Chapter 8

I had a horrible sinking feeling as my Mum smiled at us.

“What do you mean Aunt Pat?” Cal asked.

“Well, it’s all right for you to kiss each other in front of her, but no wandering hands or anything.”

“Mum, are you trying to tell us something?”

“No, but you’re growing up. And I know you’ll feel things, want to do things.”

“Oh, you mean like sex Mum?” I asked.

She blushed, I swear, I made my mother blush.

“David, your sister is present.”

“It’s all right Mum, I know what sex is. I just haven’t tried it yet.”

“Alison Barker, go to your room,” Mum commanded, “NOW.”

Pip shrugged, smiled at me and flounced out of the kitchen. I chuckled.

“What do you find funny young man?”

“The fact that my sister just very neatly got out of her turn for the washing up,” I suggested.

“Oh,” Mum replied, surprised, “the little madam.”

“I’ll do it Aunt Pat, it’s mostly just loading the dishwasher anyway.”

I quickly discovered that I’ll do it translates as David will do it while I supervise. But she was right it was mostly stacking the dishwasher. And she did put the leftover soup into a box for the freezer, before she handed me the pan for washing. While I stood there washing the pots, I thought about the new term at school starting on Monday, and the fact that it was Cal’s birthday the following weekend. Then my thoughts strayed to the fact that I hadn’t yet bought her a present, and had absolutely no idea what to buy her. I’d always bought her silly, jokey presents before, when she was just my friend, but now, I thought I should get her something special. I put that thought on the mental back burner to let it simmer for a while.

The answer came to me in bed that night. I’d discovered, a few weeks earlier a website called storiesonline. I was reading one of the stories, A Well Lived Life, about a young boy my age in America, Ohio actually, who met a Swedish exchange student, and her name Birgit, struck a chord with me. There was a Swedish soprano that Cal idolised called Birgit. I did a quick search and discovered that it was Birgit Nilsson. I opened another tab on my tablet’s browser and looked her up on Amazon. She had an autobiography ‘La Nilsson’ and that was it, the ideal present for my girlfriend. Always assuming, of course that she didn’t already have it. I decided to ask her mother in the morning and went back to my story. It wasn’t long before I was ready for sleep and turned over, switched my tablet and my light off and closed my eyes.

As I sat down to breakfast the following morning I asked my Dad if he’d do me a favour.

“What is it son?” He asked.

“It’s Cal’s birthday this weekend and I’d like to get her something special. I know she really, really loves Birgit Nilsson, and there’s an autobiography of her on Amazon I’d like to buy her, but I don’t have a credit card.”

“And you’d like to use my credit card to pay for it?”

“Yes, please Dad, I’ll give you the cash for it.”

“OK son, but don’t let them save the card details. OK?”

“Yes Dad, thanks.”

He took his wallet out of his pocket and extracted his Visa Card and handed it to me. As soon as I’d finished my breakfast I dashed upstairs, bought the book, paid the extra for next day delivery, deleted the card from my account and took it back to my Dad.

“Thanks Dad,” I said as I handed it back to him, “I’ll go down town today and get you the cash.”

“No rush, son, as long as you let me have it by the time the card needs to be paid.”

“OK Dad, but I’ll feel better if I get it today.”

“Good man,” Dad replied, “always try and avoid owing someone if you can, and if you can’t pay them back as soon as you can.”

After breakfast I took my bank book down to the town centre and got my Dad’s money out, called at Hallmark cards in the Carlton Centre and bought a birthday card for Cal. The rest of the day was finishing off my holiday homework and getting my things ready for next term. Cal was away for the day with her mother.

As soon as my Dad arrived home from work, I gave him his money, for which he thanked me, and I went back to my homework. Next term was going to be busy, we had end of year exams, and I would be leaving a week early to go to Hollywood for the summer, and Cal would be going off to the Munich summer school. This meant that we wouldn’t see each other for two months. Not a situation that either of us was particularly happy about, but we’d both decided to take up the activities involved and we were just going to have to live with the consequences.

School on Monday was, well, school. The usual line-up of lessons and catching up with those friends we hadn’t seen over the holiday. I was stopped as I was heading for lunch by Tom, as we’d come to call Mr Tomlinson, our English teacher.

“Ah David, just the young man I want to see.”

“Shit,” I thought, when he greeted me like that he was usually about to inform me that I was going to do something for him.

“Sir?” I replied, querulously.

“Julius Caesar?”

“He’s a dead Roman isn’t he?”

“No, boy, he’s the title character in a play by Shakespeare, as you well know, and I want you to play him.”

That was a departure from normal, he wants me to play him, not just I am playing him.

“When, sir?”

“Last week of term.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I won’t be here, I’ll be in Hollywood making a film for your friend Sam.”

“Damn, I’d forgotten that, OK we’ll bring it forward a week.”

“I need to learn my part for the film,” I replied, and besides, I thought to myself, I don’t want to play a character who gets killed half way through.

“Cal will be playing Calpurnia,” he offered.

“But, you haven’t had auditions yet.”

“I don’t need to, I know who I want for each part. Auditions will just be for minor roles.”

“And if I don’t do it, who will you get?”

“John Sollberger.”

“I’ll do it,” I said quickly, being determined that he was not getting anywhere near my girlfriend, “but you do realise that blackmail is a crime?”

“Blackmail? All I did was tell you who I had in mind for a part if you wouldn’t do it.”

He smiled and walked away, blissfully ignorant of what I was muttering under my breath behind him.

As I sat down next to Cal, I smiled.

“We’re getting married,” I said softly.

“What?” she asked.

“Did you just say you two were getting married?” Keith McEachern asked.

“Yes, but don’t anybody panic, I have just been asked to play Julius Caesar alongside Cal as his wife.”

“But I’m not playing Calpurnia. Tom asked me this morning, but when I told him I wouldn’t be here for the last two weeks of term he said he’d get someone else.”

“The sneaky, underhanded double dealing pratt,” I growled, “I’ll get my own back for that.”

“Hang on,” Keith said, “how are you going to play the part when you’re in Hollywood?”

“He’s bringing it forward to the previous week.”

The whole table laughed, revelling in me having been tricked. I just seethed.

The rest of the term was school, rehearsals, homework and school with very little time for anything else.

Cal and I didn’t get a chance for much ‘alone time’, particularly the sort that involved no clothes, so we were both pretty frustrated by the time it came to the night before she was due to fly out to Munich. Her mother took both of us out to dinner, nothing fancy, just plain pub grub, but not the plastic sort of stuff that the chain pubs offered, proper food, cooked like it was at home, and not a microwave in the kitchen. The steak pie was wonderful, and for pudding I got my favourite, Treacle sponge and cream. Afterwards, we had a sombre drive back to their house. I didn’t want to say goodbye to Cal for two whole months, and I knew that communicating would be difficult with me being in LA and her being in Munich, seven thousand miles and nine hours in time apart.

“Come on in, David,” Aunt Pat said, “I want to talk to you both.”

As we entered the living room, I was surprised to see my sports bag on the sofa.

“What’s my bag doing here?” I asked.

“Sit down both of you and I’ll explain.”

We sat side by side holding hands, wondering what we’d done wrong. Why is it that as soon as a parent wants to talk to you, you start feeling guilty, even though you don’t know what you’re feeling guilty about?

“David,” she began, “your Mum and I have had a long talk about you two, and in particular about your personal interactions.”

I was confused.

“What personal interactions?” I asked.

“You know,” she replied, “your erm personal interactions. The very personal ones.”

“Mum, he’s a boy, you need to spell it out for him,” Cal interjected, “she means our sex life David.”

“Oh.”

“David I now your stance on discussing it with others, and your utter refusal to either confirm or deny it, but, it’s a fact, and you’re both going to be missing each other for the next two months. So, you’re staying here tonight, in Cal’s room. You’re going to close the door, and neither of us want to know anything about what goes on, whether you just sleep in each other’s arms or whatever. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Aunt Mary,” I agreed, unable to look her in the eye.

“Cal?” she asked.

“Yes Mum,” she couldn’t look her in the eye either.

I wondered if she had just double bluffed us. Knowing what we wanted to do, she’d set up a situation where we could do it, apparently with the blessing of both our parents, so that we’d not do it.

We spent the time until bed time watching TV, and then at ten o’clock Cal stood up and extended her hand to me.

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Don Carter

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