When I Was Joe (21 page)

‘Attacked me not once but twice, you little bastard,' says Doug, but he sounds OK about it. ‘Given that
you thought I was a vicious gunman, I'd say you were pretty brave. Of course, if you didn't think that, I'd have to take it personally. And now I'm going to have to stay over. Don't think the missus'll be too happy with me but needs must.'

It's never occurred to me before that Doug and Maureen both have lives of their own which they've put on hold to look after me.

‘I didn't know you had a missus.'

They laugh again. ‘Oh yes, he most certainly does,' says Maureen. ‘Keeps you on a very short leash, doesn't she, Doug.'

‘A fine woman,' says Doug, and Maureen winks at me.

We go into the service station. I'm still a bit nervy, but the sedative seems to have slowed me down. My body feels heavy and my eyes keep trying to close. I'm so stiff and cramped that Maureen has to help me walk from the car to the cafe. I'm hobbling like an old man and I don't feel like someone who fought off a police officer twice. Even if it was only Doug.

They both want sausage and chips, and Maureen realises that I can't make a decision and chooses fish and chips and a cup of tea for me. We sit down and I start mushing up the fish with my fork. ‘Have you got a husband, Maureen?' I ask.

‘No chance. Married to my work I am. Luckily for you, eh?'

I nod, and she says, ‘Try and stop messing with the food and eat some of it. It's no good to you if all you're going to do is play with it.'

Maureen really reminds me of my gran. She's about the same age and she's got the same sort of friendly face. ‘Maureen, did you know my gran woke up? She did it when I was there.'

‘I do know, and I'm really pleased for you. Why don't you tell me about it?'

So I tell her what happened, and she ruffles my hair like I'm a baby and says, ‘I think you did a fine job there.' Then she pauses and says, ‘I didn't realise you were a church-going family. Should I find you one for Sunday?'

‘Not me and Mum, just Gran.' I wish I did have the comfort that Gran gets from prayers and church and stuff. But it's never seemed to connect with me, and Mum would have kicked up big time if I'd gone holy on her.

‘Oh, shame,' says Maureen, which I think is a bit odd. ‘The jury would like to hear about you going to church,' she adds, which is even weirder.

‘How did you think your mum was looking?' asks Doug.

‘Crap.'

‘Yes, we're a bit concerned about her. We can't contact
the hospital right now. We want to get back first with no risk of anyone making any connection between us and them. But I'm pretty sure that they'll move everyone right away. Your mum will be back with you very soon.'

‘So . . . will you go away then, Maureen?'

She hesitates, and I'm desperate for her to say no, she's going to stay and look after both of us. She can see it in my face, I think, because she says briskly, ‘Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.' And then, ‘Right, you're going to eat something if I have to pick up that fork and feed you,' which makes me try a chip and find it surprisingly tasty.

I'm asleep again as soon as we get back into the car and I don't wake up until we're back at the house. Joe's house. For the first time it feels like home. My anonymous beige room is so peaceful. A safe place, our safe house. I need to believe it, so I do. I collapse on to the bed and it's incredibly comfortable.

Downstairs I can hear the television. Doug's switched on Sky News. I hear snatches of headlines drifting up the stairs . . . ‘shooting . . . hospital. . .'

Shooting? Hospital? I pull myself up and stumble down the stairs. There's an aerial shot of the hospital, and then the reporter standing by the main entrance. ‘The policeman who was shot was an armed officer
protecting a woman who had been injured in a violent assault. Questions are being asked about security in the hospital, with families of patients complaining that their loved ones were put at risk.'

‘The woman at the centre of this incident has now been moved to an undisclosed location. The injured policeman is recovering and his condition is said to be stable.'

‘They've moved Gran?'

‘Sounds like it.'

‘It's a good thing,' says Maureen. ‘Now you won't have to worry about her.' She gets up. ‘I'm going to run you a bath, and then see if you can sleep some more.'

I do sleep, but it's not the easy, empty sleep I slept in the car. I'm back in the hospital running along the maze of corridors, but this time I go through some double doors and I'm in my gran's room, with all the bleeping machines and the smell and the bandages . . . and in the bed it's not Gran, but Claire, and it's not her arms that have been cut, but her throat, and there's blood everywhere, on the walls and the bed and dripping on to the floor, and there's a screaming noise – and it's coming from me. . .

And Maureen's sitting on my bed in her dressing gown and handing me another little white pill. ‘Better take another one,' she says. ‘No good sleeping if it just gives you nightmares.'

I take it and as I swallow, I wonder whether my life – awake or asleep – will ever just be normal again.

In the morning I try to go running. I put on my kit. I lace up my shoes. I open the door and I think about how I'm going to warm up, then stretch, then run for at least an hour.

And then a car comes along the road and I shut the door again.

Three times I open the door and three times I close it again. In the end I sit down on the step and just watch the road for a bit, hoping that if I see what a boring, quiet street it is, then I'll be able to jog down it.

What I see is Ashley Jenkins walking up the hill towards me.

She's tanned and wearing skimpy shorts and a crop top, and I'm surprised that I don't feel more than a flicker of interest. Maybe Maureen's sedatives have shut me down, switched me off. I bloody well hope it's not
forever. I'd have to sue the police, which would be totally embarrassing.

It can't be coincidence that Ashley's walking along my street. But how could she know where I live? Of course, I'm so stupid. Her motor-mouth mother must have fished my address out of the school records.

‘Hello, Joe,' she says. ‘Are you going to invite me in?'

‘OK,' I say, not quite sure what's going on. Am I meant to take her up to my bedroom, where I haven't even picked up my sweat-stained clothes from yesterday? Is Ashley about to take things to a new, fantastic but terrifying level? Am I capable right now? Are we even together any more? ‘Do you want a coffee?'

We go into the kitchen where Maureen and Doug are sitting at the table and looking very interested in my visitor. I try and ignore them while I fill the kettle, which just makes me look really stupid because Maureen immediately says, ‘Hello, my name's Maureen and this is Doug,' and Ashley says, ‘Hi, I'm Ashley,' and then everyone looks at me and I don't say anything.

I make coffee and say, ‘We're going upstairs,' to see if they object, but she spoils it by saying, ‘Actually, Joe, maybe we'd better stay in the lounge if no one's in there.' I can see Doug and Maureen exchanging knowing glances and I feel like a complete prat.
It's clear to everyone that I am about to go through the ritual of being officially chucked. Doug and Maureen will probably listen at the door and then have a good laugh about it.

We go into the lounge and I shut the door behind us. ‘Where's your mum?' asks Ashley. ‘Or are they your real parents and you were just pretending that your big sister was your mum?'

‘No, she's away right now and they're staying here with me. They're just friends.'

‘Oh.'

‘How was your holiday?'

‘It was good.'

I'm not going to ask her why she's here if she's not going to say. We can go on having this sort of conversation for hours if she wants.

‘Nice weather?'

‘Yes, very sunny.'

‘Nice hotel?'

‘Yes, lovely.' She sighs. ‘Look, Joe, I didn't want to go upstairs because I thought we needed to talk.'

‘Oh, yeah?'

‘It's just. . . Look, I think maybe we should stop seeing each other.'

There are two things I can say. I can say, ‘Yes, fine, OK, it was good for the two weeks that it lasted, especially
when you were in Spain,' and show her out. Or I can ask why. Stupidly I go for option two.

She looks uncomfortable. ‘It's just. . . Thing is, Joe, I don't know if you know but I didn't grow up round here. My family came here when I was nine from Catford – you know where that is?'

Of course I do. She's a South Londoner. If you're from north of the river like me, then South London is somewhere you know about but have never been to. Most of the things you've heard aren't good.

‘And the reason we left was to get my brother away from that area. My brother Callum, he's six years older than me, and he was getting involved in gangs and carrying a knife and one day he got stabbed.'

‘Was he . . . was he killed?'

‘No, of course not. I said we moved here to get him away from London, duh. Anyway when I saw you with that knife the other day, I knew . . . I knew I couldn't be with you.' Her lip trembles and I think she's about to cry. ‘I saw a different side of you.'

This is totally unfair: ‘But I only did it for you. They were touching you, and they had those pictures. . .'

‘I know, and they're sick bastards, but you know what, Joe, we might have been embarrassed by those pictures, and it wouldn't have been nice, but it wouldn't have been the absolute end of the world. But say you'd
stabbed one of those boys. . .' Her voice trails off.

She's not altogether wrong and I know it. ‘I'm sorry, Ash. I never meant to scare you.'

She's crying now, and the sedatives seem to be wearing off because I really would like to try and cheer her up a bit. I go and sit on the sofa next to her and tentatively snake my arm around her almost-bare shoulders. She doesn't object, and my other arm manages to rest itself against the bit of her back between the shorts and crop top. And then I'm kissing her tears away and we're lying down on the sofa, and I'm hoping very much that Doug and Maureen will have the sense to leave us alone while I find out whether she was doing any topless sunbathing in Spain.

She pulls away. Eventually. Half-heartedly. ‘And that's the other thing,' she says.

‘What?' I'm still stroking her bare stomach and the other hand is doing some really successful exploration.

‘You and me. It's too much, too soon.'

‘Mmm . . . I don't see you complaining. . .' I'm nibbling her neck and she smells all coconutty.

‘That's the problem.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I know everyone thinks I'm a slag who'll do anything, but I'm really not, Joe.'

That's just not fair. ‘I never thought anything like
that. I think you're amazing and sexy and . . .' I kiss her glossy lips, ‘. . . very sophisticated.'

‘Yes but the thing is that I don't seem to be able to say no to you, Joe, like I can to other boys. The boys I've been out with before, they knew that they couldn't . . . you know . . . go too far. I made sure they knew. But I keep on forgetting to tell you to stop, and I'm getting a bit scared. I mean if we'd gone up to your bedroom, I can imagine, you know, one thing leading to another. And I don't want to end up like. . .' She hesitates, but I can see this one coming a mile off.

‘Like my mum.'

I very deliberately remove my hands, wipe them on my jeans as if I'm cleaning off something dirty and move away like she's giving off a bad smell.

‘I don't mean— ‘

‘I know what you mean. I know
exactly
what you mean. But you know what? My mum was happy to have me. She wanted to have me. And we've never scrounged off the state. She's got qualifications, and she's worked and worked to look after me.'

I'm so furious I can hardly speak. It's incredible how much shit you take in life just because your mother happens to be a teenager when you're born, and your dad can't be arsed to know you.

Ashley says, ‘Joe, don't take this the wrong way.
I don't mean anything against your mum. I think she's really cool, but she must have been ever so young when she had you. Not much older than us. And I just wouldn't want to have to make those choices.'

I can't stand looking at her. ‘Oh yeah, Ashley, I bet you say this to all the boys.'

‘No really, Joe, it's really true.'

‘I bet you found yourself some waiter in Spain and you've been at it with him all week.'

‘No . . . no. . . I've really thought about this a lot.'

‘Why come here dressed like a tart, then?'

Her face falls. My aunties would kill me if they heard me speak to a girl like that. But I don't care. I only want to hurt her like she's hurting me.

‘I'm not. . .'

‘Yeah, yeah. . . Well, you've done what you came for, Ashley. What are you going to tell everyone? “He was so hot I couldn't trust myself with his body, so I chucked him”? Or “I thought he was a psycho with a knife”?'

‘I don't know,'

‘Maybe I'll tell everyone I chucked you because you're just a slag.'

She stands up and I can see I've made her angry. Good. ‘Go on then,' she says. ‘See if I care. It's what they all think anyway.'

‘No, I won't do that.' Her unexpected dignity has shamed me. ‘I'm sorry, Ashley. I thought you were disrespecting my mum and I've had enough of that for a lifetime.'

‘I'll tell people we broke up because my parents told me I had to chuck you after you punched Carl. That's true, by the way. And all the girls'll be after you whatever I say.'