Never a Perfect Moment (8 page)

FIFTEEN

The Heartside High football pitches were up on the cliffs above the town. On a fine day, the views were astonishing, and enough to make anyone take their eyes off the football. On a cold day like today, the wind whistled in like a knife. It was starting to give Polly earache.

She shivered, and tried to get comfortable on the long hard benches that ranged along one side of the pitch. She'd chosen her clothes carefully that morning, spending ages changing in the toilets after school. Her outfit felt strange – close-fitting, a bit revealing – but she blended in with the other football groupies on the bench for a change.

Ollie was in the middle of the field with a group of fifteen other boys, running up and down, his red and black football strip billowing in the wind.

He had never looked so gorgeous. Polly lost herself in admiring his long muscular legs and the way his thick blond hair had whipped itself into an effortless bedhead look that most guys spent hours in front of the bathroom mirror to achieve. His blue eyes sparkled, and he smiled happily, seeming to love every moment. Polly kept pinching herself in the knowledge that Ollie
liked
her. It seemed to defy the laws of nature, somehow.

The game was flowing and the forwards ran up and down in a practised line, although the wind was doing some crazy things to the ball. Polly sifted through her brains for some of the football facts she'd read on the sports page on the back of her mum's newspaper that morning, so she would have them on the tip of her tongue when Ollie came over. She adjusted her pink miniskirt, trying to keep warm in the wind.

“He's so
hot
,” someone sighed a little further down the bench. “I can't believe he's single right now.”

Polly glanced sideways, to see Megan Moore resting her chin in her hands, her dark heavily made-up eyes following Ollie's every move. Megan was in year nine, the year below Polly and her friends.

“You should go after him, Megan,” said Julianne, one of Megan's friends. “You two would look so great together.”

Megan swept her long dark hair out of her eyes. “Maybe,” she said. She gave a sudden gasp. “Look, he's got the ball again!”

Polly's insides felt like someone was tying knots in them. Megan Moore was after Ollie. Megan was beautiful. How was she supposed to compete?

Ollie likes you
, she reminded herself.

She clasped her phone tightly, thinking about the texts she and Ollie had exchanged today. Dozens of them, all flirtatious and full of promise. What did Megan know about that?

She tried to concentrate more on the football. Ollie and the other players were all at the other end of the pitch now, which was confusing her. She could have sworn Ollie had been aiming at the other goal a moment ago.

“Ollie's so dreamy,” Megan sighed again.

“He's totally fit,” agreed Julianne.

“Sexy,” said Tanya, sitting on Megan's other side.

The three of them fell about laughing.

Don't Megan and her friends talk about anything else?
Polly thought with some irritation. It was as if the rest of the world didn't exist at all. It was all boys, boys, boys. No art, no politics, no literature. No ambition for the future, beyond perhaps marrying a footballer. Megan and her friends probably didn't even know the name of the prime minister. It was all deeply depressing. Polly wondered what on earth she was doing, sitting here on a freezing bench with such a vapid bunch of people. She felt like a completely different species to them.

The wind was really hurting her ears now. She hunched her head a little further down inside her coat and tried to focus on Ollie. She was here for
him
. No one else.

She suddenly sat up, the pain in her ears forgotten, as a familiar figure headed towards her. Lila's glossy brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her school skirt rolled up to show her long legs.

Intelligent company at last!

Polly rose to her feet and waved. “Lila! Over here!”

Lila didn't seem to see Polly. She kept walking, her hands deep in her blazer pockets, towards a group of footballers lounging on the sidelines. Polly just had time to register how much make-up Lila was wearing before her friend ran into the arms of a burly football player. They started snogging, to whoops and catcalls from the player's mates.

Polly had never seen Lila even
talking
to this guy before, let alone kissing him. Who was he? What was going on? She wondered uneasily if the make-up she had put on in her attempt to fit in with the other girls made her look as over the top as Lila.

“Lila Murray will kiss anything,” said Megan Moore.

“I saw her with another player last week,” said Tanya, a gossipy gleam in her eye. “That Liam guy. They were practically eating each other. It was gross.”

“Ever since she broke up with Ollie and then Ryan died, she's been snogging anything that moves,” Julianne agreed.

Polly felt anxious. Lila had stopped kissing her football guy and was now flirting with his friends. What was going on? She had an uncomfortable memory of Lila telling them all on the beach that she was going “to live like there was no tomorrow”. There had been bad times for Lila when she'd lived in London, Polly knew, though she suspected she didn't know the whole story. She'd thought her friend had put all that behind her, but the evidence before her eyes told a different story.

Lila was heading for trouble.

Megan and her friends were still giggling and gossiping. Polly knew she couldn't just sit here and let them bad-mouth Lila. She had to say something.

Before she could open her mouth, the atmosphere suddenly changed. Megan, Julianne and Tanya sat up like meerkats in the African desert as the final whistle blew. The players high-fived each other and headed for the benches.

“Ollie's coming,” Julianne hissed in excitement.

Megan and her friends scrambled out of the benches and stood on the sidelines as Ollie approached, football under his arm. Within moments, he was surrounded.

“You were brilliant, Ollie!” Megan said warmly. “I can't believe you scored from that corner!”

What corner
? Polly wondered. She hadn't noticed any corners. She stood up, tugging down her pink skirt, her heart hammering in her chest.

“You could score anywhere,” sighed Julianne.

“And you're so hot,” murmured Tanya, placing a bold hand on Ollie's sweaty football top. “You're steaming like a racehorse.”

Ollie's eyes were sparkling from the exercise. He smiled at them all, still slightly out of breath.

“Hey, girls. Megan, can I talk to you?” Ollie pulled Megan aside and whispered something in her ear. Polly stiffened as Megan whispered something back. What were they talking about?

Paranoia filled her from tip to toe. Her mind rushed through a hundred reasons for Ollie and Megan's cosy little chat, and all of them were bad. Ollie was arranging to meet Megan right after practice! He'd been secretly dating Megan already for weeks! He…

Ollie let go of Megan and pushed his way past her to stand in front of Polly's bench.

“Hey!” he said, beaming up at her.

Polly's stomach turned to liquid. He had never looked more gorgeous. She was utterly confused.

“Hey yourself,” she managed. “Nice shorts.”

Polly cringed internally.
Nice shorts?
Her brain may have been scrambled with thoughts about Megan Moore, but that was no excuse. What was she
thinking
?

Ollie looked down at his worn football shorts. “What, these?” He scrambled over the benches and pulled Polly into a hot, sweaty hug, kissing her soundly on the cheek. “I'm so glad you came,” he said. “What did you think of practice?”

Polly was reeling from the heat and warmth of his body. He felt so strong when he put his arms round her. Did he mean it, or was he just the world's most accomplished flirt?

“Pretty good,” she said. “I especially liked the bit when you hit the ball.”

Ollie shouted with laughter. “We tend to
kick
the ball in football,” he said, grinning down at her. “It's a technical term, I know. You'll get the hang of it eventually.”

Polly cursed herself for such a basic mistake. She had to get this conversation back on the right track.

“I support Chelsea United,” she said brightly. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“Chelsea,” Ollie corrected. “Not United.”

“The players are really hot,” Polly ploughed on. “Like you.”

Urgh. That sounded wrong.

Ollie looked puzzled. “Are you winding me up?”

“It must be amazing to sign for a big club,” Polly continued doggedly. “You'd have all the money you could ever want.”

“Since when were you impressed by footballers?”

Polly smiled awkwardly up at him. She felt like she was dying inside. This was going terribly. It wasn't her at all – what was she thinking, trying to talk about football? What
had
Ollie been talking about with Megan?

“It's a recent interest,” she mumbled.

Ollie stared down at her. He seemed about to say something, then apparently changed his mind. “Let's go,” he said.

Ollie led her through the benches. Megan, Julianne and Tanya watched in disbelief as Ollie slid his warm palm into Polly's cold one, lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers.

“I can't believe Ollie's with
Polly Nelson
,” said Megan in a hiss, just loud enough for Polly to hear.

“She's a total geek,” said Tanya. “Did you hear that stupid comment she made about
hitting
the football?”

“He's totally out of her league,” Julianne agreed.

Polly faltered, loosening her grip on Ollie's hand.

Were they right? She was trying so hard to fit in with Ollie's interests, but was she setting herself up for heartbreak? Were she and Ollie destined to fail before they'd even begun?

“What were you and Megan talking about just now?” she said, trying to sound casual.

Ollie shrugged. “Nothing special.”

Polly noticed how his eyes flickered. He was lying.

SIXTEEN

Polly thought long and hard about her and Ollie over the next couple of days. The comments from the football groupies on Monday had hurt, and she wasn't sure she trusted Ollie about Megan at all. She'd read a few more magazines and even watched a match on TV so she could say something a bit more intelligent next time Ollie tried to have a conversation about his beloved sport, but it had left her feeling flat and depressed and more convinced of her inadequacy than ever.

She would abandon the football research and focus on her make-up and clothes instead. She hated feeling so small and scruffy next to the other girls with their long legs and perfect shiny hair. Normally she loved her eclectic style and took pride in looking different than all the football clones, but hanging out with Ollie made her feel self-conscious about it.

On Wednesday, she decided to take a risk. She would do her outfit and make-up like she had for the football practice, but she would then take Ollie to do something
she
liked to do. It was all about compromise, right? Maybe she and Ollie could meet halfway.

They had arranged to meet at the end of school on Wednesday. Ollie was standing impatiently at the bottom of the steps as Polly ran to meet him, her bag bouncing on her back. Her short pink skirt still felt weird, but she was getting used to it.

He hugged her tightly, and Polly revelled in the feeling of his arms around her. Despite all her worries, just being around Ollie made her heart beat faster. They still hadn't kissed. Polly found herself looking forward to the prospect more and more.

“So,” Ollie said, releasing her but holding tightly on to her hand. “What's the plan?”

“I'm taking you to an art gallery,” Polly said.

Ollie looked a little dismayed. “A what?”

Stick with it
, Polly told herself.

“An art gallery,” she said patiently. “You know, a place where they hang paintings on the wall for people to look at.”

“I know what an art gallery is,” Ollie said. “I just don't get why we're going there. Don't you have to be really quiet when you go in places like that?”

Polly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “It's not a library, Ollie. It's a place where people look at beautiful things and then talk about them.”

“I'm looking at a beautiful thing right now,” said Ollie, gazing into her eyes.

Polly could feel herself melting. Ollie was impossible to resist when he put on the charm.

“Come on,” she said, tugging on Ollie's hand. “It's just across town.”

“It's not modern art, is it?” he said suspiciously. “That stuff looks like a toddler has just spilt paint and trodden in it.”

Polly forced a laugh. “There's a bit more to it than that. Rhi's dad works at a local gallery called the Periwinkle in the Old Town. The gallery supports local artists, which is really important. I often go there for inspiration when I'm designing or customizing something. They have the most amazing stuff.”

“Does it have a decent café?” said Ollie. “I'm starving.”

Boys and their stomachs
, Polly thought with a sigh.

She let Ollie swerve sideways into the newsagent on the way to the Periwinkle. He came out with an armful of crisps.

“Is it much further?” he said, crunching loudly.

“It's right here,” she said, and pointed.

The Periwinkle had sky-blue window frames. Three large paintings occupied the window: seascapes, created in whirls of thick oil paint. Polly stood at the window for a moment, savouring the artist's textures. You could almost taste the whirling, grinding sea just by looking.

“What did I tell you?” said Ollie. “Toddler art.”

Polly bit her lip. “Hey, come on, be serious for once,” she said lightly. She really wished Ollie would ease up on the jokes. This place was important to her. Just as important as the football field was to Ollie. She was making an
effort
. Why couldn't he?

“Polly!” exclaimed Mr Wills, looking round from where he was hanging a driftwood sculpture on the wall. “Good to see you. Who's your friend?”

“Hi, Mr Wills,” said Polly. “This is Ollie. I've brought him to see some paintings.”

“Great!” Mr Wills exclaimed. “Are you into art, Ollie?”

Polly prayed Ollie wouldn't say anything stupid. Mr Wills took his job in the gallery very seriously, and painted in his spare time. He was the last person in the world to understand and accept Ollie's quips for what they were: a way of dealing with unfamiliarity.

“I'm more into football, if I'm honest,” said Ollie.

Mr Wills spread his hands in acceptance. “It's a free world. Go ahead, Polly. We're pretty quiet today.”

“And I can see why,” Ollie said in a low voice, staring dubiously at the driftwood sculpture on the wall.

Polly dragged him through to the back of the gallery, to her favourite artist in the world. She felt ridiculously nervous. What would Ollie think? Did it matter what he thought?

“Kazuhiro Mori,” said Ollie, reading the name underneath the painting. He turned to Polly in surprise. “I thought you said this was a local artists' gig?”

“Kazuhiro Mori
is
local,” Polly explained patiently. “He's been in Heartside Bay for twenty years. He has a really unusual vision.”

“You're telling me,” said Ollie, looking around.

Polly was determined not to give up. “He's a landscape artist, but not in the traditional sense,” she said. “He takes a view and breaks it down into its component parts. Lines and colours.”

“OK,” said Ollie. He had his concentrating face on.

“This one, for example,” Polly said, pointing at a picture that resembled a pile of brightly coloured matchsticks that had spilled haphazardly across a white floor. “Blue for the sea. Red for the roofs. Yellow for the sand. White for the cliffs. Landscapes are basically lines and colours, Ollie. Kazuhiro Mori takes that literally.”

She hadn't done a very good job at explaining the painting's appeal, she realized. It was hard to explain why she loved Kazuhiro Mori's paintings of Heartside Bay so much. It was because he saw
through
everything. To the heart of everything. To what was real.

“OK, so I'd maybe have that one on a duvet cover,” Ollie said, staring at the painting. “I think I can see the sea, maybe. Yeah, and the roofs too!”

Polly felt encouraged. “Exactly! It's really simple, but wonderful.”

Ollie sat down on the padded leather bench in the middle of the gallery. “I still don't totally get it,” he admitted. “But I think I understand why
you
like it. You like to get to the bottom of things.”

“I suppose I do,” Polly said, feeling a little surprised at Ollie's flash of insight.

Ollie waved at the pictures. “How do you think this guy would paint a football match?”

It was an interesting question. Polly sat down next to him and thought hard about her answer.

“Circles,” she said at last. “The ball and some of the markings on the pitch are circular, right?”

“Have you ever tried kicking a square ball?” Ollie enquired, grinning.

“There'd be squares too, and angles,” said Polly, warming to the theme. “The goal posts, the other markings.”

“Lots of green?” Ollie said. “For the pitch?”

“Maybe, but… ” Polly shook her head. “Green breaks down to the component parts of blue and yellow. He'd do it that way, I think.”

She realized that Ollie was looking intently at her.

“What?” she said, blushing.

“You find beauty and significance in everything, don't you?” he said.

His eyes flicked to her mouth. Polly's throat went dry. Was he going to kiss her now?

“Aren't you cold in that?” he said, pointing at her skirt.

Polly flushed bright red. “No,” she lied. She tugged at the hem.

“It's not what you usually wear.”

“Do you like it?” she asked, with a smile.

Ollie made a face. “Not much.”

Polly felt like he'd slapped her. “W … what?” she managed. “You think it doesn't look good on me?”

“That's not what I meant,” Ollie said. “It's just … not really you. Is it?”

Polly felt utterly humiliated. She obviously looked like a prize idiot.

“Anything else wrong with me?” she demanded angrily.

Ollie fiddled with his earlobe. “Now you come to mention it, what's with the big black eyes?”

Polly felt like bursting into tears on the spot.

“I think I'm going to go home,” she said abruptly, and quickly turned out of the gallery. Why was everything she did so wrong? Why did it come so easily to everyone else and she couldn't even put on eyeliner without it looking stupid?

Ollie followed. “Polly, I didn't mean to upset you. I just … you asked me and I gave you an honest answer. Honesty's good, isn't it? I thought … I thought that's what you wanted. Being more honest, not joking all the time… ” He trailed off.

“It's fine, OK?” Polly said, walking as fast as she could. “I'll see you at school tomorrow.”

Ollie was looking worried now, jogging beside her to keep up. “We're still going on that date on Friday, right?”

Polly spun round. “What were you talking to Megan Moore about on Monday?”

Ollie looked startled. “What are you bringing that up for?”

“Tell me!”

“I was asking her if she knew of any good places in town where I could take you on our date on Friday, OK? And she said there was a new Italian place down by the harbour,” Ollie said. “So much for the surprise. Happy now?”

Polly didn't say anything. Her head was spinning.

“I think Megan was kind of hoping I'd ask her there instead of you,” Ollie added.

“Were you hoping that too?” Polly asked in a trembling voice.

“No!” Ollie protested. “I don't like Megan. I like you. Aren't you listening to me? I've booked a table for you and me on Friday. Or are you going to turn me down again?”

Polly took a deep breath. “I can't do Friday, Ollie,” she said. “I'm going to the Funky Fox Festival with Eve and the others.”

“But I thought we arranged—”

She was about to cry. All those years she had wanted to be with Ollie, and now that she was actually getting the chance it seemed like nothing was going right.

She fled.