sigh, she typed ‘Suitable for all’ next to
Toby’s name.
She thought about what Pascale had said: Ask him if he wants you as a girlfriend, or a friend. What would happen if Jo did that? She imagined a scene in a film where the
actress asked the actor that question. How would the script read? What would
the director want? Long pauses, evident distress, or would he prefer the scene
to be understated, leaving the audience to interpret the feelings?
Toby’s smooth cheeks would sink slightly, and a
nearly-hurt look would come into his eyes. His eyebrows would sharpen at the
corners; he would be alert for a trap, wondering what she really meant. Was she saying she didn’t
want him as a boyfriend? Well, why didn’t she just go ahead and dump him? Suspicion
and uncertainty would hover between them, taking up the space on the screen
between the actor and the actress, arousing the audience’s sympathy…or apathy. Such
was a director’s gamble.
Toby would hate her for asking the question. She knew
it, and she knew she couldn’t do it anyway. Like she’d told Pascale, they just
had to wait and see what happened. She and Toby were sensible people, she
reminded herself. Sex wasn’t everything, though the way some people went on
about it you’d think it was. Pascale’s insistence on a trial separation from
Ed, which was only a tactic of hers and had never really happened, had probably
resulted in them doing it even more often than they had before. You could tell
by the way she was always touching his leg.
The thing was, if Jo was ever going to do it, she
wanted to do it with someone who made her feel that she couldn’t not do it with him, and only him. So even
if she broke up with him, whoever he was, she would still know that he’d been
the one, in that world-changing moment.
But was Toby him?
“Jo!” came Trevor’s voice up the stairs. “Jo-girl! Where
are you?”
Jo pushed herself up and opened the bedroom door. The
landing was so dark it was more like an evening in November than June. She
could hear rain starting. Large drops thudded on the window pane, then more and
more until all the thuds merged and became a power-shower. She went to the top
of the stairs. “What?”
“I’m off to the pub,” said Trevor. He was wearing his
leather jacket, jingling his keys in his pocket. “You’ll be all right, won’t
you?”
Jo nodded. “Got work to do. Maths exam tomorrow. You
know it’s pouring with rain, don’t you?”
“See you later, then.”
The front door slammed. Jo sat down on the top stair,
gazing emptily at the place in the hall where he’d just been standing. In a
movie there would be poignant music, or a cut to a lively scene, she thought. But
in real life, there was just a space.
* * * * * *
Jo and Holly had just done their last exam.
“Come on!” Holly took Jo’s arm and propelled her along
the corridor. “After we’ve cleared out our lockers we’re free to go. And look
at this amazing weather!”
Mediterranean, they kept saying on TV. Pubs and
restaurants were trying hard, with tables outside, to pretend they were in
Spain. But even with its buildings throwing sharp shadows and heat haze rising
off the tarmac, Jo thought Kingsgrove High Street still looked and smelled like
Kingsgrove High Street – dusty, petroly, burger-and-chipsy.
“What are you doing tonight?” Holly asked. “Seeing
Toby?”
“Don’t know.”
“But it’s the end of exams!” Holly was shocked. “Cal
and I are going to Press Gang with Ed and Tom and their mates.”
“Oh, OK. Well, I’ll see what Toby wants to do.”
Holly was busy with her padlock. “How are things with Toby?” she asked. “God,
this thing is so awkward! Why can’t they design padlocks that work, for God’s
sake?”
Jo opened the door of her own locker, thinking about
how things were with Toby, and wondering if Pascale had instructed Holly to ask
her. “Things are OK.” Her PE kit and an ancient copy of Macbeth
Toby’s name.
She thought about what Pascale had said: Ask him if he wants you as a girlfriend, or a friend. What would happen if Jo did that? She imagined a scene in a film where the
actress asked the actor that question. How would the script read? What would
the director want? Long pauses, evident distress, or would he prefer the scene
to be understated, leaving the audience to interpret the feelings?
Toby’s smooth cheeks would sink slightly, and a
nearly-hurt look would come into his eyes. His eyebrows would sharpen at the
corners; he would be alert for a trap, wondering what she really meant. Was she saying she didn’t
want him as a boyfriend? Well, why didn’t she just go ahead and dump him? Suspicion
and uncertainty would hover between them, taking up the space on the screen
between the actor and the actress, arousing the audience’s sympathy…or apathy. Such
was a director’s gamble.
Toby would hate her for asking the question. She knew
it, and she knew she couldn’t do it anyway. Like she’d told Pascale, they just
had to wait and see what happened. She and Toby were sensible people, she
reminded herself. Sex wasn’t everything, though the way some people went on
about it you’d think it was. Pascale’s insistence on a trial separation from
Ed, which was only a tactic of hers and had never really happened, had probably
resulted in them doing it even more often than they had before. You could tell
by the way she was always touching his leg.
The thing was, if Jo was ever going to do it, she
wanted to do it with someone who made her feel that she couldn’t not do it with him, and only him. So even
if she broke up with him, whoever he was, she would still know that he’d been
the one, in that world-changing moment.
But was Toby him?
“Jo!” came Trevor’s voice up the stairs. “Jo-girl! Where
are you?”
Jo pushed herself up and opened the bedroom door. The
landing was so dark it was more like an evening in November than June. She
could hear rain starting. Large drops thudded on the window pane, then more and
more until all the thuds merged and became a power-shower. She went to the top
of the stairs. “What?”
“I’m off to the pub,” said Trevor. He was wearing his
leather jacket, jingling his keys in his pocket. “You’ll be all right, won’t
you?”
Jo nodded. “Got work to do. Maths exam tomorrow. You
know it’s pouring with rain, don’t you?”
“See you later, then.”
The front door slammed. Jo sat down on the top stair,
gazing emptily at the place in the hall where he’d just been standing. In a
movie there would be poignant music, or a cut to a lively scene, she thought. But
in real life, there was just a space.
* * * * * *
Jo and Holly had just done their last exam.
“Come on!” Holly took Jo’s arm and propelled her along
the corridor. “After we’ve cleared out our lockers we’re free to go. And look
at this amazing weather!”
Mediterranean, they kept saying on TV. Pubs and
restaurants were trying hard, with tables outside, to pretend they were in
Spain. But even with its buildings throwing sharp shadows and heat haze rising
off the tarmac, Jo thought Kingsgrove High Street still looked and smelled like
Kingsgrove High Street – dusty, petroly, burger-and-chipsy.
“What are you doing tonight?” Holly asked. “Seeing
Toby?”
“Don’t know.”
“But it’s the end of exams!” Holly was shocked. “Cal
and I are going to Press Gang with Ed and Tom and their mates.”
“Oh, OK. Well, I’ll see what Toby wants to do.”
Holly was busy with her padlock. “How are things with Toby?” she asked. “God,
this thing is so awkward! Why can’t they design padlocks that work, for God’s
sake?”
Jo opened the door of her own locker, thinking about
how things were with Toby, and wondering if Pascale had instructed Holly to ask
her. “Things are OK.” Her PE kit and an ancient copy of Macbeth
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