Читать книгу With My Body - Nikki Gemmell - Страница 44

Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily

Friday afternoon. Central Station. You have just bought your train ticket to get you home for the weekend; you are walking across the concourse.

Ahead. Mr Cooper.

You, in your school uniform.

He glances at you, blushes. You are one of those girls he never wants to see again in his life; the whole school is laughing about it, at him. It is a split second, a moment. You could walk straight past him, not look.

You walk up to him.

‘Are you OK?’ Not knowing why that comes out, all you can think of is his reddening face, the vulnerability, the sweetness in it. It makes him oddly approachable.

‘Yes,’ he stammers, bewildered. ‘Were you …?’

‘Do you live near here?’ Blurting it out, covering up his awkwardness.

‘Yes, my studio’s across the road.’

‘A real, live studio?’ Your eyes sparkle. ‘Wow.’

‘Yes,’ he laughs. ‘It’s disgustingly messy, I’m sure it’d disappoint you.’

‘No!’ In the presence of a man you are blushing, changing, becoming something else. Losing the sharp flint; have you ever been like this?

‘Come and have a look.’

You nod, barely knowing why or what you are getting yourself into, words won’t come, you’ve lost your voice, your heart is thumping, you walk beside him, your insides flipping. If only the other girls in your class could see you now. Something, someone, has taken over your body, your talk. Your curiosity has emboldened you; yes, the experiment will start here, now. You have to do this, you need to know.

‘You don’t have somewhere to go, do you?’ he says at the entrance of his scruffy building.

‘My train’s delayed. Trackwork. I’ve got an hour to kill.’

The lie slips out, it surprises you, the ease of it. And the impertinence of your voice, your boldness – the collector, the archivist, with a task to complete.

‘My parents don’t like me hanging around Central alone.’ A pause. ‘I don’t like it.’

Your desire for friendship, companionship, someone, anyone, is insatiable; your desire, too, to have something, one thing, over all those girls in your class, over their ease and smoothness and confidence, their sense of entitlement. You can’t wait to tell Lune. She’ll be so proud of you. An artist, the coolness of that. The artist. Yours.

It is beginning.

And you are following this man from the railway concourse because of something else that has recently crept into your life. The possibility of aloneness, all through your days. You feel you could be very good at being alone and it frightens you; needs arresting.