REMAIN THE SAME

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THE BEST FIREWORKS THIS SIDE OF BROMLEY (2)

-x-

'I mean, why, Spike? Why undermine me every single time I try to establish any kind of control over my own damn staff?'

Spike considered hanging up his jacket, but even with the blow heaters on full blast it was still freezing in the Samaritans office. He decided to keep it on instead.

'All I did was disagree with you, Lynda.'

'Exactly. Disagreeing. Loudly, and with intent to cause further disagreement.'

'Not scared of a little rational debate, are ya?'

Lynda sat in her chair, torturing her headset. 'Who's scared? I simply won't stand for it, that's all. Not on My Time.'

'Remind me again why you volunteered for this, again, Lynda. Because I'm starting to suspect it was just to get more time to yell at me.'

'Nonsense. I did it out of the goodness of my heart.'

'You don't have a heart.'

'Got yours, haven't I?'

Spike shot her a glance. There was that bitten down little smile at the corners of her lips again, laughing at him and with him all at the same time. Dammit!

'God, I wish you wouldn't do that.' He forced down a smile of his own. 'Now I can't be mad at you any more.'

Lynda's smile disappeared. 'You, mad at me? What right do you have to be mad at…'

'Evening, all.' Jeff interrupted as he settled at his desk, a hot cup of tea nestled in both hands.

Spike leaned over to him. 'Hey, Jeff – isn't it a little quiet here? I thought tonight was supposed to be busy – the phone hasn't rung once.'

Jeff sipped his tea. 'Enjoy it while it lasts, folks. It'll pick up, believe you me.'

They all looked at their silent telephones.

-x-

Liz rushed into Colin's kitchen before he could say a word.

'I thought I recognised that smell!' She rummaged happily through the white plastic bag on the table. 'You got Chinese Take-Out…' she pulled back the lid of one of the little cartons and breathed in deep. 'Golden Palace?'

Colin shook his head. 'Jade Garden.'

Liz tutted. 'So close. Give me another couple of months in Norbridge, I'll be able to tell one from the other by the prawn crackers alone. Did you get beef chow mein?'

'I wasn't going to forget your blessed chow mein, Fish.' He positioned himself tactfully between Liz and the pans of inedible gunk still on the worksurface.

Unfortunately, Lizzie's brain was trained to notice when somebody was trying to hide evidence.

'What's that?' she asked, trying to peer around him.

'Nothing.' He caught her arm and tried to direct her away from the debris. 'Let's eat, shall we…?'

Liz ducked underneath his arm to survey the pans. 'Spaghetti Carbonara.' She poked at a half full egg carton. 'Spike's Spaghetti Carbonara.'

'No…'

'Three eggs for two people? Fresh Parsley?' Liz held up the supporting evidence of empty eggshells and parley stalks. 'That's Spike's recipe – he knocked it up at the last late Newsteam meeting. Gave me the recipe. Sir, I've cooked this for myself twice in the past fortnight.'

'No you haven't,' attempted Colin, clearly trying the surrealist route.

'Yes I have,' laughed Liz, 'I taught it to my wee nephew back home, it was that easy…' She trailed off as the all the bits slotted into place. He'd asked Spike for help. Spike could cook, and Spike found it easy to date girls, which was probably why he'd gone for such a challenging long term girlfriend. So Spike was the person he turned to for help with girls. And she was a girl. And where was it that Spike worked in the evenings? And who was it that Colin had phoned on that first date…?

Stupid, stupid Lizzie.

'You cooked,' she managed to say.

'I tried.'

Lizzie nodded, stoically.

'Your chow mein'll be going cold.'

-x-

It was nine o'clock. They watched the phones. Somebody coughed. Spike whistled a little. Lynda pushed a crossword away from herself, completed, then thought for a second, found a piece of paper and started to make her own.

'It'll pick up,' said Jeff, yet again. 'Just you wait. It'll pick up.'

-x-

The thing about being Colin – one of the many things about being Colin is that long midwinter nights were far from synonymous with cosy domesticity. They were gaudily lit and delightfully frozen, nicely removed from reality – a time when people threw their money around, the perfect time for him to loiter and catch some of the cash that flew from one person to the other. He couldn't say that he particularly understood it, though. The Mathews Family's seasonal events were always so big and sprawling that he'd usually end up spending most of the party cornered by an uncle asking why he never had time to help out in one of the family businesses these days, or a batty Great Aunt who would keep calling him Keith. His sister would mutter a few words and accept a present from him before sneaking off to meet her friends, his mother was capable of spending the entire party in a different room to him. Barely tolerated get-togethers like that were his 'family Christmas' these days. The rest of the time he'd be out, working, turning Festive Cheer into a tidy profit and turning his face to the multicoloured neon lights to chase away the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost who always came in drunk and incoherent and black, black, black with rage.

But this was so different. He couldn't imagine tiring of this. Just a sofa, and a TV set, and empty Chinese cartons, and a girl with the fakest hair and the most genuine smile curled up next to him, sipping bourbon and giggling.

'Back home,' Liz said, 'we had this sort-of tradition of staying up all night on New Year's Eve. Then we'd all go out at dawn to greet the new sunrise and freeze our tits off. We could do that tonight.'

'I thought you said you were tired.'

She grinned. 'Too tired to want to go to the bother of going home tonight, anyway.'

Curled up next to him, so warm and soft – he didn't want her to leave either. 'Why don't you stay over tonight?'

She looked at him for a moment, then kissed him. Really, really kissed him. Pushed him down on the settee and got on top of him, straddling his stomach.

Hang on…

She pulled out of the kiss, momentarily. 'I am so glad you said that, let me tell you.' She kissed him again, on the side of the neck. 'I'm not used to having to wait like this. I mean, I can appreciate you not being a First Date kind of guy, although most guys are, you mark my words. Only…' She pushed herself down a little, so that her crotch was pressed on top of his, and began to tug his shirt from under his waistband.

Hang on!

'Only I've been doing my bloody nut all week, you know that? You've been driving me absolutely mental.'

'I get that a lot.'

She smiled a strange, sly smile. 'Do you, now?' She leaned over him to kiss him again, her left hand slipping under his shirt and onto his belly.

Hang on… she doesn't want me to… she isn't expecting me to…

Her fingers found the round, puckered scar tissue of the gunshot wound in his side.

'Hang on…' he squeaked.

She sat back up again. 'It's OK.' She pushed his shirt up to look at the scar. 'That's where you were shot, isn't it? It's OK. I like it. Very macho.'

'It's not that…' started Colin. He pushed himself up from beneath her, off the sofa. 'I think we should… I'll walk you home.'

'You're… you're joking, right?' Liz folded her arms. 'Is it me?'

Colin pushed his hand up through his hair. 'No, Fish. It's not you.'

'Well it certainly feels like it's me, Colin. Do you realise that I'm the one who's made every move here? Made every extra effort? Done all the chasing, all the persuading? And you've been petrified at every single bloody step! How attractive do you think that makes me feel?'

'Of course you're attractive, Liz. You're… you're lovely. And you're lovely inside too. I think you're the loveliest girl I know…'

'Then when are you going to stop wittering and put out?'

Colin couldn't answer that. He just opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

Liz softened, ever so slightly. 'Told you I could be brash. But I'm 22, Colin, I've been having sex since I was 15, and it's been a while since I've been this nutty about someone. I did warn you that my motives were less than pure.'

'So that's it? That's all you're after?'

'Don't be daft.' She hugged her knees. 'Do you think I'd have tried so hard if that was all? Picking up a one night stand, well that's easy. But I'm sick of that. I want a proper boyfriend, with sex and kisses and boring nights in front of the telly with a take out…'

He sat down next to her.

Boyfriend? I've never been a boyfriend.

'I didn't say that right,' Liz continued. 'I don't just want any old boyfriend for the sake of it. That's not it. It's you. I want to do all those things with you. That's what I mean.'

'Boyfriend?' It sounded weird, saying it.

She met eyes with him. 'Is that OK with you?'

'God, yes.' He hadn't meant that to come out sounding so grateful.

'Hooray,' she said, softly, and kissed him again.

'There's something I haven't told you…' he muttered.

She pulled away, and gazed at him, worriedly.

He breathed deeply, looking down at his hands.

'What is it? Jesus, you're not dying or something, are you?'

He bit his lip, summoning his courage. It was a weakness that he really didn't want to admit to – that he'd never admit to anyone else – not even Lynda, not that she'd ever asked.

'Lizziefish, I'm… I'm…'

'What? You're infected with leprosy? You're secretly married to a 90 year old millionaire's widow? You're actually a really butch Lesbian?'

'I'm…'

'Oh Christ. You're Gay, aren't you?'

'No. I'm… still a…'

'Still a virgin?' completed Liz, giving a huge sigh of relief when he nodded in embarrassment. 'Oh, I guessed that ages ago. Don't worry. I'll be gentle.'

'But I'm 20. That's weird.'

'John Cleese was 24. Alfred Hitchcock was 35. So you're going to beat both of them at least, if I have anything to do with it.' She took his hands. 'Now, how's about you and me go upstairs and I can take you through the basic induction course. Don't worry, we can stop any time you start to feel dizzy.'

He pulled away from her again, frowning.

'What?'

'I just… I just don't want this to end up like last time.'

The blankness of her expression began to turn to anger again. 'Last time?'

'The last time a girl did all the chasing… a nice girl… and as soon as I showed any interest… well, it's like I told you last week…'

Lizzie stood up sharply and stamped her feet into her boots.

'Lizziefish? Are you leaving? Why are you going?'

'Do you think,' she snarled, 'I give a rat's arse about Judy Bloody Wellman?' She tied her bootlaces quickly. 'This is supposed to be about you and me, Colin. Do you really think I want some stuck-up tart who's not been around for years to get in the way of my sex life?'

Colin got up and followed her as she marched to the door. 'I was only telling you, Fish. I thought you'd understand.'

'Of course I understand! I always understand! You've been hurt. I know you've been hurt, but you won't let me make it better, will you?'

'I…'

'What, you think you're unique? You think you're the only one who's been rejected time after time and had to put up with all that humiliation and loneliness? You don't think I've ever been rejected? Don't think I've ever been hurt?'

She opened the door and stormed out into the street.

'Who hurt you?' attempted Colin, following her out.

'Doesn't matter!' shouted Liz. 'What matters is that, despite all that I still pulled all the stops out for you, and it still wasn't good enough. And because some stupid lanky cow couldn't make up her mind a good year ago I'm supposed to carry on like a Saint with you? Well I'm not a bloody Saint, I'm not a bloody Nun, I'm not even a psychologist. I failed, failed, FAILED!'

'Liz!' He grabbed her arm and span her around to face him. She had started to cry.

'Get off.'

'Where's all this coming from, Liz? This isn't you.'

'Of course it's me, you silly arse.' She sniffed. 'This is me. I'm not this wonderful, caring girl who always listens and always comes up with the right thing to say. I just wanted to try… I wanted to try because I thought that was what you needed. I'm the girl who turns up to an interview with her jumper inside out. I'm the journalist who can't spell "journalist". I'm not even a real redhead.'

'I guessed.'

'It's a sham, Sir.' She began to really sob. 'I'm no great relationship expert, I've only had two boyfriends and I've buggered them both up royally. I start food fights in Indian Restaurants. I make the Samaritans think I've committed suicide.' She took a deep breath and wailed. 'I threw your mobile phone off a third storey balcony!'

If she had any more confessions to make, she would have to keep them to herself. Because, for some reason that he didn't fully understand himself, Colin suddenly needed to push her against a lamppost and kiss her. Really kiss her. Really kiss her.