before i die Jenny Downham

twenty-one

Zoey comes to the door, her hair a mess. Shes wearing the same clothes as last time I saw her.
Coming to the seaside? I jangle the car keys at her.
She peers past me to Dads car. Did you come here on your own? Yeah.
But you cant drive!
I can now. Its number five on my list.
She frowns. Have you actually had any lessons?
Sort of. Can I come in?
She opens the door wider. Wipe your feet, or take your shoes off.
Her parents house is always incredibly tidy, like something from a catalogue. Theyre out at work so much I guess they never get a chance to make it messy. I follow Zoey into the lounge and sit on the sofa. She sits opposite me on the edge of the armchair and folds her arms at me.
So your dad lent you the car, did he? Even though youre not insured and its completely illegal?
He doesnt exactly know Ive got it, but Im really good at driving! Youll see. Id pass my test if I was old enough.
She shakes her head at me as if she just cant believe how stupid I am. She should be proud of me. I got away without Dad even noticing. I remembered to check the mirrors before turning on the ignition, then clutch down, into first, clutch up, accelerator down. I managed three times round the block and only stalled twice, which was my best ever. I navigated the
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roundabout and even got into third gear along the main road to Zoeys house. And now shes sitting there glaring at me, like its all some terrible mistake.
You know, I say as I stand and zip my coat back up, I thought if I made it as far as here without crashing, the only difficult thing left would be the dual carriageway. It didnt cross my mind that youd be a pain in the arse.
She shuffles her feet on the floor, as if rubbing something out. Sorry. Its just Im kind of busy.
Doing what?
She shrugs. You cant assume everyones free just because you are.
I feel something growing inside me as I look at her, and I realize in one absolutely clear moment that I dont like her at all.
You know what? I say. Forget it. Ill do the list by myself.
She stands up, swings her stupid hair about and tries to look offended. Its a trick that works with guys, but it makes no difference to the way I feel about her.
I didnt say I wouldnt come!
But shes bored of me, its obvious. She wishes Id hurry up and die so she can get on with her life.
No, no, you stay here, I tell her. Everything always turns out crap with you around anyway!
She follows me out into the hallway. No, it doesnt!
I turn on the mat. I meant for me. Havent you ever noticed how any shit thats falling always lands on my head, never yours?
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She frowns. When? When does that happen?
All the time. I sometimes wonder if youre only friends with me so you can keep being the lucky one.
Christ! she says. Can you stop going on about yourself for even a minute?
Shut up! I tell her. And it feels so good that I say it again.
No, she says. You shut up, but her voice is barely a whisper, which is weird. She takes one small step away, stops as if shes about to say something else, thinks better of it and runs up the stairs.
I dont follow her. I wait in the hall for a bit, feeling the thickness of the carpet under my feet. I listen to the clock. I count sixty ticks, then I go into the lounge and turn on the TV. I watch amateur gardening for seven minutes. I learn that in a sunny south-facing plot you can grow apricots, even in England. I wonder if Adam knows this. But then I get bored with aphids and red spider mites and the drone of the silly mans voice, so I turn it off and text Zoey: SORRY.
I look out of the window to see if the cars still there. It is. The skys murky, the clouds really low down and the colour of sulphur. Ive never driven in rain, which is a bit worrying. I wish it was still October. It was warm then, as if the world had forgotten autumn was supposed to happen next. I remember looking at the leaves fall past the hospital window.
Zoey texts back. ME 2.
She comes downstairs and into the lounge. Shes wearing a turquoise mini-dress and loads of bangles. They snake up her arm and jingle as she walks over and gives me a hug. She smells nice. I lean against her shoulder and she kisses the top of my head.
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Zoey laughs as I start the car and immediately stall. I try again, and as we kangaroo down the road, I tell her how Dad took me out driving five times and I just couldnt get it right. The feet were so hard – the slight tipping of toes from the clutch, the equal but opposite push on the accelerator.
Thats it! he kept yelling. Feel the biting point?
But I couldnt feel anything, not even when I took off my shoes.
We got tired, both of us. Each session was shorter than the one before, until we stopped going out at all, and neither of us even mentioned it.
I doubt hell notice the cars missing till lunchtime, I tell her. And even then, whats he going to do? Like you said, Im immune to the rules.
Youre a complete hero, she says. Youre fantastic!
And we laugh like old times. Id forgotten how much I like laughing with Zoey. She isnt critical of my driving like Dad was. She isnt scared as I scrape into third gear, or when I forget to indicate to turn left at the end of her road. Im a much better driver with her watching.
Youre not bad. Your old man taught you something at last.
I love it, I tell her. Think how much fun it would be to drive across Europe. You could take a gap year from college and come with me.
I dont want to, she says, and she picks up the map and goes quiet. We dont need a map.
Why not?
Think of it as a road movie.
Bollocks, she says, and she stabs a finger at the window.
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