Waving not Drowning 10:Life is Brilliant!

I’d like to tell you that normal life resumed shortly after my teenage sleepover.
I went back to my job as Chief Barista, renewed my relationship with my half -wit shag mate and resumed my position on the sofa, rubbing my neck and watching reality television until it was time for bed. All mention of ‘Shady Sands’ was forgotten and life continued in a slightly unsatisfying but ultimately orderly manner.
Unfortunately the truth was quite the opposite.

A week can pass pretty quickly. Especially when you’ve got so many new things to learn and skills to develop. Once we got the Playstation wired up time became irrelevant anyway.
Grand Theft Auto VI is brilliant.
Drinking lemonade and Thunderbird is brilliant.
Going to bed at three in the morning in the company of a gaggle of enthusiastic and funny teenagers is equally brilliant. Waking up at noon and doing the same thing all over again is… you get the idea.
It was the opposite of the slow churn of Café Jingo.
I should have known that someone would come along and spoil it all.

Stephen, Danny and I had spent the evening watching a DVD that seemed to involve a grizzly Russian man and his friend sawing people’s bodies off. The first time it happened I had to hold one of the sofa cushions over my face. I then noticed that this cushion had a huge cigarette burn in the bottom of it, much like the sofa arm. I took another swig of my grown up lemonade and tried not to think about it.

‘Pass us the Pringles,’ Danny said under his breath.
‘Can we watch something else? I can’t bear watching another person having their body chopped up,’ I said smoking a cigarette.
I was still smoking. In fact I’d embraced the habit with some vigour, even lighting one cigarette off the end of the dying one. This was something both of the boys did and I simply fell into line. As I lent over the sofa I was momentarily distracted by the empty bottles and overflowing ashtrays that littered the carpet. Then I located the half eaten tube of crisps and handed them to Danny.
He grunted.
‘This bit’s good,’ Stephen said, ‘It looks real! Look!’
I readied myself with the pillow. Then my phone went again. Most of the time I’d managed to ignore it. I’d switched it off after I’d got a second threatening call from Café Jingo. But I was also torn because I knew if either my parents or Ruth couldn’t get in touch they’d probably show up at the flat. Maybe stage another intervention and pack me off to Shoddy Sands. Even I was sober enough to know that wouldn’t be a good scene. I looked down at the screen. It was Ruth again. She’d only called about twelve times. I’d texted her some reassuring (I thought) messages but it obviously wasn’t enough. Now I really had to pick up.

‘I’m parked up outside,’ she said.
‘What?’ I replied, trying to extricate myself from the depths of the sofa.
‘I’m not leaving until you come down.’
A woman was having the top of her head shaved off with what looked like a garden strimmer. I gestured for one of the boys to turn it down.
‘This is the good bit,’ Stephen protested.
I watched as Danny stubbed a cigarette out on the back of the sofa. I really needed to talk to him.
‘Um, now’s not a good time. I’m just…’ I said into the receiver.
‘Just what? Don’t lie to me. I’ve been calling you up all week and then I get some crap text message saying everything’s okay but I know full well it isn’t,’ Ruth shouted.
She’d missed out the middle bit and gone straight from calm to fully-fledged rage.
‘Alright alright. I’m coming down.’
‘No I’m on my way up, I need to see exactly what’s going on.’
I did a quick survey of the front room. The numerous cigarette burns on the sofa were easy enough to hide. But the sulky looking adolescents lounging on top of it were less so. Was this Oliver Twist? And if so, who was I? Fagin? Or Nancy? There were also numerous empty foil packets from a takeaway curry that we’d ordered … was it Monday or Wednesday? No Monday had been the day that I’d found the Smash in the back of the cupboard and mixed it with some cheese. So it must have been…
‘Jess, are you listening? I’m giving you twenty seconds to tell me the truth, why haven’t you returned my calls?’
‘Don’t tell me, my parents are worried sick,’ I said swaying towards the door.
What time was it? I was wearing a dressing gown and a pair of shabby looking grey leggings. Was that acceptable attire? I walked into my bedroom and saw that someone had emptied all my bedside drawers onto the floor.
‘I need some privacy,’ I said.
It seemed too complicated to explain the magnificent transformation that had occurred, how I’d gone from a life of regularity and routine to playing video games and watching violent DVDs all day and night. Doing exactly what I wanted when I wanted. Ruth wouldn’t see it like that. She’d think I was living with monsters when these kids were truly inspirational. They never asked any awkward questions. Or told me to stop drinking, in fact they actively encouraged it. As long as I was the one who went out to the off licence to buy the booze everyday. Then I remembered that something had happened to Ruth. Something important but I couldn’t remember what.
‘Ruth?’ I said because the phone had gone quiet.
Then I heard the doorbell.
Danny’s head immediately appeared from behind the door.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘It’s just a friend. Go back to watching the film. Just keep the sound down low.’
Danny nodded and went back into the front room closing the door behind him.
I didn’t think why he was so alarmist about visitors. Why he wanted to keep everybody out. On reflection I should have paid more heed but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I tried to do something about my appearance, pulling the shabby leggings up so they were no longer wrinkled up round my knees. I poofed up my hair and licked my lips because this was something I’d seen people in the movies do just before they received an important visitor. Ruth was a friend but I was also fully aware that she could be my one-way ticket to Sodding Sands if I wasn’t careful. I needed to convince her that things were normal. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
‘You look terrible,’ Ruth said before she’d even got to the top step.
‘I’ve had a stomach bug,’ I said faintly rubbing at my tummy.
Then I remembered.
‘You’re pregnant!’ I said.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Ruth replied surveying the grey leggings and the dirty off-white gown with a look of disdain.
‘It’s four in the afternoon, why aren’t you dressed?’
‘I told you,’ I said leaning into the doorway so she couldn’t come in, ‘I’m ill. I’ve got a gastric bug.’
Ruth narrowed her eyes.
‘You smell funny,’ she said.
‘Well thanks a lot. I can’t help it if I’ve got a terrible stomach bug. In fact, look I can’t hang about on the landing forever, it’s terrible believe me.’
I tried not to look into Ruth’s eyes. She was a terrible mind reader. A witch really.
‘Let me come in,’ Ruth said softening, ‘I’ll make you some soup. You need to eat.’
She was buying my story.
She was really buying it.
‘Oh no…’ I tried to think on my feet, something alcoholics are surprisingly good at. The mind works remarkably quickly when it sees a barrier between itself and something it loves. I tipped my chin down so she couldn’t smell my Thunderbird breath.
‘I don’ t think it’s a good idea,’ I paused, ‘what with the baby. I might be contagious’
Ruth was very close. So close that I could see the purpley shadows under her eyes and the dry skin around her nose that she only got when she was really stressed.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked without thinking.
She looked like she was going to cry.
‘No not really. It’s just this whole pregnancy thing. I thought it was what I wanted but now I feel scared and like my life is going to be over.’
She was moving towards me.
‘Look let’s meet up tomorrow… for lunch. That’s a good idea? I’ll come and meet you at work,’ I said as forcefully as I could without breathing fumes all over her.
It was clear that this conversation, my reassurances about having a gastric bug weren’t going to be the end of it. And what kind of friend was I anyway? My best mate was up the duff and here was me living out some sort of crazy second youth completely obvlivous to the life changing event she was going through. Ruth put her arms around me. I hoped that she wouldn’t notice the cigarette smoke leaking into the hallway.
‘What’s that noise?’ she asked.
It sounded as if someone was being dropped into a Magimix. Probably because that was exactly what it was.
‘I’ve got a film on. Some rubbish. I’m going to watch ‘Don’t shop, Won’t shop,’ in a bit.’
I leant in and hugged Ruth who was sort of half in the hallway and half out. I pushed her very gently towards the stairwell, and then closed the door to the flat. Our roles had reversed. Now I called the shots.
‘Come on, you need to go home, Jim’ll be worried. Shouldn’t you be at work?’
‘I felt queasy. It’s terrible. I keep being sick.’
‘I know how that feels,’ I said which was actually true.
I kept my arm around her and led her down the stairs.
‘It’s great that you’re pregnant,’ I continued trying to sound really enthusiastic but really at this moment she was just a barrier between me and that nice big glass of lukewarm grown up lemonade.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Ruth said shaking her head.
Then she did an about turn and started walking back up the stairs.
‘I really think I need to see the flat, just to be sure.’
‘To see what?’ I asked noticing that Stephen had left his bicycle chained up in the hallway. Had he moved in permanently? Would his parents be worrying about where he was? Why hadn’t we talked about these things? Grand Theft Auto was really a terrible distraction.
‘I’ll just come up for a few minutes then I’ll go,’ Ruth said pushing her way back up the stairs.
‘No… I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’ve…’ I really couldn’t think of anything to say but then a solution popped into my head like a cork popping out of a lovely wine bottle, ‘I’ve got a bloke up there.’
Ruth looked incredulous.
‘What he’s been staying over?’
‘Yes that’s right. I went to this gallery on Monday and then I bumped into this fella and he was…’
‘Hang on, you never meet blokes just like that. It’s not Phil is it?’ Ruth said a tinge of disapproval in her voice.
‘Of course not. Not that sap. No no this bloke is really lovely. He’s a bit younger than me but you know he could actually be someone serious. ’
Ruth smiled. She looked relieved.
‘So that’s why you didn’t return my calls?’ she asked.
I started gently leading her down the stairs again.
‘Yes that’s right. You know what I’m like. I just go a bit mad for a bit.’
‘Well at least it’s not Phil. I’m sorry I invited him to the pub last time. I thought it’d be a good idea but in retrospect it was terrible.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘do we still need to have lunch tomorrow?’
‘Well…’
‘No of course we’ll have lunch. Right I better go back to old Lover boy.’
I winked at Ruth.
‘You need to sort your hair out. You look a right state,’ she said.
‘Cheers. Right see you tomorrow then.’
I stood at the top of the stair well and watched her blonde head bob down the stairs until she disappeared and I heard the door slam.
I knocked on the door, realising I’d locked myself out.
Nothing happened.
I knocked again once then twice quite loudly.
The door swung open and Stephen appeared.
‘Who was that?’ he asked.
‘No one, just an old friend. I’m going for lunch with her tomorrow.’
‘I thought we were going to Whiteleys.’
‘Well we can miss it for one day can’t we?’
‘I thought we were going to get some more DVDs,’ Stephen’s voice was high pitched and whiney.
I pushed past him and grabbed my lemonade bottle from the kitchen. I took a big swig. It was God’s nectar. No it was Pear pleasure! Pear pleasure. I was good!
‘And you said you’d take me to Gap.’
‘Don’t be a pain,’ I said.
I realised I sounded just like my Mum. Like my Mum soaked in pear liquor.
Stephen studied my face; I wouldn’t say he looked at me with admiration. It was a look of pity mixed in with a bit of disgust. Only a bit.
‘Danny is going home after the film. So we can have the place to ourselves,’ he said.

The place to ourselves.
Now I realise that sounds salacious and more than a little bit horrible but it was in reality all above board. There was nothing weird or sexual or paedophilic or whatever going on between Stephen and me. We just got on well. Danny I wasn’t so sure about. He seemed shiftier and never looked me in the eye. He was either mumbling or shouting, there was nothing of substance that I could grab hold of. And I suspected that he’d been the one that had sprayed the graffiti on the wall. And possibly left the weird voicemail on my Dad’s phone. He wasn’t threatening in any way but there was something disconnected about him. He smoked a lot of weed which made him come across as a zombie. But Stephen was different. He tried to look cool especially if Danny or the girls were around (whom I’d only seen once or twice since I’d opened up my teenage boarding house) but was really quite sweet. He tried to hide his intelligence with silly jargon and hand shaking and pants that hung so low below his bottom that the top of his boxer shorts popped out the top. But underneath it all he was a lovely kid. And that was it. I wasn’t attracted to him. If anything I was his surrogate mother. The trouble was, that wasn’t how Danny or the other kids saw it. Maybe Stephen himself suspected that I wanted more. We’d slept in the same bed since he’d moved in. He’d even handed me a towel when I was getting out of the shower one afternoon. I worried that perhaps he thought I expected something back. And I was aware that it seemed as if I was spoiling him, I’d spent every other day at Whiteleys buying him DVDs and video games. But really they weren’t for him, they were for me. Like an ageing pony-tailed rocker I was realising the joy of second youth. And I felt more alive and awake than ever.
It had nothing to do with sex.

I watched Stephen as he slunk back into the front room. He was wearing a long T-shirt with ‘American Idiot’ scrawled on the back. His legs were painfully skinny and pale. He was a child. I was looking after a child. I was looking after a child and I was down with the kids. I drank. I swore. I liked violent films.
I was the modern Supermum.

Early the following morning Stephen and I were sitting up in bed like a modern and slightly unsettling version of the old Morecombe and Wise sketch.
‘I’ve never asked you about your parents,’ I said.
‘I don’t want to talk about them,’ Stephen said.
He was reading my Wombles Annual.
The Wombles weren’t shit after all.
‘Won’t they be worried that you’ve been staying over?’
‘They don’t know,’ he said.
‘Don’t you think you should tell them?’
‘I don’t live with them so it doesn’t matter,’ he replied.

It transpired that Stephen lived on the estate with his elder sister and her boyfriend. Before that he’d lived somewhere in Essex with his Mum and Dad. I’d like to say that there was something original about his story but there wasn’t. The long and short of it was that his parents couldn’t cope with Stephen and he’d been farmed off to London. His sister sounded a bit distracted. She was rarely at home but when she was there were arguments and fuss, Stephen didn’t get on with her boyfriend who sounded a bit like the kind of person Phil pretended to be. Stephen regularly stayed away for days. He slept at friends houses.
He sometimes slept outside on the bench in the courtyard.

His face was oddly emotionless when he told me all of this. But towards the end he looked into my eyes. And when he did I couldn’t think of anything to do except pat him on the head which was odd, slightly school teacher-ish but at least (I hoped) showed I cared.
‘Do you want to play a game?’ he asked.
I could feel my eyes growing sleepy.
‘No you go ahead. I need some kip. It’s after two.’
Stephen got up and went into the front room.
I heard an electronic soundtrack then a whirring noise.
I took one last sip of my sweet, sticky warm pear lemonade, leant back against the pillow and quickly fell into a deep sleep.