The Kiss (11 page)

W
hen Ella turns her tiger-striped face towards the bar, I am off like a hare on a dogtrack.

‘Going already?’

I summon a smile for Kev on the door, smoke issuing from the heels of my Vans. ‘Somewhere else to be. Say bye to Oz for me.’

My brain is bouncing with impossible speed from one thought to another. What’s happened between Dave and Louise? Has he met someone else? After several lacerating seconds of jealousy, I indulge in fantasies of being the cause.

I move on. Why haven’t I heard from Jem? Should I be worried that he didn’t turn up to his bodypainting thing? I give myself a mental kicking even as I feel the pulse of Saturday night in my guts. I ran from the theatre because I was scared. I’m a coward.

How do I feel now? How does
he
feel? He doesn’t feel like calling me, I know that much. Maybe he didn’t do his bodypainting thing because of me too. But that’s laughable. Then because . . . because . . . I have no idea.

The clerk on the thought counter shouts ‘NEXT!’

Money. How to get it. How to survive on it. Always money. I hate the stuff. No one ever warns you how hard independence can be.

My phone rings, bringing some relief. I take it out – and stop, my answering thumb in mid-air. The screen is telling me something I can’t quite believe. A name I haven’t seen on my phone since the day I bought a new one. A new one which was washed into the Med and has since been replaced by the old one again, complete with old contacts still in place.

I hit the green button and lift it to my ear. ‘Dave?’

‘Hey, babe. How’s it going?’

I am incapable of small talk. My heart rate is off the scale. ‘What do you want?’ I manage.

‘No need to be unfriendly.’

‘What do you want please, Dave?’

‘You know,’ he says after a moment. ‘A chat.’

‘A chat,’ I repeat. ‘What do you want to chat about?’

‘Stuff.’

‘Why now?’ I am clutching the phone so tightly I can feel my knuckles seizing up. ‘Why, specifically, do you want to chat about stuff now?’

‘You busy?’

I’m going to hang up. I
am
.

‘I heard about you and Louise,’ I blurt.

‘Who told you?’

‘Louise did. Just now. At the Fire Station. Is it true?’

‘You at the Fire Station now?’

I hold the receiver away from my ear, wave it at the silent streetlit world, then return it to the side of my head. ‘Doesn’t sound like it, does it?’

‘You with anyone?’

‘You still haven’t said what you want to talk about.’

He is silent.

‘Chat time’s over,’ I say.

‘Don’t hang up,’ he replies quickly. ‘Can you meet me? Now?’

I feel his question like a kebab skewer through my stomach. ‘No,’ I say, and turn off my phone.

I shake for the last ten minutes home. My world is a box of matches, scattered in one mindless I-opened-it-upside-down moment.

He is waiting in his car at the end of my road as I turn in, one elbow hanging out of the driver’s window. His face looks thinner, his blond hair longer. It doesn’t suit him.

‘Dee,’ he says in greeting.

‘What are you doing here?’ I implore.

He drums his badly bitten fingernails on the side of the car. ‘Good to see you too. What’s the Fire Station – forty minutes from here? I guessed you were walking so figured I’d wait till you showed up.’

Too confused for anything else, I walk slowly round to where he’s popped open the passenger door and slide inside. The familiar smell of the car assails me. Vinyl, motor oil, hash. He moves to kiss me.

‘Don’t,’ I say sharply.

Shrugging, he starts the engine.

I reach over and pull the car key out of the ignition. ‘Don’t do that either. We’re not going anywhere. Why
are you here?’

He takes his time answering me, patting his pockets for something. Now I can see him up close, he doesn’t look good. His eyes are red, his skin patchy. Pulling out a ciggie, he lights it and inhales.

‘I’m sorry I messed you around,’ he says. ‘That’s what I wanted to say.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, I’m pretty sorry too. But it’s over now. I’m over it.’

There is a pause.

‘You got a job at that theatre, Studs says.’

‘And?’

‘Nothing. Just – that’s cool.’

We sit in silence as he smokes. I am feeling increasingly bewildered.

‘You’re better off without me,’ he says after a while, gazing out of the windscreen. ‘So’s she. Louise.’

He is starting to weird me out. ‘Is this some kind of verbal suicide note, Dave, or are you angling to write
for
Hollyoaks
?’

‘You always were funny,’ he says, with a half-smile.

He flicks the filter out of the window and, reaching over, opens the passenger door again for me. I flatten myself to the seat so as little of me touches as little of him as possible.

‘That’s it?’ I say, looking from him to the open car door and back again.

He lifts his car keys from my hand. ‘Thanks. You know, for listening.’

Mystified, I stand on the pavement and watch him drive off, his rear lights boring into me like a pair of red-rimmed eyes after a heavy night.

‘Delilah?’

I rouse myself from stupor. ‘Hmm?’

‘You’re up.’

I shuffle my papers slowly. Jem and Dave have been popping in and out of my head in turn like crazed cuckoo clocks.

‘Er,’ I say, looking at the class. ‘I’m here to talk about cuckoos. Sorry, what? Not cuckoos, I’m here to talk
about Keynes.’

‘I’d prefer to hear about cuckoos,’ says a girl on the front, through the wave of laughter rippling through the room.

‘Keynes,’ I repeat. My flipping
toes
are blushing. ‘John Maynard Keynes. Maynard like the wine gums.’

More laughter.

‘Cuckoos and wine gums aren’t the most orthodox way to start a presentation on one of Britain’s most important economists,’ says the teacher. ‘Does this get better?’

Everything goes out of my head. My pile of notes might be written in Urdu for all I understand. The only thing I can think of is Jem saying
Interesting guy, if massive moustaches and the cause of a boom-and-bust economy are your bag.

‘He was gay,’ I say hopelessly.

The teacher sighs. ‘You’ve had two weeks to get this ready, Delilah. We’ll discuss it after class. Sit down.’

I sit and stare at my pile of papers, my little Post-its marking bits that I was most proud of. I even have photos.

At the end of the class, I thrust my perfectly serviceable presentation at the teacher and flee for the canteen, not daring to look back at his puzzled face.

‘That was like a car crash in there,’ Oz says, catching up. ‘What happened?’

‘My brain died,’ I say shortly. ‘And I saw my ex-boyfriend last night. It’s safe to say that the two things aren’t unconnected.’

Oz rubs his eyes. ‘Give me details but keep it low. My head’s like a brick today.’

‘Buy me a sandwich first?’ I implore.

Oz coughs up for a BLT that I want to kiss him for. ‘Why are you so broke all the time?’ he says at the till. ‘I thought you had a job.’

I’ll be seeing Jem tonight – talking to Jem tonight – for the first time since running out on him in the darkness of the theatre. I am beyond scared.

‘I do,’ I sigh. ‘But it comes at a cost.’

Tabby waves us over from a table in the corner. I’ve hardly sat down before I am wolfing the BLT like a starving dog.

‘Patricia and Eunice told Warren off for pestering me at rehearsal last night,’ she says gleefully.

‘Dave’s not going out with Louise any more,’ I say, when the sandwich has gone and I can draw breath. ‘And I saw him last night and he was
weird
.’

‘And Maria and Sam rowed,’ Tab goes on. ‘I did the song where I sing and flirt with Warren, which is the hardest thing in the world because he grosses me out so totally – and I
think
their row happened straight afterwards so like, maybe I was the cause?’

‘And I’m now totally confused,’ I groan.

‘I love how girls talk AT each other,’ says Oz.

‘What?’ Tab and I say to one another at the same time.

‘Dave,’ I repeat. ‘I saw him. The long-term girlfriend I caught him with? I saw her too. They split up. Talk about confusing.’

‘Delilah,’ Tab says, ‘Dave was a two-timing rat. What’s confusing about that?’

I fix her with a meaningful stare. ‘Jem hasn’t called me so he’s obviously not interested.’ This hurts, but I have to put it out there because it’s true. ‘Dave on the other hand
did
call me. Maybe he broke up with Louise because of me.’

‘You haven’t seen the guy in months. Why would he do that?’

‘It’s still a maybe,’ I say stubbornly.

‘You don’t want to get back with him, do you?’ says Tabby disbelievingly.

I don’t know what I want. Oh, hold on – yes I do. I want a world back where everything makes
sense
.

‘
You
want Sam to forgive you for cheating on
him
,’ I protest.

‘One kiss is totally different! You were in a
relationship
.’

‘This is like watching a tennis match,’ Oz says. ‘Only without a replay button.’

‘I’ll talk to Oz if you’re going to be unhelpful about this, Tabby,’ I say, annoyed. ‘Oz, if a guy is interested, they
call you, right? And boys have been known to dump current girlfriends for old girlfriends but not tell them right away, right?’

‘Oz,’ says Tabby. ‘Do guys row with their girlfriends about their ex-girlfriends when they see their ex-girlfriends flirting with weirdos even though they’re all just acting?’

Oz looks flummoxed. ‘All of a sudden I hold the key to the Holy Grail of Guy Thinking? The only relationship I’ve had lately that’s lasted to its natural conclusion is between me and a packet of Doritos.’

‘You’re no use,’ I say crossly.

A girl stops at our table. ‘Hey, Oz! Great party last night.’

Oz blossoms like a flower. ‘I like to spread the love. Do you like to spread the love? Do you want to spread some in my direction?’

But she’s already gone. Oz looks despondent and eats more crisps.

‘Lilah, we’re rehearsing in the bar tonight because they’re set-building in the auditorium,’ Tab tells me. ‘You can watch during your shift and tell me what you think is going on between Sam and Maria. You’re always giving me stuff to do to take my mind off Sam. I’m returning the favour with you and Jem.’

‘I don’t need my mind taking off Jem,’ I say. Hasn’t she been listening? ‘I need my mind taking off Dave.’

‘Whatever. Just watch. Eyes on stalks. Read the signs. Tell me afterwards. Yes?’

‘I’d come to offer moral support, only I’m busy,’ says Oz with his nose in his phone. ‘The gigs just keep coming.’

‘Will you watch Maria and Sam tonight?’ Tab prompts me. ‘Please?’

I am feeling forgiving after the BLT. I can be cool, non-committal, occupy my downtime observing Sam and Maria and pondering the conundrum of Dave. Act totally cool around Jem.

‘No problem,’ I say with firm resolve. ‘No problem at all.’

‘W
hat do you mean, he’s not here?’

Val shrugs. ‘We’ll just have to manage with two of us tonight.’

I feel ridiculously angry. All afternoon I’ve been psyching myself up to this. All through study period I was going over how I’d say hello, right through to something funny about the side-squirting optic. I put on make-up in the college toilets, and washed it off again, and put it on again. And he’s not
here
?

I try to catch Tab’s eye, but she and Eunice are setting out chairs. Warren is talking to Sam with his eyes on Maria’s breasts. The other cast members are milling around the lobby like sheep in a high wind, trying to find places to sit down.

‘IF we can begin,’ says Desmond the director with a loud cough.

‘So where is he?’ I ask Val.

She raises her hands. ‘I haven’t seen him for a couple of days.’

‘Was he here last night?’

‘I haven’t seen him
for a couple of days
,’ Val repeats patiently.

‘So you don’t know where he is?’ I persist. ‘He hasn’t called?’

‘He’s eighteen, love,’ Val says, rubbing her temples with both hands. ‘He can do what he wants. But I’ll tell you this. When he does turn up, I’ll box his ears off the sides of his head.’

Several punters drift in, look at the assembled chairs and people, assess Honor at the piano in one corner and Desmond the director’s waving arms, and disappear into the street again. Only a few of the regulars run the gauntlet of the close-harmony singing, retiring to a corner of the bar to watch over the tops of their pints.

‘They’d better have built that set by next week,’ Val grumbles as the chorus gets into full swing on a fast track called “A Weddin’ and a Beddin’”. ‘We may be short-staffed, but we still can’t afford to lose business.’

I go about the usual jobs of priming the pumps and emptying the bins, my brain scaring itself on the subject of Jem. Is he lying at the bottom of Leasford Hill with a broken neck? Face down in the canal? Does this town even
have
a canal? Hell, it has a river. Is he face down in the river?

I take out my phone, tap in a message and press send before I can think it through too much.

You OK?

Maria saunters over with her purse out. Her eyelashes are absurdly long and lush. I squint at them, trying to work out if they are falsies.

‘Fanta for me. No Jem tonight?’ she asks, peering over the top of the bar in case he’s hiding down by the wine fridge.

‘Doesn’t look like it, does it love?’ says Val.

I start dutifully watching Sam as per Tab’s instructions. He is drinking Tabby like a cool glass of water as she laughs about something with Patricia.
He still likes her
. He just needs . . . a little push in the right direction.

‘You want a Coke, babe?’ Maria calls, looking back at Sam.

Sam starts guiltily. ‘Uh, sure. Thanks.’

‘There will be plenty of time for refreshments later, Maria,’ says Desmond. He pulls out a bottle of pills and necks a couple. ‘We have the whole of Act Two to cover this evening, an act with
plenty
for you to do, so I would appreciate your attention.’

‘Silly old fart,’ says Maria, in a not-very-subtle voice. She sweeps her blond hair over one shoulder and returns her hard blue-eyed gaze to me. ‘One Coke, one Fanta.’

I am already siphoning the fizzy stuff into two glasses: one brown, one orange. ‘Two eighty,’ I say, pushing them towards her.

‘I’ll take the vodka shot off your wages tonight, shall I?’ says Val as Maria carries the glasses back to her chair, handing the brown one to Sam.

‘What vodka shot?’ I say, a little shocked at her apparent ability to see round corners.

‘The one you put in the lad’s Coke. Trying to cause trouble?’

There’s no point in denying it. ‘Just trying to make things right where they’ve gone wrong,’ I say cautiously.

Fortunately, my boss seems amused. ‘You’ll be telling me he’s eighteen next. I suppose a vodka shot’s money in the till.
Your
money in the till. So I’d say we’re square. Besides,’ she adds, looking at where Sam is morosely drinking his Coke, ‘I quite fancy seeing a smile on that lad’s face before I die.’

I hit Sam with a couple more singles before the mid-way break thanks to Maria’s total disregard for the director’s repeated demands that she leave the bar alone. It’s costing me a fortune. The cast rips through the songs, hammering so hard at “A Weddin’ and a Beddin’” that by the time they reach the break I have it jumping around my brain like frogs on a trampoline.

‘Well?’ Tab pushes eagerly through the crowd at the bar. ‘How’s it looking? What’s Sam been doing? Seen anything I should know about?’ She glances around. ‘Where’s Jem?’

‘Not you too,’ Val says.

‘Absent,’ I say as Val moves down the bar to serve the clamouring hordes. ‘And no, I don’t know why and I haven’t had a message and I’m feeling spooked that he’s not here because of me. I wasn’t very nice to him when I left on Saturday. He’s disappeared, and no one—’

‘Hey shexshy,’ Sam says, popping up a little blurrily next to Tabby. ‘’Nother Coke pleash.’

Tab looks astonished.

‘I recommend a glass of water to go with it,’ I say, giving Sam the Coke I prepared earlier. ‘Too much high fructose corn syrup can mess with your digestion.’

Sam sinks the glass of water I offer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Tabbywabby,’ he says suddenly, nudging her in the shoulder as he lines up his fourth vodka and Coke of the evening. ‘Did I ever tell you how pretty you are?’

‘Whisky, Delilah,’ says Patricia, muscling in between Sam and Tab. ‘Lots. With ice.’

“
What’s going on?
” Tabby mouths at me, nodding so vigorously at Sam that her head looks like one of those bobbing woodpeckers you sometimes get on pencils.

‘I’m loving this show,’ says Sam, swinging round to the assembled cast. ‘Ishn’t everyone loving this show? We love you, Desmond. We love you, Honor. We love you, Tod Shnorter dude that wrote this stuff.’

‘Tod Slaughter,’ says Maria, narrowing her eyes.

‘Shwat I shed. Shnorter.’

‘That boy needs to sober up,’ comments Eunice, sipping a glass of red wine at the end of the bar.

‘Let me top that up for you, Eunice,’ I say. ‘On the house.’

‘I’m watching you,’ says Val without actually looking up.

At this rate I’ll spend my entire evening’s wages on other people’s drinks. Still, if I achieve the objective of reuniting Sam and Tabby, it will be worth it.

‘Desmond would like a large glass of water,’ says Honor, squeezing up against the packed bar. Behind her, the old director is sitting at a table mopping his head with a large spotted handkerchief. ‘And I’ll have an elderflower cordial.’

‘Last of the big spenders,’ Val mutters at me, pushing a pint glass of water and a bottle of elderflower juice towards the vocal coach.

‘Get OFF me,’ Sam says loudly.

Maria is trying to tug him towards the double doors. ‘You need some fresh air, Sammy. You’re not well. You have one of your biggest numbers after the break. Your concentration’s totally off.’

‘I’m ferpectly well,’ Sam announces. ‘Get your armsh and your teeny tiny fingersh off me. I want another Coke.’

‘Bladdered,’ observes Patricia, her whisky halfway to her mouth.

Sam’s a lot drunker than I was expecting. A single shot of vodka seemed too small to cause much damage, but maybe four was a mistake.

Maria gets him as far as the box office. He suddenly gives her a bad-tempered shove, lurches sideways and ricochets off a nearby pinboard. Notices and a couple of brightly coloured pins flutter to the ground. Maria loses her balance and lands on the sofa, the one I sat on at the first rehearsal when Jem curled his fingers in my hair.

‘Sam, what are you
doing
?’ Tabby demands, rushing over. The rest of the cast watch in fascination.

‘Tabbywabby,’ mumbles Sam again, brushing a flyer for a donkey sanctuary off his shirt front and reaching for her. ‘Kish me.’

Tab heroically ignores him. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks, helping Maria back to her feet instead.

‘I’m fine,’ says Maria, thin-lipped, tugging her dress down and trying to straighten her hair. ‘But I have a few questions for your curly midget friend on the bar.’

‘She’sh not a midget,’ says Sam with a hiccup. ‘She’sh lovely.’ And he throws up copiously down the closed box office window.

I should definitely have stopped at three.

‘I’m on it,’ I squeak as Val glares at me. I fetch a bucket, a cloth and a squeegee bottle of disinfectant and enter the vomit zone.

‘Shorry,’ Sam mutters as he sinks on to the sofa, rests his elbow on the armrest and buries his face in his hand. Shoving Tabby away, Maria sits down beside him and pats him gingerly.

I want to put my arm around Tab as she stands there, all alone on that horrible brown carpet, but I am mopping sick off the ticket desk. I have a feeling my intervention wouldn’t be appreciated anyway.

‘Break’s over!’ calls Honor.

With a collective sigh of regret, the cast drifts back to their chairs to resume the rehearsal. Maria helps Sam to the toilets with a pinched expression on her face. Tabby moves silently back to a chair beside Eunice as I finish my mopping and cart the bucket back to the kitchens.

And Desmond the director stands up, riffles the pages of his score, makes a strange bleating noise, clutches his chest and falls to the ground with a boom.