However, at the end of this year’s Easter holidays, I met her again. She was sitting on the Big Step with Josie. For the first time since primary school she seemed pleased to see me and said how tall I’d got. She asked me all sorts of questions about my school and what I was up to. I forgot to ask her any questions in return, something that often happens when talking with girls. Then, as I was leaving, she said ‘see you later then? At the same time, she turned her head and pushed her hair up. With that glimpse of her neck, everything and more that I had felt for her at primary school came flooding back. I’ve looked for her most weekends since but with school cricket matches on Saturdays and the agony of quiet family Sundays our meetings have been restricted to brief hellos, often in the company of our respective parents.
In the two years since primary school, her face has grown slender, and her cheekbones seem to have moved closer to the surface. I’m struck more powerfully than ever how pretty she is and dismayed to realise that this is what her woman’s face is going to look like. Panic rises in my chest about how much I need to grow up, to catch up, to get better looking. I’ve been checking my own face daily in the mirror. There has been some improvement, but one or two spots seem to have become as permanent as my nose.
She must have been on holiday in Somerset because she’s suntanned and blonde strands streak her light brown hair where it’s brushed past her ears. A pale green cotton frock snugs her slender body from her bony square shoulders down to her waist. Each time she smiles, tiny dimples appear either side of her mouth and I have to catch my breath. Even though she’s so pretty, the boys say they don’t fancy her because she’s flat chested. This has become such an important issue that even ugly girls are OK, if they have tits. I wouldn’t let on to my mates, but I think that if a girl has a face like Sarah’s, breasts are worth waiting for.
‘My dad’s cleaning his car. Would you both like to come and sit in?’
I’d love to get behind the wheel of a Humber, although it’s not one of my favourites. A vertical chrome grille and big headlamps give it a smug, snobby face and it has a fat-arse boot that can swallow not only cases but also the large trunks that wealthy people use. I’ve only ever ridden in cars like the Morris Minor belonging to my aunt in Cumberland, and I can’t wait to get inside a limousine similar to the one used by the Prime Minister, Mr Macmillan.
I’m thinking this as we get up from the Big Step when Josie’s bad leg gives way and she tumbles forward on the pavement. Instead of trying to get up, she rolls onto her back clutching the elbow that has taken the brunt of the fall.
‘Oh Josie,’ says Sarah.
Josie’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Blinking leg … goes to sleep on me.’
Sarah looks at me, expecting me to take action. This makes knowing what to do even harder. Josie doesn’t look as if she wants to be helped up, and touching a girl isn’t so straightforward any more.
Sarah kneels down. ‘Come on Josie, let’s get up.’ She strokes her hair.
Josie doesn’t move and covers her face with her hands. Sarah shrugs and looks to me again.
My cowboy hero, Audie Murphy, would simply lift her in his arms. I don’t know why I always think of Audie in difficult situations because it only highlights everything that I’m not up to doing: punch the baddie; dive into deep water; lift girls off the floor. Anyway, Josie is probably as heavy as I am. Faced with her tears and Sarah’s expectations, I look away to hide my confusion. Then it comes to me: I’ll give her my ‘Norman Wisdom’. This may not be the place for the elbows-out rolling walk or his famous trip, of which I’m especially proud, but I lie beside Josie and prop my head on one hand – a horizontal version of the way Norman leans on walls and other, less solid, objects. I give her the high-pitched voice. ‘Now Mrs, up we get, can’t lie here all day, got an appointment in that nice big car over there.’ Her fingers part and she peeps through to see Norman’s yawning grin and his eyes going up into his head. Her shoulders start shaking.
Sarah frowns before realizing that Josie is chuckling. I roll onto my back, exaggerating Norman’s laughter. Sarah joins in and I feel a little guilty at how much more her laughter means to me than Josie’s. With Sarah’s help, she gets up. From her frock’s short sleeve she pulls out a hanky to dab her eyes and wipe away some tear-snot.
Mr Richards calls over to say it’s OK to sit in the car but only in the back, and not to make a mess as he’s just ‘brushed out’. The girls get in and sit back on the deep bench seat. They pat the space between them for me to sit there too. Mr Richards closes the door and soon has the car rocking gently as he polishes the bonnet. In the carpeted hush, we talk in whispers and before long we fall silent, breathing in the heady mix of car wax and Windolene – and when I squeeze the seat’s soft leather, it releases a faint smell of cigars. Josie puts one hand through the looped strap and waves with the other like the Queen. Then she touches the gleaming ashtray in the door and snatches back her hand when she sees her fingerprints on the chrome.
‘Oops, sorry.’
Sarah smiles and gets up to wipe the ashtray with the hem of her frock.
Mr Richards has moved into the road on Sarah’s side. He squats lower to polish the door and we catch him making a cross-eyed face. We smile but he doesn’t smile back because he had done it only for Sarah. The vertical wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens and he stands up.
‘Blimey, this is smashing,’ says Josie. ‘Fancy being driven in one of these wherever you want to go. He’s got a great job your dad. Will he give us ride?’
Sarah shakes her head. ‘I don’t think so. He’s only taken Mum out a few times, on his way to work.’
Christine and Shirley arrive. Josie’s proud tap on the window is too loud and Mr Richard’s face goes into full frown. The girls wave but don’t stop.
Josie clambers out. ‘Thanks Sarah, see ya.’ Christine and Shirley carry on, shoving each other playfully, unconcerned whether Josie follows or not. She limps after them but stops briefly to wave at us with little shakes of her upright hand that only we can see. Sarah waves back. Josie resumes her struggle to catch up. Then something about the girls’ cruel giggling, their turned backs and their sound legs gets me to my feet. I jump out of the car. ‘Wait a minute, can’t you!’
They stop, glaring, but they wait with eyebrows raised and cheeks sucked in. When Josie reaches them, they set off, arm-in-arm, and as quickly as they can. Once again, Josie struggles to keep up.
I get back in the car. Sarah reaches across me to pull the door shut and I catch what she feels for Josie in her fading smile. I’d give anything for her to feel like this about me.
‘I like Josie,’ she says.
‘Me too.’ This is true, although I wouldn’t normally say so.
‘It was nice what you did for her.’
‘Well, they could see she was trying to catch up.’
‘Yes, but I meant when you rolled on the ground to make her laugh.’
‘Oh.’
‘It was kind.’ She’s talking about me! Silence. My turn to speak, but I can’t. ‘She’s got lovely blue eyes, Josie, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘Like yours.’
Bloody hell Billy, say something! There’s so much I’d like to tell her but my words stick, like too many people trying to get through a door at once. I eventually mumble something about Josie’s trip to the holy place for her face, and how it’s important to have faith.
‘Really?’
‘You know, praying a lot … Josie asked me if I’d say a prayer for her.’
‘And will you?’
I hesitate. ‘Yes, I will.’