Alice in Time (7 page)

‘I hope I’m not keeping you from anything important,’ says Seth when I’ve rung off. Is he crazy? What could be more important than him? Obviously I don’t tell him that, at least not this early in the relationship.

I’m trying to work out how I can take a sneaky picture of him with my camera phone so that I can drool over it later when I’m alone in my room. I decide not to risk it because it would be
so
embarrassing if he realised what I was doing. I don’t want him to think I’m too desperate and immature. Even though I am.

‘Calm down’, I tell myself, and concentrate on my breathing for a bit until I notice Seth giving me a funny look and realise that I’ve been breathing out loud.

When we get to the coffee shop, I begin to panic a bit. Well, a lot actually. It’s full of Sixth Formers and I’m positive they’re all giving me funny looks, especially the girls. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t come. How could I have been so impulsive?

What on earth are we going to talk about? I consider rushing to the loo and escaping out of the window but Seth is asking me what sort of coffee I want and I don’t know, so I say the first thing I see on the board which is ‘Turkish Black’. It sounds quite sophisticated and yummy, like Turkish Delight. Although everyone says ‘hi’ to Seth as we pass them, he doesn’t stop to chat to anyone. Instead he leads me to a table in the corner. I’m so relieved I could kiss him. Then
I wish I hadn’t thought that because it’s made me blush.

While I’m madly trying to think of something to say, I take a sip of my coffee, and nearly drop down dead. I’ve never tasted anything so repulsive. Well, not since the time Rory slipped Mum’s Chanel No 5 into my orange juice, that is. Then, I threw up for about two hours, non-stop, but that is not an option today. Not on a first date.

I’d love to pour some milk into the coffee to take the edge off it, but I’ve got a feeling it would take about six pints to stop it looking black, because it’s so strong. And it’s in a tiny weenie cup, as well. What a rip off. I’m so absorbed in the coffee issue that I forget to be nervous and before I know it, Seth and I are chatting away like we’ve known each other forever. It turns out that although he’s always lived locally, he’s been away at boarding school since he was eleven, but decided to come home for the Sixth Form because they didn’t get enough freedom there, and besides it was a single sex school and he was fed up with having single sex. I go bright red at the mention of sex and laugh nervously – then shut up quickly in case I sound hysterical.

Then we both have a good moan about our families. Seth’s parents are divorced as well but his dad has just remarried and he’s living with him and the new family most of the time because he doesn’t get on with his mum’s new boyfriend, although he says it’s a bit of a toss up as to which is worse: his mum’s boyfriend or his new step-sister. She sounds like the step-sister from hell. I tell him about ‘the little brother from hell’ and how awful my mum is, but I don’t tell him that I’m hoping to go and live with Dad because I don’t want to jinx it.
I’ll wait until I’ve arranged it and then tell him. If he wants to see me again, that is.

Eventually, I tear my eyes away from Seth and look around the café. I want to see if the Sixth Form girls are noticing how well we’re getting on. Pathetic, I know, but I’ve never been so happy. I realise that the rest of the people from school, who were here when we arrived, have all disappeared and been replaced by adults in suits who have obviously just finished work.

‘Oh my God! What time is it?’ I ask Seth, panic creeping into my voice.

‘Five-twenty. Is there a problem?’

God, I hope not. I’m struggling to get my blazer on when my phone rings. I grab it and fumble with the buttons. I don’t recognise the number. It can’t be Dad or Trish or even Mrs Archer because my phone would recognise those numbers. I’m about to answer it when Seth says, ‘Can I see you on Saturday?’ so I turn it off.

‘Yes.’ I hope I haven’t answered too quickly. It’s difficult not to sound keen when you’re so keen you could die.

‘Here’s my number,’ he says, pushing a napkin into my hand. ‘Ring me.’

‘Thanks, got to go,’ and I grab my bag and run.

Sitting on the bus, I grab my phone to see if I can work out who it was that rang me and it rings again and I nearly drop it. This time it’s a text. It says,
Where are you?
Oh my God! It must be Seth, and we’ve only been parted about five minutes. I’m about to reply,
On Cloud Nine
when I remember that he doesn’t have my number. I get out the napkin to check, and sure enough it isn’t him. Great, my first phone call and I don’t even know who it is. What if it’s some perv randomly dialling numbers, hoping to get an unsuspecting girl to reply. I think about texting
Mind your own business
, but decide that if it is some perv I’d be better off ignoring it. I hope this phone isn’t going to be more trouble than it’s worth. Then I remember I’ve got Seth’s number, and I’m back on Cloud Nine.

When I reach Mrs Archer’s front gate I have to stop and get my breath back. I ring the bell and fix a smile on my face, all ready to apologise profusely. But when she answers the
door she tells me that Mum picked Rory up half an hour ago.

Hell! Now I’m in for it. Mum will want to know where I’ve been, and I’ll probably be grounded. She’ll go on at me about how she’s had to pay Mrs Archer for an extra two hours and I’ll scream back that she shouldn’t treat me like an unpaid slave – that
she’s
Rory’s mother, not me, that I need a life . . . anyhow, when I go and live with Dad she’ll realise how much she uses me and then she’ll get a reality check.

Still, it’s not going to be pretty, I think as I open the front door. Oh God! What if she stops me from going to Imogen’s on Saturday? Aaargh! Saturday! Seth! Imogen! I’ve double booked! I need to go and shut myself in my room so that I can think this through, but the minute I open the front door Mum’s there giving me The Look. Before I even think about it I’m saying, ‘Sorry, Mum – I had a detention.’ Wow, where did that come from?

‘A detention? Why?’

‘Oh, nothing drastic,’ I lie. ‘It wasn’t even my fault. Someone passed me a note and I got the blame.’ Mum is not looking particularly convinced.

‘I thought they had to give twenty-four hours’ notice, and anyway why are you so late? I thought detentions only lasted an hour.’ How come my mum is suddenly an expert on detentions? I’ve never had one before. Even I didn’t know all that.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot to mention it yesterday, and then I had to get off the bus a stop early so I could go to the chemist and get some
things
,’ I say, looking meaningfully at Rory who has just joined us in the hall.

Finally Mum seems to have swallowed all these amazing lies that keep popping out of my mouth. ‘Well, you should have rung. I rang you and texted you, I was just starting to get worried.’ I follow her into the kitchen.

‘What do you mean you texted me?’ Then I spot a mobile phone on the table.

‘I got Gwen at work to teach me.’ Mum looks a bit sheepish. ‘The thing is, love, I bought this phone for you.’ She picks up the mobile. ‘I was going to give it to you for your birthday but then Dad gave you one, and well . . . I thought I might as well keep it and then we can stay in touch when I’m not here . . .’

Oh, great. My worst nightmare. She might as well have sewn the umbilical cord back on.

‘How did you get my number?’ I know I sound grumpy but I can’t help it.

‘I called your dad and he gave it to me. Like I say, I was worried.’

I look at the mobile in Mum’s hand and suddenly realise why she got so upset when Dad gave me a phone. It wasn’t because she didn’t want me to have one and it wasn’t even about the money. It was because she was planning on giving me one for my birthday. She must have saved up for it for ages, even though it looks like quite a poxy one. I know I’m being horrid. This always happens when I feel bad. It’s like, by being angry, I can cover up the fact that really I feel sad. I think about Mum looking forward to giving me the phone on my birthday and I feel like crying. Instead I shout, ‘Well, don’t think you can ring me every minute of the day.’

Mum looks hurt, which makes me even more angry, so I
shout even louder as I leave the room, ‘And don’t expect me to look after Rory on Saturday, because I’m going to Imogen’s for the night.’

When I’ve shut myself in my room I lie on my bed, exhausted. I’ve got a tight knot of anger in my chest, but at the same time I feel ecstatic because of Seth. I decide to concentrate on the ecstatic bit for the moment and drift off into a wild and wonderful daydream that encompasses all my former daydreams.

I’m living at Dad’s, in the new house, with my super-cool bedroom, and Trish and Dad have gone away on their honeymoon leaving me on my own for a whole week. Of course Seth comes to stay to keep me company. We go out for long romantic walks in the park and by the canal, holding hands, and when we stop to look at the ducklings, he stands behind me and wraps his arms around me and I lean back into his hard, broad chest. Then it’s snowing and we’re in the park larking around, throwing snow at each other and eventually we end up rolling around laughing and making snow angels and then he’s kissing me . . . mmm . . . and then we’re at home and we’re snuggled up on the sofa in front of the fire, watching a romantic film together and sharing pizza and popcorn and then we’re kissing again and I realise that soon it will be time for bed . . .

There’s a banging on my bedroom door. Bloody Rory. ‘Mum says dinner’s ready.’ He’s rattling the door handle but I’ve wedged a chair under it so he can’t get in. I roll off the bed.

‘Go away. Tell her I don’t want any.’

He thuds down the stairs with the message. He loves carrying messages to and from Mum and me, which is just as well because that way I don’t actually have to talk to her. The trouble is, I’m starving and I really do want my dinner, but I don’t want to leave my room and have to face reality. Not after such an awesome daydream. I wonder where it would have gone if Rory hadn’t interrupted it. I’ve never really kissed a boy before, let alone anything else. I don’t really want to think about the ‘anything else.’ The kissing is good enough for now. The only trouble is, will it be good enough for Seth? I think back to the joke he made in the café about being fed up with single sex. Was he trying to tell me something?

I can hear Mum calling me and suddenly I don’t want to be on my own any more with all these thoughts, so I go downstairs.

I manage to get through the meal without being interrogated by pulling a mega-sulk. I leave as soon as possible, mumbling something about heaps of homework, and hurry back to my room. I get my phone out and put Seth’s number into it, then carefully place the napkin that he wrote it on in my treasure box. I lock it then hide the key in the wardrobe, in the pocket of an old jacket that I never wear any more. You can never be too careful with a brother like Rory around.

When Seth said ‘ring me’, did he mean tonight? Would that seem a bit desperate if I rang him now? Then again, when he said could we meet up on Saturday did he mean during the day or in the evening? If he meant the day then I won’t have to worry because I can still go to Imogen’s later. But if he meant the evening, then what am I going to do about Imogen? I
could just ring her and say I can’t make it. But then she’ll want to know why and I can’t tell her about Seth because if she thinks I’m cancelling on her because of a boy she’ll never speak to me again. It’s no good – I’ve got to find out from Seth when I’m going to see him. Maybe I’ll just text him.

I go into messages and realise that this will be the first text I’ve ever sent. I key in
Hi
and sit for ages wondering what else to put.
Wot time Sat
would be a good idea but in the end I just leave it as it is and send
Hi
all on its own. I’m just sitting there thinking that he won’t know who it’s from because I’m not in his phone index and maybe I should send a proper message, when my phone rings, nearly giving me a heart attack.
Seth
comes up on the screen and I think I must get a photo of him and then that will come up as well.

‘Hi,’ I say into the phone.

Seth’s voice comes back. ‘I thought it was you. Either that, or someone going for the world record in shortest text ever.’

I decide to get straight to the point. ‘I was just wondering what time you wanted to meet up on Saturday.’

‘Well, I’ve got a Saturday job and that finishes at five so I thought about sevenish if that’s OK with you? Shall I pick you up at your place?’

Hell, no. That won’t do. I need a plan. Thinking quickly I say, ‘I’ll get back to you on that. I’m not sure where I’m going to be.’ Well, that’s the truth. We talk for a bit longer then he says, ‘God, I can hear my step-sister coming. I’ll have to go, see you on Saturday,’ and he’s gone.

Later, in bed, I try to get back into my daydream – the one that had been so rudely interrupted earlier – but it’s no good.
I need to put my mind to how I’m going to see Imogen and Seth on Saturday night. Why couldn’t I have just told Seth that I had plans and that we’d have to leave it till another time? Partly because I want to see him – desperately – and partly because I don’t want him to think I’m not interested.

As it turns out, I have the whole night to hatch a plan because, thanks to that Turkish coffee, I don’t get a wink of sleep. And on the whole it’s not a bad plan. It could be better, but I think it will work.

I don’t see Seth at all during the week. I spend every day in a state of nervous anticipation and don’t even notice Sasha’s snide remarks when I get on the bus every morning. I’m too busy scanning the back rows for a sight of him. By Friday, I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined the whole thing.

I spend the morning break hoping that he’ll come and find me and fearful in case he does and I have to explain him to Imogen. I would have gone through the same agonies at lunch time, no doubt, only I hear someone saying that most of the Sixth Formers are away on a trip or something. I’m hugely relieved because now I can stop worrying about bumping into him and also because I’ve finally heard someone talking about something other than Sasha’s birthday party. It’s certainly all Sasha’s been talking about all week, raising her voice on the subject whenever Imogen and I are in the vicinity. It’s driving me insane. What’s more, next week we’ll have to endure her
going on about how awesome it was, who she spent the night snogging, how many cool Sixth Formers turned up, etc, etc, ad infinitum. Aaaargh!