Read Me Like a Book (9 page)

Great thinking, Dylan.
“Yeah, right. Ever heard of King Canute?”

He looks up, puzzled.

“The geezer who tried to stop the tide from coming in.”

We’re sitting in silence trying to work out what to do next when there’s a loud knock on his window. It’s bound to be Mrs. Langdale. I slide down in my seat.

“I don’t want her to see me,” I mouth at Dylan as he winds his window down.

“Huh? But it’s —”

“Hi, Ash.” Cat’s face appears at the window.

I heave myself back up, snagging my top on a hardened cigarette burn on the back of the seat. “Hi, Cat. Sorry, I thought you were . . . I was just . . . Oh, never mind.” I open my door. “Thanks for the lift, Dylan.”

“But what are we going to do about —”

“Look, just sort it out, OK? I’ll see you Friday.” I kiss him on his ear.

“You mean . . .” He smiles and raises his eyebrows.

“I just mean, whatever. See you Friday.”

“He’s quite cute, I suppose,” Cat says as we walk up the road.

“Yeah, he’s OK,” I reply, holding my smile in. Cat doesn’t give compliments very easily, so “quite cute” from her is more like “completely bloody gorgeous” in anyone else’s book.

“What d’you want to do this evening?” I ask before she says anything to undercut her near-compliment.

Cat shrugs. “Just hang out. What d’you want to do?”

“Well, actually, I want to ask your advice about something,” I say as we get to my front door. “But not a word to anyone, and don’t mention it in front of my mum, right?”

Cat stops. “Ash, is it about your dad?” she asks in a whisper.

“My dad?” I stare at her. “Why would it be about my dad?”

“Sorry. I dunno,” she answers without looking at me.

“Cat. What? What about my dad?”

She shakes her head. “I . . . Well . . . I thought I saw him the other day. He was . . . he . . .”

“He what?”

Cat clears her throat and looks straight at me. “Er, well . . . I just thought he looked troubled.”

I think back to the sofa bed. The arguments. The silences. The way all of it is too painful to talk about — too raw to even think about. “Yeah. I guess he is a bit,” I say. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not just now. Is that OK?”

Cat nods. “Sure. Whatever.”

I smile a thank-you at her and unlock the door.

Mum wanders out of the kitchen as we let ourselves in. Her hair’s falling over her face. “Hello, darling,” she says to me. She turns a tired smile onto Cat. “Nice to see you, Cat. I’ll call you both down when dinner’s ready.”

“Thanks, Mum. See you in a bit.” I drag Cat upstairs.

Cat chucks her jacket over the chair and sits on the edge of my bed with a magazine. I scroll through my playlists, picking out some music while I work out what I want to say. I know I’ve probably talked about Dylan quite a lot over the past few weeks, and I don’t want to drive Cat mad going on about him — but I need her help. This feels like a decision that’s too big to make on my own.

I’m being stupid, I suppose. At least half the girls in our year have lost their virginity, some of them ages ago, but I’ve always done my best to avoid the when-did-you-lose-yours? conversations. They’re like the when-did-you-start-your-period? ones from the changing-room gossip a few years earlier. I remember the feeling when I first told Miss Anderson I couldn’t go swimming. I didn’t explain why and she never asked.

Some of the girls used to go into detail on purpose because they knew it embarrassed her. Not me. I don’t know which of us was more awkward about it, actually: me, stammering and blushing and taking about half an hour to get the words out, or her, fidgeting as she laughed nervously, clearly wanting me to go away and not say any more.

But there was a good side to it, too. Pride. Feeling like I was part of a club. I could complain with the others about PMS and about how badly my stomach hurt. I could smirk with the confidence of one who’s in the gang when we asked the new girls if they’d met “Henry” yet. And I felt the smug glow of importance as we explained in hushed voices who Henry was: “He comes to visit you once a month, but if you’re naughty, he doesn’t visit for nine months.”

It’s always tempting to be part of a gang, but now that I’m teetering on the edge of this exclusive club, I don’t know if I want to join — or if I’m prepared to pay the entrance fee.

Is that why I want to do this — to join the club? If I
do
want to. Surely that’s a bit of a naff reason. Isn’t it meant to be about love or something? Not because you want to be in with your mates.

I know Cat isn’t a virgin because she told me. She lost it to this guy she went out with last year. An older dude with a motorbike and about three times as many piercings as her. He was the first boy her mum had ever disapproved of. Jean’s hard to offend. Maybe that’s why Cat did it. Or maybe it was just that she really, really liked him. She said she did — but she never talked about it all that much. She doesn’t, really. It’s weird. We’re so close she feels almost like a second skin at times, but when it comes to talking about emotions, well, it’s just not her thing. “Can’t be doing with hearts and flowers,” is what she says. Which suits me just fine, right now, when it comes to talking about life at home. But not about this.

I sit down next to her on the bed. “I want to ask you something.”

Cat puts the magazine down. “OK. Shoot. What’s it all about?”

“Dylan.”

Cat groans. “Really? I never would have guessed,” she says sarcastically.

I’m not sure if she’s joking. There’s a kind of edge in her voice. I open my mouth to ask, but she carries on. “I mean, I’m not being funny or anything, but have you noticed that you haven’t talked about much else other than Boy Wonder since you got together? ‘Dylan’s in a band,’ ‘Dylan kissed me,’ ‘Dylan hasn’t phoned for three minutes.’”

“Ha, ha,” I say, trying to smile. “I get it.”

But Cat hasn’t finished. “‘Dylan’s broken up with his girlfriend for me,’ ‘Dylan turned up to see me out of the blue,’ ‘Dylan’s got yellow undies, green socks and —’”

“OK, enough! I said I get it.” I jump up from the bed and turn the music off. Why can’t she ever be serious about things that matter to me? “Why are you being like this?”

“Oh, come on, Ash, can’t you take a bit of gentle teasing?”

Good question. Can’t I? Maybe on this occasion I just wanted her to be serious. For once. Is that too much to ask of your best friend? “Since when is insulting me
and
my boyfriend ‘gentle teasing’?” I ask.

Cat stares at me. “Since always, mate. That’s me. You’ve known me long enough. You ought to know what I’m like by now.”

She’s right. I don’t know why I’m getting so angry. Maybe because of the atmosphere in this house. Maybe because of all the stuff I’m
not
talking about. Maybe because I’ve worked myself up so much about Friday. Or maybe because it would just be nice if she could do something other than joke around for once. Either way, she’s wound me up and my insides are coiled tight.

“You’re right,” I say before I can stop myself. “I
should
know you by now. And to be honest with you, I don’t even know why I thought I could talk to you in the first place.”

Cat pulls herself up from the bed, her voice harsher to match mine. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then why the hell did you?”

“Good question. Maybe because I thought you were my
friend.
My
best
friend. Isn’t that what best friends are meant to do? Listen to each other, help each other out with problems, basically be there for each other?”

Cat looks at me for a moment, as if she’s weighing something up in her mind. “Yeah, well, if you thought about other people half as much as you think about yourself, they might
want
to listen to you. And if you opened your eyes and looked around for two seconds, you might realize you’ve actually got more important things to worry about than your own relationship!”

We’re practically shouting now, and I try to lower my voice. I don’t want Mum to hear all this. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?”

“I don’t know
what
you know,” Cat says. “We don’t seem to talk properly anymore. Has it crossed your mind that
you
might be the one who’s not been much of a best friend lately? You cancel arrangements, you don’t ring when you say you will. All you care about is yourself and your new boyfriend. If you’ve had enough of me, that’s fine because, to be honest, I’ve had enough of you too!”

The shock of her words instantly deflates my anger and my eyes start to sting. Is it true? Have I been
that
bad? I try to stop her as she grabs her jacket. “Cat, this is ridiculous.”

“No, you’re the one who’s ridiculous. And you’re boring. When you’re not going on about Dylan, you’re staying in reading books or planning lessons with your new friends. To be perfectly honest, I’m bored of you, and I’m bored of your petty problems.”

“Cat, it’s not petty. I need your advice.” I’m openly crying now. “It’s Dylan. He wants to sleep with me and I don’t know what to do.”

We catch each other’s eyes in the silence. Cat sucks in her cheeks. “Well, you want to know what I think?”

“What?” I hold my breath.

“I think you should sort out your own problems. Screw him if you want. And screw you too.”

Then she grabs the door handle and throws the door open so hard it hits the wall. For a second I think it’s going to come off its hinges.

“Cat!” I call across the landing.

“Forget it, Ash. I’ve had enough.”

Mum’s in the hall as Cat reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Walker, but I can’t stay for dinner after all.”

Mum doesn’t say anything. She just watches from the hall as Cat calmly opens the front door and leaves.

I run back into my room and look out the window. Surely she’s not just going to go like that? We’ve had loads of arguments over the years, me and Cat. I know she can fly off the handle at times, and I can be just as bad, but we’ve never argued like this before. It’s always been over something stupid, like she’s broken my straightener or I won’t share my chips with her. But this is different. I can’t even work out how it started. Why is she so angry with me?

Salty tears stream into my mouth and I wipe my nose on my sleeve as I watch her walk to the end of the road and around the corner, out of sight. She doesn’t even look back.

A couple of minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door. It’s Mum. She doesn’t say anything, just sits down on the bed next to me and puts her arms around me. I don’t want to talk about it, and she doesn’t ask. It’s as if she understands me. For once. She holds me in her arms while I cry.

“Do you want to eat, love?” Mum kisses me on my forehead.

I shrug.

“I’ll keep it warm for you. You just let me know if you want it, or if you need anything else, all right?”

I nod. Who is this woman? And where has my mum gone?

She leaves the room, closing the door gently behind her, and I spend the rest of the evening lying on my bed staring at the maroon flowers entwined together on my walls. What’s happening to my life? Everything seems to be going wrong, and I can’t seem to work out how to make it right.

And I still don’t know what I’m going to do about Friday.

“Brilliant, this, isn’t it?” Robyn shouts, beer sploshing out of her glass while she semi-dances, semi-sways over to me. At least someone’s having fun. This is the first time I’ve been in Dylan’s house and we’ve barely exchanged two sentences yet.

“Be with you in a minute,” he said, dashing upstairs the second he let us in. “I left Mum and Dad’s bedroom door open and I just heard a noise up there. Better check it out.”

The next time I saw him, he was dragging some lad with puke all over his T-shirt into an armchair before disappearing again.

I look around the room. It’s quite big. The house has two stories with three bedrooms upstairs and one big room on the first floor. There’s a fireplace with a mantel above it filled with pictures of Dylan at various stages of childhood, some with his parents (presumably) smiling proudly beside him.

The room is divided by an archway. In the back half, a group of lads are sitting at the table, opening cans of beer and raiding the fridge. I spot Luke and call him over.

“Hey, girls,” he says, grinning. “Where’s Cat?”

“Oh, hi, Luke, nice to see you too. I’m fine, thank you!” I snap before I can stop myself. I’m not sure why — either it’s because I don’t like the fact that I have no idea where Cat is, or maybe it’s because I’m stressed about what might or might not be happening tonight. “Sorry,” I add quickly.

Luke puts an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, mate. It’s a party. Let your hair down. Where’s your boyfriend anyway?”

“Good question.”

This whole evening was supposed to be about Dylan and me, and I’ve hardly seen him. I shuffle away from Luke before I can snap at him again. I’m probably best just going home. I grab my bag and start to walk away — although half of me is praying that someone will stop me before I get to the door. The evening might be a washout, but I haven’t got any better plans.