‘Really? You’ve changed your mind.’ I cross my arms and stare at her. ‘You fancied him about three days ago.’
‘Well, that was before his little performance at the audition the other day,’ she says. I’m opening my mouth, ready to argue back, but she goes on before I get the chance. ‘Your parents are worried about you, they’ve been calling everyone. And you didn’t even bother to text them back?’
But I’m looking over her shoulder and I can see Esi and Cal and Phoebe and Beth in a little knot looking over at us.
‘They put you up to this?’ I say.
‘We’re worried about you,’ Rachael replies. Then I see Cal begin to walk towards us. No way can I talk to him, not with Aaron nearby.
‘Well, you don’t need to be. I’m happy. If you want to be jealous of that, then that’s your problem. And if you’re not going to support me, then leave me alone,’ I say.
‘It’s your funeral,’ Rachael says. She turns away. I hear Cal call after me, but I’m already walking fast towards Aaron’s car.
‘You OK?’ Aaron says as I get in.
‘Yeah. No. I don’t know,’ I say.
When he’s driven us away I lean back against the seat and close my eyes.
‘They’re jealous, you know. People don’t get it, what it’s like to be really, properly serious about someone,’ Aaron says.
I open my eyes and watch the high hedges fly past. Soon we’ll be on our beach, just us and the waves, and I know this feeling will stop.
*
The rest of the week goes better. Aaron gets me all new textbooks and makes sure he’s taking me to each class so I don’t need to worry about seeing the others. The more I think about how they’ve ganged up on me, appointed Rachael, of all people, their spokesperson, the angrier I get. But I love the feeling of me and Aaron against the world. We eat takeaways most nights, then cuddle up in front of the TV. Sometimes we go down to the beach to take Shiney for a walk, which she loves. Her fur is so soft.
On Friday night, just as we’re celebrating the weekend’s here, there’s a bang on Aaron’s door. I’m not dressed, because of the celebrating – so Aaron pulls on his jeans and goes to answer it. A moment later, I’m horrified to hear my parents’ voices floating into the living room.
‘We want to see our daughter.’
That’s Dad’s voice. I grab the nearest blanket and blow out the candles I lit earlier. The remains of dinner – a bucket of KFC – are still on the floor.
‘She doesn’t want to see you,’ Aaron’s saying. I crack the living-room door a tiny amount and peer through. Aaron has, thank God, got the door on the chain.
‘Please, I’d just like to check she’s OK, that’s all.’ This time it’s Mum talking, and for a second I nearly run straight out, because suddenly I want her to hug me in a way she hasn’t since I was about five.
But then Dad’s shouting, ‘Open this bloody door before I kick it down!’ I hear a thump as he bangs on it, then the sound of my parents having some sort of argument in the hall, before Dad’s voice says, ‘Shut up!’ and Mum falls silent. I draw back.
Aaron says, ‘If you come here again, we’ll consider it harassment and call the police. She has your number. If she wants to get in touch, she will.’ He pushes the door closed. There’s two or three more bangs on it and then everything goes silent.
He finds me in a ball, the blanket around my shoulders. ‘Hey, don’t cry. Are you OK? Hey, you like baths, don’t you? I’ll run you one.’
And he does. He dumps about half a bottle of shower gel in it, because we don’t have any bubble bath. I climb in and settle back. It’s super hot, but after a while it kind of does the trick. I start to relax and close my eyes. The next minute, though, Aaron’s decided to chuck off all his clothes and jumps in with me. I shriek, laughing, as water sloshes all over the floor.
‘Oh my God, you wally!’
He grins, and then scoops up piles of bubbles to make me a bubble crown. ‘My queen,’ he says, in his fake posh accent.
I smile, feeling the old rhythm between us. ‘Kind sir,’ I say.
Then he leans down to give me a soapy kiss, his mouth pushing hard on mine so that the back of my head sinks into the bubbles.
The water makes shushing noises in my ears.
Chapter Forty-Three
Gemma
We develop our routine: we go to college, we go to the beach. We eventually get bored of takeaways, so we work out an online shop, just easy stuff like fish fingers and instant mash. We watch a lot of Netflix. Aaron clears a space for me to do my college work at a little desk while he does his app development.
The only thing I miss is my guitar. ‘I wish I could play something, it always helps me concentrate,’ I say without thinking one Friday as I’m trying to work through a really stupid essay for Biology. There’s certain topics we don’t talk about, like we’ve kind of agreed not to, without words. And music is one of them.
‘I mean, I don’t really miss miss it. Just a bit,’ I add quickly.
Aaron nods and goes back to his work.
But the next day, after I’ve cooked him a fry-up, Aaron comes up behind me while I’m washing the pans and says, ‘Leave that,’ in my ear.
‘Won’t take a moment,’ I say. I have discovered Mum was right about one thing: you leave a pan with a load of stuck-on egg and bacon, and it’s ten times harder to wash up than if you did it straight away.
‘You need to get out, get some fresh air. Why don’t you take Shiney down to the beach?’ Aaron says. I look at him in surprise. Apart from when I’m in class, or in the bathroom – and not even always then, to be honest – I haven’t been away from Aaron for weeks.
‘You’re not coming?’ I say. There’s a strange feeling inside, like panic almost.
‘You go,’ Aaron says firmly. ‘It’ll do you both good.’ Then he gives me a pinch around the waist, like he’s feeling the fat there.
‘Hey!’ I’m laughing, but also slightly self-conscious because maybe I have put on a bit of weight.
‘You’re so squidgeable though,’ Aaron says, and I kiss him, then wriggle out of his arms to get the lead.
The walk down to the beach is quiet. It’s drizzling and I don’t have a coat, only one of Aaron’s fleeces that doesn’t keep the wind out. We totally forgot to get me a coat when we did our shopping spree. I go down through the grey streets towards the beachfront, choosing the end away from the cafe. Here the bay curves out against a white sky, big boulders piled up near the seafront wall. I trace it around, jogging on the damper sand where the tide is on its way out, Shiney running ahead of me and barking at seagulls. After a while, my shins start to hurt and I have a stitch so I slow to a walk. I wander further along and round a crop of rocks towards the end of the bay. At low tide, you wouldn’t be able to get through this way, but I can always cut up the cliff path at the other end if I needed to. I breathe in sea air, feel my face get sticky with salt. It’s nice to be out on my own, I realise, then a moment later I feel guilty. Aaron’s done so much for me the last couple of weeks.
Far away in the distance, I can see a couple of little dots huddled on the cliff edge: mine and Esi’s houses. For a minute, I wonder what would happen if I went up and knocked on my door. Probably a whole load of shouting, for a start. I think about Michael’s broken ankle, but that just summons up a world of awful feelings and I can’t face it. Can’t face the what-ifs that will come if I think about it all for too long.
I call Shiney back and turn for home.
I’ve been gone well over an hour and my legs are aching when I ring the bell to get back into the building. Aaron needs to sort out another key. Then I wonder how my parents got in. Maybe one of the neighbours let them up or they tailgated someone or something. But that belongs in the category of stuff I don’t want to think about.
‘Gem?’ I’m so relieved to hear Aaron’s voice, in a way I can’t really explain.
‘Yes.’ The door buzzes.
Upsta
irs, Aaron’s waiting at the flat door. He takes Shiney’s lead from me, unclips it and ushers the dog inside. Then he closes the door and comes behind me, putting his hands over my eyes.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just walk forward, I’ll tell you when to stop.’
With Aaron’s guidance, I walk up the hall, his hands still clamped down so I can only see snatches of the floor from underneath his fingers. Then he says, ‘Stop.’
I do.
‘Open your eyes.’
Aaron lifts his hands, but for a moment I can’t speak. ‘Oh my … Aaron,’ I whisper.
The entire room is covered in flickering candles and flowers, and in the middle, on its own stand is an acoustic guitar. Not just any guitar. This is a Gibson. I’ve dreamed about playing one of these. It’s a rich mahogany colour and the scratchboard is painted with the trademark hummingbirds, butterflies and flowers. It’s beautiful.
Aaron’s grinning. ‘You like it?’
I throw myself into his arms. ‘It’s perfect. I love it. I love you.’ I kiss him, feeling tears and dried salt on my face. ‘This is just … It’s amazing. I can’t believe you did this.’
‘You’re worth it,’ Aaron says. ‘You going to play me something?’
I sit and strum a chord. The sound is sweet and clear, filling the room like a bell. And then the oddest thing happens. It’s like all the music, all my original music, the songs I wrote, have disappeared from my head. In the end I settle for strumming some old country songs I’ll probably still be able to play in my sleep when I’m ninety.
A thought occurs to me as I rub my fingers, waiting for them to warm up properly. I’ve just been playing a Janie Wynell song, badly, but it’s made me remember. ‘Hey, do you think her new album’s out yet?’
‘Who?’
I laugh. ‘Janie Wynell, that’s who I was playing. You told me about her new album, remember?’
‘Who?’ he says again. Then he laughs. ‘I think you’re confused.’ I open my mouth, but Aaron says, ‘Play something else.’
There’s an urgent voice, somewhere deep inside me, telling me I need to pay attention, that something’s wrong, but Aaron’s looking expectant so I begin a new song, stumbling over it a little, maybe because my fingers are still cold from the beach, but Aaron claps at the end. ‘You’re so talented,’ he says.
Slowly my fingers warm up as I remember other pieces. But I don’t do any of my own songs. And I don’t sing.
The weather lets us know Christmas is approaching. It dips colder and colder as we go into December. I’m still wearing Aaron’s old fleece to college. It’s not really a problem. I mean, I basically go straight from his car up to my lessons now, and anyway … I feel bad always asking him for stuff. Like when my foundation ran out and he made a comment about the price of the replacement so I put a cheapo one on the online food order instead.
And then there’s Christmas presents. I want to get him one, but how? I don’t have any money of my own. I never added my Amazon gift cards to my account and they’re still in my room back home.
One evening over pizza I say, ‘I’m thinking about getting another job.’
Aaron puts down the slice he was about to take a bite out of. ‘Why?’
I avoid his eyes, because if there’s one thing I’ve started to learn with Aaron, it’s that it’s easy to get confused talking to him. I can’t always keep my thoughts straight. ‘Well, I think I need my own money – you know, just for things,’ I say.
‘But like what? We’ve got everything we need here, haven’t we?’ he says.
I meet his eyes then, and the next moment I find myself agreeing. But later that night, alone in the shower, I think about it some more. I want to be able to get Aaron stuff, too. And, well, the foundation that I want, without having to worry about it. Then I wonder if I’m being petty. I mean, most girls would love this, wouldn’t they? He bought me a guitar. It feels ungrateful to complain.
Then I give myself a shake. Why am I even worrying? I just need to explain this to Aaron and he’ll understand. I wrap myself in a towel and pad over to where he’s tapping away on his laptop, frowning.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Hey.’ He sounds distracted. Probably something up with his new investment stuff. I know I should leave it, but Confident Gemma – or Stubborn Gemma maybe – suddenly surfaces. It’s a surprise to find myself saying, ‘I need my own money. For starters I want to be able to buy—’
He slams the laptop closed so hard I think it might crack. ‘Buy what? You girls are all the same. Always wanting more!’ he shouts.
Buy you a present.
That’s what I’d been going to say. Instead I find myself staring at him, paralysed, Confident Gemma shrivelling away to nothing. ‘No, I …’ I begin, but I can’t seem to find the words when he’s looking at me like that.
He jumps up and comes past, whacking into my shoulder as he does. I gasp, because it hurts, but he doesn’t stop, just grabs Shiney’s lead and bangs out of the flat, the dog trotting meekly by his side. I consider running after him, but it’s dark and I’m only wearing a towel. So I put on some clothes and I clean up a bit, and I pace and rub my shoulder and wait.
After half an hour, when he’s still not back, I start to comfort eat, scooping out bites of ice cream from the tub in front of the freezer with a teaspoon.
When the door goes I put the nearly empty ice-cream tub back in a hurry, the spoon still inside. Aaron comes into the room just as I’m straightening back up. I’m sure I must have a guilty look on my face, even though it’s only ice cream.
But as I say, ‘I’m sorry,’ he does too. There’s a tense moment where we look at each other, and then he starts to laugh and so do I, though mine has this relieved edge to it that feels wrong, like someone else is laughing.
Later, in bed, Aaron explains how I interrupted just as he really needed to concentrate on his work. ‘It’s complicated stuff. I need to keep a lot of things in my head if I don’t want to lose a shedload of money,’ he says. I feel a flash of guilt. The guitar must have cost loads, even if it was second-hand.
‘Maybe … could I help?’ I say. ‘I’d feel less like I’m … I’d be making a contribution,’ I say.
Aaron laughs, then kisses me on the nose. ‘It’s pretty complicated, Gem. But you do contribute. You cook and clean, and stuff. Well, sometimes,’ he adds in a jokey voice. ‘I mean, I’m pretty sure the kitchen floor’s a health hazard but hey, only Shiney eats off it so …’
‘Oi,’ I say, and poke him.
And of course it goes the way it always does, except that when we’re done, I don’t fall asleep like I usually do. Instead I stay awake for ages.
In the morning, I get down on my hands and knees and clean the kitchen floor.
He’s kind of right; it was pretty manky.
Chapter Forty-Four
Aaron
‘Can I have a word?’ It’s Mr Bowyer, the College Manager.
Shit. Gem gives me a questioning look. When I nod at her it’s OK, she goes into her Music class. I notice she sits at the very front, right by Mr Higgins. He’s older, but not that old, and I don’t like the way she looks at him, there’s something doglike about it, but I haven’t got time to watch because Mr Bowyer is hustling me down the corridor towards his office. There’s not much point following him, but I’d rather do it in there than out in the open, where someone like Jonny might see.
In his office, he gets straight to it. ‘You’ve already been notified of the decision to expel you for non-attendance. You are no longer a student here. So may I ask what you’re doing on college premises?’
I shrug, because I don’t owe this guy jack.
‘If you continue to come on to the premises I will call the police to have you removed. Am I clear?’ he says.
There’s no point answering, so I just go to walk out, but not before he says, ‘What’s your relationship to Gemma Belfine? You’re living together, I understand?’
&
nbsp; ‘Hardly your business, as I’m not a student any more,’ I grind out through a clenched jaw.
‘Yes, but Gemma is,’ he says, and his voice is musing.
I don’t wait to carry on the conversation, just get out of there. Mr Bowyer makes a movement as if to stop me, but I push past him. My brain is racing. Has she said something to someone? That Music tutor of hers she was making eyes at? Isn’t she happy? I think back to her asking for more money, to the way she seems to eat all the time now. The extra weight was sexy at first, but it’s really sitting on her face. I don’t get it. What more does she want? Am I not good enough for her? Is she complaining about me to people at college?
The thoughts spin round in a blur, mocking me.
Nothing you do will ever be good enough. She’s stopped making any effort.
I think about the dinner she tried to cook and burned the other night. The dog food uncleaned on the floor. Her demands for more this and more that.
Binners saying I’m under the thumb.
Is she taking the piss?
Then another part of my brain tells me to stop being an idiot, that she loves me. She’s always saying it. But she’s never written a song for me, has she? Not like the ones she did with Cal. I thought she would when I got her the guitar. And it cost so much. More than I could afford, really. As soon as I sell another app it’ll be fine, but the point is, she doesn’t have a clue. Does she still secretly care about him? Or someone else? My thoughts keep coming back round to that look she gave her music teacher. Could something be going on?
I wait outside college in the car as lessons kick out. She doesn’t appear. Ten minutes go by. Why isn’t she here? Is she flirting with him – Mr Higgins? Laughing? Leaning down as he hands her an assignment, so her hair brushes against his arm …
There’s a tap at the window.
It’s her.
She grins, gives a little wave. I press the button to unlock the doors and wait until she slides in. She smells like the perfume I got her, and like something else I can’t work out. Is it aftershave? I lean in to kiss her, but really I’m taking in a long breath through my nostrils. And this time I’m sure of it. Man’s deodorant. Faint, but there.
I Hold Your Heart Page 19