Demons (15 page)

‘
No. I’m taking you
somewhere special. I’ve got enough for a posh restaurant. I’ve
booked and everything.’

‘
Isn’t that being a bit
presumptuous? How do you know I’ll cope with a posh
place?’

I checked to see if he was being serious. I
couldn’t tell. ‘Like I said, it’s your birthday. I’m allowed to be
presumptuous.’

‘
If you say so. But won’t
it cost a bomb?’

‘
I said I’ve got
enough.’

‘
You don’t earn much as a
Wednesday night checkout chick,’ he said. ‘Better save it for
something more important.’

‘
Like what?’

‘
Like uni.’

‘
Don’t
be
mad
Chris. I
could never afford to pay for uni with what I earn. No, I’ve
decided I want to splash out on a meal. Unless you really don’t
like the idea.’

‘
I do,’ Chris said. ‘I
think it’s a lovely, kind, generous idea, just as lovely, kind and
generous as you are. And as long as you think I’m worth
it.’

‘
You are, as long as you
keep saying things like that.’

Warnings

I’d chosen the South Bank. It hadn’t been
open very long. It was opposite the river in the old Memorial
Chambers.

When I came to collect Chris his father
answered the door. I’d met him a few times by now and he’d never
been what I’d call friendly. He often worked long hours, Chris had
said by way of explanation, at his job as a Council planner.
Designing roads, traffic intersections, that sort of thing.

‘
Oh hello Andrea,’ he said.
‘We weren’t expecting you yet.’

‘
I know,’ I said. ‘I’m
early.’

I was excited and nervous about going out to
a proper restaurant. It was something Mum and Dad hardly ever did
and when they did it was usually just the two of them.

I hadn’t given any thought to what I was
going to wear and I’d ended up asking Becs, of all people, if I
could borrow something off her.

She’d invited me to her
place and let me try on several outfits. ‘
That’s
the one,’ she said giving me
a long, intent going over as I came out of her room dressed in a
slinky, black, off-the-shoulder number. ‘Beautiful. Shows off all
your curves and bumps to perfection.’

‘
I don’t want to show them
off,’ I said, very

conscious of my short hair and my wide
hips.

‘Childbearing,’ Gran had once called them,
for no apparent reason. And when I’d recently looked in one of
Dad’s books about early Ireland I’d seen a picture of a bell-shaped
fertility goddess who I thought I closely resembled. ‘Pinhead’ days
all over again.

‘
And even if I did they’re
not worth showing off,’ I said.

‘
You’ve got no idea,’ said
Becs, sounding seriously and unexpectedly genuine for once, ‘how
fab you look. Just don’t let Ms Shapiro see you kitted out like
this.’

‘
Becs! She’s an ordinary
lesbian not a predator for goodness sake.’

‘
I know that she is and
that she isn’t. I was just kidding.’

I’d often wondered why Becs had been so
anti-Ms Shapiro. Today, though, she sounded almost sorry that she
had behaved that way towards her. I stole a glance at Becs but her
face gave nothing away. What really was going on in her head?

‘
I don’t want to look fab,’
I said. ‘I just want to look like me.’

‘
And what does ‘you’ really
look like?’ said Becs. ‘People have different looks for different
occasions. And for different people. But suit yourself,’ she said.
‘Maybe you should go to the Op Shop and ask for a twin set and
pearls.’

In the end, against my better judgement, I
stuck with the slinky black.

‘
Knock him dead,’ said
Becs, sounding her usual brazen self. This time it didn’t bother me
as much as it might have earlier in the year. I was beginning to
wonder if there was another, secret Becs hiding

behind her usual, everyday self.

‘Chris is just in the shower,’ said his
father. ‘He’ll be

ready soon. Come and sit down.’

I followed him into the dining room.

‘
Um,’ - he seemed unusually
nervous - ‘I have to go out myself soon but seeing as you’re early
maybe I’ll just take the opportunity of having a quiet word with
you.’

‘
A quiet word?’

‘
Yes. Look, I don’t want to
spoil things but this may be the only chance I get to . . .’ He
dithered a moment longer, unsure whether we should sit or stand.
‘Look, sit down,’ he decided at last. ‘Andrea . . . I’m not sure
how I can put this without sounding, well, mean-spirited perhaps or
you taking it the wrong way but . . . I wonder if you and
Christopher really know what you’re doing?’

Hearing Chris called
Christopher was almost as weird as being called Andy by him,
although I was getting used to the latter.

‘
Know what we’re doing?’ I
repeated.

‘
Yes.
Your friendship - your
relationship
, if you want to put it
like that . . .’

‘
What about it?’ I asked,
not answering directly and probably sounding very impolite, but I
really was getting quite jumpy.

‘
Well,
don’t you think it might be a little
premature
?’

‘
Premature?’ I said,
starting to sound like an echo.

‘
You’re both still at high
school.’

‘
Our last year,’ I said.
‘I’m seventeen and Chris is eighteen.’

‘
I know how old he is,’ his
father said. ‘I accept

you’re both mature and you think you know
what

you’re doing. The truth is though you’re
both still

rather young in other
ways. If I may say so,
too
young.’ He laughed nervously. Maybe he was as
wound up as I was.

‘
You know
that Chris . . . you
both
. . . have so much future ahead of you. So much
at stake. So much to lose if you aren’t . . . aren’t
careful
.’

This was going a bit far. If he wanted to
discuss sex he’d better talk to his son. But I was wrong. He didn’t
have sex on his mind.

‘
It’s important to protect
your futures,’ he said, ‘and not let relationships get in the way
of making good decisions about the years ahead. Christopher . .
.’

‘
Wants to
travel.’

‘
Yes, and he’s set his mind
on further study as well.’

‘
He’s told me. He’s going
to do a classics degree first.’

Mr Stuart smiled. ‘That’s been his ambition
since he was quite little,’ he said.

‘
I’m cool about that,’ I
said.

‘
I’m sure you are. Look
Andrea, I’ll speak plainly.’

‘
I wish you would,’ I said.
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but.’

‘
I know. I’m not the
world’s most effective communicator,’ he said, ‘not when it comes
to matters of the . . . the heart but I’ve always expected that
Chris will go to university, do well, go on to higher study
hopefully. To succeed.’

‘
Yes?’

‘
All of which takes
considerable time and commitment. Intense friendships can often get
in the

way, become conflicting commitments. The way
I see

it there’s plenty of time for that later on,
isn’t there?

For commitment I mean. Afterwards. Don’t you
think?’

I took a deep breath. ‘Do
you think I’m a distraction to Chris?’ I asked aware that I was
speaking louder than before, getting angry even. ‘Are you saying we
should cool it, stop seeing each other so that he can work harder?
Are you saying that I’m
bad
for him?’

He stood up quickly. ‘I’m simply thinking
about Christopher and his future.’

‘
What
about my future?’ I asked, standing up as well. I was taller than
him. ‘Didn’t you think I might be going to uni too? That Chris
might be a
distraction
for me?’

‘
Then you understand what
I’m trying to say.’

‘
No I don’t understand. We
like -’ I didn’t used the word love, it seemed an emotion Chris’s
father might find too hard to understand in the present
circumstances - ‘each other a lot. We get on. We have things in
common.’

I heard Chris coming down the stairs and
found myself backing out of the room into the hallway where I could
see him, shiny and clean with his familiar goofy grin on his
face.

‘
You look fab. . .’ he
began.

‘
Tell him what you’ve told
me,’ I said to his father.

‘
Have I missed something?’
Chris said.

‘
Ask
him
,’ I
said. ‘He’s just ruined your birthday for us.’

‘
Christopher knows my
thoughts on the subject,’ his father said. ‘Just think on it,
that’s all I’m saying.’

And he put on his coat and went out the
door.

United we stand

I parked the car in a metered space beside
the river. It was lucky we found one empty so close. The winter’s
night was cold although not as bitter as some other nights had
been. The wind was blowing from the east instead of the cold
Antarctic south. Ironically, as I sat shivering in the car, I
remembered that earlier in the day there had even been a hopeful
feel of spring in the air.

Lots of other people were about while the
restaurants along the riverbank, spotted as we’d driven past, were
buzzing.

‘
I’m sorry about all that,’
said Chris.

We’d hardly spoken a word as I drove into
town.

‘
It wasn’t your fault,’ I
said eventually. ‘Or was it? He said you knew what he was talking
about.’

‘
I never
took him too seriously,’ said Chris. ‘I thought he was just being
over conscientious. But I guess it’s more than that. Maybe it’s a
deep-seated, thwarted ambition. Everyone’s got a demon of one sort
or another on their shoulder. I know Dad wanted to go to uni
himself but
his
father died when he was young and he had to leave school to
start work. He did his planning qualifications at night school. It
wasn’t what he wanted but it was the best he could do. When Mum
left he gave up any plans he had to do more study. Had to look
after me on his own.’

‘
I’m sorry,’ I said. I’d
known Chris’ mum had left them years ago and that Chris, like me,
was an only child. I hadn’t known the details or what the impact
had been on Chris’ father.

‘
I don’t talk about it
much,’ said Chris.

‘
He wants to fulfill
himself through you?’ I said.

‘
Maybe. But I’ll do what I
want to do, for me not for Dad.’

‘
And us being together, is
that what you want?’

‘
I wouldn’t be here
otherwise.’

‘
But what about later?’ I
asked. ‘What if I don’t end up going to uni? We could drift apart,
still be different, but different from each other as well as
everybody else.’

‘
It won’t make any
difference. We won’t let it.’

‘
We
are
young,’ I said. ‘Your Dad was right about that. What if all
this is too soon? What if . . .’

I didn’t finish my
sentence. I had been going to say, what if we
had
gone too far, too fast? What if
we’d abandoned things that weren’t ready to be left
behind?

To tell the truth I didn’t really know
myself what I meant by that. Even though I felt reassured by what
Chris said I also felt a gripping, gnawing sadness deep within,
like the wrench of a period on its way.

At the same time I
also
wanted
to
move ahead.

‘
I was going to tell you
that you looked fabulous in that dress,’ Chris said.

‘
You’re the second person
to say that.’

‘
Really? Who was the
first?’

‘
It doesn’t matter,’ I
said. ‘Are you still hungry?’

‘
Starving.’

‘
Let’s go and eat then,’ I
said.

Food for thought

The South Bank was a block away from where
I’d parked the car, hidden behind a bend in the river. When we
walked round the bend the first thing we saw was a knot of people
on the footpath, spilling onto the road. They were making a lot of
noise, chanting something and I saw that several were holding
placards.

Uh-oh, I thought. The scene was familiar. It
was

like one of the many photos in Mum and Dad’s
protest albums. A demo. But what was it about and why was it going
on outside our restaurant?

‘
What’s it about?’ said
Chris.

‘
Beats me,’ I replied. ‘But
we’ll soon find out.’

The protestors were blocking the entrance to
the restaurant. Diners like us, also dressed in their going-out
best, were not being allowed to step inside. They were getting as
angrily vocal as the protestors.