CHAPTER EIGHT
________
EMMA
The staff canteen lacked enough tables to eat lunch. Three large circles and six chairs weren’t enough if you were trying to avoid the gossip.
As soon as the Gary Smart Show finished, I received a text from Claire, asking if it was me James referred to. I ignored it but expected her to interrogate me about it as soon as I got into work. Thankfully, I managed to avoid her the whole time.
I sat by the table closest to the door, ready for an immediate exit if needed.
“She’s not coming in today, so stop staring at the door like that,” Amanda said as she sat in front of me.
In one hand, she held her phone. In the other was a tiny salad box.
“How do you know?” I enquired.
She stabbed a piece of tomato and replied, “Gillian from bakery told me. She called in sick.”
My shoulders relaxed, allowing me to have a bite of the macaroni pie I’d bought for my lunch.
Amanda stared at me, her mouth agape, and asked, “How can you stay thin and eat that crap?”
I shrugged, trying to swallow the cheesy lump.
“Lucky bitch,” she said.
“Not my fault I have a fast metabolism. I couldn’t survive on rabbit food like you can.”
“If I want to stay a size twelve, I have to eat rabbit food and starve. My metabolism is lazy as shit. Almost non-existent,” she complained, and took a sip of her diet drink.
Seconds passed as Amanda’s thumb worked the touch screen of her phone. She was engrossed in whatever she was reading.
After wiping the crumbs from my blouse, I said, “You should really drop your phone once in a while. It’s becoming part of your hand.”
She shook her head, and without looking at me said, “No way! That’s like saying I should chop my toes off.”
“Well, if you are going to continue ignoring me, I’ll sit with old Maggie.”
The old woman, who should’ve retired more than a decade ago, sat at the other end of the room slurping soup through her dentures, mumbling to herself. She used to work in the bakery department until management thought it would be best to keep her behind closed doors. Now she worked in the storage room, organising God knew what.
Amanda dropped her phone reluctantly and stabbed a small piece of tomato with her fork, saying, “You ought to pay more attention to social media.”
“Why would I do that? So I can keep contact with people I don’t like, or haven’t seen in years?”
“No,” Amanda replied, “so you could read what people are saying about you.”
That almost made me choke. A small stubborn bit of pastry stuck in my throat, but a quick gulp of fizzy juice dislodged it.
I managed to speak again. “What? Already?” I expected something to happen, but not so soon.
“I knew that would get your attention,” she said. “Honestly, if you popped your head out of the clouds once in a while, you would see that since James Alexander Hot-McNair mentioned your name on live TV, everyone is wondering who you are.”
Her eyes returned to the screen of her phone.
“Shut up! Who’s going to want to know who I am? If they do, they’ll be sadly disappointed once they find out,” I said, crumbs of cheesy pastry flying out of my mouth.
She wiped my residue from the table with a napkin and collected her precious phone to show me a class picture that someone had posted online.
“Who would do that?” I asked, trying to snatch the phone from her hand.
“Must be someone from your class, but look how cute you two look.” Her smile was almost contagious when she continued, “How old were you there?”
“Fifteen,” I answered, remembering when that photo was taken. It was the same year James left.
________
Seven Years Ago
“Are you still coming over tonight? My mum has baked the apple and cinnamon scones that you like,” James said as soon as the photo for the class was finished.
He had been impatient the whole afternoon and stopped me right outside the door.
“Is that why you’ve been weird all day?” I asked as I looked at him with narrowed eyes.
He smiled, brushing the hair off his face. He needed a haircut, but the movement was cute on him. I had noticed during the summer that he had changed, and I couldn’t help but stare at him, trying to find what else I hadn’t noticed before. His thin body had filled out and he had stretched, making him now at least a foot taller than me. He had lost the round cheeks, and his cheekbones stood out. He was handsome, but he hadn’t realised it yet.
I noticed girls looking at him, trying to get his attention, but I wasn’t sure how much I liked that. He was my friend, and the idea of some bimbo touching him made my skin crawl.
“You have to ask your mum to show me how to make those scones,” I said. I’d been meaning to ask him that.
He stopped walking and turned around to speak to me.
“You know she’ll love that. Just ask her. So, are you coming or what?”
Clutching my books tightly against my chest, I replied, “Sorry, James, but I can’t. I’ve made plans with Jason.”
Jason Buchan, a bloke two years older than us, was known by everyone in school. He was the hottest, most popular lad in school, and every girl wanted to be with him.
“But why tonight? You always come to mine on Fridays. It’s our film night. I’ve even managed to find the new Bond film,” he sulked.
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought of him as a five-year-old, not a teenager.
“I know, but why can’t we do Film Friday on Saturday instead?”
At the time, it seemed like a perfect idea.
“No, you can’t do it on a Saturday. It isn’t the same,” he huffed. His jaw clenched as he brushed his floppy hair out of his face one more time.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head. His stubbornness was annoying.
“Why are you being such a dick? What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal? You’ll be like the other groupies that hang around him with their tongues out, brushing themselves against him like bitches in heat.”
His hands flew with exasperation as he glared.
“No, I won’t be. I’m not like that, and you know it,” I replied.
“No, you’re not. That’s what annoys me the most.”
He took a big breath, and I could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down nervously. His eyes were seething with anger—or was it disappointment?
“Whatever you do, please don’t do like the other girls and spread your legs for him.”
“Fuck off, James! Whatever I do with my legs is none of your business,” I said, tears stinging my eyes.
How could he? He’d basically called me a slut. I pushed him out of my way and ran to the toilets, closing myself in a cubicle. There was no way I could let anyone see me cry.
The door opened and I heard his voice shouting, “Emma, I’m sorry.”
“Go away, James. I don’t want to speak to you,” I said, sobbing.
“Emma, come on. Come out and we can sort this out. I didn’t mean what I said.”
He sat in front of my cubicle, and I could see his dark blue school blazer poking under the door.
“Do you remember when those girls were picking on me in primary school?”
I couldn’t help but smile. He’d been cornered by two girls older than us who wanted his lunch money.
“And I saved you,” I said, wiping my nose with my sleeve.
“You didn’t save me. I could’ve managed myself, but I was always taught not to hit girls.”
“That’s not how I remember it. You were scared shitless.”
I opened the door. He really was sitting on the floor of the girls’ toilets. We were the only ones there.
He stood and smiled, then hung his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head.
“Whatever, that’s the day we promised each other that no matter what happens, we would be friends forever.”
I nodded, losing myself in his warmth.
“I’m sorry. Friends?” he whispered.
“Friends,” I answered.