As promised, your update!
And I made it long for you because I felt like being nice. I'm in a dizzy, happy mood. And because I wanted the story to progress.
Dizzy happy mood because I am a very excited Boosh fan who saw Julian Barratt in the street! Walking along thinking about Boosh stuff, looked up, and who was over the road?? So I chased him into a coffee shop - I mean, he was going in there and I followed him, I didn't kind of chase him so he took refuge there or anything. I walked past him, so he moved out my way. He looked at me! He acknowledged my existence for about a second!! My life feels strangely... completed.
Oh dear.
Also, thank you to the people who told me who the song I used in the last chapter was by. It was by Julie London. I downloaded her version (I had the Diana Krall one) and I found a few other good songs by her. So the song they listen to in this chapter is another one by her, called "I Only Have Eyes For You". You guys should download it. It's good.
Boosh is Barratt's (squeal) and Fielding's.
And obviously Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is not mine either.
Anyway, happy reading!! I think you guys might like the ending...
Chapter 10
"Mum! Dad!"
I went sprinting up our garden path, through the front door, down the hall, and into the kitchen, where they were sitting, drinking coffee. They both looked up at me: my mum looking interested and pleased to see me, my dad – well, my dad. My dad didn't really think much of me, to be honest.
"What's all this yelling for, Vince?" he said.
"Mum, Dad, I got a job!"
They both looked surprised. Well, I had told 'em the only place I'd ever work was Topshop, and so I guess they must have assumed I'd got a job there.
"You've got a job?" asked my mum.
"Yeah!"
"Where?" asked my dad.
"At a zoo," I said.
Pause.
"A zoo?" goes my dad.
"Yeah! A zoo."
"How did you get a job at a zoo?"
"Well, you know Howard…"
"Him!" My dad suddenly leapt up. "He got you this job?"
"Yeah! I'm gonna go be his apprentice zoo keeper!"
"What about school?" asked my mum.
"I don't need GCSEs to be a zoo keeper!"
"You don't want to throw your life away being a zoo keeper!"
"Oh God, this man! I knew he was trouble! What's he doing, hanging around with a fifteen-year-old boy? How old is he? Thirty? Thirty-five?"
"He's twenty-one!" I shouted.
"Sure he's twenty-one. That's just what he's told you. Honestly, Vincent."
"He is twenty-one!" I objected, because he was. But they didn't believe me. They thought he must be lying to get my friendship or something.
It went on for hours. "What about your qualifications?" "What does this man want you around for, anyway?" "Are you sure there isn't something going on between you and this man?" "Why do you want to do this, Vince? What's he said to you?"
I couldn't answer that one. Well, I couldn't really answer the others either but that didn't matter so much cause I knew they were wrong, or what they thought didn't matter. But that one. "Why do you want to do this, Vince? What's he said to you?"
"He hasn't said anyfing!"
"Well, why do you want to do this? Why are you prepared to leave school, sacrifice your education, for this man?"
How could I explain, when I couldn't even explain it to myself? I wanted to be with Howard. I felt I'd die if I couldn't be with him. I didn't understand it then. I still don't, as you know. But I understood even less then, when I was fifteen. I didn't know why my stomach sometimes churned like a mosh pit when he looked at me, or when he brushed against me accidentally.
"Vince?"
Oh God.
"Vince, where are you?"
Oh God, he must have noticed I hadn't come back into the room.
"Coming…" I say, leaping up desperately. I look in the mirror. Shit! My eyes are all red and watery. I try to dab them but I don't want to smudge my make-up any more than I already have. It's held up quite well actually – thank God for waterproof eyeliner – but even so, I might smear it…
"Vince, are you sure you're all right in there?" I can hear him. He's outside the door, waiting, just – just there, the way he always is.
No, of course I'm not all right. I want to throw myself out the door and kiss him all over, and I can't; how could I possibly be all right?
But Howard doesn't know this.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine! Be out in a minute!"
"Well, if you're sure…"
"Yeah! I'm sure!"
"All right." He goes. I hear his feet walking away.
I breathe out and lean against my dressing table for a second, trying to put myself all back together because it feels like I kind of broke apart. But now I've said I'm gonna come out, I can't stay in here. I do the most speedy touch up of make-up in the history of make-up touch-ups – I know because according to Cheekbone the record is 1 minute 14 seconds and held by some guy called Angelo DiLacey – and I do it in 1 minute 12 seconds. Or at least I think I do. Maybe I mistimed. Or maybe I don't really care, because even if I could do make-up in under one minute – even if I was in Cheekbone for it instead of Angelo DiLacey – Howard wouldn't care because he doesn't even read Cheekbone, so how would he know?
I go out of the room, hoping it doesn't look like I've been crying. I don't think it does – but as soon as Howard sees me, he says, "Are you all right?"
Sometimes I forget how well he knows me.
"Yeah, fine."
Howard looks at me like he doesn't believe me. For a moment I think he's gonna ask again and I might crumble. I almost hope he will.
But he doesn't. He turns away from me. He starts choosing another record.
I look at his chest. Nice chest, quite big. Just the right size to lay your head on, as I know from that time when he held me in the zoo keepers' hut. I want to put my head on it now. No, I want to bury my head in it, and sob, and not care if I cry all my make-up away.
But I can't. So instead I say, "Cuppa tea?"
"That would be nice," he says, giving me a faint smile like he thinks he's making a huge effort.
At least he's talking to me, though. I go through to the kitchen. I hear him rattling his records around while I make the tea. I want to make it really good tea. So he'll be pleased with me.
When I think it's perfect, I take it back to him.
"Thanks," he says, when I pass him the mug. Our fingers touch, very briefly. He doesn't even notice it, but I feel the little flash of glitter, and my whole body trembles with pleasure.
Howard puts his mug down on the table next to his record player, and finally chooses a record. He puts it on. Another love song. You'd almost think he's doing this on purpose.
"Are the stars out tonight? I don't know if it's cloudy or bright. I only have eyes for you, dear…"
"Setting the mood?" I dare to ask, dare to joke.
He smiles, faintly again, but at least he doesn't get mad at me.
We sit in silence for a moment. Howard picks up his tea and cradles it in his lap, looking at the steam coming off it. I don't know what to do so I take a sip of mine but it's too hot, so I burn my tongue. "Ouch!"
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah… just… hot."
Howard nods. He lifts his own mug up and blows on it. I watch him purse his lips. I want to kiss him.
"The moon may be high, but I can't see a thing in the sky, cos I only have eyes for you…"
Oh, Howard.
"Vince…?" he says, after another minute or two.
"Yeah?"
"Nothing."
"I don't know if we're in the garden, or on a crowded avenue, you are here, so am I, maybe millions of people go by…"
Oh, Howard.
"Vince?"
"But they all disappear from view… and I only have eyes for you…"
"Yeah?"
I don't care if he says nothing again. As long as he keeps saying my name.
"No, it's just… are you okay?"
I feel a bit light-headed, like the jazz is affecting me.
"It's only, you've seemed a bit off… crying in the kitchen, and then hiding under the kitchen counters – I know we'd had a row but we row all the time and you're never like that about it – and then just disappearing to your room…" He breaks off.
I'm not sure whether to feel upset or not about his comments on our rows. He thinks I'm not upset? Of course I'm upset.
Sometimes I want to scream at him, "How can you not notice? I panic because I think I make it so obvious, and you never even fucking notice!"
But I can't. So I say, "Yeah, I'm fine, Howard."
"Sure?"
"Yeah, course." I grin at him. "You know me, I'm like the Sundance Kid. I'm made of rainbows."
"I prefer Sundance Kid," says Howard. "Rainbows mean rain."
"They mean sun!"
"Yeah, but rain as well as sun." Howard drinks some of his tea. "There's no rain as far as you're concerned. Just sun."
He thinks he knows it all, I think. But I don't care. I'm just glad we're talking – and talking almost normally.
"Anyway, if you're the Sundance Kid I can be Butch Cassidy," says Howard.
I laugh, imaging Howard in a cowboy hat. He wouldn't look too bad. Howard laughs too.
"You are here, so am I, maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from view… and I only have eyes, yes I only have eyes, I only have eyes… for you…"
I go to bed that night happier than I've been for ages. Happy? I'm almost aching with it as I drop off. Maybe we're okay after all…
Maybe not.
The next morning, Howard's not in a good mood. He shouts at me because I get up too late. He says he's worried about Naboo. He makes me nervous. I drop a customer's change everywhere. Howard stands behind clutching his hair. When the customer's gone he shouts again. Then he storms out. He leaves me in the shop on my own.
He comes back later, clutching a coffee that he doesn't drink. He seems tired. Again he makes me nervous. I knock over a shelf. Howard doesn't even shout this time. He just looks at me with his devastating brown eyes, as though he wants to say, "Why were you ever born?"
Sometimes I wonder that myself.
There's no cosy listening to jazz tonight. Howard shuts himself in his bedroom. I can play whatever music I want but it doesn't seem that much of a privilege. I listen to Human League. Don't you know I want you?
Next day we're onto day five without Naboo. Howard gives up and tries to call him. He doesn't get a reply.
He goes out again, to buy food. Again I'm in the shop on my own. I feel like I'm going crazy. It seems so much worse now. I'm hearing jazz in my head. I'm almost enjoying it, which must mean I'm really crazy.
A woman comes in the shop. I try to serve her but I can hardly even hear what she's saying. "Yeah," I go, when she asks me stuff. "Nah."
When she's gone, Howard glares at me and tells me not to be rude to the customers.
That night, however, he suggests we get some Chinese.
Perhaps eating together might make things better.
Howard orders. I let him choose what we have, because we don't have much cash and I want to make him happy. It's a stupid way to try and make someone happy, letting them choose what Chinese we get. Even I know this. Of course it's stupid. I am stupid. But what other way do I have of making him happy?
I know what I wish I could do to make him happy. I wish I could take his shoes off for him, rub his shoulders when he's tired, kiss him when things hurt, make him feel…
Oh, God.
My face burns. I have to rush to the bathroom so he doesn't notice what these thoughts are doing to me.
The Chinese food arrives. Howard unpacks it all very slowly, very deliberately, like he's organising it for some sort of ritual. We sit at the table, formally, not the way you're supposed to have Chinese take-away. You're supposed to watch the telly. But I know this is not an option. It would be causing rows when there isn't any need to. We'd never agree what to watch.
I ask Howard to pass me some sauce.
He does.
He gets up to get some water.
He comes back.
He brings one glass.
I go to get myself another glass.
I pour myself some water because Howard doesn't offer. He's too busy with noodles.
The clock ticks.
I try to eat some of my own noodles.
The moon says, "When you are the moon, you sometimes, you see people who are wanting to do things, and you wanna say, yes, you go, you do what you want… I'm the moon, I make romantic light, people don't take advantage…"
"Retard," says Howard, and shuts the window so we can't hear the moon any more.
The flat is very quiet.
It's dark in the room now, because we didn't put the lights on.
I get up to put the lights on.
Howard doesn't react.
I sit back down.
Howard pours himself some more water.
We finish eating.
I gather up our stuff, because I want to make Howard happy. I put it in the bin. I can hear Howard moving about in the living room. The bin's full. I decide to take the bag out. I knot up the top and carry it outside. The cold air hits me sharply. I look down the street and wonder about running off and never coming back.
But I can't leave him.
I go back inside. He's watching some nature programme. I go and sit with him and try to look like I'm enjoying it. Not that he cares.
The clock ticks.
At ten thirty, Howard stretches – the first move he's made for about an hour and a half – and says, "I'm going to bed."
"Okay."
He stands up.
"Goodnight," I say.
"Goodnight," he says.
He walks out.
Then: "Vince!"
"What?" I ask.
"What's all this on the floor?"
I rush out of the living room. He's standing by the kitchen door. He's looking at spatterings of orange liquid, coming out the kitchen, going down the stairs.
It's from the Chinese. "The bin bag, it must have leaked…"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Howard growls. "Couldn't you have cleaned it up?"
"But –"
Howard storms into the kitchen and grabs a cloth.
"This is so typical! Once again! You make a mess, I clear it up!"
"I didn't even notice!" I protest, close to tears.
"How can you not have noticed? You had to come back up here after you took the rubbish out!"
Of course, he's right. How could I not have noticed?
"I was – I was thinking 'bout something else!"
"Oh, really? Like what? Gary Numan? Topshop? Something important like that?" he snarls sarcastically.
"No! No, I wasn't!" I say, close to tears. "I wasn't!"
Howard just looks at me.
"Howard, don't do that! I'll do it!"
"Oh, no! God forbid Vince Noir should ever have to do any kind of work at all!"
"I didn't say that! I want to do it!" I try to grab the cloth from him but he pushes me out of the way. I stagger. The heel on one of my boots snaps right off. I almost fall over and clutch the wall to steady myself. I start crying.
Howard ignores me. He goes on wiping the floor savagely (a word I got from Howard).
I sob harder. I hate the image of him just wiping, not looking. He doesn't care. He just doesn't care. He hates me. I can't stand properly because of my boot – one of my favourite pairs but I don't give a shit any more…
"Will you stop making that noise?" Howard shouts suddenly.
I shrink away from him but I can't even speak. I retch and choke.
"For God's sake, look at you! Sobbing over a broken shoe!"
"It's not that!"
"What is it, then?"
"You – you –"
"Oh, I get it. It's my fault, is it?" he goes.
"No! You asked the other night what's wrong!"
"What?" He stands up now and looks at me properly. "What?" He comes towards me. I cower back, clutching the wall. He can't touch me… "You hate me!" I go, my voice all scratchy like a broken record because of crying so much.
Howard grabs my arms and pulls me up. I yelp at his skin on mine. "Vince, for God's sake, stop acting like a five-year-old!"
"I'm not! You hate me!" I'm almost hysterical.
"I do not hate you!"
"You keep yellin' at me, actin' like you don't like me…"
"I don't like you when you're so immature and childish! I don't like you when you drop things and knock stuff over and you make everything into such a mess!" He's right up in my face, shouting at me. "I don't like you when you make these scenes and it's twisted so it's my fault, it's always my fault, nothing's ever your fault and it's always just about you, always you, Vince Noir –"
I don't know what to do. I can't think, can't breathe hardly, so I force my mouth against his, meshing my lips up to his.
There's nothing else I can do.
Thanks for reading.
Oh my God Julian Barratt!!
Sorry. I've already burdened stars of andromeda with this once. I will attempt to calm down.
violence x