of pills into a nearby bush. “Hide the stash!”

  “Get up,” I hiss, making an extreme effort not to strangle him. “Get up, you stupid twat.” The others look over. Kyle is cuddling my ankles and muttering something about being a sheep and repenting. I grin at the others, gesture to the lump at my feet and laugh. “Oh, Kyle, you’re so fucking funny.” They look away and I grab his hoodie by the throat and pull him up.

  He looks around. “Have the feds gone?”

  “This is England, Kyle,” I growl. “There’s no FBI here, you stupid twat. Now look at me and pay attention. I can’t do the deal tomorrow. I’ll be with my girlfriend.”

  “But . . . we are going to do it this week, aren’t we? Fez’ll kill me if we don’t. I already owe him three mini Mars bars. He’s such a tightarse,” he moans woefully.

  “Kyle! Jesus, fuck,” I say through gritted teeth, glancing at Rainbow, who’s watching Danny’s girl speak but is clearly doing that thing women do where they listen to your entire conversation AT THE SAME TIME as talking to someone else. This is one of the reasons why the female of the species is to be held in awe, feared and worshipped, gentlemen of the congregation. I turn slightly away from her so at the very least she can’t lip-read. “Schtop whining. We ’ill do it schoon. I will cawl yew when I get free.” Kyle looks blank. I sigh deeply and grit my teeth so hard my jaw starts to ache. “I cawl yew.” I eyeball him crazily. “Soon.”

  “Ohhhh.” Kyle nods conspiratorially. A second passes. A puzzled look flashes across Kyle’s face then, not so conspiratorially, but more in a loud and clear fashion: “You mean to arrange to sell it on?”

  “FU-cking . . . yes, yes, Kyle, I mean to arrange to sell it on.”

  “Eeeexcellent. Five by five, down hup. On the sly. No worries.” He winks and laughs and finally turns to go back into the house. “Oh, by the way.” He catches my arm. “Where d’you get that cut-up bruise on your head, dude?”

  I look at him, wondering whether to say, but he’ll only find out in a more terrifying Fez way if I don’t let him know now.

  “From Fez. He said if we didn’t move it, he was gonna get in touch with you, so . . . We’d better get it done quickly. I don’t know when he was expecting the cash by.” I shrug nervously, eyes flicking back and forth agitatedly to Rainbow.

  “Oh.” Kyle looks up at me, seeming to remember something, and with a slow blink of his eyes that serves for a gulp of both realization and dread, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. The display shows seven missed calls. From Fez. “Whoops.”

  HOME SWEET HOME

  Rainbow doesn’t talk to me on the way home. It might be just that it was a bit disturbing seeing me smack Kyle round the head and chase him into the house and then for Danny to have to pull me off and then for me to lie that I gave him thirty quid for a video game and he spent it on pot. It could also, however, be that she overheard our entire conversation and she’s pissed at me. I ask her if she’s okay and she shrugs, then shakes her head. I say, “I can’t put it right if you don’t tell me,” and she looks at me witheringly and nods at Danny and Danny’s girl, who are walking just beside us.

  “I’ll tell you when we get home,” she mumbles.

  We get back to Rainbow’s and fall immediately asleep without saying a word to each other. It would probably be one of those nights where I lie awake wondering what she’s thinking but she’s definitely unconscious and I’m fairly drunk so I zonk out quickly. When I wake up in the morning Rainbow is sat on the end of the bed. Her tense back tells me she is quietly furious. I can also tell because when I say good morning she doesn’t start talking. We always talk. Constantly. It annoys people. We talk about everything.

  I sit opposite her and tell her I’m sorry if she’s upset and ask her what’s wrong. She’s worrying me. I’m ashamed to say it, but I start crying, just a little bit. And I never cry. There’s something about Rainbow that just takes away your shell. I choke, start holding my breath, can’t speak. She starts to whisper at me.

  “I thought you were stopping taking stuff. But now you’re dealing it too?”

  “I’m not dealing it,” I answer back, automatically pleading innocent.

  “Aren’t you?” There is a pause. She stares at me coldly. I wonder how to make the best of the situation. I nudge her through tears, trying to smile.

  “Not in the dark, foreboding, angel-of-death way that you say it.”

  Rainbow rolls her eyes and raises her hands in exasperation. “Will! Who in their right mind would do that? How can you think it’s okay to deal drugs and make jokes about it? It just honestly wouldn’t ever cross my mind to ever do something like that. I would have to be out of my mind or a complete idiot, I mean, those things kill people. How can you wax lyrical about the NHS being so good and wanting to be fair and represent people as a politician when even by taking whatever you take, never mind dealing, you’re supporting an industry that kills people? Jesus . . . It’s just such an idiotic thing to do.”

  We sit in silence for a moment on the end of her bed. I’m struggling to breathe, fuming. “So you think I’m a stupid idiot?”

  “What?” Rainbow says, surprised. “No, Will, that’s not what I’m saying, I think you’re very clever—”

  “Yeah,” I spit. “Clever in an underhand, deceptive, bastardlike way. Not intelligent. Just uneducated and stupid and ignorant.”

  “That’s not what I think at all—”

  I talk over her with scathing sarcasm. “Yeah, maybe I am ill educated and smoke up occasionally but you know what, that’s just life when you’re fifteen. We weren’t all brought up in the middle of the fucking . . . country!”

  “I grew up in Hull! This is the middle of the country!” She gestures shakily out the window at the sea.

  “OH—” I stumble. “You know what I fucking mean, you grew up in some pretty suburb and here is . . . just skanky fucking OSFORD—”

  “Don’t swear at me!” She puts her hands over her face and pulls her legs up to her chest.

  “You think these are my choices?” I’m raising my voice now, almost shouting. “D’you think I want to be involved in this deal? D’you think I want to spend my life bored and stoned?”

  “Well, you do anyway, Flick, no one makes you.” She moves further away from me, round the bed, closer to the wall so I can’t see her face. “You can say no, you know. You don’t have to jump off a cliff whenever one of your mates tells you to.”

  “I do actually, because they’re behind me with a fucking knife.”

  “Then tell the police, get them locked up.” She gets up, exasperated, crosses the room, turns around and leans against the wall opposite me. “By the time they’re out you’ll have moved away.”

  “No I won’t.”

  She pauses, looks down at her fe
et, seems to get ready to say something, stops, and then looks up again at me, defensive and scared. “What? You don’t want to move away with me?”

  The question stops me in my rant. We’ve planned to move away together, we’ve talked about it, but maybe I’ve just never been able to imagine it. Or believe it. How could I? No one leaves. And the only time I’ve been out of England was one coach trip to Spain when I was five. I shrug. “Yeah, of course I want to, but realistically . . .”

  “Realistically what?” Tears drop down from her cheeks to her shirt and she asks in a very small voice, “Don’t you think you’ll be going out with me in five years?”

  “Aw, Rainbow.” I get up and hug her. “I didn’t mean that. You’re amazing, sweetheart, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but . . . Even if I’m not here, Mum and Dad and Tommo and Nikki will still be here. All my friends will still be here. He’ll just go after them. And in five years’ time, say if he even got that long, though I doubt it, I’ll only be twenty, maybe we won’t have left yet. I’ve got to make money from somewhere, you can’t support us both even if your parents will give you a bit to start up. No one I know’ll be safe, and it’ll all be because I didn’t do this one favor for Fez. Fuck. Can’t you see why I have to do it?” I put my arm close around her small frame and rest my head on her shoulder. I lean into her and my lips graze her skin. She smells like cinnamon. Suddenly my gut starts to ache and all I can think is I don’t want to lose her I don’t want to lose her I don’t want to lose her. My voice comes out, trying to soothe her, muffled by her hair. “It’s only one deal . . .”

  She sighs, seeming to understand, but then she lets out a sob and shrugs away from me gently. “No. I’m sorry, Will, I can’t be okay with this. You don’t have to do it. You do have a choice. Anyone could say they’ve been threatened, anyone could say they’ve grown up with it, but these are reasons, not excuses. You’re an adult, technically in two weeks’ time when you turn sixteen, but you’re already adult enough. And if you hadn’t let yourself get involved in taking . . . all the things you take . . . then I’m sure you would never have been asked to deal anything. Can’t you see the . . . what’s it called . . . the snowball effect?” She sniffs and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her soft checked shirt. “I dunno. That sounds stupid but you know what I mean. If it doesn’t stop now it’ll never stop.”