by Angela Mack
“I mean, he was in a coma for three months, Jess. I don’t think he was getting much action,” I snickered. She bobbed her head, laughing.
“Good point!”
“Well, we don’t want any accidental pregnancies either.” Sophie added.
“Oh, for God sake you two. You’re both complete nightmares! I’ve been on the pill since Christmas, so I’m not getting knocked up any time soon either.” Sheesh. I know I’ve only just started having sex, but I wasn’t completely clueless.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I shook my head, laughing at her.
“You didn’t tell us that,” Sophie said and I shrugged.
“After the Nickelback concert, I asked Mum about it. She made an appointment at the doctors for me, and that was that.”
“Ah, so you really have had sex on the brain for ages,” Jess wriggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Yeah, yeah, make fun of me all you want,” I grinned at them. “Oh, and that’s not even the best bit. Now we get to sleep together every night. I can’t believe what a difference it makes having sex with someone that you love. Like there’s―”
“Hang on. You’re not living out of the hotel, are you?” Jess interrupted.
“Nope. Mum and Dad are fine with Josh and I sleeping in the same bed at home too now!”
“What?” Jess and Sophie yelled in unison. I giggled.
“We can only get away with that at Jack’s house. I swear, parents are so much more relaxed about sex when they have sons. Like it’s an achievement if their sons are shagging, but God forbid their little girl even looks at a boy! My parents still make us sleep in separate rooms, although now I’ve told them we’re going to go to university together, I think they’ll ease up.” Sophie smiled at the idea of it. Jess huffed.
“Urgh. My parents insist I’m not allowed to sleep with anyone under their roof until I’m married.” She rolled her eyes again and Sophie and I burst into hysterics. It may not be under their roof, but Jess had been sexually active for a long time. Hell, it probably was under their roof at some point.
The bus slowed to a stop and I kept my head low as we shuffled off, ignoring people's stares. We started walking towards school, but I paused, staring wistfully at Buttercups. I hadn’t thought about my old job for ages, but after I had to ask Mum to pay for mine and Josh’s weekend away, I realised that I should probably speak to Mary about trying to get my job back. I hated the idea of not being able to spend all weekend with Josh, but it would give him and Georgie a chance to hang out. It would also mean that I could take Josh out to different places―all the things I'd dreamed of doing with him whilst he was in a coma seemed attainable now.
I promised myself that I would stop by Buttercups after school. At the very least, I owed Mary an apology for how I’d left things; she deserved a proper explanation from me.
“Have you, er, heard from Ollie lately?” Jess asked, sliding a sideways glance at me as we all walked arm in arm through the school gates.
“No, actually, I haven’t.” Shit. I was supposed to track Ollie down weeks ago and check he was OK. I’d completely forgotten all about him.
“I don’t think he’s been back to school ever since we all went out together,” Jess said, and I felt like even more of a bitch. I thought back to how he and Josh had left things at the hospital. And now that I thought about it, I’d be willing to bet good money that the birthday card Josh threw in the bin was from Ollie. I sighed. I needed to fix this.
Chapter 26
Joshua
Hey. I have a meeting with Mrs DeLaney at 10am. Want to meet for lunch after? xx I shoved my phone (my new, incredible iPhone) back in my pocket, registering that I had exactly ten minutes to haul my arse into school to be on time for my meeting. I increased my pace, feet pounding the pavement as the school gates loomed into view. Sammy had made good on her promise, persuading Mr Tapps to let me carry on with my art classes. If I could come to an arrangement with Mrs DeLaney, and if I managed my own time, I could carry on with my art project.
When Sammy suggested starting over next year, I couldn’t find it in myself to be that bothered. Just because I now had a stable home life, it didn’t mean my intelligence level had suddenly skyrocketed. I wasn’t a ‘book-smart’ kind of guy. I didn’t give a shit about equations or famous poets; they hadn’t been relevant to my survival before and even though my life wasn’t on the line anymore, they still didn’t seem important. I just couldn’t muster much interest in school. There was still hope for Georgie though.
I smiled to myself, pulling the collar of my hoodie up around my ears against the spring breeze. He was doing so well at school already. He’d only been back for a few weeks and Sammy was already getting phone calls almost every night from his teachers―they couldn’t believe he was the same little boy. He was listening in his classes, volunteering answers to his teachers’ questions, and don’t even get me started on his reading age! Sammy had been reading to him every night since Christmas and now Georgie read to her instead―it was incredible! I had never worried about books and reading with him before, movies were always our thing, but now I realised what a huge error in judgement that had been.
Sometimes I sat with him and Sammy before bed, closing my eyes as he concentrated on sounding the words out as he read to us. Every time he got a word right, every time he told us about dragons and dragon riders and their adventures, the look of pure joy on his face was just mind-blowing. His teachers were going to use the last few months of the school year to assess whether he needed to be kept back a year as well, but I had a feeling he was going to be fine. Especially as his school counsellor seemed happy with his progress, too.
I walked across campus, heading towards the art building, chuckling as I replayed Sammy asking me about seeing a counsellor as well. No chance. Not a chance in bloody hell was I going to spill my guts to a complete stranger. I knew Izzy was starting to find the sessions helpful, but I didn’t need to speak to a bloody therapist. I had dealt with things all on my own before and I could do the same again. Besides, I had Izzy to talk to now, or even Sammy or Charlie if I needed them. I didn’t need Miss Lovey (and what kind of bloody name was that anyway?).
Finishing my art project though, now that was something I wanted to do. As soon as I’d clapped eyes on that photo above my bedroom door, the one of Georgie, Izzy and Ryan on the big-arse canvas, I had been hit with an intense need to finish my project. It had been a huge shock when I'd realised just how much the idea of not being able to finish it this year bothered me.
Izzy and her family thought that the sketches I did for them last year were just Christmas presents, but that was not all they were. They were practice sketches for my project. I still wasn't exactly sure how I wanted my final piece to look, but I knew it was going to involve a version of that photo. I took a deep breath as I entered the art block, jumping the stairs two at a time to get to Mrs DeLaney’s room in time. I hoped she would let me continue with her class this year.
“Joshua! It’s so good to see you!” Mrs DeLaney sprung out of her chair behind her desk, hurrying over to me. Her class was empty of students, so this must be a free period for her. I frowned at the desk behind her, giving it a once over. Usually her desk sat in her office, a tiny room off to the side of her main classroom. It was always over spilling with papers, stacks of sketch pads and discarded pencils lying all over the place. Now though, her desk was at the front of the classroom, pushed to the side of her white board. She had a new filing cabinet next to it and, except for a few paint brushes and some odd paper, the surface was clear. Odd.
She caught me looking over her shoulder, waving her hand in the air dismissively.
“I am thrilled that you asked to carry on with this class, Joshua,” she said, using both of her hands to run her fingers through her hair, from root to tip. Her hair was always a crazy mess but today, it looked like she’d stuck her finger in a plug socket and shocked herself almost to death. I raised my eyebrows at
her; that was not the reaction I’d expected. I thought I’d have at least needed to grovel a bit. She sat back against her desk, crossing one leg over the other as she hovered along the edge of it.
“Now, tell me. Do you want to carry on with this class so you get a grade at the end of this year, or do you just want to escape?” She was wearing pink-rimmed glasses and her eyes look almost comically large behind them.
“Escape?” I queried. “What do you mean?”
“You know, escape from the reins of suffering and pain that bind you. Shed your shackles and release your soul, allowing your creativity to soothe your broken heart!” She threw her arms about, almost as if she were acting out ripping her clothes off. What. The. Fuck. This woman was an absolute fucking crack pot. She peered at my blank face, before sighing.
“Sometimes, when one experiences a pain so excruciating, so...harrowing, one needs to find a way to release it. To let the pain wash through them, rinsing away all of one’s fears and regrets. Things like music and art can be such a relief, a way to escape our minds and emotions.” Nope. I didn’t have a fucking scooby what she was going on about.
“I want to finish my end of year project,” I replied. I didn't know what else to say.
“Excellent! Excellent!” She lurched forward, clapping her hands so suddenly that I jumped, surprised. “So, to do that, you are going to need to attend your art classes with your peers as normal. You need to keep researching other artists and use their styles to try out versions of your final piece. You do remember the assignment, yes, Joshua?” She arched a brow, her eyes boring into me. I nodded, trying to ignore my irritation at her using my full name. She was the only person on the planet that insisted on using it.
“Fabulous. Now, I need a full sketch pad, so you are going to have to use some of your own time outside of your usual classes to catch up. And although it is called a sketch pad, you cannot just sketch, my dear. Understand?” She said the words ‘just sketch’ as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. She continued, not waiting for me to respond.
“I know you do favour the classic pencil drawing, but you have such talent, dear boy, such talent! It is wasted on a pencil. I cannot wait to see what you can do with some paint! Or charcoal, or collage…” She stared off behind me with a dreamy expression and bewildered, I turned to look over my shoulder. There was a Van Gogh display on the wall behind me, littered with imitation paintings from some of the younger students. Nothing stood out to me and the more I tried to track her eye line, the more unsure I was that she was actually looking at it. She clapped again and I watched as she hustled over to her office, where her desk used to be, at the back right of the class. I followed, ducking my head so I didn’t bang it on the top of the threshold as I entered.
The art building had some of the highest ceilings with the largest windows, but for some reason, the door to Mrs DeLaney’s office was designed for a hobbit. And it wasn't like she was particularly short either, maybe only a couple inches off Izzy’s height. It didn’t even match the other doors in the building, for Christ’s sake!
“You will also have to sit your final exam with everyone else at the end of the year. You’ll have ten hours over two days to create your final showstopper!” My mouth dropped; ten hours? Bloody hell. She whirled to face me, clasping her hands in front of her chest as she stood in the middle of the room.
The floor was completely clear of clutter. Behind her, there was a desk pushed against the far wall. It was like one of the desks that I usually sat at in her class; the kind that was higher than your average table and that you sat on a stool for. There was only one stool underneath it, even though the desk was usually for two people to work at. A window sat above the desk, revealing the staff car park and the playing fields beyond. There were three easels resting at one end of the desk, each a different size. Books were piled up at the other end and I tilted my head, reading the spines. They were like the artists’ biographies I’d flicked through all that time ago at the beginning of sixth form last year. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“You will find any and every material you could ever dream of in here.” Mrs DeLaney fluttered her fingers up at the shelves either side of her. They stretched from waist height all the way to the top of the ceiling, several feet above my head. There was a ladder propped up against one wall, so you could reach the supplies on even the top shelf. Although the floor and desk were clean, the shelves were an entirely different story. They were completely rammed full of stuff. It kind of reminded me of Ollivanders, but instead of wands, the place was brimming with paint brushes of all shapes and sizes, pens and pencils, scraps of multi-coloured paper, and on and on.
I groaned inwardly, knowing Ryan would take the absolute piss out of me if he found out I’d used another Harry Potter reference. I jolted, wincing as I realised that Ryan would not ever find out about how Mrs DeLaney’s office reminded me of a stupid wand shop from a made-up, stupid world.
“This is your space, Joshua. You can use this room as your own, coming and going whenever you please. Whenever you have the urge to express yourself, or you need to spend some more time working on your assignment, please do let yourself in.” She was beaming at me.
“Sorry? This room...is for me?” I was sure I’d misheard her. She reached out, grasping my shoulder briefly before letting her hand fall back to her side.
“Yes, Joshua. This room is for you."
“But…but this is your office!”
“Not anymore, my dear. I have a feeling you need this room more than me right now.” She smiled and I had the sudden urge to hug her. I had never hugged a teacher before. Hell, I’d never even liked a teacher before, but right now, I felt like Mrs DeLaney was on my side. Someone wanted me to succeed at something.
The bell rang and after a few minutes, I could hear students shuffling about behind us, ready to begin their class with Mrs DeLaney. I was still lost for words, but Mrs DeLaney didn’t seem to expect a response from me. Instead, she flounced out of her office, now my art room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
I wasn't sure how long I stared out the window, my mind jumping all over the place. Eventually, I stepped towards the desk and picked up a book from the top of one of the piles: John Martin, Apocalypse Now! There was a biblical painting on the front cover, some kind of scene with fire or lava. I flicked through, pausing at a random page. I stared at the painting I’d stopped at, my heart thumping. Part of the Earth had been split in two, a deep, dark, jagged hole in the centre. There were bright red, angry cracks radiating from the back of the gorge, as if the depths of hell were trying to break through to the surface. People were clawing at each other, some falling into the ravine. For some reason, the painting made me think back to what Sammy had said yesterday. To what she'd said about Big Mike.
Ever since I'd woken up from my coma and Ryan hadn’t woke from his, I had shut out all thoughts of Big Mike. The empty ache I felt in my chest whenever I thought of Ryan morphed into an all-consuming, blinding hatred whenever my thoughts strayed to Big Mike. I despised him. I loathed him so much that I almost couldn’t breathe, my repulsion towards him choking me. I hoped that motherfucker died. Slowly. Painfully. I noticed the name of the painting at the bottom of the page: The Great Day of His Wrath, 1851-3.
My fingers itched with the overwhelming need to busy themselves. I spotted my old sketch pad at the back of the desk, sliding it towards me. Turning back to the shelves, I scanned them, searching for something I was in the mood for. I grabbed a box of charcoal pencils, stretching up high to reach them. Once I’d climbed on top of my stool and slid a charcoal pencil from the box, I opened my sketch pad to a blank page. And…nothing. I didn’t feel inspired. I rolled my head, clicking my neck. I glanced at the John Martin book, still open to that painting, the one that made me furious. Mrs DeLaney’s voice rang in my head―“things like music and art can be such a relief.”
I didn’t have my headphones with me, but Izzy had shown me the Spotify app last night,
showing me how to create a playlist. I slipped my phone from my pocket, opening the app. It was still a bit alien to me. My frustration grew when I finally figured out how to create a new playlist but didn’t have a bloody clue what songs to add to it. I racked my brains, trying to remember some of the songs Izzy had put on my iPod for Christmas. I couldn’t remember a single one. My mind had completely emptied itself.
“Izzy would be able to create the perfect playlist,” I muttered to myself.
Chapter 27
Isabel
My phone vibrated in my pocket, distracting me from Mr Radley’s presentation on Mendelian inheritance. He was so engrossed in the diagram he was drawing on the whiteboard that I snuck a glance down, looking at my phone. I smiled when I saw I had two WhatsApp messages from Josh. The first said he had a meeting with his art teacher, so I sent some positive vibes his way, hoping she would agree to let him continue for the year. I was surprised when Josh seemed so upset about not getting to finish his art A Level. I knew he had always enjoyed art, but I hadn’t realised he was so committed to it.
I frowned, noticing his second message. Don’t suppose you have a free period now? I could use your help xx Without hesitation, I began stuffing my textbook and notepad back in my bag. Sophie eyed me with a sideways glance, confused. I rushed to the front of the class and Mr Radley paused, looking at me over his shoulder.
“Everything OK, Izzy?” he asked, concerned. Everyone knew about what had been going on in my life (I was always the centre of the gossip in this place. I could never seem to fly under the radar), but for the first time, I was grateful. Hopefully Mr Radley would go easy on me when I told him I was leaving.
“Sorry sir. I’ve got a terrible migraine.” He nodded, pity in his eyes, and I felt guilty for misleading him. But if Josh needed my help with something, I had to get to him; there was no other choice.