Dead Romantic (23 page)

‘Yes,' she said. ‘You can walk away and we need never speak to one another again.'

‘And you won't . . . try and . . . hurt me. Or my family?' I stuttered.

She frowned. ‘Why would I want to do that?'

I shrugged, going a little red. ‘I don't know. I don't think I really know anything at all.' My heart thumped in my ears.

‘Camille, I don't want your family. I don't want to sever any piece of your anatomy. I just want you to help me complete my experiment. So will you? Will you help me complete it?'

I thought about the little girl in those photos, little Zoe with no mummy or daddy, and now no house either. She had nothing. And I had all of that
and
a little dog. I thought of her scars, which didn't look drawn on so I guessed she must be telling the truth, and I looked into her eyes. I was wrong about lots of things – maths, map reading, the ending of that movie when there's all these blokes and one of them turns out to be this really evil bloke though you'd never know it because he's got a limp – but
when I looked into Zoe's blue eyes at that moment, all I saw was my friend shining back at me. And I just didn't want to not believe her anymore.

‘I'll help you,' I said.

 

 

 

 

T
here comes a point in a girl's life when nothing, absolutely nothing is more important than knowing what her brand new sexy dead boyfriend looks like. I just couldn't concentrate on anything all day Thursday and, by Friday, I was desperate to see how Zoe was getting on.

Knock knock knock. Tap tap tappity tap tap. Knock knock KNOCK
.

‘I can't wait anymore. I'm on my way into college for triple History so I really can't stay too long but I just couldn't wait to hear from you . . .'

‘He's finished,' she said, stepping back from the front door to let me in.

‘He is?' I said.

Zoe nodded, looking as pleased as a pie chart and wiping her hands on a bloody tea towel and beckoning me from the front door. Pee Wee trotted in after me.

This was the moment, I thought. But what would that moment bring? I didn't dare even wonder as I followed Zoe into the freezing-cold kitchen where she had been working most of yesterday and all of last night, judging by the bags under her eyes.

On one of my Disney DVDs, there's this bit when Snow White is supposedly dead in a glass coffin and the prince comes to see her and is just flabberdoodled by how gorge she looks dead and then he kisses her and she wakes up not dead. I'd dreamed about my own Prince Charming kissing me awake tons of times and the thought of it actually happening had never been more real than at that moment. I'd had to settle for Prince Chest Freezer when the moment came but I wasn't complaining.

When I first saw Sexy Dead Boy as a whole human being and not just bits of dead ones, I was awestruck by how fine he looked.

Film star fine. Airbrush fine. Prince Charming fine.

In a word, he looked totally AY-MAY-ZING!

‘Oh my goodness, Zoe!' I said. ‘He's deLISH!'

Zoe wiped her brow with her forearm. ‘I'm glad you said that because he's been absolutely tedious to complete.'

‘He's beautiful,' I whispered, creeping closer.

He really was beautiful, like a prince in any one of my romance novels. Or at least, the hot junior doctor who gets the registrar pregnant in
Call 999 for Doctor Delicious
. There were no more open wounds or stumps. His skin was
smooth like a marble statue and every join was made with the neatest stitches that were, even before my eyes, disappearing, melting into perfect pink skin. His feet were beautifully shaped and clean and the toenails short and white. The toes were the right length too. His legs were long and quite hairy, but finely muscled at the tops. Then came his hands, strong and square, the nails neat and clean. No mole on any of the fingers either. I must have imagined it before. Maybe they really hadn't been Splodge's hands. Maybe Zoe
had
got them from her stash in the ice house, like she'd said. His strong-looking arms were attached to a v-shaped torso with the cutest inny belly button. His shoulders were pale and smooth like the span of a seagull's wings. And at the top of it all was the most gorgerini face I'd ever seen. He had a jaw that looked like it had been carved from soap. His hair was like golden thread. His lashes were soft and brown, as they should be.

I wasn't all that sure I wanted to kiss him on the lips though. He was, after all, pretty dead still. And one look at his winky made me go red in the cheeks. That bit wasn't a fairy tale. I poked his man boob (which wasn't really a boob as it was very toned). It was solid.

‘You've done an amazing job, Zoe,' I told her. ‘What colour are his eyes?'

‘Uh, blue I think, yes, blue.'

I really wanted to believe she hadn't killed people. I really wanted to believe those weren't Poppy's organs inside that wondrous chest. That those weren't Splodge's piano-player's hands. That it wasn't that missing model's head sitting on those soft-as-a-seagull's-wing shoulders.

I wondered how blue was the blue under those soft pink lids. Pee Wee's lead was yanking and when I looked, he was snarfing about inside the carrier bag under the kitchen table – the bag containing the rotten feet and hands. I pulled him away.

‘What are you going to do with those?' I asked her as she washed up a couple of knives in the sink.

‘I'll take them to the garden incinerator at college. I saw there's one at the back of the tennis courts.'

‘And tell me about the brain again,' I said, stroking my hand over his toes.

‘It's from the outstanding anatomist of the twenty-first century. Two PhDs. Over twenty years' experience in the field. On his way to being a Nobel Prize winner. As a human being, he was polite, gentle, kind, studied poetry, read widely and loved his family.'

‘Perfect,' I said. ‘He'll look great in a tuxedo too.'

This was the finest boy who'd ever lived. This boy would be a living god. And he was all ours. I felt quite squidgily excited by this time.

‘Incipit Vita Nova,' said Zoe.

‘Huh?' I said, my eyes locked on his face.

‘“Thus begins a new life.” It's the college motto.'

‘Oh is it?' I said, eyes still locked. ‘Can we go and get him some clothes?'

She looked at me. ‘Yes.'

‘And can I pick them out for him?'

‘Yes,' said Zoe. ‘That side of things is all down to you.'

We covered him up, closed the kitchen and hallway curtains, and walked down into the town together. Zoe
went to her triple Physics class while I went to triple History. Louis Burnett tried to talk to me afterwards while I was waiting for her class to come out, but I blanked him. I actually blanked him. I felt awful after he'd walked off, but I just couldn't face talking to him at that exact moment. I didn't want to hear any more ‘Sorry's or ‘I was just worried about you's. And besides, we were on a mission now. A mission to go shopping for the most boring things anyone could possibly buy: men's clothes.

‘He looks too good for me,' I said, as I thumbed through a shelf of t-shirts. I put three in the basket: green, blue and pink. Pretty random, but I liked them.

‘Well, you wanted perfect, didn't you?' said Zoe, trundling along behind me. ‘I thought you wanted a suit for him? Suits are at the other end.' She pointed out the part of the store we needed to go to next.

I did want perfection, for deffs, and Sexy Dead Boy was as close to perfect as I could imagine. But something just didn't feel right.

On the way to the suits department, I aired another worry with Zoe. ‘What can we do about his . . . you know. His . . .'

‘Underpants?' she said as we passed a whole display of them. She found his size and threw three packets of white briefs into the basket.

I didn't want to say it. I went all red. ‘No, his, you know . . . his . . . his winky.'

‘His penis, you mean. I find it hard to discuss the male organ of procreation by referring to it as a “winky”.'

We reached the suits. ‘It looks scary.'

‘That's only because you've never seen one before.'

‘I have. I've seen loads. God.' I blushed. ‘Well, I think I saw my dad's once when he was changing under a beach towel. But it might have been his thumb.'

I didn't like the look of any of the suits. They were all either black, grey or navy blue. No colour or kilts or anything. I turned back and went into the sock department.

Zoe followed. ‘All male animals have penises, Camille. There's nothing scary about them. They're not designed to be on display so it hardly matters, does it?'

I thought about Damian.
He
had one of those. Louis had one too. ‘Do they all look like that?'

‘I haven't seen all of them, but I imagine they're all much of a muchness.'

‘It's not very pretty,' I said, trying to find some socks that weren't black or black with a tiny bit of colour on the heel. ‘Can't we find another winky for him?'

‘No,' said Zoe. ‘I draw the line at that.'

The queue was about thirty people long when we got there and looking into our basket I did some rubbish mental maths and found that I'd spent pretty much all my month's wages. I was quietly pleased with my little haul though, especially seeing as I'd never bought clothes for a man before. It felt good. I'd got t-shirts, pants, some socks with Bart Simpson on, a shaving kit, some manly shower gel and shampoo the type that Louis smelled of, two pairs of jeans and some long shorts like Louis wears. I'd have to do this all the time before long. That's what girlfriends did.
Buy aftershave and golf balls for birthdays. Valentine's cards and big teddies with hearts on for Valentine's Day. Christmas cards with ‘For My Boyfriend' on. I couldn't wait. I still hadn't got him anything posh to wear for the Halloween party though.

‘What's his birthday?' I asked Zoe as we shuffled forward in the line.

‘You decide,' she said.

‘Um . . . how about the day he wakes up?'

‘Yes, that fits I suppose.'

We shuffled forward another place.

‘And will he be able to, you know, do everything other boys do?'

‘Yes, he should be able to engage in intercourse with some assistance,' she said, fiddling with some Halloween socks with ghosts on them. The woman in front of us on her mobility scooter whipped her head round and looked at us like we had bras on our heads.

‘Well actually, I meant playing football and driving and stuff.'

‘He wouldn't be able to procreate though. My father's research on goats and pigs proved that. I'm sorry.'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Edward in
Twilight
could. And he'd been dead for a hundred years.'

‘Who?' said Zoe.

‘Never mind,' I said, sagging. I was too young for babies anyway. But the thought of never having them was sad. I liked the idea of little mees. Little mees I could teach and cuddle and love. I guess we'd have to adopt or have artificial insinuation. That would be okay, I guessed.

The queue was moving quite well so we shuffled forward a few more places.

‘Do you think he might love me when he wakes up?' I asked. ‘Do you think he'll get that love at first sight thing that baby chicks do?'

‘Of course. You're a nice person,' said Zoe, as the bells went off again at the checkout cos Mobility Scooter Woman had picked up a flannel with no price on it.

‘Aw thanks.' My tummy went bubbly. ‘But do you think he'll fall in love with me? Like, the sort of love where you always want to be around someone? I don't know. I haven't really thought that far ahead. I'd have to see how we got on at the party. It would be more awful if he came to life but didn't love me back.' We moved forward again.

‘I can't manipulate his feelings to ensure he falls in love with you, I'm afraid,' said Zoe.

‘But you said monkeys and dogs had been reanimated and had their memories wiped.' Silence. ‘How about a love potion or something?'

She looked at me. ‘My father and I haven't spent our lives finding cures for hiccups or analysing what turns pigeons homosexual, you know. We have actually been doing rather important work. Love potions are bunkum.' She picked up a pair of pumpkin deely boppers and flicked a little switch so they glowed orange.

We shuffled forward. ‘What if he wakes up and thinks I'm odd, like most people do? I'm not as pretty as he is, or as clever. What if he thinks I'm thick?'

‘You're not thick. And just because you don't have a surgeon's brain doesn't mean you won't fulfil his dreams.
Opposites can attract, you know.'

‘Mum says opposites don't always attract. You have to find someone who's like you or it never lasts. That's why she chose Dad, cos they're both into gardening and canal boats and crosswords and the war. Mum really likes the prime minister and that bloke from
CSI
but says she could never marry anyone like that because they're too perfect.'