We Come Apart Page 9

  VERY KIND

  In library peoples are always giving Ms Nimmo the headache

  because they don’t stay in silence

  or

  they are giggling to their phones.

  But Ms Nimmo doesn’t do crazy off her nut at them.

  Always she remain cool calm.

  She smile,

  throws eyes to sky,

  tuts lips,

  but never crazy nuts.

  One day Ms Nimmo asked me about good things of Cluj,

  the big city near Pata.

  She sit with face near me.

  I tell to her lots about my city:

  our dramatic sun,

  our photo panoramic,

  our church cathedral.

  ‘Wow, I must go one day. It sounds beautiful, Nicu,’ she say.

  And she grinning.

  On other day

  she ask me to help lift

  heavy box into office.

  ‘You’re very kind, Nicu,’ she say. ‘Very kind indeed.’

  And I grinning.

  Today she say, ‘You don’t seem yourself, Nicu.

  Everything OK?’

  And even though I hearing only lies and jangle voices

  inside my head,

  I seeing too

  Jess being my defence.

  And I grin

  the most

  than ever before.

  Where Nicu Lives

  ‘You sure they won’t get

  back early?’ I say,

  as Nicu turns the key

  in his front door

  and we step straight into his living room.

  A kitchen runs along one of the walls.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jess.

  Dad working

  and Mum shopping to find bargains.’

  The flat smells clean.

  All the furniture is brown.

  ‘I just don’t want them going

  nuts if

  they find us

  here,’ I say.

  ‘They go nuts only if

  they finding us

  doing sex,’

  he says.

  ‘Idiot,’ I say,

  but can’t help snorting

  into my hand,

  trying to muffle the sound

  like there could be someone else

  at home.

  I follow Nicu across the room

  where he

  opens the fridge and hands me a cold Coke.

  I peer inside,

  clock a big Tupperware box

  filled with what look like sausage rolls.

  ‘What are they?’ I ask.

  He takes out the box and opens it.

  ‘Mum make herself.

  Better than buying.’

  ‘Yeah, but what are they?’

  ‘It called sarmale. You never hear?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Very tasty.

  I make one for you.’

  He grabs a mushroom-coloured bowl from the countertop

  and carefully

  puts two rolls into it.

  I wander away,

  sit on the sofa,

  stare at the coffee table

  and the gleaming glass ashtray in the centre of it.

  ‘Your parents smoke?’ I ask.

  Nicu looks over at me,

  his eyes soft,

  his lips pressed together.

  ‘Dad smoking always.

  It make Mum

  so annoying.’

  I laugh,

  consider taking out my own fags

  and lighting up,

  but I don’t

  cos I know Nicu

  wouldn’t like it.

  The only other thing on the coffee table is a photo

  of a girl

  in a flowery headscarf,

  two plaits woven with coloured ribbons

  at the front of her face.

  She’s pretty,

  maybe our age,

  maybe a bit older,

  but she’s staring into the lens

  like it’s a mugshot.

  ‘This your sister?’ I ask,

  and wave the photo at him.

  Nicu comes towards me holding the bowl.

  He stops and stares.

  ‘No,’ he says,

  ‘she not my sister.’

  He puts down the bowl,

  looks at his feet.

  ‘Shit, she isn’t your dead girlfriend or anything, is she?’

  I ask.

  But he’s not laughing.

  He looks at me again.

  ‘Is not my fault,’ he says.

  ‘I not choose her.’

  ‘What you on about, Nicu?’

  ‘They choose wife for me,’ he says.

  ‘What? Who did?’

  ‘Parents.

  This girl in photo is name Florica.

  She is the choose.’

  ‘Wait a minute, so you’re telling me that she’s …’

  ‘Florica is the wife choose.’

  ‘Sorry, what? Your wife?’

  ‘No, no. She is becoming wife after wedding.’

  The rolls are steaming in the bowl.

  I’m starving but

  I suddenly don’t like the look of them.

  ‘My wedding.

  They want us to getting married in nineteen days.’

  SAD WAVES

  After I telling to Jess

  story of Florica,

  story of my cultures,

  the gloom wave is over us.

  I know she takes it hard to understanding

  our ways,

  our young age weddings,

  our sarmale.

  I finding it seriously hard too.

  Life in England

  make it all harder.

  Jess make it the hardest.

  Nineteen Days

  Who cares he’s getting married?

  It’s not like I wanted to marry him.

  It’s not like I even fancy him.

  He’s a friend.

  He can do whatever he likes.

  But what sort of parents make their

  kid marry someone they don’t even know?

  I keep thinking he’s just like me,

  that we get each other,

  but I don’t get this.

  What is this?

  It’s bullshit, is what it is.

  Nineteen days?

  He can’t though.

  He just can’t.

  DREAMLAND

  And I dreaming of you last night,

  but my eyes don’t close for sleeping,

  and it raining in my stomach,

  and it storming in my heart.

  And I thinking.

  Thinking.

  Thinking

  of

  us

  together

  for ever

  and ever.

  We never get lost

  and

  when I wake

  I fear that our love will never be

  found.

  Unheard

  Shadows moving behind the front door.

  A leg,

  a head,

  and I hear it too,

  a thud,

  a scream

  and when I go in

  Mum’s lying in the hallway,

  blood seeping into the rug,

  Terry standing over her,

  his phone on the hall table.

  I’m afraid to help Mum.

  But I can’t just stand here and do nothing.

  I can’t be his accomplice any more.

  ‘I’ll call the police

  if you touch her again,’ I say.

  My voice wobbles.

  I know she’s in for it now,

  and that my big mouth has caused it.

  But I’m wrong.

  Terry sniggers,

  looks like he’s been expecting me to say

  something like this,

  and in
one sharp movement

  his hand is around my neck,

  pressing me up against the wall.

  ‘You speak to me like that again

  and I’ll give you something

  to go to the police about.

  You hear me … sweetheart?’

  he hisses.

  I can’t breathe.

  He holds me there,

  squeezes.

  ‘Now fuck off!’ he shouts,

  and pushes me away.

  I walk backwards to my room.

  ‘Mum,’ I croak.

  I don’t think she hears me.

  SWISS ARMY

  At the swan pond

  we have throwing bread competition.

  I throw most far,

  my swan swim

  fastest.

  I am winner.

  ‘All right, Nicu, calm down,’ Jess say.

  ‘I win prize?’ I say.

  Jess dig deep into her bag.

  ‘Here,’ she say, holding big green apple.

  ‘Not exactly a gold medal, but it is a Golden Delicious.’

  ‘We share it,’ I say.

  Jess toss apple high. ‘It’s all yours.’

  I catch one-hand. ‘No, we share.’

  ‘It’s all right, really.’

  ‘I insisting,’ I say.

  I do my own deep dig,

  take out my

  Swiss Army,

  flick open

  knife section.

  ‘Jesus, Nicu,’ Jess say.

  ‘What? Swiss Army for surviving in wilderness

  not for being town hooligan.’

  ‘Right.’

  I chuck Jess piece.

  She catch one-hand.

  When apple hitting our mouths

  we look each other,

  we nod each other,

  we agreeing.

  It true golden moment.

  But gold moment like these

  always

  have black shadow in ceiling,

  always

  have thick fog in feeling,

  always

  have wedding and X day in my head.

  And I can’t to enjoying our

  apple time.

  Transformation

  I find a long piece of orange ribbon

  Mum used to wrap the present she bought me

  for my last birthday,

  and cut the length of it

  in two.

  Then I thread the pieces through my hair

  and into long plaits

  which lie against my face.

  I take a towel from the radiator

  in the bathroom

  and wrap the back of my head in it,

  try turning myself into the girl from the photo,

  Florica – his wife in two weeks –

  but I’m too pale to pass for her.

  I’m studying my creation in my phone

  when Mum comes into the room

  looking for her hairdryer.

  She blinks.

  ‘Oh, you look nice,’ she says.

  I yank the towel off my head,

  chuck it on the floor.

  ‘I look ridiculous.’

  ‘No. You look different.

  Colourful.

  You look pretty, Jess.’

  She has sad eyes:

  even when she’s trying to be cheerful

  she’s a picture of misery.

  I untie the plaits,

  pull out the ribbons.

  ‘Shut up, Mum.

  I look like a dog

  and we both know it.’

  BEWARE THE SILENCE

  I curse myself

  because it best to take

  the end urinal for to

  pee.

  Not

  middle one.

  Stupid!

  Here Dan and crew

  can make easy

  human sandwich

  of me.

  Here I can’t escape them

  because I peeing

  streams and rivers.

  Dan and henchman

  say no swear,

  do no shoulder pushing.

  They let me pee.

  I listening to splash from urinal,

  sound of water fall

  and

  echo of our three

  sounds.

  I hearing crew breathings,

  their whisper and laughing.

  Like all is normal,

  all is fine.

  No speaking assaults.

  No threaten.

  No wicked eye.

  It is worser.

  It hitting my knee,

  thigh,

  shin.

  Dan shake dry and exit with henchman.

  When I hearing his giggle outside door

  my body entire tremble.

  I Used to Walk to School with Meg

  Not now.

  I message Meg most mornings to say

  I’m gonna be late,

  I’m still in bed,

  I’m not well,

  so that she walks on without me,

  and I prefer it.

  I way prefer not having to make

  small talk

  with

  someone

  I wouldn’t touch

  to scratch.

  PING

  My phone pinging,

  Jess messaging

  all times.

  Question

  Wanna go cinema?

  J x

  TOUCHING

  We go to cinema to see

  funny movie

  romcom.

  Jess show me how to sneaking past

  without ticket buying.

  In movie we drinking

  massive Fanta.

  We sharing

  bucket popcorn.

  In movie we touching

  elbows together:

  gentleness,

  delightness.

  And it feel like

  voltage

  speeding through my body.

  Proper Dates

  We’re going on dates now.

  Like, proper dates.

  But what’s the point?

  DEEP GUILT

  If Mămică and Tata

  find out that I dating with Jess

  their mercury hit sky high.

  If family of Florica

  finding out this,

  they make sausages from me,

  put extra cash charge on Tata.

  Whole lots of shit

  hit

  fan.

  I should to feel

  in the deepest of

  guilt

  for being with Jess,

  but

  I don’t.

  I will never.

  Know Each Other Better

  Terry’s sitting on my bed

  flicking through a battered copy of

  Matilda.

  He grins when I come in.

  I’m not sure what he wants.

  ‘All right?’ he asks.

  He closes the book,

  leans forward and

  carefully puts it

  back on the shelf

  between a scrapbook

  and some old CDs

  Liam gave me years ago.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says.

  ‘You and me never do anything together.

  We should start.

  We should get to know each other better.’

  I take an almost invisible step

  back

  into the hall.

  ‘You’ve known me since I was eight, Terry,’ I say,

  as happily as I can.

  He nods, stands, comes forward

  and takes my hand

  so he can pull me into the room,

  then

  uses a foot to kick the door closed.

  ‘Yeah, I know that.

  But when you’re a teenager you change, don’t you?

  I’ve seen
the changes in you.

  I wanna get to know who you are now.’

  He sits back down on the bed

  and cos

  he has my hand, I’ve got no choice but to

  sit down too,

  when what I really want to do

  is run,

  get out of that room

  as quick as I can.

  But why am I suddenly so afraid?

  Terry’s never hit me.

  He’s never put me in one of his films.

  ‘Maybe we could go swimming or something,’ he says.

  ‘Do you like swimming?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Maybe you’d be shy in a bikini though.’

  ‘I don’t know, Terry.’

  ‘Nah, it’s hard to know how you’d feel

  about that sort of thing until the

  time comes.’

  He pats my knee

  then

  goes to the door.

  ‘We’ll find something fun to do.

  Just don’t tell your mum.

  You know what a sulk she is

  when she thinks

  we’ve ganged up against her.’

  He closes the door.

  I stare at it

  and know only

  one thing: