Free Sweet by Julie Burchill Page B

sign up saying PLEASE MIND YOUR HANDBAGS!’
    ‘Bloody pikeys,’ I agreed. ‘My mum’s one,’ I added in case he thought I was prejudiced.
    ‘I am too impatient,’ – so am I, mate, so am I! – ‘where instead, I should be grateful for the opportunity just to worship in peace.’ He looked up at me, his eyes narrowed against the sun and something else. ‘You know what I mean?’
    ‘No – why don’t you tell me?’
    ‘Later.’ He laid back then, but he still wasn’t relaxed. Well, he was laying on pebbles. But you know, I just got the feeling he never would be, not even if he was laying back on a hammock made of hardcore cloud, hitched between two solid old stars.
    Well, I knew he was stressing, and I felt for him – I really did. But, on the other hand, surely this was the moment when more than ever he needed to, um, empower himself. So, to help him, I straddled him in one smooth move.
    AND HE PUSHED ME OFF!
    ‘Jeez, man! Don’t BE that guy!’ I sat up and rubbed my left elbow where it was skinned.
    ‘Maria! – SUGAR! – I am SO sorry!’ He grabbed my arm and stared at my elbow. He looked horrified. ‘WHAT HAVE I DONE!’
    ‘It’s no big –’ I started, then thought better of it. It wouldn’t hurt him to feel a bit guilty – I might even get a shag out of it, or even a bag of chips! ‘It HURRRTS!’ I howled.
    ‘Oh, MARIA!’ He threw both arms around me and pulled me close, tucking the top of my head under his chin. It felt nice – pure, but sort of pervy too. ‘I know what it is to be hurt – and now I have hurt you! I am worthless!’
    ‘Steady on!’ A guilt trip was one thing, but having him immobilized by self-loathing was a whole nother speed-bump. Actions speak louder than words in my experience, so I held up my poor elbow right next to his mouth. ‘If you really want to make it up to me, kiss it better.’
    ‘Is another English custom – like when I have to kiss your phone?’ I wouldn’t have bet on it, but I thought I could hear a smile in his voice.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Is Silly Sussex thing?’
    ‘That’s right.’ I held his gaze.
    ‘Really?’ And now he really did smile, with his voice and his mouth and his eyes and everything. He kissed my elbow, ever so gently. ‘I wonder what I must kiss next . . .’
    Reader, I showed him!

 
    10
    Well, it wasn’t exactly pillow talk, what happened afterwards, but then the pebbles weren’t exactly pillows. They were hard and they hurt my head – but not as much as the things Asif told me. I didn’t know much about Pakistan apart from that you’re not meant to call them ‘Pakis’ – as I’d pointed out to little Rajinder. But it turns out that some of them do much worse things to their own people than call them names – much worse.
    It started so hopefully, our ‘afterglow’ – heh heh! – conversation: ‘D’you know what love is, Maria? Shall I tell you?’ – but it ended up with me blubbing like a baby there on the beach, with Asif holding me and rocking me like one. Then when I’d calmed down he got his hanky and cleaned me up and walked me to the bus stop and waited with me till it came. It was still only early afternoon, but when I got home I went straight to my room and got into bed – luckily everyone was out – and just lay there staring at the ceiling, thinking about what Asif had said. Turned out the love he was talking about was his love for Jesus, of all people (now that’s what even I call serious competition), and how just wanting to show this love, by being a Christian, had led to the most unbelievable stuff happening to his lot back in Pakistan – this was apparently what Navdeep had meant when he said, ‘Ask him!’
    Well, in a way I’m glad I did and in another way I wish I hadn’t. I’ve never been that big on religion – when my bastard ex, Mark, used to start banging on about Lutheranism, I used to do this mental thing of trying to calculate and name all the people I’d done the