Read Online Slam by Nick Hornby - Free Book Online

Culture, and Mark—yes, Mark, like a mark on your trousers—used to work in Health and Social Care. When he first came round, he said that in Islington he never had time for Health.
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    We walked home. We had our argument about the film, and then Mum tried to talk to me about Alicia.
    â€œThere’s nothing to say,” I said. And then, “That’s why I didn’t want to come out. Because I didn’t want to have A Talk.” I said it like that, so you could hear the capital letters. “Why couldn’t we just go out? And talk about nothing?”
    â€œSo when can I talk to you?” she said. “Because you’re never at home.”
    â€œI’ve got a girlfriend,” I said. “That’s it. That’s all there is to say. Go on. Ask me. Ask me whether I’ve got a girlfriend.”
    â€œSammy…”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œAm I allowed a follow-up question?” she said.
    â€œOne.”
    â€œAre you having sex?”
    â€œAre you ?” I said.
    What I meant was, You can’t ask that. It’s too personal. But since she’d split up with Useless Steve, she hadn’t been seeing anyone, so she didn’t mind answering.
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œWell, were you having sex?”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” she said. “Are you asking me if I’ve ever had sex? Because I would have thought you’re the answer.”
    â€œShut up,” I said, because I was embarrassed. I wished we hadn’t started on this.
    â€œLet’s forget about me. What about you? Are you having sex?”
    â€œNo comment. My business.”
    â€œSo that’s a yes.”
    â€œNo. It’s a no comment.”
    â€œYou’d tell me if you weren’t.”
    â€œNo I wouldn’t. Anyway. All this was your idea.”
    â€œWhat was?”
    â€œAlicia. You thought I’d like her, so you made me come to that party. And I did like her.”
    â€œSam, you know that having you when I did—”
    â€œYeah, yeah. It fucked up your life.”
    I never usually use the f-word in front of her, because she gets upset. Not about the f-word itself, especially, but she starts to beat herself up for being a teenage mother who couldn’t bring her kid up properly, and I hate that. I think she’s done a pretty good job. I mean, I’m not the worst kid in the world, am I? But I swore because I wanted her to think that she’d upset me, even though she hadn’t, really.
    It’s weird, knowing that me being born messed her up. It doesn’t bother me, really, for two reasons. First of all, it wasn’t my fault, it was hers—hers and Dad’s, anyway. And second, she’s not messed up anymore. She’s caught up, more or less, on all the things she missed because of me. You could even argue that she’s overtaken herself. She wasn’t any great shakes at school, she says, but she was so unhappy about not finishing her education that she pushed herself twice as hard as she would have done. She went to evening classes, got qualifications, got a job at the Council. I’m not saying it was a good idea, her having me when she did, but it only ruined a small part of her life, not her whole life. It’s always there, though. And if I want to get out of something—like a conversation about whether I’d had sex with Alicia—then I can just say, all sad and bitter, that I fucked up her life. And whatever it is I’m trying to get out of is forgotten about. I’ve never told her that I feel out of everyone’s league because of what happened.
    â€œOh, Sam, I’m sorry.”
    â€œNo, it’s OK.” But I said it all sort of heroic, so that she’d know it wasn’t OK. “But that isn’t what you’re worried about anyway, is it?” I said.
    â€œI don’t know what I’m worried about. Can I meet her