‘Nah.’ I could hear Cal plucking at his Gibson, his mind only half on our conversation. ‘She’s going out. With George.’
I wanted to ask him what he meant. Going out how? Out buying food? Out on a date? Out shagging each other senseless on a park bench somewhere?
But Cal just hung up, with a final reminder to come round at seven.
Anyway, as I put down the phone I reflected that George didn’t need to take Eve outside to have sex with her. She was living in his freaking flat. In fact, when I thought about it, she was completely dependent on him. He could force her to do what he liked, couldn’t he? Sleep with me, Eve, or you’re out on the street.
My head pulsed with rage for a few minutes, until it occurred to me that if George had wanted to blackmail either of us like that he would have done it a month ago. No. He was basically a nice bloke. Spoilt rotten of course, with all that money and his big home. And a bit weird, maybe. Certainly far too touchy-feely with guys for my liking. But he was fun and generous and . . . God . . . Eve wouldn’t go for him, would she?
I was there, knocking on the door, at five to seven.
George’s flat was in Kensington – a plush apartment full of expensive-looking furniture and crowded with ornaments, just like the house in Cornwall.
Cal had set the amps up in the living room. He let me borrow his old guitar – a third-hand Flying V. I was dying to ask him about George and Eve, but it wasn’t easy. Cal basically had three topics of conversation. Rock music. His Les Paul Gibson guitar. And how poor he was. He did, apparently, sometimes talk about Jess and his undying love for her – but he’d never done that with me and he didn’t start that night.
Instead I had to endure two hours of exactly why his Les Paul was the best in the world. I’d heard it all before. Many times. I tried to focus on the music and the Flying V in my hands.
Playing again was fantastic. My fingers slid over the frets easily now. It was almost impossible to remember how stiff and awkward they’d felt at first. We worked on some of our favourite stuff, then tried out a couple of new tracks Cal had written.
I got totally lost in the music, not thinking about what I had to do next, just going with it, letting it flow, listening to how Cal was improvising around me.
We stopped for a beer. I caught Cal looking at me with an expression that might almost have been pride. ‘You’re not bad, now, you know,’ he said gruffly. ‘Might even let you try out my Gibson someday soon.’
This was about the highest praise Cal could give me. I was so pleased I even forgot about Eve for two minutes. Then I checked the clock. 9.30 pm.
Where was she?
What was she doing?
It started obsessing me. I couldn’t concentrate any more. By 9.45 I was practically screaming with frustration and Cal was starting to giving me odd looks, like I was some kind of psycho.
And then Eve and George walked in.
He had his arm round her shoulders. That was the first thing I noticed. Then that Eve was wearing clothes I hadn’t seen before. A long, fitted coat that looked really expensive. He must’ve bought it for her. Jesus.
He was buying her away from me.
16
An apology
Eve’s face went red.
Jealousy surged through me, making me feel sick to my stomach.
George slid his hand off Eve’s back. He started talking at me, too fast, trying to smooth everything over.
I just stared at Eve.
‘Fancy a beer, Cal?’ George said, edging towards the kitchen.
I propped the guitar against the sofa and walked silently to the front door.
‘Luke?’ Eve smiled at me and my jealousy twisted into this huge miserable knot in my stomach. ‘D’you want to go for a walk?’
I nodded and stood back to let her leave. I didn’t look round or say goodbye to the others.
I followed Eve down the stairs and out onto the pavement. It was cold and clear, the sky a deep, dark, blue.
‘Nice coat,’ I said, drily.
Eve nodded. ‘It’s another one of George’s sister’s things. He gave it to me before we left Cornwall. He’s lent me a mobile too.’
‘How thoughtful of him,’ I said.
Eve frowned at me. ‘Luke? For God’s sake. You don’t . . .?’
I raised my eyes.
‘Luke, he’s not . . . We’re not . . .’
‘No?’
‘No. I asked Cal to call you up and get you round. And I asked George if we could go out for a couple of hours while I got up the courage to come back and talk to you.’
‘You’re not with George?’ I tried to slide this slice of information into the melting pot of jealousy and misery that was my brain.
‘No.’ Eve shook her head impatiently. ‘Well. I nearly let him kiss me once. I was so upset and he was being so nice. But I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .’ She turned and stared at me. I said nothing. I was completely focused on pushing the image of George trying to kiss Eve out of my head.
‘It drives me mad how possessive guys are,’ she said. ‘All those “are you up for it” looks I get. I used to think they were about me – about people being interested in me – but they’re not. All those looks mean is: “Can I own your body tonight?”, “Can I hire your body out tonight?”. And then, the least little thing and you get jealous. For nothing.’
I clenched my jaw. ‘That’s good, coming from someone who’s jealous of something that meant absolutely nothing to me.’
‘OK, OK.’ Eve sighed, as we walked along the pavement. ‘I don’t want to fight. I’m not mad at you about that . . . not really. I mean, I hate thinking about it, about you wanting someone else, but I understand how it happened . . . and you were right, you didn’t know when I was coming back. And I can even see now why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s just . . .’
‘What?’ I said.
‘When I was in Mallorca that first week at the convent and Mum had totally freaked out and Dad was acting like this paranoid monster, I sort of collapsed in on myself. I felt so stupid – like somehow I should have fought harder against what my dad was doing. I’m nearly seventeen. I shouldn’t be letting them tell me what to do like this. I felt so alone and helpless. And all that kept me going was you.’
She stopped and stroked my face with her hands. I closed my eyes, my anger and jealousy melting away. All I could feel was how amazing being with her was. How natural. How heart-breakingly, lust-inducingly, soul-achingly right.
‘In my head I turned you into this perfect hero who was going to save me from my life,’ Eve said. Her voice sounded tight and strained, like she was close to tears. ‘I didn’t realise until last week but that’s why I could never draw you properly. Because I wasn’t seeing you. I was seeing this romantic image of who I wanted you to be. Like something from a fairy tale or a movie.’
I opened my eyes. She was talking fast now, gulping back sobs.
‘God, Luke, when I saw you that first night . . . you looked so gorgeous and I wanted to be with you so much. And I let myself believe that the image I had of you was real.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Because . . . because you came with me. You gave up everything to come with me.’ She gazed up at me, her eyes shining wet in the streetlight.
‘And I’d come with you again.’ My voice was a whisper. I lent my forehead down onto hers. ‘I couldn’t love you more than I do.’
‘I know, but . . . but . . . When I found out about you sleeping with that girl and not telling me, I realised that you weren’t this perfect guy. I mean I really realised it. And it hurt so much. It made me feel so alone. Like I couldn’t trust you or anyone.’
Tears were running down her cheeks. I wiped them away, feeling like crying myself. ‘Eve,’ I said. ‘Please . . .’
‘I don’t want to be hurt any more,’ she said. ‘I’m scared. I don’t want to risk being hurt.’ She turned to go back towards George’s flat.
I grabbed her arm. I had no idea what to say. I just kne
w I couldn’t let her go.
‘That’s stupid.’ I pulled her round to face me. ‘I mean, OK, so your mum let you down because she was scared of your dad and your dad locked you up because he was scared of you growing up. But . . . but if you get scared too – about being with me, just because I made one mistake – then no one wins and nothing good comes out of it.’
Eve stared at me.
And I suddenly knew there was nothing I could do or say that would make her less scared. I had to let her work it out for herself. I took a deep breath.
‘I’m going to go now,’ I said. ‘So just think about it. And don’t go back to Cornwall. Go and see your mum. Call your dad. You’re right. You can’t let them tell you what to do any more. You want to go to art college. I know you do. I know you should. But it can’t happen if you keep running away from everything. You have to tell them how you feel and what you want. I’ll help if you like.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘I’m going to come round to George’s flat on Saturday night. And pick you up. And we’re going to go out. OK? So . . . so if you don’t care about me you can tell me then and I’ll leave you alone, but if you do care, then . . . then . . .’
But my throat was too choked for me to finish my sentence. So I leaned forwards, kissed her forehead and walked away.
All the way home I thought of things I should have said. Like how much I loved her and how much I’d missed her. That’s what she would have wanted to hear. Not how I thought she wasn’t perfect. Not a frigging lecture on how she should call her mum and dad. I hadn’t even mentioned that Jonno had spoken to me. Which meant what I said about her parents probably hadn’t made sense. And I hadn’t told her about Matt leaving Mum or how sick she was. Stupid. Stupid. At least then Eve would have felt sorry for me.
‘I totally cocked it up,’ I said to Ryan in the cafeteria at school the next day. ‘I said all this rubbish that made sense at the time, but they were all the wrong things.’
‘Like what?’ he said, grabbing a bag of crisps off the counter.
I repeated the gist of what I’d said. As I spoke I watched Ryan’s mouth fall open. God. It must have been worse than I thought.
I dried up. You tosser, Luke. You total idiot.
‘Go on, then,’ I said bitterly. ‘Tell me where I went wrong.’
Ryan closed his mouth. ‘Actually, I was thinking how I’d never heard you say anything half so intelligent before.’
I shrugged and followed him over to the sandwich trays. What did Ryan know? But a glimmer of hope began to shine through the darkness in my head.
He grinned as he picked out a ham-and-cheese sarnie. ‘I’m going to this party on Saturday night. Why don’t you come, and bring Eve?’
I frowned. ‘I’d thought it would be better if we were on our own.’
Ryan laughed. ‘So where you gonna take her, then? You haven’t got any money. It’s freezing outside. Which just leaves your place. That’ll be nice with your mum and her friend listening in.’
He was right. Going out anywhere on a Saturday night without any money was impossible. And I was totally broke. I hadn’t realised how easy George’s money had made everything. I couldn’t ask Mum for any either. Her maternity pay from work only just covered our bills. And Matt hadn’t sent her anything since he’d left.
‘I’ll even bring your share of the booze,’ Ryan said lazily, handing me the tuna mayonnaise sandwich I was reaching for.
‘Thanks, Ry,’ I said, an idea forming in my head. ‘Just for that I’ll bring you a present. Something that doesn’t cost any money.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘What?’
But I refused to say.
17
Matt the prat
On Saturday morning Trisha moved out. I helped her pack up her car and unload it at the other end. She was really big now – and every time she talked her breath sounded wheezy.
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ I said. ‘Call me if you need any help, won’t you? I can look after Alice anytime. Well, most times.’
‘Thanks, Luke.’ Trisha smiled at me. ‘You know I’m really proud of you – looking after your mum and everything.’
I blushed. Somehow praise from Trisha wasn’t patronising like it was from most adults. She reached up and ruffled my hair. ‘That girlfriend of yours doesn’t know what she’s missing.’
I scarpered out of the house before my face got so hot it set the place on fire.
I knew something was wrong as soon as I opened the front door at home. For a second I sensed the tension in the air. And then I heard Mum sobbing.
‘No word. No money. And now you turn up out of the blue and all you want is your stuff? What about Sam?’
I strode into the living room. Mum was on the sofa, her head in her hands.
Matt was towering over her, red-faced and furious. ‘Don’t guilt-trip me about this,’ he yelled. ‘I’m not Simon. He wanted kids. He wanted to settle down. Not me. Never.’
‘Please stop shouting,’ Mum wept. She saw me by the door and sat up. ‘Luke.’
But my eyes were fixed on Matt, a deep hatred coursing through me. How dare he yell at Mum like that? How dare he act like having a son was something he could take or leave? And . . .
‘How dare you say his name.’
‘Luke.’ Mum’s voice was a low warning.
Matt turned towards me. He frowned, not understanding.
I marched over, my fists clenched. ‘My dad’s name. How dare you come here and talk about him. He’d be ashamed he ever thought you were his friend.’
Matt curled his lip. ‘Get out of here.’
The rage in my head boiled over. This was my home. Mine.
I punched – all my hate in my fist. He ducked. Caught my arm. Tried to push me away. I pushed back. I could take him. I knew I could. He was only a little taller than me. And I was just as strong. Stronger.
‘YOU BASTARD!’ This massive roar ripped out of my mouth.
I guess I must have looked scary as hell because Matt let go and took a step away from me.
Mum was still on the sofa, her mouth moving but no sound coming out.
I’d never felt so powerful. So sure of my own power.
I shoved Matt. He stumbled backwards.
‘STOP BULLYING HER,’ I yelled, my chest heaving. Almost choking on the words.
Matt stared at me. For a second I thought he was going to try and hit me after all. Then he lowered his eyes and started walking to the door. ‘I’m just getting my stuff,’ he muttered.
I sat down next to Mum, my whole body shaking. She was trembling too, so I put my arm round her. We sat there in silence while Matt stomped round the house, gathering up his belongings.
In my heart I was glad he was going for good. Glad he wouldn’t be around any more to stick his nose in our business, and make Mum miserable. And then I thought about baby Sam and felt guilty. Not having a dad sucked.
Sam deserved one. Even one as crap as Matt.
I got up and went to find him.
He was in Mum’s bedroom, taking some shirts out of the wardrobe. He looked up warily, clearly taking a second to check I wasn’t about to swing another punch at him, then went back to work. I leaned my head against the wall.
‘You can’t just leave,’ I said. ‘Mum’s ill. And what are we supposed to tell Sam when he asks where his dad is?’
Matt glared at me. ‘You don’t know anything about it.’
‘About what?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Responsibility? Parenting? Or being a total arsehole?’
Matt tore a shirt off its hanger. ‘I’m forty-five,’ he muttered. ‘That probably sounds really old to you. But it isn’t. I’ve got masses of stuff I still want to do. I can’t get sucked into all this domestic crap.’ He looked round at me and sighed. ‘Me and your mum were never going to last,’ he said. ‘She was always your dad’s girl. I was with Simon when he met her for the first time. You’ve never seen two people fall in love faster. Or make it last better.’
I stared at him. I’d never really thought about Dad dying from anyone else’s point of view before. I suddenly realised – for the first time – what Mum had actually lost when he died.
Matt shook his head. ‘She doesn’t love me. I was just there at the right time for a while.’
He shoved the shirts he had taken from the wardrobe into a bag and walked to the door.
‘What about Sam?’
Matt paused, leaning on the door frame. ‘I’ll send some money for him. I’ll set something up. Maybe in a few years . . . Look, I know I look bad to you right now, but Sam’ll be better off not knowing me at all than having me waltz in and out of his life whenever I feel like it.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, Sam’s got you, now.’
What? I opened my mouth, determined to make him see how ridiculous that was. But Matt was already padding down the stairs. I heard him talking quietly to Mum and then the front door clicking shut.
I wandered back into the living room. To my surprise Mum wasn’t crying any more. In fact her eyes looked clearer than I’d seen them since I got back from Cornwall.
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Really. It’ll be OK.’
Sam started crying upstairs and she got up. As she passed me in the doorway she stopped. ‘Your dad would be proud of you.’
I shrugged, feeling embarrassed and pleased all at once. ‘I can stay in tonight if you want, Mum.’
She kissed my cheek. ‘No, sweetheart, you go out and have some fun with your friends. The baby and I are going to be just fine.’
She went upstairs.
I stared out of the window, suddenly feeling very, very old.
I got ready really carefully that night. My heart was thumping as I rang on the doorbell of George’s flat. To my surprise, Alejandro opened the door. He beamed at me. ‘Hey, Luke.’
‘Hi,’ I said. Eve appeared next to him.
‘Hi.’ She smiled shyly at me. ‘Alejandro just showed up. He’s only here one more evening. I said he could come to the party. Is that all right?’
‘Oh.’ I struggled not to feel this meant she was trying to avoid talking to me – and failed.
Alejandro’s smile morphed into a look of concern. ‘If me coming is a problem, it’s OK. But later I’m going to a club to meet friends, so the party is just for an hour or two to see you and Eva. Tomorrow I am going back to Spain. Another tour.’