2. Sarah McElroy
"Just bloody leave it Mum, I'll see whoever like!" I said, slamming the door behind me as I stormed out of my mother's flat and stomped loudly down the staircase; I'd have got the lift but hanging around for it to show up (if it ever did) would have significantly weakened my dramatic exit and therefore my argument. Arguments with my Mum fit nicely into three categories. Number one was chores. Had I done them? When was I going to do them? Did I have any idea how little I was expected to do? Number two was work. Have you got a job yet? When are you going to get a job? Sarah, will you get off your arse and go down to the bloody Jobcentre and find something? And category three, my friends. Did you know Claire smokes? You're not seeing that boy again are you? Why don't you ever say hello to that nice girl down the hall? Now she certainly doesn't smoke!
Today's argument was of course a category three and centred round the "that boy" end of things. The boy in question was Liam James, a mate of mine who'd been knocking around since year 9 and was indisputably my best friend. My mum historically is opposed to any friends I made at my secondary school between years 8 and 11 because they were a "corrupting influence" but privately I think the "corrupting" title probably belongs to me. Her opinion is largely based on what became affectionately known as the Cow Catastrophe of 1978 in which my friends and I broke into the school on the last day of year 11 and led a cow from a local urban farm up to the 6th form common room. We thought it would be funny, and indeed it was; it took three hours, five teachers, an angry farmer and a ramp to get the cow down. Unfortunately however, we were spotted by a local, reported to the school and told we wouldn't be allowed back next year. Mum moved us away shortly after.
I've never gone back to school to do my A levels and I have no doubt that's her greatest regret. As with many parents in our part of London, her utmost desire is to see me get a decent education, a good job and be able to move somewhere better. It is for that reason she resents me seeing Liam or anyone that she thinks stopped me finishing my education. It wasn't them that held me back though. The truth of the matter is, I wasn't particularly interested in getting straight As or anything like that then and I'm not really now. It's not that I'm not smart; I passed the 11+ and went to grammar school, I'm just not interested in doing two more years of rote learning and pointless testing for a desk job. What I'd really like to do is write but as I'm constantly being reminded, there's no such thing as aspirational thinking in crumbling council houses in the arsehole of London. What there is, if you don't get your qualifications, is the factory or secretarial work.
By this point, I'd battled my way onto the underground and was sandwiched between someone's disproportionately big backpack and an armpit. As the train juddered to a start I thanked my lucky stars I was only going two stops. I distracted myself from the smell of the underarm and the hacking of a young woman's faintly consumptive cough by reading the adverts plastered above our heads. Apparently I could feed six goats in Kenya and travel to Calais for about the same price. Who knew? Growing bored, I studied those around me, quickly becoming fixated on the gentle movement of an old man's nose hair as he breathed in and out. It was captivating in a strange fashion and I couldn't look away until he purposefully cleared his throat. I smiled in apology and looked down, continuing my journey in that fashion, losing myself in thoughts of seeing Liam later. It was odd I supposed looking forward to meeting someone you had a purely platonic relationship with so much but I did. There'd never really been anything romantic about me and Liam, or in our minds at least. Of course there'd been rumours but none of them were true. We met when some older boys were shaking him down for his lunch money and I pulled him out of the mud. We'd been basically inseparable since, or until Mum moved us away anyway. Liam was a trouble magnet. If there was a fight, Liam would be at its centre. If there was a party that got a bit too out of control, you could count on Liam to be there. I do see my mum's point but he never really asked for any of that. Smiley, cheeky and charming, people were drawn to him and I suppose trouble was too. There was never a dull moment with Liam about.
Battling my way up the escalator, there were butterflies in my stomach. He called me up the other day and asked me to meet him in this pub, said he had something to ask me. The pub was a bit out of the way but I found I really didn't care. I smiled to myself as I left the station, hesitating on the corner to get my bearings, distracted by thoughts of a wide smile, dark hair and bright eyes. Even the hammering rain couldn't dull my nervous excitement. Not that I fancied him or anything.
I turned my collar up against the rain, dodging out of the way of a man in a strange sort of dress thing sprinting past me and round the corner. He was clearly upset. I don't think I've ever seen someone that enraged and obviously broken before. Curious, I picked up my pace to see where this distressed man in a dress was going but as I turned into the street I didn't have time to blink before a wall of light hit me.