Page 56 of Hot to Go

‘And I’ll print a really big picture of you and put it on the fridge,’ I tell her.

‘That is a such a good idea. You can look at it every time you’re about to think Peperami and chips is an acceptable dinner,’ she says, hooking her arm into mine and resting a head on my shoulder. We walk past someone else who hands her a leaflet for free STD testing. She takes one and snarls, and I don’t quite know how to take that.

‘We never talk about your love life, Miss Shaw,’ I say. She looks over at me suspiciously, and I feel like an awful legal guardian. Perhaps I should have monitored this more closely. I know there have been parties and possible snogs and more with boys, but she’s never brought a boyfriend home, I’ve never had to console her over a broken heart.

‘That is classified information. State secret.’ She leads me out of the hall, through to a university corridor, following a map in her hands closely to avoid the conversation.

‘I ask this out of concern as a brother and an adult but are you a…’

She puts a hand to the air, closing her eyes. ‘No!’

‘I could have said anything there?’

‘Still, no. You’re my brother and this line of questioning is wholly improper.’

‘Alright, Jane Austen.’

She laughs but it dies down and she looks pensive as she continues walking. ‘Here’s a question for you. Do you sometimes find it hard to get close to people when we’ve been through what we’ve been through?’ she says, out of the blue.

I slow my pace as I digest her words. ‘Oh, Brookie.’ There’s a fiercely confident young lady here, but I guess it masks the turmoil she must feel not having our parents around. I suddenly feel guilty that I haven’t picked up on it.

‘I get worried about loving someone but losing them too. It feels safer sometimes to just…’

‘Be alone?’ I ask, my heart breaking a little bit.

‘I’m never alone though, really. I have my boys.’ I hug her shoulder as she says it, trying to not show her that I’m tearing up.

‘Brooke, you have one of the biggest hearts out of anyone I know, it would be a fucking shame not to share that with someone,’ I tell her.

She stops in her tracks outside the doors to a large auditorium. ‘That was cheeseballs, Char. And also you swore. You’re such a terrible influence. It’s a miracle I turned out so well.’

‘It certainly is,’ I say beaming. ‘Can I go on My Single Friend and find you a man?’

‘Hell to the no, to the never,’ she squeals. ‘If you do that I will go to your new school and tell them about the cock-sock thing.’

‘You wouldn’t…’

‘I will find the footage. I’ll put the stills on mouse mats.’ I push her and someone looks at us bizarrely, wondering whether to step in. She puts an arm around me instead.

‘Hate you,’ she says, pouting with a ridiculous kissy face.

‘Hate you more. Now tell me why you pulled that face when that man gave you that STD flyer.’

‘It’s because I have crabs. Big fat ones…’ she tells me with a serious face.

I scrunch my nose. ‘Lovely.’

TWELVE

Suzie

I fucking love laminating. There is something immensely satisfying about placing the paper in the plastic pocket and the slightly acrid smell it makes as it passes through the machine to become all glazed, shiny and wipe clean. I don’t know why anyone would need to wipe clean the months of the year in French but maybe it’s because they’re so turned on by the standard of my laminating skills. I laugh to myself as I think this and then realise how sad that is as this classroom is empty.

Ever since Lee told me to decorate my classroom and make it my own, I’ve thrown myself into it and let my crafting fetish loose onto the walls, my desk and basically every part of my room where I can stick something. It felt like a project to stick my teeth into because I wanted this room to feel like my own but I also just needed distraction. It’s been a tumultuous six months or so. From leaving Paul to coming to London, to Mallorca to Charlie and a new job, I’ve not really come up for air. So this is my way of finding peace and throwing all my good energy into something primary-coloured and orderly. I go overto my stationery trolley and place a stack of biros into a pot. As they all fall into place, I feel a shiver go down my spine, that is a good sound. Again, it’s a little sad that that’s where I get my kicks now. From super-hot holiday sex to fun with pens.

‘You absolute motherfrigging donkey…’ A familiar voice echoes through the wall suddenly and I jump a little. God, it’s like he knows I’m thinking about him. It’s not a good tone or volume but I do laugh a little at the word donkey. My mind races – what is he talking about? I’ve only ever used that turn of phrase for a photocopier or students. It’s four fifteen so at least he’s not talking to actual kids. I hear some fumbles in the room and something falling. It doesn’t sound loud enough to be him. Maybe I’ll just leave him be. That’s the safer option. We’ve managed to avoid each other thus far quite successfully. The new school term has hit us both for six, which has helped us to avoid any sort of management of our relationship.

‘Seriously, I hate you…you cocking piece of…’

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