The Worst of Me by Kate Le Vann Page B

film or hanging out in a pub or something, he’d be mortified if he had to take a call from his crazy weeping girlfriend. Although . . . I wasn’t weeping. I was dry-eyed and cold and still angry. But I couldn’t call Jonah because I barely knew him. Even with our closeness, that flame that ran underneath my skin when he touched me, that look he gave me that told me he got me, I couldn’t ask him anything, I couldn’t talk to him or expect anything from him. I couldn’t trust him not to be horrible. He was just some guy I knew, who’d made me smile, a lot.
    And then the weirdest thought came into my brain: I should go to bed with Jonah tonight. Not just to strike out at my mother for making me share a house with a man I hated – this was something I needed. I wanted to lose myself in Jonah, trust him, be so close to him that nothing could hurt that. Yes, I was angry too. It was like hundreds of men in a mine, banging on the door to be let out. I didn’t want that strength, that anger inside me. I wanted someone to hold me tight and calm me, to wrap me up in their arms the way my dad had when I was a little girl. I didn’t know if I’d get that feeling from him. I had no way of knowing he wouldn’t turn cold the moment it was over. I had no access from this side to the Jonah on the other side, even less to my own emotions. But anyway, I called him.
    Whatever happened, it was going to make a story for my children. Well, my darlings, as it happens I lost my virginity with a
racist
.
    At ten o’ clock Jonah and I were still walking around the streets near my house watching the strange late-night joggers. They tended to be old – white-haired, low-breasted men in sagging vests that showed all of their armpits, or tight leggings under tight nylon underpants that made them look like pensioned-off superheroes.
    Jonah had been in the pub with his friends when Icalled, but he left straight away, telling me not to worry. I stayed outside, walking along the same bit of pavement, the time stretching to forever, the cold and dark making everything scary, and when I saw his face I knew I was safe.
    I didn’t talk about the things people at school had been saying. The pressure of keeping something from him was always there, but my heart answered the same way every time: I don’t even care. I’d read enough of it to know that at most the fuss was exaggerated. Everyone was jealous, the whole school, especially Ian.
    ‘I’m fun, you know,’ I said. ‘Because since you met me, you’d be forgiven for imagining that I spend most of the time being all lonerish and tragic. But I’m not. You’ve known me a fortnight and I’ve been as much fun as Christmas in Albert Square, but it’s just been – honestly – a weird two weeks.’
    ‘I think you’re fun,’ he said, nudging me with his shoulder.
    ‘And the mad thing is,’ I said, ‘this has been a great two weeks.’
    ‘Cassidy,’ Jonah said. ‘You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m not seeing all this angst you’re angsting about. I’m not confused about who you are. You’re just a very cool, very hot, non-airhead. Clever people think a lot. Thinking will get you down sometimes.’
    ‘I’m not clever,’ I said.
    He pursed his lips, nodded. ‘Yeaahh.’
    I wrapped my arms more tightly around him. ‘Why are you so nice to me?’
    ‘Most people are nice,’ Jonah said. ‘It’s not entirely selfless in my case, though.’ He kissed my face. ‘Okay, it’s too cold. Where am I taking you now? Back to my house, or shall we just take you back home?’
    ‘I don’t want to go home.’
    ‘But it’s a good idea to go back with me,’ Jonah said. ‘Put them on edge. And you’ll be brave with me. We’ll just march in, exchange pleasantries, put some music on and snog in your room.’
    We held hands as we walked in the door. Paul was on his way upstairs with two mugs of tea, I guessed that my mum was taking a bath. He looked surprised to see Jonah and, as