Niven Govinden - Graffiti My Soul

‘Being disrepectful, V-pen, will only get you into trouble with your maker. Did your mother tell you never to mock your elders?’

‘She’s too busy tending to the sick. So where were you? Late night, was it?’

‘Not at all. I went to my meeting and was in bed at eleven. I’ve been an early bird all week. Not that it’s any of your business. Sir.’

A salute and a sneer.

Casey is member of the Christian Fellowship via Catholicism. Didn’t think the nuns at St Mary’s clapped enough. There’s a church near the Common that takes him. You can find him there speaking in tongues most weekends.

‘Must have been some meeting. You’ve got bags under your eyes, Casey. You should take a leaf out of my book. Went to see Britney the other night, got in at one, and still made it here for six. Fresh as a daisy.’

His eyes widen a millimetre of a millimetre, but that’s just enough for me.

‘Britney Spears, eh? And how was that?’

‘An education, Casey. You should have been there. I saw all sorts.’

Me and Moon don’t have Saturday jobs. ‘We’re professional spend-whores,’ she goes, each time we flash our plastic at the cashpoint or checkout. Practising for the day when we turn eighteen and become eligible for major credit problems.

Mum doesn’t want anything to get in the way of my training, and thinks Saturdays should be my day off. Makes sure Dad sends me all the money I need. Moon, like her sister, is a lazy princess who’s born to shop and very little else. It’s inevitable that we would bump into each other between the mall and the high street eventually.

This is our moment, in the queue at Starbucks. Only the two of us. Jase is at Tesco, Kelly with the traders on the market, and Pearson caddying golf clubs up on the Downs. There are no back-ups or pretending to have prior appointments. We’re thrust together, end of.

‘I didn’t plan it. It just happened with Pearson,’ is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, literally the moment we spot each other, and neither of us have our lattes yet. We’ve both paid our money and are standing at the counter like idiots, thinking of something to say. These Starbucks people are getting slower. If I actually knew them I’d swear that it was deliberate. (But they’re foreign, so it’s not.)

She looks fantastic. Jeans that cling to her arse, pink ugg boots, cropped red hoodie, gold hoops bigger than Kelly’s. Really working a look. I miss hanging out with a fashion plate. A girl like that always makes her boy look equally great by association, a notion that’s never been completely lost on me.

The only warmth coming from my body is from the latte I’m now holding. Realise that the pair of us are holding mugs to drink in, out of habit, rather than take-out cups. We find a table, and get it over with. It’s the only sensible thing to do.

‘I hear your eyes met in a crowded chemistry lab. Were there fireworks?’

‘He came to apologise, actually. He’s really sorry about all that business…’

‘Ah, yes. He’s so sorry about hanging out with the Paki bashers that he still hasn’t apologised personally to the Paki in question.’

Two Pakis in one sentence makes her flinch. Me too, if I’m honest. I’m not part of the radical reclamation camp. I know it’s good enough for the niggas, but…

‘He really wants to make it up with you and Jason. Really, he feels dreadful about it.’

‘Did you just say dreadful? What is he doing to you? You’ve never said dreadful in your life.’

‘Piss off.’

‘What, family pearls under that hoodie of yours?’

‘You should give him a chance, VP, he’s really not as bad as you think.’

‘Once a tosser, always a tosser. You’ve been together for what, a month? And not a peep from your noble boy. Just lots of diving into corridors whenever he sees us.’

‘Like I said, he does feel bad… but he’s kinda pissed at you too. After I told him about you snooping.’

Moon found me flicking through her phone on the bus after the Challenge outing to Godalming. I was properly caught out. Didn’t think quickly enough. I should’ve said I was looking for Jase’s new mobile number, that I’d programmed the digits the wrong way round. But everything’s easier with hindsight. She went fucking ballistic, really fucking bunny boiler, because one thing Moon hates is anyone going through her stuff, even me. Been stung too often by her crazy parents being secretively investigative in the name of welfare. I only have myself to blame. This is the first time we’ve spoken since.

‘How else was I supposed to find out? I knew something was up. You’d been acting funny all day,’ I go. ‘You were hardly going to tell me otherwise.’

I may be thinking other things, but as far as she’s concerned, I’m admitting nothing.

‘I was working up to telling you VP, OK? It’s just been a difficult situation… I was probably going to do it that afternoon, if you hadn’t spoiled it.’

‘Snogging a boring bastard who’s tried to kick your mates to shit. Twice. Can see how that could prove difficult.’

I don’t mention my theory about her being in love with him, in case she tells me it’s true. Prefer to think I’m being stupid, making up shit to make myself feel worse.

She can’t shut up.

‘I like how I look when I’m with him. I look like I matter. I’m no longer this girl who sits up in her room and obsesses too much. I stop thinking about running the world and how I’m going to be in twenty years’ time. I hang off his shoulder like some trophy, and I see myself as I am right now, and I like it. I like how I can live in the moment.’

‘We live in the moment, don’t we? You and me?’

‘Not in the same way. We make out we’re spontaneous, but we’re just projecting what we want to be. With Daniel, I just live it. There is no projecting.’

‘Fucking load of bo-lax, you’re on about. You talk shite sometimes.’

A member of staff comes over and asks us to keep our voices down. A couple of the parents on the sofas aren’t taking too kindly to our language. They have the timid eyes and weak pallor of secondary school teachers or social workers, but none that we know. Their rugrats are all under three, dribbling gob everywhere, and practically bald. The Starbucks skivvy is Polish or something, so she has to repeat herself about five times before we understand what she’s saying. We nod all apologetically when we finally get it, and then, when she’s out of sight, back to her milk frother, we give the offending parents the fuck-you finger and an evil eye. Your filthy rugrats look a greater threat than us — hygienically speaking. Like, where’s the fire?

Now we’re laughing, the pair of us, like it’s old times. But it only lasts a minute. Short and deliciously sweet, like the Frappuccinos they make here (the best!). There’s still a connection between us.

‘How’s life with her?’ she asks, ruining it. ‘I hear the pair of you are like love’s young dream.’

Patronising, even if she is three months older. She leans forward, elbow on table, left hand cradling chin, looking like she’s interested, even though her tone has become as cold as ice again. Makes Kelly sound like scum. If I come any closer she’ll whip her hand out and give me a slap. It’s her classic defensive position; I’ve seen her in action, know all the moves, even the hidden ones. I’d hug her in a second if she let me.

‘It’s kushty,’ I tell her, even though it doesn’t always feel that way. ‘Kel’s safe. We went to see Britney a few days ago.’

‘So I hear. I’m sure you looked like a real couple.’

Moon’s been hearing a lot of things. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Sarcasm can only outdo sarcasm for so long. We used to compete in our rooms, cussing cast-offs that could last hours if our minds were up to it; but today neither of us has top trump. Brains lazy from too much lovin’. Emotional holes filled, momentarily content. We leave the lattes and piss off.