The Forever Girl

18



Clover saw Ted before she saw James. She had gone with her mother to the supermarket – an everyday trip but one that, after three years’ interruption, was like performing once more an important ritual of childhood. It was exactly the same as she remembered it – the car park with its hotly contested shady spots; the line of shopping carts along the front of the building; the cool exhaled breath of the air conditioning as the automatic doors parted to admit you. The smell was familiar too: the ripe, sweet smell of the fruit at the entrance, and then the piquant notes from the trays of ready-made dishes. The man at the fish counter was the same man whom she had last seen standing there three years ago; his white straw hat at the same angle and the apron with his embroidered name and the printed picture of a jumping marlin. The same tired woman was spraying water over the salad vegetables and she glanced at Clover and then looked at her again before deciding that she recognised her, and nodded.

Ted was standing at the section where magazines were displayed. He was reading something about cars and he looked up and smiled broadly at Clover.

“Clove,” he said. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, me.”

He put the magazine down. “It’s great to see you.”

“And you.”

“I mean it,” he said.

“I know you do.”

They looked at one another awkwardly before she broke the ice. “I’m here with my mother. Shop, shop, shop.”

“Me too.”

She looked over her shoulder. “We could go and have a coffee round the corner. They’re going to take ages.”

“Yes, they always do.”

In the coffee bar, the awkwardness that Ted had shown seemed to melt away. He told her about the school he was at – an international school in Wales – and asked her about Strathearn.

“You haven’t changed,” he said.

“Nor you.” That was not true, she thought, but she said it nonetheless. Ted had changed; his face was thinner, she thought, and that slightly puppyish look he had at twelve was no longer there.

“But I hope I have,” he said.

“Then you have.”

Their order of coffee arrived.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“Now?”

“No. While you’re here. For the next two weeks.”

‘Three.” She paused. He was watching her. “Nothing much. Chill, I suppose.”

“There’s going to be a party.”

She caught her breath, but tried not to look interested. “It’s that time of year.”

“James is having one.”

He was watching for her reaction, and she could not help herself blushing. He’ll be able to tell, she thought.

“Yes?”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow.” Ted paused. “Would you like to come?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t invited me.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Nobody’s being invited as such. All his friends can come.”


“I’ll have to think.”

Ted sipped at his coffee. “I hate this stuff,” he said. “I’ve never liked coffee. I only drink it because everybody else does.”

She stared at him. “You don’t have to be the same as everybody else.”

He wiped cappuccino foam from his lips. “I know.”

“Just be yourself. It’s easier.”

“Yeah, sure. Is that what you do?”

She did not answer.

“You like him, don’t you?”

She affected ignorance. “Who?”

“James.”

“He’s all right.”

Ted smiled. “No, it’s more than that. You really like him, don’t you?”

She turned the questioning back to him. “Well, what about you? You like him, too. You really like him.”

He stiffened. “He’s a friend. I like my friends.”

“But some more than others.”

“Sure. Who doesn’t?”

He was watching her warily. She had strayed into something she had not expected, and her instinct was to move away. “I might come to the party,” she said. “Will you tell him?”

“What?”

“That I’m coming.”

He shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I don’t need to tell him … but I will, if you like.” He paused, as if weighing up whether to continue. “By the way, you know how people can’t stand other people?”

She said nothing. Was he going to say that James could not stand her?

“Your mother,” he went on. “Your mother and James’s mother. Don’t go there.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

He seemed to be enjoying himself now. “You remember years ago? You remember how when we were kids we played at being detectives, or whatever. We took photographs at the tennis club.”

“Sort of,” she said. “It wasn’t my idea – it was James’s. He liked to do that sort of thing.”

“Maybe, but he took them of your mother talking to his dad. And he made some sort of note about their meeting one another. Kids’ stuff.”

She remained silent.

“James’s mother found them – the photographs. She thought that it showed that your mother and James’s father were … you know … seeing one another.”

She felt a sudden coldness within her. “Oh.”

“James told me,” Ted continued. “He said that his folks had a major row. Big time.”

She could only think to say that it was not true.

“I know,” said Ted. “Adults get it seriously wrong sometimes. But the point is that she hates your mother.”

Clover struggled to control herself. “I don’t care.” She did.

“I don’t think she hates you, though,” said Ted. “What your mother does has nothing to do with you.”

“She didn’t do anything.”

“I’m not saying she did. All I’m saying is that if she did something, then it wouldn’t be your fault. You see the difference?”

She nodded. She felt miserable.

“James doesn’t hold it against you,” Ted went on. “He’s cool with what happened. I suppose he’s more embarrassed than anything.” He paused. “He likes you, you know.”

She struggled to control herself. She wanted to ask him what James had said; she wanted to hear the exact words. But she did not want Ted to know how desperately she wanted this knowledge.

“I’m not saying that he’s keen on you,” Ted said. “Not in that way.”

She bit her lip. She tried to laugh. “I didn’t think you meant that.”

“He’s got a girlfriend, you see.”

Now she lost the battle to remain aloof, and Ted noticed. “I can tell you’re upset,” he said. “Sorry about that. It must be tough if you’re really keen on somebody … and they don’t notice you.”

She tried to look scornful. “I’m not really keen on anybody. I don’t care.”

He looked unbelieving. “Don’t you? You don’t have to pretend with me, Clove. Remember, we’ve known one another since we were six, or whatever.”

She looked at her watch. “I have to go.” But then she added, “Who is she anyway – this girlfriend?” She stumbled on the word girlfriend, and had to repeat it. Ted noticed; she could tell by the way he looked away in embarrassment.

“She’s called Laura,” he said. He turned back to face her. “I can’t stand her myself. He’s only known her since the summer.”

“You don’t like her?”

“Of course not …” He checked himself, but she wondered why he had said of course.

“Why not? Why don’t you like her, Ted?”

He shrugged. “You can’t like everybody. You like some people, and you don’t like others. It’s a matter of …”

“Chemistry?”

“Yeah, sure. Chemistry comes into it.” He played with the handle of his coffee cup. “Chemistry’s important, but there are other things. The things people say, for instance. Their attitude. She’s keen on him – you can tell.”

She tried to keep her voice level. “How?”

“She’s all over him – know what I mean? She looks at him in a really intense way. Like this.” He glared at Clover. “See? What do you call that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s the look. That’s what they call it. The look. You can always tell.”

There was a straw to be clutched at. She heard her friend at school: if you’re keen on a boy, never show it – it’s the quickest way of scaring them. “That sort of look can put people off. Maybe he doesn’t like it. She could be much keener on him than he is on her.”

Ted was doubtful. “I think he likes her – at least that’s the impression I got when he spoke to me. And when I’ve seen them together.” He seemed to consider something. “But then you know how kind he is – he’s always kind to people, isn’t he?”

Yes, it was why she liked him; or one of the reasons for the way she felt: his kindness.

“So maybe he’s just being kind to her?” But then Ted seemed to reject his own suggestion. “No, I don’t think so. I think she’s managed to get him to like her. And then there’s the way she is. She’s really hot. You can tell. I think he likes all that.”

She stared at him. She hated hearing that, and something made her feel that Ted did not like it either, although he was the one who said it.

“Why’s she here?” she asked. People came and went in Cayman; perhaps she would not last.

“Her folks. Her dad has a job here. He’s with one of the American banks, but they’re Canadians themselves. She’s at school in Vancouver. They have different holidays from British schools, but the summer holidays are more or less the same.”

She listened to this carefully, trying to envisage Laura. “Are you sure? How do you know she’s his actual girlfriend?”

“Because he told me.”

“He said he was seeing her?”

Ted smirked. “More than that. He said …”

She cut him short by standing up. “I have to get back.”

“Me too. But what about the party? You can come with me if you like.”

She almost said that she had no interest in going to the party – that she didn’t care about James. But those were not the words that came. Instead, she nodded, and said: “All right.”


They walked back to the supermarket, to meet their mothers. She separated from him at the entrance, saying goodbye without letting him see how upset she was. She felt that he probably knew, anyway, but somehow she wanted to salvage her dignity by not revealing the despair that now engulfed her like a sea-fog, as cold, as dispiriting. He could not have a girlfriend because he belonged to her. She should be his girlfriend, not some girl from Vancouver who had only just met him.

When Amanda saw her, she could tell that something was amiss. “Is it Ted?” she asked. “Did Ted do something to upset you?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t.”

“You look as if you’re about to cry.”

She turned away. “I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“And you should stop being so moody.”

She said nothing. Her mother could not possibly understand. She was an ice maiden when it came to these things; she had no idea, none at all, about how it felt when the only boy you could ever love was seeing some Canadian girl and telling Ted about it. They were standing at the supermarket check-out now, and the woman behind the till was looking expectantly at her mother, waiting for her to unload the cart. The woman had a dull, passive look to her, and behind her, ready to pack the purchases, stood a boy with a scowl. Clover looked through the plate-glass window behind them, out into the supermarket car park; a large white vehicle, a luxury SUV, was pulling up at the kerb. She watched as a young couple got out, and said something to one another, laughed briefly, and then went back to looking bored. That’s the trouble, she thought: everybody here is bored. She did not want that. She wanted something different, and that, she knew, was James. I want him more than anything I’ve ever wanted. I want to be with him. I want to feel him beside me. I want to be far away from everybody else, just with him. I want him to whisper to me and kiss me and tell me all his secrets and that he thinks of me all the time. That’s what I want, and that’s what’s going to happen – it really is. It will happen if I want it hard enough.