by Louisa Reid
‘Can we stay here forever?’ I asked as the first firework exploded way in the distance, and Leo nodded.
‘If you like. But it gets pretty gross. Pigeons and the pollution, bad combination.’ I stared at the dancers on stage, swayed to the music.
‘You could turn me into a statue. Then I wouldn’t care about pigeon shit,’ I shouted over the noise.
‘Hmm. Like a reverse Pygmalion.’
‘What?’ He was too clever; there was some erudite comment for every occasion. And the way he played the piano. How he’d lifted something out of the keys, a magic that had made me giddy. What the hell had I been doing for the last sixteen years? There were a lot of gaps I needed to fill.
‘It’s a play. But also a myth. About a man falling in love with his statue, or with the girl he’s created in the image he desires. Pretty sick.’
‘Sounds it. But maybe worth it. Would you fall in love with me if I were a statue?’ I kept my eyes away from his. Fishing for compliments, Mum would say. Flirting like a fool. But Leo didn’t seem to mind.
‘I don’t know.’ He smirked, pulling my eyes round to his with his voice, teasing. ‘Maybe.’
‘You’re mean.’ I stuck out my tongue.
‘I know. But I like it when you frown. ‘
‘What? That’s doubly mean.’
‘And when you laugh and when you yawn or sigh and smile. Everything becomes you. Except crying though, I don’t think I’d like to see you cry.’
‘I’ll have to try not to, then.’
He hugged me and all of a sudden I was thinking of Peter and swallowing back tears as I stared at the iridescent beauty of the night, the glow of the city, a wild fairyland blazing neon mystery and light. My heart felt heavy and full all at once and I put my hand to my chest.
‘It hurts,’ I said.
‘What?’ Leo whispered. ‘What hurts?’
‘Everything.’
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Don’t think about it. Just be here, be happy with me.’ He held me tighter, like he could squeeze away my sadness.
‘I am. I am happy with you.’ His hair was soft, his cheeks softer. He was always good. Always kind. People should be like that more, I thought, all people.
‘Have I ruined things?’
‘No, course not,’ Leo said, touching my cheek, holding my face in his hands.
‘Good. Thanks.’
‘What for?’ He looked down into my eyes. My legs trembled, my hands, my heart.
‘This, for everything. For being my best friend,’ I said.
‘Best friend?’
‘Yeah. Aren’t you?’
‘Maybe; I thought something else,’ Leo said, smiling.
He kissed me again and there was music and stars and laughter and happiness, all the things I hadn’t known existed but which were ordinary in other people’s worlds.
Counting down the time, we screamed ourselves hoarse and then there was more kissing, Leo and even strangers, and jumping up and down and singing without knowing any of the words, and arms were lifting me off my feet and I was whirling again, turning and spinning and the world was something utterly beautiful.
Leo
He could have watched her forever. She was beautiful and everyone knew it, everyone who smiled at her caught a little bit of the magic of Audrey. Leo held on to her for fear she’d float away, buoyed up on her own excitement, the power of her own happiness. He felt it coming off her like beams of light and it made him realize how sad she’d been, how the Grange had dulled her, not allowed her to glow.
‘We should get something to eat,’ he told her after they’d sung themselves hoarse. They wandered through the weaving crowds to Chinatown, ate dim sum holding hands, strolling and staring.
‘I love it,’ she said. ‘I love everything.’
‘I’m glad.’ His face was aching from smiling and hope leapt like a stag in front of them, leading the way. ‘Let’s go home.’
Back in the flat Audrey announced she didn’t want to go to bed.
‘Maybe if we stay up, this’ll last forever. As long as we don’t sleep, the night has to stay night, right?’
‘We could try. Film?’
‘Yes.’
He put on Badlands because Aud had never seen it. She lolled against him as she watched; he held her and didn’t think about the film at all.
‘Tired yet?’
‘No. Not at all.’ She stretched. ‘What time is it?’
‘Four thirty.’
‘Oh.’
Audrey lay back down, her head sinking into the cushion, hair fanning out behind her.
‘This was the best day ever. Crazy killers on the run and all.’ Leo laughed.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Thanks to you.’ Audrey turned to look at him, reached out to trace his lips with the tip of her finger.
‘Did you have fun?’ she asked, scrunching up her face and examining his expression.
‘Absolutely. Although I don’t think that word does it justice. I think we should find a better one.’
‘Fun is fun.’ Audrey shrugged.
‘Yes, but it’s too small a word.’ He pulled Audrey closer, wrapping both arms round her. ‘Good time doesn’t do it either. I don’t think there’s a word for it, Aud, about how I feel, right now, about you and all this. You’d have thought there would be; someone should have invented one.’
‘You could write me a poem about it,’ she teased, but her eyes were serious and he wished he could find the words.
Leo had thought about this. That they might go to bed. And about what would happen then. He’d tried not to think about it a lot, but it had cropped up more and more often. Not that he planned on doing anything about those thoughts, but if love was this deep hole in the centre of his chest, the one that opened up whenever she was far away and hurt like hell, well, then he loved her. It was almost impossible to feel this much, all at once, and impossible not to think about what having sex with Audrey would be like. He coughed, clearing his throat. She raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue and he grabbed her wrists, gently, and pushed her backwards on the sofa, so she was lying under him. He kissed her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, lower. He could hear her breathing. It turned him on. Her skin was hot and soft. That turned him on too.
‘I guess we should watch another film,’ she said, pulling away. He grabbed one last kiss. Her cheeks were glowing, flushed, and so were his. Leo didn’t want to watch a film.
‘OK,’ he said, not moving his mouth away. Speaking through the kisses.
‘Or maybe, just go to bed?’ Audrey said, lying back again and looking up at him with big eyes.
‘Yeah?’
‘In the same bed?’
He shrugged and made a good attempt at looking neutral at the thought. ‘If you like.’
‘Maybe. I dunno. My mum would freak out.’ It was the first time she’d mentioned her mother for hours. Leo did not want Lorraine anywhere near this. He gathered Audrey’s hair in his hands, twisted it on top of her head, then let it fall like water all around her face. She looked away, avoiding his eye.
‘She thinks you want to get me pregnant, then run off and leave me with a screaming brat.’
‘She said that?’
‘Something like it.’
‘Jesus.’ Leo could have said a lot more.
Audrey bit her lip, staring at him. He tried to smile, to laugh it off.
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. You really didn’t need to hear that.’ She struggled upright, smoothed her hair flat and rearranged her clothes.
‘It’s up to you. We don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to,’ Leo said. ‘But I would love to sleep with you. In the same bed, I mean. Anything else, up to you.’ He coughed and stood up.
‘OK.’
Leo lent Audrey a T-shirt. She changed in the bathroom, then dived into the bed and under the thick downy covers. H
e didn’t touch her; he couldn’t. Lorraine. Leo thought he quite possibly loathed her, but of course he couldn’t say that. Or maybe he could. He was about to speak when Audrey moved over and put her arms round him, holding him tight.
‘Sorry for spoiling it all,’ she said, whispering into his back. ‘I’m sorry, Leo.’
‘No, you didn’t – don’t worry.’ He turned to her. They held on to one another now, tight, like earlier; like a promise it would be impossible to break.
Their legs tangled together, and their arms. Leo ran his hands over Audrey’s back, her smooth soft skin, and felt her hands tracing the same paths on his own body. He touched her hair, and her neck and her shoulders and she touched his as if he were a mirror in which she found herself, and then she sat up and pulled off the T-shirt before she lay down next to him again: utterly, beautifully naked. She was smiling and pulling him closer again and this time Leo couldn’t stop.
January
Audrey
You don’t get a night like that without paying for it. That’s what I was thinking as we drove home, but I didn’t say it aloud; I didn’t want Leo to worry. We’d slept late and I’d woken up with my heart in a panic, grabbed my clothes and insisted we leave at once. No breakfast, no nothing. The spell was broken. And all I felt now was sore. In my head, in my heart, in my arms and thighs and between my legs. We shouldn’t have done it. Mum would know, the second she set eyes on me, she’d read it. I might as well have it stitched into my skin, scarlet and bleeding: I am not a virgin.
‘You’re quiet,’ he said. Leo kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I tried to smile at him.
‘Mmm. Just a bit tired.’ I took the hand he held out and our fingers locked. It wasn’t his fault; Leo hadn’t hurt me, of course not. I reddened, remembering, how I’d been the one to say, Yes, I want to. How I’d closed my eyes and then opened them and not been afraid; how I’d loved being with him. Loved him. Even though it was awkward at first. It wasn’t like we were experts. I bit my knuckle, my heart racing, remembering: skin hot, slippery with sweat. The mess of the bedclothes, rumpled and ruined, Leo’s body with mine. His tongue in my mouth, on my skin. My stomach rolled. Oh, my God. Mum would definitely know. I shifted on the seat and cleared my throat. He blinked, looking at me again.
‘Well, catch up on some sleep when you get home. Then let’s meet up tonight.’
‘No way will Mum be up for letting me out two nights in a row. In fact I think she’s going to be really pissed off with me.’ I swallowed. This was serious. I was in serious trouble and saw it coming, belting towards me, out of control.
‘Look, it’s ridiculous. Seriously, what’s she got against us?’
‘It’s not you. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her. All right?’
‘You’ve got to think positive, Aud. The more we prove that we’re serious, not mucking about, the more she’ll see that there’s no point being all Victorian about this.’
‘I know, I know. But it would be the same with anyone. You could be Jesus and she’d still think you were out to give me STDs before running off with my best friend. I don’t know the word for someone who hates men, but she’s it.’
‘Misandrist,’ he said.
‘Oh. Nice.’
‘It’s OK, Aud. I can take it.’ Leo’s smile almost broke my heart. It was brave and bold and I knew he meant it. That he’d stand up for me, whatever.
‘Thanks, Leo,’ I said, ‘for everything.’
We were almost home. I stared out of the window and watched the fields rush past, dank and netted with the New Year mist.
Mum and Sue were waiting outside the Grange. They weren’t speaking, but Sue was wearing the snowflake jumper and a thick matching scarf. Mum had her arms round Peter, pressing him into her side. Leo grabbed my hand as we climbed out of the Land Rover and walked towards them.
‘It’ll be OK,’ he said for the millionth time as he squeezed tight, but I dropped his hand, folded my arms and stared straight ahead into the first cold sun of the year as it broke through the clouds, so harsh it was knives in my eyes.
‘Get in the house,’ Mum said, that was all, and we trooped inside, no time to even say goodbye.
‘See you soon, Lorraine,’ Sue called, but Mum didn’t turn back.
I thought about stopping on the steps. I could turn round and run, get back in the car and go to the farm with Leo. But Peter caught my eye and twisted his fingers into mine, so I followed Mum upstairs and the sound of her feet pounding the concrete, echoing like slaps, rang in my ears.
‘All right, Pete?’ I said. Of course he wasn’t. There was no way this was normal.
‘Audrey.’ Mum pointed at the kitchen. I did as I was told.
‘What?’ I smiled at my brother, trying to pretend this was a game. He wasn’t stupid. He was going to cry.
The table was set. Bowls of crisps, sausage rolls, sandwiches curling at the edges, a bottle of pop and little plastic jewel-coloured glasses. A trifle, dusted with hundreds and thousands and beginning to curdle, sat centre stage. A slab of cheese, surrounded by crackers and grapes, looked too soft, a little green; a thick foul smell rose and pulsed in the air. There were party poppers dotted among the food. Tatty Christmas crackers. A packet of sparklers.
‘What’s this?’ I whispered.
‘Where’ve you been, Audrey? I’ve been sat waiting here, waiting for you,’ Mum said.
‘Mum set it up,’ Peter whispered. A trail of snot ran from his nose, I wiped it clean. ‘It’s a party,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry,’ I told him. He looked smaller than ever, as if he’d shrunk overnight. I wanted to gather him up and hug it all better.
‘You didn’t come home,’ Mum went on. She’d scraped her hair back and her forehead glared, white and high. ‘You were out all night.’
I sat down opposite her. Mum’s eyes followed a line from my forehead to my lips to my chest and my groin, where they rested, and my cheeks burned hot. She could see it; she could smell it. I should have showered and changed my clothes. Peter hovered beside her, his hand stroking Mum’s sleeve, but she didn’t move, as if she were made of marble.
‘It’s OK, Pete,’ I whispered, crossing my legs tight, wrapping myself small, and he sidled over to me, standing close.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I said, but that wasn’t going to be enough.
She picked up a sandwich. A white triangle, curling at the edges. Put it on my plate.
‘Eat it,’ she said. I took a tiny bite. Dust.
‘Here.’ She began to pile my plate with crisps, a Scotch egg, a fat spoonful of leaking trifle.
‘Eat it up. You too, Peter.’
Peter spooned up cream, gagged on the first mouthful and spat it out all over the plate.
‘It’s OK,’ I soothed him. ‘Don’t worry.’ I poured his drink and he gulped the fizzy liquid, rubbing his cheeks with his knuckles, his tears leaving grimy trails.
‘Mum. I could make us some fresh,’ I said, but she looked at me as if she hadn’t heard, cramming a cigarette into her mouth.
‘The note said I’d gone with Leo. That Peter was fine at Sue’s, waiting for you. I’m really sorry, Mum. I know it was out of order; I know I shouldn’t have.’ Her silence was hell; I didn’t understand it and I almost opened my mouth and told her everything, confessed then and there, just to get it over with, just to make her scream and shout, so this bomb could explode.
‘Eat your food, Audrey.’
I picked up a sausage roll. The pastry crumbled, ashy in my fingers.
‘I can’t.’
‘What?’
‘It’s not nice, Mum. It’s old, gone off.’
‘I made it for you,’ she said. ‘So you eat it.’ I took a deep breath. I had to stop this.
‘No. We can’t eat this, Mum. Don’t you get it?’ She stared. I thought she would slap me and waited for the screaming, the shouting and swearing. For her to tell me I was grounded for life and could never see Leo again. But she just stared at
me, stubbed out one cigarette and lit another, her mouth closing round it, puckering and thin.
‘Are you going out tonight?’ Peter asked later when I was sitting with him, holding his hand as he drifted off to sleep. He was wearing his pirate pyjamas; Mum had got them for Christmas. He loved them.
‘No,’ I said, ‘not tonight. Some other night maybe. Tonight I’m going to stay in with you. I missed you last night, I kept thinking, Oh, Peter’d like this. But I’ll take you next year maybe. There were all these crazy dancers in masks, lots of strange music – some of it really good. And we walked along the Thames, saw the most amazing fireworks. Then ate yummy Chinese food. You’ll love Leo’s place; it’s amazing. His telly’s the size of a football pitch, but it’s all hidden behind some special doors which open when you press a button. But you have to take your shoes off when you go in; the carpets are all white, like snow. So thick your feet sink. Can you imagine?’
His eyes widened. ‘I want to go. Can we go there?’
‘Sure, some time soon. Leo would love to take you. I know he would.’
Back in my own room I didn’t think I’d sleep, but it came on fast, sinking me deep. The pounding began in my ears; it throbbed at the back of my head, a nightmare remembered, a dream of drowning.
Lurching through the window, dripping with sludge dredged up from the bottom of the moat, the Thing was stronger than ever before. It placed its weight on mine, held me by the arms: pinned. No, I cried, my voice lost in the turn and tumble of sheets and mattress, swallowed by the thickening mire. We wrestled and I wrenched an arm free, pulled its hair, strands of it tangling round my fingers like wire. The Thing had grown so solid, and I bit into it, surprised at the sink of my teeth into flesh, gagging on blood as it wrenched and grappled, dragging me out of my bed, towards the window, holding me there.
See, it hissed, and I stared out. The moat glittered darkly, a warning. And, as the moon slunk behind a cloud, the water’s surface blackened and dulled.
See, the Thing sang again, its fingers tightening on my wrists, squeezing and slicing with hard, bright nails. I stared at the blood dripping into the night, drops of it falling like rain. It was coming from me, I realized, and I screamed and howled for mercy as I saw my life gushing from me, the jagged edges of the broken mirror on the floor, the holes in the window where the Thing had punched through the glass.