Jenny Downham - You Against Me

‘Tell me about your brother,’ he said. ‘Tell me two things about him.’

‘I thought you knew him.’

‘He’s a friend of a friend really.’

She turned to him, frowning. ‘Why don’t we talk about you instead? Why don’t you tell me two things about yourself?’

If he had to give something away to get something back, then he would. ‘My special skills are cooking and kissing.’

She half smiled. ‘How do you know you’re good at them?’

‘I practise. What about you?’

‘I’ll swap cooking for swimming.’

‘And keep the other one?’

She looked at her feet, shy now. ‘Maybe.’

‘You like swimming? What’s your favourite stroke?’

‘Front crawl.’

He wanted to ask if she did competitions and stuff, if she’d ever won anything. He wanted to ask if she was genuinely good at kissing and did she want to prove it? But he wasn’t supposed to be chatting her up. He needed to concentrate and steer the conversation to something useful.

‘So, does your brother like swimming?’

She hesitated a moment too long. ‘I’d rather not talk about him, if that’s OK with you.’

Well, that shut him up.

He didn’t say anything else. Girls liked the sound of their own voices and she’d probably speak again in a minute. But he wasn’t going to. He wanted her to feel as stupid as he did.

While he waited, he looked at the way the river puckered in the breeze, dead leaves swirling on its surface. If he lived here, he’d be at this river all the time. He’d teach Holly stuff about it – the names of things and how to catch fish. He’d have to learn it himself first, of course, but that would be easy – he’d have a personal trainer, like people who joined a gym.

‘What are you thinking about?’

Her voice startled him. But this was a good question. It meant she fancied him. ‘I was thinking about you.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Serious. I think you’re gorgeous.’

She sighed. ‘Do you even want to have a proper conversation?’

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t, but he looked right at her again. ‘I was thinking about the river.’

‘What about it?’

‘I like the way it’s moving, how it never stops.’

She thought about that for a minute, then said, ‘Everything’s moving really. The forward momentum of the earth is sixty-seven thousand miles an hour and the rotation is nearly two thousand miles an hour. We’re also spinning around the centre of the Milky Way at some rate I forget.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’ve been revising Physics. You probably think I’m a total geek.’

He shook his head. ‘Why don’t we feel it then?’

‘That we’re moving?’

‘Yeah. If we’re spinning about so fast, how come we’re not dizzy?’

‘Because our perspective doesn’t extend beyond our fixed surroundings.’

‘What?’

‘We only notice movement if it relates to what’s right in front of us. In a plane above the clouds you don’t notice speed because there’s nothing to compare it with, but on the ground as you take off, you can feel you’re going fast.’

He didn’t know what to say. Keeping quiet was probably best. He didn’t want her to know that he’d never been on a plane or that he didn’t quite understand what she was talking about.

‘Are you doing any sciences?’ she asked.

He wasn’t sure cooking would count, but he went for it anyway, told her he was doing an NVQ, with two days a week work experience attached. He didn’t know if such a course even existed, but it sounded cool. And because he wanted to impress her more, he took the bottle of whisky from his jacket pocket and held it out. ‘Look what I’ve got.’

‘Where did you get that?’

‘My mate. You want some?’

She shook her head, but he unstoppered it anyway, tipped the bottle back and took a long slug. Before he’d had time to swallow, she reached over and grabbed it from him. Whisky spilled down his chin and onto his jacket. He wiped his mouth, laughing. ‘You said no.’

She smiled prettily. ‘I changed my mind.’

He didn’t know what would happen next and he didn’t know what he’d do when it happened. He watched her sip. She grimaced as she swallowed, then passed the bottle back.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I should probably go back. They might wonder where I am.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘If you like.’

It was only as they went through the gate that he realized he hadn’t found out anything useful about her brother at all.

‘So,’ she said as they walked back up the slope. ‘How does your mate know Tom?’

She stopped walking and smiled. He knew she’d seen him falter. She leaned in to him, whispered, ‘You better get your story straight, because here he comes.’

Tom Parker came walking down the slope towards them. He was thinner close up, and looked younger. He had big blue eyes, like he wouldn’t hurt anyone. But Mikey knew his secret.

Tom smiled at his sister. ‘All right, Ellie?’

So that was her name.

He said, ‘Found someone to talk to in the end?’

She shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘Don’t be like that. I’ve been looking for you for ages. Where have you been?’

Ah, it was thrilling how close he was. He had designer stubble, a sore place at the side of his mouth, a spattering of freckles across his nose. If they were alone, Mikey would reach into his pocket for the spanner. He’d yank it high and slam it down on the bastard’s skull.

Tom frowned at the whisky in Mikey’s hand. ‘Where did you get that?’ He leaned right in and grabbed the bottle from him.

Mikey shot a glance at Ellie. She was smiling, or rather trying not to laugh. ‘Leave it, Tom. He didn’t know it was Dad’s.’

Tom waved it at them. ‘You know how much this is worth? Two hundred quid a bottle. I’m sorry, but this is definitely not for public consumption.’

Mikey wanted to say something funny, but couldn’t think of anything.

Tom turned to Ellie. ‘Who is this?’

She hesitated. Mikey could hardly breathe, waiting for what she’d say. Finally, ‘He’s with me.’

Mikey liked that. All the tension coiled out of him, knowing she was on his side.

A boy came running up, pulled on Tom’s sleeve. Mikey saw he was desperate for something. ‘Your dad’s freaking out,’ the boy puffed. ‘Some bloke’s been asking questions about you and your dad thinks he’s a journalist.’

‘Where’s the bloke now?’ Mikey asked. He couldn’t help himself, knew this kid was talking about Jacko.

The boy shook his head. ‘Dunno. We chased him, but he got away.’

Maybe the relief showed on Mikey’s face, because Tom narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. ‘If this is anything to do with you, you’re in big trouble.’ Then he spun off with the boy across the garden.

Ellie said, ‘My brother’s a bit wired tonight. Sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s had a hard time.’

‘He should drink some of that whisky, help him relax.’

She didn’t say anything to that, but she eyed him steadily for a moment. He didn’t know what that meant.

‘I should go and see if they’re OK,’ she said. ‘If my dad’s freaking out, the party’s pretty much over.’

It was a disaster. Not only was she walking away, but Jacko had been chased out, which meant Tom Parker was going to escape a kicking for the second time.

‘Nice to meet you,’ she said.

He had to stop her. ‘Give me your mobile number.’

She turned round. ‘Why?’

Because he was supposed to be gathering intelligence. Because she was the best source. Because he could see the same anger simmering in her that he had in him and he wanted to know why. But what he said was, ‘I’d like to see you again.’