Growing Up Twice (32 page)

‘For Christ’s fucking sake, you idiot, you scared the fucking shit out of me!’ I scream at him. No one around stops or bats an eyelid, lucky he isn’t about to murder me.

‘God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I called your name but you didn’t seem to hear me.’ Michael backs away from me, his palms raised to placate me. I look at him with disbelief and then I let him pull me into his arms and I am glad to have my face buried in his shoulder for a moment, breathing in his warm scent. Finally my blood pressure drops and I only feel incredibly tired.

‘Michael, why are you here? I told you I’d see you tomorrow,’ I say, watching hurt spread over his face as I finish my sentence. My bus comes around the corner and, wearily, I let it pass, tutting and sighing for his benefit.

‘I had to see you face to face, to find out if you’re still angry with me. If we are … you know. OK.’ I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He really scared me. I hadn’t realised that I could be so easily spooked.

‘Look, can we go somewhere to get a coffee and talk?’ he asks. I look up at a rain-filled sky. There is no reason why he shouldn’t come home with me tonight, Rosie will have gone by the time I get back, but for some reason the thought of spending this evening with him wears me out.

‘No, look, I’ve got plans for tonight. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I listen to my patronising and detached tone with mild bewilderment. Who am I today?

‘I’ve made a twat out of myself, haven’t I?’ he says sullenly. Pity and regret flood my chest with warmth as I fold my arms around his waist. The look of relief and gratitude on his face makes me wince.

‘You haven’t, it’s just that we’d made an arrangement and I’ve already made plans. And this week has been tough, you know. I’m not at my best.’ I stand on tiptoe and softly kiss his warm mouth.

As we part he looks at me with a puzzled smile. ‘You’re always on best form for me,’ he says. I smile back at him but really I wish he’d stand up for himself a bit more. Another number 73 bus turns into the bus-stop and I start towards it, hoping to beat the throng for a seat.

‘Look, I’m getting this one. I’ll see you in the morning, OK? About ten-ish or something?’

‘OK. See you. Love you.’

I smile at him once more over my shoulder, but I don’t look back as I get on to the bus and I don’t turn to wave goodbye as the bus departs.

When I get in the flat is empty and in darkness and for a few seconds I wish I had brought Michael home with me.

Rosie has left me a note telling me she’ll be back Saturday evening around seven-ish and not to pinch all her biscuits. I smile as I take the packet out of the bread bin and help myself to one. Things with Rosie have been better since the funeral but not the way they used to be. Since I told her exactly what I think of Chris and how I feel about the whole thing we haven’t spoken about it. This used to be the sort of thing we’d talk over endlessly between us, working out a conclusion in unison, but it’s obvious that whatever she is going to decide it will be without my input, and it’s when the decision has been made that we’ll really find out where our friendship stands. I just don’t understand why she doesn’t see him as clearly as I do.

I phone Pizza Gogo and order a large vegetarian thin crust on the grounds that the vegetable content (i.e. sweet corn) makes it healthy, getting a kick out of watching the pizza man out of the living-room window as he picks up the phone and then, realising it’s his laziest customer, finds my face in the window and gives a little wave.

‘You come and get it, yes? Save my legs?’ he jokes as he takes my order.

‘No, no, your leaflet says free delivery within a five-mile radius, it doesn’t say anything about not delivering within a hundred-yard radius.’

He laughs and tells me fifteen minutes.

‘I’ll see you in half an hour then.’ I hang up.

I call Selin next, hoping she’ll be in and want half of my pizza. Her phone seems to ring for a long time before the answerphone picks up. I think she might be call screening.

‘Selin? It’s Jen, darling. Are you there? Pick up if you are? I’m home and I wanted to see how you are. I haven’t managed to get you for the last couple of days and I’m not around tomorrow, so I wanted to check in. Are you OK? Selin?’ Eventually I hang up and look at the phone for a moment. Rosie hasn’t managed to talk to her either. I try Selin’s mobile, but it’s switched off.

The family business had been closed all week but I just can’t bring myself to phone her at her parents’ house. I suppose she’d call us if she wanted us. We told her she could, she said she would. On impulse I call Josh’s mobile.

‘Jen,’ he says, answering in a couple of rings.

‘Hi, where are you?’ I ask routinely.

‘Um, walking along Clissold Park. Mum’s just fed me and I’m going home to try and get some kip. I was up all of last night and most of today. Thinking, you know. Trying to do some work.’

‘Right, of course. Listen, Josh. I haven’t been able to get hold of Selin. Was she at your mum’s? Is she OK?’ I listen to the sound of Josh’s breathing for a second.

‘Um, yes, she’s there.’ There is something he doesn’t want to tell me. I’m sure Selin blames me.

‘Do you think I should call her? I don’t want to intrude,’ I say, trying to work out what he’s thinking.

‘Maybe tonight isn’t the best night. Look, don’t worry about her, she’s being looked after, she’ll call you when she’s ready. You know Selin.’

Feeling rejected in some oblique way I start to feel sorry for myself.

‘I don’t suppose you fancy staying awake for a couple more hours to help me finish off a veggie pizza?’ I ask hopefully.

‘After one of Mum’s meals? Are you joking? She’s still cooking for … for six.’ He finishes the sentence quietly and I kick myself for being so insensitive.

‘Josh, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Look, take care and call me, OK?’ Another couple of beats of silence follow.

‘I could bring round some wine and watch you pig out, though,’ he says suddenly and my heart lifts. I hadn’t realised how much I didn’t want to be alone tonight, even though I’d turned down the pleasure of Michael’s company.

‘That would be really nice, if you’re sure,’ I say, trying to keep the potential pressure of gratitude out of my voice.

‘I’m sure. I’ll pop into the Venus 21 off-licence and I’ll be there in ten, OK?’

‘OK,’ I say, smiling to myself.

The pizza arrives and I shove it in the oven while I wait for Josh. Catching sight of myself in the hall mirror I quickly go into the bathroom, cleanse the mascara seepage from under my eyes and brush my hair back from my face. It seems pointless before pizza but I brush my teeth anyway and squirt on a bit of Rosie’s perfume.

He arrives a few minutes later with two bottles of wine, a couple of days’ stubble and hollows under his eyes that throw his cheekbones into stark relief.

‘Fuck, you really haven’t slept, have you?’ I say without thinking. He laughs.

‘So direct and to the point, as always. That’s my girl.’

Finally, with beakers of wine, Billie Holiday in the CD player and the pizza laid out before us, we settle on the sofa.

‘This is nice,’ I say. ‘I don’t mean, you know what I mean, I mean it’s ages since you and I have just hung out.’ Which isn’t strictly true, we’ve hung out a lot recently but everything before Ayla’s death now seems like light years away.

‘Yeah well, I usually have to try and catch you between bouts of Owen,’ he smiles wryly.

‘And I have to catch you between bouts of creative temptresses with a special line in papier mâché and henna hairdos,’ I retort for good measure.

‘Not any more, I’ve given them up. Can’t trust a girl who gets turned on by soggy paper and glue. I’m thinking maybe chicken wire and plaster of Paris might be my next avenue of romantic exploration.’

I raise my eyebrows.

‘Oh really? Well, I’ve given up Owen, so until chicken-wire girl comes along we can do this more often.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ he smiles. ‘Unless another fatally-flawed-personality boy comes along in the meantime.’

We both laugh at ourselves and take a large gulp from our glasses, holding each other’s gaze as we do so. I fill the glasses up again. We have silently agreed that we are going to get bladdered. Josh is sleep deprived and I haven’t eaten much today so it shouldn’t take too long. This means I’ll have a red-wine hangover for Michael in the morning. Oh well.

‘How are you holding up?’ I ask, not for the first time. ‘Stupid question really.’ The wine sizzles in my empty stomach.

‘Stupid? No, I’m holding up dreadfully.’ He takes another gulp of wine, emptying half of his glass in one go and topping it up again. I try and think about what I can do, what I can say. I can’t just not talk about Ayla, but I feel as if I shouldn’t simply let him sink into overtired drunken maudlin oblivion either. If I can’t be there for Selin I can try and rescue Josh in my own small way.

Suddenly an old memory pops into my head.

‘Do you remember when you had that girl up in your room, what was her name? You were about twenty, you must have been because we were in the lower sixth and Ayla was three. I bet you were trying to get your leg over and anyway, Ayla was just talking properly and we got her to run into your room and shout, “Josh is gonna do it! Josh is gonna do it!” at the top of her voice and your mum came storming up the stairs and dragged you out of that room by your ear. And that poor girl, what was her name? She ran out of there quicker than a bat out of hell. God, that made me laugh for weeks.’

Josh tips his head back and laughs, nodding at the memory. ‘Janine Whitman. That was her name. She refused to see me again after that, so thank you very much. She might have been the one, you know,’ he says with a look of mock reproach.

‘Trust me, it
wasn’t
Janine Whitman,’ I say with conviction.

‘No, I don’t suppose it was.’ He smiles as another memory comes back to him and I feel pleased with myself that I started this.

‘What about the time she poured all of Mum’s best perfume over that stray dog she brought home? Or when she was nine and she decided to become a nun. Dad nearly had an embolism!’ We laugh again, both picturing her appearance one tea-time in a home-made tea-towel wimple and bed-sheet habit.

‘Your poor dad, he was ready to pack up and go back to Turkey!’ I smile.

‘She was a lovely girl,’ Josh says, the laughter and light gradually draining from his voice. I reach out and take his hand. He grips my fingers and looks away from me.

‘It just seems so arbitrary, Jen. So pointless.’ Threatened tears constrict his throat.

‘I know,’ I say, ‘I know.’ I shift down the sofa towards him. His arms pull me into a hug and he buries his face in my neck. Before long I feel his shoulders begin to shake and his tears dampen my shirt. Minutes pass and he gradually becomes still. As he raises his head he turns his face from me again and drops his arms to his sides. This is all so unbearably hard for him.

I position myself in the crook of his arm, my back curved into the warmth of his chest, pick up his limp arm and tuck it over my shoulder.

‘Do you want to talk about something else?’ I ask after a short silence.

‘No, it’s good to talk about her, to remember and laugh. Mum can’t bear to mention her name at the moment. That house is so quiet and dark. Poor Hakam, I think he feels it worst. It always used to be Ayla he’d talk to, the rest of us must seem like pensioners to him.’ I feel his other hand brush the hair back from the nape of my neck in an absent-minded gesture and I settle my head back on to his shoulder. Without warning, my niggling worries about Selin spring to the surface again.

‘Josh? Is Selin angry with me?’ He moves abruptly and the bristle of his stubble grazes my ear and makes me shiver.

‘Angry? Whatever for?’ he says, reaching for the next bottle of wine and filling our glasses.

‘Well, I know it’s really selfish to think this at the moment but I get the feeling she is avoiding me because I was there, wasn’t I? Do you think she … do any of you blame me? Because I’d understand, I would. I’d just rather you didn’t pretend that you don’t.’ I twist round so that I’m looking him in the face, trying to read his thoughts in his eyes. He must be able to read the anxiety on my face as clear as day.

‘Jen, no one blames you. Mum and Dad don’t, Selin doesn’t and I certainly don’t. You were trying to help, everyone understands that. You mustn’t think anyone blames you.’ I sigh and turn back to my original position. As the warmth of more wine settles in my stomach, I realise I haven’t touched the pizza.

‘I think I blame myself then,’ I say finally and the warmth of my own tears burns my face.

‘Oh, Jen,’ Josh says softly, wrapping his arms around me. We sit in peace and I listen to the quiet rhythm of his breathing gradually lengthen. I relax, my tears finally stop, and my body gives in to the strains of the day, my eyes growing heavier.

Josh has drifted off to sleep, and I carefully take the half-empty glass from his hand and put it on the floor. The video tells me it’s just gone ten. It doesn’t seem fair to wake him, not just yet. Putting my own glass down carefully, I settle back into the crook of his arm and turn my face to the back of the sofa. I’ll just doze here for a bit and then send him home.

A searing pain shooting down one side of my neck and biting into my shoulder wakes me again. For some reason it takes me a couple of minutes to open my eyes, and I wince and straighten my neck out, slightly alarmed by the loud crack it makes. At some point during my nap I have changed position and my head now rests just below Josh’s chin. I look at the video clock. 8.32 – well, that’s not too late then. Except it was ten something when I last looked, which means it’s 8.32 a.m. and not p.m. We’ve managed to sleep on a two-seater sofa, the pair of us, for ten hours. Blimey.

For several moments I stare at the dim light that has managed to seep through the curtains, then at the cold and congealed pizza, which neither of us touched, on the floor, and then at the video clock again. I have a vague feeling of disconcerted unreality, I can’t believe that it is still possible for so many hours to escape me without my permission. The sort of feeling you get when you really do sleep through your alarm clock for once, or when you really can’t remember what happened the night before, or probably when you have been abducted by aliens and you lose a few hours and gain an implant, that sort of thing. We must both have been tired, very tired. Two adults on a two-seater sofa, ten hours, that’s tired.