Graffiti My Soul (16 page)

‘So even
you
are calling him suspicious now,' said Moon, suddenly suspicious herself. ‘'Cos if that's the case, I don't know what we're doing here.'

‘I mean, suspicious 'cos that's what Mum thinks, in spite of all the good intentions. Casey ain't guilty of nothing. I'd trust him with my life, you guys.'

‘That's going a bit far, isn't it?' goes Jase, the most nervous I'd seen him looking in a long time.

‘Not really,' I said, ‘'cos it's true. Just spend an hour or so with him, alcohol or not. You'll see.'

We're all on our feet and gravitate towards each other, until we're standing in a line facing the door to greet the reception party; like a trio of waiting diplomats from Planet I'LL KICK UR ASS.

43

When Mum and Casey re-enter the room, she already has her coat on. Guest arrived, time to piss off. She pushes him towards us like we're playing Tag Team.

I've been waiting so long my mouth shoots off ahead of itself.

‘Casey! Happy Birthday! I know technically it isn't your birthday,
because the actual day is on Tuesday, but Happy Birthday! D'you like it? Do you? Really, we should have had one of those Happy Birthday songs to play on your entrance, like maybe that Stevie Wonder one, 'cos it's classic and not too cheesy, though it would have most likely been the Fiddy Cent one, where it just goes on about it being your birthday and everything, but we didn't get it together in time.'

Everyone looked at me as if I were a mad person, not getting that this is how me and Casey talk – all the time.

Casey took in the table, the balloons, the banners, Bedingfield on loop, and his house-guests, and his eyes were moist.

‘It looks like you've done a pretty cracking job to me, young Turk. It's a blessing, truly it is.'

Over his shoulder I could see the younger guests rolling their eyes and making faces.

He shakes everyone's hand, including mine, distantly and self-consciously. Even before he's got through the procession, all ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Moon Jones' and ‘Ah, yes! Jason, SIR, the rock n roll rebel!', Mum's vanished; partly to do with the countdown to Mike, and partly to do with a major decrease in patience. On her days off I think she takes exception to wheeling the patience out when she really doesn't have to.

Casey's been to the gym or somewhere whilst we've been balloon-blowing and party-planning. Scrubbed up a treat. Hair still damp, and curly and tight, still too short for a full comb, but forced into something resembling a side parting, a definite shift to the left in any case, clean-shaved, skin rosy and scrubbed. Out of the tracksuit and into
cargo pants
and a white polo shirt. I'd never seen him look smarter.

First impressions: if you saw Casey looking like that in the street, you'd think manager, David Lloyd Centre, or maybe Head Lifeguard if he was ten years younger. But I'm not malicious in my appraisal, the way Moon and Jase are. I'm just absorbing their judgements so that Casey doesn't have to. I'm a big brown sponge who mops up the bad energy so that you can only see the good. If I were a wire, I'd be Earth. Ask anyone.

He pulls a bag from one of the lower, more voluminous of the cargo-pant pockets.

‘I stopped at HMV on the way up. Thought you'd want something a little more feel-good than my usual selection.'

He handed the bag to a dumbstruck Jason.

‘Pop-Dance Hits? You think we like Pop-Dance Hits?'

‘Also, don't get too excited. I've got you some beers. Just some light beers, 'cos I don't want to get into any strife with your folks. Just, seeing how you've gone to so much trouble for me, the least I can do is give you a little something in return.'

The scorn plastered across Jase's face immediately vanished on mention of the B-word.

‘Mate, why didn't you say so sooner? Go get them from wherever they're hiding. A couple of those, and I'll be happy with your Pop-Dance anything.'

By the time CD 1 has finished and CD 2 begins to creak into motion, all party activity is at its peak. Moon hasn't been eating, so the 0.25% of alcohol in her system is determining her every action; still straight-edge, but no longer horizontal, a degree or two above terra firma. Turfing Casey from his favoured spot, she's dancing on the sofa to an audience of three. It's some cheesy mix of ‘Crazy In Love', which she's claimed to have always hated, in spite of the tribute to Beyonce that now twists and shakes before us. Jase, after looking delighted, then uncomfortable, then bored, disappears to the loo for a smoke. Casey looks bemused, with thoughts like ‘Do people really dance like that?' crossing and criss-crossing his face as he struggles to follow the variety of moves.

Which leaves a two-horse race. In normal circumstances, i.e. if we were in my bedroom or hers, I'd be up there joining her, bus'ing my head up, throwing my set around like Jay Z. I'm not as keen to do that in front of Casey. Also, I haven't had my 0.25% of alcohol to sozzle my inhibitions.

‘It's a party, guys. Come on! Get up here!'

We stay grounded and wait for the show to end, which is about ten
minutes later when Moon throws up due to motion sickness (the spins were crazy, bra), or the cupcakes, or the 0.25, or maybe just a combo.

I'm not smug. I just know that all straight-edgers shouldn't get so carefree with their drink. It only leads to trouble.

Casey takes it all in his stride, making her a slice of toast and giving her weak, sweet tea, but Pop-Dance Party does lose its earlier euphoria and becomes more subdued after that. We sit in our circle like a bunch of old women and pass the sausage rolls.

‘Did you not have any mates you wanted to ask down?' goes Moon, when she gets her voice back. ‘A crowd is always good for a party.'

‘A couple of my muckers from the church I go to said they'd try to make it, but y'know, sudden commitments and all that. I'm quite happy with the crowd I got here, to be honest. I think we're happening enough without the addition of more cautious influences to cramp our style.'

‘If you say so,' goes Jase.

The buzz from the door forces everyone to check themselves; that maybe Casey had invited friends who'd be mad and funny and show us that he wasn't all loner and grudge.

It was a pizza boy. Brendan had sent his apologies with a twenty-inch American Hot with extra mushrooms.

‘I didn't even know we'd invited Brendan,' said Casey, dumfounded. ‘Where did that come from?'

‘I just thought you might appreciate it, now the dust has settled. Should have known he couldn't be bothered to make the effort.'

‘Let's not discount the pizza, though,' said Jase, grabbing the box and inhaling the contents like some deranged knicker sniffer, ‘seeing that it's here, and hot and everything.'

‘I would never have thought to appease a no-show by sending a pizza,' said Moon, thinking aloud, eyes lighting up with possibilities, ‘but the more I think about it, the more I like. Pizza is good.'

‘Let's open presents. Presents is better,' I go, hating the idea of being palmed off by that dry-skinned snake, and them falling for it. I clap my hands to break the mesmeric hold of melted cheese, jalapeno and ground beef.

Casey tries to hide his pleasure, but is useless at it, a thick smile spreading like an oil slick across his cheeks and raising all the muscles across his face. For a moment he looks almost normal.

‘You can't have got me presents after everything else you've done. It's too much.'

‘Shut up and take it like a man, C. It's your birthday, innit. Expect presents. It's the law.'

I'd asked all guests to come up with a present to the value of five pounds. I would have said a tenner, but you only do gifts for a tenner for someone you really like.

‘It's manners,' I'd explained to the disbelieving. ‘You can't go to someone's party and not bring them a present. It's really rude.'

One of the disbelieving asked whether a punch in the mouth could be considered a gift, or maybe pissing on the TV.

‘You needn't be so generous,' I said. ‘Something that comes from a shop will do fine.'

We got our shit together and assembled. I was first and last in line, so to speak, presenting Casey with Mum's gift, which she had neglected to put forward in her rush to leave: a white orchid in a square cut-glass vase from Tesco. She'd wanted to go for geraniums, which is what she gives to any old dear on her rounds that she gets friendly with. Bribes them with flowers so that they produce their stool samples without any fuss. The conservatory was full of geraniums for shitty occasions. This wasn't right for Casey. I pushed her for a slightly pricier option.

‘I know he looks like a sad figure, but he's a man about town. A player on the scene. You wouldn't give a Premiership footballer a fussy old trail of greenery.'

‘I'll decide what I think is an appropriate gift, thank you very much. I'm not going to break my habit of giving plants just because you think he'd rather have a bottle of overpriced aftershave. I always give plants, Veerapen. It's what I'm known for.'

‘She says it's for colour. Said it'll brighten up any room, or something. Just be sparing with the water. They hate it, apparently.'

Casey handled the plant uncomfortably, struggling to take off the yellow ribbon that had been affixed with some kind of gum glue around the top of the vase. He got halfway, before feeling the weight of collective eyes on him, and gave up, placing it on the table amongst the food, the bow at the front falling low like some slapper who's showing you what's under her skirt.

The orchid looked funny sitting there. Aside from bacteria, his flat looked like a stranger to botanicals.

‘That's very generous of your mother, on top of everything else. Very posh. I don't know what to say.'

‘Save it for later, mate. You can write her a note or something. Here's mine. Happy returns and that.'

Jase had bought an Odour Eaters three-pack. One size fits all.

‘And mine.'

Moon produced an olive oil and balsamic vinegar set, looking rather similar to the gift boxes The Rottweiler
^TM
kept in the dining room cupboard for emergencies. Just saying. His grip of this was clumsier than with the orchid. He looked suspiciously at the bottle of balsamic like he didn't know what the hell to do with it. If anything, he was happiest with the Odour Eaters.

Then I got out my present, which made Casey's eyes fill with tears, and made the disbelievers think that I'd gone too far.

44

‘Friends are friends, right? They tell each other everything?'

‘Course, son. Unless you're a mass murderer, in which case I'd rather you keep it to yourself.'

‘But you should be able to share everything with them, right? Even things they don't want to hear?'

‘Even things they don't want to hear.'

This is the kind of phone call that Jase likes to make at one a.m.: mashed up, just back from hanging with one of the older college dudes from Produce, and wanting to right wrongs. These were the kind of calls I was used to, where he'd show his regret for giving beatings to whichever muppet had crossed his path that day, or be wondering why no girl at school was ever interested in him. My job wasn't to say anything, it was just a case of being there, listening. If Mum hadn't been out on an emergency visit, another old girl who needed an urgent check-in at the nearest NHS hotel, she would have wrung my neck to be up so late, as well as Jase's.

Also, what's spoken down the phone stays down the phone. There is never any mention of this stuff at school the next day. It's like we were both imagining it.

‘I've done something I shouldn't.'

‘We've all done something we shouldn't have, Jase.'

‘Are you just going to repeat everything I say? I'm phoning you for a reason.'

‘All I'm saying is that we're meant to get off the programme once in a while. Don't give yourself such a hard time over it. If everyone just does what's expected of them, things are bound to get boring. Tonight, your stray dog is Stella, three cans, possibly four.'

It's not that I don't have the patience to be a good mate, just that Casey's party has given me the warmest feeling that I want to carry into sleep. I don't get this often enough, the comfort zone, so want to hold onto it for as long as possible. My own stray dog, I guess, #645.

‘I thought I was being really clever. I was acting so smug this afternoon, didn't you notice?'

‘I just put that down to your natural exuberance, bra.'

‘And I just feel dumb about it now, 'cos I know I've done a really nasty thing.'

He says Casey's name, and it's like stray dog #645 has been killed instantly in a hit and run. The warmth, everything I'd been holding onto since I got home, evaporates.

‘I was going to his house, V. You were taking me to his freakin' house. The temptation was too great.'

‘What the fuck have you done?'

‘I left pictures, V.'

‘What d'you mean, you left some pictures?'

‘If you don't stop repeating me like some fucking parrot, I'm going to hang up, I swear.'

‘OK. OK. Just tell me what you did.'

‘Like I said, I was in his house. The temptation to leave a souvenir was far too great to pass up. It's not like I was gonna get another invite, was it?'

‘I still don't understand. What pictures?'

‘I guessed Casey might be feeling a little lonely in his new place. Without the old comforts of home, if you see what I mean. I just thought I'd leave him a few things. So he could take a stroll down memory lane whenever he liked.'

‘You can't be serious.'

‘I left five. All about twelve years old, eleven. All starkers. No sex poses or anything. Just nekkid. Thought that'd do the trick.'