Alex in Wonderland

by Simon James Green

  I didn’t say anything because Ben was radiating fury and it wasn’t my place to tell Carl his dog’s actions were forgiven.

  “Come on, Tyson,” Carl said, pulling the creature away. “Take it easy, kids,” he called back to us. “Come down sometime!” He started humming to himself and plodded off down the promenade, Tyson trotting beside him.

  “My. Trainer,” Ben muttered.

  “Don’t buy that ‘nice guy’ act from Carl,” Efia told me, ignoring the fact Ben had gone red with rage. “The rivalry between Wonderland and the pier runs deep, and Maggie wouldn’t hold a grudge if he didn’t play dirty.” She screwed up her sandwich wrapper, threw it in the bin and stood up. “We should get on. I’m going to get back to making a hole in some poor child mannequin’s stomach. Oh, by the way, there’s some scrap metal in the yard out the back of Wonderland – maybe some of that could be used for the UFO debris?”

  “We’ll take a look,” I said as Efia walked off. I turned to Ben. “Is your trainer OK?”

  “No.”

  He was obviously really into his trainers. “Um … maybe you can clean it off in the staffroom?”

  “I’m going to clean it off in the staffroom,” he said.

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s what … good idea. You do that.”

  Ben got up. He looked furious. “I don’t like things peeing on my things.”

  I shrugged. “I mean, who does?”

  Even so, I couldn’t help but smile as Ben stomped off back towards Wonderland. There was something about “cross Ben” that was somehow just as adorable as all the other Ben variants. Don’t get me wrong, I loved “bemused Ben”, and I certainly enjoyed “enthusiastic Ben”, but “cross Ben” was also very cute. Even better, I would have all these Bens all to myself when we went for pizza together. And if I was lucky, maybe some more Bens would appear – like “romantic Ben”, for example, or any number of other versions that it was bad for me to think about, like “horny Ben”, or “sensuous Ben” or even “football kit Ben” because I reckoned that would probably be a thing.

  I stopped myself because I needed to get a grip.

  And no, I didn’t mean that.

  Since the others were all busy, I decided to check out the scrap metal that Efia had mentioned myself. There was a narrow alley that ran from the street down the side of Wonderland to the yard at the back, known colloquially as Piss Alley. There was an exit from the staffroom that also led to the yard, but this was the quickest route, so I held my breath and hurried down. But I stopped dead before the passage opened up into the yard because I heard voices. Low. Hissed.

  “Not good enough. Where’s the rest?”

  “Mate, next week, I promise—”

  Laughter. “Too late. Mate.”

  The back of my neck tingled. There was something in the tone of that “mate” that was really dangerous.

  “Please, I—”

  And the sound of a heavy thud.

  And then a sickening, soft, fleshy crunch.

  I’m not proud of myself, but I ran back the way I came. I hovered by the front entrance of Wonderland, wondering what the hell I should do. Was this a police matter? Should I tell Maggie? I heard heavy footsteps tramping up the alley, so I grabbed the controls of one of the claw grabbers and pretended to play. And then, quick as a flash, a figure in black jeans and a hoodie burst out of the alley and hurried away up the street, their back to me. I didn’t even see their face. They were tall, quite broad, solidly built. That’s all I can tell you.

  They disappeared round a corner. I shut my eyes. I mean, I had to go and look now, didn’t I? If I didn’t, it would be just my luck that the victim would be lying there, dying or something, and I could have saved their life if I hadn’t been such a coward. I had to really force my legs to walk down that alley. There was no part of me that wanted to go down there, and I held my breath as I edged out into the yard.

  Empty.

  I did a three-sixty turn, but there was no one there. And since the only way in or out of the yard is either along the alley or through the exit from the staffroom, whoever else was here was now back inside Wonderland.

  I hurried in through the fire exit, but the staffroom was deserted too. I pushed through the door on to the main floor. There were a few kids playing on the driving simulators, a family having fun on the air hockey, but nothing that looked suspicious.

  There was a loud bang, and I looked across to where Kem had just thumped one of the fruit machines. “Easy,” I said, walking over to him.

  “Gotta be rigged,” Kem said. “I’ve been playing this one all day; it’s barely paid out anything.”

  I shook my head. “They’re not rigged.”

  “Know that for sure, yeah?” He lowered his voice. “Have you found out any insider secrets yet?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure there are any to find out.”

  Kem rolled his eyes and opened his wallet. “Guess I’ll just keep playing it then.”

  My eyes widened as I saw the stack of notes he had in there – a big wedge of tenners. Must have been at least a hundred quid, maybe more. “Kem, you didn’t see anything in the last five minutes, did you? Like, anyone hurry past with a smashed-up face or anything?”

  “When I’m playing, I only see the symbols, you get me? I see the line of cherries, or the gold bars, or whatever. That’s all. I’m in the zone, man! Focused! Why, what’s happened?”

  I shrugged, casting another glance around the floor. “Oh, probably nothing much.”

  “I did see your mate Ben stomp past. Pretty angry he was, as well. And for some reason, with one shoe off.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He had an incident with a dog.” I smiled. “He was pretty upset.”

  Kem stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked at me. “I’m getting romance vibes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Ben.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

  “No.”

  “Do you fancy him?” Kem asked.

  “He’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Do you fancy him?”

  “Her name is Bella.”

  “Do you fancy him?”

  “She lives round here and has parents.”

  “Do you fancy him?”

  “They’ve been going out a while, I believe, so it sounds like a pretty solid relationship.”

  “Do you fancy him?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “Boom! I knew it!” Kem shouted. “KER-CHING!”

  “Kem! Sshh!” I hissed. “It’s not like that. I do wish he was single, and I also wish he was into boys, but neither of those things are true. So, when we go for pizza, it’ll just be as mates.”

  Kem grinned from ear to ear. “You’re going for pizza?”

  I shrugged.

  “Just you and him?”

  I shrugged.

  “Are you going to that swanky new place that does sourdough bases?”

  I nodded.

  “DING! DING! DING! JACKPOT!”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Kem slapped his hand on my shoulder like I was very much “the man” and said, “Proud of you, mate!” then handed me two ten-pound notes. “Can you change these for me? I don’t wanna lose my place and I wanna win big so I can get something special for my ‘lady friend’ – a diamond or something.”

  “She’s a lady friend now, is she?” I said.

  Kem shrugged. “I mean, define ‘friend’.”

  “Someone you talk to, share your life with, laugh with, hang out with.”

  “Yeah, no, she’s not exactly a friend then.”

  I stifled a smile. There was little chance of Kem losing his place anyway, because no one else was playing on the fruits, but I took the cash over to one of the change machines and fed the first tenner in. And it was then that I noticed Drake sitting in the prize booth, nursing a swollen lip and a cut just below his eye.<
br />
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “There should be a table for two of us, at seven. Ben Marshall?”

  “And Alex Button,” I added, although completely unnecessarily.

  Ben’s eyes lit up. “Your surname is ‘Button’?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh my god.” Ben smiled. “That’s such a cute name.”

  “Shut up,” I said, my mouth twitching into a grin.

  The waitress smiled at us both. “Right this way,” she said, with a look on her face that suggested she thought this was definitely a date.

  It was not a date. I knew that.

  But I’ll admit I had sort of been pretending it was in my head a bit. I’d been working with Ben a lot over the last few days, getting everything ready for the relaunch next week (I couldn’t be sure, but Maggie seemed to be almost encouraging it, since she always assigned us to jobs together), and spending so much time with him was doing nothing for my attempts to try and not fancy him. Yesterday, he took his grey-and-navy-blue sweat top off because he was hot, and when he popped out to get us Cokes, I held it in my hands and pressed it to my face. These were not the actions of someone who is in control of their feelings.

  And then there was something potentially more dangerous.

  I’d started to question if Bella was indeed real, or whether there might actually be something in Efia’s teasing that she was made up. I’d composed elaborate fantasy sequences in my head, where Ben explained how he felt pressured into saying he had a girlfriend because of a heteronormative society’s expectations, but that really, he was GAY, GAY, GAY!

  And yet I knew the reality was much simpler: Alex “I only fall for unavailable straight boys” Button had only gone and fallen for an unavailable straight boy. Well done, me.

  I trailed behind Ben and the waitress as she led us through. It was a rustic sort of place – a hotchpotch of different tables with random chairs that didn’t match, peeling plaster falling off exposed brickwork and, in one corner, a lively kitchen area with a huge pizza oven and several chefs shouting at each other in Polish. There was none of the identikit finesse of the high street chains here, but with the low-level lighting, the little candles and the huge cured meats they had hanging up by the kitchen, you knew this place was as cool and sophisticated as they came.

  “Can I get you some drinks?” the waitress said as we sat at a small table by the wall. She indicated the bottom right-hand corner of the menu. “All the soft drinks are here.” She smiled knowingly, like we might have tried it on and attempted to order several bottles of vodka.

  “Coke for me,” Ben said. “Alex?”

  “Coke.” I nodded.

  The waitress made a note. “OK, just so you know, we don’t serve regular Coke here, it’s an organic cola, infused with herbs and a blend of botanicals.”

  Ben’s eyes flicked to mine. “Maybe just some water, then, for now?” he said.

  I nodded enthusiastically.

  “Or we have some delicious fresh Sicilian lemonade?” the waitress suggested.

  The ability to finally be honest was liberating. “Oh, god no,” I said, enjoying being able to wince. “I hate the stuff!”

  “Water it is, then!” the waitress smiled. “I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”

  Ben looked down at his menu, which gave me a chance to look at Ben, without it seeming weird. “Concentrating Ben” stuck his tongue out a little bit, gently biting it between his lips, which made me thankful I didn’t go to school with him, because I would get zero work done if that were happening around me.

  He glanced up and found me staring at him. A little smile crept over his face. “All right?” he said.

  I nodded. “Nice shirt.” Which it was. Red and black checks. It really suited him.

  “Thanks. I like yours too. What’s that print exactly?” he said, squinting at it.

  “I dunno, it’s some sort of floral thing. I’m not very good at fashion – if something looks OK on me, it’s really just an accident…” I stopped myself before I plunged any further into negative mode.

  “I think it’s nice,” Ben said.

  “I got it in the sales.”

  “You look good in it.”

  He smiled at me, and I smiled back.

  I glanced down at the menu, which boasted sourdough pizza bases and a range of topping options which were somewhat more exotic than I was used to. I’m not being funny, but pizza should be topped with some combination of tomato, ham, mozzarella and yes, pineapple, because I am that person. This place was all artichokes, goat’s cheese and courgette, although there was clearly a market for it because the restaurant was rammed.

  “They’ve got some live jazz tonight,” Ben said.

  “Really? A live band? That’s cool.”

  Ben nodded, and must have clocked the look of slight horror on my face as I continued to scan the menu, because he said, “And the pizzas here are pretty good.”

  “I don’t think I’ve even ever seen an artichoke,” I said.

  “Yeah. Don’t have that one. Have the cured meat one, but ask for no chilli, unless you like a bit of heat?”

  “Garlic bread?”

  “Obviously.”

  I put the menu down. “It’s nice here, I like it. Thanks for sorting it out.”

  “You won the bet, and I’m good to my word.”

  The waitress reappeared with a carafe of water, poured two tumblers for us, then lit the little tea light in the middle of the table. “That’s better, isn’t it, boys?” she smiled.

  In the sense it was ridiculously romantic, yes, it was better.

  We both ordered the cured meat pizza (with really strict instructions for no chilli on mine), and after the garlic bread had arrived (which had rosemary on it, but OK), the jazz band start playing on a small stage behind me, towards the rear of the restaurant. And you know what? For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a kid any more. I was having dinner with a nice boy, in a nice restaurant, with a fricking jazz band playing, and I suddenly had this vision of what life could be like. And I saw it could be good.

  “Pretty cool, right?” I heard Ben say.

  I met his twinkling eyes and smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Are you having an OK time?”

  “Ben, oh my god, I’m having the best time!”

  He nodded. “OK, cool. Because sometimes I think you look like you’re about to burst into tears, and I just wonder if I shouldn’t give you a hug,” Ben said. “But then, you probably wouldn’t want that.”

  I think my mouth fell open a bit. I swallowed. Pulled myself together. “No, I do. Would. I wouldn’t mind.”

  Ben nodded. “Better look out then, next time you’re a bit sad! I’ll be like, ‘Hug, incoming!’”

  I half gasped, half giggled. Oh my god, I could not wait for that. Would it be too much to start weeping right now?

  I actually nearly did start weeping when the pizzas came. They were so big we struggled to fit them on the table. I had never seen this much pizza in my life. Pizza really is the best thing.

  “How about some desserts?” the waitress said, when she came over to clear our plates.

  “Let me pay for dessert,” I told Ben.

  “No way. This is my treat, and you won the bet fair and square,” Ben replied.

  “But … are you sure?” I didn’t want to mention what he’d told me about his dad, and how tight money was for them, but him paying was making me feel bad.

  “I’d like to,” he said. “But maybe you can get the bill next time.”

  I smiled. There was going to be a next time. That was epically excellent news. “OK, well, I’m pretty stuffed though – shall we share one?”

  “Sure. What’ll it be? Your choice.”

  I scanned the blackboard menu of desserts on the wall and opted for the cheapest. “Um … the tiramisu?” Ben nodded, and the waitress jotted it down. “As long as you’re OK serving us that with the alcohol in it?” I grinned at her and she ga
ve me a wry smile.

  “Good job you’re sharing it,” she said. “Don’t want you two getting hammered and making trouble.”

  “Are you giving the waitress sass?” Ben said, when she’d gone.

  My eyes widened. “Oh god, do I need to apologize?”

  He laughed and I got full-on dimples shimmering in candlelight with a jazz accompaniment. Frankly, it was a miracle I’d managed to hold it together this long, but that tipped me over the edge and I actually groaned.

  “Are you OK?” Ben said.

  “Uh-huh. Just had … too much to eat.”

  “You liked the pizza, then? You weren’t sure.”

  “I wasn’t sure at first,” I agreed, “but I love the pizza. And I love the jazz.” And you. I love you.

  Ben shifted his chair across to the wall a bit. “Shuffle round here, then you’ll be able to see the band properly.”

  I moved my chair around and tried not to think about the fact I was now sitting right next to him, in the low-level light, about to share a creamy dessert, whilst the band played a slow, bluesy cover of “Your Song” by Elton John. Tingles danced through my spine as his leg brushed mine, and then I held my breath as it actually came to rest against mine. I didn’t dare look at him, just kept my leg where it was, pressed next to his, like our little secret. Was this OK? What about Bella? But I guessed that we weren’t doing anything wrong. Or at least, he wasn’t. He was just being normal, nice, Ben. It was me who was probably making the rest up, in my head.

  “Oh, wow,” I heard him mutter.

  I glanced at him, and he had tears in his eyes.

  “Mum loved Elton,” he said, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Sorry. Sorry, Alex. I don’t mean to bring a downer to the whole evening.”

  My stomach plunged with heaviness. There I was, thinking naughty stuff about Ben, and there he was, hurting about his mum. I was the worst sort of person.

  “Don’t be sorry, Ben. You really don’t have to be sorry.” I looked at him, doing his best to hold it together, but the pain bubbling through, and I wondered whether he might appreciate a hug, or anything similar. So I did it. I put my hand on his. I didn’t mean anything romantic by it, it just felt like the right thing to do. I squeezed. And he looked down at our hands, then turned his palm to face upwards and laced his fingers through mine. And suddenly it felt like something different.