9781789543087 If I Can't Have You Page 3

  From that day onward that child had become my torment, my obsession, and my nightmare. She looked at me tauntingly, regardless of her flat feet, and even though she had probably died falling out of her chair before the portrait was completed, without ever so much as seeing a bar, she had managed to unleash a sense of bitter rivalry in me.

  As a result, I became the torment, obsession and nightmare of my mother until finally, exasperated, she had taken me to see Claire. That picture was still hanging in my room now, and even twelve years later, just looking at her still pissed me off.

  Mum got back in at about eleven, and I woke with a start, sending the remote control clattering to the floor.

  ‘Did you fall asleep on the sofa again, sweetheart? You’ll be exhausted in the morning! Did you eat anything? Look how pale and thin you are …’ she fretted, kissing my forehead.

  I rubbed my eyes and smiled up at her, still numb with sleep, then made room on the sofa next to me and put my feet on her lap for a massage. Mum gave the best foot massages. It was such a pleasure to feel the tension eased away from my aching toes that she could have asked me anything.

  And sure enough…

  ‘So, did you decide where you’re studying next year?’

  I tried to ignore the question, pretending to be engrossed by the mango and white chocolate mousse with chopped hazelnuts Nigella was whipping up onscreen.

  ‘Hey, can you hear me?’ she said, pinching my big toe.

  ‘Ow! That hurt!’

  ‘Well, listen when I’m talking to you! Since when were you so interested in cooking, anyway? she asked, getting up to retrieve the remote control and turn off the TV.

  ‘I thought you might be interested. It wouldn’t kill you to make a mango mousse every once in a while.’

  ‘Why, do you like mango?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘No...I just meant...never mind’ I rolled onto my stomach and played distractedly with York’s tail.

  ‘Mia, I’m serious, there isn’t much time left. You need to choose your subjects at least.’

  ‘Oh come on Mum, I’m tired.’

  ‘So I am I, Mia. And I can’t sleep peacefully until this is resolved. So?’ she looked at me seriously, waiting for an answer.

  ‘But Mum, you know! I want to go to the Royal Ballet School.’

  ‘Honey, you know you can keep dancing for as long as you want, but that place is for …’

  ‘For who?’ I interrupted sharply, ‘For good dancers? For posh people? Not for the likes of me?’

  ‘For people with a bit of a safety net, is what I was going to say! People who can afford to spend twenty thousand pounds a year just like that, and not miss it if their daughter doesn’t turn out to be the next Margot Fonteyn!’

  ‘You don’t believe in me,’ I said bitterly, ‘That’s what this is really about. You think this is just an excuse to avoid studying! You don’t understand that there is nothing in the world that I want to do except dance. And anyway, they provide a regular education as well, even if I don’t become the next Margot Fonteyn.’

  ‘And what do you think you’re going to do with an art school diploma?’ she asked dryly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I snapped, ‘Maybe I could go and teach Italian in a night school in the suburbs!’

  That was going too far. I could see I’d hurt her feelings.

  ‘Mamma, I’m sorry.’ I tried to hug her, ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Oh yes you did!’ she got up and went into the bathroom, York following behind her, hoping for some dinner.

  ‘You’re just like your grandmother!’ she shouted from the other room, ‘And that is not a compliment!’

  ‘Mum!’ I followed her and stood outside the door, ‘Please, do you think it’s easy for me to decide something like this on the spot with all this pressure from you and the teachers, and even from Claire? How can you expect me to think clearly?’

  ‘This isn’t a game, kiddo. It’s real life,’ she said, staring into the mirror as she removed her makeup. ‘You’re not even sixteen and you think you know everything, but you don’t know anything yet! You just make wishes and expect me to grant them with a magic wand.’ She gestured with her toothbrush, splashing the mirror. ‘I would have liked to study Fine Arts or become an architect, but I couldn’t!’

  ‘Because your mum gave you an ultimatum and you chose to marry Dad!’

  I had gone too far again. It would serve me right if she strangled me with the dental floss, but I didn’t know how else to get through to her.

  ‘I loved your father! And unlike you I didn’t expect to be bailed out by anyone. I certainly didn’t want any handouts from your grandmother. She wanted me to marry the ‘right sort of man’ and spend the rest of my life smiling and nodding in some Officer’s Club!’

  She started combing her hair with such ferocity I was worried it might come out in her hands. ‘So yes, I was stupid enough to have faith in this family, and to want to have you at all costs, and I’ve never asked for a penny from that impossible woman! And you…,’ she pointed the brush under my nose, ‘You ungrateful little… don’t you dare judge me until you’ve left home and worked your arse off to raise a daughter in a foreign country on your own!’ She pushed me out of the bathroom and slammed the door.

  I had really pissed her off this time. She wouldn’t talk to me for at least ten days.

  ‘So... it’s a no?’ I asked through the door.

  ‘Go to bed!’

  I couldn’t sleep. The thought of my happiness depending on someone else’s money was unbearable. There had to be a solution, besides robbing a bank. But even if got a job, I’d be lucky to afford a park bench at London rents. Besides, what work could I do at sixteen? A paper round? Babysitting?

  I had to face reality: I was at the mercy of my mother’s decisions, completely powerless to help myself.

  The next morning I got up early and made breakfast, leaving a note with an apology next to it. I needed her on my side more than ever, and I couldn’t afford to upset her.

  I went out before she got up. Outside, the weather was bleak, and it looked like it was going to snow. I grabbed my bike and started pedalling as hard as I could, my breath billowing out into the icy air, so I looked like a smoking dragon.

  We lived on Dale Street, in a red-brick, bay-fronted terrace typical of the western part of the city. The area had never been considered anything special, with its criss-cross of terraced rows, of entries and cobbled yards and its skyline of jagged chimney pots, but in recent years it was undergoing a bit of a re-evaluation.

  Mum had fixed the house up with her own hands. When she rented it, it was dingy and unloved, with the entire ground floor painted a hideous orange colour by the previous occupant, the handrail to the stairs hanging off the wall, and a badly dilapidated roof, but over time she had made it into a little gem.

  The landlady, Mrs Fancher, was delighted with the improvements, and had come to see us as a daughter and grandchild over the years. As she had no other relatives, Mum was hoping she might eventually leave the house to us, and tried to keep her sweet by making her little presents of homemade sloe gin, and giving her lifts to the post office and to bingo. For her part, Mrs Fancher took advantage a fair bit. In the last week alone she had called Mum to ask her to check the kettle, a damp patch in the front bedroom, and to pick her up a copy of the Daily Mail.

  It took a good half an hour to get to school, and cycling in the five-degree chill wearing my school skirt was no joke. I arrived half frozen, my legs blue with cold. It was still early, and I took the opportunity to go over my revision notes for the maths test. Nina hadn’t arrived yet and I knew none of the other kids would bother to talk to me.

  They were standing around in little groups, chatting, laughing, and showing each other photos on their iPhones. I wondered if I had an iPhone they would talk to me, but I doubted it. I wasn’t really very easy to talk to. I had built an invisible barrier around myself to keep people out, to protect myself from c
loseness and the risk of abandonment, but as well as keeping people out, I was keeping myself a prisoner inside. My protective barrier had become an oppressive cage, and I didn’t know how to get out.

  Underneath it all, I wanted to be invited to parties like everyone else, to make friends and have fun, but no-one ever asked me. I pretended that I was above it all, and I didn’t care. They thought I was a snob, but the truth was that I was just desperately shy. As I sat there reading my notes, pretending to understand it all, I could feel their eyes on me. I would never be one of them, no matter how hard I tried. One day, when I was dancing on the biggest stages in Europe, then they would remember me. Then they would all want me at their parties, and they would race to invent anecdotes about how I was their best friend. At the moment, however, that future was far, far away.

  As usual, Nina arrived after the teacher entered the classroom, and as usual, I worried that today she might not make it in. Her dad gave her a lift in on his way to work every morning, and nobody said anything to her if he was late. Anyone else would have been given a warning, but somehow Nina never was. It was part of the Dewayne charm.

  ‘Are you ready?’ she asked me, with a serene smile. I felt even more unprepared than I had before.

  She didn’t wait for my answer. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.’

  When it was over, we went back to hers for yet more studying.

  ‘I’ll never remember all of it, there’s just not enough room in my head!’ I said, almost in tears.

  ‘You have to!’ said Nina. ‘There’s another test tomorrow, and I’m not letting you out of here until you know everything by heart.’

  ‘It’s not my fault! I’m sure I’ve got attention deficit or something.’ I protested.

  ‘Bollocks! You just don’t like studying.’

  ‘Nina, we’ve been sitting here since four in the afternoon and now it’s nearly eight. My bum has gone to sleep.’

  Right at that moment, Nina’s mum walked into the room, smiling as always.

  ‘Dinner’s almost ready, girls! Mia, I’ve called your mum to let her know you’ll be eating with us, so you can finish your revision. I’m making sausage and mash, with chocolate cake for pudding.’

  ‘That’s amazing, thanks Laetita, I’m starving!’

  ‘Good, that’s settled. As soon as Patrick gets here we can all go to the table.’

  Oh, shit.

  And just like that, I lost my appetite.

  A family dinner with Patrick on leave from the navy. It would feel like walking barefoot on hot coals. I didn’t know if I could do it.

  But before I could think of an excuse the doorbell was ringing, and I heard that familiar, infectious laugh from the hallway. Goosebumps broke out all over my body. I felt sick.

  ‘He’s here!’ squealed Nina, ‘He’s here! I haven’t seen Pat for a month!’

  She bolted for the stairs, and had made it to the hall before I was halfway down. And there he was. I stayed standing in the middle of the stairs, watching him lift his sister into the air and swing her round, imagining myself in her place.

  The man of my dreams was just a step or two away, completely unaware of the effect he was having on my heart and hormones. How was that possible? Why wasn’t there a reset button for my stupid life so I could start again without this impossible love ruining everything?

  Then he saw me, and that perfect mouth widened into a dazzling smile that paralysed me, making me feel stupider than ever.

  ‘Hey, Sulks is here as well!’ he said, climbing the stairs to greet me since, visibly, I was no longer able to move.

  The reason he called me Sulks was obvious: in thirteen years I had smiled at him maybe three or four times, and even then because I’d had no choice.

  I answered him with a distracted wave of my hand, as if I were much more interested in the wallpaper behind him.

  ‘Come on you old grump, give us a hug! I know you hate me, but I’m not contagious!’ And he lifted me up and planted a big kiss on both my cheeks.

  I lost my breath, overwhelmed by an indescribable emotion, somewhere between the desire to kiss him on the mouth in front of everyone and the urge to run away forever. But in reality, all I could do was to act according to the character I had built for myself.

  ‘That’s gross, Patrick!’ I cried indignantly, wiping my face with my sleeve as though I had been licked by a bulldog, hating myself all the while for doing it.

  ‘Come on Pat, leave her alone, Mia doesn’t like all that mushy stuff!’ his father laughed.

  The truth was, I liked it too much.

  Patrick grinned sheepishly, rummaged in his bag and pulled out a Royal Navy t-shirt, which I fervently hoped he had worn before, and gave it to me as a gift.

  I would never let it out of my sight.

  We sat down to dinner, and I felt trapped and panicky in my chair. I seemed to have lost the power of speech. The words kept coming out wrong, and I ended up stuttering stupid, meaningless half-sentences.

  Fortunately Patrick had plenty to say about life at sea, the ship, the officers, and how happy he was with the choice he had made, so I could zone out and fantasise about our wedding day. While everyone hung on his lips in the dining room at Nina’s house, I hung from his bronzed bicep as we walked out the church in my perfect dream world.

  I leapt to my feet suddenly, almost upsetting my chair.

  ‘Where are you going, Mia? You haven’t finished eating. I made your favourite chocolate cake for dessert!’ said Laetitia, disappointed.

  ‘Sorry. I just…I remembered I need to take York out, because, Mum’s at self-defence classes, and he can’t be left on his own for too long, so. He has a really weak bladder!’

  I said my goodbyes hurriedly, grabbed my backpack and ran out into the cold night. I got on my bike and pedalled as fast as I could towards home, through the fog, breathing in the icy air.

  I had to keep away from him, away from that impossible love.

  I had to get over him. I had no choice.

  3

  The next morning, Mum barged into my room at around eight. ‘Mia!’ she bawled, with her usual restraint. ‘Are you still in bed? It’s really late!’

  ‘I don’t feel very well,’ I moaned.

  We had not yet cleared the air after the fight, but I was hoping she had accepted my written apology. Surely, if I was ill, her maternal instinct would win over her anger. I hoped so.

  She came over to the bed, took my head in her hands and rested her lips on my forehead. ‘God, you’re burning up! You must have caught cold riding home last night. You should have called me, I would have come and picked you up.’

  I didn’t have the strength to respond, my throat hurt too much, and I was too enraptured by the thought of not having to go to school, or revise, and just spending the day enjoying my warm bed.

  ‘I’m going to work now, call me if you need me. I’ll tell Nina you’re not going in today, and ask her to get your homework.’

  I smiled at her, rolled over, and spent the next eight hours thinking about those two kisses on the cheek Patrick had given me. And each time I ran the scene over in my head, I improved it with a few added details. Well, ok, a lot of added details.

  In my version, Nina and the rest of her family had disappeared and we were alone. He had driven to my house to pick me up in a blue Jeep convertible. He was wearing a grey short-sleeved shirt, a pair of worn jeans, trainers, and, on his wrist, a leather bracelet that, in my imaginary world, I had given him before he went to sea.

  On the front seat of the Jeep there was an enormous bunch of red roses for me. I gathered them into my arms with difficulty, overcome with emotion, and he lifted me and turned me to face him, taking the roses and putting them aside for a moment so he could kiss me. Not on the cheek, on the lips, only breaking away to whisper in my ear that he had missed me so much, over and over. Then he began to kiss my neck, light, delicate kisses that tickled me and made me giggle. And he laughed, and stroked my face
and hair. And then …

  Then Nina arrived.

  ‘Alright, skiver, how’s it going? I’ve got some good news for you!’ she said, throwing herself onto the bed and kicking off her shoes.

  ‘Did you know Mrs Southern postponed the test? She probably thought you had the day off to get out of it, but seeing as you’re doing nothing in bed all day you can do extra revision and totally smash the next one!

  ‘That’s your idea of good news?’

  ‘Oh! Wait, no, it wasn’t. The great news is that Jared doesn’t have a girlfriend!’

  ‘Who?’ I asked, puzzled.

  ‘What do you mean, ‘who’? Jared Leto from Sixth Form, whose name is actually Carl, but I like Jared better.’

  ‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, remembering my cover story.

  ‘Is that all you have to say? ‘Oh’?’

  ‘No…that’s fantastic. Great. Really good.’ I tried to act enthusiastic, but I couldn’t quite pull it off.

  She looked at me suspiciously, and put her hand on my forehead. ‘I thought you said you liked him?’

  ‘Oh, I do! I just...I thought he had a girlfriend.’ I lied

  ‘Nope. They just split up. Anyway, he’s going to be at the Crapdashian party on Friday night, so if I can get us invited, I’ll introduce you to him.’

  The Crapdashians were Bibi and Dell, the biggest bitches in our year, if not the entire school. In fact, they were probably the biggest bitches in the whole of the East Midlands. They thought they were Kim and Kourtney Kardashian, they were spiteful, manipulative and pretentious, looked about twenty-five and were not scared of or embarrassed by anything. There were rumours going round that there was a porn video of them and the P.E. teacher on YouTube.

  They wore their school skirts hemmed right up to the edge of their knickers, massive hoop earrings and thick orange makeup, but their parents were loaded, and donated large sums of money to school fundraisers, so they got away with a lot of stuff.

  Every year they threw an incredible party at their parents’ massive house, and if you weren’t on their list, you had to beg and grovel to be invited. Last year’s party had actually been filmed for one of those MTV shows about spoiled rich kids, and they’d be there in all their arrogant stupidity while they ordered their mother to invite Russell Brand as a guest of honour.