Six Steps to a Girl Page 6

  9

  Listening

  Peeling the skin back from my eyes – I felt surprise

  That the time on the clock was the time – I usually retired

  To the place where I cleared my head of you

  But, just for today, I think I’ll lie here and dream of you

  ‘Uncertain Smile’

  The The

  It was Friday, about eight o’clock. Chloe had just snuck in and she and Mum were having yet another row – they were averaging about three a day at the moment. I could hear them from my room, even over the music I was playing.

  “How dare you speak to me like that?” Mum yelled.

  “Because you’re a total bitch,” Chloe yelled back. “Nobody gets grounded for a month. Nobody. It’s totally unfair.”

  I turned the volume up on Dad’s old record player as high as it would go.

  I’d played all his records now. Some of them weren’t bad, though I still didn’t understand why he’d given them to me. I’d decided it wasn’t worth feeling hurt about it. After all, not having anything in common with your dad’s not such a big deal.

  The music finished and the needle hissed as it flopped off the turntable. I lifted it back onto its arm. This old technology was rubbish. Imagine having to get up and down every time you wanted to put on a new track? The sound quality was the worst thing, though. It had taken me ages to get used to all the crackle and static that existed as permanent background noise under the music.

  Everything was quiet downstairs. And I was starving. Hoping Chloe had flounced off to her room, I padded down to the kitchen. Mum and Uncle Matt were sitting at the kitchen table. I could hear Mum sniffing as I reached the door. Matt was patting her on the back.

  “D’you want me to speak to her?”

  Mum shook her head. “Maybe Luke could.”

  “Me?” I said from the door.

  They both looked up. Matt reddened a little and whipped his hand off Mum’s back. Mum smiled weakly at me.

  “I just thought you might be able to get through to her,” she said, her voice crumpling to a whisper. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you, Mum,” I said, striding to the fridge. “She’s just mad at you for grounding her for a whole month.”

  “That doesn’t excuse her language and the terrible way she treats your mother.” Matt bristled.

  Butt out. Nobody asked you.

  I turned my back and began rummaging in the fridge.

  “I was trying to talk to her about Dad’s ashes,” Mum said. “I picked them up today.”

  I took out a carton of milk and turned round. My eyes fell on a small wooden box on the table between Mum and Matt.

  “Is that . . . them?” I asked.

  How freak-show was that? Dad’s body sitting here on our kitchen table. I stared at the box. I couldn’t connect it with Dad at all. It was just a box.

  “I was asking Chloe where she thought we should scatter them,” Mum sniffed. “And . . . and she turned on me and demanded to know why she should even discuss it, if I wasn’t going to let her out of the house. As if I’d stop her being part of . . . oh . . .” Mum dissolved into tears. She put her face in her hands.

  Shit. I wanted to say something to make her feel better. But I didn’t know what. And, anyway, bloody Matt was already talking.

  “It’s the attitude that gets me,” he said, patting her arm. “When I was growing up, kids had a bit of respect for their parents.” He gave me a hard stare.

  I glared back.

  “I pointed out to your sister,” Matt went on, not taking his eyes off me, “that I was your dad’s best friend. And that I’m here because I want to help.”

  I turned back to the fridge, severely rattled. I was fed up with Matt coming round every five minutes, getting in the middle of our family business.

  “. . . well, Luke? What do you think?”

  I realised Mum had been talking to me again, presumably about the stupid ashes. I put back the pint of milk and straightened up.

  “Honestly, Mum?” I said, walking to the door. “I think we should put Dad’s ashes on the mantelpiece in the living room.” I turned as I reached the door and stared straight at Matt. “After all, this is Dad’s house.”

  Ryan and Numbers arrived about half an hour later.

  “I’m not stopping,” Numbers grinned. “Just wanted to let you know I’ve had twenty-five, hands-on snogs since I last saw you.”

  “How interesting,” I said. “How many of them were with humans?”

  Undaunted, Numbers grinned smugly. Then he turned and set off down the street.

  Ryan shook his head. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met Numbers. He does my head in. Anyway, I thought we should talk.”

  “Right,” I said. “Let’s go out. It’s a war zone in here.”

  “OK, I just need to use your bathroom then,” Ryan said, quickly.

  “Don’t you ever go at home?” I said.

  But Ryan had already darted past me and was vanishing up the stairs. A few minutes later he came back down and we wandered along to the high street. There’s this open, concrete space by the Town Hall where kids hang out. Older ones at night. Younger ones early evening. I used to skateboard here a long time ago.

  “Step Five,” Ryan said, “is Attention. The Steps so far have worked, haven’t they? I mean you’re making more effort with how you look – Step One. You got her to notice you back in the art room, even though you weren’t trying exactly – Step Two. You’ve found an Angle, not being all pushy with her, which was Step Three . . .” he paused, “even if you’re not solid on it. And you know you can make her laugh – Step Four. Even though you haven’t done it yet.” He threw me a frustrated glance. “Anyway, so long as you’ve been completely clear that friendship’s not an option, then Step Five’s the killer. Attention.”

  “What d’you mean?” I said. “Flowers? Compliments? What?”

  Ryan grinned. “That stuff’s good. Chicks lap it up, in fact. But the most important thing you gotta learn to do is Listening.”

  I kicked at the edge of the pavement. Listening didn’t sound so hard. “I can do that,” I said. “No problem.”

  “Actually, you’re crap at listening.”

  I frowned at him. “No, I’m not.”

  “How many times in the last week have you totally tuned out while people were talking to you? So that they’ve gone all: ‘Luke, Luke, are you listening to me?’. Think about it.”

  I stared down at the pavement. Now Ryan put it like that, I realised he was right. It had happened with Mum earlier; with Tones the other day. And it had happened with Eve in the art room too.

  “I reckon you’d have got a lot further with Eve if you’d bothered to really concentrate on her. And I don’t mean on how hot she is.”

  “But how . . .?” I stopped. How on earth am I supposed to listen to what she says, when my head’s so full of the way she looks?

  “I know it’s hard.” Ryan was looking at me shrewdly. “You gotta distract yourself – forget about how horned-up you are and listen to what she’s saying, like it’s . . . like she’s about to tell you something you really want to know . . . like a football score or something.”

  I screwed up my face. “Even if she’s talking rubbish?”

  “Especially then. What seems like rubbish to you could be really important to her. You can’t ever tell. Girls don’t always say what they mean. In fact, they often don’t. So you have to listen really hard – not just to what she’s saying, but the way she’s talking and how she’s looking at you. Then you’ll know when to make your move.”

  It sounded totally impossible. I shook my head.

  “Don’t worry.” Ryan grinned. “After a while you’ll find you can focus on what she’s saying, work out what she really means and still have room in your head to think about what you’d like to do with her – all at the same time.”

  I stared at him. It was dark where we were standing and the open spa
ce in front of the Town Hall was totally empty.

  “How do you know all this stuff, Ry?” I said.

  He shrugged. “Dunno, really. I guess the main thing was . . . this girl I met. It was after some gig I went to a while back, with a couple of my older sisters. I . . . I sort of ended up with one of their friends. We hooked up for a bit. She taught me a lot . . .”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  Ryan grinned again. “Yeah, that. But also what works when you’re talking to someone, and how most girls think boys their age are really immature, so acting more grownup’s like this big turn-on. Then, after that, I just started watching and learning. And practising . . .” He tailed off.

  “So who you practising on now?”

  Ryan winked at me. “You know I can’t say.” He checked the time on his mobile. “She’s a babe, though. In fact, I gotta go. I’m meeting her later.”

  He slouched off up the road. I watched him go, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I liked Ryan. But he wasn’t like any other guy I’d ever met. There was all the stuff he knew about girls. And then this mystery babe business. I mean, it wasn’t like Ryan not to boast about the girls he’d been with. And on top of all that – the way he went out of his way to help me. I mean, what was he getting out of it? It just didn’t add up.

  Not particularly wanting to go home, I strolled over to the glassed screens in front of the Town Hall and looked at the advertisements for local events. Nothing very interesting. Posters for band gigs, notices about local theatre group plays and postcard ads for au pairs and cleaners.

  My mind drifted to Eve. Tomorrow was Friday. The last day before half-term. My last opportunity to speak to Eve for ten days. Possibly my last opportunity before her birthday.

  An exhibition poster showing a woman with blonde hair caught my eye. I stared at it. And then it came to me. A wholly brilliant idea.

  I smiled.

  Suddenly, I knew exactly what to do.

  I watched out for Eve all Friday morning. No sign. I was starting to think she wasn’t even at school today, when I saw her in the cafeteria.

  Ben had his hands all over her in the lunch queue.

  I walked off in disgust.

  I rushed outside when the bell rang at the end of the day. People streamed past me. My heart thumped. It was too noisy. Too busy. I was going to miss her completely.

  And then I saw her, chatting to her two Art Club friends. I hadn’t envisaged doing what I was about to do with an audience, but the three of them were all moving towards the school gates. If I left it any longer I’d be following them down the road like a stalker.

  I tried to saunter ever so casually in Eve’s direction, hoping she’d see me and acknowledge me in some way. She didn’t. I had to walk up to the whole group before she even noticed me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  They all turned round. Eve gave a half-hearted sort of smile; the other two glared at me.

  Great.

  Well, I was here now. I might as well go ahead with it.

  “Thought you might like to know,” I said, trying to control the shake in my voice, “there’s an exhibition of Eighties’ stuff on at Finlays Gallery near the Town Hall. I know you’re interested in all that.”

  See Ryan? I was listening.

  Eve said nothing. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck.

  “It closes on Monday,” I lied, ultra-casually. “Just thought it might be useful for your coursework.”

  One of the other girls sniffed impatiently, but my eyes were fixed on Eve’s. What she did now determined everything.

  “What time does it close?” she said slowly.

  “Midday Monday,” I said. “I’m going there Monday morning.”

  Please be there.

  “Right, thanks,” Eve said.

  I stared at her. What had Ryan said? It’s not just what they say, it’s the way they talk and how they look at you.

  It was no good. I couldn’t read the expression in Eve’s eyes at all. Her friends were starting to shuffle about, staring at me.

  I turned on my heel and walked off, my hands coolly in my pockets, my heart pumping like a train.

  10

  The gallery

  Darling, you gotta let me know

  Should I stay or should I go?

  If you say that you are mine

  I’ll be here till the end of time.

  So you got to let me know

  Should I stay or should I go?

  ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go’

  The Clash

  I knew the gallery opened at ten on Monday morning.

  I was ready at nine.

  It had been a long, boring weekend. I’d played football with some of my old mates on Saturday, then Ryan had come round on Sunday. Mum asked him if he wanted to stay for lunch, and for once, we had a meal that didn’t end with Chloe storming off to her room.

  It was like before Dad died. Everyone laughing and getting on. And then Ryan had to leave and, within seconds, Mum and Chloe were fighting again – this time over the washing-up.

  It was like they were so strung out with each other that one word from either of them was enough to set the other one off.

  I was sick of it.

  I spent the rest of the weekend shut up in my room. Eve was always there, in my head. But it wasn’t enough anymore.

  I wanted her. I wanted the real thing.

  I didn’t let myself think about the possibility that she might not show up at the gallery.

  I’d never taken so much trouble getting ready to go out before. First off, I showered and tried a bit of Chloe’s wax in my hair. Course, I used way too much and my hair went like cardboard. So I had to shower all over again. Then I spent fifteen minutes trying to decide what to wear. I had no idea what Eve would think looked good. I badly wanted to ask Chloe, but a) she would have totally sussed me if I had and b) she hadn’t yet emerged from her own bedroom.

  In the end I settled on a blue T-shirt, a thick, black jumper and jeans. I put it all on, then – remembering something Ryan had said weeks ago – took off the T-shirt and ironed it, just in case.

  When Mum walked into the kitchen and saw me bent over the ironing board she blinked with surprise.

  “Oh, Luke.” She sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh. “Why is it you’re coping so well and Chloe’s gone to pieces?”

  I hate it when she asks me questions like that. I mean, there aren’t any answers, are there?

  I shrugged and unplugged the iron.

  Once I was ready, I mooched round the house for about half an hour. It was only going to take about fifteen minutes to get down to the gallery.

  At last I decided it was time to go. I yelled goodbye to Mum, but before I was out the front door, she appeared in the hall.

  “Before you go out, sweetheart,” she said, “there’s something I’d like you to do.”

  Crap.

  “Mum, I’m busy. I’m meeting someone.”

  She twisted her hands together. “It won’t take long. It’s just . . .”

  “What?”

  “It’s Chloe. I’ve been banging on her door and she’s not answering. And she’s locked it again. Even though I’ve told her not to a hundred times.”

  Mum’s eyes were filling with tears. I put my arms round her and hugged her, silently cursing Chloe for being such a pain in the arse.

  “She’s probably still asleep, Mum. Look, I’ve really got to—”

  “Will you get up on the porch and look through her window?” Mum asked.

  I stared at her. “What . . .?”

  “It’s just occurred to me,” Mum sniffed, “she could be getting out of the house without me knowing, then leaving her door locked from the inside, so that I’ll think she’s still in there.”

  “And you want me to get on the roof and spy through her window?” I said. “Jesus, Mum, that’s going a bit far, isn’t it?”

  “Luke, she’s totally out of control. I wish to God I hadn
’t grounded her for as long as I did. I should have realised that that party of hers was just a reaction to Dad dying. Maybe if I’d gone a bit easier on her, she wouldn’t have gone off the rails like this.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Please, Luke. You know I’ll get all dizzy if I go up there myself. I could ask Matt, but if—”

  “No, I’ll do it,” I said.

  Anything to keep Uncle bloody Matt out of our business.

  I checked my watch. Twenty to ten. It would only take a couple of minutes to get onto the porch roof. Still plenty of time to make it down to the gallery by ten.

  I clambered onto the porch wall, then hooked my arm over the roof. I heard a rip as the jagged edge of a tile caught in my sleeve and tore up a line of wool. Excellent. I hauled myself onto the roof, thinking there was no way Chloe would ever consider doing this. She goes nuts if she chips a nail.

  “Be careful, sweetheart,” Mum called up from the front garden.

  The roof sloped upwards slightly, and I had to lean into it so as not to slip down. I took two tentative steps across to Chloe’s window. It was open just a finger’s width at the bottom. I grabbed the ledge with my hands and peered into her room, convinced she would still be asleep. But the bed was empty. It wasn’t a large room and I could see every corner from where I was standing. Chloe wasn’t there.

  “Well?” Mum called.

  I thought quickly. If I told her the truth, Mum would totally lose it. She’d almost certainly call the police – after all, Chloe could have been gone all night. I looked round the room again. No, I was sure she’d at least slept in the bed. The duvet was all ruckled up and a pair of pyjamas lay strewn across the floor between the bed and the wardrobe. Anyway, Chloe could look after herself. But Mum wasn’t likely to see it that way, which meant there would be no chance of me getting away to the gallery. Plus, once Chloe reappeared, Mum would ground her again. Which would mean no end to all the rows that were doing my head in.

  It was an easy decision to make.

  “She’s asleep, Mum,” I shouted, “with her headphones on. That’s why she can’t hear you knocking.”