CHAPTER 2
Doyle stared at the space on colourful the wall between the tough-looking, stubbly mean with the beer gut and the thin chain smoking teenage girl.
"Whatcha lookin' at, shithead?" Enquired Dave one of the soup kitchens regulars, affectionately.
"Ah, nuthin'." Doyle said truthfully, his arms engulfed up to the elbow in the washing up.
"Good, good 'cos you look sort of, y'know depressed. Or do I mean depressing? Yeah that's more like it."
And Doyle was. He was depressed because he had forgotten what the second verse to 'A Long December' went like and it had been grating on his nerves all day, that he knew the tune but the words had just departed from his long term memory. "Nope." He said.
"Hey, Francis, more plates! Oh, hi Roland! Plates, NOW Francis." Cried the high pitched girl who was serving as another volunteer walked in.
"Hey Roly, man, wanna help wash up?" Doyle yelled at the newcomer, before he looked up and saw who was on his arm.
Just the girl he had idolised last month, clacking around in 3 1/2 inch heals and her short blond hair tied in tiny little plaits.
But although Doyle felt the smallest tug at his heart strings, it wasn't such a big event for him. After the disappoint meant of what he called Geff-gate, he had given up and
his latest crush was the hairdresser who worked in the salon down the road from him and the two had flirted relentlessly. Because he wasn't quite out of that fun stage when you can be envisioning marriage, love and growing old ect. Ect. Ect. with someone, only to forget it within a few weeks. A crush is a crush, after all.
"Hey, guys, this is Harry." Introduced Roland, "She's going to be helping out here for a bit." He had obviously overestimated how much anyone there cared what he did, and the embarrassment showed in a swelling blush that showed on his neck and face and hands.
Dave rolled his eyes. One more person who was here for a dumb reason. He didn't know about anywhere else in the country, but here the 'volunteers' didn't work there because they cared. Harry started work because her boyfriend Roland had, and in turn the ever-popular Roland had started because his ex-girlfriend had. The high pitched server who fancied Roland and was at this moment hitting Doyle round the head with a plate he should have washed already, had started because it was something she could put on her college application form. Doyle worked here because he got mind numbingly bored on Thursday evenings (the Simpson's wasn't on) and it meant he didn't have to shave to look better than everyone else in the room. Also he secretly thought that if he ever became homeless (Which his mother had assured him if he kept up the way he was going he would)he could hold it against people, like; "Hey! I gave YOU a place to stay and some food!"
For the next month, Doyle avoided speaking to Harry, because she would have been able to tell that he had been infatuated with her, even if he wasn't anymore. He was afraid she would remember the stammering look he had given her when she said, "Excuse me" when he was standing in the doorway. But of course she hadn't noticed, and didn't remember who he was, but he imagined she did. He imagined that every time she handed him a ladle, she was thinking, Oh God, it's that creep who fancies me again.
But one night when Doyle was cleaning up, he heard the door open and Harry walked in.
She looked apologetically at him, "Err... Frank, is it?" Doyle let it go. She spread her hands out. "Err.. could you do me this big, big favour?"
Doyle talked to the open door behind her, "Err, sure, what is it princess?"
"I'm really sorry, but could you dump Roland for me?" She looked pleadingly in his eyes like a defendant who knows they're guilty.
Doyle took a deep breath, "Well, wouldn't you better do that yourself?"
She laughed a short laugh through her teeth, "Oh no, I never do that."
Doyle laughed mirroring her, though he didn't know what was funny, "Why?"
She moved uncomfortably around, "I dunno. I guess I just couldn't take it."
Doyle raised his eyebrows, finally looking at her through his blue eyes, "You couldn't take it."
Harry spread her hands in when faced with a lack of explanation, " I dunno, it's hard, it's lack, y'know, their faces? Yeah, that didn't make sense."
"No, I know what you mean." Doyle said, "OK, I'll tell him what you said." Doyle (like everyone else at the soup kitchen) had never really liked Roland, with his classic good looks but classic no personality.
Harry didn't leave though, so Doyle felt he should say something, "So... all those guys from the school...you didn't tell ANY of them to their faces?"
"No." Harry said defensively adjusting her purse on her shoulder. Then she exploded, "Oh so you know about that, so you think I'm a slut, yeah? Well you can just shove it..."
"I don't think you're a slut!" Doyle said.
"Then why bring it up?! I didn't go out to date everyone in Goosegreen. I just went with one guy, and then I met someone else and... it didn't do it on purpose, I just like guys, OK?" Harry felt deflated, and she turned to leave.
Doyle sensed that this was one of those moments that could change the way things were going. It was as if time had slowed down, giving him time to find the right thing to say. "Well, personally," he brouged, "I think it's complete double standards. I had a mate in Ireland and he'd slept with the whole of Dublin, but was he a slut? Oh no!" Doyle was repeated the lecture his mother gave him every time he called Pamela Anderson a slapper.
Harry smiled, but raised her eyebrows suspiciously. Doyle continued, "And hey
we're young! I mean, why the hell should we be tied down by the theories of 'Love Lasts Forever ect. It's kinda bullshit!"
Harry stared. She walked slowly over her foot steps making the tiniest echo in the empty room, and she kissed him.
Doyle felt first of all surprised, like he'd been kicked in the face. Then all the daydreams and feelings he'd had about Harry when he'd been in the deepest place of his crush came surging back like a flood. Then he felt something different. Something new, like everything was changing and he could be this happy tomorrow and the rest of forever.
Then she stopped kissing him, drew her hand back and gave him the strongest slap he'd ever felt. "I knew it! You said all that stuff just so I'd do that didn't you! You... argh!" She said before slapping him again (less hard because her arm was tired and walking out.
"Why are all men liars? And I won't becoming to this godforsaken hell hole again, ok?" she said over her shoulder, then she slammed the door.
Doyle stood there clutching his face in a dreamy love daze. (Unfortunately this daze caused him to forget to tell Roland he was dumped and he didn't realise until several months later.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You like? Please review.
Doyle stared at the space on colourful the wall between the tough-looking, stubbly mean with the beer gut and the thin chain smoking teenage girl.
"Whatcha lookin' at, shithead?" Enquired Dave one of the soup kitchens regulars, affectionately.
"Ah, nuthin'." Doyle said truthfully, his arms engulfed up to the elbow in the washing up.
"Good, good 'cos you look sort of, y'know depressed. Or do I mean depressing? Yeah that's more like it."
And Doyle was. He was depressed because he had forgotten what the second verse to 'A Long December' went like and it had been grating on his nerves all day, that he knew the tune but the words had just departed from his long term memory. "Nope." He said.
"Hey, Francis, more plates! Oh, hi Roland! Plates, NOW Francis." Cried the high pitched girl who was serving as another volunteer walked in.
"Hey Roly, man, wanna help wash up?" Doyle yelled at the newcomer, before he looked up and saw who was on his arm.
Just the girl he had idolised last month, clacking around in 3 1/2 inch heals and her short blond hair tied in tiny little plaits.
But although Doyle felt the smallest tug at his heart strings, it wasn't such a big event for him. After the disappoint meant of what he called Geff-gate, he had given up and
his latest crush was the hairdresser who worked in the salon down the road from him and the two had flirted relentlessly. Because he wasn't quite out of that fun stage when you can be envisioning marriage, love and growing old ect. Ect. Ect. with someone, only to forget it within a few weeks. A crush is a crush, after all.
"Hey, guys, this is Harry." Introduced Roland, "She's going to be helping out here for a bit." He had obviously overestimated how much anyone there cared what he did, and the embarrassment showed in a swelling blush that showed on his neck and face and hands.
Dave rolled his eyes. One more person who was here for a dumb reason. He didn't know about anywhere else in the country, but here the 'volunteers' didn't work there because they cared. Harry started work because her boyfriend Roland had, and in turn the ever-popular Roland had started because his ex-girlfriend had. The high pitched server who fancied Roland and was at this moment hitting Doyle round the head with a plate he should have washed already, had started because it was something she could put on her college application form. Doyle worked here because he got mind numbingly bored on Thursday evenings (the Simpson's wasn't on) and it meant he didn't have to shave to look better than everyone else in the room. Also he secretly thought that if he ever became homeless (Which his mother had assured him if he kept up the way he was going he would)he could hold it against people, like; "Hey! I gave YOU a place to stay and some food!"
For the next month, Doyle avoided speaking to Harry, because she would have been able to tell that he had been infatuated with her, even if he wasn't anymore. He was afraid she would remember the stammering look he had given her when she said, "Excuse me" when he was standing in the doorway. But of course she hadn't noticed, and didn't remember who he was, but he imagined she did. He imagined that every time she handed him a ladle, she was thinking, Oh God, it's that creep who fancies me again.
But one night when Doyle was cleaning up, he heard the door open and Harry walked in.
She looked apologetically at him, "Err... Frank, is it?" Doyle let it go. She spread her hands out. "Err.. could you do me this big, big favour?"
Doyle talked to the open door behind her, "Err, sure, what is it princess?"
"I'm really sorry, but could you dump Roland for me?" She looked pleadingly in his eyes like a defendant who knows they're guilty.
Doyle took a deep breath, "Well, wouldn't you better do that yourself?"
She laughed a short laugh through her teeth, "Oh no, I never do that."
Doyle laughed mirroring her, though he didn't know what was funny, "Why?"
She moved uncomfortably around, "I dunno. I guess I just couldn't take it."
Doyle raised his eyebrows, finally looking at her through his blue eyes, "You couldn't take it."
Harry spread her hands in when faced with a lack of explanation, " I dunno, it's hard, it's lack, y'know, their faces? Yeah, that didn't make sense."
"No, I know what you mean." Doyle said, "OK, I'll tell him what you said." Doyle (like everyone else at the soup kitchen) had never really liked Roland, with his classic good looks but classic no personality.
Harry didn't leave though, so Doyle felt he should say something, "So... all those guys from the school...you didn't tell ANY of them to their faces?"
"No." Harry said defensively adjusting her purse on her shoulder. Then she exploded, "Oh so you know about that, so you think I'm a slut, yeah? Well you can just shove it..."
"I don't think you're a slut!" Doyle said.
"Then why bring it up?! I didn't go out to date everyone in Goosegreen. I just went with one guy, and then I met someone else and... it didn't do it on purpose, I just like guys, OK?" Harry felt deflated, and she turned to leave.
Doyle sensed that this was one of those moments that could change the way things were going. It was as if time had slowed down, giving him time to find the right thing to say. "Well, personally," he brouged, "I think it's complete double standards. I had a mate in Ireland and he'd slept with the whole of Dublin, but was he a slut? Oh no!" Doyle was repeated the lecture his mother gave him every time he called Pamela Anderson a slapper.
Harry smiled, but raised her eyebrows suspiciously. Doyle continued, "And hey
we're young! I mean, why the hell should we be tied down by the theories of 'Love Lasts Forever ect. It's kinda bullshit!"
Harry stared. She walked slowly over her foot steps making the tiniest echo in the empty room, and she kissed him.
Doyle felt first of all surprised, like he'd been kicked in the face. Then all the daydreams and feelings he'd had about Harry when he'd been in the deepest place of his crush came surging back like a flood. Then he felt something different. Something new, like everything was changing and he could be this happy tomorrow and the rest of forever.
Then she stopped kissing him, drew her hand back and gave him the strongest slap he'd ever felt. "I knew it! You said all that stuff just so I'd do that didn't you! You... argh!" She said before slapping him again (less hard because her arm was tired and walking out.
"Why are all men liars? And I won't becoming to this godforsaken hell hole again, ok?" she said over her shoulder, then she slammed the door.
Doyle stood there clutching his face in a dreamy love daze. (Unfortunately this daze caused him to forget to tell Roland he was dumped and he didn't realise until several months later.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You like? Please review.