before i die Jenny Downham

four

Dont you like beer? Jake says.
Hes leaning against the sink in his kitchen and Im standing too close to him. Im doing it on purpose.
I just fancied some tea.
He shrugs, chinks his beer bottle against my cup, and tips his head back to swig. I watch his throat as he swallows, notice a small pale scar under his chin, a thin ribbon from some long ago accident. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, sees me staring.
You OK? he asks. Yeah. You? Yeah.
Good.
He smiles at me. He has a nice smile. Im glad. It would be so much harder if he was ugly.
Half an hour ago Jake and his mate Stoner Boy grinned at each other as they led me and Zoey into their house. Those grins said theyd scored. Zoey told them not to make any assumptions, but still we walked into their lounge and she let Stoner take her coat. She laughed at his jokes, accepted the joints he made for her and got steadily wrecked.
I can see her through the door. Theyve put music on, some mellow jazz number. Theyve turned off the lights to dance, moving together in slow, stoned circles on the carpet. Zoey has one hand in the air holding a joint, the other tucked into Stoners belt at the back of his trousers. He has
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both arms wrapped around her so that they appear to be holding each other up.
I feel suddenly sensible, drinking tea in the kitchen, and realize I need to get on with my plan. This is about me, after all.
I gulp my tea down, put the cup on the draining board and move even closer to Jake. The tips of our shoes touch.
Kiss me, I say, which sounds ridiculous as soon as I say it, but Jake doesnt seem to mind. He puts down his beer and leans towards me.
We kiss quite gently, our lips just brushing, only a hint of breath from him to me. Ive always known Id be good at kissing. Ive read all the magazines, the ones that tell you about nose bumping and excess saliva and where to put your hands. I didnt know it would feel like this though, the soft scour of his chin on mine, his hands gently searching my back, his tongue running along my lips and into my mouth.
We kiss for minutes, pressing our bodies closer, leaning in to each other. Its such a relief to be with someone who doesnt know me at all. My hands are brave, dipping into the curve where his spine ends and stroking him there. How healthy he feels, how solid.
I open my eyes to see if hes enjoying it, but Im drawn instead to the window behind him, to the trees surrounded by night out there. Little black twigs tap at the glass like fingers. I snap my eyes shut and grind myself closer to him. I can feel just how hard he wants me through my little red dress. He makes a small moaning noise at the back of his throat.
Lets go upstairs, he says.
He tries to move me towards the door, but I put my hand flat against his chest to keep him at bay while I think.
Come on, he says. You want to, dont you?
I can feel his heart pulsing through my fingers. He smiles down at me, and I do want to, dont I? Isnt this why Im here?
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OK.
His hand is hot as he laces our fingers together and leads me through the lounge to the stairs. Zoeys kissing Stoner Boy. She has his back against the wall and her leg between his. When we walk past, they hear us and they both turn round. They look dishevelled and hot. Zoey wiggles her tongue at me. It glistens like a fish in a cave.
I let go of Jake to get Zoeys bag from the sofa. I rummage around in it, aware of everyones eyes on me, the slow grin on Stoners face. Jakes leaning against the doorframe, waiting. Is he giving the thumbs-up? I cant look. I cant find the condoms either, dont even know if its a box or a packet, or really what they look like. In my embarrassment, I decide to take the entire bag upstairs. If Zoey needs a condom, shell just have to come and get it.
Lets go, I say.
I follow Jake up the stairs, concentrate on the sway of his hips to keep myself cheerful. I feel a bit strange, dizzy and slightly nauseous. I didnt think that walking up the stairs behind a guy would remind me of hospital corridors. Maybe Im just tired. I try to remember the rules about feeling sick – whenever possible get lots of fresh air, open a window or go outside if you can. Get good at distraction therapy – do something, anything, to keep your mind off it.
In here, he says.
His bedrooms nothing special – a small room with a desk, a computer, scattered books on the floor, a chair and a single bed. On the walls are a few black and white posters – jazz musicians mostly.
He looks at me looking at his room. You can put your bag down, he says.
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