15
It’s six o’clock in the evening and the window of the dingy café is steamed up. Water droplets slide down the outside surface of the window in rivulets, creating small waterfalls. The inside of the café is cosy despite the smell of fried food, unyielding plastic furniture and Formica tops. But maybe I’m feeling cosy because Alex is opposite me.
He pours the fourth sachet of sugar into my black coffee, his long fingers ripping each packet as he goes, meticulously emptying every last grain of sugar. His pink lips are pursed, lip piercing shining almost golden in the artificial light. I can feel he’s itching to say something.
‘Spill it,’ I challenge him.
He pauses, his green eyes gleaming with mirth.
‘I will sound awfully pedantic, but I can’t help it so don’t judge me.’ I can’t stop the grin. It’s so like Alex, acknowledging his mistakes before he’s even made them, yet unable to stop himself. ‘You know that that amount of sugar will only turn into glucose, give you a short energy boost and then once it’s metabolised, your energy level will drop rapidly and make you feel even worse?’
He cares so much about so many things, including me. I love that about him. At the word love, my brain goes into total override, buffering and buffering until it halts, flashing a message in CG Times Roman Bold font stating 401 – Unauthorized. Your request could not be processed . The word has been sneaking up on me for the last few weeks, and I can’t quite figure out what to do with it.
‘You’re right – it does make you sound pedantic.’ He pushes against my shoulder playfully, making me laugh. ‘You’re such a smarty-pants.’ I lean over and muss his hair to dispel the thickness in my throat. The amber strands run silkily between my fingers.
When I’m ready to pull away, he quickly catches my hand and kisses my palm. Heat crackles in the pit of my stomach like fresh firewood chucked onto a well-established fire. That’s what it’s like being with Alex. Over the weeks I’ve been going out with him, I’ve been unable to suppress the growing reaction. My body is ablaze whenever he’s near me, every touch kindling this feeling further. If we carry on in this vein, one day I’ll just spontaneously combust. My face must show my not-so-subtle, and frankly crude, desires because he leans closer, and his lips caress mine in an unspoken promise of more.
‘When you look at me like that, you drive me insane.’ His breathing picks up. We’re a complete electrical circuit whenever we touch. The source, conductors, load and all. Whenever our skins connect, we create a fixed path for electricity to flow through.
‘Like what?’ I ask, suddenly as breathless as he is. I’ve never been bold, but my shyness is defeated by curiosity.
‘Like I’m everything.’ His words make my chest explode into a million pieces, sparks of heat flying into the crevasses created by the rupture.
I’m ready to share feelings with him that I haven’t dared to say even in my own mind when the door to the café opens, followed by a loud bell chime.
A couple seat themselves in the faraway corner. I barely look at them, but something about the man snags in my brain, and I have to check what it is. My mouth dries up when I recognise him.
My dad’s shaggy brown hair and old-fashioned glasses stand out in the rundown café. I watch him as he helps a woman in her late twenties out of a fluffy pink coat. Everything about them, their age, their outfits and even their body postures, makes them look jarring next to each other. I don’t realise I’ve flinched until my chair scrapes loudly against the lino floor and Alex asks whether I’m OK. I nod, unsure whether I mean it.
I wonder why my dad’s here. He’s supposed to be at a conference, something to do with his post-doctorate project.
My dad stands up when he catches sight of me. He winces at first but then his whole posture changes as his eyeline snaps sideways to Alex. With a deep scowl, he walks towards us. My dad has never been angry or aggravated with me because he’s a placid man, but this man is nothing like the dad I know.
‘Holly? What are you doing here?’ When he asks the question, all he does is stare at Alex. I’d never thought my dad could be condescending, and immediately, embarrassment colours my cheeks.
‘Dad, this is Alex. My friend from school.’ Even despite my dad’s even-tempered nature, I’m not stupid enough to call Alex my boyfriend in front of him.
Alex is about to introduce himself when my dad stops him with a hand up like he’s teaching a kid a lesson. Frowning, I sit up.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be at Victoria’s studying for tomorrow’s maths test?’ He doesn’t acknowledge Alex again; it’s like he’s turned invisible.
To my dismay, apart from an almost imperceptible twitch at the mention of Vicky’s name, Alex looks impassive. I’ve seen him amused, content, cross and even grumpy before, but I’ve never seen him this expressionless. It’s like he’s erected the Great Wall of China in his mind in the last two seconds and nothing will penetrate through it.
‘Vicky had to go to her nan’s. What are you doing here?’ I lean to the side to check out the blonde who’s staring at me with curiosity. When she catches my stare, she busies herself with the menu.
‘Watch your tone, young lady,’ my dad warns, and it’s so out of character, I cringe. ‘The conference was cancelled so instead I’ve had consultations with my undergrads the whole afternoon. It seems we’re both in different places we said we would be, but only one of us has a good reason for it.’
‘Consultations in a café?’ I can’t let it go. Even the idea of what I’m thinking makes me feel sick.
‘Not that I approve of your interrogation methods, but my office got flooded this morning, and this was the closest place to hold the consults,’ he says sternly, and I realise he’s right. His office is just across the road.
Relief hits me like a stray missile. It was stupid of me to suggest he was lying. Now that I look back towards the table, I can see my dad’s laptop bag resting against one of the bent metal legs, and the blonde has fired up her own laptop and is now typing furiously away. It still doesn’t give him the right to be rude to Alex.
‘Go home,’ my dad orders me, like I’m a little kid. He’s never been this high-handed or direct with me. From the corner of my eye, I watch Alex passively observing the scene, seemingly bored. My chest squeezes so hard that I think I’m experiencing a cardiac event.
‘No,’ I say defiantly, not recognising the voice that leaves my mouth. I’ve never talked back to my parents before despite the fact I rarely agree with my mother on anything.
Alex grabs my wrist under the table and squeezes gently, stopping me in my tracks.
‘I’ve got somewhere to be anyway,’ Alex says dismissively, carrying a strong Yorkshire accent. I know his mum is from Yorkshire, but he’s never sounded like it; his words are usually enunciated to the point of perfection. ‘I’ll walk you home.’
Alex gathers his things. He walks past me, giving himself so much space as though I’ve developed some viral infection in the last two minutes.
‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ Alex mutters without looking at my dad who is just standing there and silently fuming like he’s a little boy rather than a grown adult.
I have no words left in my brain because the space is filled with white noise. When I train my eyes on my hands, they’re shaking with frustration.
‘How old is that boy?’ My dad interrogates me as soon as Alex is gone.
‘He’s in my A Levels year group.’
‘I’m surprised he’s gotten that far,’ he mumbles.
‘Are you for real?’ My voice rises a few octaves, and the blonde coughs loudly. Despite her best efforts at pretending to type, it’s clear she’s eavesdropping.
‘I don’t like the look of that boy; he seems like trouble. I don’t want to see you with him ever again. I’ll call your mother to check you’ve arrived at home.’ He checks his watch which is his default sign he’s finished with this conversation. Without another word, he returns to his table.
I feel so disappointed my vision blurs for a moment. My benevolent father, my hero, has turned into a petty, prejudiced man. It’s always been my dad and me against the world.
When I exit the café, Alex is toeing a piece of rock.
Still stunned, I start apologising, but he interrupts before I get a chance to finish, like he’s not interested in anything I have to say. ‘Let’s get you home.’
I’m ready to ask whether he’s being serious, but his expression is completely shut down. I have the feeling if I said anything, he wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway.
The rain has settled into a steady drizzle, and I’m almost glad for it because it fills the space and silence that the scene with my dad has created between us. Over my sodden hood, I can’t see where we’re walking until we stop in front of a block of flats on a small council estate. The front of the building is littered with cigarette butts and a few broken bottles whose shards reflect the light from the nearest streetlamp.
I don’t ask which one of the dark windows staring blankly down at us is Alex’s bedroom. He’s never invited me to his place, and I’ve never asked, never feeling like I could. My house has been out of bounds because my mother is always there, pottering about and prying into other people’s business.
‘If you wait here, I’ll lend you an umbrella.’ His words are almost harsh, his green eyes gazing at me without any expression. A sound akin to a whimper escapes my mouth, but I can’t stop it. Why is he being like that? Have I done something wrong? At hearing it, Alex squeezes my upper arm through the soaked layers of my shirt and hoodie and says almost softly, ‘I don’t want you to catch your death.’
‘Can I use the loo please?’ I shift my weight from left to right. I didn’t want to ask, but my bladder is bursting. I can feel his reluctance, but it’s either that or I’ll have to pee in the bushes, and he knows it. Eventually, he nods.
Inside the building, the corridor is lined with old-fashioned red carpet. It’s threadbare and dirty in some places and smells faintly of dog. We walk up the stairs to the second floor.
When Alex unlocks a white door with a scratched seven on it, he beckons to indicate I can come in. I scan the small space nervously. It’s a studio flat, and the room is divided into a tiny kitchenette in the corner, a green sofa and a coffee table opposite. To my left, a corner of a double bed peeks from behind a wooden screen.
Despite all the furniture being old-fashioned and slightly weathered with age, everything is immaculately clean and tidy except for the bed behind the wall that is covered in female clothing and the contents of a make-up bag scattered around as if someone was in a rush. Alex’s lips press into a thin line at the sight of the mess.
My eyes drift to the coffee table that has a neat pile of books, some on classical guitars and others by Orwell and Hardy. On top of the pile, a pair of familiar headphones rest; I realise with overwhelming tenderness that this is where Alex sleeps. When I inhale, I recognise the familiar smell of cleaning products and cigarettes because that’s the smell I associate with Alex.
A handwritten note on the fridge that lists a few shopping items and bills that need to be paid, including the council tax and water bill, confirms my uncomfortable feeling. The handwriting is familiar, the ticks next to some of the items on the list have an extra flick at the start. Alex is a young carer. All those phone calls with his mum make sense now.
Turning to face Alex, my mouth opens, but when I catch his look, tense and vulnerable, my words die on my lips.
He doesn’t look me in the eye when he points directly to my right. ‘Toilet’s that way.’ I nod even though he can’t see it.
The small toilet is crammed with hair and body products that I rummage through after I’ve peed. I find a can of Lynx in the only wall cabinet and when I pop the lid open, Alex’s smell envelops me. Unable to stop myself, I spray it in the air and walk through the mist, inhaling deeply.
At some point, my hands start shaking, because in my na?ve mind, I’ve always thought when Alex said he lived in a flat, I imagined one of those punky urban loft conversions with skylights and brick walls. I can’t fathom how both his mum and he can coexist in such a small space. When I picture our house, the thought makes me feel itchy, like there are ants under my skin.
I stare at myself for a long moment in the cracked mirror. I’m too neat and preppy-ish in my blue shirt and yellow-and-red zip-up hoodie. How can he stand me being here? I would hate it if I were him. I think back to my dad and the way he behaved towards Alex. A strange pang of rage at my dad and this whole situation colours my vision red; I want to smash things, but that would be highly counter-productive right now.
I tug at my shirt nervously before I walk back to the main room, my heart in my throat. Straight away, I notice that the heap of clothes on the bed is neatly piled in a column and the make-up bag has disappeared. His back towards me, Alex is standing in the compact kitchenette, making tea judging by the sounds and smells.
He confirms my guess. ‘Sorry, we ran out of coffee, and I haven’t had a chance to do a shop this week. I know you don’t drink tea, but it’s all we have.’ He seems so coolly polite and distant, and I can’t bear it anymore.
I want the opposite of distance. Until now, I’ve not realised how much I need him. It’s developed into this physical ache, and it scares the hell out of me. I need every single part of our bodies to be touching to make sure he’s OK and that we’re OK, and I need it right now, but I don’t know how to ask for it. I’ve never initiated any serious physical contact, feeling shy and inexperienced next to Alex. It has always been Alex who would hold my hand, stroke my cheek or kiss me.
‘Please stop,’ I implore.
He slowly turns around, the steaming tea abandoned on the counter.
‘What? You don’t want tea?’ He’s still using that impassive tone, and I don’t know how to snap him out of it. I’m desperate.
I gather my nerves and walk towards him. I grab his face and press my lips against his, my body coming flush with his. Toes to toes, thighs to thighs, stomach to stomach. His heart is beating fast against my chest, in synchrony with mine. I’ve never touched a boy like this before. I know I’m being a bit clumsy, but now that I’ve touched Alex, I can’t stop or even consider the possibility of ever wanting to touch another human being who is not Alex.
At first, Alex doesn’t do anything. Then, as if a switch was turned on, he opens up to me and our tongues connect, the sensation electrifying the insides of my mouth and sending tingling numbness down my spine. He slides his hands down my back and to my backside, squeezing with urgency. The combination of his slick tongue, the cool sting of his piercing against my bottom lip and his hands on my bum is indescribable. We’ve kissed and touched before, and it has always been amazing, but I’ve never thought it could be like this. My core has turned hot and liquid like lava and I need Alex to do something, but I’m not sure exactly what.
Everything inside me clenches as he presses me against him. I can feel him hard against my leg, and the proof of him wanting me as much as I want him makes me moan. I need to feel every part of him, but I’m too shy to really touch him where I want to the most, so I settle on his shoulders . But I’m restless and impatient and move to his waist, my fingers dipping under his T-shirt where his skin is the softest. He pulls it off and over his head and then disposes of my hoodie.
Not breaking the kiss, he guides me towards the sofa, and we sort of fall, tumble, with Alex’s weight pressing down on me. He is heavy, but the solidness of his body against mine feels delicious, and my bones crave him. I feel vulnerable and fragile, about to disintegrate under his touch. A pang of panic speeds up my pulse, but I don’t want to stop or slow down to overthink what’s happening between us.
He pushes my thigh up and hooks it over his hip, spreading my legs enough for him to settle between them. The position makes us even closer. Hands searching, I explore his lean back, and my nails rake down his body from shoulders to waist. He groans and arches against me, and the reaction sends my head back, slamming against the armrest.
He moves his hand between our bodies. Even through the jeans, his touch is everything, and the heat between my legs quadruples. I can’t think and my eyes close to process the strong feeling. All I think is that I’ve never wanted anybody so much in my life and that I need him to do things I’ve never thought I would want another being to do to me. I want them all with Alex.
He shifts his focus to the waist of my jeans, his fingers delving under the waistband towards the place I want him to touch me. Some vestige of nervousness comes back, and I jerk under his advances. As if pulled from a trance, he shrinks back and sits up against the opposite corner of the sofa. His cheeks are flushed, his red hair tousled.
‘No,’ he forces through his gritted teeth. A hard lump forms in my throat and threatens to choke me.
‘Was I that bad? I’ve never…’ I don’t know how to finish the sentence without crying.
Alex gathers his T-shirt and pulls it on. As he stands, he mumbles, ‘I’m not your rebel boy to piss off your daddy.’
Is that what this is about? I’m hurt that he thinks so little of me, but when I replay his words, all I hear is vulnerability, and I can’t stay cross at him. He always seems so composed and confident. I have never thought that he might not feel that way. I have never given him the benefit of the doubt.
I stand and put my hand on his arm, but he shakes it off.
‘It’s not what this is.’ I try to speak calmly but fail halfway through.
‘I shouldn’t have touched you like that, I’m sorry. I think you should go.’ He turns around and starts pouring the undrunk cups of tea into the sink without looking at me.
I consider just leaving and being angry at him for being stupid, but then I get defeated and instead whisper, ‘I’m in love with you.’
He freezes, the water running loudly in the sudden silence. The cups clank in the sink. His shoulders stiffen, but he’s frozen otherwise, like what I’ve just said bears no weight. A tear escapes my eye and leaks over my flushed cheek. I brush it off, not wanting him to see my shame. Not knowing what to say, I say the lamest thing I can think of, ‘I’ll see you at school.’
I’m almost at the door when he envelops me in his arms, pressing me against him with an urgency that nearly chokes me. His heart is pounding what feels like a thousand beats per minute against my chest.
‘I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry,’ he mutters into my hair. ‘I thought… it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.’ When he pushes away, his face is shattered and devastatingly handsome. His eyes don’t leave mine when he says, ‘I’m in love with you, too.’
Knee-trembling relief floods through my system. He wraps both his arms around me again but then pauses, his nostrils flaring.
‘Have you used my deodorant?’
I can’t help but grin. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.