‘I can see inside planes!’ he yells. ‘Come and look!’
It’s difficult climbing in a mini-dress. The whole web of ropes swings and I have to kick my shoes to the ground. Cal laughs at me. ‘Right to the top!’ he orders. It’s really bloody high, and some kid with a face like a bus is shaking the ropes at the bottom. I haul myself up, even though my arms ache. I want to see inside planes too. I want to watch the wind and catch birds in my fist.
I make it. I can see the top of the church, and the trees that line the park and all the conker pods ready to burst. The air is clean and the clouds are close, like being on a very small mountain. I look down at all the upturned faces.
‘High, isn’t it?’ Cal says.
‘Yes.’
‘Shall we go on the swings next?’
‘Yes.’
Yes to everything you say, Cal, but first I want to feel the air circle my face. I want to watch the curve of the earth as we slowly shift round the sun.
‘I told you it would be fun.’ Cal’s face is shining with good humour. ‘Let’s go on
There’s a queue at the swings, so we go on the seesaw. I’m still heavier than him, still his big sister, and I can slam my legs on the ground so he bounces high and screams with laughter as he falls back hard on his bum. He’ll have bruises, but he doesn’t care. Say yes, just say yes.
We go everywhere – the little house at the top of the ladder in the sandpit, where we just fit in. The motorbike on a giant spring, which veers drunkenly to one side when I sit on it, so I scrape my knee on the ground. There’s a wooden beam and we pretend we’re gymnasts, an alphabet snake to walk, a hopscotch, some monkey bars. Then back to the swings, where a queue of mums with their bits of tissue and fat-faced babies tut at me as I beat Cal to the only available one. My dress flashes thigh. It makes me laugh. It makes me lean back and swing even higher. Maybe if I swing high enough, the world will be different.
I don’t see Zoey arrive. When Cal points her out, she’s leaning against the entrance to the playground watching us. She might’ve been there for ages. She’s wearing a crop top and a skirt that only just covers her bum.
‘Morning,’ she says as we join her. ‘I see you started without me.’
I feel myself blush. ‘Cal wanted me to go on the swings.’
‘And you had to say yes, of course.’
‘Yes.’
She looks thoughtfully at Cal. ‘We’re going to the market,’ she tells him. ‘We’re going to buy things and talk about periods, so you’re going to be really bored.’
He looks up at her crossly, his face smeared with dirt. ‘I want to go to the magic shop.’
‘Good. Off you go then. See you later.’
‘He has to come with us,’ I tell her. ‘I promised him.’
She sighs and walks off. Cal and me find ourselves following.
Zoey was the only girl at school who wasn’t afraid of my illness. She’s still the only person I know who walks down the street as if muggings never happen, as if people never get stabbed, buses never mount pavements, illness never strikes. Being with her is like being told they got it wrong and I’m not dying, someone else is, and it’s all a mistake.
‘Wiggle,’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘Move those hips, Tessa!’
This dress is very short. It shows every shiver and fold. A car hoots. A group of boys look long and hard, at my breasts, at my arse.
‘Why do you have to do what she says?’ Cal asks.
‘I just do.’
Zoey’s delighted. She waits for us to catch up and links arms with me. ‘You’re forgiven,’ she says.
‘For what?’
She leans in conspiratorially. ‘For being so horrid about your crap shag.’
‘I wasn’t!’
‘Yeah, you were. But it’s OK.’
‘It’s rude to whisper!’ Cal says.
She pushes him ahead of us, pulls me closer to her as we walk. ‘So,’ she says. ‘How far are you prepared to go? Would you get a tattoo if I told you to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you take drugs?’
‘I
‘Would you tell that man you love him?’
The man she points to is bald and older than my dad. He’s coming out of the newsagent’s ripping cellophane from a packet of fags and letting it flutter from his hand to the ground.
‘Yes.’
‘Go on then.’
The man taps a fag from the box, lights it and blows smoke into the air. I walk up to him and he turns, half smiling, maybe expecting someone he knows.
‘I love you,’ I say.
He frowns, then notices Zoey giggling. ‘Piss off,’ he says. ‘Bloody idiot.’
It’s hilarious. Me and Zoey hold onto each other and laugh a lot. Cal grimaces at us in despair. ‘Can we just go now?’ he says.
The market’s heaving. People everywhere jostling, like the day is full of emergencies. Fat old women with their shopping baskets shove past me; parents with buggies take up all the room. Standing here with the grey light of this day around me is like being in a dream, as if I’m not moving at all, as if the pavement is sticky and my feet made of lead. Boys stalk past me, hoods up, faces blank. Girls I used to go to school with meander by. They don’t recognize me now; it’s been so long since I’ve been in a classroom. The air is thick with the smell of hotdogs, burgers and onions. Everything’s for sale – boiling chickens hanging by their feet, trays of tripe and offal, half-sides of pig, their cracked ribs exposed. Material, wool, lace and curtains. At the toy stall, dogs yap and do somersaults and wind-up soldiers clang cymbals. The stallholder smiles at me, points to a giant plastic doll sitting mute in her cellophane.
‘Only a tenner, love.’
I turn away, pretend not to hear.
Zoey looks at me sternly. ‘You’re supposed to be saying yes to everything. Next time, buy it – whatever it is. OK?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Back in a minute.’ And she disappears amongst the crowd.
I don’t want her to go. I need her. If she doesn’t come back, my day will amount to a turn round the playground and a couple of wolf whistles on the way to the market.
‘You all right?’ Cal says.
‘Yeah.’
‘You don’t look it.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Well, I’m bored.’
Which is dangerous, because obviously I’ll have to say yes to him if he asks to go back home.
‘Zoey’ll be back in a minute. Maybe we could get the bus across town. We could go to the magic shop.’
Cal shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘She won’t want to do that.’
‘Look at the toys while you’re waiting.’
‘The toys are crap.’
Are they? I used to come here with Dad and look at them. Everything used to gleam.
Zoey comes back looking agitated. ‘Scott’s a lying bastard,’ she says.
‘Who?’
