Lobsters (6 page)

Sam

‘Do you want to hit this shit, man?'

Ben waved the poorly constructed spliff under my nose.

‘No, I'm OK, cheers.'

Just
being
in the cupboard was getting me stoned. I didn't need to double the effect. I could barely see Ben for the smoke, and he was crouching right next to me.

‘Where've you been, then?' asked Robin, his smile implying more than his words.

‘Just speaking to someone.'

‘Someone male or someone female?'

‘Someone female.'

‘Ooooooh! Someone female!' This came from Robin and Ben, simultaneously.

‘Don't,' I said. ‘It wasn't anything like that. She definitely doesn't like me.'

Robin groaned. ‘Fuck's sake, Sam. You've only known her ten
minutes and she's already managed to break your heart. It's the same with every girl you meet.'

‘No, it's not,' I said. Even though he sort of had a point.

‘It fucking
is
. Me and Chris had to hear about what happened with Jo again and again. You gave yourself such a hard time over her but I don't reckon you even really liked her that much in the first place.'

‘He liked her enough to write that poem,' said Ben.

I turned to Robin, distraught. ‘You told Ben about the poem?'

Robin had ‘accidentally' opened the poem upon spotting it on my computer desktop. Once he'd stopped howling with laughter, I'd made him promise not to tell another soul.

‘I didn't tell him about it in any great detail,' said Robin.

‘I loved that line about her “raven hair dancing in the autumn breeze”,' Ben said. ‘That's some deep shit, man.'

I glared at Robin. He exploded into laughter. Ben joined him.

‘You're both pricks.'

I grabbed the spliff off Ben and took a drag. It made my head swim.

Robin wiped his eyes and composed himself. ‘Look, Sam, Jo fucked you around. It's a shit thing to happen, but you can't just assume every girl is going to do the same. You've got to get on with your life.'

I considered this as I stared up at the thick spirals of smoke circling the lightbulb. Ben took the spliff back and inhaled deeply, causing most of its contents to fall out in the process.

Suddenly, the cupboard door was wrenched open to reveal a flustered-looking girl in a plaid dress. She coughed and waved
her hands about as the cloud of weed smoke engulfed her.

‘Who are you?' she demanded. ‘What the hell are you doing in here?'

‘We're hot-boxing Harry Potter's bedroom,' said Robin, enthusiastically.

Ben held the joint up to her. ‘Do you wanna hit this shit?'

The girl tutted and leaned into the cupboard to grab the mop that was resting by Robin's shoulder. ‘I haven't got time for that. It's an emergency,' she said, before slamming the door.

‘She needs to chill out', said Ben. ‘What kind of person chooses a mop over a spliff?'

Robin ignored him. He wanted to return to the matter at hand. ‘So, tell us more about this new girl then Sam,' he said.

‘You don't know her,' I said. I could see him flicking through his mental Facebook database.

‘How could you possibly know that I don't know her? I know about two thousand people. Probably about two thousand one hundred if we're counting people over forty.'

‘Was she over forty?' asked Ben.

‘Obviously not, no.'

Ben whistled and turned to Robin. ‘Shame. That would have narrowed it down loads. Like in Guess Who when the other person's got a woman or a ginger.'

‘Was she ginger?' asked Robin, clearly enjoying himself.

‘No! She wasn't ginger or over forty and you don't know her. I didn't know her until about twenty minutes ago.'

‘All right, all right,' laughed Robin. ‘So, where is she now?'

I hesitated. There was no way I could tell them about Freddie
and the trampoline. ‘I'm not sure where she is.'

Robin handed me the spliff. I took another drag and it finally caved in, breaking open at the seam and depositing large clumps of burning tobacco and weed on to the bottom of my previously spotless white T-shirt.

‘Fuck!' I leapt backwards, smacking my head on the ceiling in the process. ‘Ow!'

Ben panicked and hurled the dregs of his Guinness at my T-shirt to put out the smouldering debris. Robin collapsed in a crumpled heap of laughter on the floor. I looked down at my T-shirt. The burning tobacco had been extinguished, but a murky brown stain was spreading quickly across the bottom.

‘Brilliant. What am I going to do now?'

Ben laughed as he slipped off his red Kanye West T-shirt and handed it to me. ‘Just put this on over it. I'll be all right in my vest.'

Ben goes to the gym a lot. He will gladly take
any
opportunity to strip down to his vest.

‘I'm not wearing that. I don't even like Kanye West.'

‘It's either that or spend the rest of the night looking like a cat's shat in your lap,' said Robin.

‘Give me the T-shirt, then.'

Robin stood up as I pulled Ben's T-shirt over my own. ‘Well, since the spliff's gone out, let's see if we can find her, then,' he said.

He and Ben clambered out of the cupboard.

‘Come on!'

There was nothing I could do but follow and hope Freddie and
Ribena Girl weren't still pulling on the trampoline. We squeezed our way through the crowd – waving at Chris who was being chatted up by three different girls at the same time – and into the kitchen.

‘So,' said Robin, scanning the room. ‘Which one is she?'

She wasn't in the kitchen. I peered out into the garden through the window. Neither Ribena Girl nor Freddie the Quiff were out there. Relief surged through me.

‘She's not here. I guess she left.'

Robin's eyes widened. ‘Oh my god. What did you do to her? Did you literally bore her into leaving a party?'

‘No!'

‘Then what? Please say you didn't tell her about how you're not on Facebook?'

‘I didn't do anything! We just talked and then I guess she had to go.'

Robin didn't look convinced, so I added another lie into the mix. ‘She mentioned something about another party.'

‘Two parties in one night? She sounds a bit out of your league, Sam.'

I told Robin to shut the fuck up and walked out of the kitchen and back into the hallway. And then, one of the strangest things that has ever happened to me happened to me. A girl strode up – a properly, like
seriously
, hot girl – and her put her arms around my waist.

‘Hi, I'm Stella,' she said.

And then she kissed me.

4

Hannah

Ollie was the only one who didn't seem overwhelmed with excitement about me potentially meeting the love of my life.

‘You should be pleased,' I said. ‘At least now I won't have to come and live with you and Grace in the granny flat.'

‘Now it'll only be me,' Tilly said, brightly.

‘All I've heard is something about mashed-up trainers and Ribena. And a bloke whose name you don't even know. You can't like him that much if you don't know his name.' The way Ollie made his case sounded rational.

‘That's all you've heard,' Grace said, ‘because you weren't listening properly. I love you, but at times you are emotionally deaf.'

‘Deaf? I fucking wish I was deaf the amount of random shit you lot are going on about.'

‘She said
emotionally
deaf. But because you're emotionally deaf you didn't hear it,' I said.

Me and Tilly said goodbye to them and started to walk down Tilly's road. We linked arms. ‘Stella told Freddie I was going to do it with him.'

Tilly's mouth dropped open. ‘No. Are you sure? What?'

‘He told me. We were sat on the trampoline and he was all like “Oh, Hannah, I'm glad you want to do it with me.”'

‘Ugh, that is so embarrassing.'

‘I know. It's like … what was the point of the whole thing? It's like she thinks I'm not good enough to get him by myself. Like she has to seal the deal beforehand by telling him he's going to get sex out of it. What was she thinking?'

‘She'd probably say she was just trying to help.'

‘Yeah, but we both know it's not that. It's her way of controlling everything.'

‘Yeah, I don't like how she always says she's mates with Ollie and Freddie. I still think it's weird the way she talks to Ollie on the phone the whole time. He's Grace's
boyfriend
.'

‘I know. But it's like you can't say anything to her because she'll say you're being weird or a bitch.'

‘Yeah.'

‘When actually it's
her
who is being a bitch. A massive fucking bitch. I love her but I hate this side of her.'

We psychoanalysed Stella all the way down Tilly's road and into her house, and then continued the psychoanalysis in whispers while we made tea and toast and crept up to her room.

Tilly's room is tiny. She is the only person I know who still has bunk beds. The bottom bunk was covered with piles and piles of washing so we just climbed up to the top. We talked about how even though Stella is rich and beautiful we wouldn't want to be her. How it is weird that her parents leave her alone. How the whole Charlie thing shows how fucked up she must be. I felt bad bitching about her because she is my best friend. Because
she is loyal and has always stuck up for me. I love hanging out with her, but it's like as soon as boys get involved she just can't resist making everything weird.

We sat opposite each other on the bunk and talked about Toilet Boy. Tilly got out her phone to try to find him on Facebook.

‘There's a band called Toilet Boy,' she announced, squinting at the screen.

‘Tills, his name isn't
actually
Toilet Boy, you know.'

‘I know, but, that's all we've got to go off right now. I think it's romantic. Like Cinderella. Toilet Boy Cinderella.'

‘All right, Miss Marple. Calm down. But, actually, don't calm down. Who
is
he?'

We talked endlessly about how we would find him. How it would be our summer project.

‘I really wanted a summer project,' Tilly said. ‘And it's way better than knitting or … Actually I really want to learn how to do tarot readings.'

‘I bet my nan would teach you. She's well into it.'

‘Yeah but a romantic mission is way better.'

‘Maybe one will lead us to the other?'

I told her again how Toilet Boy looked. About his curly hair and brown eyes. About how funny he was. We even acted out the high ten conversation with her as me, and me as Toilet Boy.

‘It's giving me goosebumps!' Tilly squealed. ‘I believe in love at first sight. Do his voice again!'

She started plaiting her hair. She has the longest, thickest hair of anyone I have ever met. She looks like how I imagine Ginny
Weasley. And then, finally, Tilly's mum yelled, ‘It's five in the morning, girls. Some people have to work and others have a
lot
of washing to do tomorrow.'

We lay down head-to-tail and Tilly whispered, ‘We
will
find Toilet Boy.'

I fell asleep thinking about him. I love having someone to think about.

As I turned the key in the lock the next day I could hear Mum and Nan in the kitchen.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?' Nan called.

‘Yeah.'

I walked in, and they were both poring over Nan's iPhone.

She is doing online dating. My mum definitely disapproves but Nan loves it. She's addicted. She's always checking out potential dates. My nan and my mum are not really the same kind of people. Sometimes I wonder how my mum came out of her. My nan thinks my mum is the most boring person ever.

‘He looks nice,' Mum said. ‘He's got an Aga, look.'

Nan took the phone and looked at it closely. ‘Oh no. He looks so old.'

‘Mum …' Mum said.

‘Don't say anything,' Nan said. ‘You're only as old as you feel.'

On Mum's birthdays and at Christmas, Nan buys her ridiculous things that she knows she will never use. Like really expensive perfume or sparkly tights. And Mum takes them back and swaps them. Usually for saucepans or a new school uniform for my little brother, Joe.

Nan is visiting for the summer. She's lived in Marbella ever
since Granddad died when I was eleven. She's got an amazing apartment with a swimming pool and two best friends called Annie and Jean. She's come back to spend some proper time with us, but she's getting on my mum's nerves already and it's only June. She's staying until September. I like having her here though, it diverts Mum's attention and she's fun.

Nan handed the phone back to Mum and turned to me. ‘I've been waiting for you. You've got to come and help me buy an outfit.'

‘How was the party?' Mum said.

‘Really good, thanks.' I kept it brief. Me and Mum only communicate by her asking me questions and me giving the simplest answer possible. ‘I'm going to have a bath and then we can go?'

‘A bath at 2 p.m.?' Mum said.

‘Very Elizabeth Taylor,' Nan said and handed me a biscuit.

I put my head under the water and lay at the bottom of the bath. I wasn't going to call Stella. She could call me. And when she did, I wouldn't answer.

Me and Nan looked a bit ridiculous on the bus. She likes to dress in themes. And she likes lots of sparkle. We were only going to Westfield but she was dressed in lemon-yellow trousers and matching lemon-yellow sandals and a T-shirt with an enormous sequinned parrot sitting in a palm tree. She wears pretty much every item of jewellery she owns every day.

‘I know I don't look it,' she said to some poor man who was sitting down, listening to his iPod, ‘but I'm actually a pensioner.'

He got up awkwardly and she sat down and immediately
reapplied her lipstick.

‘We could look at some bits for your holiday?' Nan said. She loves buying me clothes but she thinks I can wear things I can't. I try and tell her that I'm self-conscious but she just ignores me as if I'm insane.

‘Not if you make me try on a leather crop top again.'

‘If I had that stomach I'd wear leather crop tops every day of the week. You're eighteen. You're beautiful.'

How are those two things connected? My nan presumes I've already lost my virginity. She thinks I'm some sort of crazy teenager with a life.

While we were eating sushi in the food court, she leaned in. ‘So, any nice boys there last night?'

If my mum asked me that I'd cringe and leave the room, but with Nan it's different. She's not trying to extort information, she just likes a good gossip.

‘Well … nothing really went to plan.'

‘Oh, so there
is
a boy then? I knew it. What's his name?'

‘Well, one of the boys' names is Freddie but—'

‘More than one, eh?' Her eyes sparkled.

‘No, not like that. Nothing …
happened
with either of them.'

She leaned in even closer. ‘Is it your time of the month?'

She's really matter-of-fact. As if, in her book, having sex with multiple partners is an acceptable party agenda.

‘Nan! No.'

‘What? Sister Melanie's not here.' She looked around in an overdramatic way just to check. She calls my Mum ‘Sister Melanie' because she thinks she's a prude.

‘I'm not a slut, Nan.'

‘Of course you're not. But you're young and beautiful. Live while the living's good, babes.'

‘I'm not beautiful.'

She just looked at me. There are some things she knows not to push.

‘Well, which one do you like then?'

‘I thought I liked Freddie. I've known him ages and I used to really … want him.'

She nodded knowingly. ‘Is that the one you had a scene with before?'

How does she even know this stuff?

‘Erm, kind of. Anyway …' For some reason I couldn't bring myself to tell her about the sick. ‘I think I've sort of … grown out of him. And there was this other boy there.' I didn't know what to say after that.

‘Is he a looker?' The way she said it made me giggle.

‘He's really tall and he's got dark brown hair. He's really gorgeous actually. I just … I don't know, there was something about him.'

She nodded to show that she absolutely definitely understood. ‘I love a tall man. Too bad when you get to my age they're all shrinking or dead.'

That made me collapse in hysterics. For the rest of the afternoon, everything seemed better. We went round the shops and Nan bought a bright pink-and-green shirt with a dolphin playing the guitar on the front.

On our way to look at shoes, we walked past the shop with
the dress. Or as Stella calls it,
my
dress.

‘Look, Nan, isn't it beautiful?' We stood for a second staring at it shimmering in the window.

It was cream and gold and entirely made of sequins, except for the rows and rows of cream feathers that made up the bottom of the skirt. It had a drop waist and was lined in pale turquoise silk. A dress Daisy in
The Great Gatsby
would wear to a party, or Tallulah from
Bugsy Malone
would appear in for cocktails. A movie star dress. I want to be the kind of person who thinks dresses like that are made for them and knows everyone will look at them but doesn't care.

‘Now
that's
a dress,' Nan said. She linked arms with me and we went in. She walked over to the rack and picked it up, looked at the price and put it back on the rail. It was £250. The most expensive thing I own is the dress I wore to my eighteenth, and that cost £140.

But then she picked up one in my size and said, ‘Go on, try it on. For fun.'

‘Nan, it wouldn't suit me. You try it on.'

‘I'm seventy years old. Don't be so bloody cheeky.'

So I took it into the changing room and shut the curtain while Nan sat on the posh armchair outside. What I didn't tell her was that I had sat on the exact same chair weeks ago, in the middle of study leave, when Stella and I had snuck out of the library because we couldn't bear it any more.

Stella had picked out the dress and marched into the cubicle and I had waited outside. When she came out, of course she looked amazing. As she did the Charleston around the shop the
gold had sparkled against her olive skin, then she draped herself across me and said, ‘I
will
get it. It
will
be mine. I just have to convince my mum.'

There had been no question of me trying it on. It was Stella's dress, all the way. Not for mere mortals. Even taking it into the changing room now felt like crossing an invisible line. I carefully put it on and looked at myself. I felt giddy. It made me feel how it looked. Confident and cool and sexy. I didn't want to show Nan in case she got carried away, but she shouted at me so I opened the curtains. I stood inside the cubicle, not wanting to step out into the shop.