April (in so many ways)
With two weeks off for the school holidays, my mood lifted dramatically at the beginning of April. Emry invited me over to theirs to celebrate Easter; according to Emma, I would find it 'fun' to search around her manicured garden with a three-year-old looking for small, chocolate eggs hidden in bushes. She seemed to have forgotten that I was 28 years old. I was an adult, living with another adult, and I intended to spend my time off behaving in a mature manner.
Gold for Cash
P.O. Box 7781
London
W1A 1ET
01/04/13
Dear Mr Phelps,
We are sorry to inform you that we will be unable to accept the pack of 80 Yorkshire Gold teabags that you sent to us through the post. Unfortunately, the 'gold' reference relates to the brand name only; as such, the tea bags do not contain any actual gold.
Our records indicate that this is not the first refusal letter you have received from us, and I would therefore like to take this opportunity to remind you of the purpose of 'Gold for Cash'. Our company offers customers the opportunity to sell their gold ('gold' here relating only to the precious metal) for its cash value. Therefore, we are in the market for genuine gold products, e.g. jewellery, coins, etc.
We hope that this explains the purpose of our company. Please ensure that any future items posted to our address are of the actual precious metal variety.
Yours sincerely,
Mr S. Travis
(Customer Service Representative)
We Buy Silver
P.O. Box 2292
London
SW7 2FN
02/04/13
Dear Mr Phelps,
Thank you for your interest in We Buy Silver. We regret to inform you that, on this occasion, the item you sent in for valuation cannot be accepted. Unfortunately, Dr. Oetker's Shimmer Spray Silver is a baking product, intended for human consumption, and therefore does not contain any actual silver. Please find the original item enclosed.
Should you find yourself in a position to sell any silver in the future, i.e. jewellery, silverware, coins, etc., we shall look forward to hearing from you again.
Yours sincerely,
Miss K. Harman
(Customer Care)
In fact, I was revelling so much in my carefree two weeks off that pro after pro dropped into the positive box: two weeks worth of lie-ins; no contact from my parents for over a month and counting; and the reintroduction of my favourite cereal onto the supermarket shelves. I even summoned enough confidence to finally go and confront April, the bitch who left me high and dry in that awful café. On Tuesday lunchtime, I stormed into Heart & Sole to discover an older, more portly woman standing behind the counter. I stood helplessly in the middle of the shop floor for a moment.
'Can I help yer, duck?'
'Erm, well, I was looking for April but I can see that she's-'
'No problem, love – she's just upstairs. I'll call her for yer. Just gimme a tick.' She moved into the back of the shop where a grimy, white door separated the business from the flat upstairs. She opened it and called: 'April? April, love? One of yer friends is here to see yer!'
'Honestly, I'm not exactly what you'd call a friend – I'm more of, erm, an acquaintance,' I stammered.
'Oh aye, I see what yer mean,' she winked. 'Well, in that case I'll be sure not to disturb the two of yer. Go on, up yer get.' She was nodding her head towards the stairs. 'That's it, love – just move the counter-top out the way and up yer go.' She gave me a little shove and I started up the staircase, completely oblivious as to what I would say when I reached the top. It was one thing to come to this girl's place of work and give her a piece of my mind, but you couldn't just turn up at somebody's home and start shouting at them. I stopped halfway up and tried to compose myself.
'Is somebody there?' called a voice from within.
Fuck. Too late to sneak back down?
Footsteps padded towards me. April appeared, wearing large, pink pyjamas covered in pictures of fat sheep jumping over fences. Her hair was scraped beneath a woolly hat. Without make-up, there was something beguilingly fragile about her face.
'Simon, hey! Fancy a cuppa?' She seemed almost pleased to see me – it threw me off a little.
'Erm, yeah. Ok.' Yeah, you'll be sorry you made me a cup of tea when I throw it in your disrespectful face.
'Do you take sugar? Well, actually, I suppose I should ask yer whether you have milk as well; some people don't like milk in their tea. Can you believe that? Black tea! I mean, I kind of get black coffee but NOT tea. Personally, I think everythin' tastes better w' milk. My mum went on this diet once and she started havin' water with her porridge instead of milk on a morning, and she made me try it one day. EURGH! Have you ever tried water in yer porridge? It is gross. Seriously, don't try it. I felt like I was in Oliver bloomin' Twist or somethin'…'
After 15 minutes, April had barely taken a breath and I'd almost forgotten my reason for being there. She hadn't asked. She seemed to think nothing strange of a visit to her flat from someone she barely knew. When she disappeared into the kitchen for more biscuits, I seized my opportunity. 'Anyway, I just thought I would come round and find out what the hell- what exactly happened the other week? One minute you're off to pay the bill…the next minute you've gone.' She popped her head around the doorframe with eyes skyward and mouth open in thought. It took a few seconds for her to register what I was talking about. I felt a little stab of disappointment.
'Ohhhh! You mean after us date?' She started to laugh. 'Well, it's very presumptuous of yer to think that a lady would pay, for a start.'
'Actually, you offe-'
'Plus,' she continued, interrupting me entirely, 'the first rule of dating is that you should always leave them wantin' more. I heard that somewhere. I think it was one of them films with Jennifer Aniston or Sandra Bullock or someone like that – you know the films where he likes her; she doesn't like him, even though he's really fit and really rich, which, I mean, of course yer would; he moves on – finds another girl; and then, sod's law, she likes him!'
'That's a stupid rule.'
'Well, it's funny you should say that. Look where you are; it worked, didn't it?'
April offered to cook dinner, a full three-course dinner no less, for me that evening. She told me to be back at her flat for 11pm. I decided not to mention that the only people who eat dinner at 11 o'clock at night are tramps who hang around by the bins outside restaurants, waiting to demolish the scraps like the shameful vultures they are.
'I thought you said you weren't gonna be in for dinner?' Jay said, squirting a generous dollop of mayonnaise on the plate next to his microwave lasagne.
'No, I'm not. I'm going out at 11.'
'11 o'clock? Where are you going for bloody dinner, Australia?'
'April's cooking for me at hers.'
'Ahhh, I see. April. So it's a dinner date. A very, very late dinner date. Hey, do you think she's doing that double-booking thing where she fits in two guys for dinner in one night? Like, maybe the first guy's coming round at 8, then she's got time to clear him out at about half 10 to start all over again with you for the second sitting?'
'She's just a friend,' I responded. Jay's double-shift idea bothered me, but I thought it important to remain nonchalant.
'A female, who you've just met, is cooking you dinner at her place. But you're just friends?'
'Exactly.' Hearing it from his mouth made it clear that indeed it was a date. There was a tingling deep down inside me, right where my enthusiasm used to reside.
'Date or no date,' he continued, 'I'm just glad you're feeling better, man. It's about time you got yourself back on track.' If Jay thought one eco-hippy chick could make me forget about suicide, he had another thing coming. But why not enjoy myself while I still could?
Heart & Sole was over a mile away but I decided to walk this time; if I drove, I couldn't drink. And alcohol was sure to ease any social discomfort I might feel. Plus, by leaving the flat at 10:50pm, I could ensure I'd be a couple of minutes late. If she was double-booking me, the least I could do was keep her waiting.
When I arrived, most of the shop floor's lights were off and there was a 'Closed' sign shaped like a cartoon fish hanging in the window. Inside, the same portly lady from lunchtime was cleaning the surfaces, scrubbing them so hard that the fat at the tops of her arms jiggled. I realised I still hadn't asked for April's phone number, so I couldn't text her to come down and let me in, but the middle-aged woman noticed me lurking outside and came to unlock the door.
'Twice in one day! You're eager, aren't yer?' Her apron was covered in grease and she wore blue rubber gloves that pinched the tops of her forearms. 'You know the way!' she sang, returning to her scrubbing. She seemed tired after her long shift and not particularly interested in chitchat, which I appreciated.
Approaching April's flat for a second time, I realised what a daze I'd been in that morning. I hadn't noticed the swirled, orange and brown patterns on the carpet or the way they made me feel dizzy if I focused on them. I hadn't noticed the gritty, white wallpaper peeling off the walls on either side of the staircase. I hadn't noticed the empty takeaway containers littering the entrance hall – it seemed April was a bit of a slob. Searching for my host, I entered the lounge. Each of the four living room walls was painted a different colour: pink, green, orange and brown. In the centre of the room stood a plastic table - the kind you'd buy from Ikea for a child's playroom. A piece of purple fabric covered the sofa and I realised I didn't yet feel comfortable enough to sit down. There was still no sign of April. I backed out of the room, noticing on my way that the door to the lounge had been removed from its hinges and was nowhere to be seen.
'April?' I called down the hallway.
'In here!' she shouted from the end of the corridor. 'Sorry, I just got out the shower. Come and sit in here while I get ready!'
Rude. She knew I was coming at 11. I walked down towards the source of the sound. It seemed that only one door remained in place throughout the whole flat; I hoped the room behind it was the bathroom. The carpet felt almost sticky underneath my feet and the stench of old oil occupied the air. My good humour faded and I felt unsure as to why I'd come. At the end of the corridor, I entered into what I assumed was her bedroom. Standing in front of the mirror, combing her hair without a care in the world, was April – entirely stark bollock naked. 'Shit! Fuck! Sorry – I am so sorry.' I spun so quickly towards the exit that I demolished a hat rack on my way, spattering Stetsons, bowlers and what I'm pretty sure was a Santa hat across the floor.
'Oh, Simon. What are yer like?' Casually, with no regard whatsoever for the fact that she was still completely starkers, April strutted over, bent down and began flinging items back in the direction of the rack. 'Sorry, I haven't had chance to decide on an outfit for our date yet.'
Seriously, you can't decide on an outfit, so you just walk around naked in front of a stranger until you do? Wait – she said 'date'. A trickle of nerves skipped down my spine. I still didn't know exactly where I was supposed to look. 'God, I really am sorry – I'll- I'll go and wait for you in the, erm, the lounge,' I stuttered.
'Oh come on, you're not that much of a prude, are yer? Christ, they're only breasts – we've all got 'em! Well, half of the population anyway. Come in and sit down, will yer? I won't be long.' I was rooted to the spot. April's sprawling, pale nipples were staring me out. For someone carrying a bit of extra weight, she had a magnificent body: big, bouncing chest; slim waist; curves in all the right places. I mean, it wasn't like I'd never seen a naked woman before, but I usually had to do a lot more than just show up at their house to get them to drop their knickers. 'If yer uncomfortable, I can put me dressin' gown on?' she asked, cocking her head to one side as though she was challenging me.
'No, God no - not uncomfortable. I just didn't want you thinking I was some kind of perv, you know, bursting in on you like that,' I assured, hoping more than anything that this was some kind of peculiar come-on tactic.
'I don't mind people bursting in on me, Simon.' She winked, and it was difficult to figure out whether or not she was joking. 'It's my fault really. I asked Dad to tek all the doors down when him and Mum let me move in to the flat. I know it sounds silly but it was so, kind of, claustrophobic before. All dark and small. I prefer everything out in the open…as you can see!' She laughed again, gesturing to her naked body. She didn't seem to sense the awkwardness of the atmosphere, but she walked over to the bedside table and turned on the radio to ease the silence between us. The pounding rhythm of late night dance music swarmed the air, confusing the ambiance even further. I'd certainly never been on a date like this before: we hadn't even eaten and here we were, in her bedroom, listening to music, and she was nude. Wet hair still dangling around her bare shoulders, April moved over to the bed and sat down, patting the space next to her for me to join.
Oh God. This is happening. Ok, Simon: be cool. You haven't been intimate with anyone other than Cheryl for quite a while now. Try not to get too excited too quickly.
I sat down next to her and she moved her lips onto mine. I would've sworn that I barely fancied the lunatic but my body seemed to think otherwise: my palms began to sweat and someone appeared to be squeezing my heart in a tight fist.
Come on, Simon. Keep it together.
I was used to Cheryl Fenwick's taste of stale, menthol cigarettes mixed with dry gin but April's mouth tasted different. Like chocolate. And she had thin, silky lips. She moved in closer to me and placed her hand gently on the top of my leg.
Shiiiiiiit - getting too excited. Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Grandma. Both of my grandmas are dead…but then I guess that should be even more off-putting?
She flicked her tongue against mine and simultaneously moved her hand upwards.
FUCK! Grey hair. Wrinkly skin. Saggy boobs. Concentrate, Simon!
Thirteen extremely challenging minutes later, I had one massive pro to add to my box.
Pro: Walking in on girls when they're getting ready.
Downstairs, the lights were off and the clean surfaces reflected the metallic moonlight. April's hand squeezed mine tightly and she led me through the darkness. She had changed into a dark blue dressing gown that looked as though it belonged to someone three times her size. 'I promised you a three-course meal,' she began, '…and a three-course meal you shall receive!' Turning on the light next to the fryer, April splayed her hands out in a 'ta da' motion. I noticed, smugly, that her cheeks were still rosy from our exploits upstairs. 'Right, co-chef,' she said, placing a hair net over me, 'we'd better get to work.'
As it turned out, April had made somewhat of a hobby experimenting with what foods could, and could not, be deep-fried. Tried-and-tested success stories included bacon, slices of pizza and whole Kit-Kats, whereas cereal, spaghetti and soup had all made it onto the 'Never Again' list. In fact, during the soup escapade, April had managed to ruin one of the fryers and cost her parents a small fortune in repair bills. Tonight, however, we would dine on some slightly safer options: deep-fried garlic bread (a new, never-tested-before venture); fish and chips; and deep-fried Crème Eggs (April's personal favourite).
Back upstairs, after almost an hour of frying, we tucked into our greasy banquet. As April's hair gradually dried, I noticed that the strands were no longer their usual green but now flaunted a vivid yellow. She explained that she coloured her hair according to the seasons; it was a tradition she'd started as a teenager and she found it helped her to place the times and dates when she looked back through old photographs. She said it helped her terrible memory. For example, if she had green hair in the photograph, she knew it was taken in the spring (January-March). Yellow hair signified summer (April-August), whereas orange hair meant autumn (September-October) and blue represented winter (November-December). I didn't bother pointing out that her seasonal divisions were entirely incorrect; I didn't get the impression she really cared for what was strictly true and what wasn't. April seemed to like doing things her own way – differently to everyone else's. Her name was a misnomer for a start; she was actually born in May. Darren and Claire, I also found out, were not her natural parents. She'd been adopted as a baby. She didn't know much about her birth mother, except that Social Services had taken away all of the children she'd given birth to. Since April wasn't her birth mother's first child, her dad once wondered whether her birth parents had planned out 12 children, naming each one after a different month. Another of her dad's theories behind her name was that she'd been due to arrive in April but she'd come late ('fussy bugger' that she was – her dad's words, not mine). However, her mum soon doused water over that theory when she pointed out that April's birthday was the 23rd of May and that any doctor worth his salt would never let a pregnant woman go much more than two weeks overdue. Her parents had been given the option to change her name when they adopted her, but they'd opted to safeguard a piece of her past.
'April?'
'Hmmm?' she mumbled through a mouthful of melted Crème Egg.
'I've got to be honest. When I first met you, I thought you were… Well, a total nutter.'
She laughed. 'Why's that?'
'Let's just say I'm not exactly used to people approaching me in the local takeaway and talking about how fast snot travels when you sneeze.'
'Ha, I suppose not.'
'So, why were you in those other chip shops talking about all that revolting stuff?'
'Heart & Sole does THE best fish and chips in the city, without a doubt. But good news doesn't travel as fast as bad news. So, all I need to do every now and then is go and spread a little bad news about the other local chippies. How else do yer think my mum and dad have kept Heart & Sole runnin' for so long? We're in a recession, you do realise?' April had a way of explaining the strangest of behaviours as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. It was fascinating.
At 3:13am, stuffed and sexually sedated, my first official date with April came to an end. I walked home giddy, despite the fact that I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all night. There was something intoxicating about time with her – it provided the thrill of using a new substance you didn't know enough about. You knew that you should probably stay away from it, learn about the dangers and the side effects first, but it felt so damn good you just wanted to jab another hit into your bloodstream. That night, I slept more serenely than I had done in years.
Oh, and, just in case you were wondering, deep-fried garlic bread is a definite no go. Unless you like the taste of cold vegetable oil.
By Thursday morning, I'd gone cold turkey for long enough. I tried to convince myself that it was just the flashbacks of her stretched out naked on the bed that made me hungry to see her again. The promise I'd made to myself not to get involved with any girls hadn't been forgotten, but who said it had to develop into anything serious with April? The time we'd spent together so far hardly signified the roots of a serious relationship. I just wanted to have a bit of fun before I died. Against Jay's advice, I was ready for my next dose. April didn't have a mobile phone (I'd found out, when I eventually worked up the courage to ask); she said they always ended up lost, stolen or submerged in some kind of liquid, so she'd given up owning one. Without the option to call or text (texting being my preferred method – less personal), I needed to do things the old-fashioned way.
'Get ready! We're going out,' I announced as I entered her flat for the third time. April was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by piles of half-hacked magazines and newspapers. She bounded up into the air, scattering debris in her path. 'Where are we going? Where are we going?' She was literally bouncing.
'It's a surprise. What's all this?'
'Last night, after work, I had THE most brilliant idea! I'm going to redecorate. Redecorate the entire flat! I stayed up all night making a style collage. Collages are great. We used to make 'em in Textiles at school whenever we started a new project. And I loved, loved, LOVED Textiles!'
'Oh, I see.' Her enthusiasm kindled a grin onto my face that was hard to supress. 'Well, it looks great but do you think it could wait 'til later? I want to leave in ten minutes.'
'Yes! But first yer'll have to come and help me pick out somethin' to wear.'
Two rather sweaty hours later, we finally approached the area of the city that housed the University buildings. Choosing an outfit had taken somewhat longer than I'd anticipated; it seemed April wasn't the kind of girl I could watch undress without getting involved, although I think that was her plan all along.
'Was it Sheffield University you went to?' I asked.
'Oh, I never went to University,' she responded. 'I wasn't very well when I was at school. I managed to sit some GCSEs but my grades weren't good enough for me to take A-Levels, because of all my absence. When I left school, I went to work at a Wildlife Park. I'd done work experience there when I was at school – yer know, when they let yer out of school for two weeks to go and see what it's like to 'ave a job?' I nodded. 'Well, it was AWESOME. They were literally the best two weeks of my whole life! So, instead of doing A-Levels, I went back there and got a job full-time. I got to feed the penguins, bathe the elephants, and one time they even let me do this talk thing to, like, a hundred people about the lemurs and their habitat. About how they live in small groups. And how they love eatin' fruit and all that. It was ace.'
'Then, why did you leave?'
'Because Shorty died.'
'Who was Shorty?'
'My favourite giraffe. Her real name was Bertha but she didn't like it. She was beautiful - really elegant. Big, long lashes. Hey, is this where we're going?'
I looked up at the towering, grey exterior of the Arts' Tower. 'Yep, this is it.'
Once inside the entrance hall to the building, April was highly excited by the sight of the Paternoster, a lift that moves in a circular motion without ever stopping for passengers to board or disembark. The first of its kind dated back to 1868, so a lot of people got pretty animated about it. Personally, I found it hard to see it as anything other than what it was: a lift. And lifts didn't really get me going. However, that Paternoster was the key to testing the site for my New Year's Eve plan, so I needed to simulate at least some interest for it. 'Follow my lead,' I whispered to April as we approached the young woman sitting behind Reception. 'Hi there,' I began. 'My name is John Matthews and this is my friend, Bec-'
'Anita Shower,' April intruded, sticking her arm across the desk and shaking the woman's hand. 'Wonderful to meet you.'
'Yes, thank you…Anita,' I continued. Why the hell couldn't she make up a bloody normal fake name? 'We are interested in taking a closer look at your Paternoster. We read about it on the internet – history buffs, I'm afraid, both of us. I believe it's the largest one left in the UK?'
'It is indeed,' the young woman replied, clearly feeling sorry for two losers who had nothing better to do on a Thursday afternoon than examine the workings of a lift. Pushing a black clipboard in our direction, she motioned for us to fill in our details on the sign-in sheet. 'It goes all the way up to the 19th floor and back down again. When in the Paternoster, please keep only two persons to a cart and remember to be very careful when entering and exiting the lift. You'll need to sign back out as you exit but, other than that, enjoy!' And that was it; she allowed us straight through the turnstile.
'Well, that was easier than I anticipated,' I murmured as we boarded a cart up to floor 19. I only hope it's this easy to get in on New Year's Eve.
Once we reached the top, I reminded April to keep playing along and approached a student milling around outside one of the lecture theatres. He was practically skeletal with ginger hair and an unfortunate amount of acne for someone in the early stages of adulthood. 'Excuse me,' I opened, 'we're the Building Control Officers for this property and we're here to carry out some maintenance. Could you point us in the direction of the access route to the roof platform?' We were in luck. The idiot led us right to the door without asking any questions. Our fortune extended even further when we found the access door to be propped open with a black, rubber brick.
'Normally, it's locked,' the half-wit student explained, 'but there were some other maintenance guys in this morning. I guess they must have left it open for you.'
'Brilliant, thanks.' I waited for the skinny little runt to leave before I held the door open for April. 'Ladies first,' I said, motioning for her to go ahead of me like a true gentleman.
'Mr Matthews, I had no idea you were such a good liar!' She was grinning and wore a look of genuine admiration. 'But I still have no idea what we're doin' up here?'
'Well, Miss Shower, I'm a man of many talents. And as for why we're here: that information, sadly, is still classified.' She giggled and started to climb the metal stairs to the roof, whilst I relished the sight of her ample behind shifting left to right under her floaty dress.
The view was even better than I could've expected. From the rooftop, a vast, 360-degree vision of Sheffield sprawled before our eyes: little buildings in orange, white and turquoise, huddled together in the middle of the city like abandoned Lego bricks; hundreds of miniature cars scurrying along the grey network of roads; miles and miles of rolling green hilltops melting into the distant horizon. For a long time, neither of us spoke – it seemed a scene like this could even render April speechless. In the end, it was me who broke the silence first.
'April, there's something I need to tell you – about the reason I brought you up here.'
'Yeah?'
'Well, this building has a kind of, err, special importance for me. Or at least it will. Soon.'
'What are you talkin' about, Simon?'
I felt nervous – not like when I told Jay. This was different; she didn't know me like he did. What if she thought I was crazy and tried to refer me to some psychiatric unit? I tried to start vague, so as not to come across like a suicidal maniac. 'It's just- well, there's something I plan to, erm, do, and in order to, well, do it, I'm going to need this building.'
'Yer not proposin' to us already are yer?' Her laughter punched through my discomfort. 'Yer better not be 'cause I had a friend once – Rebecca, her name was. Well, see, she'd only been goin' out w' this fella fer about a month and all of a sudden he takes her up t-'
'No, no, no – can I stop you there? I'm not proposing. At all. As in, that is so, so far away from what I'm doing. It's, erm, well, it's kind of difficult to explain.' And then I just let it out. Told her everything. Just like I'd told everything to Jay that morning in January. How I didn't see the point. How my life was empty. How I hated my flat, my job, my (lack of) friends. How my own future was one I wouldn't regret missing. How I hadn't planned to meet anyone this year because I'd made my decision and although I liked her, I wasn't going to stop my pros and cons idea. How this was the building from which I intended to jump. How yes, we were having fun together and yes, she had already appeared in my pros box once or twice (try twenty, at least), but I wouldn't allow her to become an obstacle. My end of year goal remained the same and she was welcome to come along for the ride until then, as long as she promised not to try and stop me. I hadn't even meant to be so brutal, but it was as though April opened a tap inside me that I couldn't turn off. She just sat, quietly, soaking up everything I had to say without responding, without passing judgement. She was so receptive, so enthralled, almost, by what I was saying that I found myself opening up about things I'd never even told Jay. How worthless I felt around my family. How my mother thought I was a coward and my dad labelled me 'difficult' following my behaviour as a teenager. The words cascaded from my mouth, as the running tap erupted into a burst pipe.
'I guess I got used to that feeling of inadequacy at a young age. Growing up, Emma had it all: beauty, top grades and sporting prowess - she was captain of both the netball and hockey teams from primary school all the way through. Most nauseatingly of all, she was modest with it. Boys queued around the block just to hold her hand and every girl wanted to be her best friend. As her younger brother, I was bound to play the part of second best. How could I not? Sure, I was moderately good-looking. I got good grades and my sporting skills were average, but I was socially awkward and sometimes found it difficult to make friends. In other words, I was a much less brilliant version of Emma.'
April smiled at me in reassurance, silently encouraging me to continue.
'For years I was honestly okay with it all – truthfully, I was,' I said. 'Sibling rivalry seemed, well, natural - the friends I did have were dealing with their own forms of it - and it was only to be expected that Mum and Dad would favour Emma subconsciously. I mean, who wouldn't? Anyway, I did my best to impress them and they, in turn, tried to treat us equally. Well, until-'
'Until what?'
I said nothing. I could feel my nostrils flaring, feel the bile rising up inside my throat.
'Simon?'
Still nothing. I hadn't spoken to anyone about it for well over ten years. And, really, I knew Dad should be the first person to hear it.
'It's ok,' April whispered. 'There's no pressure to tell me anythin' yer don't want to.'
'Until…until over a decade ago. The 4th May, 2000, to be precise. From that day on, Emma and I would never be treated equally again.' I wasn't ready to divulge any more than that and April didn't push me. In fact, she barely said anything at all.
On the way out of the building, after signing Mr Matthews and Miss Shower out, April presented me with a small set of keys dangling from a silver hoop. 'What are these for?' I asked.
'The security guy on reception – I nabbed his keys. He wasn't looking. Not a great security guard, eh? Now you can get up to that roof whenever you want to, even when it's locked.' She placed the set of keys in my hand, kissed me lightly on the cheek and ran off to the tram stop. Apparently, another of our dates had come to an abrupt end.
Pro: April - the pilferer.
Unable to contact April via mobile, I called Heart & Sole the next day. A man's voice answered and told me that it was 'Darren speaking': her dad. He sounded friendly and cheerful, despite being at work on a Friday afternoon. Not being the kind of person likely to make a fantastic first impression with parents, I told him I was 'a friend from school' and he thankfully put me through to April's flat upstairs without further questioning. Our third official date was subsequently scheduled for Saturday lunchtime, where April agreed to meet me outside a pub on West Street. I kept the rest of the details to myself, sensing she was a fan of surprises.
I arrived ten minutes late only to find that, once again, I would be the one waiting for her.
Con: Finding a girl with even worse timekeeping than me.
When she finally arrived (twenty-five minutes late), I was struck dumb yet again by her choice of attire. Did this girl get dressed in the dark? A very normal, black, long-sleeved dress hung loosely around her body. That, alone, would have been fine. Great, in fact. But when combined with a pale blue beret and, no shit, tights that were purple on one leg and yellow on the other, she looked like a circus act. I shook my head in faux embarrassment and held the door open for her as she skipped inside.
I had expected April to act differently around me, now that she knew of my New Year's Eve plans. I had expected she might come armed with disparaging comments about my suicide mission, as Jay had done once the weight of my words dropped anchor. Perhaps she too would have popped into the doctors' surgery, or the local Samaritans' office, picking up leaflets about coping with depression or how to battle those thoughts of ending it all. Perhaps she would also join that guilt-ridden plight to save me from myself, or whatever it was Jay had attempted to do. However, my big revelation didn't seem to have affected April in the slightest. She was as buoyant as ever and certainly didn't appear to be hiding any anti-suicide propaganda in her handbag. 'So, why this place?' she asked once we had selected a table and sat down to peruse the menu.
Well, if you're going to act normal, then so will I. 'See those big screens over there? I thought it'd be fun if we placed a few bets online and watched the action from here.' I was pretty pleased with my plan for the date: a bit of lunch, a few drinks, casual gambling, a few more drinks, and then hopefully back to hers. I wasn't ready to take her back to mine – Jay eating a ready meal on the sofa with his hairy gut hanging over the waistband of his three-day-old pants hardly set the mood.
'Action? What action?'
'The Grand National – how can you not know that it's the Grand National today? Don't you listen to the news?'
She shook her head. 'It's too sad. They should report on all the amazing things that happen in the world instead of being so bloody pessimistic. I mean, all over the planet there are babies being born, charities helping the less fortunate, scientists learning how to cure diseases, orangutans learning to swim the breast stroke – that's the type of news I want to hear about. But they hardly ever cover those stories. It's all hurricanes and wars. If they jazzed it up a little, I might watch it.'
Amused by April's take on the news, I headed over to the bar to place our orders: steak pie for me and gammon, egg and chips for April. How she was not sick of chips was a mystery to me, but it was nice to be out with a girl who ate meat. Even better, a girl who didn't feel the need to pretend that all she wants is a garden salad to satisfy her delicate, feminine appetite, but who then tucks in to half of your proper food across the table.
When I returned, April had swivelled her chair around to face out of the window and away from the bar, the screens, and our actual table itself. She held her hands up like blinkers around the sides of her face and stared straight out onto the street.
'Erm, what are you doing?'
'Well, I don't actually agree with horseracing, so I'm afraid I won't be doing any bettin' or anythin' like that. I'm happy to stay here w' you while you do though.'
'Riiiight. And why are you facing the wrong way?'
'Oh, I can't watch it either,' she responded. 'I mean, don't get me wrong: I love horses. Seriously love them. They're such amazing animals. Did yer know that they can sleep both standing up an' lying down? And they only sleep for about 3 hours a day? They have longer pregnancies than humans too – it's about 11 months for them. Imagine that! I'd be well fed up, me. Then again, if you think horses have got it bad, a female sperm whale carries her young for about 19 months. Did yer know that? There's a type of shark as well - I think it's called a frilly shark - and that's got the longest pregnancy I've ever heard of: 3 and a half years! I don't think humans would bother havin' kids if that's how long it took. Honestly, I don't. It'd probably be better that way – yer know, slow the population down and everythin'.'
She'd lost me by this point; I was still in need of clarification. 'So, sorry, why exactly can't you watch the racing?'
'Yeah, well that's what I'm sayin' – I love horses, but that's exactly why I can't stand to see people competing with 'em. I don't think it's fair on the horses. I used to watch Grand National every year 'cause me dad used to let me and our Hannah pick a horse each and he'd put a bet on for us. The year I stopped supportin' it, I bet on this horse – I can't remember what he was called now – but I bet on him, and he ran so well, and he was miles ahead of all the others, he crossed the finish line first…and they gave first prize to someone else. It broke my heart. He had run and run and run his bollocks off, finished in record time and was stood there waitin' fer his prize and fer everyone to applaud him. His little face just crumpled when he saw them all celebratin' around this other horse. Honestly, just because his jockey fell off, it was like his win didn't even count any more. Poor thing – it was so cruel. Haven't watched a single race since then.'
April and I decided that it was probably best not to place any bets – I didn't want her reliving her childhood trauma and acting any more strangely than she already was. Instead, we each picked a horse that we would have bet on, in theory, just for fun, and had a few drinks instead (facing the window at all times, of course). I placed my imaginary money on 'Auroras Encore', an Irish-bred but Yorkshire-trained racehorse with a mixed track record but good odds. April chose 'On His Own' because he sounded lonely and she felt sorry for him.
Several hours on, in a haze of cheap beer, we discovered that April's horse had fallen and failed to finish the course. Mine, on the other hand, only went and fucking won the entire thing.
Con: Letting batty stories put me off a sure thing.
Luckily, back at hers, April was able to make it up to me.
I awoke on Monday morning to a voicemail from Emma. Early on, I had figured out how to set my mobile to forward all calls from certain people straight to voicemail. This ingenious development in technology had saved me a lot of hassle. I made a pot of coffee before I faced listening to it; I'd need caffeine to get through this.
'Simon? It's me: Emma. You're not answering your phone, as usual! I've tried the house but that line doesn't appear to be working either. You might want to get that fixed? Anyway, I'm just phoning to remind you about Henry's birthday party on the 28th. It's going to be an absolute hoot! His mum and I are planning the entire thing and guess what the theme is?'
Everybody come and look at what a posh twat I am?
'Regatta Gala! We're trying to organise an actual little rowing race on the Thames and everything, you know, to take him back to his days at Oxford. Just a friendly race, of course. It'll be so fantastic to all go out and get some fresh air! Afterwards, we're having everyone back to ours for a little boat-themed soiree, you know, all red, white and blue balloons – very nautical. I've ordered some fake seagulls, fishing nets, anchors, that sort of thing – and we're getting a little fish piñata and bubble machine for the children. I'll make some party nibbles – healthy, of course. In fact, Ellie's given me a great vegan recipe for some almond meal and Goji berry scones…I shall have to search that out. Anyway, it's going to be the wildest bash of the year! With it being his 35th, his mum and I thought we'd really push the boat out…oh gracious! Did you see what I did there? I just hope we don't go a little…overboard! Ok, ok, that one was on purpose. Goodness me, I'll have to write those down to use at the party! So, I simply MUST get the numbers sorted; you're welcome to bring someone if you like but you have to let me know ASAP. Oh, and you'll never guess who might be over from Portugal just in time to attend? Uncle Jame-'
I slammed my finger on the phone and hung up. That wasn't enough to relieve the hot, red sensation cursing through my body. I picked up my mug of coffee and sent it surging through the air. Some of the boiling liquid escaped as it left my hand, latching onto the skin of my wrist and searing just enough to distract me from breaking anything else. I watched my favourite mug smash into tiny fragments, leaving ugly brown stains weeping down the wall.
With 6 days to go until I returned to school, I needed to focus on enjoying my holiday and making the most of the rest of my time off. Ignoring voicemails from my family would be step one. I knew I'd been neglecting Jay a little over the past week, so I thought I'd clear some time for us to hang out, i.e. play FIFA and drink beer. Alcohol would help me to take my mind off things. Plus, I felt it best to leave April alone for a few days. Her parents had been angry that she missed her Saturday lunchtime shift and I felt guilty for inviting her out. She didn't tell me she was supposed to be working; she said she'd forgotten all about it, but that she needed to work a few extra shifts this week to make it up to her mum and dad. By the time Jay got up around 11am, I'd set up the PlayStation and filled the fridge with two six-packs of Budweiser. He gave me a man hug, called it 'the best wake-up a man could wish for' and settled himself down with a controller. His shift didn't start until 3pm and he reckoned work was always more interesting after a few beverages.
By 1pm, he'd beaten me five times and showed no sign of relenting. In my defence, he probably spent about 80% of his time outside work playing computer games. He spent the other 20% watching porn and crap T.V. For this reason, I didn't feel too humiliated. As our sixth game commenced, he decided to let me play as Barcelona, while he took Rotherham United - perhaps he did want to give me a fighting chance after all. I was four beers in and touched by his kind gesture, so I felt somewhat ready to tackle the uncomfortable, emotional stuff. 'So, err, how's things with your mum and all that?' I asked.
He paused and I saw the skin of his fingertips change to white as he gripped the controller more tightly; I think it was a distraction tactic – no guy wants to end up crying in front of one of their mates. 'Yeah, not too bad…considering. The most recent round of chemo has made her feel pretty sick most of the time, but – COME ON, SKARZ, KEEP YOUR FUCKING EYES ON THE BALL – but her doctor says that's to be expected. She's on her last three-week cycle of it at the moment, so we should know more after that.' The sounds of our controllers clicking filled the silence until Jay paused the game and went to raid the fridge for two more beers. 'How's things with you and the chip shop girl?'
'Her name is April,' I found myself snapping. I tried to follow up with a friendlier, more casual tone, 'It's going all right but, I mean, it's just a bit of fun. No big deal.' While Jay was busy searching for the bottle opener, I took the opportunity to accidentally knock the game off pause and run straight at his team's unprotected goal. 'YESSSSSSSSSSSS! MESSI: YOU BEAUTY!'
'You cheating little bastard!' Jay shouted as he headed back from the kitchen. 'Well, you can open your own bloody beer – and good luck with that, because the bottle opener's gone missing.' He raised his bottle to his mouth and used his teeth to prize it open.
At that moment, as though in celebration of my goal, the buzzer vibrated through the flat, indicating that the pizza delivery man had arrived. 'I'll get it,' I said, rising from the sofa as Jay sat down. 'I need a piss anyway. Plus, I need a break from all this winning.' Watching Jay's hand rise in his predictable middle-fingered gesture, I grinned and headed over to press the entry button to the flat. The button was a little worse for wear, so we had to hold it down hard until we heard the heavy front door swing open and the subsequent sound of footsteps on the metal stairs.
I was still mid-piss by the time the footsteps reached the top of the stairs and the doorbell rang. 'Jay?' I called. 'Can you get that, mate? I'm in the toilet. My wallet's on my bed.' I heard him heave his great mass off the sofa and trudge into my bedroom. 'Now, don't be alarmed by what you see – that is what a normal bedroom looks like. See that blue stuff on the floor? That's called carpet – you might be able to see yours too, if you actually used your wardrobe to store your clothes.' He ignored my jibes entirely and went to answer the door.
When the first words out of his mouth were: 'Who are you?' I knew it wasn't the visitor we were hoping for. I washed my hands and headed out into the hallway. Standing on the welcome mat Jay bought as a joke, which read:
OH SHIT.
NOT YOU AGAIN.
was April. Red rings surrounded her watery eyes and streaks of blue mascara lay smudged all over her freckled face; she looked a little like a clown who'd recently been in a fight. I stood silently, unsure how to proceed with Jay watching. Crying girls made me uncomfortable at the best of times.
Jay was the first to break the hollow lull. 'April, I assume?' She nodded. 'I'm Jay - Simon's super hot, trendy flatmate, whom I'm sure he's told you plenty about.' He extended his hand towards her. 'Pleasure to meet you.'
April laughed and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She moved forward, shoving Jay's hand out of the way and enveloping him in an over-friendly hug. 'It's great to meet you too.'
He held her shoulders back out at arms-length and surveyed her up and down. 'Well, I can certainly see why Simon's been favouring time with you over time with me for the last week – just look at you!' April grinned over at me and used the sleeve of her brown fur coat to wipe her wet nose. 'And then look at me!' He pointed down at the mountainous protrusion of his stomach, which was sagging out from underneath the hem of his black Blink 182 t-shirt. 'It's alright, though – this might look like fat, but it's actually all the energy I need to power the luuurve machine.' He winked at April and she broke into laughter once again. You had to give it to him: he might have been a dickhead sometimes, but Jay had a real knack when it came to cheering people up.
Several hours later, Jay had left for his late shift and April had mollified her tears using the remainder of the Budweiser in the fridge. Apparently, the reason behind the upset was that she'd settled down at work with a couple of deep-fried Crème Eggs after a busy lunch shift and her mum had made a remark about her weight. 'Are you sure you should be eating those?' April mimicked. 'That's what she said. Stupid cow. I mean, for Christ's sake, if yer want to call me fat, at least have the decency to actually SAY it. I hate it when people tiptoe around a subject, using their words like little cattle prods to jab and poke at somethin' from a distance. Anyway, she knows it's not my fault I've put on weight. It's been goin' on fer years – it's all because of the Lith- the, err, the medication my doctor put me on.' I wanted to ask what medication she meant, but I had a feeling that might be a little invasive. Plus, as long as it wasn't for anything I could catch, it didn't really matter. She didn't look like the kind of girl who'd have sexually-transmitted diseases or anything like that, so I was probably safe. I decided it was best not to ask. Plus, having allowed the notion of sex into my head, I now had an inevitable erection and pretended that there was something fascinating in my bedroom that I really needed to show her.
'Have you got a hairdryer I can borrow?' She was post-shower – all soft, pink skin and towel-less. I was embarrassed to admit it, but I did actually use a hairdryer whenever Jay had his speakers on so loudly that I was sure he wouldn't hear it. Otherwise, if I slept on wet hair, it would go all frizzy and crap-looking by the morning. I directed her towards the first drawer of my dresser and tried to ignore her sniggers.
'April?'
'Hmmm?'
'Not that I mind you coming round or anything – because honestly, I don't – but how did you know where I lived?'
'When you went off to the toilet the other day, when we were not-watching the horse racing, I had a little look inside your wallet; your address was on your driving licence. I hope you don't mind. I guess I just wanted to check you weren't some demented, psycho killer or anything.'
'And, if I were, you'd find that information in my wallet, would you? Like, perhaps I'd just happen to have my membership card for the Society of Mass Murderers and Serial Killers readily available?'
'Mmmm, yeah.' April had clearly stopped listening and was busy rooting around inside my dresser-drawer. 'Simon, what's a bucket list?' she asked.
'What?'
'Here,' she was waving a piece of paper in the air. 'You've got one in this drawer. It says: Simon Bramwell's Bucket List.'
Shit. 'Oh, yeah. Right. Well, that's private actually, so if you could just-'
'Who's Emma?'
'Give it here.'
'Yer've never been in a fight? Never EVER? And yer call yerself a MAN?'
'April, just hand it ov-'
'Tell Dad the truth? The truth about what?' Her voice was animated, eager to discover more about my cryptic scribbling. She must have been stung by my expression as soon as she looked up; she dropped the list onto the bed at once and dried her hair in silence.
By the time she finished, I had an idea to distract from further questions. 'A bucket list is kind of like a To Do list,' I explained, 'but it features things you'd like to achieve before you die, or kick the bucket; that's where the name comes from. They can be big things or small things – serious or silly. Just whatever goals you have. Some people choose countries they hope to visit, foods they'd like to try, or you can add big aims like getting married and having kids. It's up to you.'
Her huge eyes lit up like two full moons. 'Can I borrow a pen?'
In the twenty minutes that followed, I discovered the following pieces of information: April couldn't write without sticking her tongue out in concentration; I couldn't watch April's concentration face without smiling; and April had some extremely odd life aims.
April Barnes' Bucket List
High five a monkey.
Use a funny, fake name at Starbucks.
Be happy forever.
Go Trick-or-Treating.
Stroke a squirrel in the park.
Get those braces with the cool multi-coloured elastic bands on.
Sleep overnight in a zoo.
Eat dinner with strangers in a restaurant.
Moon somebody important.
Hire two private investigators and get them to follow each other.
Find my parents.
'So, these are all the things I have to do by the end of 2013?' she asked, proudly surveying her handiwork.
'No, not for you. You've got your whole life to fulfil yours; it's only me who needs to get a move on.'
'Well, why don't we do it together? Like a pact? Both of us have to tick off as many as we can by the end of this year. And we can help each other. It'll be FUN!' She seemed so enthused by the idea that it was very difficult to refuse. I realise how morbid our little agreement probably sounds to most people, but April wasn't like anyone else I'd ever met: she even managed to inject entertainment into the idea of ticking off your final deeds as you counted down to death. With her backing me, I felt that I actually might have a chance at completing my bucket list after all. In fact, I was beginning to wonder how I'd ever got anything done before I met her.
