Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,26
spidery lines and wondered if the print of someone’s lips was as unique as a fingerprint. “How old are you, anyway?” she asked.
“Thirteen,” I said.
“I’m nearly sixteen. But people always tell me I look older.” She inhaled again and turned away, so that I could watch the stark silhouette of her profile as she pouted little puffy smoke rings into the air. “You think I look older than fifteen?” she asked, eyeing me sideways.
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “You look … You look just like a film star.” I knew I sounded stupid, but she made me think of all those old films I had watched on cold and rainy Sunday afternoons. My mother always sighed as she looked longingly at the men: Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Kirk Douglas, Victor Mature. But they always seemed stiff-jawed and graceless to me. I much preferred the women: Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Ingrid Bergman—their long, tilted necks, loose languid movements, thrown-out chests, their fierce and watery eyes. And the way they smoked, the plumes curling away from them, making their hot breaths visible, filling a room with their fire.
“You’re funny,” she said, slapping my arm gently. “Very funny.” She laughed, a big, delighted laugh that danced through the rainy evening and bounced across the empty street. Just hearing it made a smile tug at the edges of my mouth. “So, what do they call you?” she asked. “Jesse,” I said. “Jesse Bennett.”
“Right,” she said, pausing to take another drag of her cigarette. “I’m Amanda.” She exhaled her name in a cloud of blue smoke. “Amanda,” I repeated. “That’s a nice name.”
“It’ll do.”
“Do you live here in Midham?”
“Afraid so. Up there, on the Primrose Housing Estate.” She nodded toward the end of the street. “Marigold Court.”
“I just moved here,” I said.
“Did you, now?”
“Yes, with my mum and dad. My dad wanted us to move out to the countryside. To … get away from things.”
“Well, he certainly did a good job of that. Not exactly the center of the universe round here, is it?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“But you know what, it could be worse,” she added, grinning and nudging me gently.
“Yes, that’s what I said to my mum. She’s not very happy here. But I told her—” I found myself wanting to confide in Amanda, to tell her something about my mother and about my family, about all the reasons I had found myself here.
“Oh, look, there he is.” She interrupted me to point across the street to where a blue Ford Cortina was pulling up. “That’s my boyfriend, Stan,” she said, dropping her cigarette to the wet pavement, where the shimmering orange end fizzed and died. “Normally he drives a motorbike, a dead-nice one. But, with the weather the way it is, he borrowed a mate’s car. He’s taking me to the pictures. Going to see some horror film. Jaws.” She made her eyes wide and gave a little shiver. “It’s supposed to be dead scary. Sorry I’ve got to go. And I’ve got to take my brolly.”
I didn’t mind at all about the rain, but I wanted her to remain there, standing next to me, to tell the boyfriend, Stan, to go to see the film by himself. I glowered over at the car, wishing it would pull away without Amanda.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s tell your dad to hurry up so you don’t get too wet.” Before I could say anything, she grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the shopwindow. Inside, under the fluorescent lights, I could see my father standing at the checkout stand. “Is that him?” Amanda asked.
“Yes,” I said flatly.
“God, he’s dead slow, isn’t he?” she said.
She was right. He was packing his purchases into a carrier bag, taking each item and deliberately placing it in the bag before reaching for the next. The faces of the women behind him in the queue were taut with impatience. The cashier held out his change and a sheet of Co-op stamps, but he hadn’t noticed. She looked at the other women and rolled her eyes.
“Hey,” Amanda called. “Hurry up.” She rapped hard on the window. Everyone in the shop turned to squint in our direction. “I said, hurry up.” She knocked on the window again. My father frowned and peered toward us. Amanda laughed and knocked again. “Come on, slowcoach, get moving, can’t you? It’s raining cats and dogs out here, and this poor lass is going to catch her death.”