The Fall Girl (24 page)

I'm fiddling with the loose change in my pocket, trying to disguise my jealousy with a smile. My lips feel strained with the falseness of it. If I wanted to, I could go straight to the phone, ring her mother and let her know what Lesley's up to. Even better still, I could tell her brothers. She'd be well and truly frigged then.

‘Did you have one of them thing-a-me-jiggies?' Jackie says.

‘You mean, did I come?'

‘Yeah.'

‘No, I exploded. It was bloody fantastic. Pure magic.'

‘Did he?' Orla asks.

‘God, yeah. It was so funny,' she giggles. ‘You should've seen the face on him. It was like this.' She squeezes her eyes shut and starts screwing up her face and making grunting shouts. ‘You'd think he was constipated.'

The girls are in stitches.

‘I'll be back in a minute,' I say, hurrying away with tears in my eyes.

I cannot bear to listen to any more. Why is she being such a fool? Can she not see that he doesn't love her, that he's only using her? Maybe I should have told her how behind her back he winks at me and nudges me playfully, how he tells me I have wild sexy eyes, beautiful cheekbones, a cute bum. I know he's playing us both and I know I should have warned her. But if I had, she'd have turned against me. She's never seen me as a threat. I could tell him to get lost, but part of me is enjoying the attention, and, in a way I can't explain even to myself, I like being a threat to her, whether she knows it or not.

The week we go back to school after the Christmas holidays, Lesley is in bed with the flu. On the Tuesday night she rings
me with a string of messages to pass on to the gingerbread man the following day.

‘Are you writing them down?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good. And ask him if he has any messages for me.'

‘OK.'

‘And if he does, write them down as well, in case you forget like.'

‘Don't worry. I'll record every word.'

‘Oh thanks, you're the best. It's killing me not being able to see him this week,' she says, sighing.

‘I know.'

He stands watching me with an impish grin as I sneak across the yard towards the van. Since the principal, PMT, told us she had received complaints from Sister Bernadine that some of the students were fraternizing with the bread man, Jackie and Orla have steered clear.

‘How's about ya, chicken?'

‘Hiya.'

‘Where's the queen bee today?'

‘She's sick. But I have a load of messages for you.' I start rooting in my pocket for the slip of paper.

‘Who from?'

‘Lesley, who d'ya think?'

He leans his face towards mine. ‘But do
you
have any messages for me?' he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

Before I have a chance to draw breath, he's in the back of the van stacking a tray as if he hasn't said a word. I never know how to react when he flirts with me.

‘Fancy a spin?'

‘What?'

‘Fancy a spin in the van?'

‘No.'

‘You don't fancy it?'

‘I can't. I have to be back in class in five minutes.'

‘Who says?'

‘PMT. She's warned us not to be hanging around you any more.'

‘It hasn't stopped you though, has it? You're still here.'

‘Just to give you this.' I hold out Lesley's note.

‘Aye,' he says, ignoring the note as he climbs down from the van and passes me.

‘The note, Johnny.'

‘I think it's Lesley who scares you, not PMT,' he says, looking back at me over his shoulder. ‘Would I be right?'

What does he mean? Scared of Lesley how? He must think I'm a lapdog. But I'm not. I've as much guts as anyone else. More than most. Why does he think that?

‘That wee nun's for the birds,' he says, coming back out laughing. He has a lovely laugh. It makes his eyes sparkle. ‘She's after asking me how Father Foley is. She must think I'm a priest or something.'

‘Father Foley is the other bread man's brother – the fella who retired. He's a missionary. I heard them talking about him loads of times. He's out in Kenya, I think.'

‘Fuck! I'm not that ancient-looking, am I?' he asks, climbing back into the van.

‘No,' I say, smiling. ‘You only look fifty.'

‘Hey, you!'

‘Here.' I hold out the note again.

‘My hands are busy,' he says, arranging several apple tarts on to the tray. ‘You read it for me.'

‘Why do you want me to read it?'

‘I told you. I'm busy.'

‘Then put it in your pocket and read it later.'

‘If you don't read it for me, I'm not taking it.'

He climbs back down and disappears through the refectory door with the tray. He's such a tease.

When he comes back out, he puts the empty tray into the back of the van.

‘On second thoughts …' he says, jumping out and swiping the note from my hand.

‘What are you doing?' I ask, when he starts tearing it up.

‘There's no point in reading it. I have the hots for someone else.' He throws the pieces of paper over his shoulder and they scatter on to the damp ground.

‘Have you a new girlfriend?'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘But –'

‘I said I have the hots for someone else. Whether she'll be my girlfriend or not remains to be seen.'

I think it's me he's on about, but I don't want him to know what I'm thinking.

‘Is she from Enniskillen?'

‘No. She lives south of the border in a wee village called eh … oh damn, I can't think of the name of it. It begins with “C” I think.'

The bell starts ringing.

‘I have to go,' I say.

‘You don't have to do anything,' he says, taking my hand and bringing me over to the passenger door. ‘Let me take you for a spin.'

‘I can't. Anyway, Lesley's my friend … my best friend.'

‘Young man …' Sister Bernadine says, coming out from the refectory looking confused.

‘Hop in quickly before she sees you,' he says, opening the door. ‘Just crouch down till we get away from the school.'

I'm in the van before I've time to think. My heart is going hell for leather. He walks round the front of the van and opens the driver's door.

‘Just getting the delivery docket for you, Sister,' he says, winking at me and picking it up from the dashboard.

Five minutes later we're parked up a narrow lane that leads to a nearby wood. I suppose I could have told him to drop me off at the school gates and hurried back up the avenue to my classroom. And maybe I shouldn't have climbed into the van in the first place. But I did, because I'm not a coward and I'm not afraid of anyone, even Lesley.

‘It's all right. You can sit up now,' he says, passing me a cigarette.

My legs are stiff from being on my hunkers.

‘Why do you think I'm
afraid
of Lesley?' I ask, leaning towards him for a light.

‘I don't think it.'

‘But you said –'

‘I
know
it.'

‘Why should I be? What makes you say that?'

‘The first day I met youse, you fancied me too …'

‘I did n—'

‘But you wouldn't flirt with me because you knew Lesley wanted to shift me. You were afraid to compete.'

‘I'm not afraid of her.'

‘No?'

‘No.'

‘Kiss me then.'

‘I'm smoking.' Turning towards the window, I take a long, deep drag. ‘It's freezing in here.'

‘Don't change the subject,' he says, starting the engine.

‘Where are you going?'

‘Nowhere; I'm just warming up the van for you.'

‘Oh.'

‘Why won't you kiss me? Don't you fancy me?'

‘No.'

‘Liar.'

I take a few more drags of the cigarette, roll down the window an inch and peg it out. The sky has turned grey and the rain is pouring down. I know I shouldn't be here. By rights, it should be another lazy, humdrum school day, when the biggest decision I have to make is whether I should eat my sandwich before my apple, or my apple before my sandwich. Instead, I'm on the verge of a decision that could change who I am for ever. Part of me wants to give in and let everything that could happen, happen. I want to prove to myself that I too have the guts to do it. I want the thrill, the passion, the died-and-gone-to-heaven feeling. The one up on Lesley, God forgive me. But my conscience is struggling. How will I feel afterwards? And how will I ever look Lesley in the eye again?

‘What do you think she'd do if she was in your position?'

‘I don't know.'

‘I think you do.'

As soon as I turn my face to his, our mouths find each other and we're kissing like long-lost lovers, like him and Lesley. He's holding my face in his strong hands. His thumbs are pressing into my cheekbones.

‘You're mad for it, aren't you?' he says, breaking away and quickly climbing over on top of me.

He starts unbuttoning his white coat. If I don't say something now, it'll be too late.

‘Wait,' I blurt, as he starts undoing the buttons of my cardigan.

‘What?'

‘I don't want to hurt Lesley.'

‘Then don't tell her. I won't.'

‘Do you not care about her at all?'

‘I do. I think she's a great kid.'

‘But you're going to break it off with her.'

‘If it makes you feel any better, I won't,' he says, kissing my neck.

‘Why are you messing us both about?' I ask, pushing him back.

‘I'm not. I'd rather be with you.'

‘Just to have sex with me?'

‘Well, I wasn't going to ask you to marry me just yet.'

‘You just want sex off us, don't you? You're just using us.'

‘Will you relax, for God's sake. It's just a bit of fun.'

‘But Lesley loves you. She wants to marry you.'

He rolls back over to his own seat and sighs. ‘Lesley knows the score. I'm not into going steady. I explained all that to her the night she came up to the Tropicana.'

‘What are you on about? When?'

‘A couple of months ago. Not long after I met youse.'

‘Oh. She never told me.' I'm thinking she must have gone back again with Sandra or something. But why didn't she tell me?

‘She didn't want any of youse to know about it. She had a bad experience that night.'

‘What happened?'

‘The mad wee bitch hitched up on her own. She got a lift with some randy oul farmer and the dirty bastard tried to make a pass at her. She was in an awful state about it.'

Stop it, I tell myself. Stop thinking the worst.

‘It took me the rest of the night to calm her down. She was dead lucky to get away.'

‘How
did
she get away?'

‘She told him she had two brothers in the IRA. Crazy bitch. She was chancing her arm there. If he'd been a loyalist, he'd have raped her and then he'd have killed her. And I told her that too.'

‘So, he just let her go?' I ask, staring out into the mizzle.

‘Aye. He opened the car door and kicked her out.'

‘Where did
you
meet up with her?'

‘Inside the disco. She was standing by a pillar looking out for me. I wouldn't mind, but I wouldn't have been there at all that night only it was my friend's twenty-first. The minute she saw me she burst into tears. She wanted to leave straight away, so we did. The poor girl was shaking.'

‘What was she wearing?' I ask, taking off my cardigan.

‘What do you mean, what was she wearing? What's that got to do with the price of butter?'

‘Just tell me what she was wearing.'

‘I can't remember.'

‘Try.'

‘But why?'

‘Just do.'

‘A denim mini, I think. Yeah, a wee slip of a thing. How could I forget? It barely covered her backside.'

‘Like this,' I say, pulling my skirt up to my thighs.

‘Aye,' he says, leaning over and whispering into my ear. ‘Only not as sexy.'

‘What did youse do all night?'

‘I won't tell you,' he says, putting back the seat. ‘I'll show you.'

It's pitch black outside, and eerily quiet. I've just smoked my first cigarette of the day, despite the promise I made to myself last night that I wouldn't smoke until after breakfast this morning. I've been bursting for one since I woke up nearly an hour ago. I'm more addicted now than I was eighteen years ago. In the last couple of days I've gone through sixty, and that was taking it easy. How desperate is that? I don't want to get cancer. When I die, I want to go out like a light, like my mother. According to my father, all she had time to say was, ‘Tell Frances I forgive her.' I wish she hadn't bothered. I didn't want her forgiveness. The cheek of her to assume that I did. Why couldn't she have done the decent thing and told my father that she loved him, or that she was sorry for trampling his pride into the ground again and again, until the poor man gave up on his dignity? Something like that would have been more in her line.

It's a beautiful summer's morning. I'm up earlier than usual; I've a lot to do. The principal of the school has asked me to call at the office to help him sort out a few things before the school reopens in a few days. It's something we do every year. As I stand at the kitchen window sipping my tea, I watch my father out in the greenhouse checking his lettuces and tomatoes. Something about his demeanour makes me think that he has a lifetime of regret weighing him down. I can't help but pity him. Before I leave the house, I go out to ask
him if he needs any errands done. I would be stopping off in town on my way home.