Boys and Girls (13 page)

And that's all we've been able to do ever since, really, apart from that one time in the Everyman. In the coffee shop – it's called Franco's – we've got our special table away from the window and under this neon little clock they've got and he has a frappé and I have a smoothie. I hated that he'd only ever seen me in uniform with my hair like all back in a scrunchy and no jewellery on, but he said he was fine with it and it wasn't that long since he'd been wearing uniform himself – but not like a scrunchy! And that was really funny, when he said that, and I laughed a lot. His hair is long enough for one, though, a scrunchy – it's really like long and beautiful. Turned out he didn't, actually – wear uniform at the school he went to, I don't know why he said he did. He knows about everything, Harry – he doesn't just go on about like football and drinking and the internet and crap and he said he was currently really into Dylan and I said oh yeh do you mean Dylan Thomas because we've got him as a set book, and he said no. So I googled Dylan later and downloaded some tracks and yeh I see now why he's so like into it because of all the poetry and stuff and I said it's a shame he can't sing though and Harry, he went kind of quiet? I don't know nearly as much as Harry does and so I don't just come out with crap now, but I listen to him, so I'll learn. And I have done – more than I ever do at school.

It was me who suggested we go out in the evening – movie or something – but he said he still lived with his parents and he was saving every penny he got at the garage for like a place of his own because he couldn't stand it any more, living with his parents, on account of his parents knew jack shit. And I said OK yeh sure, I'm cool, I can empathise with that (cool?) and how about I pay for the both of us? And he said Cool, which was great. So I got the money off Dad – said it was for some like really important software for a project at school which has got to be in next week, which always works because I don't think he even knows what software is, he's so totally useless at all that: he goes all glassy when you say anything computery, and just gives me the cash. Mum says any money Dad's got he got from her, I don't know if it's meant to make me feel guilty or something, but it so like doesn't. I never get how the money or anything works in our house, and I just so don't care. Harry said we should go to the Everyman, which I'd never heard of but it's up in like Hampstead which I don't think I've ever been to since I was really like little and Jesus, we all used to go to the
fair
? My mum always took me on the rides because Dad wouldn't go and then I'd say to him Oh Dad, Dad, look! Look at the, God – like dollies or whatever – because I was so totally into, like, softies yeh? I had hundreds:
so
embarrassing. They're all up in the attic now except for Ralph the cat, obviously, who is totally special. Tara's bed, though – you should see it: all covered in like teddies and ponies and heart-shaped cushions which I just think is gross, and boys I know really hate all that. Anyway – at the fair, right? I used to go on and on at Dad to win me one of these really like naff sort of, I don't know – Teletubbies or something, and he'd shoot this gun and just miss everything, he was so completely hopeless – must've spent like
pounds and he didn't even get close. And so I'd throw this like giant strop OK? Hissy, really heavy, and next day he'd go to like Hamleys or somewhere and get me the real thing and by then I'd forgotten all about it and I'd just go Oh yeh, cool, just put it wherever, yeh? You should've like seen his face. Anyway: Hampstead. There's this little cinema, really cool actually, and Harry likes it because they sometimes show these like really old movies he's into like wrecks like Tara's dad watch on TV in the afternoons before
Countdown
. Harry doesn't seem to like any movies that are in colour, or even in English. But the movie we saw that time was English, though –
Brighton Rock
, which I'd never heard of. It's a novel by Graham Greene, who I'd never heard of, but I googled him and I started to read
Our Man in Havana
which I got from the library at school but I found it like really hard going so I stopped. Anyway, Harry was really into
Brighton Rock
because he said that the guy in it – Pinkie, yeh? He was only young, but he was doing things his way and not being dictated to by all of the crumblies. And I said yeh Harry but what he's doing is like slicing people up and trying to kill his girlfriend which isn't very nice, and he said that's not the point and so I said well what is the point then, and he just went like quiet again, like he does quite a lot. But it's really comfy in the Everyman and we sat at the back and I had a Magnum which made me a bit sick actually, and he kissed me when the credits came on and it was really like soft, you know? Really sensitive. And that's when I so like fell in love with him – and I've just been waiting ages and ages for my dream to come true, being like alone with him, which may sound pathetic but it isn't because I really really mean it. See, sitting in Franco's with a frappé and a smoothie, it's not like romantic and there's just been nowhere else to go because cinemas are really expensive
(I can't go too heavy on the software thing) and Harry has been promising for ages that his parents were going to go away for a weekend to visit his aunt and uncle in Lincolnshire (like I give a fuck) and I kept on saying to him yeh but
when
, Harry –
when
are they going? Because you've been saying all this for like a hundred
years
, yeh? And then just yesterday when I was paying in Franco's, he goes: it's tomorrow! And I'm going, what's tomorrow, what? And then he tells me and I'm like, Jesus Harry – you could've given me a bit more notice! What the fuck am I going to tell my parents? And he goes yeh I know, but I only just found out myself, they only told me this morning. And I was really really pleased – and I said just think how great it'll be when you've got a place of your own. Then we can go there and be alone together whenever we want and then the whole like rest of the world can just go fuck itself. He said yeh, I know, but have you seen what flats cost? And never mind flats – even a room. And I went no, because I haven't, but I bet they're like a lot, particularly in Fulham and Chelsea. And he laughed at that, but not like it was funny or anything, and he said oh Jesus Amanda you can completely forget Fulham and Chelsea – I'm talking about shitholes, bits of London you've never even heard of, just miles and miles from here, and still they cost a fucking bomb. Well he's right – I don't know anywhere that isn't round here except for Oxford Street and all of that, course. He maybe means Hampstead, which is like just ages on the Tube. Anyway – I decided I wouldn't go and tell Mum and Dad some great all sort of carefully worked-out story, because they'd only go on and on asking and asking about it – or Mum would, anyway – so I just like did this Tara thing pretty much without thinking – and I've got her to back me up if Dad rings to check, which he so won't – and Mum being out was a kind
of bonus, really, even if I am like so just sick at what it is she's
doing
tonight. Anyway – fuck that. I'm here now. I've phoned Dad, given him the story – he sounded just fucked and so out of it, as per bloody usual (it could be the whisky, or maybe it's just everything else in his crappy little life – and Mum, she's not exactly helping, is she?) and now – wow! – I'm here. It's a small house, Harry's got – a lot smaller than ours and no colour anywhere, all just grubby white and sort of brown. Tara would say it's really naff and common – she'd laugh at all the video boxes on the shelves, and the like dolphins in the loo? But I don't care. Harry's here – that's all that matters. And so am I. We're alone. My dream come true.

‘You want a drink or something, Amanda? Something to eat?'

‘I've eaten. Had dinner at home. What's this …? Is it a vase, or something?'

‘Christ knows what it is. Some crap my mum brought back from somewhere – Spain or Mexico or somewhere. Horrible bloody thing. She buys all this shit-type pottery. It's all over the house. I break a few whenever I can. Drink, then?'

‘Don't mind. What've you got?'

‘Don't know what's left. There's vodka, probably, unless my mum has drunk it all. Beer in the fridge.'

‘Haven't you got anything like, I don't know – Diet Coke or something?'

‘Yeh – probably something. Steering clear of the hard stuff, are you? What you want to do?'

‘I hate it. Don't like the taste. Well wine I do. You got any wine?'

‘Should think so. What you like? White? Yeh? Won't be cold, though. I'll have a look. So what you want to do then, Amanda?'

‘Don't know. What you want to do?'

‘Not bothered. I'll see if they got anything under the stairs.'

Amanda watched his easy amble as he left the room, his shoulders bonily shrugging up and down beneath his khaki T-shirt, a truckload of denim rucked up and over his chuckedout feet. His hair, she thought, it looks really nice tonight, all long and wavy like he only just washed it. She followed him into the hall and watched his jeans grip tight on his thighs as he crouched down low in the cupboard.

‘There's … what is this? Oh no – that's red. Chilean. Instant headache material. Oh here's one – Chardonnay. Chardonnay, that do you?'

‘Don't know. Expect so. Yeh. Great.'

‘Stick it in the freezer for a bit … Think I'll have a beer. So OK – decided what you want to do, then?'

‘Don't know. Don't mind. What you want to do?'

‘Don't know. We could watch a film, or something. Play some music …'

‘Oh I know! You could play to me on your guitar.'

‘Nah. Let's watch a film.'

‘Oh why not? Oh please do, Harry – I'd really love it. Where is it? Upstairs? Is it upstairs? Oh do go and get it, Harry – please do. Go on.'

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head.

‘I'll just stick this in the freezer …'

‘Oh but
why
, Harry? Why won't you?'

‘Because I don't bloody
want
to, all right? Now what bloody film you want to see? The good ones are in my room. It's all crap, stuff they got down here. Carry Ons and
Pretty Woman
and David bloody Attenborough. How about
Belle de Jour
?
Classic, that is.'

‘Builder Jaw? Never heard of it. Not foreign, is it?'

‘Got subtitles.'

‘So it's foreign, right?'

‘Well of course it's bloody foreign if it's got subtitles – what's wrong with you? It's French. Sixties. Catherine Deneuve. Classic. Buñuel.'

‘Can't we just, I don't know – sit and talk …?'

‘What you want to talk about?'

‘Well I don't know, do I? Anything. You. You and me. Let's sit on the sofa, yeh? Put on some music. What you got?'

‘Dylan?'

‘Oh Jesus. I mean I know you're like really into him and everything – but does it have to be? I mean – haven't you got anything a bit more, I don't know – just not quite so …?'

‘You'd probably like all my parents' shit. What they like is Rodgers & Hammerstein and Tony Bennett and bloody
techno
, if you can believe it. Don't know how they stand it.'

‘Haven't you got any Kylie, or something? Or Madonna – what about Madonna? I like the old ones.'

Harry just looked at her.

‘Let's just forget the music, OK? We'll talk. You start.'

Amanda flopped down into the brown velour sofa and heard something funny going wrong with the springs; with the added weight of Harry, the cushions took a plunge. She rootled around for his fingers and gave them a squeeze as her shoulders and eyebrows rose up in delight.

‘This is really nice. Isn't it Harry? It's so really nice, this. Just sitting. Just like being here with you. Really really nice. But I so wish you would, though …'

‘Would what?'

‘Play to me. Your guitar.'

‘Man, you don't give up do you? Hey? I said no, didn't I? Just bloody leave it, can't you? Anyway – string's broken.'

‘Well can't you just play on the others?'

‘That's the most stupid thing I ever heard.'

Amanda quickly plucked back her hand.

‘That's not very nice. You're not being very nice to me, Harry.'

‘Man … Look – just don't go giving me a hard time, OK Amanda?'

‘What do you mean? I'm not. What do you
mean
? All I said was I—'

‘Yeh well just don't, OK? I'll get you a drink.'

‘Don't want a drink.'

‘Yeh well I'm going to get you one anyway, OK?
Jesus
 …!'

‘Well don't do me any favours, will you?'

‘I'm not. I've got to get my beer anyway, haven't I?
Jesus
 …!'

Harry's head was hung low and wagging from side to side at all the bloody hell of it – but then he stopped all that when he saw her face.

‘Oh look … come on. Don't … cry, Jesus. Nothing to cry about, is there? I didn't mean … Come on, Amanda – cheer up, hey? Get you a drink.'

Amanda clutched at his fingers as he made to get by her.

‘I've been so really really looking forward to this …!'

Harry held her hand, and crouched down beside her.

‘Yeh yeh. I know. Me too. I have too. Look – tell you what. I'll get us a drink … and then I'll read you one of my poems. OK? Like that?'

Amanda's wet eyes went up to him, and now there was a glistening and brightness amid their pleading.

‘Oh
yeh
, Harry – I'd really like that. Really really. And then
will you play to me?'