And Baby Makes Two (6 page)

“This is it!” she’d shriek. “I never want to see him again!”

And she’d take all the presents he’d given her (except things like the telly and the stereo, of course) and put them in a box and leave it in the hall for him to collect. He never bothered. They usually made up in time to go out for New Year’s Eve.

This year was just like the ones before. On the tenth of December (a little earlier than usual) my mother announced that she and Charley had broken up for good, and asked if I wanted to go to the cinema with her that night.

The row between my mum and Charley really messed up my new love life. Since Hilary hardly ever went out unless she dragged me with her, Les couldn’t drop round any more. And I couldn’t come and go as I pleased, either – not without making up some place to be going and someone who wasn’t Les to go there with. Without Charley to occupy her, she watched me like a hawk.

I was just getting used to all that when Christmas itself came. Les was going up to Norwich for a week to see his mother. He took me to his house for the first time the night before he went away. There was no one else at home, since they’d all gone away for the holidays. At least we’d have a chance to do it again.

Les’s house looked like all the other houses on the road, comfortable family houses, a bit on the posh side. There weren’t any council flats on Les’s street.

Inside, though, it was different because there wasn’t even a living-room, just five bedrooms and a kitchen. The only room I saw beside Les’s was the kitchen. It was incredibly tidy for five guys living alone, but Les was a very tidy person. Even when he made us tea, he washed the spoon and put it in the drainer before we took our cups upstairs.

Les’s room was the smallest. It had a telly and a mattress on the floor and a computer.

“Well?” asked Les. “What do you think?”

It was tidy and everything, but it was kind of bare. I could see it needed a woman’s touch.

“It’s nice,” I said. “But it could do with a couple of pictures. You know, to make it look more cosy.”

He grinned at me affectionately. “I’d never have thought of that.”

I gave Les a really gorgeous jumper from Covent Garden. He reminded me of Kevin Costner in it. It cost so much I had to give everybody else chocolates.

Les gave me a gold charm bracelet from Argos. It had one charm, a tiny hamburger, plated in gold.

“It reminded me of you,” said Les. “Do you like it?”

It wasn’t a gold heart, but I definitely liked it.

“I love it!” I cried. “It’s the best present I’ve ever had.” I hugged him hard.

But that was the only thing that did get hard that night.

We rolled around on his single mattress, banging our knees against the wall and whacking each other with elbows, but nothing happened except we knocked over the teas.

Les apologized. He said it was because he lived with so many other people. It made him selfconscious. Even though they were away he was expecting one of them to burst into the room at any minute. That’s what his flatmates were like.

I took it in my stride. This sort of thing was always happening on TV.

“It’s OK,” I assured him. “It happens to everyone.”

“You’re wonderful,” said Les. He kissed my forehead. “And very mature for eighteen.”

Maybe I wouldn’t’ve been so mature if I’d known it was going to be our last chance to be together for weeks and weeks.

I’d always liked Christmas, especially when I was little, but that year it was a drag. Everybody went to Charlene’s, as per usual, since she had the kids. And, also as per usual, Nan ended up doing most of the cooking while her daughter and grand-daughters (with one glaring exception, of course) all got sloshed. Every year Dara made us sit through the entire Phil Spector Christmas album at least a dozen times, and every year everyone begged her not to. Hilary spent about eight hours in the kitchen, crying about Charley. Every time I opened the door because I’d been sent to get something she was saying the same thing. “This is really it … this time there won’t be a next time…” and slobbering into her wine. Only she was always saying it to someone different – Charlene, Dara, Charlene’s boyfriend, Justin, Dara’s boyfriend, Mick, Nan, even Drew and Courtney, Charlene’s kids… Once, I actually caught her telling the fridge. Charlene’s boyfriend and Dara’s boyfriend got into a fight about football. Charlene and Dara got into a fight over whether or not Charlene’s children watched too much telly. Charlene’s kids were always fighting. I tried to ignore them all by pretending that I wasn’t really there.

I pretended I was at home with Les. He’d left his mum’s straight after dinner to surprise me. I’d come home on my own from Charlene’s and there he was, waiting for me. He’d bought an artificial silver tree and decorated it with red balls and tiny green lights that looked like wreaths, just like the one I saw in Paperchase. There were about a million presents under it, and they were all wrapped in shiny paper, not the cheap stuff Hilary bought in the market, ten rolls for a quid, and half of them said Happy Birthday or For Your Wedding Anniversary. These were really beautiful and elegant, and they were all tied with real satin ribbons not those plasticky stick-on bows favoured by doctors’ receptionists. Me and Les sipped champagne while we opened our presents. Les was just trying on one of the presents I’d given him – a silk Armani jacket – when I realized that my nan was shouting at me. It was hard to hear her because the telly
and
the stereo were blaring, and, besides everybody talking and the kids shrieking, Charlene and Hilary were arguing now.

I blinked. “What?”

Nan knocked back her sherry.

“You’re very quiet today. You coming down with something?”

If only I was. Then maybe someone would drive me home and I really would find that Les had left his mother and was waiting for me. At least I’d have some peace and quiet so I could think about him.

“It’s because I’m practically an adult,” I informed her. “Your daughter doesn’t realize it, but I’m not a child any more.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said my nan. “Then you can be in charge of the washing-up.”

Not only did Les not come home early, but he got sick the day after Boxing Day and couldn’t come home at all.

“You’re joking,” I said. “What have you got, the plague?”

“Flu,” croaked Les. “The doctor says it could take a couple of weeks. Maybe more.”

“God…” For me, two or three weeks without Les was like two or three weeks without water. Plus, I’d read of people dying from the flu. “Maybe you should come back to London. I could come over and nurse you.”

Les sighed with pain and fever. His voice was low and strained.

“My mother wouldn’t hear of it,” he said. “Besides, I’ve got the car. There’s no way I could drive.”

I asked him for his mother’s number, so I could ring him when she was out.

“She won’t let me out of bed to talk on the phone,” said Les. “I’m only ringing now because she’s gone into town. And if she knew I was making a long-distance call on her phone… She’s on a fixed income, you know. She counts every penny.”

“Well, give me the address then.” I’d write to him every day. Letters and postcards. Little presents to cheer him up.

“Oh, no,” said Les. “My mum’s back. I’ll ring you again if I can.”

After that call, I talked to Les in my head all the time. I stayed in my room, listening out for the phone, writing him letters and notes that I planned to send when he rang back with the address.

Dear Les, I don’t know how to say this, but I really love you. I love everything about you. Even when you get angry…

Dear Les, Today I had breakfast (toast and cereal and two cups of tea) and went out to the shops, but all I could think of was you…

Dear Les, I hope you’re getting plenty of rest and eating the right foods. You should drink plenty of liquids…

But he never rang back. His mother must’ve been watching him like a hawk.

Either that or he’d died.

Les didn’t die, but he also didn’t come back to London for three weeks. The longest three weeks of my life. I’d forgotten how boring and empty my life had been without him, but it all came back pretty quickly. Some days I felt like he’d never existed. The dumb, dull days stretched into dumb, dull nights. I ate, I slept, I watched TV. I was like a hamster going round and round in its wheel. The same things to do, the same arguments, the same big nothing.

Even the Spiggs noticed how depressed I was.

“It’s not like you to look like that in the holidays,” she said over supper one night.

“Like what?” I asked, thinking of words like “tragic” and “heartbroken” and “stricken with grief”.

“Like you’ve got a life sentence with hard labour,” said my mother.

I gave her a meaningful look. “I have.”

Les got back on a Friday. He rang me as soon as he walked through his front door.

Hilary and Charley still hadn’t made up. She was only a few feet away in the kitchen, descaling the kettle, her ears up like a hunting dog’s.

I turned my back on her.

“Oh, Amie,” I said, in a bright, casual voice. “What’s up?”

“Amie?” said Les. “Lana, it’s me. Les. I just got back.”

“Oh, you poor thing…” I said. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Oh, I get it,” said Les. “You can’t talk. Yeah, I’m still weak, but I’m much better.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Fudge sauce flowed through my veins.

“Me, too,” I said. “A lot…” I smiled into the receiver. “Maybe we can go to a film or something. Now that you’re better.”

“Not tonight,” my mother shouted. “You’re going shopping with me. Remember?”

How could I forget something as exciting as that?

“I’ll have to see what’s happening,” said Les. “I’ve been off work a while.”

It was times like these that convinced me that once I’d had my family, I was going to have a great career as an actress. There wasn’t a shred of disappointment in my voice as I said, “Oh, of course. I know you’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“And I missed all the holiday parties,” said Les. “I’ve got some people to see.”

I almost said, “And what am I? Sliced bread?” but I didn’t have to. Les, as per usual, knew how I felt.

“Tell you what,” said Les. “Why don’t you come round to the shop tomorrow? I’m on nights.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”

“And wear those boxer shorts you wore that time,” said Les. He laughed. “Just so I know.”

I smiled, drowning in fudge sauce. He really had been thinking of me.

The winter slogged on, dull and grey. My life was pretty dull and grey, too. Hilary was usually at home in the evenings and Les was usually working. Because Shanee lived with her mother, her two little brothers, her one little sister (who shared a room with her), two cats, a dog and an assortment of other small mammals – and had less privacy than a traffic light – she’d come to mine more than I’d gone to hers since we started secondary school, but now that changed.

With the ointment of my love clogged with dead flies, I had nowhere else to go. I wasn’t seeing much of Les because he was so busy and Hilary had cemented herself to the couch. The Tylers’ was like a madhouse with all the keepers on their tea break, but it was better than solitary confinement with a prison guard who never stopped nagging you about your homework and how much make-up you were wearing and where you were going and when you were coming back and who you were going to see.

“God…” I shouted over the noise from the television, Shanee’s brothers and the radio that was blaring from her bedroom. “I really miss it sometimes, you know?”

I looked over. Shanee had her eyes on the film we were watching. Her brothers were sitting on the floor in front of us, impersonating an air strike and throwing crayons at each other.

“You really should try it,” I went on. “It’s so
cool
.”

Shanee nodded. “I know,” she said, still watching Robert De Niro and Sharon Stone snogging passionately. “I intend to try it. Eventually.”

I hugged myself. “Sex…” I sighed longingly. “There’s nothing like it.”

To tell the truth, I kind of enjoyed talking about sex with Les more than I’d actually enjoyed doing it. I mean, it was all right – it was great – but it wasn’t the big deal everyone made out. The kissing and stroking was nice, but it didn’t last that long, and the deed itself was over almost as soon as it began. I’d nicked a couple of sex manuals from the library, so I knew that these things can take time. Practice makes perfect. If you have anywhere to practise – which we didn’t.

Shanee clicked the remote control and got to her feet.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” she announced. “Anybody else want anything?”

They
all
wanted something, including the dog.

I followed Shanee into the kitchen, still discussing sex, the way women do.

In many ways, she was the perfect audience, since she had no personal experience whatsoever and I could tell her anything I liked without worrying that she’d know better. The closest Shanee’d ever got to a boy was when one bumped into her on the street.

Shanee opened the fridge and looked inside.

“So, when are you seeing Les again?” she asked, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

“I saw him yesterday.” I took five glasses from the draining-board. I’d seen Les at work again, but it was a busy night and I didn’t stay long. “But not, you know,
intimately
.”

“So I gathered.”

The disadvantage of Shanee as an audience was that, having no personal experience, her interest wore off pretty fast.

“It’d be a lot better if you had a boyfriend, too,” I complained. “Then you’d want to talk about sex. This is like trying to describe Miami to someone who’s never left the Hebrides.”

Shanee re-emerged from the fridge with two cartons of juice. “Miami and Disney World aren’t the same thing,” she informed me.

I stared back at her. I had no idea what she meant.

Shanee sighed. “So how long has it been?” she asked.

We’d only ever really done it once but Shanee didn’t need to know that. We had tried a few times but something always seemed to go wrong. The first time was when the Wicked Witch went to Hastings to see my nan. But we were so excited to have the flat to ourselves that we finished off her Christmas port
and
the sherry. Most of what I remembered involved throwing up in my wastepaper basket in the middle of the night. The only other times we’d tried were in the back of his car and once in the shop after it was closed. It was too cold in the car to actually take any clothes off, which was just as well since we’d just got into a serious clinch when a police car pulled up beside us. And I couldn’t undress in the shop, all those videos made it hard to get in the mood.