by Jean Ure
Needless to say, I did my abject apologising. For real, this time! He was really nice about it. I mean, he could have been quite sniffy, having a human cannon ball come walloping into him, but he said not to worry. “It happens.” As we walked into the station together, I reflected that if it had been the Sun God I’d bashed into, I would have been the one sent flying, not the Sun God. And it occurred to me, a mean and nasty little snippet of a thought sliding into the outer edges of my consciousness, that Simon and the Sun God were a bit like me and Hattie. I am almost too ashamed to explain, but I have to remind myself that I am still trying to tell it like it was. I made a vow that I would not do a whitewash job. Otherwise, I mean, what is the point?
OK. Deep breath … Simon was a cripple, the Sun God was divine, Hattie was a solid lump and I was—
It’s no use, I can’t say it. It’s just not me, I don’t think that way any more.
I am a changed person!
I think there are limits to the amount of mortification a person can be expected to inflict on themselves. I shall just quietly get on with the story.
Once I’d knocked him over, and picked up his books, and said that I was sorry, it seemed only natural we should get on the train together; and as we were standing shoulder to shoulder, wodged in on all sides, it would have been a bit odd not to talk. What we mostly talked about was school, and stuff we’d seen on telly, and whether we were going to a gig that was happening at the Landsdowne Centre; and then as we pulled into Hayes End I couldn’t resist it, I said, “What’s happened to your friend? The one you usually come in with?” And he smiled, like he was used to people being more interested in his friend than they were in him, and told me that Matt had gone off on this field trip to Snowdonia.
“So you won’t be seeing him for a while.”
Fortunately we were getting off the train at the time, so he wouldn’t have noticed my cheeks going bright red to match my hair. I was like, “Oh, I just wondered,” making it sound really casual, like I’d only asked in order to make conversation. I don’t think he was fooled, though, cos he smiled again and said, “Yeah, sure.” Very belittling! But I don’t honestly think, at the time, that I was aware. I was too cock-a-hoop. I’d done it! I’d talked! I’d found out his name!
Definitely an over-the-moon day.
I’m thinking of making these days official. Over-the-moon day, under-the-moon day. Up day, down day. Pits day, dump day. Things-are-looking-up day. I could have little symbols for them, like smileys for the up ones and saddos for the down.
Yeah, well, it’s just an idea. It could save a whole lot of time. Instead of writing all those reams in my diary I could just put, like, over-the-moon! Or down-in-the-dumps. Then at the end of the year I could add them all up and see how often I’d been UP and how often I’d been DOWN. That would tell me what kind of year it had been.
I think most probably, on the whole, I tend to be more of an UP kind of person. I would say that I was more up than down during those next two weeks. I couldn’t wait till Matt returned from his field trip and I could see him again, but meanwhile I was prepared to make do with Simon. I tried my best to be early every morning so’s not to miss him. I even took to setting my alarm clock half an hour in advance, then springing out of bed, snatching an apple and a glass of milk, and galloping on foot to the station, rather than relying on Dad. That way, at least I could be sure of being there on time. When Simon showed up it was a big SMILEY day. We’d stand together on the train and I’d ask him questions about Matt, like, “Where does he live?” (Ranthorne Avenue) “What’s his best subject?” (Sport!) “How long have you known him?” (For ever.)
Occasionally, however, Simon wasn’t there, and then it was a DOWN DAY. A total waste. There just didn’t seem any point in a day when I couldn’t talk about Matt. I could talk about him to Hattie, of course – which I did, with a vengeance! – but it wasn’t the same, because Hattie didn’t know him. When I talked about him with Simon I felt as if we were … connected. Almost like I’d been talking to Matt himself. I tried explaining this to Hattie, who shook her head, not unsympathetically, and said, “You’ve got it real bad, girl!”
And oh, I had. I had!
I was counting the days till Matt came back from his field trip. Actually crossing them off on the calendar. I had a big red arrow pointing to the day when I would see him again. Mum caught sight of it and asked me what it was for. I said, “Oh! Just something.”
“Something nice,” said Mum, “by the looks of things.”
She was trying really hard! But I wasn’t going to tell. Not that Mum would have laughed: she has always been very good like that. She has always taken me seriously, it’s Dad who teases. But Hattie was the only one I could talk to about Matt, and the feelings he inspired in me. I dreamt about him every night! I even had my own private soap opera (Scarlett ’n’ Matt) which I played through in my head while I was supposedly watching telly or eating dinner. I kept adding newer and more exciting episodes. Sometimes it got quite hairy!
One time I was in the middle of an episode when Dad said something to me and I came to with a start. I could feel my cheeks growing all red and hectic. Dad said, “What’s up?” which made me grow even redder and even more hectic! How could I possibly tell him? If he knew the thoughts that were going on inside my head he would throw fifty fits on the spot. Dad has always been hugely protective. He likes the idea of boys fancying me, but he tends to get agitated if I actually go out with them. He once saw me holding hands with Aaron Taylor and it almost made him freak. It almost makes me freak, now, but I was only ten at the time … I hadn’t yet set eyes on Matt!!!
I dressed so carefully the day he was due back. Well, I still had to wear school uniform, of course, but I hitched up the skirt a notch, cos regulation length is truly unflattering, even on me, and I’d washed my hair the night before so that it was all fluffy, and I knew that I was looking really good. Dad noticed. He said, “Who are you off to meet, all done up like a dog’s dinner?”
“Just going to school,” I said.
I shot out of the house ten minutes early and went whizzing fast as maybe up to the station. I had to let two trains come and go before Simon arrived. I bounced over to him, beaming. I look back, and I can see myself beaming. And I can hear myself gushing.
“Hi! Where’s Matt?”
Oh, God! Did I have no pride?
“Isn’t he back yet? I thought he was due back!”
That was when it became Black Monday. Doomsday. Dump day. Down-in-the-pits day. Matt wasn’t there. He wasn’t ever going to be there again – well, not at the station. He’d moved out to West Whitton to be with his dad.
I think my face must visibly have fallen – Hattie always says that I am totally transparent – cos Simon very slowly and gently explained to me how Matt had been living with his mum for the past few years, but now his mum had married again and was moving up north, so Matt had opted to live with his dad rather than change schools.
Foolishly, I blethered, “So he won’t be coming in with you any more?”
Oh, purlease! I remember that I went all weak and wobbly, like my bones had dissolved into some kind of jelly.
Simon said no, he’d be getting the bus.
“Oh, but won’t you miss him?” I bleated.
I can still see the look Simon gave me. It is best described as pitying. I knew I was being utterly pathetic, but I just couldn’t seem to stop myself. I guess I was suffering from shock. I’d been so looking forward to seeing Matt again, and now he had gone and my life was empty.
“He’s still at school,” said Simon.
Yes, but not my school. I really felt like the bottom had dropped out of my world. I almost felt all over again that there was no point in carrying on with the struggle. (To gain merit marks, that is.) Originally I’d been all fired up cos of wanting to show Tanya. But then I’d seen Matt, and Tanya just didn’t figure any more. She just wasn’t an issue. The only reason for working hard, and being punc
tual, and changing my attitude and all the rest, was so that I could go to Founder’s Day with Matt as my partner. And now he wasn’t there and all incentive had vanished. If I couldn’t go with Matt, I didn’t want to go with anyone!
I poured out my woes to Hattie, who listened patiently and did her best to cheer me up, telling me that all was not lost, and at least I had Simon. Ungraciously I wailed that I didn’t want Simon, I wanted Matt! Hattie told me that Simon was a link, and reminded me that the path of true love never did run smooth.
“You have to fight for these things! They’re not just going to fall into your lap.”
So then I felt a bit ashamed and apologised for being such a bore, but Hattie said that was all right. She said, “What are friends for?” It’s true that I would listen to Hattie if she were ever dealt a mortal blow, and I did try to buck my ideas up, but it was a really bad day. A really bad day. I couldn’t even bring myself to write about it in my diary. I’d put a big STAR at the top of Monday, in anticipation, cos I’d been so sure it was going to be an over-the-moon day, but when it came to it I wrote just the one word: Gloom.
This is what I mean about ups and downs. For the past two weeks I’d been in a bubble, floating high, up amongst the clouds – and now, all of a sudden, without any warning, the bubble had burst and cast me down. Deep into a pit of total depression …
But it is all a merry-go-round, cos three days later, guess what? I was back up!
Met Simon at the station. He wanted to know if I liked football. I nearly went no, yuck, I can’t stand it! I went once with Dad and it was just sooooo boring. Fortunately, in the nick of time I remembered Simon telling me that sport was Matt’s best subject, so instead of saying yuck I went, “Mmmmm …” in that sing song sort of way that means – whatever you want it to mean! In this case, “Well, yes, maybe, quite. Sometimes.” Not actually committing myself to mad enthusiasm, but not betraying my true feelings, either. Which is just as well cos he told me that Matt is playing in a match on Saturday and that if I liked I could go with him and watch!
Naturally I said that I would. I am so excited! How boring can it be if Matt is there???
So there I was, back over-the-moon. Just like that! I asked Hattie if she would like to come with me. She didn’t really want to, she said she had important stuff to put on her blog, but I nagged at her, reminding her that friendship sometimes meant duty, like doing things for each other even if it wasn’t madly convenient, so that in the end she obviously felt ashamed of herself and gave in. The reason I wanted her there: I had this idea that after the game we would probably all go off together somewhere, like the Panino Bar or Jolly’s or somewhere, and Hattie could sit and talk to Simon while I talked to Matt; but it didn’t quite work out that way. Well, actually, it didn’t work out that way at all.
It was just me and Hattie and Simon, because Matt stayed on with the rest of the team for a general nosh-up so that I didn’t even get to say a proper hallo to him. That was a bit of a downer; I’d built my hopes up so high! But while we were sitting in Jolly’s, with Simon and Hattie going on at huge and boring length about the stuff she was going to put on her blog, I suddenly had this brilliant idea and without giving myself time to think, and maybe get embarrassed – because after all it could be said that I was being a trifle pushy – I leaned across the table and shouted, “Would you and Matt like to come to our after-Christmas party?”
I don’t know why I shouted: nerves, probably. Hattie looked at me in amazement. Simon seemed a bit startled. He said it was very kind of me to ask, but he didn’t really go to parties. I said, “Not go to parties?” I’d never met anyone that didn’t go to parties! Simon explained that it was because he couldn’t dance, which was something that hadn’t occurred to me. I suppose it would be quite miserable, just having to sit and watch everyone else, though goodness knows there are lots of other things to do at parties! But anyway, I hastened to reassure him. I said there wasn’t likely to be much in the way of dancing.
“It’s mostly grown-ups … neighbours and stuff. Aunties and uncles. That sort of thing. It’s Dad’s special after-Christmas get-together. Dad invented it. It’s to keep people going between Christmas and New Year … it’s quite fun! Hattie always comes, don’t you?”
Hattie nodded, without actually saying anything. It occurred to me that she could have been a bit more supportive.
“What we sometimes do,” I said, “we sometimes go and mess around in the pool. We’ve got this indoor pool, it’s fun! Isn’t it?”
I turned again to Hattie, who said, “I guess so, if you like that kind of thing.”
I could have brained her. It’s true that Hattie herself, personally, doesn’t much care for going in the water, but really! She is supposed to be my friend. It was all the excuse Simon needed. He said apologetically that he not only couldn’t dance, he didn’t swim, either. Frankly I was beginning to feel quite out of patience with both him and Hattie. With my best bright smile, I said, “But Matt does, doesn’t he?”
Simon said yes, Matt did. “He’s on the school team.”
“Well, there you are, then! He’d enjoy it,” I said, “wouldn’t he?”
Simon said yes, he probably would.
“So you could ask him! Tell him I’ve invited both of you. If Matt comes, you’ll have to come, as well,” I said, “to keep Hattie company, cos she’s not mad on swimming, either. Are you?”
Hattie shook her head. She seemed kind of resigned; so did Simon. He promised that he would speak to Matt and let me know.
“Talk about obvious,” said Hattie, when Simon had gone and we were on our way back through the shopping centre.
Loftily I told her that there were times when you had to be.
“Things don’t happen all by themselves, you know. You have to do something to help them along.”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Hattie. But I felt that I detected a note of her famous sarcasm, and I started to worry that perhaps I might have been a little bit too pushy and Simon would never talk to me again. I needed him, to get to Matt! But Monday morning he was waiting for me at the station. He said he’d had a word with Matt and they were both going to come. Three thousand cheers! Definitely an over-the-moon day!
I babbled at him that I was so glad. I said that we were desperate for more young people, “Cos otherwise, it’s like some kind of geriatric convention”. Simon said that he was pleased to be of help. He said it very solemnly, so that I couldn’t tell whether he was teasing or being serious. A bit gushily – I have this pathetic tendency to gush when I am feeling unsure of myself – I said that if they wanted, he and Matt could stay over.
“We have oceans of room, it wouldn’t be any problem.”
Well, it wouldn’t have been, they could easily have slept downstairs. I don’t know what call Mum had to get so uptight about it.
“It would just be nice,” she said, “to be consulted. I mean, who are these boys? I’ve never met them! I’ve never even heard of them before.”
As it happened they didn’t need to stay over, which I thought was a pity as it would have been ultra romantic to wake up and meet over the breakfast table, but in any case Mum couldn’t say very much in view of my rather dazzling end-of-term report. In every single subject there was “marked improvement” or “she has made great strides” or even, glory hallelujah, “Scarlett has turned in some excellent work”!!! Now it was Mum’s turn to be over-the-moon. She hugged me and said that she was “so pleased”. Dad said, “Blimey O’Reilly, I’m living with a couple of bluestockings!” Mum told him not to tease.
“She’s done so well!”
Dad winked at me and said, “Go on, it’ll never last! I give it until … when do they let you know about the founder’s thing? Middle of Jan? I give it till the middle of Jan!”
“That would be cheating,” said Mum. “That would be false pretences!” Oh, dear! Mum was being so earnest about it. But I have to admit, it did give me quite a warm, cosy feeling to have a favourab
le report for once. And while doing homework was a real drag, it was kind of satisfying when you got good marks, so I thought that most probably I would continue even if I were lucky enough to be selected. I mean, now that I’d started, I might just as well go on. On the other hand, if I didn’t get selected, after all my hard work and striving to be better – well! I would be sick as a parrot. But I didn’t want to think about that right now. Matt was coming to the after-Christmas party and everything was, like, GO.
And then disaster hit the world. This is what I wrote in my diary:
The most terrible thing. A huge tidal wave called a tsunami has killed thousands of people in Thailand. It was on the television, we were all so shocked. Mum and me were in tears, thinking of all the children that had lost their parents, and the parents who could do nothing while their children were washed away from them. Mum said, “That would be my worst nightmare,” and Dad agreed with her. How can God let such things happen???
This was a question I put to Hattie, hoping she would have something comforting to say, or maybe even some kind of explanation, but Hattie just grimly stated that “There isn’t any God”. She said, “You know I don’t believe in all that sort of thing … big daddy god father looking after us all. It’s just a fairy tale!”
Not very comforting; but I felt that she was probably right: there wasn’t anyone up there, caring for us. Or if there was, He wasn’t making a very good job of it. I don’t mean to sound blasphemous, but that is the way that I saw it. I think that I still do. It is one thing if human beings behave badly and do horrible things, because we have free will and it is up to us how we use it; but there is nothing we can do to stop earthquakes and volcanoes and such, and if God can stop them and doesn’t, then He is not very loving. And if He can’t stop them, then He is not as powerful as He is supposed to be. That is all I am saying.