You Again Page 8

  “Actually, I didn’t mention names but at least we know who we’re talking about.”

  “I’ve barely seen him,” I protested.

  Viv raised her eyebrows. She gave me the “Viv Lee Look” – never one to leave a person unturned. “I saw you outside class,” she purred. “Star-crossed lovers.”

  “Hardly,” I scoffed.

  We fell into step beside each other, although I had to walk considerably slower than I would normally do. Baseball boots beat heels every time.

  “He’s intense, no? Thought surfers were chilled, man,” drawled Viv, nailing a credible American accent.

  I had to agree. “He’s got stuff going on.”

  “Tell me about it. The whole world’s got stuff going on.”

  “I mean like headaches and… well, stuff.”

  “Like I said. Intense.”

  “I know how to handle him.”

  “I hope so.”

  I started to feel a bit narked. “You don’t know him.”

  Viv picked up on my tone and stopped walking. She turned and looked at me. “And you do?”

  “I’m getting to know him.”

  “So you’re dating?”

  “Skating not dating,” I batted back the relationship status.

  “Kissing?”

  “Hanging out. Okay?”

  Viv shrugged and picked up her pace again. “He kinda stared me out.”

  “He what?” Now it was my turn to stop dead.

  “Outside the classroom. You two were talking. I stopped. He stared. I’m telling you, those gemstone sapphires had no sparkle.”

  I had to laugh. Viv Lee, drama queen. “He has the bluest eyes.”

  “Don’t be fooled by the rocks that he got…” sang Viv, velvety smooth.

  “I’m not a fool,” I cut in, serrated edge.

  “Who’s saying you’re a fool?”

  I backtracked. “It’s not you, Viv, it’s my aunt. Louise decided to debut her caring, sharing side yesterday. For the first time in fifteen years.”

  Viv let out a whistle. “What was the occasion?”

  “She saw me talking to Lennox on the street. He walked me home after school yesterday.”

  “Continue.”

  “Lennox goes home. I go inside. Louise starts going on about how she doesn’t like the look of Lennox; there’s something about him she doesn’t trust; he might be after my money. Oh, and…” I finished off in a mimicking voice, “boys will use you and lose you.”

  Viv laughed. “Louise pulls it out the bag at last. I knew there was more to her than Christian Lacroix, darling.”

  “I’ll take Lacroix over her relationship advice any time,” I groaned, banging my board against my forehead. “And here’s me thinking, all my life, that I wished she paid more attention to me.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” teased Viv.

  We walked through the school gates, arm in arm, back on track, texting while we talked.

  I pressed “send” the minute Viv walked off to her drama class.

  Have I told u lately that I <3 u?

  She replied in a heartbeat: Te amo.

  10

  Angie: secrets

  Viv and I never fall out. But the conversation we’d just had was edging on tense, a little choppy around the edges, if you knew what you were looking for. Sure, we’ve bickered over the last Krispy Kreme in the box but not proper “You’re-not-my-friend-anymore” fights and break-ups.

  As I said, we fit with flat-pack furniture precision. When I’m hot-headed, she’s the sea breeze. When she’s too “leading lady”, I exit stage left. There’s no tension. We’ve grown up through our teenage years together, been there, got the hormones. Her home was my safe house when I thought I was the loneliest girl in the world.

  I never fall out with Aunt Louise either but that was because we never talked. It is impossible to have a fight with someone when you’re not in the same room. I suppose, though, there is a first time for everything.

  The truth is, it bothered me. I didn’t want Louise, Viv or whoever exposing the cracks and flaws in Lennox, I was capable of that, all by myself. We’re all flawed. Couldn’t we just be? Does everyone have to get an emotional makeover?

  Louise’s lack of experience around teenagers was clearly exposed yesterday afternoon. No shrewd parent would have gone in guns blazing like that – she should have known that people have defensive moves. Tell 15/16-year-olds what to do and there’s a good chance they’ll do the opposite. In this situation, for example, Louise wanted me to keep away from Lennox Jones, so I decided it was time to get to know him better. Had she not made demands, cramming caution, danger and scepticism into the big picture, I might not have accelerated so fast.

  One conversation with Louise and I needed to let off steam. The answer was on four wheels. I went to another place when I skateboarded. I’d concentrate, of course, but I could live a bigger life when I shut out external interference. I’d skate. I’d escape. I’d dream. I’d remember. I’d forget. I’d keep moving. Most people don’t like to explore the contents of their head, but I’d spent so much time wandering through the corridors of mine that there were no more surprises behind closed doors.

  Therapist MacKenzie used to tell me, “We are scared of the darkness, Angie, because we’ve no idea where we are – we are lost. We can’t even see what’s right in front of us. What we don’t realise, of course, is that it’s not the darkness that scares us or the disorientation, it is the deception. Distortion of the truth thrives in the absence of light because we’re unable to tell what is real or what is imagined.”

  I have never hidden from the truth. No one ever tried to hide it from me. MacKenzie talked me through it. We even walked through it, literally. We visited the park in St John’s Wood, retracing the last steps my mother and father took on that fateful day. This time, there were leaves on the ground not residual traces of gun powder. Prams belonged to other parents now. Everything about the crime scene had changed except for the ancient oak trees that couldn’t move on even if they wanted to, silent witnesses to the brutal killings. Back then, ten years old, I traced my hand down the weathered, old bark, attempting to make a connection with the past but the trees wouldn’t share their secrets with me.

  Rob Lee was there when I reached the unofficial skate park. Rob was always there with diehard boarders. This time we were meeting at an abandoned block of flats that was due to get demolished over the next few weeks. There was disabled access, ramps and rails while the car park was a decent size. Raised flowerbeds edged in concrete walls provided space for jumps and tricks.

  “No Viv?” asked Rob.

  “Much as she loves to admire her older brother, she has Hollywood to conquer,” I teased. “Singing with the old stars. Lights, drama class, action.”

  “Yeah, well, who needs admiration when sponsorship will do,” he shouted, throwing his arms wide to the world.

  “Whaaaat?” I screamed. “For reals? You’re going on tour?”

  “Got word. Next month. Pro rider. Sweet.”

  I grinned and made an “I’m not worthy” gesture with my arms.

  “One step closer to the Olympics, kid.”

  Rob was only seven years older than me and Viv but loved to remind us with clockwork regularity that, just like in dog years, it made a world of difference. I reckon he calculated something close to a 49 year age gap between us. He was cooler than cool though. Obsessive about the board. Ice cool.

  “No Mavericks with you?”

  I pulled a face. “You know Lennox Jones?”

  “Heard he’s a big-wave rider.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to give too much away.

  Rob grinned. “Aw, gone all love-shy on me?”

  “No,” I spluttered. “Stick to the board, Rob. It’s what you do best.”

  He laughed. “I’ll give you that. You could always look out for yourself, Anderson. Don’t go changing.”

  “You too. Remember me when you’re f
amous.”

  “Kid, I’m already famous. Check out my channel.”

  I laughed. Everyone loved Rob.

  “I’m told he’s bad-ass good,” he added playfully before he walked off.

  I flipped him the bird and shouted. “Like I said, stick to the board, pro.”

  Rob howled with laughter and got back on his wheels.

  I was still smiling when I got on my board. I realised it was because most of the conversations I’d had about Lennox Jones recently had been trip-wired with explosive observations that reverberated back on me: he’s too this, too that, too something about him. Hell, even those rare-gem sapphire eyes couldn’t sparkle enough. To hear Rob compliment him was a big deal. I needed to hear something good. Bad-ass good? Even better.

  On the board I began to relax, putting in some neat turns. I tried to shut out the world but this time it didn’t quite happen. Damn Louise, her voice talked over me, interrupting my dream time. Then I started to bite the skin on the inside of my thumb while I was on the move, nervous, agitated.

  I’d gone off on Louise when she voiced her concerns and went all words-of-wisdom on me. I’d been furious at her tiny-minded assumptions. First impressions, right? But hadn’t I done the same? There’s something about him – I confessed to Viv. I wasn’t scared of him, more scared that I needed to be with him. This was the worst curse in the world for someone who’d learned not to need anyone. To just keep moving. I didn’t want to let that go. Now it wasn’t just anyone it was someone. Learning not to need someone is not a place you rock up to overnight – it takes weeks, months, years to be able to take on the world on your own.

  There’s nothing quite like fighting a battle with yourself to drive you to the point of exhaustion, frustration. It’s one thing to do the opposite of what your legal guardian (Louise didn’t quite fit the “caregiver” title) wants, it’s another thing doing the opposite of what you want. I had a little fight club going on in my head.

  Lennox Jones is trouble. Lennox Jones is bad-ass good.

  I looked down at the skateboard beneath my feet and heard MacKenzie make his point: The trick is to keep moving. Stay ahead of trouble.

  I could keep moving – that wasn’t the problem. The real issue was that bad-ass Lennox Jones seemed to have no trouble keeping up.

  I didn’t see him for a couple of days but I wasn’t without him. He popped in and out of my head. I kept thinking about when I found him by the recycling bins, the time in the classroom when he disappeared in front of my eyes. I could hear his confessions, I don’t sleep through the night.

  Most of all, my sensory powers relived the moment when I pressed my face against his. Our heads couldn’t have been closer, my mouth on his ear. Our cheekbones gently collided so when I moved away I still felt the pressure; an imprint that had fossilised itself into my skull and my consciousness.

  There was something about Lennox Jones alright. I’d liken him to one of those energy drinks that I’m partial to – the ones that enhance physical performance and promise moderate euphoria; just don’t mention the stimulant properties that increase agitation and insomnia. Cardiovascular effects, not proven. Everything in moderation, right?

  It’s true what I told him. Legally speaking, I don’t exist but it’s something I’m working on. In the meantime, I don’t have the paperwork to prove that I’m me.

  People with a birth certificate are granted a gateway to the world. More importantly, it is proof of life, confirmation of age and birth date.

  Those not in possession of a birth certificate are not dissimilar to lost souls who drift, dodge and can’t quite work out who, what, when and where. I wouldn’t be able to get a driving licence. I’d never been abroad – I couldn’t get a passport. It didn’t matter much in childhood but my bucket list includes getting on a plane, at some point. In the next year would be neat. So we’re getting around to it. Aunt Louise has to submit an Affidavit of Birth form; provide as much information as possible. We have to start joining the dots. I understand her reluctance to revisit the past but she’s not the one getting left behind while everyone else strolls through border control.

  I figured my mother must have had a home birth hence the lack of hospital records. No midwife present? What do I know about the red tape around giving birth? I do reckon though that I arrived early, which is a habit I’ve continued ever since: I’m never late. I’ve missed out on too much in life as it is.

  Instead of looking upon it as a tragic fact, I thought it made me more mysterious. Not everyone gets to choose their own birthday, right? Yes, you’d wonder why Aunt Louise couldn’t remember that momentous occasion right down to the last second. Then you’d meet her and all would become clear. Vague on dates, we narrowed it down to the nearest week. When I was old enough to have a point of view, I swapped Louise’s guesswork for my own and insisted that a day in May, the 10th I decided, had my birthday written all over it.

  He brought his board with him. I thought he would have gone for a flashier deck, then realised he’d stuck with a well-worn scuffed favourite with battered wheels, which secretly pleased me. I didn’t want someone with attachment issues; bonding with a skateboard scored points when you don’t have much else to go on.

  I’d started looking for clues; learning about Lennox Jones through keen observation. Viv declared that the spider test was the best road to go down when sussing out the opposite sex: did he kill a spider or set it free? She said that someone with psychopathic tendencies would choose elimination over freedom. “Fear,” she whispered theatrically, “is the driving force behind evil.”

  Arachnids and psychopaths aside, I wondered how Lennox managed without the ocean. How did he survive without his beloved surf. Perhaps he didn’t. For someone who had it all, he seemed out of his depth at times – I’ve never seen someone so adrift, someone drift in and out in front of my eyes.

  We met under Waterloo Bridge. There was an outdoor market selling second-hand books and I wandered among the paperbacks and hard covers while I waited for him to turn up. I’m always early; I leave fashionably late to Viv. It was the weekend but not quite heaving with people – too early for the crowds except for a few diehard tourists attempting to cram in all of London before heading home. I found a bench underneath red and white polka-dotted trees that lined the river; playful art-exhibition escapism. I half expected giant rabbits to appear from nowhere but instead Lennox Jones leapt over the back of the seat, landing lightly in front of me.

  “Hey, I’m fifteen minutes early,” he joked looking at his watch, “but somehow I’m still late? What the?”

  “Better late than dead on time,” I reminded him.

  “Next time, I’m, like, turning up the day before.”

  I grinned, felt a somersault of excitement in my stomach; he was thinking ahead to next time and we hadn’t even finished with now.

  “Nice deck,” I said.

  He hugged it tight, grinning. “This board and me go back. Insane memories, sweet 540s.”

  “You can talk the talk,” I said, shoving my leg against his. “But London hasn’t seen what Lennox Jones has got.”

  “I had to acclimatise, adapt, y’know?”

  “Is that so?”

  “I’m a surfer. You can keep the streets, I’ll ride with the ocean.”

  “I don’t like going in over my head,” I said, giving him a look.

  “Sometimes even control freaks need to let go,” he said, flicking the peak of my baseball cap.

  “I’m not a freak, I’m just not a strong swimmer,” I whispered back without missing a beat. He laughed.

  “Are we going to do this or not?” he asked, taking his gaze off the Thames and turning to face me. Someone had been polishing the sapphires because the sparkle was back. He really was an outrageous flirt.

  I ignored the question and held his gaze, innocent eyes to convince him that my mind was on skateboarding.

  He stood up, held out a hand to pull me to my feet. “Show me your tricks,” he
said, not letting go of my hand, “and I’ll show you mine.”

  He pushed off, no fanfare, heading straight for the graffiti-covered undercroft, home to ledges, banks and a set of stairs.

  I watched him go, his confident, relaxed posture an indication that this wasn’t a fish out of water. He was quite at home.

  He carved and turned, took off – artistic, focused, lost in his own world, oblivious to change around him. He executed a perfect revolution and landed lightly.

  I fell hard.

  11

  Lennox: revolutions

  If we're talking about this in revolutions per minute, in pure and simple rpm, Angie Anderson had definitely turned up the speed. And I was the one who was in a spin. Seriously, man, my head didn't know where it was at; fatal when you’re wanting to land flat on your feet.

  It’s all about balance, distribution of weight and, crucially, thinking ahead to the next move. I know that. Angie’d give a little, I’d want more. She’d give more, I was floored. I’d even forgotten my own rules around her: what happened to “Going in like you own it”? Confidence counts for nothing when you start to allow someone else to call the shots. As for “Never show weakness”, I think it was pretty obvious that cracks were starting to appear. I needed to work out a game plan to come back stronger.

  It didn’t help my balance that I had freaked out in class one afternoon. It hit me out of nowhere, but that was no great surprise. I’d quickly realised that my flashbacks didn’t run to a schedule; the only certainty about them was that they were becoming more and more frequent, more and more intense. It was like I was running out of free time. My biggest fear was that the flashbacks would become 24-7. I dreaded that, it would be like being caught in your worst nightmare and never being able to wake up. I wouldn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Who I could trust and who was not to be trusted.

  So, there I was in class, we were talking ions and compounds, or something like that, and next minute the teacher was looking to me for the answer. Perhaps he was thinking he could catch a wise-ass out but I pulled the answer out of nowhere. Learning by osmosis. I guess that’s what I do – I remember everything; I remember nothing.