Tessa in Love (7 page)

‘I did not!’

‘Well, how come I had to ask you about him?’ Matty said.

I blushed. ‘Well . . . I just didn’t want to make a fool of myself.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t because Lee . . . said stuff about him?’

‘No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.’

‘Lee’s just different, you know? They’re really different people.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. ‘And Wolfie
is
a bit scruffy. It’s not like he said anything mean.’

‘The scruffy thing? You’ll be able to change that,’ Matty said, with a sly smile.

‘I don’t want to!’ I said, and we both started giggling.

I thought Matty was almost trying too hard to tell me that when it came to boyfriends, she’d seen it, done it, and bought the soundtrack. I was scared it was because I’d been so one-track all day. I hadn’t had a chance to see Wolfie around, because Matty and I had spent all of lunch-break helping the librarian sort through returned books in her stock cupboard. I’d spent the whole time talking about me and Wolfie, and I was afraid that either it sounded like boasting, or that Matty might think I hadn’t known him long enough to be so sure he really liked me. It was hard to find the right balance. Matty was the one who had new romances and I was the one who got excited for her and made jokes about being perpetually single; this way around it was all new territory. But, if we both had boyfriends who didn’t like each other, would we never be able to spend time together as couples? Worse, what if he and Matty didn’t get on? The idea that the thing I wanted most might cause as many problems as it solved was worrying. Bigger than all of this, though, was the fact that Wolfie hadn’t actually properly asked me out, and I would have about a thousand chances over the next week to put him off me. Maybe I already had, by not replying to his e-mail until nearly twenty-four hours later. Despite what I’d told Matty about not playing hard to get, it was possible that I’d accidentally played it too well.

W
olfie obviously hadn’t said anything to his friends about me and us. We went round to Chunk’s after school, and Chunk’s mum was quite posh and frosty, and I tried not to stare at Wolfie, and tried not to talk too much. I read them my little article about what the Wood meant to me. They
made
me read it out loud, and I could feel my neck getting hot, and my cheeks going red, and my voice cracked a little. When I’d finished, I thought they were all going to burst out laughing. They didn’t, but I did think I’d die of embarrassment.

‘It’s so sweet,’ Jane said. ‘That’s going to pull at all the grannies’ heartstrings.’ I knew she was being nice, but I realised she must have thought that it was quite babyish. Lara’s contribution was incisive and highly political and just incredibly clever – so much that I nearly laughed out loud at the difference between hers and mine. Wolfie laid out his pictures, modestly talking us through them, and they were wonderful. The woods looked deep and overgrown and magical, with no hint of the way they’d been whittled down over the years to allow for more housing. Even if nothing happened between us, I thought briefly, I would be happy if I just got to keep one of those pictures – but I didn’t dare ask him for one. And I was so
relieved
that he hadn’t included the photo he’d taken of me when we were there.

Chunk’s newspaper-man dad came in and asked us a few questions, and I certainly didn’t respond to them the way Matty does with my dad. I just sat weirdly on the arm of the sofa, because there weren’t enough places to sit, and squeaked when I was spoken to, and all the time I was thinking, whatever Wolfie thought of me before, now he must think I’m an absolute
idiot,
and there’s no way he’s going to want some time to talk alone after this.

Chunk’s dad leafed through Wolfie’s photos, took one of the plainer, larger views out and said, ‘I suppose this’ll be the one for us ... although I’m afraid we might have to send round one of our guys anyway. You know, there are standard types of image we use – we’re not the Photographers’ Gallery,’ and laughed.

Wolfie said, ‘Sure, I knew that might happen.’ His face was blank, and Chunk’s dad was sort of complimenting his picture, but I guessed he must be hurt.

When Jane and Lara said they had to get home for tea, and Chunk said he had work to do, I glanced at Wolfie and said I’d be getting along too, but he brushed past me and whispered, ‘Don’t run off.’

When we were alone in the street he took my hand.

‘Are you wondering why I didn’t tell anyone . . . or are you glad I didn’t?’ he said. His brown eyes met mine.

‘Er . . .’ I said, not knowing the right answer. I went for the truth. ‘I suppose I was wondering if you’d changed your mind,’ I said.

He smiled and kissed me gently.’
I
haven’t.’

‘Well . . . ’

‘I wasn’t sure about you,’ he said. ‘And it’s best not to tell your friends what you’re up to in your love life, don’t you find?’ I agreed, even though I didn’t have very much to go on. ‘Are your parents expecting you back soon, or can I make you something to eat?’

Too much happening all at once! Bloody hell, was he going to take me back to his place? Was I going to meet his parents? Was he just going to throw me on his bed and ravish me? Would saying yes to something to eat mean acceptance of any or all of these possibilities?

‘Just something simple,’ Wolfie said. ‘But I have to warn you, it’s going to be veggie . . .’

I still didn’t say anything, and was wondering if I’d lost the ability to speak.

‘Just, you know,
food,’
Wolfie said, frowning with mock-confusion. ‘You don’t have to agree to marry me if it’s good.’

I laughed with relief. Relief that he wasn’t running away while he still had the chance from the crazy, indecisive girl.

‘But,’ he said, ‘if it’s
very
good, you might want to consider sleeping with me. I’m KIDDING!’

There wasn’t time for my face to register any surprise, so I was sure he
was
kidding, and I just told myself to grow up. This was what happened when you reached the age of sixteen without having had a boyfriend. You acted like a nutcase when any boy talked to you. I should have paid more attention to Matty – only she’d probably have advised something like going straight home and not calling for a week . . . and I was hungry.

‘OK, I told my mum I’d text if I was going to stay out, so I’ll text her. And food would be great.’

‘Well, don’t expect too much,’ Wolfie said. ‘I’m not the world’s best cook. I just sort of. . . fling things together.?

I nodded. ‘I like . . .’ (oh no! Don’t say ‘flings’!) ‘. . . flung things,’ I said, and he laughed.

As we walked to his place together, I was getting visions of a bohemian hippie pad with tie-dyed rugs on the walls and patchouli incense smoking in every corner, and his mum running around barefoot with long hair and finger-cymbals – but not cooking because it was demeaning to have rigid gender roles – and his dad playing the sitar in the corner.

But it was a completely ordinary house. It was very small and also pretty messy. There was an empty pizza box on the crumb-covered kitchen counter, and the sink was full of unwashed dishes and a pan with dried-out scrambled egg. No one else was home.

‘Ah. You’re probably looking at the mess,’ Wolfie said. ‘You’re probably thinking, “Who is this slob and what am I doing here‘”‘

‘It’s just a few dishes,’ I said.

‘No, it’s messy,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry – I should have thought this through better. My dad must have left it like this. He sometimes only starts work after lunch.’

‘Really, it doesn’t offend me,’ I said. His sudden unexpected anxiousness was making me smile, and making me more confident. ‘What time will he be in‘’

‘I don’t know,’ Wolfie said. ‘He’s a computer rep and he has to drive quite a long way away most days, so he’s sometimes out quite late in the evening. He probably won’t be back until after you’ve gone.’ I did worry for a moment about the wisdom of going into an empty house with a boy I hadn’t known very long, but I felt very safe with him.

‘Let me wash up,’ I said. ‘You get the food.’

‘No, I can’t invite you round and have you
clean
for me.’

‘You’re making me dinner,’ I said. ‘It’s a good deal.’

I started filling the sink with soapy water, but I couldn’t help peeking when he went to the fridge. It was stacked high with prick and heat ready-meals, a couple of bottles of beer, custard tarts – all except for one shelf, which was full of brown paper bags of mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, apples, celery sticks, carrots with long green stems, organic milk and butter. He caught me looking.

‘Yeah, don’t worry. My dad and I have very different styles of cuisine.’

‘Don’t you eat together‘’ I said.

‘Are you kidding‘ My dad doesn’t like to eat anything that didn’t have parents.’

‘Oh.’

‘You eat meat, I take it.’

‘Yeah. Do you hate me?’

‘Of course not. I suppose I’m surprised. You seem to love the wildlife in the Wood so much; you’re self-aware and green and ...’ He shrugged. ‘None of my business ... if you want to eat Bambi and Thumper.’ He was grinning when he said it, so I didn’t feel too bad.

‘OK, first of all, I just never really thought about it, and my parents do most of the cooking – I’m not . . .
Jamie Oliver,
like you obviously are, and I just eat what-ever they give me. Second, I don’t eat rabbits and deer. I’m not..

‘What else are you not?’ he said, and reached out to touch my cheek, smiling.

‘I’m not Henry the Eighth,’ I said, smiling, too. Wolfie leaned towards me and kissed me.

‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I don’t like kissing people with beards. It’s scratchy.’

‘So . . . I’m not . . . mmm.’ I couldn’t think straight when he was kissing me. ‘Where was I?’

‘You weren’t being Henry the Eighth.’

‘Right. So I eat the odd chicken, but chickens don’t have nice lives. I’m putting them out of their misery, and pigs? Pigs wouldn’t
exist
if I didn’t eat them. There are no wild pigs, you know.’

‘I see. So you and your . . .
kind
are doing the pigs a favour by granting them life so you can eat them.’

‘Well... yeah, I suppose we are.’

‘Really, you care more about animals than I do,’ he said softly, still kissing me.

‘I’m glad you see things my way,’ I whispered.

‘But we’re eating tempeh tonight,’ Wolfie said.

‘Can’t wait,’ I said.

Yeah, I didn’t know what tempeh was either, but his stir fry was delicious. It got dark outside, but I was finding it hard to tear myself away. He didn’t take me to his bedroom – maybe that was messy, too. We just stayed at the kitchen table, chatting and laughing.

‘So where does the name Wolfie come from‘’ I asked him. ‘Is it short for Wolfgang‘’

‘Actually, like all the best things, it started in Cadeby Wood,’ he said.

‘No, is that true‘ Not because you got chased by a dog!’

‘I’m afraid so. I still thought it was a wolf when I got home and told my dad about it, and he showed me a picture of a wolf, and I was like, “Yeah, yeah, it was like that, but darker”. It was only later, when we saw an Alsatian together, and I pointed it out as a wolf, that I found out. So until then, I thought I had calmed the savage beast and that I had an affinity for them, and I started reading books like
White Fang
and
Call of the Wild,
and collecting stuff on wolves -1 was really young, remember – and my dad called me Wolfie, so my mates did too. And it stuck.’

‘What’s your real name?’

‘David.’

‘It’s a nice name,’ I said.

‘Would you rather call me David‘’ he asked.

‘Would you let me?’

‘I’m crazy about you,’ Wolfie said.

‘You look more like a Wolfie,’ I said.

When we got to my gate, he held my hands in his and looked at me with his head tilted.

‘Tomorrow?’ he said.

‘I can’t,’ I said. He nodded. ‘I have a thing with Matty; I wish I could . . .’

He kissed my forehead very lightly. ‘See Matty. I’m happy to wait.’

My house was warm and noisy as I closed the door behind me. My mum was writing letters at the kitchen table with a classical music CD playing in the background and my dad was watching a movie with my brother. I said hi to my mum – she smiled: she looked beautiful that evening – then I went straight up to my bedroom. I flopped on to my bed and hugged my shoulders and laughed, still finding it hard to believe this kind of thing could happen to me.