Things We Have in Common Page 10

  By the time we’d got to the mini-roundabout on Cedar Lane, though, it was obvious he wasn’t coming. The streets were empty. It was getting dark. I puffed on my inhaler. I was glad he hadn’t followed me, obviously, but it made me feel bad, too, because I thought why would he, anyway? Why would anyone bother following me? I’m just a fat blob no one cares about.

  I squatted down and gave Bea a stroke. ‘That wasn’t very nice, was it?’ I said. I got the treats out and gave her a handful and stroked her and said I was sorry for being mean to her. She gobbled them up, then licked my nose – more to see if it was another treat, I think, than to tell me she forgave me, but it was still sweet. Then she let me pick her up and carry her for a bit.

  I was going to go to the other chippy on Falconer Road, but because my feet and back were aching and my thighs were starting to sting, I stopped when I got as far as the park and sat on a bench. I thought Bea might get all fidgety, sitting and doing nothing, but she was good as gold and just lay down on the grass and looked out at the black trees reaching up into the blue night sky.

  By nine o’clock I felt better. Sitting in the dark had helped put things back in perspective. Basically, I realised that it didn’t matter if you’d decided you didn’t like me. You were a bad man and I didn’t want to be friends with someone like you anyway, so you not liking me was fine – in fact it was better if you didn’t like me, because then I wouldn’t have to feel so bad about it when I went to the police.

  When we got round the bend in your road, I could see the light in your front room was on. I could hear music as well, but I wasn’t sure it was coming from yours till I got a bit closer.

  Bea lay across my feet on the doorstep.

  I thought you probably hadn’t heard me knock because of the music being so loud, so I knocked again when the track was ending. Then I heard you coming and the latch on the front door turned and there you were. Your hair was wet and combed back and you were wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up that made your eyes look even darker than they are.

  ‘Hey,’ you said, smiling and having a drag on the roll-up in your hand. ‘The girls are back.’

  I thought maybe you were a bit drunk, smiling like that and saying ‘The girls are back’, but at least you were being friendly again. You didn’t move, though. You just kept standing there.

  ‘Shall I come in?’ I said.

  ‘Oh,’ you said, ‘sure, come in,’ and you went down the hall. I followed Bea inside and closed the door. I thought it’d be OK to stay for a bit, so long as I got home by half-ten. I’d just tell Mum I met some people from school at the chippy if she asked.

  The next track was playing. It was really weird with lots of guitar and a man singing about how his mum was going to keep him safe.

  You were in the kitchen, trying to push ice out of a rubber ice tray, your roll-up in your lips. The kitchen was like I’d imagined it, more or less, with old wooden cupboards and a nasty beige lino floor with dog biscuits round Bea’s dirty bowl and wet mud round the door – the door I’d seen you going to from the garage down the side of the house.

  A bunch of ice cubes suddenly fell out onto the worktop. You took your roll-up out of your mouth and scooped them off, plopping them into two glasses of Coke, then you turned and held one out. ‘For you, madame,’ you said, bending forward all posh, like a butler or something.

  I watched you while you mashed your roll-up out on a dirty plate, got a small tin of dog food out of one of the cupboards, peeled the lid back and tipped it into Bea’s bowl.

  My drink smelt of alcohol. I thought maybe you’d put something else in it too – spiked it with Rohypnol or something, like someone did to Lucinda Wells in Year 12. Apparently she woke up in a strange flat on the other side of town with no pants on. She managed to escape through a window and was found wandering about, but she was still so out of it she couldn’t remember where she’d come from, so the police never got the person who did it.

  When you chinked your glass against mine, though, your eyes shining, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so I took a sip. I decided to forget about the spiking thing and took another, bigger sip. ‘What’s the music?’ I said.

  ‘What’s the music?’ you said.

  I wasn’t sure what you meant – like if you were checking if what I’d said was what you thought I’d said, or if you couldn’t believe I didn’t know – so I nodded.

  You put your arm round me then, very lightly, so it was hardly touching me, and walked me through into the front room. I could smell a nice soapy smell on you under the smoke. Then you went over to a record-player on some low shelves behind the sofa that I hadn’t noticed before and handed me an album cover. There were four faces on it, except they were cut out like masks with holes where the eyes should’ve been. It said Pink Floyd in white capital letters above the masks and underneath, in red, it said, Is There Anybody Out There? You stood next to me and I thought you were looking at the cover too, but when I looked up at you, you had your eyes closed and your glass to your lips, listening to the man on the record singing about how his mama was going to wait up till he got in and how she’d find out where he’d been . . .

  I had a few more sips of my drink while I waited for you to open your eyes again, then gave you back the album cover. I didn’t say anything about it because I didn’t like it very much. I thought it was pretty creepy singing about your mother like that. And the next track was creepy too, like horror film music with bombs exploding everywhere like it was a war.

  You went back to the record-player and started looking through more records that were lined up next to it like books. There were probably about thirty or something. I followed you over, but I couldn’t see what any of the records were because you were going through them too fast, and I didn’t want to lean in. I stayed where I was and watched you instead, sipping more of my drink.

  Before that night I thought I didn’t like alcohol, especially when it was as strong as that was, but it was nice – relaxing – and like it was making me warm even though it had ice in it. I thought it probably had the rum in it that you were drinking the last time I was there. It was nice watching you, too – watching your big knuckly hands flicking the records past and the ends of your dark, wet hair disappearing inside your collar.

  You pulled a record out and laid it on top of the others. It said Queen on it and I recognised the picture of the man in the middle of the cover. Then you stopped the record that was playing, lifting the needle so that suddenly all we could hear was the turntable and the cuckoo clock and Bea chomping away in the kitchen.

  ‘Close the curtains,’ you said.

  I went behind the blue velvet chair and pulled the curtains with one hand because I still had my drink. It felt a bit weird closing them because they moved really smoothly on their runners, making me think of the ones that’d closed on their own round Nana’s coffin before she got cremated. But it also felt nice closing them, like we were a family – you, me and Bea – shutting out the rest of the world at the end of another day.

  Then the sound of a piano filled the room and the singer was singing how tonight he was going to have himself a real good time and I turned to see you nodding your head slowly to the beat and looking at me. I didn’t recognise it to start with but then when it went faster with the lyrics going ‘Don’t stop me now’, I did and I got this funny rush, like excitement and happiness and I half-danced back into the middle of the room, turning round when I got there. I thought whatever was in the drink was definitely working because normally I’d never half-dance across a room or turn round in the middle of it, but it felt nice doing it and nice with you watching me too.

  When the song was ending, you took my empty glass and went out, waggling it to tell me you were going to get me another one.

  I listened to the next couple of tracks, swaying along a bit, but when you still hadn’t come back, I went to see where you were. I could feel cold air as soon as I got to the hallway.

  I went i
nto the kitchen. Bea was curled up in her basket, the side door was open and I could see you outside through the window.

  You were smoking, a new drink in your hand. ‘Oh,’ you said, turning when you heard me, ‘your drink’s on the side.’

  I went back in and got it.

  ‘It’s a nice night,’ I said when I went out again, just to make conversation really because you weren’t saying anything – just staring at the sky.

  You had some of your drink and tapped the ash off the end of your roll-up onto the cracked concrete patio. ‘No stars down here,’ you said.

  I wasn’t sure what you meant by ‘down here’ but I didn’t ask. I just sipped my drink and stood next to you and neither of us said a word. It wasn’t awkward, though – it was nice standing quietly in your garden with the music playing in the house.

  Then, out of nowhere, you said, ‘Do you believe in fate?’ Just like that. You didn’t turn to me or anything, just carried on smoking and looking out at the night.

  I thought of that film, Final Destination, where the people that survive a plane crash die anyway, one by one, because it’s their fate and I was going to say something about it, but then you flicked your roll-up off into the black grass and turned to go in. ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ you said.

  You went into the downstairs loo that’s off the hallway and I went back into the front room. A new track was playing and it was beautiful. It was a piano with the voice all soft, singing about how things had started off so well – how they’d made the perfect pair. I closed my eyes and was just swaying a bit and listening because I didn’t know it and it was so lovely and then at the exact same moment that he sang, ‘I’ll love you till I die’, you were there behind me and I turned and your black-hole eyes were looking right into mine and then the chorus kicked in with crashing drums and guitars going, ‘Save me, Save me, I can’t face this life alone’, and I just threw my arms round you.

  You flinched, stepping back a bit and saying, ‘Whoa,’ because you were surprised, I think, and because you were worried your drink was going to spill. Then there was a knock on the door – a really loud one.

  You put your drink on the arm of the sofa, went over to the record-player fast, turning the volume down, then over to the window. You looked out through the gap in the curtains. Then you came back past me, running your fingers through your hair and going, ‘Shit’ under your breath.

  I stayed in the front room and had some more of my drink.

  The woman at the door was really angry. She was saying, ‘It’s a disgrace playing music so loudly,’ and, ‘What would Evelyn say if she was still here . . .’ And even though she was almost shouting at you very rudely, you didn’t raise your voice at all. You just kept saying you were sorry and that you’d turned the music down, but she didn’t even really care about the music. She just wanted to be nasty to you, because then she started saying what an awful son you were and how it was blatantly clear you’d never cared about your mum because you’d never visited her.

  In the end I couldn’t stand it anymore, not with you being so polite and saying you were sorry all the time, so I went into the hall.

  ‘And who’s that?’ she said when she saw me, looking me up and down like I was dog poo. She was a typical horrible old lady with grey, sprayed curls and tiny, peery little eyes.

  ‘It’s none of your business, that’s who,’ I said, going up the hall and standing next to you. ‘So piss off.’

  She opened her mouth but was too shocked to think of any words to put in it.

  ‘Mrs Robertson, please . . .’ you started saying, but before you could go on, I said, ‘Just because Sam didn’t visit doesn’t mean he didn’t love his mum, because he did. He really loved her! He bought her presents from Harrods!’ Then I went to slam the door, but you caught my wrist and pushed me behind you.

  ‘Well, I should call the police,’ I heard her say.

  ‘Please,’ you said again. ‘You’re right, the music was much too loud. I’ve turned it down.’

  She said something back, but because she was walking off, I didn’t catch what. Then you closed the door and went past me and back into the front room.

  When I got there, you were standing in front of the fireplace looking at me. ‘I think you’d better go,’ you said. Your voice was quiet and tense. You were upset.

  ‘She was being so mean to you,’ I said. ‘She wasn’t listening, even though you kept saying you were sorry.’

  ‘Just go,’ you said, and then suddenly you turned and got one of the china dogs off the mantelpiece. ‘Here,’ you said, holding it out. It was the one from Harrods. ‘As a thank-you.’

  ‘What for?’ I said.

  ‘For having Bea. I appreciate it.’

  ‘But it’s the one you got her,’ I said, only taking it because I could see you really wanted me to. ‘It’s part of your mum’s collection.’

  You closed your eyes and nodded like you were trying to stay calm – trying not to think about what that horrid neighbour said. Then you looked at me again, the muscles in your jaw moving and you said, ‘I want you to have it.’

  I could see you were serious, so I said, ‘OK’, and I squeezed China Bea safe in my hand. Then I saw your rum and Coke on the arm of the sofa and went to get it for you, going, ‘D’you want your drink?’ But you said, ‘No’, your voice sharp and loud. When I looked at you, you put your hand on your forehead, then in your back pocket. ‘No,’ you said again, ‘I just want you to go.’

  I put my coat on by the front door. You didn’t come into the hall to say goodbye. I thought, that stupid woman’s really upset you. Silly cow. I thought how upset I’d be if someone ever said that to me – that just because I didn’t go to the cemetery, I didn’t love Dad.

  All the way back to Gary’s, I held China Bea tight, kissing her and whispering through my fingers to her and thinking about everything that’d happened because so much had happened. I’d hugged you! And you’d given me China Bea! It was crazy. You’d gone from practically ignoring me when I first got there to giving me something incredibly precious that you’d bought for your mum and saying, ‘I want you to have it.’

  I wanted to do something to show you I was sorry for getting you in even more trouble with your neighbour, to show you I’d only said all that because I couldn’t stand listening to her bullying you. But more than that, I wanted to show you that I liked you and that Bea wasn’t all you’d got like you’d said she was – that you had me as well. That I was your friend.

  I wanted to do something to show myself how much I liked you too. So when I got in, I took all of Alice’s things out of her box, deliberately scrunching the foil in my hand before I had time to even think about what I was doing, took them downstairs and stuck them in the kitchen bin. Even the heart. Then I made sure there was rubbish covering them so Mum wouldn’t see.

  I went back upstairs and tore Alice’s Box down at the corners so it folded flat, and took that downstairs too and pushed it between Gary’s Stella Artois packaging in the recycling bin.

  I washed for ages in the bathroom, watching myself in the mirror. I was shaking because of what I’d just done – scared that I wouldn’t be alright without Alice’s things to look at and hold – but at the same time I knew it was the right thing to do. I mean, I couldn’t go on fantasising about me and Alice forever when she was never going to like me. It was a childish schoolgirl fantasy. I had to grow up some time. And I told myself that now was my chance to do it, because now I had something better than a fantasy. I had you, and I didn’t have to just imagine conversations with you in my head, because you talked to me for real.

  You were my real friend.

  Rotting Fruit

  The second I saw her, holding a police radio against the lapel of her dark grey suit, the man in uniform behind her, I knew what’d happened.

  I couldn’t believe it’d happened, not after imagining it so many times. Not after waiting for it. But it had.

  Alice was gone. />
  It was right after assembly, when everyone was pouring out of the gym and past the Head’s office to get to class. I must’ve stopped because people were pushing and elbowing me, saying ‘Move it, Doner’, only I couldn’t move. I could only stare at her – the policewoman – waiting for her gaze to fall on me, fix on me. And when it did – when her eyes locked with mine – it wasn’t anything like I’d thought it’d be, with me rushing over to say I knew who had Alice. A voice in my head was telling me to do it. Do it! it said, but I couldn’t. And then I was looking away, down at the floor and walking off towards the Maths wing.

  I sat at the back of the classroom, paralysed and clutching China Bea in my cardigan pocket while everyone else crowded round Katy. I told myself I was just being paranoid, that there could be a million reasons why the police would be in school – but the way everyone was talking – so intently. They already knew about Alice, of course. Her parents would’ve rung round, wouldn’t they? The second Alice hadn’t come home, they’d have gone through their mobiles, calling every friend of Alice’s they knew: ‘Have you seen Alice? Is Alice with you?’

  If I’d got to school on time, I’d have known about it before assembly, but I’d slept through my alarm. I’d probably still be on the bus if Gary hadn’t given me a lift. I wished I was.

  I whispered quietly so no one would notice, telling myself that if the police were here because Alice was missing, it was nothing to do with me. And really it wasn’t. But it didn’t feel like that. I’d imagined this moment with Alice gone too many times, spent too many hours going over and over how everyone would react. Feeling like I had nothing to do with it was impossible. I’d even thrown her things away. It felt like it was my fault, like somehow I’d created it, conjured it out of my head.