Expecting to Fly (10 page)

‘Hey, that’s not fair. I’m not bossy. I thought we were doing what we both wanted.’

‘But you never exactly asked me, did you?’

‘Yes I did. I
did
. I asked if you wanted to do the things on the list.’

‘Yes, you asked me that and, yes, I do want to do most of them. Why not? But what you never asked is what
I
would like to be on the list. Where I would like to go. My first choice
sometimes.’

‘OK, so what would
you
want to be on the list?’ I asked. I felt like my voice was getting shaky.

Joe put his hand on my arm.‘Hey, India Jane, chill. Don’t get upset.’

When he said that, part of me felt totally upset. ‘What is going on here?’ I asked. ‘Are we having a row? Are you telling me you don’t like what has been going on?
I’m trying to understand and now you’re telling me to chill.’

‘All I’m saying is that it would have been nice to have put things on the list that we
both
wanted to do, to decide our itinerary together, not just what you wanted to do. But
it’s not a big deal, no need to make it into one.’

Arghhhh
. I felt like screaming.‘Me make it into a big deal? It’s you who doesn’t like what’s going on. I spent ages on the computer, you know, working out trips
and finding out opening times and looking for things that we could do that would be free or wouldn’t cost much.’

‘Great. But I never asked you to do that and I would have done some of it as well if you’d let me, and you’re right, some of it is stuff related to coursework. And yeah,
it’s nice to see London as a tourist like today. You’re right. I should see more of the city we live in.’

‘Yes, but do you want to? I want you to be happy.’

‘I am. I’m cool.’

Argh. Argh. Argh
. ‘OK. So what would you like to do? We’ll do exactly what you want one weekend.’

‘I wouldn’t lay that on you, India Jane. I can be a lazy bugger. I like lying about listening to music on my iPod. I like playing football. I like watching sport. See. I can tell by
your face that doesn’t turn you on, which is why I haven’t dragged you along to anything.’

‘Meaning I have dragged you along.’

I felt like getting off the bus. We both sat there with our arms crossed over our chests. This was so not the fabbie-dabbie day out that I had planned.
I know nothing about relationships,
I thought, as the bus approached St Paul’s Cathedral on our left,
and I think I need another session with Aunt Sarah and her Mars and Venus book fast.

Back at the house, the efforts of team Ruspoli and friends were beginning to show.

On Zahrah’s advice, Mum had explored the recycling websites, plus she’d found a row of second-hand furniture shops on the main road near the house. Just about every night that
we’d got home from school over the last few weeks, Dad and some of his mates from the orchestra or Ethan and Lewis had been round to help with the painting and often there was another one of
Mum’s ‘finds’ in the hallway – a fireplace, chairs, chest of drawers, mirrors or door frames. To begin with, it had looked like junk, then she would describe what she was
going to do with a piece and within days it would begin to be transformed.

One night I came home to find an old pine wardrobe cluttering up the hallway. ‘I thought we could rub it down, paint it white, then apply streaks of silver-grey paint effect to the edges
to get the look of old French furniture,’ she said.

I got what she meant immediately and bagged it and a chest of drawers that had been deposited in the kitchen the night before to go with it. I was beginning to see that, with a bit of
imagination, we could transform anything. We didn’t need loads of dosh, just an idea and a paintbrush. I decided to do my room in a soft pale blue and all the furniture, doors and woodwork in
the white-paint effect, plus Aunt Sarah had given me the most divine dove-grey silk bedspread as a house-warming present. It was going to look so elegant. On the wall, I decided to hang just one
poster, a black and white shot of Audrey Hepburn from the movie
Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
It was a house-warming present from Joe after we’d been to see it one Saturday afternoon
at an art cinema in Notting Hill that showed old films.

I liked having mementos of our time together and to have the poster on the wall meant more than just a picture in a frame. It would forever remind me of sitting in the cinema, holding hands and
snogging Joe. Neither of us had mentioned the first Saturday in April again, so I presumed that he was cool with it and had made other plans for that day. I think Mum and Dad were feeling the same
way about decorating the house as I was and they had even more mementos from their life together and all the places we had lived. All their things had been packed away when we were at Aunt
Sarah’s and it was lovely to see familiar items and artefacts from my childhood reappear. The downstairs hall and living room were designated our Indian area and were painted red with orange
ceilings, then Mum and Dad unearthed the stuff that they’d bought in India that had been in boxes for ages – gorgeous silk paintings of Indian princes, old faded photos of Indian
families that Dad said he had taken in Rajasthan. The kitchen was painted in the sunny colours of St Lucia in the Caribbean; a huge green, red, blue and yellow toy parrot was perched in the corner
on top of a dresser (the parrot used to belong to Dylan, but he denies all knowledge of it) and Mum found some discounted red and yellow crockery in Portobello Road which was from Portugal. It went
perfectly and the whole room was a riot of colour, great for getting you ‘in that get up and go mood’ in the morning as Dad said every breakfast time until we had to tell him to get up
and go, like really, gooooooo away, Dad.

The bathroom was white with turquoise and silver candleholders from Essaouria in Morocco. Mum put her sandalwood and jasmine bath products in and soon the damp smell that had been there was
replaced with a lovely exotic scent of flowers and herbs. Mum and Dad’s bedroom was the Italian room. They painted the walls a deep fuchsia pink and, on one wall, they had put a floor to
ceiling hanging that showed a scene of the landscape around Tuscany. Dad said that it had been in his family for centuries. I vaguely remembered it from when we lived in Italy, but it must have
been folded away for the last few years. Aunt Sarah had bought them a six-foot-high mirror with an ornate silver frame. It made the room look twice the size. At the windows were plush, purple
velvet curtains that Mum had bought in Ireland in a garage sale and she had found a matching velvet bedspread in Camden Lock. In the corner was a life-size Roman statue of a naked man with his arm
missing that Dad had found in a salvage yard in Willesden. The room looked decadent and opulent and I was beginning to see that my parents really did have a flair for design.

Dylan’s room was the only neutral room. He wanted it white with one blue wall and no knick-knacks. He declared the rest of the house as OTT, insane and an embarrassment should he ever
bring a friend home. ‘Which I won’t,’ he said.

I loved it. I loved walking around and seeing evidence of all the places I had lived and, although I had liked living in Aunt Sarah’s, I realised that it had always been her home with her
things and that this house was more where I truly belonged.

‘And hardly cost us much,’ said Dad, after we had given Joe the tour one day when everything was finished and in its place. ‘Just the paint which we got from a trade place up
in North London. Most of the stuff we can take with us if and when we find a place to buy.’

‘When will that be then?’ asked Dylan. ‘I can’t wait, although I expect you will go mad with the paint pots and the junk shop rubbish there too.’

‘Looks great, Mr Ruspoli,’ said Joe. ‘And nice that it will all be ready for your family day in the Easter holidays.’

‘Family day? What family day?’ asked Dad and I felt a wave of panic hit me. My initial reaction was to run but I couldn’t. Instead I went the colour of Mum and Dad’s new
bedroom. Deep fuchsia.

‘Oh you know,’ Joe continued, ‘India Jane mentioned it – some of your friends are coming over from Ravello, aren’t they?’

Dad looked puzzled. ‘Are they? Who?’ he asked. ‘No one tells me anything.’

Joe looked at me. ‘Maybe I got it wrong? Old friends of the family or something?’

‘I . . . oh . . .’ I blustered.

‘Oh you mean Bruno,’ said Dylan. ‘Remember, Dad? Bruno’s coming over, but
we’re
not having a family day with him. India Jane’s going to see him though,
aren’t you?’

All eyes turned to me. ‘Oh yes, Bruno. I . . . I’m sure I mentioned him to you. I knew him when I was a kid. He lives near my nanna in Ravello.’

Joe stiffened ever so slightly. ‘Really? Hmm. Don’t remember you telling me about a Bruno when you showed me the photos from your visit there.’

If only.

If only I had been honest.

If only I had
told
Bruno I had a boyfriend.

If only I had told Joe that I had told Bruno that I had a boyfriend. I could even have invited Joe along to meet him. (Yeah right. That would be fun. Not.)

If only I hadn’t lied and said it was a family thing on the first Saturday in April.

If only I wasn’t such a coward.

If
only
Mum and Dad hadn’t been sifting through photos from Ravello looking for a nice family one to put in a frame the day before Joe was over. I hadn’t realised they were
out on the table when he came round until it was too late. He casually asked if Bruno was in any of the shots and went very quiet when he saw what a total love god Bruno was.

Now it was a million times worse than it would have been if I’d only told the truth from the beginning.

My list of things to remember when having a relationship was growing:

•  Try and like his mates.

•  Learn to put myself in his shoes if he seems to overreact to a situation.

•  Listen to his point of view.

•  Don’t try to take over and be his social secretary. He won’t thank me for it.

•  Be honest.
Most
of all, be honest.

‘Have you seen him since?’ asked Leela.

I shook my head. It was Monday morning break at school and I’d been hanging around outside the Sixth Form common room in the hope that Joe might come out and I could try and make amends,
though I didn’t know how I was going to react if I did see him. I’d spent all night tossing and turning and trying to work out what to say or do.

Apologise? ‘I’m new at this, Joe. This is my first proper relationship and I am still learning the rules.’ Maybe.

Stand my ground. ‘We’re not married. You don’t own me. I don’t have to tell you everything I do.’ Maybe too aggressive and Joe might get defensive.

Declare my feelings and wrap myself around his ankles until he forgives me. Maybe too desperate.

Wrestle him to the ground and tickle him until he laughs and forgets it all. Yeah right, like that’s going to happen.

Tell him I was struck by lightning and was experiencing temporary insanity. Not a bad idea but unlikely he’d believe me.

‘Any suggestions of how I should play it, guys?’ I asked. ‘I’m all out of ideas.’

‘Come clean,’ said Zahrah. ‘Tell him that, after the way he reacted when he saw you with Tyler, you didn’t want to go through that again.’

‘Yeah, but he did apologise and we did make up,’ I said and, when I remembered how ardent his kisses had been, that option suddenly had appeal.

‘What happened when he realised that you were going to meet a boy?’ asked Leela.

‘It was awful. Mum and Dad got it immediately – that I wanted to see Bruno and not tell Joe. Don’t forget they were there in Ravello last year too, and saw us together. Mum
knows how much I liked him, but they’ve always told me to be honest. I think they were torn between wanting to protect me and being cross that I clearly hadn’t told Joe the truth. They
went into an overdrive act of offering tea, clearing up the Ravello photos on the table as if removing the evidence, offering to show Joe the garden, anything to divert attention away from me and
my scarlet face. Afterwards, Dad said he was disappointed in me. I said he didn’t have to be because I was disappointed in myself.’