Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles (10 page)

She looked at me witheringly, if you can look witheringly through eyes as big and blue and tear-filled as hers, and said, ‘Oh yeah? What are you saying?’

I said, ‘Maybe you should wait until you really like someone before letting them kiss you.’ I trailed away. ‘You know, as in Darius down at the river…’

She didn’t seem to hear this last bit. ‘I don’t let them kiss
me
. I kiss them.’

‘That’s what I mean. But maybe you should wait for someone really nice. You know, find out if they are The One first.’

She looked scandalized. ‘Oh, right. And just hang around, like some uptight weirdo, waiting for nothing, like you? No thanks.’

I managed to say, ‘Fair enough. Maybe steer clear of other people’s boyfriends, then, that’s all.’

She swung her legs over the bed and looked at me intently. ‘Who are we talking about? William?’

‘No.’ I laughed, shaking my head as if it had bugs in it. ‘Of course not. Just be careful, that’s all.’

8 p.m.

That was a few hours ago. Since then William’s been round, hanging about Mother’s ankles, looking hungry. She fussed over him, getting all French and ‘ooh la la’, making toast and telling him she could see his hipbones. Yeah, right. Who’s fault is that for wearing jeans two sizes too big?

Mr Spence finished work for the day and didn’t leave. Maybe he wanted toast or ‘Ooh la la’ing too. And then Jack turned up with his new girlfriend, Dawn, who’s tall and skinny. Usually, Jack throws Cyril and Marie around the place, and makes them shriek with laughter, but when he’s got a new girlfriend with him he gets all awkward and cool as if he doesn’t know whether to show his new girlfriend what a great dad he is, or stand back, cool and narrow-eyed, reminding Mother what a great catch he is. He met Dawn selling fish door to door. She bought a box of Dublin Bay prawns and a duo of stuffed plaice. Must be love. Never is, though.

‘This,’ Jack said, lunging, when I came into the room, ‘is my favourite stepdaughter in the world.’

I reared back. Lately, this house is either Odour of Calvin or Odour of Cod. ‘I’m your
only
stepdaughter in the world,’ I said. ‘Don’t show off’.

Jack turned to New Dawn and said, ‘See what I have to put up with?’

There was tooting outside the house in the street then. Mother, still chatting to Mr Spence, shrieked at me that it was Bert and she wasn’t ready and could I run and tell him to come in?

This I did. He humphed at me through the car window but went and parked. He came in and stood around, one hand inside his shirt, massaging his own shoulder. He said, ‘Ciao,’ to everyone in a fake-friendly sort of way. William gave me A Look (I know why – a) we hate it when grown-ups are overly chummy, and b) we hate ciao). Mr Spence, coming late into the room, said, ‘Evening all,’ to which nobody answered. Then Mother went upstairs and Uncle Bert got all snippy with Marie. She’d been making a camp next to the fridge in the sitting room – using all the cushions from the sofa – and when Uncle B. realized there was nowhere to sit, I heard him say, ‘Hey. You. Scram.’ Marie looked too shocked to scream.

Then everyone left – William went home to leave lettuce out for his hamster, Mother and Uncle B. went out, and J, D, M and C went to McDonald’s. I declined the offer of this last and mooched around downstairs on my own. I searched all the bins for the airmail letter Mother got this morning, but I couldn’t find it.

I’m too depressed to breathe, let alone eat. It’s been such a miserable day. One of my best friends is a slag; the other isn’t talking to me.

And is Delilah right? Am I an uptight weirdo? Am I waiting around for nothing? Recently, I’ve had this yearning, restless feeling inside me. I don’t want a boyfriend. I don’t want love. I definitely don’t want anyone’s hands up my jumper. (It’s not that I’m too young, it’s just, having been through it all with Mother, I’m too
grown-up
for all that.) I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve just got this funny aching feeling that something – everything – more interesting is going on elsewhere.

In bed, 2 a.m.

And don’t get me started on Uncle Bert.

1. Money: if he’s so rich, how comes he never pays for anything? And happily eats us out of house and home?

2. French leanings: he thinks French wine is overpriced. That lingerie ‘French tat’ comment. And all this stuff about French lessons. Isn’t it just a way to get a free meal?

3. Small children: beeping from the car (avoidance); his irritation with Marie; his attitude to Woodvale’s march; his use of the word ‘scram’.

I’ve had enough of this notebook.

Saturday 1 March

The chemist’s, quiet moment, 4.30 p.m.

I faced up
to the truth during the long, dark night. Everything has gone wrong. And it’s all my fault. I’ve meddled. I’ve created my own Frankenstein’s monster.

I never thought I’d write in here again. This beautiful, deliciously smelling notebook would be wasted forever. But today everything has changed.

The morning began dull and overcast. You couldn’t believe spring would ever come. The chemist’s was dark when I arrived. John was in the back eating a bacon sandwich and reading the newspaper. He only has a microwave at home, he told me, and crispy bacon’s apparently one thing you miss when you only have a microwave at home. He gets his bacon sandwiches from the cafe at the station. Sometimes he has one for lunch too.

‘You all right?’ he said. But he obviously didn’t know anything was up because he didn’t leave enough space for me to answer before saying, ‘Start on the shampoos, would you?’

The boxes were just by his feet, so I crouched down next to him with the price gun. He was wearing his jeans and a pair of worn brown shoes that he had only half shoved on over bare feet so his heels were squashing down the leather at the back. I started with the Neutrogenas. When I got to the anti-dandruff ones I wondered whether to say anything (you know, like, ‘My mother’s favourite, this’), but the click of the price gun seemed loud in the silence and I felt too self-conscious.

After a bit he folded up his newspaper. ‘Ah, Connie,’ he said. ‘You’re making me feel guilty. Time to open up.’

He spun the sign and beep-beeped the till. Then he came back into the pharmacy section and put his white coat on over his jeans. He’s so dark – dark bristly hair, dark knitted eyebrows, dark deep-set eyes – the white coat makes him look like a rook pretending to be a seagull. A few people came in and I went through to serve them. Gail was going to be late because her mother was in hospital with her hip. John seemed distracted. He sorted out some antibiotics for someone, but didn’t say much. I never know how much he notices me. I wonder if I was older – I mean really older, like twenty or something – he’d be aware of the silences and feel socially obliged to fill them. It must be something to do with the professional nature of our relationship, but oddly for me I don’t feel I can ask questions or volunteer information unless
encouraged
.

So it was a relief when a bit later he said, ‘You’re looking very solemn today.’

I told him I was just tired.

‘Hard night?’

I suspect he meant out at the pub like any normal sixteen-year-old, not lying awake worrying about the disastrous marriage she may have arranged for her only parent.

I said I was fine. After a bit I said, ‘By the way, do you remember what you said about not having met anybody who supported the war?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I have now.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yep. My mother’s boyfriend says the build-up has had a knock-on effect on merchandising or something, that you can’t beat a show of might. He says demonstrations are “troublemaking”.’

‘Takes all sorts.’

I’ve noticed when people say ‘takes all sorts’, a phrase which supposedly celebrates the different opinions that make up the world, they’re actually being critical. I felt an internal shiver of satisfaction, but also dread, when he said this. It was lovely to hear someone say something against Bert – and it’s made me see, if he’s pro-war, he can’t be nice, can he? But it was also scary to have my feelings confirmed. I’m in so deep. What if I can’t undo what we’ve done?

More customers came in. And while I was working through the queue, Gail arrived, looking flustered and matronly at the same time.

‘You’re looking a bit peaky, Connie,’ she said once she’d talked a young mother through the tinned baby-food range. ‘Are you working too hard at school? When are your AS levels again?’ She peeled off the lid of the cup of takeaway coffee she’d bought with her and took a sip. Her face cleared. ‘Hmmm. Heaven,’ she said. ‘I love a mocha.’

I feel easier when she’s in the shop, which is funny because John is so nice and
doesn’t ask about AS levels
. It’s just having more people around, I suppose. I told her I was working quite hard at school, exams not for a bit (NB for confessional purposes: that’s evasion, not deceit), but that I was a bit miserable because I’d fallen out with a friend. I’m so glad I did. John was sorting other people’s photographs into envelopes – he’s quite strict about us not seeing for privacy reasons – and had his back to us. Her face contracted. ‘Oh no. Have you? Oh. What was that over, then?’ I couldn’t answer because we had a rash of parents and children to deal with, small hands reaching for the diabetic chocolate; long debate over Calpol with sugar versus Calpol without. John sidled into the back when this was going on. He’s not great with mothers, and Gail tends to give either too much advice or not enough. As usual I found myself talking about my little brother and sister; personal recommendations seem to be what customers like. Anyway, they all trooped out at last.

I said, ‘I think I offended her.’

‘Who, dear?’

‘My friend. I’ve upset her somehow.’

‘Her? Not a
boy
friend, then?’

‘No!’

‘So what happened? What did you do to offend her?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, you should ask her and then you will know.’

I felt a fat tear welling out of my eye. Sympathy is always a killer.

She had time to say, ‘Oh dear,’ before dealing with another customer. Back at the till, she whispered, ‘Why don’t you give her a ring? Sort it out. I’m sure it’s nothing.’

I blew my nose and nodded.

I didn’t do it immediately. I waited until John went to the bank at lunchtime. Then I went to the phone at the back. I felt nervous, but Gail was looking at me and nodding encouragement.

She wasn’t at her mum’s. So I tried her at her dad’s. Alison answered. She said, ‘Oh, hello, Carmen. I’ll just get her,’ and I almost hung up. I only managed to fit in, ‘It’s Connie,’ before she was yelling up the stairs.

Julie took a few minutes to come. ‘Hello,’ she said, without expression.

‘Julie. It’s Connie,’ I said unnecessarily.

She said, ‘Hello,’ again, this time with artificial brightness.

I said, ‘Why are you being funny with me?’

‘I’m not being funny with you.’

I said, ‘Why aren’t you talking to me, then?’

Still in the same false tone, she said, ‘I am talking to you. I’m talking to you now.’

‘Yes, but not properly.’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said. Long silence.

‘See?’ I said.

Gail was making further gestures with her hands. Eventually I asked if Julie would meet me and she said, ‘When?’

I said, ‘Some time today?’

She said, ‘Maybe I’ll drop in if I’m passing.’

And then we both hung up and that was that. I stayed out the back for a bit, staring at the boxes of shampoos. Friendship is so hard and painful. I can’t imagine ever being able to deal with love.

But then John got back from the bank and Gail was busy at the till, so I carried on with my shampoos. I think Gail might have told him I was down, because he went out again and bought us a sandwich platter to share from Marks & Spencer. We ate them in a huddle. I wouldn’t eat the prawn or the tuna ones because of fish-overload. ‘Sorry to look a seahorse in the mouth,’ I said, and explained about Jack. John seemed to find it very funny. I even told him about the Newcastle accent Jack sometimes puts on when he goes door to door, which I haven’t told anyone. John laughed as if I’d really tickled him and I felt a warm glow inside.

Julie came at three o’clock. Later I discovered she wasn’t passing at all. She was supposed to be going to the cinema with Carmen and she’d cancelled. Sometimes one can get people so wrong.

She stood by the nail varnishes with a funny expression on her face. John said I could nip out for half an hour if I liked. Gail said, ‘Go on.’

Julie and I walked in silence to the cafe by the station and sat a table in the window. I ordered a Coke; she ordered a Diet Coke. It was hot in there. My can was warm; her can, from further back in the fridge, had pearls of condensation on the outside. I should have got a Diet one too. But I hate aspartame. I hate all artificial sweetness.

‘Thanks for coming,’ I said.

She said, ‘I was passing anyway.’

I told her I liked her new top. It was pale blue and cap-sleeved and had a picture of a girl surfing a large wave on it. She looked down at it, as if noticing it for the first time, and said, ‘Oh.’

‘So here we are,’ I said.

‘Here we are,’ she replied woodenly.

Irritation spurred me on. ‘Oh, come on, Julie. What have I done? Please tell me. This is ridiculous.’

She pretended for a while, all hoity-toity, that I hadn’t done anything, that it was all fine, but I kept on and finally – finally – in a rush, she said, ‘OK. I was really offended when you didn’t walk down the hill with me.’

When?’

‘On Tuesday. On the march.’

I was confused because this wasn’t like her and also it didn’t seem to tally with the timing – wasn’t she already funny on the phone on Sunday? – but I didn’t want to lose the moment, so I said, ‘I’m really sorry. It was obviously a misunderstanding. I did look for you, but I thought you’d gone ahead.’

She gave a small smile.

‘Can we be friends now, then?’ I said.

She nodded. ‘Yeah. OK. So how’ve you been?’

We chatted, but we didn’t look at each other. Or we did, but in an odd way If I was talking – telling her about Mr Spence and the flat roof – I looked at her, but she kept her eyes on the table. And when she was talking – telling me about the kind of dye she’d used for her hair last weekend – I found my eyes going elsewhere. (I did an experiment on this at home later. When people are relaxed, it’s the other way round; the person who’s
talking
looks around, but the person who’s
listening
keeps their eyes on them.) We’d finished our Cokes and had begun walking back to the chemist’s when tentatively I mentioned the graffiti about Delilah. She laughed knowingly, ‘Oh yeah.’

I said, ‘Do you think Toyah Benton really is “out to get her”?’

She said, ‘I don’t know. The problem is she knows where Delilah lives.’

‘How?’

‘How do you think?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘She’s got an invitation to her party.’

I stopped in my tracks to take in a sharp breath. Julie looked at me and raised her eyebrows. We stared at each other and then we both burst out laughing.

By the time we reached the door to the chemist’s, and had discussed Delilah’s behaviour in minute detail (how far exactly had she gone with Toyah Benton’s boyfriend? Would Toyah come to Delilah’s party to seek revenge?), things seemed to be back to normal.

‘See you on Monday,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry about the march. I guess I just got… swept up in the moment.’

‘Bye,’ she answered. I made as if to go in, but as she didn’t move, I turned again.

‘Bye,’ I said.

She was still standing there. ‘Connie?’

I had my hand on the door. ‘Yes?’

‘Look, about the march –’

‘Yes?’

She sighed. ‘I’ve been a cow.’

I had to step back out of the doorway on to the pavement to make room for a middle-aged woman exiting in a hurry.

Julie was frowning and twisting her thumb in the top buttonhole of her denim jacket. ‘I lied. I wasn’t cross with you about that.’

‘Weren’t you?’

‘No. I wasn’t really cross with you about anything. It was nothing you did. It’s just…’

‘It’s just what?’

She looked down at the pavement. ‘Nothing.’

‘No. Tell me.’

She pulled me to one side, into the doorway that leads to the flat above the chemist’s. ‘It’s Uncle Bert.’

‘Uncle Bert?’

‘I think we made a mistake –’

‘Do you?’ I felt the flickerings of hope. ‘Why?’

‘It’s just… Do you think they’re right for each other?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe not.’ I was still being careful.

‘It’s just… I know we engineered it. That we did it. But it was just a game. Wasn’t it? I never thought it would work.’ Her eyes darted this way and that. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I mean, did you? It was just a game. And now he’s round your house all the time, and taking you lot out for Chinese and… It’s just he’s my uncle…’