According to YES (10 page)

On the roof of the Wilder-Bingham apartment block, under the stars, there are three pop-up tents in a row, right next to the detritus of the developing garden. A string of fairy lights illuminates the area and there is light and warmth coming from the lit gas of the camping stove. A supper of sausages and bread has already been stuffed, but Teddy is still cooking the last two sausages in a frying pan. There are stripey deck chairs and a small table on top of which is all the equipment Teddy has used to make cocktails. The twins have had Shirley Temples, their favourite. Natalie is the one that normally makes them, and she knows the proper ingredients, ginger ale, grenadine and a cherry. Teddy wasn't too sure so he tried to replicate it. He got the cherry part right, and he even added little Chinese umbrellas, but he improvised with seven-up and cranberry juice. It wasn't ‘the bomb' according to the twins, but it was still pretty good, and they gulped it down.

With sausage and Shirley-full bellies, the twins have climbed into their joint tent and settled into their sleeping bags on a blow-up mattress. They wear their coats and hats and gloves over their pyjamas and hoodies, and with a camping heater inside their tent, they've cosied up with Rosie in the middle who read
The Velveteen Rabbit
to them. They love that story, all about being real, they request it time and time again, understanding it a tiny bit more each time.

That was half an hour ago, and now Rosie is backing out gracelessly on all fours with her lovely big bum leading the way, whilst the twins audibly snuffle and snore and occasionally garble muted nonsense from their deepest, tired-outest sleep. Rosie stands up, pulls her coat around her, tugs her hat further down on her head and sits down on the deck chair nearest the big outdoor heater. She grabs the glass she left when she went into the tent, and she drains the last of the potent mojito Teddy has made.

‘'Nother one?' he offers.

‘Yep. Why not?' she replies.

‘Sausage?'

‘No ta. Full.'

Teddy makes the mojito with pride. He has all the correct ingredients for this since at school he is renowned for being the best covert mojito-master in Roosevelt dorm. The full equipment lives under his bed and no birthday slips by amongst his pals without a celebratory ‘Mojiteddy', in which
he generously dollops three times the amount of rum that he should. He delights in using real Jamaican white rum, John Crow Batty Rum, 160 proof and stolen from his grandfather's drinks cupboard. This is not a drink for sissies, and Rosie is no sissy. But sadly she
is
a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. She is already delightfully merry when she drains her glass. This next one will slowly do for her. Teddy pours one for himself too, they clink glasses and raise a cheer to ‘sunlight' in honour of their day, and then they clink again for ‘moonlight', in honour of this lovely night and their camping adventure. They sit comfortably and quietly in each other's company, gradually getting delightfully sozzled. The sound of traffic below drifts up.

Rosie cups her ear to hear it better, then says, ‘Bub-bubba-bub-bub …'

From down on the street, a taxi hooter completes the sequence – Bub Bub.

Then Teddy gives it a go, ‘Bub-bubba-bub-bub …' they listen, they listen. No response. Rosie does a quiet cheer and licks her finger to draw a point in the air.

‘One-nil. Lllllllloooooooooser!'

There is a distant mumble from the twins' tent. Rosie darts over and peeks in to find them both still fast asleep, though Red is fighting an enemy in his dreams. She lays her hand on his sleeping bag, where his shin is, and slowly he drops back off.

As she returns to the deck chair. Teddy decides to give the traffic game one more try, ‘Bub-bubba-bub-bub …'

A taxi hooter finishes the jingle. Teddy does a punch of victory, ‘Yes! One all. Slam dunkety dunk!' They laugh. A bit too much.

Rosie takes another slurp. ‘I'm guessing, then, from the banking-babe incident, that you don't currently have a girlfriend?'

Teddy, ‘Correct, Miss Marple, I don't. I'm too young and good-looking to be tied down, baby.'

‘Right,' says Rosie.

A long pause. Teddy has another swig. He looks at Rosie and suddenly he is a less confident boy. ‘I haven't ever had one …'

‘OK,' Rosie nods. ‘It's not a big revelation, Teds. Doesn't matter. In the slightest.'

Teddy looks at his feet, and blows out a big sad sigh, ‘Yeah. But. Y'know. It is too much to ask? That one girl might check me out, just one? I'm not saying it has to be a model or a hot dancer or whatever. I'd be grateful for a head and legs, to be frank. Well OK, not necessarily a head …'

Rosie chuckles.

‘I know I'm not exactly a catch,' he continues, ‘nothing on me behaves right. I know that. Skin doesn't, hair doesn't, no chest, skinny arms, torso's not cut, no kick ass … ass. I'm not built, I'm not a beast. Women want a beast.'

‘Bollocks,' chides Rosie, ‘that's so not true. A hunker-chunker might be quite nice to look at occasionally, but trust me, hon,
no woman worth her salt wants to be with that kind of vain twot. Too high maintenance, truly. And doesn't make you laugh, which is the sexiest thing of all. Believe me on this. Some of my most favourite, unforgettable boys have been decidedly odd-looking – which you are
not
, by the way – but all I'm saying is that any girl worth having won't be looking for all that stuff you're wishing you had, so it's a waste of time worrying about it. What you need to do, Teds, is inhabit what you've got, and honestly, what you've got is pretty bloody good from where I'm sitting. And I am of the female persuasion. So I know. Wear this body here, that you've got …' she pats him in a way she wouldn't if she weren't so disinhibited by drink, ‘like a nice comfortable jacket, that fits you just right. Which it does.'

‘But, look, basically, I'm not attractive. Am I?'

‘Teds. Hon. Are you barking bonkers mad or what?! You are properly lovely. AND you are charming.'

‘Oh great' he replies sarcastically, ‘I'm a thatched cottage.'

‘Listen, Ted, seriously darlin',' Rosie doesn't quite slur her words, but she's only one slurp away from it, ‘you will have no trouble getting a girl. I promise you. You just need to … relax.'

‘If it could happen before I go grey, it would be good. I'm the last guy … y'know … amongst my friends … the last sucker … not to …'

‘Oh God. And you're feeling so rubbish about it I can't bear it. It's not your fault sweetheart, really it isn't. These … stupid …
girls. They don't know what they're missing, you are such a diamond. C'mere, give us a hug, it'll be OK …'

Rosie gets up and grabs him in a heartfelt, boisterous hug, which Teddy is very happy to have.

She eventually lets go and sits back down again. ‘Honestly, when I was your age, I thought I wanted a dirty nasty brute who didn't wash and treated me like I was a shit sandwich. Maybe you should try that!' and to illustrate, Rosie does her best mean face for Teddy to copy. He does his best mean face back, which isn't very mean at all.

He wonders out loud, ‘Why the hell do girls go for nasty in the first place?'

‘Because girls really like a mission. We want to be the one responsible for turning the brute into a slush bucket. I know, it's pants.'

Teddy tries the mean face again and this time beats his chest like King Kong, and then quickly turns the volume down to avoid waking the twins.

Rosie finds it hilarious, ‘OK, so it's a resounding no to Teddy the giant hairy brute. How about jocular Teddy the joker? You are properly funny, Teds, truly. You are. Try laughing them into bed. Y'know, “Knock knock – who's there? Me in my underpants, willy at the ready”, that kinda thing, only better. Well … funny.'

Teddy thinks about this, ‘The thing is, when I'm next to a girl, I don't feel funny. I act funny. Not so good, total turn off.'

‘I tell you, the other good strategy is to be massively powerful. Look at some of those kings and presidents and prime ministers. You can be badly battered with the ugly stick, and still negotiate a girl into bed IF you run a country.'

Teddy puffs. ‘I'm eighteen, Rosie.'

‘OK, OK, yeah.' She takes another little sip of the sinful cocktail. Then, ‘OK, right, we must go for the deep and interesting type. Which is what you actually
are
, Edward Wilder-Bingham.' She leans over and grabs his chin, to make him look directly at her. ‘Give me your deepest look, let's see.'

Teddy tries to appear interesting and sensitive.

She doesn't buy it, ‘Hmm, that's more like constipation.'

He tries again, but it's still no good. ‘Terrorist,' she confirms.

He splutters and surrenders, ‘I think I'm just going to do celibate, for the rest of my life.' He takes a deep resigned breath and leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head, checking out the stars. His mind wanders, ‘Do you have a boyfriend?' She doesn't answer. He looks at her long enough to get one. She nods. He pursues it, ‘Is he a brute? Or funny? Or powerful? Or deep?'

Rosie avoids the questions and tries the traffic game again, ‘Bub-bubba-bub-bub …' a hooter completes the jingle. ‘Get in!' she shouts as a whisper.

Teddy is intent on looking directly at her in order to have his answer. She can't escape it.

‘We're not really together anymore, Teds. It was a long time, he's my slippers.'

‘So where is he?' asks Teddy, ‘Under the bed?'

She points at the moon, which confuses him.

‘Is he an astronaut? Alien? Dead?'

‘No. He's just … looking at this same sky, but from England. From Cornwall.'

The mixture of alcohol and the far away from home-ness kicks in. She doesn't allow herself to have these difficult thoughts currently. She's on the run, she can't afford to go home in her head, but the delicious and potent alcohol has blurred her line of resolve, and she feels a lurch in her heart. The heaviness in her heart moves to her throat, and she knows she will cry if she doesn't distract herself.

Luckily, Teddy is thinking aloud. ‘Y'know, I'm starting to really dislike Dad for … well, for everything. This divorce is his fault. I know that. Mom won't really say exactly what's happened, but if it was her fault, I just know she would own it and say, so it must be him. Neither of them is being real about it. They give the little guys the ol' “mommy and daddy can't live together any more, but we're still good friends” shit, but hello, I'm eighteen. I don't buy it. What about treating me like an adult and telling me the truth? I'm gonna re-surface after it's all over and I'll have missed out on a huge chunk of my life, totally pow, gone. My buddies will be married with mortgages and I won't have touched a froo.' Rosie looks
quizzical, so he expands. ‘A froo-froo. Girl's … front … part.'

‘Right, got it,' she says, ‘something you should know, Teddy, is that … you're never a fixed thing. I've been a woman I didn't want to be, in my time.'

‘What changed?' he asks.

Rosie shrugs, she doesn't really want to answer. She takes another big slug of her Mojiteddy, and stands up. She is shifting gear.

‘OK, sweetcheeks. Seeing as it's you, I'm going to show you the Rosie Kitto “it never fails” seduction technique. You get a girl alone with you in a room, you do this, and … I promise you it will get results, or your money back.'

‘Are you a lesbian?' he suddenly blurts out.

Rosie is confused.

‘It's just,' he continues, ‘you seem very sure, about seducing a girl.'

Rosie laughs, ‘I'm an insider, mate, I've got the lowdown.' She tells him to sit tight and disappears through the door to the roof. Teddy drains his drink in one go and slumps back in his chair, happy to let the liquor stampede through his blood, trampling on all reason and inhibition in its path.

Rosie is heading for her rooms when she spots Thomas in the corridor near her door.

‘Hello there,' he says in hushed tones, searching her face to see how the emotional land lies. ‘I just knocked on your door. No answer. You're out.'

‘I'm up on the roof with the boys. We're camping. Want to join us?'

‘It's OK, you guys have fun. I'm ready to turn in. I just wanted to say,' he whispers, ‘… can I see you again?'

‘Yes please,' she smiles at him.

He nods his head and backs off, blowing her a small silly kiss as he does.

When Rosie clambers back through the roof door she is equipped with her iPod and two sets of headphones. She is wearing one pair, the other one is dangling from the machine. Rosie drags her deck chair directly opposite Teddy's and places the other set on his head. She takes a dangerously big gulp of the cocktail, and now the real giddy begins …

‘The key to seducing a girl is learning to wait and listen. What is it?'

He goes to repeat it, and she instantly cuts him off, ‘Don't speak! Wait. And listen. Right. First, you have to get both of you into the zone. Right in there with each other, to the exclusion of all others. Music is definitely the way to do that. So listen to this and think about all the gorgeous, loving, sexy things that are going to happen the second it's over. Because she needs to know
that's
what you intend. You intend to take some control and you ARE going to make love to her. It should
only take one song for her to realize you're serious, get used to the idea, then agree. The song has to be the right one. She's never going to forget it, and neither are you. This is the one that would do it for me …'

With that, she clicks the button and through the headphones, loudly, they both hear the slow strains of the opening bars of ‘Sexual Healing' by Marvin Gaye. The drums and the whispered ‘Get up, get up, wake up wake up' are the unmistakable rhythm of a heartbeat, and slowly but surely they both sway in time to the beat, moving their hips in their chairs.