Moderate Violence (6 page)

She ran along the platform and over the bridge, dodging
briefcases and backpacks. Her heart felt as if something were compressing it
into the size and consistency of a blob of chewing gum. She put her ticket in
the machine, scanning the station entrance. And there he was.

 “Hey,” he said cheerfully. “Where do you want to go? Cinema?”

“I haven’t got enough money. I’ve just come from my
mum’s, and I had to spend what I had on the train fare.”

“I’ll pay. Or we could just get something to eat. Have
you eaten?”

“No. That would be good. But I haven’t got – ”

“I’ll pay, I told you. Do you like curry?”

Throughout this exchange Jo had felt hot and
self-conscious. Toby was clean. He was dressed in the Rose and Reed clothes
he’d got on discount. He was neatly shaven, and smelled of aftershave or shower
gel or something. Her own appearance was gross in comparison. But when she’d
called him, she’d just thought she was going to talk to him on the phone.

“Look, I’ll go home first and change, and get some
money,” she told him as they came out of the station. “I mean, you paid for my
lunch on Saturday. I just live along the road. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Toby leaned on the railing outside the station. “I’ll
wait here, shall I? I don’t particularly want to meet your parents right now.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t!” Jo assured him. “I live with my
dad, and he’s not in.”

He gave her the kind of look that Jo recognized from a
thousand screen close-ups. His mouth and eyes competed with each other for
which could look the more amused/sexy/pleased. She could almost hear the
director: “Gimme more funny! Gimme more sexy! That’s it, and look pleased at
the same time!” Boys were just conceited, everyone knew that. But Toby did look
nice, even with The Look all over his face.

“Home alone, then?” he said. He was smirking, but Jo
forgave him. He had every reason to laugh at her.

“Um…yes, I suppose so. My dad won’t be long, but if
we’re quick we’ll miss him.”

For the first time since she’d met him, he smiled with
his teeth showing. It was a good smile, not too cheesy, even though his teeth
looked as if they’d been chemically whitened. “Lead the way, then.”

When Jo opened the front door, evening sunshine slanted
through the hall, showing the dust on the picture frames that Sylvia the
Chinese Cleaner wasn’t tall enough to notice. Blod came out of the kitchen,
mewing, and nudged Jo’s legs as she showed Toby into the sitting-room.

“Shall I put the telly on?” she asked him. “Here’s the
remote. I won’t be long.” She looked down at Blod. “Oh, come on, you stupid
creature, what do you want?”

“Maybe he wants some company,” said Toby. “I like cats.
I bet he’ll climb on me if I just sit here.”

“She,” said Jo. “She’s called Blodwyn. We call her
Blod, usually.”

“
Blodwyn
?”

“My dad’s Welsh.”

“Ah.” He looked at her for a moment. “You’re a Celt,
then.”

“Well, half.”

“My mum and dad are Scottish,” said Toby. He sat down
in the corner of the sofa and sure enough, Blod jumped up onto the seat next to
him and began to sniff him warily.

“Oh, of course!” Jo suddenly remembered that when Gordon
had introduced them, he’d said that Toby’s other name was Ferguson.

“Aye,” he said in an exaggerated Scottish accent. Then,
in his normal voice, “But I’ve always lived in London. And my parents don’t
talk like Gordon. They come from a different part of Scotland.”

Blod had her forelegs on his thigh. “She likes you,”
said Jo.

“Irresistible to all females, you see.”

“I’d better go and get ready.”

He began to flick through TV stations. “OK, I’ll just
stay here with my new pal.”

Jo washed quickly, changed her underwear and put on her
own Rose and Reed clothes. She sprayed herself with a lot of the contents of a
half used-bottle of perfume Tess had left in the bathroom. It was so strong it
made Jo cough, and when she got back to the bedroom she had to dab her eyes
with tissues. Looking as if she’d been crying when she hadn’t was stupid. And
eating curry always made her eyes water too. She stuffed some tissues in her
bag. Without looking at her hair, which she knew would disappoint her, and
wishing she had time to paint her toenails, she dug her feet into her sandals
and went downstairs.

Toby looked comfortable, with his head on a cushion and
Blod on his lap. He looked as if he belonged in Jo’s house. Her stomach
tightened when she saw him. He had no right – no boy had any right at all, in
fact – to be so nice, and to affect her insides like this. Usually it was
unavailable boys who did that – rock stars on videos, who were deliberately
filmed to look sexy, and were probably horrible people. But Toby was sexy
and
nice. And, apparently, available.

He turned his head without taking it off the cushion. Then
he raised it and looked at her properly. “You look really good.”

“It’s only what I wore to work on Saturday.”

“It’s still nice. And you smell terrific. That’s
expensive
.”

“It’s my mum’s,” said Jo, watching Toby lift Blod
carefully off his lap and stand up. Most guys wouldn’t have bothered, she told
herself. They would just have stood up and let the cat cope. But Toby bothered.
Maybe he wouldn’t have if his mates had been there, though. Boys’ mates always
had an adverse effect on their behaviour. 

“I thought your mum didn’t live here,” said Toby,
brushing cat hairs off his trousers.

“She doesn’t. She just…oh, never mind. I’ll tell you
another time. Look, I’ve just got to text Trevor, or he’ll wonder why I’m not
here.” If he’s sober enough, she thought.

“You call your dad Trevor?” asked Toby admiringly as
they left the house.

“Always have. And I call my mum Tess.”

“Must be nice to have such liberal parents!”

Jo pulled the door behind her. One day, when she knew
Toby much better, she’d explain to him why her parents were about as far from
liberal as it was possible to be, outside of the Middle Ages.

“Mm,” she said, pressing the Send button on her phone. “They
thought of it as a bit of a joke. Their initials were both TP – she’s called
Tess Pratt – so they just wanted to be good ol’ Trev an’ Tess, even to me.”

It was still warm, but while they’d been in the house
there must have been a shower of rain. The pavements looked patchy as some bits
dried quicker than others. The air smelled of earth. “Nearly summer,” said Jo,
sniffing.

“Your exams soon?”

Jo nodded. “Study leave started last Friday.”

“Are you working in the shop full time, then?”

“No, I’m studying.” Then, realizing how geeky that
sounded, she added, “I mean, I have to go into school so often to take an exam,
it wouldn’t be worth it. I’ll be at the shop every day after the exams have
finished, though.”

Walking beside her, Toby had taken her hand so
automatically she’d hardly noticed. She was conscious of how his hand felt. Soft
in places, bony in others, like anyone’s hand. No rings. “Gordon’s offered me a
permanent, full time position,” he said. “Do you think I should I take it?”

Jo didn’t know why he was asking her, but she was
flattered. “Um…why not, if you like the work?”

“It’s OK, but the thing is, I really want to work in
fashion buying, not selling. I mean, I want to go to the shows in Paris and
Milan, you know, and negotiate with designers and manufacturers and all that.”

“How do you do that?” asked Jo, interested. It was
normally girls who went on about working in fashion.

He swung her hand a little. “You get a job in a company
as a trainee, and work hard and do well, and get noticed. Then maybe you can
branch out on your own and make proper money. But all that takes, like,
forever. I just want to do it
now
.”

“Wouldn’t it help to go to art college?” suggested Jo
warily. “To study fashion, I mean?”

“Tried that last year. Didn’t get in.”

“Are you going to try again this year?”

“Jo, you sound like my mum!” He sounded impatient. His
hand gripped hers harder.

“For art college you have to do a foundation year, then
three more years. It’s too long. I want to be earning, so I can get a car. I’m
eighteen and I haven’t got a car, which is ridiculous.”

Toby was right. Earning money did sound like a good
idea, and education did go on far too long. Jo didn’t care about having a car,
but she longed for some independence. She didn’t like living with Trevor, and
if he was serious about going back to Wales she certainly didn’t want to be
Tess’s flatmate. If Gordon were to offer
Jo
a
permanent job, she’d say yes before he’d finished the sentence.

“Maybe working at Rose and Reed will lead somewhere,”
she observed. “It’s a big company, with lots of branches, so it must employ
several buyers. If you work hard and do well, like you said, and keep a
look-out for openings, maybe Gay Gordon would give you a recommendation.”

He smiled, more to himself than at her. “I doubt it. Since
I left school I’ve been a trainee hair stylist, which was bloody terrible, then
a waiter, which was nearly as terrible, and now I’m a shop assistant. It’s not
a great track record.”

Jo didn’t know what to say. Surely he had contradicted
himself? He seemed to know exactly what was required to fulfil his ambition,
but had dismissed her suggestion that he had already taken the first step
towards it. Confused, she fell back on a first-date question. “What school did
you go to?”

“St Bede’s.”

St Bede’s was an independent boys’ school with an
academic reputation and a gaudy purple blazer. “And you just
left
?” she said with admiration.

He nodded. “I was totally freaked by the whole exam
thing.”

Jo pondered. She was freaked by the whole exam thing
too. “Your parents must be normal,” she told him. “Mine never shut up about A
Levels.”

“They want you to go to university?”

“Oh, yes. My dad because he
didn’t
go, and my mum because she
did
. It’s all crap.”

“Sounds it!” said Toby cheerfully. “Me, now, I’ve got
my folks house trained. My mum nags me, I ignore her. She’s used to talking to
the back of my head. And my dad, he’s never there. He works abroad mostly, in
the Gulf. He does the electrics on new buildings. He goes there to get away
from my mum.”

Jo wondered whether there weren’t easier ways to escape
from your wife. “And you haven’t got any brothers or sisters?” she asked, still
in first-date-land.

“No. I’m an only, just like you.” Toby sat down on a
low garden wall and took hold of her other hand too. “You’re lovely, you know.”

Jo found herself giggling. She must be nervous. She
moved forward so that she was standing between Toby’s legs. He let go of her
hands and put his palms on her bottom. His head was level with her stomach. He
pulled her further towards him, dipped his head and kissed the little strip of
flesh where her top met her jeans. She held his head for a few seconds,
wondering what to do next. But then he stood up, and the most intimate moment
she’d ever had with a boy was over.

“So…what subjects did you like at school?” she asked as
they walked on.

“None of them,” he said crisply.

Jo didn’t want to sound geeky, but she had to say
something now she’d asked the question. “I don’t like most things, but Computer
Studies is OK. And French would be, too, if we had a decent teacher.”

He pondered for a moment, not looking at her. “Sounds
like you should take your mum and dad’s advice. You like studying.”

“I don’t want to go to university, though.”

He grinned. “Don’t go, then!”

It sounded simple. Suddenly Jo was filled with more
enthusiasm than ever for not doing what her parents wanted. “Actually, Toby,
I’d really like to make films.”

He stopped walking, and looked at her with puzzled
eyebrows. “Like, movies, you mean?”