Page 59 of Big Nick Energy
‘And this is what this is, right? Fun?’ He looks down for a moment at my arm. ‘Is that a… tattoo?’
I stare down at the candy cane tattoo on my arm that after a few showers still remains on my skin. We’ll blame the six-year-old creative director for that one. ‘It was a library thing, I joined in with the kids,’ I explain, immediately feeling guilty for lying.
He chortles almost in disbelief. ‘Fun.’
And there’s that word again. This is fun. But sometimes we veer into this being more than that, and that’s when I find I can’t read him.What happened with the frosty blonde, Nick? Why did it not work? Where is this going? Why do you keep the scrunchie?And for a moment, I don’t see present-day Nick in his suit, I see a boy I spent a year with in Bath, a boy I fell desperately in love with. A love that didn’t exist in these fancy clothes and surroundings. Someone who used to wait outside my lecture theatre with a doughnut in a white paper bag. It was summer spent in the park, lying on the grass sharing headphones and getting slightly pink tans. Eight years ago, eight years apart. Could this be revived into a long-term thing?
‘Fun, always.’
TWENTY-SIX
‘Lola! Have you seen the Santa? It’s not that caretaker man, it’s some fit bloke! Come see!’
I should have thought this pitstop through. Griffin Road Comprehensive. Maybe I should have gone for a primary school, but, somewhere in my bleeding heart, I thought it might be nice to try and promote reading in teenagers. In my mind, I put a book in the hands of a fourteen-year-old kid and suddenly their world is transformed, they start to read again, they are transported out of London into an idyllic future where their imagination can expand, their literacy evolves and I become that story they tell in their speech when they’ve won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.It was all down to that lady who dressed up as a Christmas tree and gave me a free book in my school library.
Yeah, that isn’t happening.
What is happening is that New Nick and I are hanging out in this lovely and well-equipped library space. There are four children in here, one who seems to be desperately finishing History homework, two on computers watching YouTube and one who is asleep on a bean bag. The librarian is trying so very hard, she’s wearing a Christmas hat and has matching tinselledearrings. She’s got a tree in the corner and filled the place with homemade paper chains. But this is hard work. It’s the opposite of a captive audience.Please, read a book. Try. They’re free!But no one is here, apart from some girls standing outside the window, their faces pressed up against the glass, waving and staring at the novelty that is Nick, someone to change up their lunch hours. Nick waves back politely. They giggle. ‘Put away your phones!’ I hear a teacher thunder down the corridor. I get it, girls.This is premium Santa here, not a bargain basement granddad in a beard. But I’ll only let you interact with him if you take a book.I look over and watch as Nick texts someone on his phone and then switches to Wordle. I peer over curiously to see how long it’ll take him to get it. The word today is ADEPT but I won’t tell him that.
‘I’m sorry. This book-drive stop was a bit of a waste of time,’ I say, feeling a little guilty I brought him here.
‘Or not. We had those Year Seven kids come in, they seemed excited. I reckon if we found them again, we could give them some extras,’ he says, looking up.
‘I like the optimism,’ I add, smiling at him. ‘At least you have amassed a fan club,’ I joke, trying not to stare at the posse of girls outside.
‘Yeah, I thought the old people were inappropriate.’
‘DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?’ one of the girls says, knocking on the glass.
He looks up at them and then returns to his phone. He’s not falling for their games but I’ll admit I want to know the answer to that question. We met outside the school today, all dressed up and ready to take on this place. He was formal and polite as he always is, a school secretary gave him her telephone number and he paused in reception to see yet another fake tree reaching to the ceiling. I am quietly fascinated by how irritated he gets by fake trees. He intrigues me on so many levels but Iremind myself that I’m seeing Old Nick. I went to the ballet with him. We had Mexican food after. And sex which is still fun and satisfying. All the fun.
‘CAN WE HAVE YOUR SNAP?’ they ask through the window.
‘DO YOU WANT A BOOK?’ he shouts back.
‘A WHAT?’ they shriek, as though he’s offered them drugs.
He laughs. ‘What’s a snap? Is that a sex thing?’ he asks me quietly.
‘No, it’s a Snapchat thing. Social media.’
‘Don’t have it,’ he says, and they all moan with disappointment.
I didn’t think he’d be the sort who would. I still don’t know how to converse honestly with Nick. I want to tell him how much I adored meeting his family without overstepping, but I also have so many questions, so much interest in his past. But I can’t. I can’t give him the wrong impression, so I get up and start to stroll around the library. Schools are strange places in the run up to Christmas, out in the courtyard you can see children wrapped up in coats, random Christmas hats and the odd classroom that sparkles and glitters. It would seem these kids are far too cool to get into the season and I don’t think we’re going to change that any time soon.
‘Oh, by the way, I got a lead on those letters, I think,’ Nick says, and I turn back to face him.
‘You did?’
‘In the book was a ticket to a school play in a local primary school so I put a post up on a Facebook community page. Maybe I’ll get a bite.’
Since he mentioned this to me, I must admit the way he seems intent on finding the owners of these letters is endearing and well, vaguely hot. It’s giving literary hero on a grand quest to reconnect two lovers. This is the sort of drama and commitmentthat I live for in any main character. Naturally, I don’t tell him that much.
‘You are funny,’ I say.
‘Funny?’ he replies. Well, not like that.
‘I mean, it’s quite a romantic thing you’re doing there.’
