wanted to talk about?
‘Do we have to do it now, Dad? Can’t it wait? It’s only a phone bill.’
‘Only a phone bill for one hundred and’ – he peered at the total – ‘seventy-six pounds, and nineteen pence.’
‘So?’ Maggie said. ‘I didn’t make all the calls.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not all of them. But the majority.’
‘There’s no way I made the majority of calls,’ Maggie replied. ‘James is always on the phone.’
‘That’s probably how it appears to you. In the few gaps you leave each evening, he manages to squeeze in and grab a few minutes before you wrestle the phone back from him. But I think it’s fair to say you’re the primary phone user in this house.’
There was a long pause, which Maggie filled by shaking her head, the slowness of the shake indicating the depth of her disbelief.
‘That is so unfair,’ she said.
‘Really?’ Her dad smiled. It was a smile she hated, smug and pleased with himself. ‘One of the things you should know about phone bills is that they are itemized,’ he said. ‘Every call. Number and duration.’ He tapped the phone bill. ‘Take this number, called on the seventh of April at seven minutes past five for sixty-one minutes. And again that same evening, at eight twenty-two, this time for ninety-six minutes. It appears the following day, then the day after that, then there’s a break for a day, and then it appears again – every evening until the twenty-fourth of April.’ He read out the number. ‘Do you recognize it?’
‘You know I do,’ Maggie said. It was Chrissie, one of her best friends. Chrissie had moved to Nottingham – which made it a long-distance call from Stockton Heath – and was having trouble settling in. ‘Chrissie needs me, Dad.’
‘Then perhaps she should call you.’
‘Her parents won’t let her! They put a pin code on the phone.’
‘Look,’ her dad said, ‘I understand you want—’
‘Need,’ Maggie said.
‘Need to talk to your friends. But it costs a lot of money. And apart from anything else, what if someone needs to call us? The phone’s always engaged.’
‘It wouldn’t be if you bought me a mobile,’ Maggie said. ‘Then you wouldn’t have to worry about your precious phone being tied up.’
‘I’m not sure that would save any money,’ he replied. ‘Mobiles are more expensive than land lines. And we talked about it. You can get a phone when you’re sixteen.’
‘My friends all have mobile phones!’ she said. ‘It’s not fair!’
‘When you’re sixteen,’ her dad said. ‘Or when you can pay for it yourself.’
‘Fine,’ Maggie said. This was so annoying. ‘Whatever.’
‘Maggie,’ her dad said. ‘I know it’s important to you to talk to your friends, and I know this is your house too, but you have to be prepared to compromise. I think maybe one and a half hours a night should be the maximum you spend on the phone. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable.’
‘Sure. Can we talk about it later, Dad? I need to leave.’
‘You want a lift?’
Maggie considered it for a second, then shook her head. ‘I can walk. I’m only going to Anne’s.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Are you back for dinner?’
‘Yeah. See you then.’
‘See you too, Fruitcake. Love you.’
Fruitcake. He’d called her that since she was a little girl. She kind of hated it, but she also knew that one day there’d be a last time he called her Fruitcake.
And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that day just yet.
Maggie’s Cousin Anne lived on the other side of the village. It was a short walk – no more than half a mile – which she had made many times. The road outside her house led to the village centre, but she turned off it after about a hundred yards and walked along a quiet residential street towards a small park. It was a short cut, of sorts, but the main reason she wanted to go through the park was so she could smoke a cigarette. A stream bordered one edge of the park; it was slow moving and full of litter and nobody – no adults, at least – ever bothered with it. It was the perfect place to hide while you smoked.
It was Kevin who had got her started; the first few times she’d coughed and spluttered and wondered how anyone got addicted to something so disgusting, but after a while she’d grown to quite enjoy it. There was something about the ritual that appealed to her – the flare of the match, the crackle of the paper when it lit, the rush of the nicotine – although what she really enjoyed was the feeling that she was doing something her parents didn’t know about. Something grown-up.
She felt in her bag for the cigarettes and matches and smiled as her fingers closed around them. She took one out and held it in her hand, unlit. She’d share one with Anne later. Anne smoked, too; she didn’t know yet that her younger cousin had taken it up. Maggie was looking forward to telling her.
She was also looking forward to what Anne had to say about Kevin. He was going to be devastated, Maggie already knew that. They’d been together nearly six months, and, a few weeks back he’d said how it seemed like a month or two, max.
Maybe that’s what it’ll be like for us, he said. The years will fly by.
Years? It was then that Maggie realized they were not in the same place when it came to their relationship. For her, it had been a bit of fun that had lasted six months because Kevin made it work. For him, it was something a lot more significant.
Have you ever thought about taking … she said, and hesitated, about like, maybe taking a break?
They were lying on her couch and he tensed.
What do you mean? Do you want to take a break?
No, she said. I was wondering if you want to. If you’ve had enough of me. I don’t want to. Of course not.
He relaxed, a little.
No, he said. I’ve never thought about that. The opposite, in fact. You know I love you, Maggie.
He had started telling her all the time that he loved her. She found it very irritating. She felt she had to reply in kind.
I know, she said. I know you do.
Do you love me?
You don’t need to ask, Maggie said. All of a sudden she didn’t want to say it. Before, it
