Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"We've got something to show you!"

Mum had pounced on me the moment I'd walked in through the front door, using a hushed and excited tone that could only mean a baby, or maybe a puppy, awaited me the other side of the lounge door. She was wearing jogging bottoms and a matching top in garish green which had en vogue emblazoned across the front, as though saying it in French made it true.

She put her finger to her lips to ensure my silence and led me in.

Keith was sitting on the sofa, his hair blonder than usual, which meant he must have had his highlights done. He was staring, dewy-eyed, at a black rectangular block on the coffee table.

"Is that a mobile phone?" I asked.

He nodded. "Motorola. Isn't she a beauty? Set me back fifty quid, but this, this, Jamie, is the future. I can theoretically be anywhere in the country with this: on the road, in a field, any town, any city, and you could call the number and you'd be able to speak to me."

I glanced at it. "Can we phone it now?"

"Unfortunately not. Cellnet don't have any reception here, but parts of Lincoln have some, and there's a patch on the A46."

"Oh. Right."

"Tell him how many phone numbers you can store in it, Keith!" Mum piped up.

"Fifty phone numbers!"

I nodded.

"Good battery too – standby time is ten hours, or a full hour if you're actually talking on it."

I supposed it was pretty impressive. The idea of being able to have a conversation with someone else, and not be tethered to the phone line in the lounge so everyone could hear what you were saying, was certainly appealing. How many times had Mum moaned about me chatting on the phone to Beth "about nothing"? It wasn't nothing; it was usually English homework, or some drama at school, but how much better it would be if I didn't have to monitor what I was saying all the time? Privacy! My god. Even so, I wasn't quite as in awe as Keith and Mum were, but I managed "It's beautiful!", which Keith seemed to appreciate. However, as he started demonstrating how the aerial pulled out of the top of it and talking about a function that was being developed (but wasn't available yet) where you could send a short typed message to another mobile phone, I zoned out. Not that I didn't want to live in the future, or anything, it was just the now was feeling pretty exciting as it was.

Close-up: me, Jamie Hampton, eyes glazed over, a fixed expression on my face.

The image blurs. Shapes, colours, but no definition.

The sound becomes incoherent, just vague tones and noises. Keith droning on. Mum's occasional giggles.

And POP! We're inside my head.

The notes between me and Mystery Pen Pal have been going on for a while. Soon, we progress to late-night telephone calls … using mobile phones which we both have. I can talk with him under the duvet and it's like he's there with me, except he's not, so it isn't weird or anything. In time, we progress to meeting up in person. We lie on my bed and we talk – not about school, but about big stuff. The future. Hopes and dreams. Sometimes I put my arm around him as we lie there; it's not weird, it doesn't mean anything like that, it's just caring, and it's OK, we'd just never do it in front of anyone at school because people would get the wrong idea. One day, we go out on a lake … a rowboat … it's a warm afternoon with a gentle, sweet breeze… The water is calm, just the splash and ripples from the oars as he rows us to the middle of the lake. And then stillness, silence, peace. As he pulls the oars in, we lie back in the boat, and we just … drift … timeless … infinite … staring up into all that beautiful possibility…

"Jamie?"

I was back in the room.

"Did you even hear what I was saying?" Mum asked.

I released a breath. "Sorry. I was miles away."

"Your dad's had to cancel seeing you this weekend. He's got to be in Manchester, apparently."

My breath caught. This was meant to be my chance to nail him down about Speak No Monkey. I still hadn't been able to get hold of him on the phone, since he never seemed to be at home (something else a mobile phone would solve!) and I needed answers.

"OK," I said, weighing up how I was going to deal with this.

"Very magnanimous of you, Jamie," Keith said with a sniff. "Personally, I think a good measure of a man is his ability to keep his word."

"Yes, all right, Keith," Mum said.

"You can come fishing with me, if you like?"

"Thanks, but I'll be OK."

"Go on, Jamie," Mum said. "It might be nice to go fishing."

"I … can't fish."

"I can teach you!" Keith smiled. "Be good to have some time together, just the men. Chew the fat. Your mum tells me you've been lacking a male role model."

I glanced at my treacherous mother and saw that fixed smile on her face, as always. Seriously, I could have told her Russia had launched the nukes at us, and I swear her expression wouldn't falter. "I'll think about it. I might have something, I don't know, but thanks."

I retreated to the safety of my bedroom while Keith went to stand in the garden, his mobile phone in one hand and a wire coat hanger in the other, to see if he could entice any reception our way.

I pulled the notebook out from under my desk drawers and wrote down the story so far, before adding:

I had a nice girlfriend. I really enjoyed spending time with her. In fact, he had a girlfriend too. In that sense, we were regular guys. But we also had each other. And with each other we could talk about anything, and just be there for each other, in a way no one else could. Real, true friendship. That could never be broken. I'd often joked with Beth about weddings, disparaging married couples who say they've found their "other half". How sad, I'd thought, that you are not enough as you are. Yet, being with him, I realize something. I was missing something myself. I was incomplete. Part of me was empty, and now, with him, it's there. And it feels so good.

I put my pen down and reread my words. I was pretty pleased with them. It was a nice story. Comforting.

I glanced up at Electra, half expecting her to say "Play it cool!" or "Don't come across as too needy and scare him away", but she was silent.

I read my words again, the shame starting to seep in with every sentence, and every cloyingly pathetic moment. It didn't matter how many times I'd emphasized we were just friends, it felt like I was protesting too much, and the more I read, the more disgusted I felt with myself. This wasn't normal. Normal boys don't lie next to each other, talking and cuddling. The boys who do that are the boys they talk about in the newspapers, and they are despised, and dirty, and usually end up dead.

Why couldn't I just be friends with a boy and it be normal?

I grabbed my pen and scratched it all out. Violently. Hard. The paper tearing as I forced the nib down, destroying every single word.

No one must ever read this.

And I had to stop thinking it.

Pervert, I told myself.