34. Charlie
34
CHARLIE
‘Nell? Hey!’
I spotted her as soon as I turned the corner, but I thought it must have been my mind playing tricks on me. Like I was thinking about her so much that I’d started to project her face onto random people. But no. It’s definitely her, sitting on the wall of the skatepark, her legs dangling down the other side.
What the hell?
She double-takes as she turns around and clocks me. ‘Oh! Francombe? What . . . what are you doing here?’
‘Just going to the shop,’ I say. ‘Getting some more almond milk. My flatmate, Merlin, is in Animal Rebellion – he nearly chucked me out when he saw me drinking semi-skimmed after I moved in, so from then on I’ve been exclusively plant-based too.’
What am I talking about? Why am I telling her all this? She looks as confused as I am. When I get nervous I just start babbling, and right now I’m extremely . . . Well, not nervous exactly. But definitely shook. I was not expecting to bump into her on a Saturday morning near my house.
‘Do you live round here too then?’ I ask. It’s so weird seeing her away from the office. Like when you’re a kid and you spot a teacher in the supermarket. Exciting, but also sort of terrifying. Bishi told us both to stay home yesterday, so I thought I’d have to wait three whole days to speak to her again.
‘No, I live in Clapton, actually,’ Nell says. Then her mouth tugs upwards at the edge. ‘Sorry – did you say your flatmate is called Merlin?’
I laugh. ‘Yep. He’s a nice guy. Permanently stoned. He’s basically exactly what you would imagine for someone called Merlin. Except he doesn’t have a big white beard.’
Her smile spreads. ‘Right.’ God, she looks amazing. Her hair is up in a topknot, and she’s wearing a dark-blue denim jacket and black jeans. I immediately wish I was wearing something a bit less shabby than my frayed jogging trousers and a T-shirt that I’m fairly sure has a bolognese stain on the sleeve. I didn’t even look in the mirror before leaving the house. But then I thought I’d just be nipping out to buy almond milk, rather than having an in-depth conversation with a girl I really like.
‘So . . . do you skateboard, or something?’ I ask, nodding into the park.
‘I do not,’ she laughs. ‘No. I’m here with my little brother.’ She points across to the other side of the park, where a boy with floppy brown hair is throwing himself repeatedly down a small flight of steps. ‘He’s come down for the weekend, and out of all the tourist spots in London, he wanted to come here.’
‘He’s a man after my own heart,’ I say. ‘I used to skate too.’
‘Oh, really?’ She looks surprised, as if it wasn’t what she was expecting.
‘Yeah, I was obsessed at school. I’ve even been thinking about taking it back up now I live so close to this park. Could be the beginning of my quarter-life crisis . . .’
That makes her laugh again and I feel the usual rush I get from seeing her smile. ‘Where are you from, by the way, Nell?’ I add. ‘I’ve never even asked you.’
‘I know, I was gonna say – talk about rude,’ she deadpans. ‘I’m from Tealby – it’s a small town near Lincoln. And you grew up in London, right?’
‘Yep.’
‘Cool.’
I feel the silence stretch and panic to fill it. ‘Nice day off yesterday?’
She nods and gazes back out at the skatepark. ‘Yeah, I needed it, actually. I’m such a lightweight – I had a seriously bad hangover from those negronis on Thursday night.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah, they were stupidly strong.’
‘Mm.’ She bounces her heels off the wall and the silence stretches again. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her about that guy I saw her chatting to before she left on Thursday. But just as I’m trying to figure out a non-sus way of inquiring, she flips it back on me.
‘Did you have fun?’ she murmurs. ‘With, erm . . .’
I’m slightly thrown by her asking, to be honest. Mainly because I don’t know how much she actually saw. Did she see Daphne and me dancing together? Did she see us sneaking into the photo booth? I have no clue. Which is why I’m extremely grateful when her brother interrupts us. He comes haring over on his board, and then screeches to a halt in front of Nell. He tugs at the sleeve of his jumper and looks at her. ‘Hey – shall we get a drink, or something?’
Nell hops down off the wall. ‘Yeah, let’s find a cafe. Oh, Will – this is Charlie. We work together,’ she adds. ‘Francombe, this is my brother, Will.’
‘Hey, man!’ I stick my arm out and grin, probably too enthusiastically. Will just grunts and takes my hand for about a millisecond before dropping it again. He picks up his board, ready to leave, and I notice a name I recognise stencilled across the bottom of it.
‘You’ve got a Jamie Foy board!’ I say. ‘He used to be my favourite.’
Will wrinkles his brow and looks back at me. ‘You know Jamie Foy?’
‘Yeah! Well, not personally. But I used to skate. And he was definitely my favourite skater. When I was sixteen, his “BEAST” video part was like my bible.’
A surprised grin spreads slowly across Will’s face. ‘Yeah, that part is so sick! Have you seen “YOU GOOD?” – the one he put out after that?’
‘No, I’d probably quit by then,’ I say. ‘I haven’t really kept tabs on skating in the last few years. What’s new – is Nyjah Huston still winning every Street League?’
Will laughs. ‘He’s still up there, but Yuto Horigome is killing it now too.’
Nell is looking from one of us to the other, a smile playing on her lips. ‘OK, so, I have literally no idea what you’re both on about.’
‘Sorry, sis,’ says Will. ‘Shall we go and get a drink then?’
‘Yeah,’ she replies. ‘I could murder a coffee.’
Will looks at me. ‘You coming, Charlie?’
‘Erm . . .’
I look at Nell. She bites her lip and smiles again. ‘Yeah, come along if you like, Francombe . . .’
I take them to a cafe round the corner from the skatepark, where I occasionally come to hide out on Sundays, if Merlin happens to be burning a particularly noxious brand of incense in the living room. As the three of us walk there, Will tells me about all the new skaters and video parts I need to check out. I get the impression he doesn’t get to speak about this stuff very often. I notice Nell glancing at him affectionately as he speaks.
It’s a nice day, so we pick a table outside and sit down. ‘Since I have nothing to contribute to this skateboarding discussion, I’ll go and get us some drinks,’ Nell says. ‘Will, what do you fancy?’
‘Just a Coke, please.’
‘Francombe?’
‘I’ll have a cappuccino, if that’s OK?’ I reach for my wallet but she stops me.
‘Don’t worry, you can get me back at Pret on Monday.’
‘Cheers.’ My pulse skips as she smiles at me. And then she disappears into the cafe. ‘I’m just going to text my flatmate to tell him I’ll be late with the almond milk . . .’ I tell Will. As I tap out a message to Merlin, I ask, ‘So, how long have you been skating then?’
‘Since I was ten,’ Will says.
‘That’s about when I started.’ I put my phone away. ‘What’s the best trick you can do?’
He shrugs. ‘Kickflip down a six-step.’
‘What?’ I gawp at him. ‘You’re actually good! That’s amazing, man. I never got anywhere close to that!’
I think I see him blush at the compliment. He dips his head so that his hair covers his face. But I can still see him smiling. ‘So, have you got mates you skate with back home?’ I ask.
The smile dissolves. He stares at the table. ‘Not really.’
‘Oh. Right.’
I’m thinking of what to say next, when Will adds, ‘People in my school are more into football and stuff.’
I nod. ‘Yep. Not being into football is a killer. Hating football and rugby was a big reason I never really fitted in at school.’
He looks up at me. ‘You . . . didn’t?’
I shake my head. ‘Not really. To be honest, I bloody hated school.’
Will looks at me with his brow furrowed. ‘How come?’
I consider this. ‘I just didn’t really meet anyone who was similar to me. I went to a posh school, to be honest with you. Really posh. Like, three-former-prime-ministers-went-there posh.’ Will laughs. ‘It just wasn’t me,’ I add. ‘They were a load of stuck-up, entitled idiots.’
All these years later, even just talking about Grassmere still makes my stomach churn. Nick went there when he was a kid, and it was always his plan for me go too. I was already midway through the school’s application process when he walked out on us – so that plan remained intact even though he was no longer around. I guess part of his I’m-still-a-good-dad-even-though-I’ve-fucked-off-and-left-you act was to throw money at Mum in order to pay for my fees at Grassmere. He probably thought that still made him a decent father – when in reality I would have much rather gone to the local comp with my friends and still had him in my life.
Man, I hated that school. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It wasn’t until I was sixteen – after five miserable years of boarding – that I finally did. Mum was going through a rough patch, health-wise, and I insisted on coming home to support her. Nick was dead against it, fuming about how bad it would make him look – ‘I’m on the bloody board of directors!’ – but I stood my ground. I dropped out, came back to London and went to the local sixth-form college. I made more close mates there in the first fortnight than I had in my whole five years at Grassmere.
Will is still looking up at me, his eyes wide under his messy fringe. He swallows and says, ‘Yeah. I know what that’s like. My school’s not posh, but . . . I hate it there too.’
I nod. For the first time, I notice he has dark-ish bags under his eyes, as if he hasn’t been sleeping. Lowering my voice slightly, I ask him the same question he just asked me, ‘How come?’
He shakes his head. ‘Just . . . some people there getting on my case.’
‘Mm-hm.’ We both lapse into silence. It feels like he wants to say more, but I don’t push him. Mum tried so many times to talk to me about the specifics back when I was miserable at school, but whenever I felt her coming on too strong, I shrank away. I try to think back and imagine what I would have wanted someone to say when I was in Will’s shoes. I would have wanted someone who had first-hand experience. Someone who had been through it.
‘Do you want to . . . tell me about it?’ I offer. ‘Just because I know a bit about what this stuff is like?’
He nods and keeps going. ‘There’s this guy, Henry. Henry Castle. He’s just always got at me, ever since, like, Year 7. But now it’s just so much worse. He always . . .’ He breaks off and shakes his head. ‘I just hate going there. So much.’ He glances up at me through his messy hair. ‘What did you do? To get through it?’
I stare out at Peckham High Street, watching the people bustle back and forth. ‘I just . . . faked it, I suppose. Pretended that I was one of them. But it was hard. It was a boarding school – like I say, posh – so I was with them day and night. I couldn’t escape. Having to spend every waking hour playing a part – nodding along with all the fucking sexist and homophobic “bants” just because I didn’t want to stick out . . .’ The shame of it stings in my chest. ‘I’ve always regretted not telling them what fucking pricks they were.’
Act like you belong, Charlie boy. Nick’s words echo through my head again. It strikes me suddenly that I’ve been following that advice all my life. And where has it actually got me?
A memory pops into my head. One of the Grassmere lot tagged me in an Instagram photo the other day – a throwback from some slap-up dinner we all went to after GCSE mocks. When I saw it, I remembered how fiercely, how profoundly unhappy I’d felt posing for that picture. But how I’d pushed that feeling deep down and nailed on a confident grin – slinging my arms around people I secretly couldn’t stand as I tried so hard to be one of them.
Will is studying me carefully from under his fringe. ‘Maybe I should try “faking it” too,’ he mumbles.
I shake my head slowly as I look at him. ‘It didn’t make me feel any better. After a while, it’s just . . . draining, pretending to be someone you’re not.’ It’s odd – it’s only as the words come out of my mouth that I realise they’re true.
Will nods. ‘Henry Castle and his mates would never buy it anyway,’ he says. ‘They can tell I’m not one of them. It got so bad last year that I usually took my lunch into the toilets to eat in peace.’
I wince. ‘Fuck. Will. I’m sorry.’
He shrugs. ‘Then one day, about a month ago, it all just . . . stopped,’ he adds. ‘For no reason, they started acting nice towards me. Being friendly, inviting me to sit with them. I was so relieved – I thought it was all over. They told me they were going to the cinema that Saturday and asked if I wanted to come.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t ever remember being as happy as I was after I got that invite. And then Saturday came, and I arrived at the cinema and waited . . . And waited. And waited.’ He tugs gently at the sleeve of his T-shirt. ‘I must have sat outside that cinema for about four hours. I knew they weren’t coming, but I couldn’t face going home and telling Mum what had happened. Even when I did get home, I lied and told her we’d all had a great time. Then, on Monday, as soon as I walked into class, they all burst out laughing at me.’
His head dips towards his chest. It’s like he’s trying to shrink into himself. I feel something uncoiling inside me – a violence so strong it actually shocks me. An urge to rip Henry Castle, and every fucking prick like him, to shreds. I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to put my arm around Will, or hug him, or just – I don’t know – do something to make him realise how sorry I am for what he’s going through. But I don’t even know him. I don’t want to freak him out.
He’s staring back down at the table again, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. I feel awful suddenly – the whole point of this was to try to make him feel better, not worse. When I was in his position, I remember wishing I had someone I could talk to. For some reason, it never felt right talking to Mum about it. She already had enough on her plate, for a start. I wished Nick was around. I wished I had a dad.
And then I remember. Will really doesn’t have a dad. Nell said she was fifteen when he died, so Will must have been, what . . . ten? Younger? Fuck. To have had to go through that, and now this. Something tightens in my chest.
‘Will . . .’ I say. ‘You know all this stuff – Henry Castle, all this shit you’re going through . . .’ I look at him. ‘You know it’s not real, right? It’s not real life.’
‘What do you mean?’ he mutters.
‘Right now, it feels like it’s all there is,’ I tell him. ‘It feels like life will always be like this. But it won’t. You have to remember that. Soon enough you’ll be out of that school, and you can do anything you want after that.’
He just shrugs and grunts. It only makes me more insistent. ‘I’m serious, man. I’m not lying to you. You might go to university or get a job or go travelling or come down to London, like Nell. You’ll suddenly be out of your little village, and you’ll meet hundreds of other people – you’ll meet other skateboarders, other people who think like you and are interested in the same things you’re interested in. And you’ll realise that the world is so much bigger than school. And there are so many more interesting and important people than the fucking Henry Castles you’ve been surrounded by.’
His face is still hidden by his mop of hair. I’m worried I’ve gone too far – made too big a thing of this. But I suddenly want, more than anything, for him to understand. For him to hear what I wish someone had told me.
‘I’m serious, Will,’ I say. ‘Things will get better. I swear to you.’
For a split second he looks up at me. And I’m sure that his eyes are shining. And then he looks away.
‘Thanks, Charlie.’ I hear him take a shaky breath. ‘Thank you.’
I hope I haven’t embarrassed him. He’s still not looking back at me, so I do my best to lighten the mood. ‘No worries. I just wanted you to know that.’ I nudge his board with my foot. ‘You can pay me back by showing me that kickflip down the six-step when we go back to the park.’
He scrubs his eyes and laughs. ‘I can’t do it every time.’
‘Oh, right. Here we go . . . Here come the excuses.’
He laughs again and looks up at me. His smile seems brighter this time – more real – and it gives me a jolt of satisfaction. I really hope I got through to him.
I look around us, suddenly aware that we’ve been on our own for a while. ‘I wonder where your sister’s got to?’