“What’s ‘all I’ll ever be doing’?” I frowned.
“Playing with your little eggs,” she said.
I blushed. And when I did look up, Ben was blushing too. “I told you before, I don’t fancy Lemon Boy … Freddie.”
“You might not think you do, and maybe you don’t … yet, but your subconscious definitely seems interested.”
I couldn’t deny that. Also, maybe I needed to be more into this whole idea. Maybe that would convince Ben I wasn’t totally love-crazed for him and we could just get on with being mates and I’d act like I definitely didn’t harbour dreams involving massages or hot tubs. “We don’t even know if Freddie likes boys though,” I said.
“Then you need to strike up a conversation with him!” Efia declared. “You know he likes Star Wars now – that’s an ‘in’ right there!”
I was dreading it already.
I watched as some hipster guy with a topknot passed by with his iPhone-wielding girlfriend, as they giggled and took selfies, apparently unaware of the rough kids in the background, including the boy who licked and humped the machines, giving them the finger and an assortment of other unpleasant gestures. The couple seemed so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t care about that, or anything else. Imagine that! Imagine being so in love that you didn’t care about all the other stuff that normally dragged you down. I bet it would be nice. Maybe I had to take any chances that came my way.
“I owe Lemon Boy a thank-you for saving me anyway, so…”
Efia gave me a wide grin. “You’ll speak to him?”
“Sure,” I said.
As if on cue, one of the fruit machines released a huge jackpot. “Oh yeeeeeeaaah!” I heard Kem shout, as the coins continued to rain out. “I knew this one was hot! I knew it!”
I looked at Efia, who was nodding at me knowingly.
“That’s not a sign,” I said. “It isn’t.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hey,” I said, as I gingerly approached the fibreglass lemon.
Freddie gave me a warm smile that went some way to assuaging my considerable nerves. “Hey. You survived, then?”
“I did.” I nodded. “I survived. But only because of your … heroic actions.”
He laughed. He looked good in his T-shirt with a giant lemon emblazoned on the front, which was no mean feat. But then, he was pretty ripped, so a T-shirt wouldn’t look anything other than good on him anyway.
“I’m very grateful,” I continued.
“Well, it broke up an otherwise pretty dull day, and it’s always nice to take a dip in this heat!” Freddie said. “Although when I got back here, someone had nicked off with a load of lollies. Reckon they would have had the cash too, if the till wasn’t screwed down to the counter.”
I shook my head. “People today.”
“Right! No respect.”
I swallowed and watched as he filled the juicing hopper with some more lemons, cranked the handle and pressed the button to operate the machine, simultaneously adding some sugar water to the jug beneath the machine’s spout. The juicing in progress, he turned back and leaned against the counter. “What are your mates called?” he said, looking over to where Ben and Efia were sitting on a bench, further down the promenade.
This was potentially good. He might say something about one of them which might indicate his sexual preferences. “Efia, she’s the girl, and Ben, he’s—”
“The boy?”
“He’s the boy. Actually just the boy. Not … he’s the boy, yes.”
“They seem nice.”
I nodded. “So, I was thinking how I could repay you, you know, for the saving my life thing?”
“You don’t need to.”
“I kind of should though.”
“It’s fine.”
“So, there’s Comic Con happening in London in a few weeks, and I thought maybe … how about it?”
“Comic Con?”
The question in his tone said it all. What was I even thinking? How is Comic Con an appropriate idea for a potential first date? I should have stuck with something low key – a milkshake or something. But no, instead, I’d plunged right in with this massive trip and … oh god, maybe he thought a trip to Comic Con would involve an overnight stay? Maybe that was why he wasn’t keen – and I wouldn’t blame him, that would be way too much, too soon.
“You can get the train up to London and back the same day,” I clarified.
“I know you can; I go up London all the time,” he replied.
“Do you? Huh.”
“I’m just not really into Comic Con, that’s all.”
“No?” I said. “Sure. I just thought maybe … like, Star Wars?”
“Star Wars?” He looked almost disgusted.
I swallowed and gave a nonchalant little shrug. “I just thought, ‘Hey, maybe that’s something Freddie is into.’”
“Who’s Freddie?”
I stared at him. I was going to kill Efia. I was going to kill her using all the worst slow torture techniques I could find online. “Not you?” I said.
“Right. Not me,” he said. “I don’t think I ever told you my name.”
I nodded. “Aaaah, maybe that’s it, maybe that’s … honestly, since the drowning, the near-drowning, my head’s been all over the place, can’t remember anything, can’t—”
“It’s Caleb,” he said.
“That’s … that’s a nice name,” I said. “Caleb.”
“I’ll pass on Comic Con, if you don’t mind,” he said. “But maybe we can do something else, sometime.”
I pointed my finger at him, made a clicking noise with my tongue, and winked.
He looked mildly amused, borderline weirded out, and poured me a lemonade. “Here you are, Alex. On the house.”
I smiled and made an assortment of awkward, appreciative noises, took the drink, and then stormed the twenty paces back to Efia and Ben. How could she do this? How could she have got this so wrong? If I did have a chance with him, that was surely now utterly ruined!
“Well?” Efia said as I arrived. “How’d it go with Freddie?”
“It’s CALEB!” I shouted at her. “He’s CALEB! CALEB!”
“Yeah?!” Caleb called over from the lemonade stand. “What is it, mate?”
I turned and waved to him.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he called back.
“I just … this lemonade is the best,” I said, which was a pretty quick bit of improv for me. “It’s really, really excellent.”
“Good, I’m glad,” he shouted.
“Cheers to lemons!” I said.
He gave me a weak smile and turned away.
I turned back to Efia and Ben. “Caleb,” I hissed.
Efia shrugged. “So I misheard. It’s similar.”
My eyes widened. “On what planet is that similar?”
“It’s got two syllables,” she said. “And one of the letters in ‘Caleb’ is also in ‘Freddie’ – it’s an easy mistake.” I could tell from her face she wasn’t even convincing herself. “Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry for the mild slip-up…”
“Slip-up?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”
“But at least it gave you the confidence to go and talk to him!” Efia said. “And that, Alex, is a step forward!”
“Sure,” I agreed. “I was talking to him about the fact he hates the idea of Comic Con and is not into Star Wars.”
“Well, admittedly, that piece of information was somewhat in doubt – it was kind of fifth-hand gossip.”
I shook my head. “Brilliant.” I flopped down next to Ben on the end of the bench.
“Have you got a date then?” Ben asked.
“No. I don’t even know if he likes boys.”
“Well surely that’s the first thing to establish?!” Ben said.
I looked at him. “It’s not always that easy.”
He held my gaze for a second. “I guess,” he finally said.
I sighed. “It doesn’t matter;
it’s stupid anyway.” Then I remembered I was supposed to be really enthusiastic about this whole Caleb thing. “He’s really fit,” I said. “Look at those guns.”
We all glanced over at him. He waved.
I waved back. OK, that was enough, I’d done my bit. I pulled the box of sandwiches I’d made out of my rucksack. “I made these for us all.”
Ben leaned over the box. “Are these what I think they are?”
“Yeah, well, I tried. They probably won’t be as good as yours, but—”
“Is this…” Ben had one of the sandwiches between his fingers. “Homemade bread?”
I nodded.
“You made bread?” Efia said. “You made actual bread with your actual hands using actual flour and actual yeast?”
“And actual salt, sugar and water,” I added. “I actually did.”
“Impressive,” Ben said, taking a bite.
I shrugged. “I don’t think it rose very well. You’re meant to prove it for longer, but I didn’t have that long.” I offered the box to Efia. “Have one. Have two if they’re not too disgusting.”
“Alex?” I turned back to Ben, who was looking at me like the heart eyes emoji in human form. “These are really good. Proper bangin’.”
“Are they?”
“They’re just like—”
“I tried to do what you said – the crisp bacon, the soft avocado. I mean it’s always partly luck with avocados, isn’t it, because they’re hardly ever properly ripe, and then they’re too soft, but this one was—”
“Just right,” Ben said.
“I guess it was,” I said. “And the ketchup, like you said, just a streak of it, but I was nervous about the bread, because the bread—”
“Makes it,” Ben said. “And the bread is great.”
“He’s not wrong,” Efia said, between mouthfuls.
“Thanks, guys,” I muttered.
We ate the sandwiches in very happy silence. And as we walked back to Wonderland, Ben hung back a bit with me, and he said, “No one’s made me those sandwiches since Mum died.”
“Well, I hope I did her proud,” I said.
He smiled, and briefly squeezed my shoulder “Thank you, Alex.”
“Happy glad you like them that total pleasure,” I said.
Ben took a deep breath. “Well, that made no sense.”
I took a deep breath too. “Life makes no sense.” And I laughed, because sometimes, you just have to own the awkward.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Completely unbeknownst to me, my bread-making exploits had left the kitchen in “a complete scene of devastation” (Kendra’s words), and, as a result, I was charged with making dinner that evening, as it was apparently “impossible” for either Kendra or Dad to cook amongst the “carnage”. I’d made spaghetti bolognese, but without the spaghetti, as I find it too tricky to eat, and I prefer the little shell shapes. I swear they taste different anyway. The meal passed in silence, which I’d hoped meant that everyone was appreciating my efforts.
“Thank you, Alex,” Kendra said, putting her knife and fork together in the bowl. “That was a really interesting dish.”
“No worries. Thank you.”
I reached across to take her plate, but she stopped me. “Did you want any feedback?”
Not especially, no, I didn’t.
Kendra must have clocked my less-than-enthusiastic face. “I thought your generation loved feedback?” she said.
“Eugh!” Dad rolled his eyes, but with a sort of glee, because if there’s one thing adults like doing, it’s having a “let’s bash Generation Z” session. “There’s this kid at work, eighteen or whatever, he’s constantly asking for feedback on everything. Drives you mad. He’s written an email – wants feedback. Sneezed – wants feedback—”
“Yeah, OK, feedback’s cool,” I said.
“I would have simmered the ragu for a little longer – you’ll find it intensifies the flavours.” Kendra smiled, like she was trying to be encouraging.
“OK, but I just followed what it said on the jar.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows. “Oh. You used a jar sauce?”
“Well … yes? How else—”
“Waste of money, those jar sauces. All you need is some tinned tomatoes and some herbs, maybe a splash of red wine. Plus, they’re full of sugar – makes up for the lack of actual flavour, you see?”
“OK,” I said, “but it was in the cupboard though.”
“Was it?” Kendra said. “Must be something your mother bought.”
I looked down at my empty plate. I thought it tasted nice. But then, as Kendra was fond of telling me, I did have immature taste buds.
“But it was tasty,” she said, not even trying to sound convincing. “These are just some tips.”
“Tips”. Plural. Great! There were going to be more!
“Can’t improve if you don’t listen to criticism, Alex.” Dad nodded.
I looked up at him, incredulous, but he was apparently unaware that just moments ago he had been lambasting anyone asking for feedback, so they could do just that.
“Now, this is maybe a personal thing,” Kendra said, “but I would have gone easy on the pasta. Pasta is straight-up carbs, and basically contains zero nutritional value. I try to keep my body in a state of constant ketosis. Have you thought about ‘courgetti spaghetti’?”
Oddly enough, I hadn’t.
My phone bleeped. It was a text from Ben:
I’m outside your house. :)
I stood up and started clearing the plates. “Ben’s just popped round,” I said, trying to still my fluttering heart.
“Oh, Ben’s just popped round,” Dad grinned.
“It’s probably just about work stuff.” I shrugged, quickly ramming the stuff in the dishwasher and surreptitiously having a quick armpit sniff to make sure I didn’t smell.
“I’m sure it is,” Dad said.
“Dad.”
“The cut and thrust of the amusement arcade world!”
I shook my head and walked through to the hall, stopping briefly to check my hair in the mirror and to make sure I didn’t have any bolognese in my teeth.
“You look great!” Dad called through. “Doesn’t he look great?” he said to Kendra.
“Mmm,” she muttered.
I shook my head and opened the front door.
“Ben! Hey!”
I clocked the dog lead in Ben’s hand and saw Artoo Dogtoo was standing next to him, wagging his tail manically. “Heeeey!” I said to Artoo, trying not to grin maliciously. Kendra was going to hate a dog being in the house. She’d already vetoed a guinea pig just months ago using some lame excuse about “allergies” when really she was just an unfeeling witch who hated cute animals.
“Good time?” Ben said.
I nodded. “Great time.” I ushered him and Artoo Dogtoo inside. “Do you want to go upstairs?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He winked at me and I went bright, bright red.
“Do you want the beanbag, or—”
“I’ll take the beanbag!” Ben said, flopping himself down into it, while Artoo Dogtoo embarked on a sniffing tour of my room.
I perched on the edge of my bed, nudging aside the cushions. I was doing my best to not freak out about the fact he’d just turned up out of the blue, but inside, I was totally freaking out. I’d barely known him two days – and now this? A home visit? On the other hand, that was what friends did, so I was also aware I probably shouldn’t read too much into this.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about something,” Ben said.
I swallowed. I really, really hoped the thing he couldn’t stop thinking about was me. I knew that was totally stupid, by the way, I’m just being honest. I was beginning to think that somewhere, buried deep in my subconscious, there was this thing that always made me go after unavailable boys because, for some reason, I didn’t even want a boyfriend, or something. Like, maybe I was scared of it, or secretly ashamed of being
gay – even if the modest shrine I have to Netflix’s best Soft Boys would contradict that assertion. Although maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s why it’s a modest shrine – because I’m ashamed. If I wasn’t, would I have a great big in-your-face temple to the Soft Boys? Would I have life-sized cut-outs, or some of those pillows with their faces printed on them—
The sound of Artoo snuffling and snorting at something behind my bin brought me back to reality. I glanced at Ben. “What’s up?” I said.
“That note we got this morning – it said, ‘Your customers have gone. You’re next.’”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, how do they know we’ve been empty recently? How do they know?”
I mulled it over for a moment. “They’ve looked inside – they’ve seen. Or…” A chill ran through me. “It’s someone who’s around a lot. A regular, or…” I glanced at him to check I wasn’t about to say something stupid, although I really didn’t want it to be true.
He nodded. “Exactly. Or a staff member. It’s no secret how badly we’ve been doing amongst the staff – Maggie’s told us all. And sure, if you’re a regular, you would see it for yourself too.” His eyes met mine. “It’s someone we know,” he said. Then he frowned. “Did you just shiver?”
“Uh-huh, this is … freaking me out.”
Ben laughed, heaved himself out of the beanbag, plonked himself next to me on my bed, and put his arm across my shoulders. “It’s OK, mate, I’ll protect you from the baddie.”
“OK, that’s cool.” I attempted a chuckle. It came out like a strangled cry. “Cool, cool. Cool!” I did a voice on the final “cool”, like an American movie trailer voice, for some reason, really deep and dramatic. His arm was pleasantly warm and comfortably heavy across my shoulders. I wanted so badly to just pretend I was ridiculously scared, start quivering or something, so he’d let me cuddle into him. But I didn’t. I just sat there, frozen, like I didn’t know how to react to physical contact.
“I could be wrong anyway,” Ben said. “It’s just an idea.”
He took his arm away and gave me a shy little smile, which just about destroyed me.
Artoo Dogtoo triumphantly trotted up to us, one of my white socks in his mouth. Ben groaned. “Huh, sorry. He’s got a thing about socks. He obviously really likes you.” Ben glanced at me, then looked away. “Artoo Dogtoo! No! No sock stealing! Give!”
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