The Boy I Loved Before (11 page)

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Authors: Jenny Colgan

BOOK: The Boy I Loved Before
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‘They'll send me to borstal!'
‘You know, you sound just like yourself on the phone,' said Tashy musingly.
‘I am myself, OK? We have to get control of the situation. I am myself. I just can't do anything.'
‘Were we really not allowed out when we were sixteen?'
‘Yes, but only under laboratory conditions.'
‘Can't you say you're staying at your new best friend's – whatever her name is?'
‘Constanzia.'
‘Con-what?'
‘And anyway, no, because I don't know her phone number or where she lives. And I'm grounded.'
Tashy heaved a sigh. ‘This is terrible.'
‘It's hell,' I said. ‘Are you
sure
I haven't actually died in
a terrible tragic accident and you're being too nice to tell me about it?'
‘If this is what's at the other side, I bloody hope not.'
 
 
I'd never had detention first time around. Yes, I was one of those kids. And now, watching every other kid skip, laughing and screeching, down to the gates where the cars and buses clustered, I could see how it worked as a punishment.
Of course, most of those kids wanted to go home. And so did I. But my home didn't exist.
Sighing slightly in the mild September afternoon, I stomped off to where I did remember the bad boys hanging out the window in detention and whistling at the girls like men in prison (where, indeed, many of them now are).
Mr Rolf was patrolling up and down outside the room, which was filled with boyish shouts and retorts. He smiled, very unpleasantly, when he saw me coming and my teacher's sarcasm radar started bleeping urgently.
‘Ah, Miss Scurrison. So glad you could make it on such a glamorous evening. I know you're a newcomer to our esteemed great social occasions of the top wits and charmers of the cultural elite that is Christchurch Secondary. I imagine you'll fit right in.'
I walked in, my heart filling with trepidation. All the boys here looked exactly like any group of lads you'd cross the road to avoid, full of the usual combustible mix of teenage fear, bravado, hormones and cider. Who'd be a teacher, I thought, not for the first time. At what point did that job get fun? Give me my boring, safe desk, computer, long lists of papers, any day. I can't believe I
was getting nostalgic for strip lighting and quarterly VAT returns.
A collective ‘wooah' went up from the room as I went in. Obviously they knew who I was and I doubted very much whether I'd been seen in here before. This was nuts. I couldn't believe a bunch of complete strangers with a shared IQ of about forty-five knew more about my life than I did.
‘Hey, sexy baby. Wanna get some ed-u-cation?' said one pimple-faced giant, slouching next to me and carving ‘FUCK' slowly and methodically on the desk.
‘Yeah,' shouted another one. ‘I'll make you stay late … very late …'
I raised my eyes. Soon they'd start boasting to each other about made-up sexual experiences and move on.
‘Haven't seen you round here,' said one skinhead.
‘Fresh meat!' yelled someone else from the back of the class, to general amusement. Unbelievably, fucking Rolf stood by and just watched this happen. If this had been the office, Olly would have slapped the whole damn lot of them with a sexual harassment suit within fifteen seconds.
I sat down. On the board, it said, ‘Essay topic: the usefulness of nothingness.'
‘Hey, baby, now you're in with us, do you think you'll be … letting it all hang out a bit more, yeah?' whispered one sweaty voice behind me.
‘Get fucked,' I said.
There was a definite wooh. My heart was beating really hard. This was horrible. I couldn't believe they would let people be so intimadating. It felt dangerous.
‘Are you swearing, Miss Scurrison?'
Immediately I lost all the sympathy I had for this broken
man of a teacher and indulged a quick revenge fantasy that involved prison and limitless penance. And kicking.
‘No, sir,' I said quickly, like a cowed dog.
‘Yeah, she was, sir.'
‘Do you want to pay a speedy return visit?'
‘No, sir.'
He nodded and pointed to the board. ‘Better get on with it, then.'
He left the room – the school had clearly deteriorated if they had to split detention in two. My face burned bright hot with fear and a sense of injustice; a whispering started up.
‘We're going to get you, whore.'
Jesus.
Suddenly, there was a cracking noise. It sounded like somebody smacking somebody else hard on the knuckles with a ruler.
‘Fuck,' said the same voice.
‘Shut the fuck up,' said another, near-familiar one. ‘Do you want to get done for sexual harassment, or just spend the rest of your life here?'
‘Wot?'
‘Just shut it, OK?'
I risked a look behind me, and nearly had a heart attack. When I'd come in I hadn't even raised my eyes from the floor and taken the first seat at the front. Which was why I hadn't noticed the boy currently holding another boy by the ear and threatening to swat him with a ruler.
‘Fucking lanky bastard,' said the lout, but he returned quietly to his reading.
Justin Clelland's eyes met mine. He betrayed – of course – no knowledge of me, beyond me being some girl he'd seen
around. There was no interest, no enquiry, suspicion or flirting. I, by contrast, knew I was gawping. This boy looked so like Clelland in his school uniform I wanted to throw up.
‘Thanks,' I said.
He shrugged and retook his seat directly behind me.
‘Flora,' I said, putting out my hand. He stared at it. Maybe handshaking doesn't start till later.
Eventually he took it. ‘I know,' he said. ‘You hang around with that dark-haired crazy girl.'
I nodded. ‘And you're Justin.'
He nodded politely. Of course, he must be a year ahead of me. Oddly, and I guess perhaps it had something to do with my being a couple of inches shorter, he didn't look quite the droopy, grumpy teenager he had at Tashy's wedding. Compared to the rest of the greasy Neanderthals whose features hadn't dropped into place yet, he was tall, smooth-skinned, with soft, baby-fine curls, and calm grey eyes just like his brother's. On the whole, I suspected he was a bit of a school heart-throb.
‘What are you in for?' I whispered.
‘I protested against another year where they refused to order recycled textbooks. They didn't take it too well.'
Awww, Clelland II.
I decided to get a bit cunning.
‘Don't you have a brother who's in Africa?'
He immediately looked frightened. Oh, crap. I'd just revealed myself to be one of those terrifying teenage stalkers who write names all over their textbooks and fill their diaries with ‘I love you, John Bloggs, and we WILL be married', over and over again.
He coughed.
‘Are you talking, Miss Scurrison?'
This bastard moved on oiled wheels of silence, I swear to God.
‘No, sir.'
‘You haven't got the hang of this at all, have you, Miss Scurrison?'
‘No, sir.'
‘I think that's why we'll be seeing you on Monday.'
At least this time I managed not to swear.
 
 
My parents looked like they were sitting shivah for me as I peered in the lighted windows through the oncoming twilight. They probably were: mourning the studious, well-behaved daughter who had woken up yesterday morning and would never be the same again.
‘I was in detention,' I said, hanging my coat on the wall.
‘We know,' said my dad. ‘We asked for you to have it.'
‘Thank you,' I said. ‘I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that my essay on “Nothingness” was a great use of my time during my AS level year.'
My mother put dinner on the table in silence. Ooh! Nobody had made me a proper dinner since – well, she'd pretty much given up cooking for herself after Dad left. Just didn't care any more, I suppose. I had to make sure she was stocked up with Marks and Spencer's stuff, and that she knew how to heat it up.
That was a shame, because she was a great cook. I tucked into the sausages and mash with gusto. Olly and I usually went out or ordered in, and I'd forgotten how good a well-made onion gravy could be.
‘This is really, really good. Isn't it, Dad?' I said enthusiastically.
They both looked at me.
‘Um, yeah,' said Dad.
‘Thanks for cooking, Mum.'
My mother looked amazed. ‘Just the same old—' she started.
‘Yes. Thanks, Joyce,' said my dad, embarrassed, as if I'd shown him up. My mother blinked and fluttered.
I stared at my plate and went back to eating in silence in case I said anything else completely stupid. Then I remembered my mandate to get them back together and started racking my brains to think of some nice friendly family conversation. Which, looking back, I couldn't actually remember much of from this part of my life first time around.
After a hundred years, my mother piped up, ‘You're not going round to Stanzi's tomorrow night.'
‘We weren't going to do anything,' I said sourly, thinking of the unknown Ethan's party.
‘Well, you can go to work, and that's it.'
I nearly choked on a piece of mashed potato. Work? I had a job? What kind of a job? I thought back to when I was sixteen, at the Co-op. Endless boxes of biscuits. No, no, no. Saturdays were for shopping, and pedicures with Tash. Please, no. Whatever my job was, I didn't want to do it.
I swallowed slowly. ‘Actually, you know … it's been such a big week, here or there …'
My dad looked at me. I thought for a brief second he could sense my inner confusion and turmoil.
‘Don't think you're getting any money from us.'
‘You don't want to lose that job, Flora,' my mother
reproached me. ‘They're good people at the Co-op. And, Duncan, for Christ's sake, shut up. If she needs money we'll—'
‘No, of course I don't,' I said hurriedly. Had they always spoken to each other in this way? I was a bit cheeky to Ol, but this was just awful. ‘But, also, you know, I've got a ton of homework to do too and …'
I got up and left. My dad was glaring at my mother. He looked as if he was thinking something he'd never say aloud.
My first stop: I should just get fired from the Co-op. Tashy would give me the money, surely. She had plenty sloshing around that wedding fund of hers. And I could pay her back … I swallowed a big gulp of uncertainty. I would pay her back when I got out of this mess. Jeez. And hopefully, when that happened, nobody would remember I'd even been here at all. I had to believe that. I had to.
 
 
I paced around my bedroom, picking up unfamiliar things. I needed some space I couldn't trip myself up in, plus I'd already seen this week's episode of
Friends
and
Have I Got News for You
a month ago, and I didn't want to give away any possible psychic abilities. And I certainly couldn't relax. I mean, when I'd thought about being sixteen again, I'd thought about staying out late and having fun, not having detention and staying in on Friday nights, watching old
Have I Got News for Yous
listening to my mum and dad rip each other to shreds. Which, when I thought back to it, I had done quite a lot of. Before Clelland had come along and … no, I wasn't going to think about that. Not only was it long ago, it was in a completely different world.
Plus, I couldn't have sat still even if I wanted to. I was fidgety and antsy, and the atmosphere between my mum and dad was too frosty for words. I wanted to run out the house and go find some friends and pretend none of this was happening, but I didn't want to see that look in my mum's eyes again. So I was a trapped animal. I looked around my blue-wallpapered bedroom.
I would have thought I was far too old for CDs by Gareth Gates, but clearly not. Oh well, I was the uncoolest girl in the school, so maybe that explained it. There was some old Steps, going back a couple of years, and lots of No Doubt, whom I clearly loved. Good. I put them in the woefully poor quality pink CD player that must have been a present. There were also plenty of other people I really hadn't heard of, which was a bit embarrassing. I thought I was a bit more up on music than this, but I had no idea who Jay-Z was, or who those seventeen pikey-looking boys in the poster on my wall were. I leafed idly through several copies of
Smash Hits,
and wondered if I could remember who was about to become number one, so I could put a bet on it. I wandered over to my white, faux Louis XIV desk, which was horrible, and had a framed picture of a tiger above it – I loved tigers. I opened the drawers, one after another: magazines, free lipsticks and endless, endless screeds of useless-looking homework dribbled out. Then I got to one that was locked. Ooh, locked drawer.

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