And Baby Makes Two - Dyan Sheldon [17]
Les’s room was the smallest. It had a telly and a mattress on the floor and a computer.
“Well?” asked Les. “What do you think?”
It was tidy and everything, but it was kind of bare. I could see it needed a woman’s touch.
“It’s nice,” I said. “But it could do with a couple of pictures. You know, to make it look more cosy.”
He grinned at me affectionately. “I’d never have thought of that.”
I gave Les a really gorgeous jumper from Covent Garden. He reminded me of Kevin Costner in it. It cost so much I had to give everybody else chocolates.
Les gave me a gold charm bracelet from Argos. It had one charm, a tiny hamburger, plated in gold.
“It reminded me of you,” said Les. “Do you like it?”
It wasn’t a gold heart, but I definitely liked it.
“I love it!” I cried. “It’s the best present I’ve ever had.” I hugged him hard.
But that was the only thing that did get hard that night.
We rolled around on his single mattress, banging our knees against the wall and whacking each other with elbows, but nothing happened except we knocked over the teas.
Les apologized. He said it was because he lived with so many other people. It made him selfconscious. Even though they were away he was expecting one of them to burst into the room at any minute. That’s what his flatmates were like.
I took it in my stride. This sort of thing was always happening on TV.
“It’s OK,” I assured him. “It happens to everyone.”
“You’re wonderful,” said Les. He kissed my forehead. “And very mature for eighteen.”
Maybe I wouldn’t’ve been so mature if I’d known it was going to be our last chance to be together for weeks and weeks.
I’d always liked Christmas, especially when I was little, but that year it was a drag. Everybody went to Charlene’s, as per usual, since she had the kids. And, also as per usual, Nan ended up doing most of the cooking while her daughter and grand-daughters (with one glaring exception, of course) all got sloshed. Every year Dara made us sit through the entire Phil Spector Christmas album at least a dozen times, and every year everyone begged her not to. Hilary spent about eight hours in the kitchen, crying about Charley. Every time I opened the door because I’d been sent to get something she was saying the same thing. “This is really it … this time there won’t be a next time…” and slobbering into her wine. Only she was always saying it to someone different – Charlene, Dara, Charlene’s boyfriend, Justin, Dara’s boyfriend, Mick, Nan, even Drew and Courtney, Charlene’s kids… Once, I actually caught her telling the fridge. Charlene’s boyfriend and Dara’s boyfriend got into a fight about football. Charlene and Dara got into a fight over whether or not Charlene’s children watched too much telly. Charlene’s kids were always fighting. I tried to ignore them all by pretending that I wasn’t really there.
I pretended I was at home with Les. He’d left his mum’s straight after dinner to surprise me. I’d come home on my own from Charlene’s and there he was, waiting for me. He’d bought an artificial silver tree and decorated it with red balls and tiny green lights that looked like wreaths, just like the one I saw in Paperchase. There were about a million presents under it, and they were all wrapped in shiny paper, not the cheap stuff Hilary bought in the market, ten rolls for a quid, and half of them said Happy Birthday or For Your Wedding Anniversary. These were really beautiful and elegant, and they were all tied with real satin ribbons not those plasticky stick-on bows favoured by doctors’ receptionists. Me and Les sipped champagne while we opened our presents. Les was just trying on one of the presents I’d given him – a silk Armani jacket – when I realized that my nan was shouting at me. It was hard to hear her because the telly and the stereo were blaring, and, besides everybody talking and the kids shrieking, Charlene and Hilary were arguing now.
I blinked. “What?”
Nan knocked back her sherry.
“You’re very quiet today.