‘You think you’re doing the right thing by pretending none of this is going to happen? He’s better off knowing what’s coming,’ Jamie says. Deal gives a nod of approval.
Dad bangs the flat of his hand down on the table, which makes everyone jump, and now I definitely don’t feel hungry any more.
‘Will you stop bloody well going on about this bloody company, Jamie,’ Dad roars.
Jack is giving Mum an anxious glance, but for once she doesn’t say anything about the swearing; she just sits there, her lips pressed together the way they get when she’s extra worried about money or something.
Then Jamie stands up. When he speaks, I’m surprised at how rough his voice is. ‘You carry on then, pretending everything’s fine, spouting all that crap about being “rich in love”,’ – he does this horrible high-pitched voice as he says it – ‘when we all know it’s a load of bollocks.’
‘Jamie!’ Mum’s voice is shocked.
‘You’re out of order,’ Dad says.
‘Whatever.’ Jamie stalks out of the room.
No one says anything for a minute, then Deal says, ‘He’s a bit stressed out. I can see you guys need to think about it though.’ His voice is soothing, sympathetic. Then he adds, ‘Thanks for dinner.’ He disappears from the room.
Yeah, and who’s got Jamie this stressed out? I think, watching the silent looks being exchanged between my parents. Jack has a million questions in his eyes and his mouth firmly shut, like me. I never chimed in like I usually would because I don’t have the first clue who’s in the right any more.
There’s yoghurt for pudding, but I don’t bother; I’m too busy thinking. I offer to wash up with Mum while Dad goes to watch telly and Jack knocks for Dylan. Jamie and Deal have already gone out. Mum runs some water into the washing-up liquid bottle to get the dregs out, then boils the kettle because we’re out of hot water.
I think about how angry Jamie is, how he says things aren’t fair. About the letter for Jack’s school trip we can’t afford, even with seven months’ notice, and how I bet someone like Annabel doesn’t need to know the price of bog roll and milk down to the last penny. In fact, if I had any cash, I’d be putting it on her never having to go down the supermarket anyway, what with the fact her parents seem to have staff.
But I can also see Mum and Dad’s perspective. I mean, what’s the point in always looking at what everyone else wants and wishing you had it? That never stops, does it? Someone’s always going to have a bigger house or a better car or whatever. And I always used to like the ‘rich in love’ thing. Nope, best not ‘make waves’ or ‘stick your head above the parapet’ or any of the other million sayings my parents have.
Except … love gets hard when you’re skint and worried all the time. It gets to be that you’re too tired, like how Mum and Dad don’t seem to hold hands so much these days, or bump hips as they’re cooking together in the kitchen. I think about how we don’t go up on the Downs any more, or play board games on a rainy Saturday afternoon all together, because someone’s always working.
As I start to dry the plates, I think again about how that little light went out in Jack’s eyes earlier, and at what point he won’t even have the light there in the first place.
I put the plate down and get the letter out of the kitchen drawer.
‘Jack got this from school,’ I say, waving it under Mum’s nose. She squints at it, suds dripping from her fingers, and sighs, but before she can speak I say in a rush, ‘I could help out with Jack’s trip. I’ve got some cash saved from the library. The first instalment’s only sixty quid, look.’
Mum rinses another plate and puts it with a measured movement on to the draining board. Then she turns eyes that are red rimmed with tiredness to me. ‘I know, love, but what about the one after and the one after that? I can’t let you use your money for this, I’m sorry. It’s kind of you to offer.’
‘But I don’t mind –’
‘No, Joni.’
The way she says it, I know the topic’s closed, but in bed that night, I make up my mind to see if I can find a way to send Jack anyway. He’s always so good-natured, he never complains. And I know how much he’d love it.
No, I don’t care what Mum says, Jack’s going.
I’ll make it happen.
All week at school, I’m thinking up ways to raise money. The obvious one would be to get more work in, but I know there’s no more hours going in the library and even if there were, a job pretty much anywhere else would pay more. Maybe I can take on some waitressing in the evenings. I say this to Kelly, sitting in the refectory with a plate of chips in front of me one lunchtime.
She looks doubtful. ‘Mate, you’ve got all that catching up to do in History. Plus you already work at the library. You’ve got to have some time to chill.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll manage. I’m more worried about whether there’s any jobs going anywhere.’
Kelly opens her mouth to say more, then seems to think better of it. Instead she swipes a chip from my plate and says, ‘I’ve got a gig booked in a couple of weeks. They’re paying me too. Fifty quid.’
Mum reckons Kelly’s voice is like a young Joni Mitchell. She should know, seeing as Joni Mitchell is one of her all-time favourites and the reason I’ve got my name. But despite all her usual confidence, Kelly always needs a hand hold at gigs, at least until she gets going.
‘Awesome. I’ll be there.’ I say.
A moment later, Pete comes over. Kelly immediately turns to him. ‘You coming to my gig?’
‘Definitely!’ Pete’s voice is so eager, it hurts. Then he adds in this casual tone, ‘Do you mind if I bring Ananya?’
I blink. Ananya Pillai is in Pete’s Drama class. She’s the polar opposite of Pete: loud, self-confident, beautiful. Kelly jumps up. ‘Better get going. Psychology.’ She rolls her eyes, but I know she loves it really.
It’s just me and Pete left at the table now. ‘So … Ananya, huh?’ I say.
Pete shrugs. ‘No point hanging around waiting for something that’s never going to happen,’ he says.
I wonder if he really does like Ananya or if he’ll be hung up on Kelly forever. Ananya doesn’t strike me as the type who’s going to put up with any crap though, so I just say, ‘Well, good for you. Chip?’
He takes one off me and as he does I can’t help wondering when life got so complicated. Sometimes it feels like yesterday we were all in juniors together, playing games of Bulldog on the field when the teachers weren’t looking. Now everyone’s in couples, or aiming to be, thinking about uni and moving away. Worrying about cash if you’re me. It all seems to be going so fast.
I guess sometimes I wish the most important part of the day was still those playtimes, running and shouting, the playground hot under our feet and our futures not even thought of yet.
CHAPTER NINE
‘You’re here, marvellous. Annabel was telling me about a wonderful idea she’s had.’ Mrs H is practically wetting herself the second I come through the library doors. I meet Annabel’s eyes and give a faint smile. I haven’t forgotten our argument, but at the same time she did text and I guess we need to draw a line, as Mum would say.
‘What’s that then?’ I say.
Annabel pushes back her hair, which she’s wearing down today in stacks of blonde waves, and says, ‘Well, it’s nearly Easter so I thought, we could do an Easter egg hunt for the toddler group. And anyone else who would like to join in.’
‘Sounds good.’
The expression on her face tells me she wasn’t expecting me to think it was anything other than a good idea, but it seems that was only the warm-up. ‘Perfect. We’ll get a costume so the children can have a visit from the Easter bunny. And make Easter bonnets. Then we’ll play some games – I thought musical chairs – and hand out Easter eggs as prizes.’
‘You’ve got it all planned out,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light. Mrs H beams at Annabel. Then a thought strikes me. ‘Hang on,’ I give them both a suspicious
look. ‘Who’s wearing the costume?’
Mrs H looks at me. ‘Well, I thought you might like –’
‘I will!’ Annabel says brightly.
‘Too bloody right.’ Mrs H’s mouth falls open, but Annabel smiles at me, a proper full smile with a hint of something else underneath it.
‘Well, I do think you’d look lovely in bunny ears, but as it was my idea …’
Something goes wrong with my face; it’s like I’m frozen on the outside while inside everything seems to shift. I pull my eyes away from hers, not even listening properly to what Mrs H is now saying, while my brain goes into overdrive.
Do I fancy Annabel?
No.
No way.
Definitely not.
That would be totally stupid.
‘… Well, if Joni doesn’t mind?’
They’re both looking at me.
‘Uh, yeah, OK,’ I say.
‘Really?’ Annabel asks.
‘Course!’ I try and make my face upbeat.
Mrs H brings her hands together in a short clap. ‘You really think you can manage to get two costumes at this short notice, Annabel?’ she says.
Hang on, what?
‘Yes, it won’t be any trouble at all.’ Annabel gives me a look, suddenly full of mischief, and I realise she knows I wasn’t listening.
‘Two Easter bunnies! The children will love it,’ Mrs H says.
Annabel’s smile is conspiratorial.
Oh bollocks.
A week later, I’m in the toilets pulling on a giant bunny costume over my jeans and swearing as I get the tail caught. This is officially the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I shove the ears on my head and trudge out, not bothering to look at myself in the mirror first.
‘Would you like me to do you up?’ How does Annabel look good in a fricking bunny costume? I guess it helps she’s knocking on five foot ten or eleven, while I’m about as round in this costume as I am tall.
She goes around the back of me before I answer and I feel the pressure of her hand on my lower back, then moving up with the zip. Her fingers are cool for a second on the nape of my neck and then they’re gone. As I turn around I tell myself that my red face is because it’s already hot in the suit.
‘I was right.’ Annabel grins at me.
‘What’s that?’
‘You do look cute in bunny ears.’
My mind circles the word ‘cute’ several times and I go redder. So as not to let on, I make my face grumpy and say, ‘How long till the bratlings arrive? I’m boiling in this.’
Annabel laughs. ‘Not very long, Thumper.’
I look down at myself and wonder if she ordered a costume for me in pink on purpose. I generally stay away from the girly end of the spectrum – not that I have anything against pink, mind, it’s just not really me.
Annabel rearranges her bunny ears on top of her head and gestures to some brushes and boxes of stuff on the desk. ‘Would you help me with the face paint?’
‘Uh, yeah … I’m not that good.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ she says, handing me a brush. I sit in front of her and attempt to colour in her nose and give her some whiskers. At first, I try and keep an arm’s length away, but I have to lean in closer to do the whiskers, trying to keep my focus on the brush and not on her eyes, or her mouth …
I cough and sit back. ‘There you go. Told you I wasn’t exactly a dab hand at the face paints.’
Annabel examines herself in a little mirror and smiles. ‘Perfect. Now it’s your turn.’
‘Nah, you’re all right.’
‘I insist! At least have some whiskers.’ She loads the brush with black and uses one hand to push my shoulder so I’m sitting back in the chair, then leans in so close I can feel her breath tickling my cheek. Then there’s the cold shock of the face paint sweeping my cheek three times one side and again on the other, and finally some dots around my nose. I notice with a sudden sense of something softening inside, that Annabel sticks her tongue in her cheek when she’s concentrating, like Jack.
‘There,’ she says, and she smiles at me again.
I swallow, pushing down the feelings that are definitely swirling as she holds my eyes, and say, ‘Yep. We both look like muppets now.’
I regret it as soon as it’s out of my mouth, but Annabel chooses to ignore this and carries on smiling.
A moment later there’s a screech and I realise the first of the hordes are here.
Annabel has already stood up and I wonder how come she’s so confident – where does she get it all from? Then I spot her straighten her shoulders, before turning to me with a smile that’s gone both wider and more fake. ‘Well then. Shall we go?’
I realise suddenly that’s she’s doing that ‘fake it till you make it’ thing Kelly’s always banging on about, that she’s doing it so well perhaps no one ever sees it.
But I do.
I see.
‘Well!’ Annabel lets out a long sigh and takes her bunny ears off as the last kid goes through the double doors clutching a basket of eggs and the Easter card he’s made. ‘That went well, don’t you think?’
‘It was super!’ Mrs H comes bustling down the hall, having seen the kids off the premises. ‘Well done, Annabel! You put together a fantastic event at short notice and everyone had such a lovely time. I knew you would be an asset to the library. I must drop your father a line to let him know …’
‘No need for that,’ Annabel smiles, but her voice sounds strained. ‘And Joni did a wonderful job too.’
‘Hmm? Oh yes, well done, Joni,’ Mrs H adds, then wanders off to start clearing away the debris scattered about the place.
I’m too hot and knackered to be that bothered, but Annabel’s biting her lip, and for the first time, I feel a wave of something come over me, like I want to make things OK for her.
‘Don’t worry about Mrs H, she’s just excited. And you do organise a killer game of Duck, Duck, Goose,’ I say. I lift one hand up, thinking I might pat her shoulder or something, then chicken out and use it to lift my bunny ears off instead. ‘Uh … I’m gonna go get out of this.’
She unzips me before I get the chance to say anything, and I scarper to the toilet to take the suit off. I could’ve changed out there; I’ve got jeans and a vest top on, but I didn’t fancy the idea of wriggling in and out of a bunny costume with Annabel looking on. It seems … undignified or something.
I check my hair in the mirror and push at a bit that’s sticking out from the bunny ears. I like it short; less hassle and most days I shove some wax in it and leave it at that, but now I spend a few minutes fussing, trying to make it do what I want, before I give up and go back out, the bunny costume folded up in my arms.
Mrs H says from behind the desk, ‘Annabel’s putting her costume in her car,’ so I take mine outside.
‘Here you go.’ As I hand her my costume, I get a waft of perfume, sweet but with something underneath that’s almost like aftershave. It smells exotic, whatever it is.
Annabel closes the car boot and takes a deep breath; the sun’s out but the air is clear and sharp and I realise she’s breathing it in like I do. She gazes at the dark edge where the tip of the Downs meets the sky, then turns her head to me. ‘It’s so beautiful. I used to take Puzzle on to the Downs all the time, before –’ She breaks off.
‘I know, it’s like you’re at the top of the world, with the sky right there at your fingertips,’ I say.
I’m embarrassed as soon as I say it, but Annabel replies, her eyes bright, ‘Yes! That’s exactly it.’ So I let myself carry on talking to her, like I would to anyone else, no checking what I’m saying first. ‘You ever read The Lord of the Rings? There’s this clump of trees that always reminds me of the first bit where they’re travelling out of the Shire. When I was little I used to imagine I was one of the hobbits hiding from the black riders.’ Her eyes brighten like she recognises something and is pleased. Then they seem to darken again.
‘I don’t
go any more.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, when Puzzle … went … there didn’t seem much point, I suppose. But I do miss it.’
I don’t know what possesses me to say the next thing. Perhaps it’s because I’ve never really seen her look all sad and faraway like that. But I find myself saying, ‘We could go together sometime, if you like?’
‘Really?’ A big smile comes over her face. ‘That would be perfect!’
I smile at how she says ‘perfect’, but not in a horrible way. I’ve started to get used to the way she talks. A little bit anyway.
She hesitates for a second, then says, ‘We could go today after we finish here?’
I feel my eyebrows go up and she says in a rush, ‘It’s only … it’s a lovely day isn’t it? Perfect for April. But I imagine you have things to do so …’ She gives another one of those laughs like she’s not bothered and I get the same sense I did before the kids arrived, like she’s putting on an act when there’s a whole other Annabel underneath that no one knows about. She’s already starting to move away, when I find myself saying, ‘Why not?’
She stops and this time the smile on her face is wide and genuine, like something’s lit up inside her. ‘Super! Why don’t we finish early and dash to Waitrose first? We could have a picnic.’
I’m about to say it’s not likely Mrs H is going to let us go early, when I realise if Annabel asks she probably will. Annabel looks so eager it’s hard to feel annoyed about this, so instead I shut up the part of me that’s wondering whether I’m mad, and Jamie’s warning to keep my distance, and smile back. ‘OK. That’ll be … super.’
CHAPTER TEN
Annabel parks over the line again at the Waitrose car park, but doesn’t seem to notice. I know it’s right on the edge of my town, but I’ve never actually been in here, not that I’m about to let on to Annabel. Still, I can’t help my gaze darting about as we go in, past a row of trees and picnic benches. Inside, everything feels bright and fresh, people ambling down the wide aisles. It’s a different world from Lidl’s bright yellow tills, cramped shelves and handwritten fluorescent offer stickers. And it’s huge. There’s about ten different types of cat food for God’s sake, unlike Lidl where your choice is basically Coshida or Coshida, and what seems like an entire aisle of bagged salads. I tail Annabel as she lobs stuff into a basket without checking the price. She wanders over to the bakery section, which smells so good it’s making my stomach rumble, and picks up a fresh loaf.
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