Submarine Page #2

...flipping coins...

listening exclusively to French crooners.

Other times I go to the beach

and stare at the sea.

Someone made a documentary

about a prominent thinker

who struggled with unspeakable loss.

I've even had a brief hat phase.

But nothing stuck.

- Gene.

- What?

The most secure route to Zoe is big Gene,

who, over the last few months,

has become her only friend and confidante.

Gene told me that Zoe had moved schools.

She was very unhappy because she was bullied

and one boy even pushed her into a pond.

Oh... I had no idea.

I persuaded her to give Zoe the pamphlet

by saying it was a love letter.

It's a big love letter.

I've got a big heart.

Sometimes I wish there was a film crew

following my every move.

I imagine the camera craning up

as I walk away.

But, unless things improve,

the biopic of my life will only have

the budget for a zoom out.

I feel bad, cutting into his head.

Why? It's just a f***ing frog.

It's still a thing, though. It had life.

Where do you think they get the frogs?

I don't know.

Probably a lake or a river nearby.

They probably have a guy that does it.

I could find out.

- I don't actually want to know.

- Neither do I.

- I'm just saying. You asked...

- I wonder where Fat is.

- Zoe?

- Mm.

- She hasn't been in school for a while.

- I hadn't noticed.

I thought you would have.

She leaves a big gap.

She's not on my radar.

- Is it cos we pushed her into the pond?

- I didn't push her.

- Think she's weeping herself to death?

- I didn't push her.

Maybe you should write to her.

Maybe you should write her

a pamphlet or something.

What do you think?

What is this?

What do you want from me?

Meet me under the railway bridge after school

and we'll take it from there.

Bring a Polaroid camera and a diary.

OK?

- Got the camera and the diary?

- Do you have the pamphlet?

Give me the camera.

OK.

Now kneel down.

Please, Jordana... What is this?

Kneel down.

Close your eyes.

We kissed until our lips felt swollen.

Her mouth tasted of milk, Polo mints

and Dunhill International.

OK. Now take out the diary

and write today's date.

Write a few paragraphs on how excited

you are to have kissed me.

Mention what a dick Mark Pritchard is

and slag off Abby Sluts.

- It's Smuts.

- Let's call her Sluts.

I sit next to her in Geography,

so we're mates.

I don't need your life story.

Wow. You look mentally retarded.

Have you ever kissed anyone before?

I had in fact only kissed

one person before - Zoe Preece.

It was after the Cowboys And Indians

school disco.

I told her if we were going to do it,

we had to hide behind the refectory.

Her tongue was blue

from blackcurrant squash.

It smouldered in the cold.

OK, I've done it.

Good.

- Can I have the pamphlet now?

- No.

- What will you do with the photos?

- Leave them lying around school.

For people to accidentally find.

Oh.

What are you complaining about?

This is conclusive proof

that you might not be gay.

Gaylord! Gaylord! Gaylord! Gaylord!

Come on, gay boy, take back

what you said about me!

I take it back. I take it back.

And admit that you're in fact a gaylord.

No. Do not admit it.

- Do not admit that.

- Shut up, Chips.

Fine. I'm gay. I'm very gay.

And Jordana's a slut.

- Jordana is a slut.

- No.

Say it. Say it!

No.

Don't be a dick, Mark. Just let him go.

Fine. I'll let him go.

I'll let him go.

Lf... he admits you're a slut.

- Ooh.

- Just say it, gay boy.

Say it.

Why don't you go f*** yourself?

F***ing big gay.

I was completely overbalanced.

It was luck. I'm gonna get him for this.

I'll bring him so much pain.

Probably catch him like he caught me,

on the sly.

Blood.

- Are you gonna get up now?

- Yeah. Sorry, yeah.

- You've got scaly hands.

- It's eczema.

Now that we had kissed

for non-blackmail purposes,

I thought it gentlemanly

to escort. Jordana home.

When there, I asked if

she was my girlfriend now. And she said:

I'll think about it.

But what she meant was, yes.

We are now as one.

Whenever I'm late home from school,

my mother assumes I've been abducted

and left to drown in a lake.

There he is. Oliver?

My mother is worried

that I have mental problems.

I found a book about

teenage paranoid delusions

during a routine search

of my parents' bedroom.

After that, I start. Ed slipping choice phrases

into our conversation.

My body has been replaced by a shell.

My organs are made of stone.

- I've been dead for years.

- Right.

My mother is naturally neurotic and in her youth

even dreamed of being an actress.

Until she was told by a speech therapist

her tongue was too big for her mouth.

Now she works for the council's Legal

and Democratic Services depart. Ment.

One of the rules in her office

- is that if it's your birt. Hday...

- Ta-da.

...you are held responsible

for bringing your own cake to work.

- Happy birthday, Jill.

- Thank you.

Oliver?

Oliver, come here.

Come here.

Where are you going, Oliver?

OK, sit up.

- Are you being victimised again?

- No. I'm never victimised.

You were, in primary school and Cubs.

- I don't remember.

- I do. There was a lot of crying.

- Is it drug related?

- How?

- I don't know. You tell me.

- It's not.

- Your pupils are huge.

- It's dark.

- Is it self-harm?

- Why would I punch myself in the eye?

- I really don't know.

- I wouldn't. This is stupid.

I'm not going anywhere

until you tell me the truth.

OK, I got into a fight.

I was defending the honour of my girlfriend.

OK, fine.

You're not being serious, it's fine.

No, I am. I have a girlfriend now.

- Really?

- Yeah.

- Do you?

- Yeah.

- Really?

- Yeah.

Of course.

Yes, of course.

I mean, why wouldn't... I didn't...

- Did you think I was...

- No, I didn't. Come here.

What a lovely little chat.

You're doing so well.

So?

K-nock, k-nock, can I come in?

This was the happiest

I'd seen my fatherfor years.

Not too long ago, I discovered

an empty bottle of anti-depressants,

during another routine search

of my parents' bedroom.

My research indicates it all start. Ed

when he was sacked from his job

presenting on the Open University.

My father is a marine biologist,

and introduced a segment

called Mysteries Of The Deep.

But he was an uneasy screen presence,

and never knew quite

what to do with his hands.

After his dismissal,

he spent several days in bed,

drinking hot lemon from the same mug

and never washing it,

a key sign of one of his downturns.

Now he works at the local university,

doing a job he finds difficult to explain,

to anyone without

a degree-level knowledge of fish.

Listen, I hope you don't mind.

But your mother informs me

that you have a girlfriend.

Is there anything I can

help you with there?

I'm not sure yet.

I'll let you know.

OK. All right.

Yes. Er... listen...

I know you think I'm very boring,

you know.

But once... I ripped my vest off

in front of a woman

and er... it was very effective,

actually.

I know.

It produced a very atavistic response.

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