Claire

The funny thing about time is the way it affects the memory, distorts it. I have memories that are only vague recollections. I see them in my mind's eye only in black and white, like a Saturday afternoon matinee on BBC2. Yet all this is fresh in my mind, burned on my soul forever. Ask my peers, and they might give you a different version. Do I care that my mind might have altered reality and painted Claire in a softer light? Not really. She meant more to me than life itself, so losing her hurt like hell.

********

We'd been at the same school for five and a half years and I'd never noticed Claire. She'd been in a different class and I doubt that we'd ever exchanged more than two words.

I'd heard the rumours about the number of guys that asked Claire out, and about how she said no to all of them. She knocked back even the popular guys. There were other rumours too, that explained why she wasn't interested in guys.

When we were sixteen, after our GCSE exams, around half the year group stayed at school to tackle 'A levels'. The rest went of into the real world to find jobs. It was a huge change. Old alliances were lost and everyone became more open to making new friends. It was like starting out all over again, except that old prejudices die hard. Despite revamping my image, I was still the geeky little egghead I'd always been. Problems with homework, ask Mark, he'll know.

Claire had a similar problem. After all, sweet sixteen year olds didn't turn down the chance to go out with Andrew Aspbury unless they batted for the other side, did they?

Two weeks into the new term, my girlfriend dumped me. I went through that 'girls are all the same, what's the point' period for a while, and it wasn't until the Christmas party season that I started to enjoy life again. I stopped being the drunken loser that vomited down the kitchen sink then got carried home and went back to being a relatively normal teenager (that vomited down the kitchen sink then got carried home).

In early January, the school management organised a photo session for the whole of the sixth form. We posed for a group shot on a stage in the school hall, the tall ones at the back, the mid-size ones in the middle, and the vertically disadvantaged sitting on chairs at the front.

We'd been there for ages when the photographer announced that he had a problem with the camera. He apologised, but said that his other camera, for the individual photos, was fine. He had the first row line up on the far side of the hall so that his assistant could snap them.

The front row stood up in unison and trooped along in single file. The tallest guy in the class, who also happened to be the loudest and most brash, called out cheerfully, "Hi, Ho, Hi, Ho, It's off to work we go…"

Laughter rippled through the rest of us. Despite laughing along with everyone, I sympathized with the poor souls being ridiculed. I knew most of them, but Claire stood out.

I recognised her from my maths class, and tried to place where she sat. Claire and her little group of friends sat two rows behind me and my friends. The row between us was always empty. She rarely volunteered answers, and never asked questions. She always spoke in whispers with her friends. I couldn't understand why I hadn't noticed her before. She wasn't a teenage glamour-girl, but there was something about her.

I decided to try to get to know Claire. Being in the same class helped. Phrases like, "Have you done you homework?" or "Could you answer question two, 'cause I thought it was hard?" are not chat up lines. But that was how most of my conversations with Claire started.

It would get us talking about work, and this would lead to other topics. We spent many free periods in the library talking nonsense and working. I did most of the work. Claire said things like, "Oh yeah, I get it. What answer did you get again? That's what I got too." She was copying me, but I didn't mind.

There was no question that her looks first drew me to her. Her hair was forever changing style, but she never changed its colour - night sky black. She had dark blue eyes that she tried to hide with make up and she avoided looking directly at people.

She wasn't tall, not that that mattered to me, nor did she have the huge chest that was the fantasy of many a teenage boy. But to me she was perfectly proportioned. Many people thought of her as cute but to my mind that wasn't the right word, I would have used 'pretty' instead. She was very, very pretty.

The way she carried herself added to her appeal, I couldn't say why, and her shyness added to the whole image. There was a mysterious air about her, something I found sexy.

She dressed well too. For the younger kids in the school the uniform was uncompromising, but our dress code had a little latitude, as long as we stuck to the colour scheme. Guys didn't have much choice, grey suit, white shirt and silly tie. The girls, on the other hand, could get away with anything. Skirts of varying lengths, trousers, blouses, low cut tops. You name it, someone wore it.

Claire always wore dark grey, mid-length skirts, white blouses and dark grey cardigans or sweaters. It doesn't sound special, but everything about Claire, taken alone, seemed ordinary; but she put them all together in such a way...

I can't do justice to her aura of quiet sexuality. Hers was an understated beauty.

Weeks passed and Claire and I became good friends. We even flirted, but I flirted with most of the girls I knew, so thought nothing of it. We found more things in common than just maths homework. We played pool in the social area, and talked about politics in the library. She showed me little glimpses of the true Claire, the one she kept hidden, and I liked what I saw.

In free periods, we knew exactly where to find each other, at a table in the children's corner of the library. We were never alone; someone else was always working at the table or relaxing in the comfy chairs with a newspaper. I liked to be first to the library, and first to get hold of the paper. Then I could share it with Claire.

I hated people reading over my shoulder, but I always shared the paper with Claire. It meant that we had to get close to each other, into each other's 'personal space.' If I was at the table, she would come up behind me, one hand on the back of my chair, the other on the table, leaning over me. If I was on one of the low comfy chairs, she would kneel down beside me. Whichever it was, it drove me wild. I could smell her; the heady mix of her own scent and her perfume. But I kept a cool exterior, kept my desire hidden.

About halfway through that first year of 'A' levels, the friendship groups shifted. I was pulled into a group that included Claire. We went out as a group - to the cinema, bowling and to nightclubs. Claire and I flirted even more, and it became obvious that I fancied her. But with my confidence low, I was convinced that there was no-way she could fancy me back. I never considered asking her out on a date alone; I contented myself with the relationship we had.

Homework sessions in free periods became so regular that others in the class joined us. We played badminton together and formed a deadly partnership, and we played pool. With each activity, we found ways to flirt. We would arrive at school early to play pool and I'd offer her advice on the best shot, stepping up close behind to help her line it up. When on the badminton court, we would slap each other on the behind after winning a good point, and homework sessions were riddled with innuendo.

But I knew I couldn't ask her out. All the most popular guys had asked her out, and she had turned them all down. Was there any reason she wouldn't turn me down? They were better catches than me, and she wasn't interested in them. Besides, she was one of my best mates, and I couldn't jeopardise that.

I took a long holiday with my family that summer and spent most of the time sunning myself, and reading. It was relaxing and just what I needed. I went back to school a changed man.

One of the reasons that Claire and I had become such good friends was that we both carried the stigma of our recent history. No matter how hard we tried, or how unwarranted it was, we both retained the image and reputation that we had always endured.

In reality, I was no longer the wimpish, teacher's pet that always got everything right. Yet my classmates still saw me that way. Claire had ditched the hideous glasses for a combination of designer specs and contact lenses as long as four years ago, but people still referred to them. And she was very flirtatious, but there were still guys that made the odd dyke remark, particularly if she had knocked them back.

On returning to school, we were both determined to shed this baggage. A new headmaster had taken over the school from the previous 'Thatcher-esque' incumbent, and there was a more relaxed atmosphere. I had my confidence boosted by the news that there was a crop of girls lower down the school that had the hots for me. So what if they were four years my junior, at least someone found me attractive.

It was about that time that we applied for university. The Staff did everything they could to try and convince us it was worthwhile, including organising a trip to the local university open day. The trip left early and we spent the whole day on campus. I spent the day with some lads who were interested in doing the same degree as me. I didn't see Claire except for lunch in the Student's Union.

I was shattered when I got back on the coach for the return journey. I found a seat on my own and settled down to get some kip. My sought after solitude lasted barely a minute. Claire and her friend Melissa were in the seat behind me. As soon as we left the campus, Claire leant forward through the gap in the seats.

"Mark," she said, in a voice just louder than a whisper. "Look at these."

She handed me some postcards. They were arty prints, apparently famous paintings by an artist that I had never heard of, featuring ladies in various states of undress.

"Never heard of him."

"No! Really?"

She scrambled around to sit next to me and unloaded all her knowledge of the pieces and the artist's colourful history.

"I've been studying him this term, and my next piece has to be in his style."

"Does that mean you're going to need a semi-naked model? I know a few girls who jump at the chance to get their kit off."

"Actually, since we have to do our own version of his style, I was thinking of doing semi-naked men."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." she grinned wickedly. "I might even ask you to model for me. I know you'll look good with your shirt off."

"What makes you think that I'd do it?"

"Because when I'm rich and famous you can say that you sat for me. Who knows, maybe your image will grace the halls of the National Gallery one day."

She put the postcards away, but stayed where she was. I didn't mind, and certainly didn't complain. We sat in silence, looking out of the coach window, until she got hold of an Italian phrase book from a friend. We looked up all the dirty words, and then spent half an hour chatting each other up in Italian, then later in Spanish.

I knew then that she might be interested; what had happened on the coach was more than just innocent flirting. I decided to ask her out as soon as the opportunity arose. But I had several opportunities over the next few days and didn't take them. The words seemed to get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

That year I stood for vice-chair of the student committee and won. The principal job of the committee was to organise entertainment for the students. Most of our activities were for the kids lower down the school and took place on school grounds, where the staff could make sure that there was nothing untoward going on.

Attending discos for thirteen and fourteen year olds wasn't my idea of fun, but it was in my job description. I had no choice. Claire, who wasn't on the committee, did have a choice, and stayed away.

My new high-profile position had apparently built me quite a fan base amongst the younger girls. It was my solemn duty to dance with as many of them as possible at the disco. I even had to snog one of them, imagine that! It caused quite a stir in the common room the next day; Mark-the-Geek had become the school heartthrob. I took some stick over that.

At the disco the following week, a great deal more of the sixth form turned up. The boys clearly thought that if I could pull at one of these parties, then they would too. But Claire had shown little interest in finding a boyfriend before now, and boys are notoriously less mature than girls are at fourteen, so I doubted that she was on the pull. Or was she?

For the whole disco, she was never more than a few feet from me. When I got up to dance, so did she; when I sat down again, so did she. I should have made the connection, but I was eighteen, had a low self-image, and in all honesty was probably just too stupid.

The committee also organised parties for the sixth form students only. As older, more mature and more responsible students (yeah, right), we could have our parties off site. We hired a function room at a local pub, got a local semi-celebrity DJ to provide the tunes, and promised the landlord that he'd be out of beer by the end of the night.

The party was great fun. When my friends and I weren't in the function room drinking and dancing, we slipped into the bar for a few games of pool. Claire and I teamed up for a couple of games against our friends.

The focus that night was Andrew Aspbury, the most popular boy in school. He and his girlfriend, Vicky, had been having a torrid time; she had accused him of cheating on her. He had denied it, but we all knew it was true - after all, we'd all been at that disco too.

She hadn't spoken to him for days but he was determined that she'd be back in his arms by the end of the night. There were just six of us in the bar, around the pool table, when Vicky burst through the door, followed closely by Andrew.

"Vicky, listen to me."

"Why should I?" She stopped in her tracks and turned around. "You're still denying doing anything with that girl." She was right by the pool table, preventing me from taking a shot.

"That's because I didn't."

"Liar! And these all know 'cause they saw you. Didn't you?"

None of us answered.

"Well?"

"Alright. We saw him. Now can you move, I'm trying to line up a shot," I said, wearily. We'd all seen this too many times before.

"Oh thanks, Romeo," Andrew said. "And you should know all about snogging little girls. At least I've got a proper girlfriend."

"Had a proper girlfriend," Vicky corrected.

"Oh, really? Well, maybe I think it's time for a change anyway." Andrew slid up to Claire and put his arm around her. She looked disgusted when he touched her.

"You're welcome to him, Claire," Vicky said, and stomped out of the pub.

Claire tried to push Andrew away, but he held her to him, probably hoping that this display would carry some weight with Vicky.

"Andy, let her go. She doesn't want you to do that," I said.

"Shut the fuck up, Romeo. I don't know any girl who wouldn't want me to hold her. Isn't that right, Claire?"

"No," she said firmly.

"Aw, come on, don't struggle."

"Andy, let her go. Now!" I was angered that he thought he could get away with this.

"Or what? You'll make me. I'd like to see that, Romeo."

"Maybe. But there's five of us and only one of you."

"Let me go," Claire said and pushed him away with all her strength.

"Fine," Andrew said. "I didn't really want some lesbo anyway. Sure, it might have been fun turning you normal again. But would it have been worth it? I don't think so." He marched back into the function room, no doubt to tell everyone how he'd dumped Vicky and fought off the attentions of the lesbian.

We relaxed once he was gone, and I finally took my shot, which I missed. When I stood back to let my opponent shoot, Claire pecked me on the cheek and said softly, "Thanks for sticking up for me."

"No, problem."

The following weeks at school were difficult for Claire and me. The school normally ran on Asbury's law, so if he didn't like you, then nobody did. It put a strain our friendship. People's conversations fell to a whisper whenever one of us passed, and stopped altogether if we were both near. Then Claire told me she couldn't make it to my belated birthday party.

"It's my own party the following weekend," she explained. "I can't get both nights off work."

"But Claire, I really want you to be there. You're one of my best friends"

"I know, and I want to come, I really do. It's just not possible."

"I suppose."

"Look, I promise that if you come to my party, I save the last but one dance for you."

"Why the last but one?"

"I've already promised my big brother the last dance."

"Do I get a birthday kiss as well?"

"Only if I get one too."

"Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi was Claire's favourite tune. She requested that song for our birthday dance. The music was loud and slow, sensual and sexy. We clutched each other tightly; tightly enough to leave her in no doubt how turned on I was. We swayed in harmony to the music, our bodies fitting together like jigsaw pieces. My hands rested in the small of her back, and she draped hers around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. I leaned my head against hers. I was in heaven. I could feel the heat of her body, and her scent flooded my nostrils until it was all I could smell. I remember being thankful it was a long song, but wishing that the music would never end. After she had spent most of the evening with her family, or dancing in a group, this was our time. When it ended, we kissed. A "Happy Birthday" from both of us, to each other.

After that, Claire and I were closer than ever. Aspbury was back with Vicky and the whispered conversations had stopped. One Wednesday, in early November, I was alone with Claire in the library after school. We were working on some extra maths problems. There was a test coming up and I thought I could get more work done after everyone had gone home. When Claire found out, she joined me. We worked for an hour then walked home together until our paths diverged. We parted, but before I had walked more than a few feet, I had a sudden impulse. I turned around and ran after Claire.

"Claire," I called. "Claire, Wait up."

She stopped and turned around to see why I was shouting her.

"What is it, Mark?"

"Urm, I was just wondering… I... urm... nothing. Doesn't matter."

I turned to walk away but she called me back. "No, wait. What is it? What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter. I was just... It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. What was it?"

"I was just gonna... I was gonna ask you if you were doing anything later.... I thought you might want to... Look, I really like you and I was gonna ask you to go out with me, okay. It was silly. You'll say no, I'll get embarrassed, and we won't talk to each other for weeks, which would be really bad with the test and everything. Let's just forget it, okay?"

"So then ask me," she said.

"Why? So, you can laugh in my face. Since I've known you, all the best guys in school have asked you out. All the really popular guys. And you've turned them down. What chance has a nerd like me got, eh? I mean look at you. You're sweet and kind and the most caring girl in school. And by far the most beautiful. What would you want with someone like me, huh? So let's just forget I said anything. I've said what I wanted to. I've made a fool of myself, so now I'm just going home and locking myself in my room."

It all came out, everything I felt. The floodgates opened and I couldn't stop it. By the time I realized what I was saying, I'd already finished. I turned to leave but Claire reached out a hand to stop me.