Dear Nobody (15 page)

But I'm not the same person, and I never will be, ever again.

They're shy of me, I suppose, and so is Chris, in a strange way. I couldn't wait to tell him that I'd felt you moving inside me and he looked at me in a grinning, embarrassed sort of way. ‘Put your hands on my tummy,' I told him. ‘You might feel it, too.' But he wouldn't.

If he's shy of you, and of me, how can he ever be a father to you? I know I'm right. We don't touch now, not in that intimate way. We don't stroke each other. We hold hands and kiss, and I yearn for him, but I'm scared. Now that it's too late, I'm scared. What would we be doing, if we lived together and we were afraid to touch each other? He's got his English Paper Three to take, and then I'll tell him.

So, anyway, I went to Grandad's with Robbie. Robbie is such a pain these days. His teeth keep growing. I'm sure they do. I'm sure his teeth weren't that big this time last year. All ten-year-old boys seem to have huge front teeth. I can't understand it. And he's always giggling about things. He used to be a little boy that I could tell stories to and play rounders with. Not long ago.

On the way to Grandad's he said, ‘When are you going to – you know what?' and he started giggling in this silly high-pitched baby giggle voice of his, and little watery bubbles kept fluffing out between his great big teeth.

‘You know what what?' I asked him, mad at him for being so silly and babyish and toothy, even though I knew exactly what it was that was making him like that. And he stuck out his stomach as full as it would go without him actually falling over, and kept looking up at me and giggling, his face all red and shiny. ‘Stop being stupid,' I snapped at him. ‘I haven't a clue what you're on about.'

‘I bet Chris has,' he giggled.

Grandad had been swimming. He caught up with us
just as we got to his gate, and he jumped over the wall so he could beat us up the path. He bowed us in and his dog catapulted into us and tried to bowl us over.

‘Watch it,' Grandad said, and he put out his hand to steady me. He slid it down my shoulder to my waist, the way he does, and I could feel him tensing. I wear loose clothes, they hide a lot. Now he would surely know.

‘Grandad…' I began, but he lifted his hand away and without looking at me followed Robbie into the kitchen. I couldn't make myself follow him. I went straight upstairs to see my nan. She likes to sit by her window staring out at the street through a crack in the curtains. I can't imagine what it is that she thinks about all the time. It's as if she slipped into old age without even realizing. She's hard work. I sit and talk to her even though I feel uncomfortable with her. I feel sorry for her. Her eyes are always sad. What frightens me most is that Mum is a bit like that sometimes, a tiny bit, especially these days, as if deep inside her head her own thoughts are much more interesting than what's going on around her.

Grandad and Robbie came in with the sandwiches and put them on the little table that Nan uses. Grandad kissed her on her permed hair as he put the tray down, then went downstairs again, whistling something without a tune between his teeth. He came back up with a glass vase and some roses from his garden. ‘Here, Dorrie, smell,' he told her, and she shifted her sad eyes round to him for a minute and shook her head and then looked away again.

‘What d'you think of England's chances, then?' Grandad asked Robbie, and they settled down to talk about the World Cup, and I sauntered over, to the window with a wedge of cheese sandwich in my hand and stood looking out at the kids playing in the street. You could just hear their voices, echoing against the bricks. It would rain again soon. The air had that kind of hollowness about it.

And then Nan said, ‘When's that baby of yours due?'

Grandad and Robbie stopped talking immediately. I could feel Grandad's eyes on me. I made myself look up at him.

‘What are you on about Dorrie?' Grandad said. ‘This is little Helen you're talking to.'

Nan just kept her eyes fixed on me, chewing on a sandwich crust.

‘I'm not little Helen.' I could hardly talk, I'd started shaking so much. ‘Nan's right, Grandad.'

Robbie started giggling again.

‘I don't know,' Nan sighed. ‘There must be bad blood in our family. Like mother, like daughter.'

On the afternoon of our last exam Tom and I went out on our bikes. I've never cycled so far and so fast all in one go, ever. We scorched through the Hope Valley to Castleton, and slogged our way up Winnats Pass. My heart felt like a red, swelling balloon, blown up to burst. Brilliant, Winnats Pass. You feel as if you'll never climb out of it, and suddenly you're up and into air and light and you're coasting free as water all the way to Buxton. We were yelling our heads off going downhill.

‘Let's hit Wildboarclough!' Tom shouted, and we bombed off head-down out to the moors, never seeing a car or a bike or a hiker. Plenty of sheep up there. Plenty of curlews, rippling away like rivers. We flung ourselves off our bikes when we got to the top and emptied our water bottles down our throats.

‘Hell,' said Tom, flat on his back with his shirt off and his tracksuit trows rolled up to his knees. ‘You've got to come to France next month, Dope-head.'

‘Can't.'

‘Why the hell not? I'll lend you the dosh if you're short.'

‘It's not that.'

‘What then? Helen? She'll not stop you.'

I wanted to tell him then about Helen. I didn't know how
to say it. I've got Helen pregnant. Helen's having a kid. We're having a baby. I hadn't got the vocabulary for it, and that was the truth. I'd spent the last two weeks scribbling thousands of useless words on to exam papers and I couldn't bring out the most significant sentence in my life.

‘She's okay is Helen,' Tom said. ‘What d'you reckon? Will you two stay the course?'

I pretended to laugh. ‘Newcastle's a long way from Sheffield,' I said. And then I said, ‘We might have to, though,' really quiet, changing my voice because it was thickened in my throat like treacle. That should have been enough for anyone; but not for old Tom-boy. He didn't say a word. How can someone who's been predicted to get three As be so dense?

Tom cycled on ahead and I slowed down to look over the valley. I knew that before the month was up Helen and I must have our talk, must decide what we should do. I felt a tingling of nerves as I started coasting down Wildboarclough, picking up speed as I went, just holding myself back with the lightest touch on the brakes, just leaning into the bends. There it was, spread before me, the huge vast green landscape, and no way of seeing over the edge, or beyond the blue hills. If I eased off the brakes I'd hurtle down into space, into nothing, into amazing calm.

A couple of days later we had the sixth-form farewell do. Actually it was an alternative do arranged by Tom, because half of them wanted to go to a disco in town which is usually full of forty-year-old blokes trying to get off with sixteen-year-old girls. It's pathetic. It makes me ill. So Tom suggested that we burn off to hear a Zambian band playing at the Leadmill. About ten of us went, including Helen and Ruthlyn. We would have to make some plan soon, I knew that. I had no idea what we would decide to do.

Helen was in a weird state, right from the moment we set off. She was as brittle as glass. I couldn't fathom her mood that night. One minute she was holding my hand and letting me kiss her and the next minute she was cold and quiet, a million miles away. She tortures me when she's like this. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I didn't know till the end of the evening, till I was walking her home.

She looked fantastic. She was wearing something loose and blue and floating, and her hair was soft and gleaming, always catching the light, wherever she moved. When the band started playing they all got up to dance but I just watched Helen. You should see her dancing. Everyone watches her. She pretends she doesn't know, and she dances with her eyes half closed, and every so often she'd glance at me and give me that amazing smile of hers. There was no one else in the room as far as I was concerned.

While I was watching her I had an idea. It was such a perfect idea, and it just floated into the air, so thrilling and obvious that I wanted to shout it out to her over the music. I held it in my head, though. I went over to her and started dancing, full of it. I decided to tell her on the way home. It was this: I would ask to have my university place transferred to Sheffield. It was so simple.

June 23rd

Dear Nobody,

I knew it had to be tonight.

I tried to make it the best night we'd ever had together. I tried to let Chris know that he was the most special person in the world. Every now and again I remembered what it was I was going to have to say to him at the end of the evening. It kept rising up in me, as if it was going to drown me. I kept smiling at him to tell him everything was all right. He was watching me all the time. I knew he was anxious. He knew something was up.

The Zambian band was playing such buoyant, happy music. They were all laughing and cheerful. You can't resist dancing to music like that. The rhythm seems to go right into your blood and bones. Everyone was dancing – old men and kids. Our group loved it. I was wearing a very loose dress and I was dancing just for Chris. I knew people were watching me, and I knew for sure that it was obvious now that I was pregnant. I knew the exact
moment when Tom realized. He went absolutely white. He looked at Chris, and then at me, and I smiled at him. ‘It's all right, Tom,' I wanted to tell him. ‘It's all right.'

Chris sat for ages just watching me. I think he was miles away. I don't think he even saw the ripples of knowing that were passing through Tom and the others. He suddenly jumped up and came over to me and let himself go. His feet go wild when he dances. You'd think he'd tied them on to the ends of his fingers with elastic bands. He has no co-ordination at all. How he stays on his bike I don't know. And all the time he was dancing and throwing his feet round I was thinking how much I like him, little Nobody. I can't say that other word. It's too dangerous. It hurts and hurts and hurts.

It was nearly as light as day when we came out. We were all together at first and then everyone seemed to melt away in twos and groups and it was just me and Chris, arms round each other, walking as slow as smoke to make the miles stretch out. I wanted it to last forever. I didn't want to say what I knew I would have to say.

And Chris said to me, at the corner of our road, ‘Nell, we shouldn't have to say good night to each other. We should be together all the time now.'

And that was when I told him.

Helen

You have no right to do this to me. You can't shut me out of your life, now. You can't keep me away. I won't stay away.

I threw that one in the bin.

Darling Nell

I love you.

And that.

Helen