CHAPTER NINETEEN
I am sixteen.
Charlotte had the whole school in a barn for her birthday. I creep up to mine with my finger on my lips.
Mabel and I have been out in the sparkling morning with nothing but birds to keep us company, and we’re both sweating from too much cantering. I pull the saddle off and sling it across her stable door before I pull the phone out of the back pocket of my jodhpurs. I would’ve read the message when I was riding but Mabel was dancing on tiptoes the whole way, skittering sideways with every whisper in the grass.
It’s Anna. I read with Mabel’s nose hooked over my arm, sniffing in the hope of mints or something nice in my pocket. Her breath steams up the screen.
HB my lovely chum. Starbucks, 11am.
She knows that even the words make feel weird and self-conscious and prickly. This is why we’re friends. She gets it.
OK. Might be five mins late. Need to de-horseify.
I slide into the seat opposite Anna. She’s got our favourite table upstairs, looking over the pedestrianized shopping street where we can gaze out of the window and make up silly stories about random people. When you sit downstairs, you end up feeling like you have to leave when your drink’s finished, but up here the staff seem to forget you’re there. We spend hours sometimes, watching the world go by.
Anna’s got a blob of chocolatey cream on the end of her nose. She’s already ordered me a drink – a bucket of hot chocolate with a precarious mountain of cream on top – and two huge slices of our favourite chocolate cake.
She slides a package across the table. It’s a shiny gold paper envelope, and when I open it a sprinkle of purple glittery stuff scatters across the table. Inside there’s a tiny, perfect silver unicorn on a chain.
‘Thank you.’ I feel a bit awkward, and motion to my nose then hers. She wipes the blob of cream off and licks her finger thoughtfully.
‘You’re welcome, unbirthdaygirl.’
‘So. Moving on from the fact that you are now legally entitled to join the armed forces, work as a street trader and get married – with parental consent –’
I look at her and waggle my eyebrows.
‘– as well as lots of other things,’ she continues. ‘First of all, you didn’t reply to my “what happened on your date with Gabe” question. So I want all the details.’
I put my hand down to my pocket automatically, remembering her message. When I got it last night, I was standing with Mum and Polly, looking at Mabel all tucked up for the night in bed, and I’d put it away in my things-to-think-about-later brain file. Then I’d got home, it was Grandma’s last night, and we’d ended up watching Dad’s television programme all together. And by then I was completely over-peopled, and I’d gone upstairs to comfort-watch three episodes of Walking with Dinosaurs and fallen asleep with the light on.
‘I was walking Nan’s dog at the park yesterday afternoon,’ Anna continues, hugging her drink with both hands. She’s sort of peeping over the top at me. ‘I bumped into Archie.’
‘Literally?’ I remembered him clattering through the park on his scooter, flying down the stairs in one leap with a clash of rubber wheels and metal on tarmac. Bumping into Archie was potentially painful.
‘Not literally. As in, “Hi, how are you?” ’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Right,’ says Anna, and I realize that there’s a tiny cat-like smile curving up over the edges of the mug.
‘Right?’
‘Right.’ She does a sort of comedy eye roll.
‘OK.’ Well, here we are. None the wiser, but with two cups of hot chocolate to our name.
Anna looks at me with an eye-popping face, and waves her hands up and down. And I realize what she’s saying.
‘You and Archie?’
‘Er no,’ Anna giggles. ‘No me and Archie. But he asked if we were going to the park today. Apparently there are loads of people from school going down, and Jamie is bringing a drone thing to do a video for his YouTube channel. He asked if I – if we – if we were coming.’
I feel a sort of lurch of panic. I couldn’t work out if I was supposed to text Gabe or not, so I haven’t. And he’ll be there, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that. I’d like to see him. However I do not want a whole mortifying everyone-remembers-it’s-Grace’s-birthday-and-stares-at-her thing.
‘Oh good,’ I say cheerfully.
‘Grace, that is the crappest impression of someone being pleased about something I have ever seen.’
‘Oh.’ I try to rearrange my face a bit.
‘Now you look like you’re about to start growling.’ Anna giggles.
I try again, arranging my features into what I hope is ‘excited and enthusiastic’ coupled with a jolly sort of thumbs-up.
Anna shakes her head, still laughing, and puts down her mug. ‘D’you know what? It’s better if you just don’t try.’
‘I’m having trouble accessing the appropriate expressions from my memory vault. Please excuse me.’ I pull a face.
I manage to keep her talking about pretty much everything apart from how yesterday went. Not because I don’t want to tell her, but it’s just – Gabe hasn’t messaged me, I don’t know what to say to him and I feel awkward. Even by my day-to-day stratospheric standards of awkward. And the truth is that there’s so much stuff going through my brain all the time that it’s just another thing to worry about, and I don’t need that right now.
‘I love you and your silly face,’ says Anna. ‘Anyway, I like him. He makes me laugh. Will you come with me? Pleeeease?’
‘To the park?’
Oh, joy.
‘Sure.’ Anna’s almost bouncing on the spot and I’m not going to wreck it for her by being That Friend. Even if I’m having a minor internal meltdown. I take a gulp of hot chocolate and look out of the window.
‘Do you think this looks OK? Do you think I should go back and change?’
Anna, as always, looks perfect. Her orange hair is plaited over one shoulder and wild curly bits have broken loose and are twirling prettily around her neck. She’s wearing a fluffy grey cardigan and black jeans with a purple T-shirt and her new purple Doc Martens that she got for her birthday. I’m in yesterday’s hoody, which is – if I’m honest – slightly Mabel-smelling, and jeans, and my ancient comfort Vans with a hole in the toe.
‘No changing. You look amazing.’
Honestly, life would be far easier if someone handed out a ‘how to be a human being’ handbook with subsections for stuff like ‘what to do the day after a date in which you told your boyfriend your nemesis fancies him’. Except of course it would also have to have a sub-subsection called ‘how to know when the person you kissed stops being a person you kissed and becomes a boyfriend’. Except if it was a girl you kissed, obviously. You see what I mean? Life is a complicated thing.
‘What are you thinking about?’ says Anna, and I realize I’ve been staring out of the window with a glazed expression again.
‘Uh. Nothing.’ I love her, but I think I might make her head explode if I explain all that. ‘When d’you want to head to the park?’
‘Dunno. Now?’
There’s nobody at the park apart from a gang of mothers with small humans in pushchairs and slightly bigger humans tottering along beside them. All the small ones have snot emitting from their noses.
I know about the small-people noses because they end up flocking around me and Anna when – trying to act like we are just casually hanging out at the park and not waiting for some mythical ‘everyone’ll be there’ episode, which hasn’t transpired – we buy a couple of paper bags of duck food from the little cafe, and sit on a bench throwing handfuls on to the ground, so the entire bird population of the north-west has come to hang out with us.
‘Well, we’re popular in the bird universe.’ Anna looks at me sideways as she holds out a palmful of corn. The bravest duck waddles up and starts eating from her hand.
‘Me have some?’ says a small bobble-hatted being. She steps forward, leaving her two little friends hanging back. We give the little people some corn and they throw it, hopelessly uncoordinated, into the sky. It rains down on the ducks.
‘Here,’ says Anna, tipping the bag so that the food falls into their little starfish hands. ‘Have some more.’
We watch the small people bumbling about for ages. We’re surrounded by ducks and darting moorhens, and small, toddling, miniature humans.
‘Phoebe, are you terrorizing those big girls?’
One of the pushchair mums comes over, smiling apologetically at us. ‘Sorry, she’s mad about ducks.’
‘She’s in the right place.’ I gesture to the eleven million that are orbiting our feet.
‘Yeah, we are veritable duck magnets,’ says Anna.
‘With no friends,’ I add under my breath.
‘With NO friends,’ Anna echoes.
The woman gives us a slightly odd look and shoos her small offspring out of the duck collective, back towards the swings where the other pushchair mums are gathered, drinking coffee and handing out bags of crisps.
‘So here we are. We have three new toddler chums, a flock of ducks who want to be our new BFFs and the park is empty of all the amazingly cool and interesting people who were supposedly going to be hanging out here today.’ Anna shakes out the last of the duck food and folds the paper bag into smaller and smaller squares until it is minuscule.
‘Maybe they’re coming later?’
Anna looks a bit deflated. I’m used to the whole being-in-the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time thing. It’s sort of what I do. Anna – despite being my friend, and therefore having a sort of perpetual uncoolness download attached – still has the hope and optimism of youth. It’s my job to cheer her up.
‘Let’s go for a walk round the park and down to the chip shop. By the time we get back, maybe Archie and everyone will have arrived to do amazing spontaneous holiday things, Disney-movie style.’
‘Are you trying to cheer me up?’ Anna says darkly.
‘Did it show?’ I say. ‘Was I good?’
‘Uh, no,’ says Anna. ‘But chips are always good.’
‘Two small chips and a bottle of Diet Coke, please.’
‘D’you want salt and vinegar on that, love?’
‘Nah, I’m all right, thanks,’ says a voice. I turn round to see Archie grinning at my shoulder, his scooter under his arm. His helmet is a bit wonky and I can’t help thinking that it isn’t going to keep him safe if he falls over. Then I remember that I probably don’t need to give him a helmet-related health-and-safety lecture, so I don’t say anything.
‘You made your mind up about that vinegar, love? Your chips are getting cold.’
‘Oh. God. Sorry.’ I turn the other way where Anna is standing, eyes wide, not saying a word. She sort of nods, mutely.
‘Yes please.’ I reply.
‘You coming up to the park?’ Archie motions outside where I can see Jacob, Jamie and Tom on bikes.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘we were just heading up there.’
Anna gives me a little sneaky look and we make our way out of the chip shop.
Tom is hopping on his BMX in an irritating manner. To be truthful, it probably wouldn’t be annoying if I wasn’t having a where-is-Gabe panic and scrutinizing the horizon like a maniac.
‘Where’s Gabe?’ asks Anna, trying to sound casual. I can feel my face going absolutely scarlet from my forehead right down to my neck, which is not a good look.
Archie pushes back a lock of his hair that has fallen down over his eyes, shoving it back under the side of his helmet so he can see when he turns to Anna. He must like her, because Archie basically spends his whole life under his fringe, so if he’s making the effort to actually look her in the eye, well . . .
‘Oh, he’s got some family thing on today. I called for him on the way. Said he might bike over later if he can escape.’
We wheel, scoot and walk our way through the park.
As if by some prearranged thing, everyone stops at the circle of benches in front of the duck pond. Archie flips his scooter in the air and lands it back on the pavement with a metallic thud. A couple of unsuspecting ducks wheel into the air, quacking their disapproval.
‘So you two been up to much today?’ Archie asks.
‘Nope,’ says Anna, sounding casual. ‘Nothing much. Just thought we’d wander over, see what was going on.’
‘Mummy! The big girls!’
Phoebe, the small red-coated bobble person, beetles towards us, waving her hands.
‘More duck food?’
Archie turns to Anna, a questioning expression on his face.
‘You girls must know all these ducks by name by now,’ says the mother of the small person as she scoops her child in the air, her legs flying upwards.
At the same moment the entire duck collective spots Anna and me and – hopeful of another epic picnic – they all hurtle towards us and flock around our feet.
‘Is there something going on here I’m missing?’ asks Archie, looking at a mallard pecking at the lace of Anna’s Doc Martens.
‘No.’ Anna lifts up her foot, and the duck steps back, looking cross. (Turns out ducks can look cross. Who knew?) ‘No, we’re just duck magnets, apparently.’
‘Never seen them before in our lives,’ I add helpfully. Anna starts giggling.
‘Right,’ says Archie, shaking his head but smiling. ‘You two are weird.’ He does a hop-spin thing on his scooter, during which time I look at Anna and we both pull the same face. So much for looking like we’re just, y’know, passing by. Now we look like weirdo duck-obsessive park lurkers.
‘I saw your sister earlier,’ says Tom. He’s turned his BMX upside down now, and is swearing at the chain wheel, trying to get the chain to sort itself out. ‘She’s down at the kiosk with Lily and Emma.’
‘D’you need a hand?’ As the wheel spins to a stop, the chain still slightly off, I lean forward. I pull at the chain where the teeth are caught and manage to untangle the part he was having problems with.
Tom looks at me, impressed. I’m not sure why he looks impressed, because presumably we all learned to ride bikes at the same time, meaning we all also learned how to untangle bike chains. I straighten up and wipe my hands on my jeans.
‘Thanks.’ He flashes me a grin and it takes me right back to primary school and wobbling our way through bike-safety lessons with luminous yellow jackets on. ‘I forgot you were really good at bike stuff.’
‘S’all right.’ I push my hair out of my eyes and realize I’ve probably just covered my head in grease smudges.
Something weird happened when we all got to about thirteen. We went all the way through school hanging out together in a big amorphous gang, knowing each other since nursery in most cases. But as soon as we got to high school everything got weirdly awkward and everyone settled into boy-girl groups. I always liked being friends with the boys. You know where you are with them. But the girls were different. Holly and her lot were caught up in complicated politics before I even knew what was happening, back in Year Three. I remember being told I wasn’t allowed to play a game because I didn’t have the right colour pink T-shirt, and crying all the way home from school. Mum, clearly trying to do the right thing (I think even then she was wondering why I stood out like a small, cross sore thumb) bought me an identical T-shirt to Holly’s one, but I refused to wear it. Being seven was complicated.
Being sixteen is apparently even more complicated. Now we’re in the park and Archie’s doing some kind of bizarre scooter-related mating ritual, trying to impress Anna with his ability to hop on and off metal benches. The small people and their parents have finally left, and the ducks, sulking at the lack of extra food, have made their way back across to the little island in the middle of the pond and they’re sunning themselves.
I’m not quite sure what to do with my arms and legs. Or my face, for that matter. It’s not until Anna’s attention is elsewhere (and it is – because she’s laughing and making the appropriate noises of entertainment and approval at Archie’s scooter techniques) that I realize how much I rely on her in situations like this. Left on my own, I run out of everything.
But it’s OK, because just when I thought things couldn’t get any more awkward, I see a shape in the distance and recognize the walk. My stomach sort of jerks with nerves and my knees feel weird. When I’m already dealing with people and noise and ducks and small children, it’s a bit alarming.
‘All right, Gabe, man,’ shouts Archie, throwing one arm up in the air in greeting. Anna spins round to look at me, her eyes wide. She’s got pink cheeks and her hair is wild around her face, and she looks lovely but a bit different – like she’s not quite my Anna, and I feel a wave of something not-quite-nice passing over me.
I have no information on this. The non-existent rule book for dealing with social situations would be really handy here. Do I kiss him on the cheek to say hello, like you’d do with a relative you haven’t seen for a while? Am I supposed to sidle up to his side in the manner of a television sitcom girlfriend and smile adoringly at him? (Never going to happen – don’t worry. I’ve not had a personality transplant.)
And who is he with? I don’t recognize this person. I am quietly flapping my hands against the sides of my thighs in minor panic mode. Inside I’m having major panic mode. I could just run off and say that I saw a duck drowning or something.
‘How you doing, man?’ Jacob and Tom stretch out to give Gabe high fives as he reaches us. I look at my shoes because I don’t know what else to do. Anna says hi to him and when I look up (which I do sort of while still keeping my eyes on the floor – don’t ask, it’s complicated) I can see she’s giving me That Look. The look that says, Grace, you’re not humaning properly.
I look up at Gabe, who ducks his head and grins.
‘Hi,’ I say, but it takes a tremendous physical effort to get the word out, and I look back down at the ground again.
‘Hey.’ Gabe gives me his crooked-front-tooth smile again, and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt.
And my mouth blurts out (I don’t know why, there’s no connection between my brain and the things it does), ‘Is Holly coming?’
Gabe’s eyes drift down towards the ground for a second and I almost think he looks a bit embarrassed. And then he looks up at me and says –
‘I don’t know.’ And his tone is almost a bit – I don’t know, it’s sort of brave, or something. ‘I’ve no idea. We only came down because Arch texted me and said you were here.’
My toes feel like they’re going to explode and there’s a sort of weird whoosh that goes from my hair to my feet and back again and I just stand there for a second because I can’t quite believe Gabe just said that out loud.
‘This is Marek, my cousin.’ Gabe seems to be telling everyone this bit. ‘He’s over from Warsaw for the week – his mum’s working at the university.’ I look up again, and Gabe is looking proudly at his cousin, still with his arm draped over his shoulder. Marek gives me a small, shy sort of smile, and I feel a bit better because he’s not the only one who feels awkward.
‘Marek, this is Jake and Tom –’ they both nod in greeting – ‘and you know Archie.’
Archie nods and says, ‘All right?’
‘I’m Anna,’ says Anna, smiling openly in that lovely straightforward way she has. I have no idea how she manages to make being a person look so uncomplicated.
‘And this is Grace.’ Gabe smiles directly at me, and for a second he catches my eye and it feels like it did when we were just on our own.
‘Hi,’ says Marek, and we all sort of stand there for a bit.
Sometimes I think it’s not just uniforms that school’s good for. It sort of makes sense of the social stuff too. When you’ve only got a fifteen-minute break between lessons, and lunch is from 12.30 until 1.15, and you’ve got to fit in queuing in the canteen and going to the loo in there too, there’s not enough time for things to get awkward. You sort of squish your interactions into little tiny chunks, and the classroom stuff is monitored by teachers (even if they’re hideous) and everything is ordered and easy to deal with. Put us in a situation like this where we have the whole afternoon to hang out at the park and do nothing, and we’re at a complete loss. We need someone to organize us with a game of rounders or some sort of wholesome activity. Otherwise we’ll spend the entire day wheeling around these benches making uncomfortable conversation about nothing and waiting for something to happen. That’s why the bikes are useful. At least when you’ve run out of things to say you’ve got a sort of prop handy, and something to do with your hands.
‘Gabe tells me you are big fan of Doctor Who?’
Marek balances on the edge of the bench beside me. His accent is lovely. He talks quietly, fiddling with a key ring he’s got in his hands. Unthinkingly I reach for the TARDIS key ring, which is now hanging from the zip on my purse. He sees it, and reaches out.
‘Can I see it?’
‘Sure.’
‘Cool,’ says Marek. ‘I would like one of these very much.’
Gabe looks across, seeing us talking. He’s chatting to Archie, but his face looks pleased to see that I am talking to Marek.
I grab desperately around in the air for something to talk about and land on Gallifrey. Not literally, unfortunately. That would be nice.
‘D’you think we’ll see River Song in the next series?’
Marek visibly relaxes, sitting back against the bench, folding his hands behind his head. It’s funny when I can see other people feeling what I’m feeling. I guess being dragged out to meet a load of strangers isn’t that pleasant for him, either.
‘Well, the nights on Darillium are twenty-four years long, so I think that perhaps we will.’
‘I hope so.’
I love River. I’d quite like to be her when I grow up.
I’m about to carry on talking when someone puts their hands over my eyes.
‘Guess who?’
Anna’s in front of me, talking with Archie and Gabe. The boys have set off for the skate park on their bikes.
‘No idea.’
The voice sounds familiar, but the vague getting-it-wrong panic makes my ears not work properly.
‘Guess!’ says the voice again, urgently. I squirm sideways to try to get out from the hands, and they let go as I turn round.
‘Could you really not get it from my voice?’
It’s Leah, who a) wouldn’t normally do something like that because she knows it would freak me out and b) doesn’t sound like herself because there’s a bit of an edge to her voice that isn’t normally there because she’s with Holly’s sister Lily and that gang again.
‘Where’s Megan?’ I ask automatically. I’m so used to Leah and Meg being inseparable in the holidays that it’s weird to see her hanging around with other people – especially when the other people are so hideous. I have no idea what Leah’s up to. Holly’s sister is a smaller, even pointier-faced, just as mean-looking version of her sister.
‘Not a clue. Why’d’you keep asking me that?’ Leah says cheerfully. ‘What you up to?’
‘Dunno,’ I say, looking at Marek, who checks the time on his watch.
‘I have to be back home by four,’ he says, shading his eyes from the sun as he peers across at Gabe. ‘Mama said she’s taking us out for pizza.’
I look at my phone to check the time. I don’t want to be late for Mabel this afternoon. I’m rubbish at getting out of situations. Sometimes I end up staying places for hours longer than I want to because I don’t know how to make my excuses and leave. I’m about to shove my phone back in my pocket when a text from Mum (festooned as always with poo emojis, because she discovered them about six months ago and thinks they’re the most entertaining thing ever) appears.
Darling are you around? I’ve left the key on the table and locked myself out.
Leah checks her phone at the same moment, then turns the screen around to show me. Same message.
‘I’ll go,’ I say, at exactly the same time that she says exactly the same thing.
Standing around for another hour feeling awkward while Anna admires Archie’s scooting technique isn’t really at the top of my things-to-do list. And Gabe being here is weird. It’s almost too much, this feeling of wanting to be near him. I keep looking to see where he is and catching his eye and realizing he’s looking at me. But we keep talking to other people instead, like we’re sort of skirting around each other.
Leah shakes her head. ‘I need to get back anyway. I’ve got training later.’ She hops on to the low wall, arms out to the side, pointing her toes.
I check with Anna in case – and I think it’s unlikely – she wants to head back across town now. But she’s wrapped up in Archie and it’s nice to see her smiley and having fun and frankly she’d probably be better off without me there being awkward, so when she says, ‘D’you want me to just come back now?’ with a sort of reluctant expression, I shake my head and tell her I’ll message her later when I get back from the stables.
‘Are you two heading back now?’ Gabe says, and looks across at Marek.
‘Yeah,’ says Leah casually – and I feel jealous that she doesn’t stumble over her words and get tongue-tied when she chats to Gabe. ‘Mum’s locked herself out.’
Marek raises an eyebrow in question at Gabe. ‘We need to be leaving soon, I think.’
‘Walk us along to the roundabout, then?’ Leah jumps off the wall, and shoves her phone back in her jeans pocket.
I’m almost sure she does it deliberately, but she hangs back, telling Marek to wait with her while she tells the girls she’s leaving, so Gabe and I end up walking along the path in front of them. And we walk along together for a bit before it almost feels too weird to be walking with our hands side by side without reaching out for his, because I can feel the heat from his arm radiating through to mine, so I stretch out a finger, tentatively, and another, and then – I hold his hand. And he gives me a sideways look and a smile and sort of swings my hand a bit in his, and we walk up to the roundabout with Leah and Marek tagging behind us.
‘You were holding hands,’ says Leah, with a little squeak. ‘It’s like actual loooove.’
‘It’s like actual nothing very much yet, thank you very much, and if you say anything to Mum I will literally kill you with my bare hands.’ I give her the Look of Death so she knows I’m serious.
Leah zips her mouth shut with her finger, her eyes wide open.
She notices the TARDIS key ring and takes it out of my hand. ‘Nice.’
‘It’s from Gabe,’ I say, and I feel a bit proud.
‘You need to get him something, Grace,’ says Leah, and it seems so obvious now that I can’t think why I didn’t think of it. That’s what people do. They buy nice things for each other.
‘Anyway,’ says Leah, after a moment. ‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Yeah,’ I point out. ‘They better had be. If she finds out you’ve been down the amusements when it’s completely banned, you’ll be in the shit.’
‘Point taken.’ Leah nods, grinning.
It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve spent any time alone with her. We walk along the familiar road together, our feet on autopilot, past our old primary school. Inside the classroom, Mrs Bedgrove, our Year Three teacher, is sticking bright coloured letters to the window, even though it’s the holidays. She catches a glimpse of us and waves, smiling.
‘Why’s she working?’ Leah frowns, looking at me.
‘That’s what teachers do.’
‘In the holidays?’ Leah looks horrified.
‘Yeah. I read about it in one of those educational-supplement things Mum keeps leaving all over the kitchen table. They work all the holidays and in the evenings and they never get time off.’
‘Right,’ says Leah. ‘Why’s Mum wanting to go back to that, then?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Grandma’s not impressed.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, teasing. ‘Apparently I’m old enough to know what I’m doing now and you’re the responsible one so we don’t have to worry about what you’re up to.’
‘Right.’ Leah pulls a face that I can’t interpret. ‘As long as Mum thinks that, we’re sorted.’
I don’t really know what she means by that. I know that Mum’s still under the impression that Leah and Megan are best friends, and I suspect that if she had any idea her beloved youngest was hanging around with Holly’s sister and her gang, she’d be seriously unimpressed. Or would she? Now Grandma’s gone back to Kent, we’ll be back to living in chaos and Eve hanging out of the back door, leaving Marlboro Light fag ends all over the step. I shudder at the thought.
We walk for a while longer, past the dentist where Leah bit the nurse’s finger when she was five.
I run my hand along the bumpy wall and the smell of warm stones in the sunshine reminds me of being little again and holding Mum’s hand, stumping along in red shiny welly boots, jumping in puddles while Leah sat in her pushchair. I think of bobble-hatted Phoebe, our little duck-feeding friend. I miss life being that simple. Life was much easier when there was a hand to hold and you knew where everything was.
‘You having a nice non-birthday?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
Leah pulls a face. ‘I think you’re just hoping if you postpone it until Dad gets back you’ll get extra presents.’
Leah gets the birthday thing. It has to be the same every year: pizza, in the same restaurant, at the same table, with a silly hat and helium balloons, which we take home. It’s what I like. My idea of hell on earth would be a surprise birthday party. Every year I feel relieved when I get it out of the way and nothing hideous has happened.
‘Leah?’
It’s easier to talk when we’re walking side by side. I haven’t had a chance to speak to her in ages.
‘Mmm.’
‘D’you mind Mum going for this job?’
Leah and I used to talk much more before this last few months happened and everything started shifting under our feet. She was always in my room sitting on the bed, or I’d be in hers. She didn’t count as people, so she didn’t wear me out. She was just sort of part of the furniture, but since Dad went away this time everything seemed to change. Or maybe it’s because Eve has appeared and our little triangle of family has been broken.
‘Dunno.’ She cracks her chewing gum in a way that would give Grandma a blue fit. ‘Everything’s gone a bit – weird. I don’t like Eve. I keep hoping it’ll go back to normal once she’s gone.’
‘Me neither. It’s like she’s stolen Mum and given her a brain transplant.’
‘Zombie brain eater.’
‘Personality stealer.’
‘She’s worse than Holly Carmich–’ I begin, and stop myself almost as the words come out of my mouth. I don’t suppose Leah wants to hear me slagging off her new best friend’s big sister.
‘That’s basically what Grandma said,’ Leah says, and I don’t know whether she’s heard what I said and is agreeing, or is carrying on from before. ‘She told me yesterday morning that everything would go back to normal when Dad got home and Eve finished her contract, and went back to London.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Yeah.’
It doesn’t feel like that to me.