Knowing You

by Samantha Tonge

  I’ve discussed it all with Bella and she’s right.

  ‘You don’t need to justify yourself to anyone, Bae.’

  Bae. Before all else. That word means a lot.

  ‘In fact, why don’t you delete those friends’ numbers from your contacts list?’ she continues. ‘Because true friends wouldn’t constantly throw negative vibes your way.’

  I’m thinking about it.

  I tidy my desk and clean the keyboard. I can’t wait to get home and try on my outfit. I go by Felicity’s office and pick up the party invitation. I only ate my microphone banana for lunch, but I don’t need any more calories. I feel energised enough by how things seem to be falling into place.

  Chapter 23

  We meet at the tube station’s ticket office and have one of those awkward embraces where neither of you is sure whether to kiss. Then we stroll past shops and bars and discuss what a beautiful June evening it is. I brought my denim jacket, but have it stuffed into my rucksack next to a bottle of vodka. I can’t remember the last time I went to a house party. It was probably at university, when I’d been the only one not consuming mugfuls of randomly concocted punch and checking my watch to gauge when it was acceptable to go home. Unlike at school before that, it hadn’t seemed to matter so much that I didn’t fit in. Some university friends even expressed envy that I never missed a nine a.m. lecture. Their acceptance of my differences helped me embrace them.

  As for this party, I wasn’t sure whether to bring drink. Bella said of course I must. She also said clear spirits were the healthiest and made me take back the bottle of red wine. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Casey. He was carrying a four pack of beer. He wore a fashionably distressed suede jacket and a tentative smile.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked eventually as we swerve out of the way of a boy on a skateboard.

  ‘Great, thanks. Yourself?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come. Not after Wednesday night.’

  We stop at a pedestrian crossing. I look up at the knotted brow and the eyes that were lacking their usual humour. My actions with Casey aren’t conscious now. They just happen. Regardless of whether he might have let Beatrix into his flat to share that bottle of wine, to sign a contract, I reach up and hold his collar. I pull him towards me. My lips press against his.

  I look back at the crossing and can still see an illuminated red man. Bella says it’s best to lie to Casey about why I left the other night, but I think he’d understand the truth. She says I need to focus on him being my conduit to success and paying back Lenny and Beatrix for making a fool out of me. But I can’t help the real feelings that feed my imagination with things I never even considered doing with Lenny. And a real passion for Alien Hearts has taken root. I want to see it taken up by a publisher who cares about every written syllable, every millimetre of the cover, every second of thought that goes into the marketing and pricing strategy.

  As if they have a mind of their own, my fingers find his and our nearest hands entwine as the red man turns green. Words don’t seem mandatory, despite us both belonging to an industry where sentences are king.

  ‘I’ve not been here for a long time,’ I say eventually and stare into a posh French restaurant.

  ‘Melvin – that’s whose party we’re going to – lost his dad to cancer last year. He was left the flat. It’s in a tower block but it looks a lot grander than you’d expect. Many of the residents bought their flats from the local authority in the eighties, Melvin’s dad included.’ He smiles. ‘Bob was a great guy. I knew him well. It was like he automatically self-edited. He never spoke a superfluous word. But when he spoke, he spoke most about how the heart has been torn out of Soho.’

  I study the chain stores and trendy coffee shops. ‘I vaguely remember a trip to Liberty’s with Mum – and Carnaby Street. It’s certainly less seedy than in the old days. That’s got to be a good thing, right?’

  ‘Sure, the night life needed regulating, but Bob felt passionately that developers tore out the history instead of simply layering on a new façade. I mean, that’s what you find in the best haunts – layers of past life put down and preserved like fossilised sediment. The rejuvenation of this area has literally ripped everything out. The sex shops and strip clubs have gone, and quite rightly in most cases, but that’s affected the whole vibrant, bohemian vibe and the late night jazz club scene as well. Bob always said Soho was never perfect. It certainly had its flaws. But that’s what makes character, not being like everything else – and now that uniqueness has gone.’

  As we turn down a side street, a well of unease slops over its sides in my chest as I think about my transformation, about the changes I’ve put in place. Instead of adding a new layer of experience, have I simply ripped out what was there and tried to start over again? Does that mean I’ve lost my character and everything that shaped me to that point?

  I don’t know.

  I try not to think about it.

  But when I look in the mirror, I worry.

  I worry that the woman staring back isn’t me. She’s a stranger and I can’t find an instruction manual. I mentioned my concerns to Bella once.

  ‘You’re a better fit now. That’s all that counts,’ she’d said in a scornful voice.

  Now and then Bella loses patience with me; says I need to forget the old Violet and that when I don’t, I’m being ungrateful towards her after all the work she’s put into my transformation.

  What if Bella decides I’m wasting her time?

  I rely on her. She’s become my best friend, my cheerleader, my confidante.

  We arrive at the tower block and I gaze up at the red brick work and glossy black balcony rails. Melvin’s flat is on the third floor. It’s not big but this lends the minimalist walls a cosy feel. I hand over the vodka. He kisses me on the cheek. Everyone’s pleased to see Casey and on the back of that pleased to see me. I’m passed a bowl of crisps and take a small handful. A few won’t hurt. They are all I’ve eaten since lunch.

  A curvy woman sucks in her dimpled cheeks. ‘Aren’t you lucky, being able to eat what you want?’

  Don’t say that.

  Don’t ever think that.

  If you knew how tough my regime was, you wouldn’t be envious.

  Don’t get me wrong, I am so grateful to Bella. I’ve gained endless knowledge about nutrition, cardio exercise, skin care and applying make-up, but over the last few months, I’ve also become aware of one thing: effortless glamour doesn’t exist. Being the best you is bloody hard. It upsets friends. It comes at a price you’re not aware of until it’s too late.

  It’s also addictive.

  Sometimes it feels as if the road to perfection will never end, it’ll just go on and on, passing less straight but more laidback avenues.

  Casey comes back with two vodkas. He introduces me properly to Melvin, who’s a graffiti artist, and wants to make it as big as Banksy. Inheriting this flat means he can get by as a barista in his spare time. I ask to see the albums of his work. He hesitates and doesn’t want to bore me but I insist. Casey’s face softens. Apparently I’ve made Melvin’s night. He knows the crowd and half of his friends are too busy upselling their own artistic careers, whilst the others don’t consider graffiti a true art form.

  The room becomes increasingly hot as more bodies arrive after last orders. The lights are dimmed. People dance. The laughter and chat get louder, fuelled by the alcohol and the white powder I see traces of in the bathroom.

  We find a spot on a sofa. Casey holds my hands. ‘Wednesday, I was worried I’d scared you off, Vi.’

  ‘No. I… it’s just… I haven’t had that many boyfriends and—’

  Casey’s laughter reminds me of Alice and her friends at primary school. He wipes his eyes. ‘Very funny. Come on, what’s the real reason? I can take it.’

  I stare at the floor.

  He lifts my chin. ‘Shit. You were serious?’

  I force a laugh. ‘I’m just messing with you. Come on, idiot – less chat, I w
ant to dance.’

  I pull him up and lead us to the middle of the lounge where it will be far too noisy to talk. Casey tries nevertheless. I shrug off his unheard words. Maybe white lies are better than the truth.

  Bodies move in unison as Michael Jackson sings about sunshine and moonlight. A woman with glossy black hair and eyebrows to match shimmies up to Casey and rubs herself up and down in the air in between them. My mouth feels parched. I need a drink. Casey’s face blurs. I mumble something about going outside just before everything turns foggy and black.

  When I wake, I’m stretched out on the floor. The music has stopped and the lights are on. I’m lying on my side.

  ‘What happened?’ I manage.

  ‘You fainted.’ Casey brushes my straightened blonde hair out of my face. ‘How do you feel?’

  Slowly I push myself up. The woman with black hair passes me a glass of water.

  ‘Do you feel dizzy?’ she asks.

  I shake my head.

  ‘Suze is a nurse,’ says Casey, his fingers threaded through mine.

  ‘Try to drink as much as possible,’ she says. ‘It’s so hot in here and the alcohol will have dehydrated you. Have you eaten much today?’

  ‘Not really. Busy day at work.’

  ‘Should I take her to hospital for a check over?’ asks Casey.

  ‘No. No, honestly. No fuss. I’m feeling fine.’

  Suze nudges me to take another glassful of water. ‘I think you’ll be okay but get yourself down to Accident and Emergency if you get a headache or feel sick, or if you get any pains or feel dizzy. You probably just need to sleep it off, rehydrate and have something decent to eat.’

  Casey helps me to my feet. People shoot me sympathetic smiles. Melvin comes over.

  ‘How are you, Vi?’ His words slur slightly. The room is full of smoke and I feel sick.

  ‘We’re leaving. Cheers Melvin. See you soon, mate.’ Casey slips an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘No, honestly – you stay here. I’ll get a taxi home,’ I say.

  ‘It’s three in the morning already. I’m ready to leave and you aren’t going anywhere on your own. In fact, come back to mine, Vi. Let me look after you. And my breakfasts are legendary. We’re talking pancakes with cherries and Greek yogurt with—’

  Too tired to argue, I nod. We don’t speak in the taxi. I sit next to Casey, my head against his shoulder, my eyes closed. I don’t object when he helps me off with my jeans and settles me under the duvet in his double bed. He turns the lights off and sits in a nearby chair. He yawns.

  I hold out one hand. ‘Don’t be silly, Casey. Sleep in here with me.’

  ‘It’s okay. I’m fine here.’

  Tears prick my eyes. Am I really that much of a freak? A sob escapes my lips. I try to disguise it as some sort of cough but within seconds Casey is crouched on the floor, by my side.

  ‘Vi?’

  I pull him nearer. Our mouths meet. He’s so gentle. I unbutton his shirt.

  ‘Vi? Are you sure?’

  Perhaps it’s my collapse. Perhaps it’s being here in the dead of night. Or maybe it’s the alcohol, but this time I don’t think about my own body. All I can think about is his.

  2001

  It’s near the end of November. Mrs Warham is still cross. I can’t remember the last time she asked me to take the register to the office. I used to do that often. It’s a very important job. At least Mum is giving me ice cream on a Friday again. Every day, she asks me what’s been going on with Alice. She came in to see Mrs Warham a few days after Bonfire Night. Mum was very red in the face afterwards but gave me the thumbs up.

  But I still dread school. My tummy hurts every morning. Since spilling the gravy, Alice has kept her distance. She just sticks her tongue out and turns her back on me. I pretend that it isn’t happening. Sometimes I hang out with the boys. Since the fun snaps, they’ve started asking if I want to play football. But not every day. My books help me to not feel quite so lonely. They don’t stick their leg out for me to trip over. They don’t pinch my arm or laugh at my glasses and hair. They aren’t mean like Alice’s group. Always there offering me escape from a life I hate, they are my best friends in the world – apart from Flint.

  It’s Saturday and Mum’s boss, Ryan, is here. They are going to watch box sets. It turns out they like the same shows. She asked if I wanted them to take me to the cinema. I shook my head. Now I hate the weekends too.

  Mum did ask if I minded Ryan coming around to the house. What could I say? Yes. I hate having another man here doing Uncle Kevin’s things like making you laugh and helping you unblock the sink. And it’s not fair. You have a good friend. So should I. I hate you for making me stop seeing Flint. And he’s much more fun than stupid Ryan.

  However, Mum doesn’t know that I have a secret.

  A big one.

  I haven’t stopped seeing Flint after all.

  I usually catch him on the way back from school. After Mum’s gone in, he appears outside and we chat. I even managed to smuggle him inside yesterday. Mum ran a bath when I got home so I waited a while before me and Flint headed up to my bedroom with drinks, trying to keep in our giggles. Mum came in to ask what I wanted for tea and he hid under the bed. Flint stayed until my burger was ready. We agreed to meet in the treehouse today.

  Mum lets me eat cheese and pickle sandwiches in my room for lunch. Afterwards I creep downstairs. I peek into the lounge. Mum and Ryan are on the sofa. His arm is around her. They are watching a programme with women in pretty dresses and men in suits. I go into the garden and quietly shut the back door. Mum has drawn the curtains so the telly is easier to watch. Good. She can’t see me squash through the fence and into Applegrove Wood.

  I head to the tree house, my face turned downwards as I study pine cones and twisted roots. Perhaps I should find the woods scary but I don’t. All the fallen leaves are dead, and the sun can’t get through, but I’ve felt so sad lately it matches my mood.

  I reach the treehouse. Flint is waiting at the bottom of the ladder. Instantly I feel better.

  ‘Ryan, Mum’s boss is around,’ I say and pull a face.

  Flint puts his fingers into his mouth and pretends to make himself sick. He climbs up the ladder first and goes in. I almost fall backwards when I reach the top.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ says a man with a straggly beard and dirty coat. He has a rucksack and shoes with holes in. He looks a lot younger than Mum. I hover, not sure what to do. I look at Flint who shrugs and sits down.

  ‘I must look a sight,’ says the man. ‘I haven’t washed for a week.’

  Flint grins. It is kind of funny. Lucky man. I get bored of my nightly bath.

  I wonder why he’s so dirty. Most adults are obsessed with soap. Slowly I go in.

  ‘You must smell,’ I say and sit down.

  ‘You don’t notice after a while. Is this your treehouse?’

  ‘It’s ours,’ says Flint.

  ‘It’s a great place to read,’ I say.

  ‘Do you mind if I stay for a while? It’s cold outside today.’

  ‘Haven’t you got a home?’ asks Flint.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  The man looks at us both. ‘I don’t have a home at the moment. My name’s Tim.’

  ‘I’m Violet.’ I jerk my head towards my best friend. ‘This is Flint. You mean you haven’t got anywhere to go? How did that happen?’

  Tim looks from me to Flint and then back again. ‘You’re lucky to have each other. Friends are important. I’ve lost all of mine. I’ve been living on the streets for a year. I used to read a lot. Romances. My dad said I was soft.’

  His bottom lip trembles. That told me his dad wasn’t a very nice person. I feel sorry for Tim despite all the dirt.

  ‘Would you ever go back home?’ I say.

  Tim snorts. ‘Never. I’m happier on my own. Dad… he did things he shouldn’t have done. So I left as soon as I could.’

  ‘But you haven’t got any money. How do you buy f
ood?’ I ask.

  ‘I manage. Anything’s better than going back to live with that bully.’

  That’s how I feel about school. Alice’s friends have just taken up where she left off. I’d do anything not to have to go back on Monday.

  ‘You must be hungry. How about me and Flint get you some food?’ I look at Flint and he nods. ‘I don’t live far. Wait here?’

  ‘Really? That would be great. I haven’t eaten for two days.’

  My tummy rumbles if I miss one meal. Me and Flint hurry down the ladder and run to my back garden. I go inside whilst Flint waits by the door. Mum hears me and I force myself into the lounge so that she doesn’t wonder what I’m doing. She says to zip up my coat if I’m going into the back garden. Says that in an hour we’ll go out for cake. I force myself to smile at Ryan.

  Then I go into the kitchen and grab a packet of biscuits. Mum only buys two cans of coke a week – we have one each, on Saturday night, as a treat. Tim needs mine more than I do. I stuff it into my coat pocket. I also take a banana. Five fruits a day is important. I don’t understand why. It’s not as if bodies can count. Sometimes the things teachers tell us to do are stupid.

  I go outside and Flint and I hurry back. Tim is still there, blowing on his hands. He doesn’t say much. I’ve never seen anyone eat a whole packet of biscuits. Even though he’s starving, he offers me and Flint one each. Flint says no so I take two for myself. Tim finds that funny.

  He says my purple glasses are pretty. No one has ever said that before. Tim tells us about a pet dog he once had. I tell him about Tinker. Tim is easy to talk to. He likes my coat. He says I’m a kind person and he’d like to be friends with me and Flint.

  I don’t have many friends. This is good.

  We have things in common. We don’t fit in. Most importantly, we both like reading. He tells me about his favourite childhood books. Tim also likes the woods. And animals. He likes biscuits. But most of all, Tim used to hate his life, just like me. But he did something about it and now he’s happy.

  We agree to come back tomorrow morning with more food. On the way back to my house, Flint says that Tim is brave. That maybe running away from home isn’t so scary. His eyes shine as he says a life on the road, with someone like Tim, would be such an adventure.