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He stopped walking, but only for long enough to say, “Shush, Matt. Please. Just…just…”
And then he shook his head, his long strides eating up the ground again, as if he couldn’t spirit himself away from me quick enough.
“Just stop, Alex! What the hell is going on?” Was he angry, upset, about to hit me? Or something else? I was a teenage boy, for fucks sake. Reading other people’s emotions was like deciphering Swahili.
He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. For a horrible moment I wondered if he was going to burst into tears.
“Al. Please. Just stop a sec. I need—”
“I know what you are, Matt.” He rubbed hard at his mouth, as if trying to rub off a stain. His voice trembled. “I…I know what you are. And…and…just don’t speak, okay?”
An icy fear coiled in my belly. “What? If it’s about…”
We’d made it to the end of the road near the spot where call-me-Richard had arranged to pick us up. Ahead, a group of lads milled around outside a chip shop. Some girls clambered into a taxi at the rank opposite, shouting to their mates farther down the street. A Ford Fiesta whizzed past, the boom of the bass speaker so loud the pounding resonated in my guts. With a rough hand at my shoulder, Alex pushed me into a shop doorway.
“What?” I braced myself. Wherever on my body he chose to hit me, I prayed it wouldn’t bleed. Blood would be a bugger to clean off cream leather upholstery. Being an absolute pussy, I’d probably faint, too. But Alex was strong; if he hit me properly, he might cut me open, I might need stitches. And I fucking hated hospitals with a passion; I’d spent too many nights in Accident and Emergency as a little kid, watching my mum explain how she’d walked into a cupboard or tripped onto a pint glass or… Or perhaps after he’d beaten me up he’d leave me here to find my own way back, in which case I was fucked anyway.
His kiss landed smack in the centre of my mouth. No way could he claim to have been aiming for my cheek, not with that degree of precision. And Alex pressed hard, too, hard and soft at the same time. As his teeth clashed with mine, he snarled into my mouth, a wretched sound; like a cornered animal, desperate and furious.
And then it was over as suddenly as it had begun. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, covering it like he was about to puke, he scrambled back as if scorched.
“Oh god, oh god.” His shoulders heaved in a dry retch as he twisted away. For an instant, as waves of euphoria and dismay collided, I wondered if I would puke myself. His body limp, Alex swayed into the side of the doorway. “Oh god,” he repeated, “Oh god.”
A car horn blasted a cheery greeting, shaking Alex out of whatever the fuck was happening to him.
“Shit. It’s your dad. He’s here.”
On autopilot, I followed him to the car and climbed into the back seat. I fixed my seatbelt. Alex did the same in the front.
“Goodness! You two boys stink to high heaven! Anyone would think you’ve been to a gig and had a night on the town!”
Call-me-Richard pressed a button and the car windows lowered soundlessly. A welcome blast of cold air fanned over my face. I shivered. The car pulled away from the kerb. He asked us questions, Alex answered. He even joked, as if the kiss had never happened. Cramming my eyes shut, not caring if they never opened again, I tried not to picture his terrified face.
Tiny pastel-pink roses meandered up the cream wallpaper in the Valentine guest bedroom, hundreds of them, all perfectly in bloom. Not a withered petal or a dead head in sight. A matching bedspread echoed the pattern, they climbed up the drawn curtains too, even the tasselly bedside lampshade. The double bed, topped with a padded, pink velour headboard, was the first double I’d ever slept in, not that I slept. I even had my own private bathroom, also wallpapered in pink roses, and I took a quick shower, making use of the fluffy pink towel. I brushed my teeth using my own toothbrush, not pink but green, and very worn. Afterwards, I lay on my back on the comfy bed staring at a pale pink ceiling until I heard Alex’s parents moving around downstairs and deemed it an acceptable time to surface.
“Gosh, sleepyhead! I didn’t expect to see either of you two much before lunchtime!”
Lizzie. Smiley, shiny, bustling happily around her cosy kitchen. Protecting her pretty white dress with a yellow apron, her hands covered in pastry mixture. No sign of Alex, which was a small mercy.
“I…um…I have to go. My brother Simon is coming to pick me up before he heads to football practice.”
Lies. My brother was God knows where—in bed asleep next to Tara probably—and he didn’t play football. “He couldn’t be sure he’d be able to find your house, so I’m meeting him at the village church, in….” I glanced at the clock above the breakfast bar, calculating. Always fucking calculating. “In ten minutes, so I’d better go. I promised him I wouldn’t be late. Thank Richard very much for taking me to the concert. I had a fantastic evening. And thank you for having me to stay overnight. And say goodbye to Alex for me?”
Maybe for the last time.
I walked as I talked, speedily towards the front door. Not giving Lizzie a chance to wipe the pastry off her hands and sit me down and ask about the red rings around my eyes.
It took me nearly three fucking hours to walk home. Alex Valentine did not live on a bus route.
BOYS DON’T CRY
(THE CURE)
I didn’t have a maths lesson on Monday.
I did have a maths lesson on Tuesday.
When I arrived, Alex was already slouched on the front row, deep in conversation with a glossy, toothy, dark-haired girl from his previous school. Binita, if I recalled. I knew all the boys thought she was fit, as even Phil had had a crack at her, although he’d not got further than fondling her tits. Cutting his losses, he’d moved on. She and Alex laughed a lot. Binita was popular. I sat on my own at the back and sprinted out as the bell rang. Mrs Goodman might, or might not, have stood at the front of class and taught maths. The hour was a complete blank.
