I wish I had a boyfriend. I wish he lived in the wardrobe on a coat hanger. Whenever I wanted, I could get him out and hed look at me the way boys do in films, as if Im beautiful. He wouldnt speak much, but hed be breathing hard as he took off his leather jacket and unbuckled his jeans. Hed wear white pants and hed be so gorgeous Id almost faint. Hed take my clothes off too. Hed whisper, Tessa, I love you. I really bloody love you. Youre beautiful exactly those words as he undressed me.
I sit up and switch on the bedside light. Theres a pen, but no paper, so on the wall behind me I write, I want to feel the weight of a boy on top of me. Then I lie back down and look out at the sky. Its gone a funny colour red and charcoal all at once, like the day is bleeding out.
I can smell sausages. Saturday night is always sausages. Therell be mash and cabbage and onion gravy too. Dadll have the lottery ticket and Cal will have chosen the numbers and theyll sit in front of the TV and eat dinner from trays on their laps. Theyll watch The X Factor, then theyll watch Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? After that, Cal will have a bath and go to bed and Dadll drink beer and smoke until its late enough for him to sleep.
He came up to see me earlier. He walked over to the window and opened the curtains. Look at that! he said as light flooded the room. There was the afternoon, the tops of the trees, the sky. He stood silhouetted against the window, his hands on his hips. He looked like a Power Ranger.
If you wont talk about it, how can I help you? he said, and he came over and sat on the edge of my bed. I held my breath. If you do it for long enough, white lights dance in front of your eyes. He reached over and stroked my head, his fingers gently massaging my scalp.
Breathe, Tessa, he whispered.
Instead, I grabbed my hat from the bedside table and yanked it on right over my eyes. He went away then.
Now hes downstairs frying sausages. I can hear the fat spitting, the slosh of gravy in the pan. Im not sure I should be able to hear that from all the way upstairs, but nothing surprises me any more. I can hear Cal unzipping his coat now, back from buying mustard. Ten minutes ago he was given a pound and told, Dont talk to anyone weird. While he was gone, Dad stood on the back step and smoked a fag. I could hear the whisper of leaves hitting the grass at his feet. Autumn invading.
Hang your coat up and go and see if Tess wants anything, Dad says. Theres plenty of blackberries. Make them sound interesting.
Cal has his trainers on; the air in the soles sighs as he leaps up the stairs and through my bedroom door. I pretend to be asleep, which doesnt stop him. He leans right over and whispers, I dont care even if you never speak to me again. I open one eye and find two blue ones. Knew you were faking, he says, and he grins wide and lovely. Dad says, do you want blackberries?
What shall I tell him?
Tell him I want a baby elephant.
He laughs. Im gonna miss you, he says, and he leaves me with an open door and the draught from the stairs.
Zoey doesnt even knock, just comes in and plonks herself down on the end of the bed. She looks at me strangely, as if she hadnt expected to find me here.
A Man Called Intrepid author dies aged 89(Dec 03 2013) William Stevenson, a journalist and author who drew on his close ties with intelligence sources to write two best-selling books in the 1970s, A Man Called...