Boys Don't Knit (9 page)

On the way home from school today I ran into Megan. That's one advantage of not having my bike. I saw she was a hundred yards behind me so I stopped to tie my laces for about an hour before she caught up, then I stood and looked all surprised to see her.

‘Oh, hiya, Megan,' I said.

‘Were you waiting for me?' she asked.

‘Er, yes. I suppose I was.'

‘Pretending to tie your shoelace?'

‘Kind of.'

‘For ages.'

‘Yes. Well, you walk very slowly.'

‘I slowed down when I saw you because I was a bit freaked out about what you were doing.'

‘Oh. Well, I was pretending to tie my shoelace so that you'd catch me up.'

‘Yeah.'

There was a pause.

‘Shall we walk together?' I suggested.

‘OK,' she said, smiling.

‘Haven't seen you for ages,' I said.

‘I saw you this morning in History,' she pointed out.

‘Yes, but not to talk to.'

‘No,' she agreed. ‘Not to talk to.'

‘Not since Waitrose.'

‘Ha!' she said. Then clapped her hand over her mouth.

‘It's OK,' I said, grinning. ‘You can laugh at me.'

‘I missed you at Seneira's party,' she said.

‘Yeah, it would have been good.'

‘It was wild,' she said, in a tone that made me wonder who she'd been wild with. But I didn't ask.

‘You know Freya Porter is having a party soon?' she went on.

‘Yeah, I heard that. Are you going?' I asked as casually as I could manage.

‘Yeah, I think so, are you?' she asked, looking straight ahead.

‘I will if  …  yeah, I'll go.'

Ask her if we can go together, ask her if we can go together.

‘So this is me,' she said.

We'd arrived at her house. A neat, tidy semi-detached place with a perfect garden and a classy absence of cars on bricks at the front.

‘OK,' I said. ‘See you tomorrow, I guess.'

‘Yep,' she said. ‘See you tomorrow.'

Apart from asking her if we could go to the party together, which I think might have sounded a bit needy anyway, I can't think what I could have done better during that exchange. And yet I don't really think I made any progress at all. I know, I should have asked for her number, that's it.

Still, things are OK. We're going to be at the same party at the same time. And she did say she'd missed me at Seneira's party.

She missed me.

Just eaten a bad satsuma. The one just before it was amazing and sweet and juicy. How does that work? Seems these days that it's 50–50 with satsumas, just like people I suppose. Not much else happened today. Mum's back tomorrow. Thank the Lord. Dad and I are seriously running out of conversation, as well as satsumas.

Doing Miss Swallow's tank top, making it really tight, trying to see if I can get it smooth, like it's been done by a machine. If I can get these right I can sell them on the Etsy site.

Incredible. Mum's been back less than twenty-four hours and she and Dad have started with the bloody double entendres again. If they keep this up I'm calling ChildLine.

Mum: I don't think you boys have been eating properly while I've been away. I'm going to make you a hearty meal tonight. What do you fancy?

Me: What about pie and mash? That's hearty.

Dad: Yes please. I do like a bit of your mum's pie.

Me: *Suspicious pause*

Mum: What would you like in it?

Dad: I know what I'd like to put in your pie, Sarah.

Me: Gross. Stop it.

Dad/Mum: Stop what?

Molly: Yes, stop what?

Me: The pie talk. Stop the pie talk.

Mum: You don't want my pie?

Dad: I want your pie.

Me: I'm going to my room.

I did actually want Mum's pie, having said all that. Her pies are pretty good, though I found it hard to look Dad in the eye while we were eating.

‘How about dessert?' Mum offered, when I'd finished.

‘Yeah. Your mum's getting her muffins out tonight,' said Dad, with his mouth still full.

I rose from the table in protest, a look of disgust on my face.

‘Shut up, Dave. Ben, sit down,' Mum ordered. ‘Can't we just sit together for two minutes at a meal for once?'

Giving Dad a warning glare, I sat back down stiffly.

‘How's the pottery going, Ben?' Dad asked, on his best behaviour now. Mum glanced up at me quickly.

‘Fine,' I said. ‘I'm not sure I'm going to be the next  … ' I stopped.

‘I can't think of any famous potters,' I said.

‘Harry?' Molly suggested.

‘Beatrix?' Mum said.

‘I mean, potmaker, or  …  um, ceramicist? Or whatever they're called. I don't think I'm going to be the world's first famous potwrangler, is what I'm trying to say,' I carried on. ‘But I'm not doing too badly.'

‘So when are we going to see some of the fruits of your labour?' Dad asked, before cramming a huge forkful of mashed potato into his mouth.

Mum raised an eyebrow at me.

‘Next week,' I said firmly.

‘Not tonight?' he asked.

‘No, nothing ready yet,' I said. ‘I'll bring something back next week.'

‘Great!' he said. ‘What is it?'

‘It's a surprise,' I answered confidently.

Surprise is an understatement. What the hell am I going to show him?

And I've got to make the ziggurat, too. Why am I doing this to myself?

We tried something a little more complicated in Knitting last night, and I'm afraid to say I struggled with it. Mrs Hooper gave us patterns for a tea cosy, which seemed simple enough. The way I like to work though is to get the whole pattern in my head, rather than just work on it stitch by stitch. And I just couldn't get my head around the tea cosy, for some reason. A hole for the spout, then a hole for the base, and a hole for the lid, and a hole for the handle, all different sizes. Add in some stranded colourwork, which I find difficult and  …  well, I just didn't like it.

‘Just follow the pattern,' Mrs Hooper said to me. ‘Don't worry about the holes till you come to them.'

Easy for her to say. As far as I'm concerned the best time to worry about something is well before you come to it. That way you're prepared.

I've spent two useless hours trawling the charity shops around Hampton, looking for pottery pieces I can show my dad and pass off as my own work. It's all a bunch of crap. Everything's either chipped, old-fashioned, or stamped with MADE IN STOKE.

I need something amateurish and recent. Mum suggested I go to the craft fair, but that's not on until Sunday and I promised Dad I'd have something for him on Thursday after class.

What a bloody stupid tangled web I've weaved.

 …  or knitted.

On the
Knitwits!
podcast I was listening to today, they were talking about the Ocean Spray jumper that seems to be all the rage at the moment in US knitting circles. I checked it out online and it is really nice.

I've downloaded the pattern from an illegal pattern-sharing site which I feel pretty bad about but to do it legally would have cost $19.99, which is about £12.50.

How mad is that? You could buy a jumper for that at Mackays. Admittedly not as nice as the Ocean Spray, but still.

Anyway, it looks pretty complicated, but I think I'll give it a go.

I'm a genius, and sometimes it takes a genius to see the simple answer to a complex set of problems. Take these four statements:

Dad thinks I'm taking pottery.

I need some convincing evidence of my pottering, or pottaging activities.

Miss Swallow is taking the pottery class.

Miss Swallow wants a tank top for her boyfriend.

Now pop these statements into the mind of a genius. Stir vigorously, simmer for an hour. Season to taste and serve with crusty bread.

‘I'll do a deal with you,' I said to Miss Swallow. I'd got there early again and had popped into the pottery class before anyone else arrived. She had her hair tied back and had a smudge of clay on her left temple. I had to keep my hands clenched to stop myself trying to wipe the smudge away.

‘Go on,' she said as she carried on cutting lumps of the slick, brown clay and slapping them down onto individual desks.

‘I need a present for my mum's birthday,' I said. ‘I'd like to get her a nice set of coffee mugs. Handmade.'

‘Ah, I see where this is going,' Miss Swallow said, stopping to grin at me. ‘You want to swap the tank top for some mugs?'

I nodded.

‘But your tank tops are lovely,' she said. They're worth far more than a few misshapen mugs.'

‘I think your pott  …  ing is amazing,' I said. ‘I saw your products on Etsy. They're fantastic.'

‘Thanks, Ben, that's sweet,' she said. ‘Still, four coffee mugs don't seem like much. Can I throw in a plant pot?

‘Go on then,' I said. Deal done. I grabbed a little more clay ‘for the ziggurat' and left, rubbing my hands evilly.

And in Knitting tonight, I finally finished that stupid tea cosy. I didn't enjoy it but I finished it. 'I'll never do another one again. Say No to Cosies!

Result! Miss Swallow gave me the mugs and flower pot today at school. I've hidden the flower pot under some old tarp behind the shed. I can use that later. The mugs I'll present to Dad after next week's class.

I'm a genius, I'm a genius.

In other news, the plumber came today, finally, and apparently told Dad the pipes were all clogged up. Brilliant. I could have told him that. Turns out there's something in the water! The council have been contacted. I knew it. This is why I'm so weedy and have no facial hair. I'm being slowly poisoned. Am going to start taking water bottles to school to fill up there. I'll be burly and hirsute within a month.

I've not got a thing to wear to the party tonight. I'm feeling nervous now it's here. If it wasn't for Megan, there's no way I'd be going. I hope my friends don't embarrass me.

I hope I don't embarrass myself.

So. The party.

Could have gone better, could have gone worse  … 

Gex and I met up with Joz, who was on his bike, and we walked to Freya's house, which is a big posh place in a new housing development. On the way Gex opened his bag and gave us all a bottle. Mine was Martini Rosso.

‘Is this supposed to be a joke?' I asked, staring at it.

He looked surprised.

‘I thought that was your drink, innit.'

‘Really? You thought my drink was Martini Rosso?'

‘Well, what is it then?' Freddie asked.

‘Yeah, what is it then?' Gex repeated.

‘I, I don't know,' I said. ‘But it certainly isn't this.'

‘Look, it's just to get you into the party,' Gex said. ‘You're not going to drink anything anyway cos you is a pansy.'

‘I is not a pansy,' I retorted. ‘I mean I am not a pansy. I just don't see why it's necessary to get bladdered and vomit on the carpet in order to have a good night.'

‘Whatever, Bellend,' Gex sighed.

So the first sign of foreboding was when Brianna Moore answered the door and claimed she didn't recognise us.

‘ID please,' she said suspiciously.

‘Brianna  …  it's us,' I said. ‘You know  …  from college?'

She peered at the three of us, frowning.

‘Oh right. Maybe.'

‘So, gonna let us in then?' asked Joz.

‘How did you even find out about this party anyway?' she said, ignoring the question. ‘It's not on Facebook.'

‘Freya invited us,' Gex piped up. ‘She invited everyone, totes.'

‘Only sixth form,' Brianna said.

‘We are sixth form,' I said. ‘You and I were in the same Geography class last term, remember?'

‘You and me?' she said, peering at me.

‘You and I,' I corrected. ‘You sat right behind me.' I was astonished at her poor memory.

‘No way, there was some little dark-haired loser in front of me,' she said.

‘That was me!' I said. I turned around to show her the back of my head.

Thankfully at this point, Freya and her friend Jasmine came to the door and let us in. Freya warned us that her father was upstairs with a headache and a 5-iron and that no one was to go up there on pain of death.

Once we got inside, the party was the usual sort of thing. Everyone just talking to their mates, getting drunk on mixed spirits and fighting over the music. This must have been going on for some time as Freddie had nearly slipped over in a pool of sick as we'd walked up the drive earlier.

‘We should of brought mixers,' Freddie said.

We poured ourselves glasses of our various drinks (no one wanted my Martini Rosso, including me) and stood awkwardly in the kitchen. I kept looking out for Megan, who was the only reason I'd agreed to come, but she didn't seem to be there.

‘Imagine if you were always drunk,' Freddie said.

‘Like Mr Carter?' Joz said.

‘No, I mean, what if everyone was always drunk. Like it was your normal way to be. And when you drank alcohol it made everything seem normal, not like really fuzzy.'

There was a pause while we all thought this over.

‘Yeah,' Gex said. ‘People would, like, get up in the morning and go, ‘I simply can't start the day without a double vodka and muesli.' You know, instead of a cup of tea or whatever?'

‘Footballers would have to start drinking forty-eight hours before an important game,' said Freddie. ‘Just to, like, function properly during the match.'

‘School would be a bit more fun,' Freddie pointed out.

‘Makes you think,' Joz said.

‘Deffo,' Gex said, sipping his whisky and ginger ale.

‘I think there's already a term for what you're describing,' I said.

‘Really?' Joz asked.

‘Yes, it's called alcoholism.'

Thankfully Freya and Jasmine came over to talk after a while. They're actually quite nice as it happens. Freya's kind of plain and ordinary looking, but Jasmine is well pretty, with big dark eyes and she's always smiling and even Joz stopped being vile about the female species for a bit. Gex didn't say a word to Freya, which I know is his way of showing a girl he likes her. Freddie tried his own pulling technique on Jasmine – he offered her drugs that he doesn't have and has no way of getting. After a while the girls went off but Jasmine came back later and handed Gex a note.

Gex looked at it and then gave it to Freddie to read. Gex struggles a bit with handwriting.

‘Freya wants to meet you in her room at eleven,' he said. ‘Top of the stairs, second door on the left. But be careful of her dad. Try to distract him so he goes downstairs, then you can sneak up.'

‘Right, we need a distraction,' Gex said, and started telling us his plan. Now, before I go any further, I'd just like to say that I, for one, voted against the plan. I thought it was dangerous and wouldn't work. But I was outvoted, as usual. So, just before 11pm Joz and Freddie went outside and after a couple of minutes Joz rang the doorbell, I opened it and Freddie shot in on his BMX, sweeping through the house and out through the conservatory doors at the back, leaving chaos in his wake.

Girls were screaming, boys were shouting and throwing stuff at him, lawyers were called, someone set up a helpline for anyone affected by the issues raised and I think the government briefly called a state of emergency. Of course, Freya's father heard the racket and came charging downstairs, waving a golf club. He ran into the garden, after Freddie. This left the coast clear for Gex to nip up the stairs. Joz had disappeared, as usual. I went back into the kitchen, which was now empty as everyone had run out the back to watch Freya's dad beat the intruder around the head with his club. I later found out he'd chased poor old Freddie all the way to the canal, which Freddie tried to jump on his BMX, like at the end of
The Great Escape
. He had to go back this morning and fish his bike out.

In the kitchen I found my still-untouched bottle of Martini Rosso.

‘You going to open that?' said a soft voice behind me. It was Megan. She looked quite nice, though she had so much make-up on it made her look like a cartoon version of herself, as though she'd been replaced by her own avatar.

‘Sure,' I said, suddenly feeling nervous. I opened the bottle and grabbed a couple of plastic cups.

‘You know what goes well with that?' she asked. I shook my head.

‘Apple juice,' she said and raised an eyebrow as she went to the fridge to get some.

She was right; Martini Rosso and apple juice does work, and doesn't taste alcoholic at all. Megan drained her cup quickly and held it out for another one.

‘What's this drink called?' I asked. ‘Applosso?'

‘Rossopple?' she suggested.

What do you talk to girls about? They don't watch
The
Shield
, or Dave. I wondered if I should talk to her about knitting? No, don't be a fool, Ben, I told myself. You've come so far. You might as well just go ahead and tell her you fancy her mum.

But I was saved from not knowing what to say by a scream from upstairs. We rushed back into the hall to see Gex leaping down the stairs three at a time, a look of blind panic on his face. He was followed by a dishevelled woman in a nightie I was guessing was Freya's mother.

‘Wrong room,' he shouted as he passed me in the hall. ‘Wrong freakin' room!' Then he was out the front door and away into the suburban night.

People had started to come back in to watch the latest entertainment. To get away from the crowd Megan suggested we go to the sitting room.

‘I don't think we're allowed in there,' I said. ‘I think the door's locked. Freya said they've got a new white carpet.'

‘I know another way,' she said. ‘I've been here loads of times.'

So she led me through the utility room and into the empty, dark sitting room.

‘Are you sure about this?' I asked, meaning was she sure we should be in this room but she said, ‘Yes, I'm sure,' and she kissed me.

I was a bit gobsmacked, to be honest. I've never really had a proper kiss before. I'm not sure how to describe it really. It was sort of  …  meaty. She was almost chewing my lips. Without breaking off, I put the bottle down on the table behind me and started chewing right back.

Then light entered the room as the door opened and Freya's mother was there. ‘What the hell  … ?' she said and turned on the light. Megan turned to face her, leaving me standing facing the door.

‘What's that?' Freya's mum screamed, pointing in the general direction of my crotch.

Megan turned to look. ‘Oh my God!' she said.

What? I thought, suddenly panicking. What's going on down there? But it wasn't my crotch they were looking at. I whipped around to see that damned bottle of Martini Rosso had fallen off the table and was on its side busily glugging bright red liquid all over the Porters' new white carpet. I was relieved to discover they weren't horrified by a problem in my trouser department, but this was nearly as bad.

I'm ashamed to say we ran for it. I lost Megan in the scrum in the hallway and that was the end of the fun for the night. I thought it better to quit while I was, if not ahead, then at least even on points. Bad times regarding Martini Rosso on the carpet, and I'm worried there's going to be a call from Freya's mum on that one. But this all pales into significance on account of the fact that Megan snogged me.

Surely now she'll accept my friend request? I don't think Megan's big on fb but she must check it sometime, surely? And she wouldn't reject my request now, would she? I'm a bit worried though that the experience might have put her off.

Anyway, when the lads and I compared notes this morning, sitting in the sunshine on the wall outside Freddie's house, Gex had to be coaxed into telling his story. It turned out he'd crept into the darkened bedroom as instructed, saw someone lying in the bed and, deciding Freya must be ‘well up for it', threw all caution to the wind and leapt onto the bed with a cry of ‘yahoo!' Only then did he discover the bed was occupied by Freya's mum.

‘What were you thinking, you muppet?' Freddie gasped through his laughter.

‘You said third door on the left, innit?' a furious Gex told him.

‘No, I said SECOND door on the left,' Freddie replied. ‘Why would I say third?'

‘You said third, you moron. Didn't he say third?' Gex asked me.

‘Can't honestly remember,' I said, and shrugged. My mind already on other things. I still couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. And whether my parents were going to get a call from Freya's mum. I hadn't told my friends about my kiss with Megan. They would only have said something revolting.

‘It was a disaster,' Freddie said. ‘The whole night was a sodding disaster.'

‘Not disastrous for all of us,' Joz said, showing us a fresh hickey on his neck.

We stared at him in amazement.

‘Jasmine,' he said. ‘Under the stairs.'

Well, this was an unexpected curveball.

Maybe it's time to take
Fifty Shades of Graham
more seriously  …