1993
That night they went out for dinner. The impromptu tea at Kitty’s mansion had slightly upended their day and there’d been no time to go shopping for food so Kirsty had said, ‘Why don’t we eat by the beach tonight? It’ll be really nice.’
It was a lovely evening, cool but golden with a brilliant blue sky, so Tony suggested the smart seafood restaurant at the other end of town with the covered terrace overlooking the beach. ‘No starters though,’ he pre-instructed.
Gray appraised Kirsty over the top of his menu. She looked different.
‘What?’ she said, spotting his gaze on her.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘What are you having?’
‘Scampi,’ she said, closing her menu.
Mascara. That’s what it was. She was wearing mascara.
‘What are you having?’
‘Minute steak,’ he said.
She mock yawned. Gray always ordered steak.
‘What did you talk about?’ he asked. ‘You and the weirdo?’
‘Oh, Graham,’ his mum interjected. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘Well,’ he countered, ‘he’s not exactly normal is he?’
‘Well, no,’ said Tony, ‘but then, who is? Really? It’s something you realise the older you get. Everyone’s a bit strange.’
‘Yes, but not everyone takes your fifteen-year-old daughter off to the bottom of the garden to look at “donkeys”.’
‘There was a donkey!’ Kirsty cried.
Gray sighed.
‘It was called Nancy. It was beautiful. And he’s not weird. He’s just . . . posh.’
‘He’s posh and weird. I mean, who invites a group of total strangers round for tea?’
‘He’s bored,’ said Kirsty. ‘He told me. He offered to come here to keep his aunt company because he thought some of his friends from the old days might be here and they’re not and now he’s stuck here with no one to hang out with.’
‘So he decides he wants to hang out with the Rosses from Croydon?’
Kirsty shrugged.
The waitress appeared and took their order and Gray looked down from the terrace on to the steam fair below. It was a pleasant evening and the seafront was heaving with bodies: clusters of teens and families. Gray did a double-take at a fleeting glimpse of a head of slick dark hair. He followed the head as it passed through the crowds. It wasn’t, was it? Was it Mark? The figure circled the dodgems, then stopped and bought an ice cream. Then he started walking towards the near side of the fairground, and as he got closer he looked up and Gray whispered, ‘Jesus,’ under his breath.
‘What?’ said Kirsty.
Mark caught Gray’s eye and raised his ice-cream cone towards him.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered again, raising his hand to return the greeting.
‘What?’ Kirsty got up from her seat and came to see what he was looking at. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘It’s Mark!’ She waved and Mark waved back and then Pam joined them and waved and Gray folded his arms across his chest and sighed.
‘Come down,’ he heard Mark call up. ‘After dinner. I’ll wait for you!’
Kirsty was flushed when she retook her seat.
‘You’re not going to go, are you?’ he asked, incredulously.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re fifteen! Because he’s nineteen! Mum, Dad, you’re not going to let her, are you?’
Pam and Tony looked at each other and then at Gray, and Pam said, ‘I don’t see any reason why not? Do you?’ She glanced at Tony again.
Tony shook his head. ‘Long as you’re home by ten.’
The rest of the meal was tainted for Gray. He stole glances off the terrace every now and then, staking out the unnaturally shining crown of Mark’s head. Who went to a funfair by themselves? Who hung around for an hour waiting for a teenage girl to finish her dinner?
His minute steak was tough and chewy, the chips were too greasy and the ketchup wasn’t Heinz. He put down his knife and fork halfway through the meal. Kirsty, he noticed, was racing through her scampi, putting two in her mouth at once at one point. She slapped her knife and fork together, gulped down the dregs of her Coke, accepted a five-pound note from her dad’s wallet and left.
Gray turned and watched. He saw his little sister, her feet suddenly not so turned in, her gait suddenly not so gangling, stride down the steps and towards Mark, who was waiting for her by the entrance. Mark greeted her with a brief embrace and a kiss to her cheek. Then he stood with his hand upon her shoulder and smiled at her for a moment, before taking her arm by the elbow and leading her gallantly into the crowds.
And then Gray thought about the mascara and he knew that this had all been pre-planned. Down by the donkey paddock. He tried to imagine the conversation; he saw Mark smiling conspiratorially and saying, ‘Eight o’clock. Find a way to get away.’ And his sister, his gorgeous, stupid, never-been-kissed sister, saying, ‘I’ll be there!’ as if this was a scene in some stupid Disney Channel show.
And then he stood up and said to his mum and dad, ‘I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you back at the cottage.’
‘No pudding?’ asked his mum.
‘No.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘I’m not feeling too good actually. Think it was all that cake earlier.’
‘Oh.’ His mum made a poor baby face and stroked his hand. ‘Well, you get some fresh air and we’ll see you later.’
He smiled at them both and left, heading towards the steam fair. He found a good vantage point on a wall just above the fair, lowered his sunglasses, sat down and watched.