Thirty-three

They didn’t talk on the train at first; every now and again Ellie would give a small sob, or threaten to press the emergency stop button, or threaten to do things to the people who looked at her when she swore or swigged from her bottle of vodka. Marcus felt exhausted. It was now perfectly clear to him that, even though he thought Ellie was great, and even though he was always pleased to see her at school, and even though she was funny and pretty and clever, he didn’t want her to be his girlfriend. She just wasn’t the right sort of person for him. He really needed to be with someone quieter, someone who liked reading and computer games, and Ellie needed to be with someone who liked drinking vodka and swearing in front of people and threatening to stop trains.

His mum had explained to him once (perhaps when she was going out with Roger, who wasn’t like her at all) that sometimes people needed opposites, and Marcus could see how that might work: if you thought about it, right at this moment Ellie needed someone who was going to stop her from pressing the button more than she needed someone who loved pressing buttons, because if she was with someone who loved pressing buttons, they would have pressed it by now and they’d be on their way to prison. The trouble with this theory, though, was that actually it wasn’t an awful lot of fun being the opposite of Ellie. It had been fun sometimes—at school, where Ellie’s… Ellieness could be contained. But out in the world it was no fun at all. It was frightening and embarrassing.

‘Why does it matter so much?’ he asked her quietly. ‘I mean, I know you like his records and everything, and I know it’s sad because of Frances Bean, but—’

‘I loved him.’

‘You didn’t know him.’

‘Of course I knew him. I listened to him sing every single day. I wear him every single day. The things he sings about, that’s him. I know him better than I know you. He understood me.’

‘He understood you?’ How did that work? How did someone you had never met understand you?

‘He knew what I felt, and he sang about it.’

Marcus tried to remember some of the words to the songs on the Nirvana record that Will had given him for Christmas. He had only ever been able to hear little bits: ‘I feel stupid and contagious.’ ‘A mosquito.’ ‘I don’t have a gun.’ None of it meant anything to him.

‘So what were you feeling?’

‘Angry.’

‘What about?’

‘Nothing. Just… life.’

‘What about life?’

‘It’s shit.’

Marcus thought about that. He thought about whether life was shit, and whether Ellie’s life in particular was shit, and then he realized that Ellie spent her whole time wanting life to be shit, and then making life shit by making things difficult for herself. School was shit because she wore her sweatshirt every day, which she wasn’t allowed to do, and because she shouted at teachers and got into fights, which upset people. But what if she didn’t wear her sweatshirt and stopped shouting at people? How shit would life be then? Not very, he thought. Life was really shit for him, what with his mum and the other kids at school and all that, and he’d give anything to be Ellie; but Ellie seemed determined to turn herself into him, and why would anyone want to do that?

Somehow it reminded him of Will and his pictures of dead drug-takers; maybe Ellie was like Will. If either of them had real trouble in their lives, they wouldn’t want or need to invent it for themselves, or put pictures of it on the walls.

‘Is that really true, Ellie? Do you really think life is shit?’

‘Course.’

‘Why?’

‘Because… because the world is sexist and racist and full of injustice.’

Marcus knew this was true—his mum and dad had told him so often enough—but he wasn’t convinced that this was what made Ellie angry.

‘And is that what Kurt Cobain thought?’

‘I don’t know. Probably.’

‘So you’re not sure that he felt the same way as you.’

‘He sounded as though he did.’

‘Do you feel like shooting yourself?’

‘Of course. Sometimes, anyway.’

Marcus looked at her. ‘That’s not true, Ellie.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I know how my mum feels. And you don’t feel like that. You’d like to think you do, but you don’t. You have too good a time.’

‘I have a shit time.’

‘No. I have a shit time. Apart from the time I spend with you. And my mum has a shit time. But you… I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t know anything.’

‘I know some things. I know about that. I’ll tell you, Ellie, you don’t feel anything like my mum, or Kurt Cobain. You shouldn’t say that you feel like killing yourself when you don’t. It’s not right.’

Ellie shook her head and laughed her low nobody-understands-me laugh, a noise that Marcus hadn’t heard since the day they met outside Mrs Morrison’s office. She was right, he hadn’t understood her then; he understood her much better now.

They sat in silence for a couple of stops. Marcus looked out of the window and tried to work out how to explain Ellie to his dad. He hardly noticed when the train pulled in at Royston station, and he wasn’t even completely alert when Ellie suddenly stood up and jumped off the train. He hesitated for a moment, then, with a horrible sick feeling, he jumped off after her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I don’t want to go to Cambridge. I don’t know your dad.’

‘You didn’t know him before, and you wanted to come then.’

‘That was before. Everything’s different now.’

He followed her; he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. They walked out of the station, up a side road and then on to the High Street. They walked past a chemist and a greengrocer’s and a Tesco, and then they came to a record shop which had a big cardboard cut-out of Kurt Cobain in the window.

‘Look at that,’ said Ellie. ‘Bastards. They’re trying to make money out of him already.’

She took off one of her boots, and threw it at the glass as hard as she could. She cracked it first time, and Marcus found himself thinking about how shop windows in Royston were much weedier than shop windows in London before he realized what was going on.

‘Shit, Ellie!’

She picked up the boot and used it as a hammer, carefully smashing a hole big enough to lean through without hurting herself, and rescued Kurt Cobain from his record-shop prison.

‘There. He’s out.’ She sat down on the kerb outside the shop, holding Kurt to her as if he were a ventriloquist’s dummy, and smiling this weird little smile to herself; meanwhile Marcus panicked. He charged up the road, intending to run all the way back to London or on to Cambridge, whichever direction he was heading. After a few yards, however, his legs went all shaky, and he stopped, took a few deep breaths, and went back to sit with her.

‘What did you do that for?’

‘I dunno. It just didn’t seem right, him being in there on his own.’

‘Oh, Ellie.’ Once again, Marcus was left with the feeling that Ellie didn’t have to do what she had just done, and that she had brought the trouble she was in upon herself. He was tired of it. It wasn’t real, and there was enough real trouble in the world without having to invent things.

The street had been quiet when Ellie broke the window, but the noise of breaking glass had woken Royston up, and a couple of people closing up their shops had run down to see what was going on.

‘Right, you two. Stay there,’ said a guy with long hair and a suntan. Marcus reckoned he had to be a hairdresser or someone who worked in a boutique. He wouldn’t have been able to work something like that out a while ago, but if you hung around with Will long enough you picked stuff up.

‘We’re not going anywhere, are we, Marcus?’ said Ellie sweetly.

When they were sitting in the police car Marcus remembered the day he had walked out of school, and the future he had predicted for himself that afternoon. He’d been right, in a way. His whole life had changed, just as he thought it would, and he was almost certain now that he would become a tramp or a drug addict. He was already a criminal. And it was all his mum’s fault! If his mum hadn’t complained to Mrs Morrison about the shoes, then he would never have got cross with Mrs Morrison for suggesting that he should keep out of the way of the kids who were giving him a hard time. And then he wouldn’t have walked out, and… and he would never have met Ellie that morning. Ellie had something to answer for here. It was Ellie, after all, who had just chucked a boot at a plate-glass window. The point was that once you had become a truant, you started hanging out with people like Ellie, and getting into trouble, and being arrested and taken to Royston police station. Now there was nothing he could do about it.