Lies Like Love

AUDREY

The next day after school I didn’t wait for Leo but pulled Peter off to the bus. The evening before had been too much. We couldn’t expect to go round there all the time, making a nuisance of ourselves. But when we got back to the Grange the flat was dark and I heard a hiss, something scurrying into the kitchen. A rat. I slammed the front door shut and leant against it, not ready to go inside.

‘Hide-and-seek?’ I said. Peter chucked down his bag and was off – running down two flights of stairs, dashing along the corridors.

‘Stop,’ I shouted. ‘Not down there.’ And I pulled my brother back and up to the top of the house. The fire escape – I’d seen it from the outside and now we’d found it. Good job, I thought.

We were on top of the world. From here Peter’s kestrel might really be close enough to touch if it came swinging by.

‘Awesome,’ Peter agreed, reaching up into the late evening sky that seemed so near we could climb the clouds, the long white bands unfurling like sails. Suddenly the house was a pirate ship and I was the captain, Peter the first mate.

‘Ahoy there,’ I called, taking up position at the wheel. He climbed the rigging, jogging up and down the first flight of steps, making them rattle and clatter like snapping castanets – and we were in Spain, I told him, drawing into port, dropping off our cargo of ivory, apes and peacocks, sandalwood and cedarwood and sweet white wine. Peter paused, looked up at me, bored of me reciting poems at him. Wanting some facts.

‘What’s it really like in Spain?’

‘Hot,’ I said, looking into the distance. The whole sea was in the sky, rose-pink clouds morphing into a cutlass, a flag, intrepid divers with spears chasing fish and whales, mermaids combing their long flowing hair, flicking their tails.

‘Can we go there for a holiday?’ Peter asked. ‘Luke from my last class went to Spain every year.’

‘We’re right there now, Pete,’ I told him. ‘Look.’

We stared together, sitting on the top step.

‘See, we’re in the market – look there, the piles of slimy octopus, shrimp, fat red tomatoes.’

‘Yuck.’

‘No, it’s good, different – breathe in – the air’s full of spice, hot and delicious, you smell it? Your skin’s all warm, golden with the sun, you smell yummy too, of sun-tan lotion, the seaside. Fresh air.’

He pulled a face, so then I told him about the beaches: golden sand, clear blue sea, waves to ride. All of us – even me, not afraid – splashing, laughing, getting hot and sipping ice-cold drinks, licking ice cream.

‘Let’s ask Mum if we can go,’ he said, his face full of the thought.

‘It would be nice if we could. Tell you what, when I’ve left school and got a job, next year maybe, or the year after, I’ll save up and take you. OK?’

‘OK.’ He nodded, edged closer, thumb back in his mouth. He was really too old for that now. I put my arm round him.

‘We should go in, it’s getting chilly.’

Before I pulled him inside I took one last look at the horizon, the long blue sunset, spreading its arms around the edges of the planet. We were lucky to have this. Then something caught my eye, something real: a flash of white dipping in and out of the trees, getting closer. Peter was pulling at me.

‘Hang on.’

We watched together as the figure approached. Tall. Fast. Still too far away to see me if I waved, which I wouldn’t. What made me blush, I don’t know, perhaps the thought of calling out. Saying his name like I had a right to.

‘Is it Leo?’ Peter leant over the railing, arms waving. I pulled him back.

‘Come on. Let’s get something to eat. Mum’s been shopping. She’s made her spag bol. Fancy it?’ I didn’t want Leo to spot me. What if he banged on the door and stepped inside and started asking questions again? He was all right, maybe, but Peter and I were OK on our own. We didn’t need other people. And me and Leo, we were too different. We couldn’t really be friends.

I stared down. Leo was nearer. Fast. Something told me I had to trust someone, some time. But how could you be sure? How did you know who?