Don't Ask

  ‘So, I’ve been dying to ask you this all afternoon,’ she said. ‘Do you think I’ve changed a lot since camp? I hardly recognised you.’

  How could I answer that? ‘Massively,’ I lied, although it was perfectly true to say I hadn’t recognised her, because it really was the very first time I’d seen her. ‘I mean you look so different.’ I paused and then embellished my lie with flattery. ‘You’re much prettier now.’

  ‘Thanks, Laura. So are you. I guess we’ve both grown up and changed a lot.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a long time ago. A whole world away.’

  I didn’t want to dwell on this subject, it was too uncomfortable. ‘You were telling me about the holiday you’d planned for the summer,’ I said, sounding like a hairdresser making smalltalk. ‘Tell me more . . .’

  We chatted for a while about nothing in particular – music we’d bought, books we’d read, films we’d been to see. Alex laughed a lot; she seemed to find me, or Laura, very amusing. It felt much like being with any new friend in a café, the only difference being that this one kept calling me Laura. I imagined that this was what it must be like to be in a witness protection programme, with a new identity and a new history (if you ignore the fact that I was still in the process of committing the crime). It surprised me how quickly I was starting to get used to my new name, how it was beginning to feel like it belonged to me, the way a new nickname does when people use it often enough. It wasn’t just the name: I was starting to inhabit Laura too. In just one day, she had fleshed out considerably. She wasn’t just a user name on the internet any more, or the label at the top of a message; she had individual characteristics which were distinct from mine, and most of which had been acquired by accident. She dressed differently from me, was clumsy and short-sighted and she even spoke more slowly and precisely, mainly because I had to think so carefully about every word she said. If I lived as Laura for a few weeks or a few months, I wondered, would I actually become her? Was I being myself when I talked to Alex, or Laura? Or was I a mix of the two? Had inventing Laura changed me?

  My thoughts were interrupted by a loud bleeping from my phone. Why hadn’t I remembered to put it on silent?

  ‘You’ve got a text,’ said Alex, who either thought I was a bit deaf or just liked stating the obvious. I fumbled my bag and pulled out the badly behaved device, making sure that Alex couldn’t see the screen. Horror of horrors, it was a message from Jack.

  U still wth KT? Cnt w8 2 c u 2nite. xxxx

  Should I ignore it? Or would that make it more obvious that I had something to hide?

  ‘Ah, it’s from Jared,’ I said. ‘He wants to know if I enjoyed the match. And he says hi to you.’ God, I was getting good. Or should that be evil?

  ‘Tell him hi back,’ she said. ‘I’d love to meet him some time.’

  Over my dead body, I thought. ‘Definitely,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to arrange it. Do you mind if I just text him back?’

  She shook her head.

  I quickly texted. Y. Me 2. Cll u l8tr xxxx And then, pretending that I was still labouring over my message, I modified my address book so that ‘Jack’ became simply ‘J’.

  J for Jack. J for Jared. And, it now strikes me, J for Judas.

  ‘Hey,’ said Alex, as I started to turn my phone off. ‘I’ve just twigged: we don’t have each other’s numbers. Now that we’ve met it would be nice to be able to talk to you, as well as message each other.’

  ‘That’s right, we don’t,’ I said, as if I was surprised. It hadn’t been an oversight; I deliberately hadn’t asked Alex for her number or offered her mine. My reason was simple: what if Alex rang or texted me while I was with Jack?

  ‘Here, take mine,’ she said.

  I couldn’t say no. Thinking quickly, I opened a new entry in my address book and typed in Jared. That way, there would be no trace of Alex’s name on my phone. The name would also serve as an alert: either to switch off my phone altogether, or, if I was alone, to become Laura. When, later, I told Katie what I’d done, she codenamed my mission to find out Jack’s secrets ‘Project Jared’.

  ‘Ready?’ said Alex. ‘It’s 079 . . .’

  I’m not going to repeat her whole number; it’s private. I don’t need anything else to feel guilty about.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and gave her mine. I’ll admit I did think, briefly, about changing one of the digits. I thought better of it: it would have been futile, no more than a delaying tactic, and would merely have aroused her suspicions.

  It was time to be brave, time to get to the point. ‘So,’ I ventured, ‘I’ve told you all about Jared, but you never really talk about your love life. I know you’re single at the moment, but is there anyone you like?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘There’s this guy at college who’s quite buff, but he’s really just a friend. We almost snogged once, but that’s all. I don’t really want to get into anything serious with anyone.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I asked, fishing, hopeful that she would bring up Jack.

  She didn’t. ‘You know, going away to uni next year and all. Seems stupid to.’

  ‘Oh right,’ I said. I changed tack. ‘Have you been single for a long time?’

  ‘About a year. I had a long-term boyfriend before that, but it didn’t work out.’

  Finally! I tried not to show the excitement that was rising in my chest. ‘What was he like?’ I asked, just to be certain that she was talking about Jack, just to be one hundred per cent sure that I wasn’t sitting in a coffee shop, in disguise, with the wrong Alex Porter. You can’t be too careful. It’s not as if I had sampled her DNA, had I?

  ‘He was lovely,’ she said, her eyes growing sad. ‘Kind, cute, funny. Pretty much perfect. He was my first proper boyfriend and I was his first serious girlfriend. We got together when we were fourteen.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you all this, the first time we’ve met. You’re really easy to talk to, Laura, a really good listener. Anyway, a lot of stuff happened. Maybe we were just too young for it to last.’

  Her obvious sadness confused me. Did she regret breaking up with him? ‘He sounds amazing,’ I said. ‘But if he was so perfect, why did you finish with him?’

  She looked at me, strangely. ‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where you got that idea. He broke up with me. He broke my heart.’ Her eyes appeared moist, as if she was on the brink of tears. She got up from the table. ‘I’m going to get another coffee. Same again?’

  Chapter 11

  Why would Jack say he’d been dumped by Alex, when he hadn’t? Why, for that matter, would anyone claim to be the ‘dumpee’, when they were actually the dumper? What possible reason could there be? It’s not exactly something you brag about, is it? In my experience, if someone doesn’t want you to know that their girlfriend or boyfriend had enough of them, they say, ‘The break-up was mutual,’ which we all know is code for ‘I was dumped, I’m gutted, but I’m not going to admit it.’ But Jack had always been very clear: Alex had finished with him. She was the one who’d ended the relationship, for reasons which were far too painful to talk about. So, if it clearly wasn’t about protecting his pride, what was it about? Gaining my sympathy? No, because if that were the case, Jack would have furnished his story with details, instead of shutting me out. Had he cheated on her, or done something else to hurt her, something he was too ashamed to admit? Maybe he’d told Alex their relationship was over before she found out what he’d done, to save her feelings and his reputation. It was the only possibility that made any kind of sense. And yet, that didn’t seem to ring true either.

  I wondered about this long after I’d said goodbye to Alex, all the way home from the coffee shop and in my bedroom, as I got ready to see Jack. So much for uncovering the information I’d been after; I had come away from my afternoon with Alex with far more questions than answers, more doubts than certainties.

  ‘Hello, Laura Thompson,’ said Katie, after I’d texted her to say it was safe to call.

  ??
?Very funny,’ I said. ‘Did you get a nice dress on your shopping trip with your best mate?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s skintight leopard print, with sequins and a bow,’ she deadpanned. ‘And frills. Want to borrow it? Or are trackie bottoms more your style now?’

  ‘Ha. Ha. Ha. Actually, I’ve just de-Laura-ed myself. I can’t tell you how good it feels to be back in my own clothes and, literally, to let my hair down. Honestly, if I wore my hair up that tight all the time I’d end up with a receding hairline.’

  ‘And a facelift,’ said Katie. ‘Go on then, tell me all about it . . .’

  I told Katie everything: about my potential wardrobe malfunction, about how sweet Alex’s dad was, and how I’d surprised myself by not entirely hating the match.

  ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘Are you sure? Can I take your temperature?’

  I told her what Alex had said about Jack and how it didn’t make any sense, and she seemed just as puzzled as me. She asked what I was planning to do about it and I said there was only one thing I could do: to keep in touch with Alex and hope that she spilled. And soon. Now that Alex had my phone number, deleting her from my life wouldn’t be as straightforward as I’d planned. I’d have to keep the façade going for as long as it took. I’d probably have to see her again. Katie seemed a bit put out by this. In fact, a few times during our conversation, she tried to belittle Alex.

  ‘So was she really boring then, a total sports nerd?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘She was different from us, but I really liked her. It wasn’t hard to talk to her.’

  ‘You don’t seriously think you could be mates, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

  ‘Listen to yourself, Lily. She is not your friend. She can’t ever be your friend. Apart from the fact you don’t have anything real in common with her – if you don’t count Jack, anyway – you’re a lying, cheating impostor. And when she finds out she’s going to hate you.’

  ‘God, you don’t have to be so cold about it,’ I said. I was upset, even though I knew what she’d said was true.

  ‘I’m just giving you a reality check,’ said Katie. ‘I think you’re getting in too deep. I think maybe you’re even enjoying the lying part a little bit, and that’s twisted.’

  ‘And I think you’re just jealous.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. ‘Jealous of a tomboy who doesn’t even know your real name and has to make friends over the internet. I don’t think so.’

  We were both silent for a few minutes, which is very awkward (not to mention a waste of credit) when you’re on the phone. You can hear the other person breathing and swallowing, and any background noise around them. Soon, you start to feel silly but you don’t want to be the first person to speak, to give in. So you sulk until someone cracks.

  I think, on this occasion, that it was me who spoke first. I said sorry and then we made up and everything was cool. All best mates bicker, don’t they? Katie and I don’t argue very often – I can’t remember the last fight before that day – but I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that it’s healthy to have the odd falling out. It shows you care and that you have your own personality, or something like that.

  Jack was due round at eight, which didn’t leave me much time to get my head together. One of the advantages of having a little brother is that you can spend Saturday night in alone with your boyfriend. It’s a trade-off: you give up your plans and babysit for free, so your parents can go out, and they reward you with the company of your oh-so-trustworthy boyfriend, who you’d otherwise be seeing. There’s no way in hell my parents would ever have let us stay in alone together if Eric hadn’t been asleep upstairs but, somehow, him being there made it all right. What did they think, that he’d start crying on cue if things got a bit frisky on the sofa? Maybe they imagined the sight of a screaming toddler would act as a deterrent – a reminder of what the consequences of misbehaving could be.

  Although I was looking forward to seeing Jack, part of me wished he’d call and cancel, so I could have some space to think things through and to calm down. I was troubled by what Alex had told me and needed time to process it before seeing him. I was also physically exhausted, drained by having so much adrenalin surging through my veins for all those hours. All I really wanted was a night in with a hot chocolate and a magazine. Jack was bound to notice if I was quiet and he would ask what was wrong, and I’d have to make up yet another lie. I still hadn’t got my story straight about ‘my afternoon with Katie’. He would ask about that too, even though he wasn’t remotely interested in Katie’s choice of dress. Sometimes I wished he wasn’t so darned considerate.

  I glanced in the mirror and the same features, arranged in the usual order, glanced back at me. But I felt unsettled. Everything looked the same and yet something was different. Even though I’d taken off Laura’s clothes, untied her hair and tried to wash the remnants of her away in the bath, a tiny part of her was clinging on to me, like a ghost hovering in the shadows.

  ‘Lily,’ Mum called. ‘Jack’s just pulling up outside. Eric’s fast asleep. Come and say goodbye.’

  I took a deep breath. Weird how suddenly my own name didn’t sound entirely familiar. ‘Coming . . .’

  Jack looked so handsome when he came in that I almost forgot all my worries. He leaned down to kiss me hello and he smelled gorgeous, like soap and fresh towels. When I placed my hand on the nape of his neck I could feel that his hair was still damp from the shower. We stood in the hall kissing for a few minutes, before I took his hand and led him through to the living room.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked, as we sat down. ‘We’ve got the usual: Coke, Ribena, orange juice. Oh, and Mum bought some gross ginger cordial.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Whatever you’re having.’

  When I came back into the room, he was grinning at me.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, motioning to my bag, which was lying by the side of the sofa where I’d dumped it. I almost dropped the drinks in horror. Spilling out from one corner was a length of tasselled red and white wool, the end of my Arsenal scarf, which I’d stuffed inside it on the journey home. I’d intended to take my bag upstairs and hide the scarf in my wardrobe, but something had distracted me and I’d forgotten. How could I have been so careless?

  ‘It’s a handbag,’ I said, dryly, hoping against hope that he hadn’t noticed. I put the drinks down on the coffee table, my hands shaking. ‘Girls use them to put things in.’

  ‘Oh you should be on at the Comedy Store with your wit. I mean that – the red and white stripy thing that’s hanging out of it. Is that what I think it is?’

  ‘That depends what you think it is.’

  ‘Don’t tease me, Lil. It looks like an official Arsenal scarf, the latest design. How come you’ve got a brand new Arsenal scarf in your bag?’

  That was a very good question.

  I breathed deeply. ‘It’s a present,’ I said. Lying was beginning to come as naturally to me as blinking. ‘For you. It was supposed to be a surprise. I was going to wrap it up for you and give it to you another time.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that.’ He opened his eyes very wide. ‘Can I have it now?’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I just need to take the price label off. Stay there. I’ll be back in a second.’

  I picked up the bag and took it through into the kitchen, so that I could do a quick examination of the scarf. I needed to make sure there weren’t any visible clues that could reveal it wasn’t the gift I claimed it to be. I was relieved to see there were no tea stains or bobbling, but it did smell strongly of my perfume. I’ll have to make that a feature, I thought. I rummaged in my bag for my perfume spray and gave the scarf three quick spritzes. Then I folded it neatly, so that it looked as good as new again. ‘I’m coming back in now,’ I called. ‘Close your eyes.’

  Jack was sitting on the sofa with a big grin on his face, his eyes shut tight and his hands cupped. He appeared like an excited little boy, barely older t
han Eric. It made me feel doubly bad about my deceit and, just for a millisecond, I wanted to confess everything.

  ‘Can I open them yet?’

  ‘Be patient.’ I swept the scarf across Jack’s face, brushing his cheeks with the tassels. He ducked and tried to grab the scarf from my hands, pulling me off balance and on to his lap. I tickled him until he let me go. ‘I want to put it on you,’ I said, clambering up and wrapping the scarf around his head, mummy-style, so that his eyes and nose peeped through. ‘That’s perfect.’

  He stood up and looked in the mirror behind the sofa, the one I can never see because I’m not tall enough. ‘Wow!’ he said, as he unravelled the scarf from his face and draped it around his neck. ‘Mmm, it smells of you too. That’s fantastic, Lil, thanks so much. It’s so thoughtful. I think it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me. I’ve been wanting one of these for ages. When did you get it? Did you go all the way to the ground?’

  ‘I got it today,’ I said, wondering how Mr Porter would feel if he knew he’d inadvertently bought a gift for the guy who had broken his daughter’s heart. ‘Katie and I didn’t really go shopping for a dress, this afternoon . . .’ I backtracked, realising I’d already described Katie’s ‘wicked new dress’ to my parents. It was best not to contradict myself. ‘Well, we did, but we also went to the Arsenal shop.’