Ewan did a polite smile that wasn’t exactly a Yes.
‘Well. Jolly good. I’ll just…pop up and check that Julia knows you’re here. Will you be okay waiting here, just for a minute or two?’
Ewan inspected the family photos above the telephone. (The Baby Jason one makes me cringe but my parents won’t take it down.) I inspected Ewan, the mysterious being who actually chooses to spend free time with Julia. He even spends money on necklaces and LPs and stuff like that for her. Why?
Ewan didn’t look surprised as I came downstairs. ‘Jason, right?’
‘No. I’m The Thing.’
‘She only calls you that when she’s really angry with you.’
‘Yeah, like every minute of every hour of every day.’
‘Not true. Promise you. And God, you should’ve heard what she called me when she spent the whole morning in the hairdresser’s,’ Ewan pulled this funny guilty face, ‘and I didn’t even notice.’
‘What?’
‘If I repeated it verbatim,’ Ewan lowered his voice, ‘chunks of plaster would come crashing down from the ceiling, in shock. The wallpaper would unpeel itself. A pretty grim first impression that would make on your parents, don’t you think? Very sorry, but some things must remain veiled in secrecy.’
Must be ace being Ewan. Being able to talk like that. I could think of much worse kids to have as a brother-in-law. ‘Can I sit in your MG?’
Ewan glanced at his chunky Sekonda (with metal strap). ‘Why not?’
‘So, do you like it?’
Suede steering wheel. Ox-blood leather, walnut and chrome finishings. Gear-stick knob snug in my palm. Sleek lowness, the tilt and hug of the squelky seats. Ghostly glow on the dashboard when Ewan put the key in the ignition. Needles afloat in gauges. Tarry-smelling hood muffling out the wind. An incredible song filled the car from four hidden speakers. (‘“Heaven”,’ Ewan told me, breezy but proud. ‘Talking Heads. David Byrne’s a genius.’ I just nodded, still taking it all in.) Bitter orange scent from a crystally air-freshener. CND sticker next to the tax disc. God, if I had a car like Ewan’s MG, I’d get out of Black Swan Green faster than a Super Étendard. Far away from Mum and Dad and their three-, four- and five-star arguments. Far from school and Ross Wilcox and Gary Drake and Neal Brose and Mr Carver. Dawn Madden could come with me, but nobody else. I’d do an Evel Knievel off the White Cliffs of Dover, over the English Channel, over the spotless stainless sunrise. We’d land on the Normandy beaches, drive south, lie about our ages and work in vineyards or ski chalets. My poems’d get published by Faber Faber with a sketch of me on the cover. Every fashion photographer in Europe’d want to shoot Dawn. My school’d boast about us in their prospectus but I’d never, ever, ever come back to muddy Worcestershire.
‘Do you a swap,’ I told Ewan. ‘My Big Trak for your MG. You can program in up to twenty commands.’
Ewan pretended to agonize over this tempting offer. ‘Not sure if I could navigate the Worcester one-way system, even on a Big Trak.’ His breath smelt of spearmint Tic-Tacs and I caught a whiff of Old Spice. ‘Sorry.’
Julia tapped on my window with an amused Oy! in her eyes. I realized my annoying sister’s a woman. Dark lipstick, Julia had on, and a necklace of bluish pearls that’d belonged to our grandma. I wound down the window. Julia peered in at Ewan, then me, then Ewan. ‘You’re late.’
Ewan turned Talking Heads down. ‘I’m late?’
That smile’s nothing to do with me.
Were Mum and Dad like this, once upon a time?
Our dining room sort of juddered like a silent bomb’d gone off. Me, Mum and Julia froze as Radio 4 told us which ship’d been sunk. HMS Coventry’d been anchored at her usual station north of Pebble Island with the frigate HMS Broadsword. At approximately 1400 hours a pair of enemy Skyhawks came flying in at deck level out of nowhere. The Coventry launched her Sea Darts, but missed, allowing the Skyhawks to drop four of their 1,000-pound bombs at point-blank range. One fell astern, but the other three tore into the ship’s port side. All three detonated deep within the ship, knocking out the power systems. The fire control crews were soon overwhelmed, and in a matter of minutes the Coventry was listing badly to port. Sea Kings and Wessex helicopters flew over from San Carlos to get the