Kiss My Name (6 page)

NICKY – August 1986

              These days as an adult, I am the type of person who likes to find an answer to every question. If I am watching a film on DVD and there is a half familiar actor in it, I need to pause the film, Google the actor’s name then check out where I know them from. To me, every question should have an answer. The fact that some questions have answers that are beyond my comprehension drives me mad. Since my Mum died, when I was only a little girl, I have always been searching for answers to the big question about death.

Where had my lovely Mum gone? Was she
in some perfect heavenly place? Was she a ghost or had her existence ceased the moment she took her last breath on earth?

             
Simon thinks once you die, you die. You just revert to what you were for the billions of years before you were born, nothing. To me though, that is still not enough of an answer. What does nothing look like? What colour is it? How is it possible to not feel, to not see, to not love, to not think? It is beyond my comprehension. It is impossible for me to think the same way as Simon. That once I die in this world, my soul and my spirit will disappear too. I don’t see that happening. Nor do I see Simon disappearing from my existence after death. Simon might not agree, but I am sure he is my soul mate and will be with me through eternity.

             
As a child in the 1980s, the bond that Simon and I had was important to me, but I would not have suspected that I would now be describing him as my soul mate. There is a Gary Larson cartoon, or two cartoons, which depicts a boy in bed thinking over and over about whether a girl loves him and there is also a cartoon of a girl in bed, thinking about whether or not she likes ice cream. That cartoon perfectly sums up my romantic relationship with Simon back then. As children, he was desperate for our relationship to happen. I, on the other hand, was totally oblivious to him romantically. I loved him dearly but not in a romantic way.

             
My Mum’s death happened at an early stage in my life, but in many ways, Simon’s brother, Colin’s death, hit me harder. The reason for this was guilt. I felt no guilt about my mother’s death, she was a sick lady and even at my tender age I understood that there was nothing that I could have done to make her better. Colin’s death was different. I knew my actions, encouraging Joey and Simon to come to see Top Gun with me, indirectly contributed to his death.

             
Dad heard about Colin’s death on Red Rose radio. I was up in my room at the time, listening to records on my Frisco Disco.

“Nicola, can you come down here, please!” he shouted from downstairs.

I liked playing my records pretty loud, so I wasn’t sure if he had been shouting me for a while. I guessed from his stern tone that he probably had. I lifted the needle off the record and hurried downstairs. It was another rainy day, even wetter than the Top Gun afternoon, the previous day and as I ran down the stairs, I could hear the raindrops drumming against the windows. My Dad was in his study, he had a comfy chair in there, where he would often sit and listen to the radio or read books. They were usually gardening books. He has always been a green fingered man.

Dad was, as expected, in his comfy chair. I was expecting a request to play my music a little more quietly, so Dad’s question seemed a little strange.

“Nicola, your friend Simon, who is often around at Joey’s. What’s his surname?”

“Strong. W
hy?”

“I thought so. Does he have any brothers?”

“Just one, Colin. I saw him yesterday, before we went to the cinema. He wouldn’t come because he wanted to play cricket. Why, Dad?”

Dad stood up out of his comfy chair.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Nicola, but I’ve just heard on the radio that a boy’s body was found in the canal this morning, up near Whittle-le-Woods. He’s been named as Colin Strong. I think it must be your friend’s brother.”

I didn’t say a word. For a fe
w seconds, I just stared at him. Then I ran. I could hear Dad shouting after me,

“Nicola! Nicola! Come back here this minute!”

I ran out of the study, ran out the front door and I just kept running until I arrived at Simon’s house. I didn’t pause to put a waterproof on, so the dress I had been wearing, one of the many that Auntie Gill had chosen, was soon soaked through, but that did not matter one jot. I was hoping to see Colin, but if he wasn’t there and something had happened to him, I knew I needed to see Simon. I needed to see him, I needed to speak to him and I needed his forgiveness. Death seemed to follow me like a shadow and that scared me, but losing Simon’s friendship scared me more. I wasn’t sure if seeing Simon would solve the problem, but I knew sitting in my room listening to Five Star definitely wouldn’t. Maybe Dad had it wrong, maybe he hadn’t heard it right, maybe once I arrived at Simon’s house everything would be fine. I would be nicer to Colin from now on, I decided, up until now I hadn’t really made much of an effort.

             
I was probably quite a spoilt little ten year old, being the only child of a widowed father, so had yet to learn qualities such as tact, diplomacy, discretion and empathy. I arrived at Simon’s doorstep thinking more about my own potential grief than that of Simon and his family. I put my finger on the doorbell and kept it pressed in for a few seconds. I knew the Strong’s had an orange Ford Escort estate, an old one, as I used to see Mr.Strong driving around with his ladders on the top or it would be parked at the bottom of a road and you would soon see him up the ladder somewhere whistling away. There was no car on the path now though, just puddles.

Simon answered the door. He looked fine, not grief stricken or tearful, just fine. My Dad had made a huge mistake. Rather than feeling anxious, I now felt embarrassed, I had no idea what to say, so just stood there silently with water dripping off my nose and dress. My appearance seemed to go unnoticed with Simon.

“Nicky, what are you doing here?”

Simon said this without a trace of
emotion. That struck me as odd. He had not been like that the day before at Top Gun. He had been speaking with such excitement. Doubts began to creep back.

“My Dad said....my Dad said....”

“What?”

I blurted it out.

“That your brother was dead. He said Colin had died.”

“He has Nicky.”

Simon said this in such a ‘matter of fact’ way, like he was talking about his pet goldfish or a character on a soap opera that he didn’t particularly like. I immediately thought back to the visits that my Dad and I had made to the hospital and the hospice to see Mum, how I had cried at her bedside, engulfed with sorrow. This just did not seem right. A bit of me was annoyed with him.

“Then why aren’t you crying?”

His voice waivered a little as he replied,

“It doesn’t seem real, Nicky. It just doesn’t seem real.”

Part
Three

The Penny Pinchers

ZARA –May 2011

              Flo and I were walking back to our cars after work. It was a lovely, warm day but I was in no mood to be enjoying the sunshine. Penny Pinchers queues had been ten deep all day and that was with three tills open.

“God, it’s been hectic today,” I said to Flo, “I’ll be glad when this credit crunch is over, so everyone doesn’t come looking for bargains in our place.”

“I know. Chaos. Have you noticed that only ugly people ever come in? Rows and rows of ugly people. I reckon there must be a sign on the door saying, ‘If you’re ugly, come on in and fill a basket full of useless crap, but if you’re good looking, piss off, you are not welcome in our scummy shop!’”

This was an opportunity to tell Flo my news.

“Talking about good looking lads, I haven’t had chance to tell you, it’s all off with Danny.”

“Honestly! Bloody hell, Zara, what happened, I thought you were well keen?”

“It was a mutual decision. Well, sort of, anyway.”

Flo and I had been friends since nursery. She knew me too well.

“So, Danny rang you and finished it and you said ‘OK’!”

“No. Not exactly.”

“What then?”

“He text me to finish it, so I text him back and told him he could go and screw himself, but he’d best buy himself a microscope first, otherwise he’d struggle to find it.”

“Well done you. Are you bothered?”

“To be honest, Flo, I’ve been quite upset about it. I nearly didn’t come into work today.”

“Mr.Brazier would have loved that! How long were you and Danny together?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

I could see Flo was about to start laughing at me. She did that a lot. So did everyone else, to be honest.

“And you were going to take a day off sick, Zara, because you’d split up. After three and a half weeks! Mr.Brazier would have gone potty.”

“It was an intense three and a half weeks though, Flo. Was there not a film called ‘Three and a half weeks’?”

“No, that was nine and half weeks.”

“No, not that one.”

“Three men and a baby?”

“That’s it! I loved Danny, Flo. I know it was less than a month, but he was quite nice to me sometimes. Anyway, I wouldn’t have told Mr.Brazier I was staying off because of a trauma in my personal life. I’d have said it was because of severe period pains. Men can’t argue with that.”

“They can if they have a memory, Zara. You were off three days last week with severe period pains.”

“So? I’d just say they’re irregular. Do men even know how often we bleed?”

“They say ‘time of the month’ often enough, so I guess they do.”

“Mr.Brazier might not.”

“I think he would.”

“Men are bastards though, aren’t they, Flo? Not one has ever been really nice to me. Not once they get to know me, anyway. I don’t know why we put up with them.”

“I know why you do!”

“Why?”

“Because you like a good six inches!”

“You cheeky cow!”

“Deny it then.”

I looked at Flo and cracked up, as did she, as I say she knew me better than anyone.

“OK, that might be true, but I wanted them to be nice to me all day, not just when they want to get their end away.”

“Stop going for the players then.”

“Flo, that’s not my fault, they go for me!”

“Well, don’t encourage them then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first of all get to know them before you sleep with them and if they are full of BS, then run like hell. Also...now I don’t know whether I should say this...”

“Go on, you might as well now.”

“No, maybe not...”

I gave her one of my stares. They are supposed to look tough, but they tend to just look daft when I do them.

“Tell me!”

“Well, you could stop looking like you do.”

              This was Flo’s tactful way of telling me not to dress like a tart. Problem is, I like how I dress. I love nothing more than looking in the mirror just before I go out on a Friday or Saturday night and instead of seeing my scraggy hair or blotchy complexion, I see something stunning. I don’t hate myself when I look in the mirror on a Friday or Saturday evening. I know I am going to catch the eye. I know men are going to turn their heads when I enter a room. I like people liking me. I like men thinking I am hot.

             
Before my implants, I had always had breasts that looked like they belonged to an eleven year old girl in a training bra. So, when I had my double Ds done, at twenty two, I wanted to show them off. People think I am being ridiculous when I say that after the op was the first time I really felt like a woman. To me, the breasts came as part of a package along with the blonde hair, the extensions, the nails, the make up, the short skirts (or short shorts) and the barely buttoned tops. I loved Flo but she was a bit of a minger and part of me thought she was only saying this because she was jealous about the way I looked and the way I was guaranteed to pull every week and she was guaranteed to get a bus home alone. I would dress down when I was older, not now, not at twenty four.

All of a sudden, I got the shock of my life!

“Shit, Flo, where’s my car?”

“What do you mean?”

“I left it here this morning and it’s not here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure it’s not here. Can you see it?”

“I meant, are you sure you left it here?”

“I leave it here every day, Flo, you know I do. Right here, next to the parking meter and it’s gone.”

I was absolutely devastated. I loved that car. It was a red Corsa, but not just any old red Corsa, it had been Zara-tised. It had a totally pink interior, fluffy pink seats, two pink fluffy dice and a couple of Playboy bumper stickers, including my favourite one which said, ‘Blondes Prefer Gentlemen’. I called her Charlotte or Charlie for short. Someone had kidnapped my Charlotte.

              The more I thought about it, the more I could not get my head around the fact that it had been nicked. The type of person who would want a car with a pink interior is not the type of person who would pinch it. If you look like me, you do not want to risk spending time in prison or even risk breaking a nail, breaking into a car. I began to panic.

“Oh my God, Flo! What am I going to do? That car meant everything to me.”

I need a tough cookie like Flo as a mate, to get me through times like this.

“Right Zara, calm down. First thing you need to do is ring the police to report it stolen.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Zara, be brave.”

“No, I can’t. I left my mobile on the passenger seat.”

“OK, don’t worry, you can use mine,” Flo said, reaching into her bag, then passing me her mobile, “you need to ring your insurance company too. Let them know it’s been stolen. They might give you a courtesy car until you get it back.”

“Flo, I just can’t believe someone’s nicked, Charlie. I spent a fortune on her, kitting her out, getting her just how I wanted. I’ve just joined David Lloyd’s gym too, I was supposed to be having an induction tonight with Martin and some girl in the shop said he was dead fit.”

“Zara, your induction with Martin at David Lloyds’ is the least of your worries. If that’s adding to your stress, I can drive you up there. Now, ring the police.”

              Flo is an angel. We’re chalk and cheese, I know I’m ditzy and she’s anything but, but our friendship works. I would jump in front of a speeding train to save her and I know she would do the same for me. It was Flo that got me my job at Penny Pinchers. I love her to bits.

             
I rang the police, but I was a bit flustered after that ordeal, so Flo rang the insurance company for me. They said they would get me a courtesy car within twenty four hours. Flo said the man was lovely. I should have spoke to him myself. After giving me a lift home, Flo returned a couple of hours later to give me a lift to my induction at the gym. She also said she’d pick me up for work the next day too.

             
Turns out Martin at the gym was fit. Fit in every sense of the word. Fit spelt f-u-c-k-i-n-g-g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s. You should have seen his abs! I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Beautiful. He’s taking me to the cinema on Thursday. Hope it’s not to see some arty farty film like Harry Potter that I have to pretend I understand. Might not be though, he seemed more brawns than brains, which is fine. Smart blokes just treat you like you’re a fool. Anyway, we’re going, let’s see where this one leads. All things considered, it’s not been too bad a day after all.