Tell Me Everything (16 page)

Although Tim was so thin and he was tall and large-framed, I saw now that my fist fit into his hand easily. It made me feel small and light in spirit. As playful as a kid.

“We could go to the pub,” I suggested.

Tim shook his head. “They're full of people.”

“Isn't that the point?”

Then Tim did a strange thing. He kept on shaking his head, swinging it over from side to side. Any dreams I might have had of getting him to wear tailored rugby shirts and sitting in the pub with me were fading quickly, but I still wanted to get away from the bench.

“Shall we go and see our bear?” I suggested. We'd been back to the department store twice since, just to stand there gazing at each other's distorted reflections through the clean glass of the bear's belly.

“Not today,” Tim said. “It's too hot.”

“Let's just go back to my room,” I said, “and we can decide what to do.”

On the way there, Tim made me walk a few steps in front of him. I kept turning round and pretending not to notice him, but he didn't find it as funny as me, so after a while I just stopped dead and waited for him to crash into me instead. Probably because the whole thing was so absurd, I had a picture from one of those old black-and-white Keystone Kops films in my head, the one where a line of policemen concertina into each other. Tim stayed behind me though, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders to keep me still.

“Did you see something?” he whispered. “Is someone there?”

“Yes,” I lied, my voice as close to an urgent whisper as I could make it. “There was someone in a long coat and a big hat. He's just slipped into that alley, but he was watching us. I'm sure of that.”

Tim tutted. “I should have seen him,” he said. “What's wrong with me?”

“What shall we do?” I took the opportunity to pretend to be frightened and snuggle up to Tim. He pushed me away, but gently. He was looking this way and that down the empty street.

“Just run to the shop,” he whispered. “Shut the door but leave it on the latch. I'll be up soon, just got some things to sort out here first.”

I ran, but not before stealing a quick kiss from him because I was being so brave. I tried for one more, pushing into him in the hope he'd forget about the phantom stalker and concentrate on me instead, but he whispered that I had to go. It was safer for me. He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to me.

“But you'll come soon,” I begged. This joke wasn't going at all how I had expected. Instead of the frisson I'd hoped for, I could just see Tim disappearing on another wild-goose chase.

A middle-aged commuter was walking past us now, his face gray and drained of energy, a heavy briefcase weighing him down on one side. Tim must have used the distraction to slink to the edge of the pavement, because although I swore I never took my eyes off him, he suddenly vanished as more people started to appear, walking on their own or in groups of twos and threes. One of the city trains must have just come in.

Despite myself I was shaking as I went into the shop, turning my head round several times to make sure no one was following me. Up in my room I sat on the bed, my hands on my knees, staring
at the door as I waited for Tim. The poster Tim had drawn on was stuck up on the door. I looked at the angels, trying to get comfort from them.

Fifteen minutes later I was still watching as I saw the handle turn and the door start opening slowly. The thumping of my heart must have blotted out the sound of his steps on the stairs.

“Are you OK?” I asked. “What happened?”

Tim was breathing heavily, as if he'd been running, as he came to sit next to me. “I think it's time I told you everything, Molly,” he said. “But you must promise never ever to breathe a word to anyone, no matter what they promise. Or threaten.”

I pulled my hair over to cover my face, holding it down with my palms flat. Tim peeled my hands away and looked into my eyes, which I could feel were starting to well up. “Do you promise?” he repeated, but even as I nodded and although this was what I wanted, I was so scared I might burst from all the untold and untellable stories that were filling me up already.

All I knew was that I needed Tim. I lay with my head in his lap, clutching at him as if I was in danger of falling off some high ledge. “Are you sure?” he said, and I nodded. But then, as I listened to him speak, I felt my eyes get heavy and start to close, my body sink into his. I pinched at myself to try to keep awake until, finally giving up all urge to fight, I let him talk me gently to sleep.

When I woke it was morning, and Tim was gone.

L
iz was on her knees over in the biography section. I stood behind and coughed several times. She was trying to ram a book into a gap half its size, so she looked irritated when she first glanced up. Then she did a double take.

“Molly May,” she said. “Just look at you.”

I laughed. “It's Miranda's dress,” I said. “She gave it to me. Do you like it?” I shook my hair out as I pirouetted for her, like they did in the shampoo advertisements.

“I do.” She stood up, but not before dropping the thick tome she'd been holding on top of the bookcase. “It's only that football player's book,” she explained. “It's so popular that every time I put it back, someone only takes it out again. Hardly worth the effort. So, what brought this on then?”

“Miranda didn't want it anymore.”

Liz put her hands on my shoulders and turned her head round this way and that to study me closely.

“It's not just the dress though,” she said. “You look different all through. Have you lost weight as well?”

“A little.”

“More than a little. You're half the person you were.”

There were no scales at the stationery shop, and the ones in the swimming pool were too public, so I hadn't weighed myself since the last time in the doctor's surgery, that appointment my mother made me have. I pinched my skin round my waist. Yes, definitely much tighter. How had I missed that?

“You're becoming a real little eye-popper,” Liz said. “I suppose this is all down to the new man?”

I nodded. “I think it might be.”

“Young love,” Liz said. “Mind you, old love isn't so bad either. It's like getting on a bicycle. You suddenly remember how much you enjoy the ride, if you know what I mean.” She laughed her dirty laugh, so I smiled politely along with her although I didn't like it when she spoke like this. It wasn't how I saw the story going.

“So aren't you going to ask me then?” she said after a pause. “You know, about the man you said was a little bit keen on me. Anyway, he's a retired accountant, I'll have you know. I wouldn't have to worry about pensions if I ended up with him.”

I snorted.

“You may laugh, young lady,” Liz said, “but one day you'll realize there's more to life than flowers and kisses. Give me a man who knows his Dow index from his G-strings any day.”

“But you're always telling me love is what's important,” I said. I might have temporarily forgotten about my plans for Liz, but I did know pensions weren't quite what I had in mind. “You should just enjoy spending time together. Money doesn't matter if you've got each other.”

To my relief, Liz suddenly smiled, and her shoulders relaxed down. “And when you're your age that's just how it should be, young Molly. I wouldn't have done any of this without you, you know. You've given me a new lease on life. You come and tell me
what your Romeo thinks of his new-look Juliet. It's time for my coffee break anyway.”

So I went into Liz's office with her and we had coffee and biscuits and I told her a story all about how Tim and I had gone to a pub and he'd got jealous because everyone had looked at me. I told her how we talked and talked until late, and how I'd listened to every word he said. How we shared all our secrets. There wasn't anything I couldn't tell him, I said to her. “It must be like that for you,” I said, “with your accountant.”

She took my hand and stroked it. “If I could tell you one thing it would be to enjoy this, Molly. Enjoy every minute because, I promise you, nothing in books is anything like as good as your life right now. You've got lucky with your Tim.”

I wasn't used to seeing Liz like this. She looked as if she was going to cry. For a moment, I felt shame.

“So tell me all about the accountant,” I said.

“He's called Bob,” she shrugged. “Oh, he'll do, but he's nothing like you and your boy really. No point pretending otherwise when you get to my age. Although—”

“I bet you love him really,” I said. “I think it's so romantic.” I tried to forget about my disgust when I'd seen them together before. “It's like you've waited all your life for The One, and now he's walked into your library and found you.”

Liz stared at me for a second and then stood up. “Must get on,” she said firmly. “God knows what havoc those customers will have got up to while we've been nattering. Putting S's back in the C's, I shouldn't be surprised, and other heinous crimes.”

After she'd gone I took our cups over to the small corner sink to rinse them out, and stood there letting the boiling water wash over my hands until it became too hot to bear. I wiped my hands dry carefully. The skin was red and warm with lies.

When I went back into the main library, though, Bob had
come in and was leaning over the counter chatting to Liz. I watched them together for a bit. It didn't look as if she was just making do the way she smiled and laughed quietly, nothing like the normal Liz-roar, when he was speaking. And then, when he leaned across the counter and gently pushed a lock of her hair away from her eye, she just put her head down and rested it gently on his hand. It was a gesture almost too tender to watch.

I
didn't bother with hot water anymore when I took a shower at the leisure center. Just went straight to cold, as icily sharp as I could bear. I timed myself, forcing myself to stay in each time for longer and longer. My whole body smarted as the water hit it; the hairs on my legs, arms, and stomach stood up to attention during the onslaught.

And then one day, as I was getting changed, there was a scream from the showers. We all rushed through.

A woman emerged from one of the cubicles, covering her body with her arms before she picked up her towel and started rubbing herself dry.

“The shower must be broken,” she said. “The water's freezing. It gave me quite a shock.”

We all laughed with relief. Bathed ourselves in the warm glow of comfort in our smiles, and I had a clear moment when I saw what it would be like for everything to be all right.

M
r. Roberts had a new purple cardigan. He tried to pretend it was an old one that had been knocking around for ages, but then, when I was nipping through to the kitchen to make some coffee, I caught him studying his reflection in the little mirror there.

“Very smart,” I said. “So who are you trying to impress?”

“It's Mrs. Roberts,” he said, lifting his glasses up to take a closer look at himself. “She's insisting it's too drafty for me working here. I can't seem to shift this sickness. But a cardigan! I thought she was joking at first. I should have known better.”

“What's wrong with a cardigan?” I laughed.

“It's a bit pansy,” he said. “But there's no telling her that, of course.”

“French people are bound to see clothes a bit differently.”

Mr. Roberts nodded, pulling down the waistband in front of him so the front was almost concave. It seemed I wasn't the only one to be losing weight. “You're right, Molly. Do you know that her brother wears pink shirts? Pink! What do you think about that then?”

He folded his arms and I shook my head as if in disbelief. It was nice us talking like this.

“And once he wore a yellow tie, and these cufflinks in the shape of enamel flowers. I don't mind telling you it made my blood boil. All those starving kids in the world, and a man's spending his money prettifying himself with flowers. It's just not right.

“Poor kids,” he repeated. “Poor little blighters.”

I wanted to encourage him to talk more about the clothes and less about the poor children. I knew that any more time on that subject and he'd have me up that ladder before I knew it. “Tell me about Mrs. Roberts's family,” I asked. “What was it like to grow up in France? It must have been exciting for her.”

It was the mid-morning lull in the shop so I figured I had nothing to lose by trying to talk normally with him. Besides, Mr. Roberts had changed recently. It was hard to put my finger on exactly how, but he didn't find fault so often and was more likely to let me speak. At first I thought it was because Mrs. Roberts praised me, but then I noticed he was like that with customers too. He didn't just take the big paper orders, but spent time with the actual people who came into the shop. A few days before, he had even stood by as a schoolgirl tried out all the scented pens several times over before she finally chose the one she preferred. “She reminded me of Leanne,” he said defensively, when he caught me staring at him.

I could see what he meant. There was something about the little girl's pigtails, her thin legs and red sandals that made me nostalgic too for how life used to be when I first came to his shop. When it was almost exciting to climb the ladder.

“Have you ever been to France?” I asked him. I couldn't understand why he and Mrs. Roberts weren't living there. I would if I
were him. I'd gone once with Mum and Dad when I was really young. We stayed in a trailer in Brittany, ate pancakes by the sea and once watched the lifeboat launch. A few seconds after the alarm sounded cars had screeched to the harbor from all directions, men spilling out of them, laughing, shouting and puffing on cigarettes as they ran. Mum and Dad held hands and laughed too, while I spun round and round on the cliff edge propelled by the wind, pink-faced with excitement and fear that I might twirl right off into the sea and be in need of rescue myself. It had been the best holiday of my life.

Mr. Roberts sat down heavily on the stool that we used half as a kitchen chair and half for sorting out stock. He fiddled with the buttons of his cardigan. “Go on then, Molly,” he said, “I tell you what. You make us a nice strong cup of tea, we'll keep the door open so we can hear customers and you can tell me a story down here in comfort for a change.”