Page 11

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PISTACHIO ICE CREAM

I was wrong.

I said it was more appropriate for me to have dressed as the Joaquin Phoenix version of the Joker rather than the Heath Ledger one, but I’m having second thoughts. You see, I think that Phoenix represents someone who’s deeply messed up by his past, while Ledger just commits to a full-out psychopath.

Heath Ledger gives the image of someone who’s quite literally missing the capability of being and feeling normally, like he’s been broken, a switch flicked within him that cannot be switched back. And I think I need to commit to that, like Heath did. I think that’s probably more appropriate.

It’s a shame I didn’t have a purple coat. But hey.

I slam the laptop shut.

‘Who is?’ I shout. ‘Who’s here?’

That twinge of heat, that fleeting thrill, emerges in the pit of my stomach. Could it be Boss? Boss here to fuck me up, like he said?

That could bring terror. That could bring immediate terror. Yes. Yes .

‘It’s Peter,’ Mum says. Huh? Peter? As in , Nice-Neighbour Peter ? Peter who wants to take me on a date. The promise of terror is instantly snuffed out, replaced by an impending sense of this is going to be awkward as hell . For him. I don’t feel awkward. ‘Steve and Paula’s son, Eli. You know Peter—’

‘Yes! Of course I do. Well, how lovely.’ Why do I suddenly sound very posh, just like Peter? ‘What does he want?’

‘He wondered if you’d like to go for a walk…’

‘A walk?’ A walk ? What middle-aged tomfoolery is this? ‘Oh, right… What, now?’

‘Yes, now.’

God. Really? Now? I have to prepare for tonight. ‘But it’s…’ I look up out of my window. ‘Dark.’

‘He said he wants to take you for an ice cream.’

Ice cream? It’s freezing. This guy is very bold. So bold, Peter. ‘But it’s … cold.’

‘Wear a coat, then.’ I’m running out of excuses. Think. Think . I hear Mum sigh. ‘I can tell him no, Eli. He said he just thought you might want to do something together. And it might feel good to be out.’

It might feel good. Feel good .

Wait. Wait . I’ve been so obsessed with feeling bad that feeling good – which I suppose is a feeling – hasn’t really entered the landscape of my side project. Yet.

I stare at the pictures of myself pinned up on the wall opposite my bed. Me, younger. Me, smiling. Me, emoting . Happily.

My brain goes into overdrive.

This could be utilised as an offshoot of my side project. An impromptu opportunity. If I go on this walk with Peter, maybe I’ll feel something good. Maybe I’ll even fall in love. Love . That’s an emotion, isn’t it? An emotion I’ve never felt. Perhaps I’m only broken where it comes to emotions I’ve felt before. Perhaps I can generate a fresh one. Perhaps Peter will save me. Perhaps he’ll unlock my potential of being a fully fleshed, empathetic, emotional, normal human.

It’s not how I saw this evening going, but it might be time to try something new.

‘He’s still here, Eli. Should I tell him to leave?’

I’ll have to keep it short in order to get ready for TraumaLand, but hopefully it’s possible to fall in love in the space of thirty minutes, max. Should be doable. I bet it is. And Peter is handsome. So I’ve been told, many times, by my mother. ‘Um… No.’

‘No?’

‘No. I’ll come up, Mum.’

‘Oh! OK. OK . Wonderful, darling.’ I can hear her trying to stifle her excitement. ‘I’ll tell him to wait on the porch.’

Shit. I jump up from the bed.

OK. A walk. A walk- date . What does one wear on a walk-date? A hat. A nice hat to cover my messy head. Shame it won’t keep what’s inside it hidden, but one can hope. I swap my hoodie for a big, woollen jumper – no time for a T-shirt – and my jeans. I look at myself in the mirror and point. Hey. Hey, you .

OK, no. That’s gross.

I bound up the stairs. When I open the door, Mum is still hovering outside.

‘Hey,’ I say. Oh, OK, Dad is here too. And Lucas, lurking in the dining-room doorway still holding his fork. They’re all here. Fun. ‘Everyone OK?’ Lucas is looking at me funny. ‘Why are you looking at me funny, Lucas?’

He shrugs. ‘Oh, nothing. Just…’ He points his fork at me. ‘Little Broski, overcoming his past, moving on with his life. I’m proud of you.’

‘Calm down, it’s just an ice cream.’ There’s a long pause as they stare at me, smiles fixed. ‘OK! Well, this hallway family meeting has been sufficiently needless.’

‘You two seem to have a nice spark,’ Mum says, eyes bright. ‘You and Peter.’

I’m pretty sure she’s never seen us together. ‘Um… Yeah. Sure.’

‘He’s very charming.’

Is he? ‘He is.’

They wait for me to say something. ‘OK, so I’m going to leave now.’

‘Yes! Don’t let us keep you,’ Mum says.

‘Thanks. I hope you all have a wonderful evening and manage to make it back to the dining table before your pudding goes cold.’

‘Just have fun, son. Try and enjoy yourself.’

‘Will do!’

I step out on to the porch and pull the door shut behind me, closing it firmly on my family.

‘Hi, Eli.’

Standing on the tiled path by the rhododendron bushes, hair gelled, smelling of cologne, is Peter. He looks really sweet. If I had a heart, it might break.

‘Hi.’ Try and sound warm. Warm is good . ‘You look nice.’ OK not like that – that sounds like a creepy Sunday school teacher. ‘I like your shirt.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ He self-consciously pushes his fringe out of his eyes. He’s wearing one of those distressed light-brown shirts on top of a large white T-shirt with wide jeans. The whole outfit probably cost more than a car, but looks like he found it in a bin, which I think is the point.

Say something. Anything .

‘Ice cream,’ is all I can think of. I blurt it out loudly. He looks a little startled. He’s quite a bit taller than me. Six foot? ‘Ice cream tonight?’

‘Um… Yeah, there’s a new dessert shop opened on the Broadway. You fancy it?’ His hair is all swooshy, like an American jock.

‘Sure, sounds great.’

He nods. ‘Great.’

I don’t fancy him. That much I know. I can see he’s objectively very handsome, but I don’t feel anything. Maybe that will change. He still has half an hour to cure me.

‘I have half an hour,’ I say, to be clear.

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Just a quickie, then.’

I think he’s tried to make a joke, so I laugh. ‘Ha!’ His mouth screws up a bit and his brow furrows. I don’t feel uncomfortable because I can’t, but he sure as shit looks it. Never mind. ‘Let’s get to it, then! A lot can be achieved in thirty minutes!’

It’s true. It can. I hope. Please cure me, Peter.

We walk down the path, side by side, and out of the gate where Nisha nearly stabbed me. We take a right up the hill, moving in and out of the pools of light from the street lamps. His arm keeps brushing mine. Every time it does, I try and notice any sort of … tingling – sexual chemistry, emotional connection, love, love, love – when our arms meet. But all I feel is the itchiness of my jumper against my skin.

Maybe I should try and hold his hand? That’s what people who are in love do, isn’t it? Fuck it.

In the name of Love, I brush my fingers against his. This is the kind of thing song lyrics talk about. He quickly pushes his hand into his jacket pocket.

‘Sorry,’ I say.

He gives an uncomfortable laugh, more a snort. ‘It’s all right.’

As we near the top of the hill, just before the Broadway, he stops.

‘So, where’s this dessert place?’ I say. Maybe I should feed him some of my ice cream. That’s what they do in the films.

‘One sec,’ he says. I glance back to see he’s leaning against a lamppost. He doesn’t answer my question, just looks me up and down. Maybe he’s about to snog me? People do that under lampposts, don’t they? Then fall madly in—

‘What was it like?’ he says, lowering his voice.

‘Huh?’

He makes that snort-laugh again and points to the scar on my forehead. ‘The crash.’

‘Oh, that.’ Is this conversational foreplay? ‘Well, it was…’ Oh, wait, I have no idea. Maybe a visual representation is better. ‘Do you want to see my other scars?’

Maybe they’re hot. Maybe Peter is into that.

I see his features contort into a small grimace. ‘You’re kind of strange, aren’t you?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Just… You’re strange. I heard that before you moved here you were different.’ He looks all shadowy beneath the yellow light. ‘What were you like before the crash?’

‘What was I like ?’

‘Yeah. Don’t take this the wrong way, you just seem a bit of a robot.’ In his defence, I might actually think that’s quite cool – being a robot – if I wasn’t so desperately in need of feeling more human. ‘Have you always been like that?’

‘No. I don’t think so. Sorry.’

‘Sorry? What for?’

Not entirely sure. ‘Sorry … that I haven’t been a robot from birth.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘So, you just—’

‘I just wanted to know if this is you, or a product of the crash.’

Jesus, it seems ice-cream dates are really not about the ice cream. ‘It’s a product of what happened, yeah. But I’m fine. Totally fine. Sorry if I don’t seem—’

‘Stop apologising.’

‘Right – yes. Sorry.’

‘Stop,’ he says forcefully. That’s OK. Perhaps this is all part of the excitement. Yes . The heat of the moment giving way to passionate responses. Maybe this is how love begins. Peter, you dark horse. ‘Someone told me you killed a cat.’

‘Excuse me? I love cats—’

‘Dan. The chef you work with. Saw him in the pub the other night. He said you kill animals and stuff.’

‘Wait. What?’

‘And I dunno… That’s a bit weird, Eli. A bit messed up. But you’ve kind of got that vibe. And the thing is, I can’t tell if that’s what you want – to appear a certain way for shock value, to appear edgy or cool. Or if you genuinely have no idea how you come across.’ He runs his hand through his hair. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way –’ why does he keep saying that? – ‘and it wasn’t me who said it, it was Dan. But…’ He looks up at the night sky.

Is that the end? The end of the conversational foreplay? OK. So… Not sure this date is going super well . Not feeling super sexy . Yet… There’s still time.

‘What did Dan say?’ My voice is monotone. Just like a robot, damn it.

He doesn’t look at me. ‘He said it’s like you’ve turned into one of those guys from a Netflix documentary that ends up in prison because body parts are found under his floorboards.’

Oh. ‘Well, that’s … mean.’

He scuffs his feet. Then, after a long pause. ‘Your brother Lucas was there.’

‘Huh?’

‘At the pub the other night. He got annoyed at Dan.’

‘Oh… Right.’

‘He was very drunk.’

‘Dan was?’

‘No, Lucas.’

‘Right.’ That’s not like Lucas.

‘And then he started…’ Peter trails off. He shifts uncomfortably.

‘He started what?’

‘He started getting mad, telling Dan to keep his mouth shut.’ Thank you, Lucas. ‘He was slurring something – blind drunk – I only caught a bit of it.’ He narrows his eyes as if trying to remember. ‘He said no one knows the truth.’ He pauses, thinking for a moment. ‘And then I swear I heard him say that not even you know the truth. And that you never will.’

‘Well… People thought that. But I do know it now.’

‘He looked scared, your brother. Upset. And very angry.’

Protective. ‘Well, yeah. I was confused about what happened for a while.’ Peter doesn’t react. ‘But I’ve worked through it with my therapist. And now I know.’

‘Well, that’s good, Eli.’ Is it? Is it good? ‘You seem normal.’ He raises one eyebrow.

I feel a shift inside my chest, an immediate and desperate need . My mouth moves before I can stop it. ‘Have you ever been in love, Peter?’

He looks up at me, startled. Like he might lose his balance. ‘Huh?’

I step towards him. ‘What does love feel like?’

He steps sideways, away from the lamppost, away from me. ‘Um… I dunno, Eli. That’s very random.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why? We’re on a date, aren’t we?’

Something appears in his eyes. A flash of terror. And I want it. ‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘This isn’t a date, Eli.’ He then mumbles under his breath. ‘This is definitely not a date.’

‘So, you’re here to gawk at me?’

‘Huh?’

‘At the robot?’

He swallows, hard. ‘What? No—’

‘Ice cream is a date. You don’t have to be a human to understand that.’

I step towards him again.

He steps back. Runs his hand through his hair again. ‘All right, Eli. Look, I’m sorry—’

‘Now you ’ re apologising. Stop it.’

‘I just … don’t want to upset you.’ His voice is quieter now as I keep stepping forwards and he keeps stepping back, down the slope of the hill. ‘So, you’ve never felt love?’

‘What are you talking about? Can you just … back off a little?’

I quicken my pace. He speeds up. ‘Just answer me.’

His eyes widen. ‘Fine. No. I’ve not been in love, Eli. I’m seventeen. No one’s been in love at seventeen.’

He thinks I’m ridiculous. I can hear it in his voice. Maybe I am.

‘Same,’ I say. He frowns. ‘Same, same. I’m seventeen and I’ve never been in love either.’ I raise my hand and click my fingers. ‘Snap.’ His body makes a small jolt.

‘Jesus,’ he whispers. He turns to see how far he has to go until he’s back in the safety of his parents’ arms.

I don’t want to scare him. I don’t. But actually, I really, really do. There’s something about seeing it on his face, beneath his skin, that’s pulling me towards him. I can almost smell his fear and like a vampire – a ghost vampire – I want to suck it all out of him. I want to keep it. To let it live within me. What ’ s it like?

‘Are you OK? You look scared,’ I say.

He keeps his eyes on my face, too afraid to turn his back to me. That ’ s it . ‘Just… Let’s leave it, Eli.’

I quicken my pace, gaining ground. ‘Why did you invite me for ice cream?’

‘I… I just think you’re interesting,’ he says, nearly tripping backwards. ‘You’re hard to make sense of.’ I laugh, loudly. Not because it’s funny, but because I want to shit him up a bit more. He flinches.

‘This is all quite hard to make sense of,’ he mumbles.

‘This is hard for you to make sense of?’ I add bite to my words, for effect.

He puts his hand out towards me like a defence barrier. ‘I don’t know, Eli. Can you… Can you stop moving for a minute?’

‘I’m just walking home. Like you. Why are you in such a rush? We didn’t get our ice cream.’

‘Christ.’ Peter is panicking now. Panic . ‘My parents are worried that I’m even here with you.’

I knew it. I never liked Steve and Paula. ‘Maybe they should be.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It was your mum and dad who wanted this to happen.’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah. They’ve been trying to get me to date you for weeks. Your mum even offered me some kind of internship with her work.’

‘ What? ’

‘Look, Eli. I think you’re great. Really great.’ Oh, he’s grovelling now. Sadly, ghost vampires hate that. It only spurs them on. ‘And I don’t want you to take this the wrong way…’ Here he goes again. ‘But I just wanted to see if—’

‘See if what?’ He goes to reply, but the words get caught in his throat. ‘See if what, Peter? If I’m a psychopath ?’

I suddenly stop and his eyes widen. Then I bark like a dog.

I laugh as his entire body spasms.

‘Jesus, Eli. What the hell are you doing ?’

‘Having fun. Dates should be fun.’ I mean, I assume. Never been on one.

He’s nearly at his front door now. He turns his head to check.

‘I don’t have floorboards.’

‘What?’

‘In my bedroom. To hide bodies under. I have concrete. I live in the cellar.’ He nods like yeah, OK, that ’ s fine, forget I even said it … ‘You can come and see, if you like?’

‘It’s getting late.’

‘It’s six thirty.’

‘Well, yeah. But I’d better get inside… It’s been nice, though.’

‘It has, hasn’t it? So nice.’

He’s made it to his garden gate now. I smell his relief.

‘OK, Eli. Jesus. Dan was right. You are a freak.’ With that, he turns and heads up the pathway towards his house. My chances of feeling love disappear with him into the shadows of the porch.

I hear Peter slam his front door, then I head for home.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that went rather well for a first date.

‘Oh! Hi, darling!’ Mum calls as she hears me come in. She sounds a little surprised. ‘That was quick!’

‘Hi!’ I shout, bright and cheery. I kick off my shoes. Casual. Casual .

‘We’re in the living room!’

I can hear my dad’s voice too, but I realise it’s coming from the TV. I poke my head round the door.

They’re all here, sprawled out on the sofa watching the news. Dad is on the screen, speaking to a bunch of people in the House of Commons. He looks very assured. Very passionate. Lucas looks at me and frowns. Dad – my real dad, not the telly dad – turns his tired eyes to me.

‘It was just a quickie,’ I say, trying the same joke Peter used. It doesn’t land, just like Peter’s didn’t.

‘How did it go?’ Lucas says.

‘Yeah, it was nice. He’s nice.’

Mum smiles and stands. ‘He is, isn’t he?’ She joins me in the doorway. ‘Did it feel good?’ she asks hopefully, studying my face.

Feel good . I have no idea what that means. ‘Yes,’ I say absently. Like a robot, I suppose. ‘It felt good.’

‘Did you get ice cream?’

‘Pistachio.’

‘Cute,’ Lucas says.

‘I’m proud of you for going.’ Mum puts her hand on my shoulder. I can smell lavender, fresh and clean. ‘It’s lovely to see the Eli we know coming back to us. After everything. Coming back to your old self, aren’t you?’

Peter was right. Not about the animal killing – that never happened. Like I said, I’m a cat person. But he was right about one thing: I am strange.

I turn away from my family as they stare after me and head for my cellar to instigate my original plan. Because I don’t have any other options now.

No more procrastinating. I must follow the fucked-up bunny.

It’s my last chance.

My last hope.