Kiss by Jacqueline Wilson

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  'What about?'

  'I don't know. He won't say. Us, maybe?' said Miranda. 'Anyway, I'm tired and my boots are rubbing and I got bored of stomping round t h e g a r d e n s — '

  'Look, you'll really have to ring off now, this is costing us a fortune. Quarrel with your friends on your own phone,' said Harry.

  Miranda giggled. 'Who's t h a t ? He sounds a royal pain. Anyway, I've got to go, Sylvie.'

  'But w h a t will I do? Something might have happened to Carl.'

  'Don't be daft. He'll be by the gate, waiting.

  You go there too. Find his m u m and go home together like good little kiddywinks. Bye!'

  The phone went dead. I didn't dare t r y re-dialling on Harry's phone. I gave it back, t h a n k i n g his kind wife, and then I started r u n n i n g all the way back up Cherry Walk t o w a r d s Victoria Gate. I peered a r o u n d desperately as I went, calling for Carl whenever I could draw breath. There was still no sign of him.

  There was a little crowd of people n e a r t h e gate, all saying their goodbyes. I dodged in and out of them, looking and looking, b u t still couldn't see Carl.

  'Sylvie? Sylvie!' There was Jules standing on t h e other side of the gate, looking anxious, h e r h a i r wilder t h a n ever. 'Oh, Sylvie, come on! Find t h e others and let's go. I couldn't find anywhere to p a r k so I've left the car j u s t up t h a t street 195

  blocking someone's drive. I'll have to move it in a minute.'

  'But I can't come! I'm not with t h e others. We all got lost. Miranda and Paul are OK, they've gone off to get the train, but I can't find Carl anywhere. Oh, Jules, w h a t are we going to do? I j u s t know something terrible h a s happened to him.'

  'Don't be silly, Sylvie,' Jules said briskly.

  'There he is, behind you!'

  I turned. There was Carl. I went limp with relief – until I saw his face. His eyes were red, his eyelashes spiky, his cheeks flushed. It was obvious he'd been crying.

  I knew there was no point asking Carl w h a t was wrong. He sat in t h e back of t h e car, fists clenched, lips tightly pressed, frowning h a r d with the effort of keeping it all in. J u l e s tried to make cheery general conversation, peering at Carl i n h e r rear-view mirror. H e s t a r e d resolutely out of t h e window into t h e d a r k n e s s outside.

  I tried reaching out to him, resting my h a n d on the seat between us. He didn't respond. I tried nudging a little n e a r e r b u t he tensed up even tighter. I sat s t a r i n g at him miserably, trying to work out w h a t h a d happened. He h a d been so happy a n d carefree w a n d e r i n g a r o u n d all the glasshouses.

  I thought back to t h a t moment only an h o u r ago when t h e four of us h a d held h a n d s at t h e 197

  top of the Temperate House. Why h a d we all agreed to play t h a t stupid game of Hide and Seek? It was all Paul's idea, j u s t so he could get Miranda on her own. Had Carl and Paul h a d some kind of argument over Miranda? But Carl didn't really care about Miranda, even though she w a n t e d him. Still, she seemed h a p p y enough to clear off with Paul now. Why couldn't Carl be happy with me?

  The moment Jules drove up outside our houses Carl leaped out of the car and r a n up the path, his key in his hand. He didn't say goodbye to me. He didn't even t u r n round.

  'Oh dear,' said Jules, sighing. 'Do you have any idea what's happened, Sylvie?'

  'No,' I said.

  Jules p u t h e r h a n d on my shoulder. 'Sylvie, do you t h i n k . . . ?'

  'What?'

  I h e a r d her swallowing. I didn't w a n t h e r to say any more. I knew w h a t she was going to suggest.

  'Don't let's talk about him. He'd so h a t e it,' I said.

  'Yes, you're right,' said Jules.

  I mumbled a thank-you to h e r and went into my own house. I didn't w a n t to talk to my own m u m either. She was on the computer, probably emailing Gerry. I s h u t myself in my room. I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I thought of Paul and Miranda together. I thought of Carl alone in his bedroom, only a couple of metres 198

  away from me, yet he felt far away, in a different country altogether.

  I didn't realize I was crying until the t e a r s started trickling sideways down my cheeks.

  Very early on Saturday morning I tried texting Carl.

  R U AWAKE?

  I tried every half-hour. I thought he was awake. I was sure I heard him opening his window. I tried opening mine, peering out. I couldn't see Carl b u t I thought I heard t h e click-click of his computer. I tried calling softly but he didn't reply.

  I went downstairs to the living room and typed on our computer:

  What happened, Carl? Have you and Paul had a fight? I don't care, whatever it is, I swear I don't, I just want to help. I can't stand it when you're unhappy. Please please please talk to me or write to me or text me.

  He emailed back five bleak little words: Please just leave me alone.

  I tried to do j u s t t h a t . I kept to myself. I went back to bed and didn't get up till t h e afternoon.

  Miranda kept ringing but I didn't w a n t to talk to her. I switched my mobile off.

  'Are you having a mope, love?' said Mum, 199

  coming into my room with a cup of coffee.

  'I'm j u s t tired, Mum,' I mumbled.

  I let my coffee go cold and p u t my head under my pillow, trying h a r d to tunnel my way back to sleep. I kept having weird half-waking dreams about Carl and Miranda a n d Paul, until I started banging my head, trying to dislodge t h e m from my brain. I h a d a headache from crying and sleeping so long, and when I got up at last I found I had two huge new spots on my nose. It was the final indignity. I felt so tragic and I j u s t looked comically ugly. I tried squeezing t h e spots a n d m a d e t h e m worse. I smothered them with thick foundation and t u r n e d into a clown – with spots.

  'Miranda's on t h e phone again,' M u m called.

  'Tell h e r I've gone out,' I hissed.

  'You tell her,' said Mum.

  'Oh for heaven's sake, how can I if I'm pretending I'm not here!' I shouted down.

  I knew Miranda might h e a r my voice in the background. I decided it was j u s t too bad. I h e a r d Mum mumbling some excuse on the phone. Then she came t r e k k i n g up to my bedroom again.

  'Why don't you w a n t to talk to Miranda all of a sudden? I thought you two were such total bosom buddies?'

  'Mum! I can't stick t h a t expression. And as a m a t t e r of fact, I can't stick Miranda right this minute,' I said.

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  'OK, OK. And you've obviously fallen out with Carl too. I was talking to Jules this morning and he's j u s t flopping around in his room, not wanting to talk to anyone either. Honestly, you kids!'

  M u m sighed, but she didn't look sad. Her eyes were shining and she h a d a silly smile, as if someone was telling her a private joke. It was as if she h a d her own private hotline in her head to this wretched Gerry.

  I needed to get away from her. I didn't want to go next door. I didn't want to go over to Miranda's.

  I decided I'd go and see Lucy. She was very lukewarm when I phoned. I couldn't blame her.

  I'd been practically ignoring h e r recently.

  'Can I come round this afternoon, Lucy?' I asked.

  'Why?'

  'Well, because – because we're friends.

  Friends h a n g out together, don't they?'

  'I suppose Miranda's busy,' she snapped.

  I thought she might put t h e phone down on me b u t then she weakened.

  'OK. Come round if you really must.'

  I didn't really want to go at all. I felt I'd been mad to think of it, but I couldn't back out now. I went over to Lucy's, and when she opened the door I made an effort to put on a big smile and be sweet to her. It wasn't easy. She was still acting very off-hand and talked to me in monosyllables, sitting primly on the end of her bed, picking at the stitching on her gingham patchwork quilt.

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  I found it
harder and h a r d e r to make bright friendly conversation. I wandered restlessly a r o u n d t h e room while Lucy played h e r favourite new album, nodding h e r head and snapping her fingers and tapping her feet. She was never quite on the beat, which made it even more maddening. I turned my back on her to stop having to watch this twitchy performance and started rearranging her three bears on the windowsill, making them cosy up together.

  'Hello, Bobby, hello, Billy, hello, Bernie,' I said.

  I made t h e m each wave a furry paw. 'Hello, Sylvie,' I said in a big booming bear voice.

  'Hello, Sylvie,' I said in a soft middling bear voice. 'Hello, Sylvie,' I said in a teeny-tiny squeaky bear voice.

  'I suppose you think you're funny,' said Lucy.

  'They're all the same size so they all have the same sort of voice. And what are you doing now?

  They don't kiss.'

  'Yes they do,' I said, making t h e m cosy up together and rub snouts.

  'You're so weird,' said Lucy, bouncing up off her bed and snatching her bears from me.

  'OK, I'm sorry. Let's do something, Lucy. Shall we go shopping?'

  'I've already been shopping this morning, with my mum.'

  'Well, how about we look at some magazines then? We could cut stuff out and s t a r t up a scrapbook each. You could do one on all your favourite pop stars.'

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  Lucy perked up a little. 'I've got scissors and Pritt. I've got one proper scrapbook. I bought it to stick Christmas cards in b u t I never got round to it. But w h a t can you use?'

  She searched through all h e r stationery and eventually found me a big drawing pad from years ago, though she'd used up nearly all the pages. Little-girl Lucy h a d d r a w n endless pictures of a red house with frilly curtains at each square window, a line of blue sky at the top and a line of green grass at the bottom, with red and yellow flowers in regimental formation.

  Each picture was practically identical.

  Lucy and I divided a huge pile of magazines between us. She commandeered all the teenage ones devoted to pop stars. I flicked through h e r mum's cast-off Hello! and Heat and h e r dad's car magazines. I decided to use all Lucy's bland little-girl houses, though I customized each one as I went. I cut out the Osbourne family and gave their house fancy extensions, with a gothic bat-decorated music studio for Ozzy. I gave t h e m a car each and added lots of dogs cut from an old Ladybird book of dogs.

  'You shouldn't cut up books' said Lucy, snipping carefully round a heart-shaped photo of a blond boy band. Her lips opened and shut in time to t h e snip of h e r scissors.

  'You can't tell me you still read it, Lucy,' I said.

  'Do you have any crayons?'

  I scribbled a little brown swirly pile beside each dog.

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  'Don't! That's disgusting!' said Lucy, but she couldn't help laughing.

  I t u r n e d the page and cut out Elton and David for the next house. I extended it in every direction, making it as plush and palatial as I could. I found an old Gardening Monthly and filled their house with as m a n y flowers as I could pick out from the shiny pages.

  I started on the Beckhams next, giving them thrones in the garden, two huge golden chairs and t h r e e little ones for t h e children. I drew Victoria her own walk-in wardrobe and snipped out some dinky designer outfits for her. I stuck a lot of green at the back of the house so t h a t David h a d his very own pitch for playing footie with his sons.

  'Honestly, Sylvie!' Lucy kept exclaiming. She kept giggling too. 'You are so so so weird.'

  When I was with Miranda I was the little titch meek mousy friend. When I was with Lucy I was the weird outrageous girl. I liked the way it m a d e me feel.

  Then Lucy's mum came in with a tray of Ribena and chocolate finger biscuits, as if we were still both six years old.

  'Whatever are you up to, girls?' she said, frowning at the snippets of paper.

  'We're making scrapbooks,' said Lucy. 'Oh, Mum, you should see what Sylvie's done, it's such a scream.'

  Lucy's m u m looked as if she might s t a r t screaming.

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  'Oh no!' she said. Tou've stuck all these silly pictures in Lucy's drawing book! Oh dear, why couldn't you have used t h e empty pages at the back? Why did you spoil all Lucy's drawings, Sylvia?'

  'It's Sylvie, actually. I'm sorry. I didn't m e a n to spoil t h e m . I was j u s t t u r n i n g t h e m into collages,' I said.

  'Don't fuss, Mummy. I don't mind,' said Lucy, embarrassed. 'It's only a dumb old book I did in Year Two.'

  'I w a n t to keep all your drawings and stories, Lucy; they're very precious to me.' Lucy's m u m put the t r a y down on t h e dressing table so crossly t h a t the purple Ribena splashed over the rim of each glass, and then stomped out of t h e room.

  There was an awkward silence. Lucy and I looked at each other and t h e n looked away.

  'I'm sorry,' I said again.

  I picked up t h e drawing book to see if I could peel off t h e pictures but they were stuck fast.

  They didn't seem so witty and inventive now.

  'Don't worry, Sylvie, you know w h a t m u m s are like,' said Lucy.

  I was so glad I h a d my mum, not Lucy's.

  I started planning S a t u r d a y evening on my way home from Lucy's. M u m a n d I could have a girly night in together. We could watch some silly romantic film, eat chocolates, t r y out new hairstyles on each other.

  Mum h a d other plans.

  'I'm supposed to be seeing Gerry, Sylvie.'

  'I thought t h a t was tomorrow. Aren't you going swimming again with him?'

  Yes. But he's suggested we go out tonight too.

  I told him t h e other day I like Abba a n d he's managed to get tickets for Mamma Mia!. B u t I don't have to go. I can easily r i n g h i m up a n d cancel.'

  'Don't be daft, Mum. Of course you can't cancel! You go a n d enjoy yourself. You'll love it,'

  I said.

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  'I feel so guilty going out and leaving you.

  Still, I know you'll be fine next door. Though I'm not sure Carl will be there. Jules said he was out somewhere.'

  'Oh. Well. I don't have to go round there. I'll stay home.'

  'I can't leave you all by yourself. Do you maybe w a n t to have someone over for a sleepover? Miranda keeps phoning. I'm sure she'd like to.'

  'You would so live to regret Miranda on a sleepover. She'd bring a bottle of vodka and half a dozen boys,' I said.

  'I hope you're joking,' said Mum. 'All right, w h a t about Lucy?'

  I thought about having Lucy to stay, doubt-less with Billy and Bobby and Bernie Bear.

  I'll be fine by myself,' I said.

  'Well, I know you're a sensible girl, a n d responsible enough to be left. It isn't as if you'll be alone in t h e house. Miss Miles will be in h e r room.' M u m paused. If you felt it was cosier I could always ask Miss Miles to fix a bit of supper for both of you and t h e n you could watch television together.'

  'Mum, no offence to poor Miss Miles, b u t I'd sooner cut my throat t h a n sit eating one of h e r omelettes a n d watching h e r old Midsomer Murders videos. I keep telling you and telling you, I'll be fine. Go, Mum, go!'

  So she went. I managed to stay all smiley until t h e front door closed, and then I lay on the 207

  sofa and cried. I felt so lonely and left out. I wondered if Carl was still out. Had he made it up w i t h Paul? I kept thinking about them.

  Miss Miles put her head round the living-room door. 'Are you all right, Sylvie? Not too lonely now t h a t Mum's out? You can come and sit with me if you'd like?'

  'No thanks,' I said.

  Miss Miles sighed. 'Not t h a t I'm exactly exciting company for you,' she muttered.

  Then I felt really mean. 'It's not t h a t at all.

  I'm j u s t really tired – in fact I'm going to bed now,' I said.

  I did go to bed early. I didn't get to sleep. I was still awake when Mum got in, way after midnight. I didn't call out
to her. She came creeping into my room and hovered above me. I kept very still, my eyes shut.

  'Are you asleep, Sylvie?' she whispered.

  I stayed motionless, breathing very deeply.

  'Night-night darling,' Mum whispered, and crept out again.

  I h e a r d h e r spinning round and round on the landing, whisper-singing Dancing Queen. I stuck my fingers in my ears. I didn't want to h e a r any Abba songs, especially not t h a t one.

  Mum woke me up early t h e next morning. She h a d h e r hair tied up with a ribbon and wore a Tshirt and skinny jeans. She looked like my big sister, not my mum.

  'Hi, sweetie,' she said, sitting cross-legged on my bed. 'Were you OK last night? I looked in 208

  on you when I got in but you seemed sound asleep. I h a d j u s t t h e most fantastic time. I loved Mamma Mia!. I'll have to save up and take you some time – it's such fun. I j u s t know you'd love it too – and Carl. Maybe I can t r y to t a k e you for your birthday treat. Though I expect it's really pricey. Gerry wouldn't let me have the tickets to see how much they were. He wouldn't let me pay anything towards t h e evening, not even our drinks.'

  'Oh, w h a t a perfect gent,' I said. It sounded sourer t h a n I meant it to.

  Mum paused. Well, I t h i n k he is t h e perfect gent,' she said. 'I can't quite believe this is happening to me. It's mad, I know you'll think me totally crazy. I hardly know him, but I t h i n k I'm falling in love with him, Sylvie.

  I know all sorts of things could go wrong, and it probably won't last, b u t I don't care. I've never felt this way, not even when I first met your dad.

  You've no idea w h a t it's like. I j u s t look at him a n d I absolutely melt. Don't l a u g h at me, please!'

  I didn't feel like laughing. I felt like crying. I knew exactly w h a t it felt like.

  I burrowed down in bed so M u m couldn't see my face. She misunderstood.

  'Sorry, sorry, sorry! Oh, God, I know nothing's more disgusting and pathetic t h a n your own mother rambling on about true lurve.' She said it the silly way, sending herself up, trying to ease the situation.

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  'I'm very happy for you, Mum,' I mumbled u n d e r n e a t h the covers. 'I j u s t wish you wouldn't go on about it.'