safe – what with the flasher – and phoned Carl to come and get her. Which was, I realised belatedly, exactly what she had planned to do all along. I was just the audience.
‘You’ve turned into a right bitch since you’ve started seeing him, do you know that?’ I said.
‘You are jealous,’ she said mildly.
‘Of what?’
There was a moment or two of silence. Rows like this were becoming normal. It was nothing that wouldn’t blow over but it irritated me that it was always me who made the first move to reconcile and not Chloe. Like she knew she could do without me fine, for as long as it took. It was all down to Carl. The summer just gone; we’d spent more or less every day together. I’d sleep at her house, she’d sleep at mine – sometimes even in the same bed.
We watched the stage version of Bottom and videos of Carry on Emmannuelle and Barbarella . We ate with her parents, who I actually think really liked me, and thought because I was quiet I was possibly a good influence on Chloe, who they worried had a tendency to run wild and get out of hand. Then, late October or early November she’d started seeing him – and overnight she’d changed, and even started encouraging Emma, who’d been nothing but a hanger-on up until Carl had come on the scene. It was all getting away from me.
‘You’re a slag,’ I said.
Chloe didn’t look at me, didn’t look hurt. She rubbed a hand over the mark on her neck.
‘Give it a rest, will you?’ she said wearily. ‘You’re being really, really immature, you know that? Do you want to come to my party, or not?’
I opened my mouth and I was about to say more, to really go off on one, when I heard the crackle of someone running towards us through the woods. Chloe tucked her lip balm into her coat pocket and put her gloves on fastidiously. I remember the sticky, sickly smell of the grease she put on her mouth. Peach melba, or peach crush. Something thick and orange. We both turned to the hedge and waited.
When Carl came out he was panting slightly and his eyes were bright. I’d never seen anyone look like that before, not even in films. It was an ‘ideas’ expression. Something new, something shining, deep in his mind. He was wiping his boots on the grass as if he’d stepped in dog-dirt.
‘What did you do with him?’ Chloe asked. She went over and tried to put her arm through his. He shook his head and shrugged her away.
‘Get off pawing at me, will you?’
Carl wiped his mouth and hawked up snot, spat on the grass, wiped his mouth again. ‘He ran off. Quick little bastard. Can they all move like that?’
I shrugged, and Chloe tittered and tried to hold his hand.
‘You want to go back in the car?’ she said, and moved her face so those loops of hair fell over her eyes. Carl was taller than her – a lot taller. She looked up at him through her eyelashes.
‘Get in the car,’ he said, and pushed her so hard she had to run a few steps for her feet to catch up with her body. She nearly fell and I was about to say something. I took another look at Carl and thought better of it. Chloe didn’t say anything either, just carried on moving. She didn’t look back at him. Trotted over to the car and didn’t wait, like she usually did, for him to open the door for her.
‘In the back,’ he gestured with his thumb, ‘both of you. I’m taking you home.’
‘What’s the rush?’ Chloe said, once we were strapped in and on the move. ‘I thought we had plans?’
She drew out ‘plans’, just so that I wouldn’t miss the reference – wouldn’t be able to take my mind away from what she and Carl would be doing as soon as I was out of the way. We were on the road that circled the outside edge of the park – spooning the trees and the Asda superstore.
‘That’s the rush,’ Carl said, and slowed the car to a crawl. He tapped his knuckle against the window and we looked into the Asda car park.
The shutters were down and the lights were off in the
‘You’ve turned into a right bitch since you’ve started seeing him, do you know that?’ I said.
‘You are jealous,’ she said mildly.
‘Of what?’
There was a moment or two of silence. Rows like this were becoming normal. It was nothing that wouldn’t blow over but it irritated me that it was always me who made the first move to reconcile and not Chloe. Like she knew she could do without me fine, for as long as it took. It was all down to Carl. The summer just gone; we’d spent more or less every day together. I’d sleep at her house, she’d sleep at mine – sometimes even in the same bed.
We watched the stage version of Bottom and videos of Carry on Emmannuelle and Barbarella . We ate with her parents, who I actually think really liked me, and thought because I was quiet I was possibly a good influence on Chloe, who they worried had a tendency to run wild and get out of hand. Then, late October or early November she’d started seeing him – and overnight she’d changed, and even started encouraging Emma, who’d been nothing but a hanger-on up until Carl had come on the scene. It was all getting away from me.
‘You’re a slag,’ I said.
Chloe didn’t look at me, didn’t look hurt. She rubbed a hand over the mark on her neck.
‘Give it a rest, will you?’ she said wearily. ‘You’re being really, really immature, you know that? Do you want to come to my party, or not?’
I opened my mouth and I was about to say more, to really go off on one, when I heard the crackle of someone running towards us through the woods. Chloe tucked her lip balm into her coat pocket and put her gloves on fastidiously. I remember the sticky, sickly smell of the grease she put on her mouth. Peach melba, or peach crush. Something thick and orange. We both turned to the hedge and waited.
When Carl came out he was panting slightly and his eyes were bright. I’d never seen anyone look like that before, not even in films. It was an ‘ideas’ expression. Something new, something shining, deep in his mind. He was wiping his boots on the grass as if he’d stepped in dog-dirt.
‘What did you do with him?’ Chloe asked. She went over and tried to put her arm through his. He shook his head and shrugged her away.
‘Get off pawing at me, will you?’
Carl wiped his mouth and hawked up snot, spat on the grass, wiped his mouth again. ‘He ran off. Quick little bastard. Can they all move like that?’
I shrugged, and Chloe tittered and tried to hold his hand.
‘You want to go back in the car?’ she said, and moved her face so those loops of hair fell over her eyes. Carl was taller than her – a lot taller. She looked up at him through her eyelashes.
‘Get in the car,’ he said, and pushed her so hard she had to run a few steps for her feet to catch up with her body. She nearly fell and I was about to say something. I took another look at Carl and thought better of it. Chloe didn’t say anything either, just carried on moving. She didn’t look back at him. Trotted over to the car and didn’t wait, like she usually did, for him to open the door for her.
‘In the back,’ he gestured with his thumb, ‘both of you. I’m taking you home.’
‘What’s the rush?’ Chloe said, once we were strapped in and on the move. ‘I thought we had plans?’
She drew out ‘plans’, just so that I wouldn’t miss the reference – wouldn’t be able to take my mind away from what she and Carl would be doing as soon as I was out of the way. We were on the road that circled the outside edge of the park – spooning the trees and the Asda superstore.
‘That’s the rush,’ Carl said, and slowed the car to a crawl. He tapped his knuckle against the window and we looked into the Asda car park.
The shutters were down and the lights were off in the
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