Ostrich Boys (15 page)

“We’d guessed it was gonna be like that anyway,” Sim said. He shook his head. “But it was easier when I didn’t know for definite.” He put on his sunglasses and slumped down in his seat. “I just don’t want to know about that kind of stuff.”

“Nor me,” Kenny said. He stuffed his face with crisps
and turned to stare out the window. “I
know
my mum’s gonna kill me. Don’t need anyone else to tell me that, do I?”

I didn’t know what to do. They were saying they didn’t want to know, but …

I felt like a traitor twice over. I turned to the window next to me, watched the hills of the Lake District rise up against the evening sun. We were a long way from home, and getting further by the second. Maybe we should go back. I thought again of Mrs. Fell standing at the top of the stairs, shrunk and softened by grief.

I wasn’t sure if Sim had his eyes open or not behind his sunglasses. I reached across the aisle to nudge his arm. “Here,” I said, and dropped my mobile in his lap. “Make sure I don’t use it again.”

“I don’t want it.” He tossed it back to me. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“Take it,” I said. Then, pointing at my belly: “Look at me. When have I ever had any willpower to conquer temptation?” I got a smile out of him, at least—and that felt good. But he still wouldn’t take my phone. “I just want to say I’m sorry, okay? This is all about the three of us sticking together, right? No matter what.”

“We’ve got to,” Sim said. “If we don’t stand up for one another and just go around blaming each other, it’s gonna be much worse when we get back home. We’re already in deep trouble anyway, aren’t we?”

I held my hand high, showing him exactly how deep I
thought it was—about as tall as I guessed a detective sergeant with a scary voice stood. “Up to here.”

He sighed. “But maybe I don’t care, you know? Maybe I still reckon it’s the right thing to do. For Ross. Because I was just thinking, he didn’t even die at a good time, did he?”

Kenny paused long enough between crisps to ask, “What d’you mean?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s ever a good time to die, I suppose. But you’ve got to admit, he had kind of a crappy last week, didn’t he?”

“So you reckon if Ross had died while he was having a really good time, like if he’d still been with Nina or hadn’t been beaten up by Munro, it would’ve been better?”

Sim shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Sounds a bit weird to me,” Kenny said. “To die when you’re having a good time.”

“Yeah, but at least you know you’ve had a good time. Ross probably died thinking everything was always going to be crap.”

“So you should die when you’re on holiday or something?”

“How should I know? But maybe you should only die when you don’t mind dying.”

“Like
after
you’ve just passed all your exams,” Kenny said.

Sim laughed. “Yeah. Or
after
you’ve just got a good look at Ross’s sister’s tits in the shower. Yeah, I’d die happy then.”

“I thought you hated her.”

“Doesn’t mean she hasn’t got massive tits.”

“Okay,” Kenny said. “I’m only going to die on the day
after
I’ve just spent the last pound of the eighteen million I’m going to win on the Lotto.”

“Exactly,” Sim agreed. “Why die when you’re still losing?
Die on a high
, that’s my new motto.”

“Good idea,” I said. “But there’s a problem with that, isn’t there? Because if it happens once, who says it’s never going to happen again?”

They both shrugged, not sure what I was getting at.

“It’s like, sitting here now, I don’t think I’m ever going to see Caroline’s tits, do I? And okay, it upsets me, but it seems like a total impossibility—so I don’t worry about it. Because if I ever
did
get to see them in all their glory, it would seem like
nothing
was impossible, wouldn’t it? It’d be like, I’ve seen them once, so maybe, just maybe, if I was lucky, I might get to see them again. And I’d always be thinking that, wouldn’t I? I’d always be waiting for my second chance. So I’d rather die knowing something was impossible and was never gonna happen. It’d be a less frustrating death.”

Sim thought about it. “Maybe.”

“It’s what I’d be missing out on that would worry me,” Kenny said. “I’m telling you: it’d be just my luck if someone was gonna invent a hovercar on the day after I died.”

Sim and I exchanged a look.
“Hovercar?”

“Yeah. Don’t you think they’ll just be so cool when
they’re invented? I’m definitely getting one. I’ve always wanted one. I really hope they get invented before I die or go blind and can’t drive them or something. That’s what’s so bad about Ross dying, isn’t it? There’s so much he’s going to miss out on.”

“Like hovercars?” Sim asked.

Kenny nodded. “Yeah. Because he’s probably already seen his sister’s tits, hasn’t he? But think about it—not just hovercars, maybe the first man on Mars too. And computers inside your head. And just loads of brilliant stuff like that. Ross won’t get to see any of it now.”

“England winning the World Cup again,” I said.

“All those beautiful women and all that sex he’s not going to get,” Sim said.

“And even being a writer,” Kenny said. “He’ll never be a famous writer and have his books made into films.”

The train flashed through the bulging hills of the Lake District. We were quiet, thinking about how wrong it was that our best friend was going to miss out on so much.

Kenny saw the three girls first. “Good-looking birds at three o’clock,” he said, rolling his eyes, nodding his head, coughing in their direction—all very unsubtle. “What d’you call a bunch of birds, Sim?”

“A flock, obviously.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Kenny said. “I knew that. But what do you call a flock of
good-looking
birds?”

Sim shrugged. “Kenny-dodgers?”

We were waiting on yet another platform in yet another station. This one was Carlisle, and it was our sixth today—I wondered if it was some kind of record. It was only twenty past eight and still nowhere near dark, still nowhere near cool. The heat of the day was settling like sediment. We’d been waiting ten minutes or so for the train to Dumfries and it made a change not to be in a rush, but the waiting was making me antsy. I was seeing Detective Sergeant Cropper
peeking around every corner. I heard his heavy, serious voice in conversations behind me.

Carlisle station is an unlikely-looking place. It has proud castle walls but an ornately ramshackle greenhouse roof. And not so long ago someone must have decided that gangrene was the best color to paint every single door and window frame. It wasn’t busy; there were about a dozen or so others waiting on the platform with us. Hikers wearing backpacks and bobble hats, a family with a noisy toddler and sleeping baby, a couple of sulky-looking Emo-types dressed in black and an old man in a shabby anorak. I doubted any of them were Cropper the copper in disguise. The three girls were at the far end of the platform carrying oversized bags from trendy clothes shops. When the short train rattled and clanked itself to a halt we watched to see which carriage they got on. And then chose the same one.

Sim took off his jacket, handed it to Kenny. “Put this on. Don’t want your T-shirt to scare them off, do we? And both of you, do me a favor, okay?” He included me in his gaze now. “I’ll do the talking.”

“Why bother?” I said. “It’s not like anything can happen, is it? We’ve got other stuff to do.”

He gave me a funny look. “When did you suddenly stop wanting to chat up girls?”

“Maybe around about the time we ran off with the ashes of our dead best friend.”

“It’s not like we’re going to tell them, is it?” Kenny said.

“And if they’re from Dumfries,” Sim said, “they might know if there’s any late-night buses or something, so we don’t have to walk to Ross.”

“Yeah, but we’re definitely not telling them why we’re going,” Kenny repeated.

“Or somewhere we can stay over or something,” Sim said.

I was still reluctant.
“If
they’re from Dumfries.”

Sim shrugged. “Worth a try.”

“And they
are
gorgeous,” Kenny said.

It was another scruffy, noisy train, not even half full. It seemed to sway and jolt far more than the bigger Pendolino even though it was traveling at half the speed. We staggered through the carriage, bouncing off the high seat backs on either side of the aisle. Only two of the girls we’d seen were sitting at a table near the end of the carriage—the redhead couldn’t have got on. But the table across from them was empty so we took it. Kenny and Sim sat on one side, me and my rucksack sat opposite. It was obvious the girls had seen us, casting quick glances out the corners of their eyes, but they didn’t seem all that interested. They had their large shopping bags underneath the table, propped up against their legs.

I couldn’t help feeling awkward. I wasn’t all that interested in them either, not really. But these days Kenny and Sim goggled and woofed at almost anything in a short skirt. Which was funny when you thought about it. Not so long
ago we’d simply dismissed girls for their inability to achieve boyhood. How awful, we used to think, it must be not to be a boy. Nowadays, of course, women were magnetic—always making us want to point north.

Ross had been the first one of us to get a girlfriend. Sara Marsh. But she was only the first girl we’d known Ross to proclaim his love to. Nina was the sixth. Not bad going.

I don’t think Sim had ever told a girl he loved her, but he liked to think of himself as the most experienced one of us. And to be fair, he did have a picture on his mobile of Julie Forde from Year Twelve wearing a black bra.

He turned and smiled at the two girls at the table across the aisle. He didn’t seem to care that they were ignoring him. “We’re going to Dumfries,” he told them.

They still ignored him.

“We’ve never been there before.”

The girl with the short blond hair glanced at him, but only briefly. She turned back to her mate sitting opposite. “My brother’s promised to meet us off the train,” she said. “He’ll probably have Johnny and Robbie with him too. You remember Robbie who he met in the army?” Despite the underlying threat she was aiming at us, I thought she had a lovely Scottish accent. She had a lovely face too. Her hair was white-blond, and cut short and boyish. Very blue eyes. She looked a bit like a younger version of somebody famous. But I couldn’t work out who. Maybe somebody from
Hollyoaks?
And that put me off. I hated
Hollyoaks
—always have, always will. Who got paid for that crap?

“Are there any good clubs?” Sim tried. And maybe he was trying too hard—they’d have to be stupid not to realize we were far too young to get into clubs. “You know, somewhere for a good night out?”

The second girl laughed. “Aye, Dumfries is the clubbing capital of Scotland, didn’t you know?” But she was looking at and speaking to her friend, not Sim. She had longer, more yellowy-blond hair that came down to her shoulders. She was skinny—wearing a too-tight T-shirt that emphasized just how skinny. It was like you’d need four of her to make just the one of me. Her arms looked twiggy and brittle, but I liked the way they were sprinkled with freckles.

“So is that where you’re from?” Sim asked.

“Maybe.” She still wouldn’t look at him.

“But I’m betting the best shops are in Carlisle,” he said, pointing at their bags. “Right?”

“Obviously.”

Sim turned to me and shrugged. He wasn’t getting anywhere. I shook my head: Forget it, doesn’t matter.

But Kenny asked, “Where’s your friend gone?”

They were both quick to look at him. “Who?”

And he was surprised, awkward with their sudden attention. “I … I thought there was another girl with you.” He wanted me and Sim to back him up. “Wasn’t there?”

But nobody had a chance to say anything because the
conductor appeared and we all had to find our tickets. Apart from Kenny, because Sim had his.

The girls beamed sunny smiles and both said a pleasant hello to the conductor when he checked their tickets. Butter wouldn’t melt. And he seemed friendly enough; could have been their granddad. “Been spending all your hard-earned wages in Carlisle?” He gestured at the shopping bags at their feet. The girls tittered and smiled.

When he checked our tickets he said, “You’ve come a fair way, lads.” And again my paranoia spiked. So bad I couldn’t even return his smile. Kenny and Sim mumbled some kind of reply, but both managed to look more devious than suspected train robbers hatching their plans. I was glad they didn’t know everything I did. To me their guilty faces alone seemed enough to set off alarms and launch spy copters. Who knew whether or not the conductor could sense something funny going on?

He punched our tickets and the three of us craned our necks to watch him walk away. He disappeared into his private cabin at the rear of the train. Did he have a walkie-talkie or phone or something in there …?

I mentally kicked myself. Told myself to calm down.

I noticed the girls had been watching him too. And when he was out of sight, the girl with the longer blond hair nudged one of the large shopping bags under the table with her foot. Kenny, Sim and I must have looked gob-smacked as the third girl climbed out from under there. Her friends had
used their huge department store bags to barricade her in, hide her from view. She was smaller and younger-looking than the other two, round-cheeked and dimpled, dressed in bright flowers. Her hair was short, ruffled and red; too red to be called ginger—red enough that I reckoned it had to be dyed. She squeezed and wriggled her way out from beneath the table, all grinning and impish, so very pleased with her sneakiness.

Sim turned to Kenny. “See that,” he said. “See her? All that grief we went through getting you a ticket. Didn’t I tell you to hide or something? But all that hassle because you’re even more chicken-shit than a girl.”

Kenny looked miserable enough to want to crawl under a table himself now—and stay there. “But I’m telling you: it’s—”

“Don’t tell me nothing,” Sim said. “I’m too ashamed to even listen.”