‘Ar-may-zen,’ she stretches the word out, her Wiltshire accent at full force. ‘Well, Disneyland was a bit boring. There’s only so many times you can go on Hyperspace Mountain, but we went to the Louvre, ate out a lot. I feel all cultured. Plus, hot French guys.’ She begins a loud rendition of ‘Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien’ while I flash back to the first time she went to Disneyland – the Florida one. God, you can get jealous enough when you’re eight. Obviously, I’m over it now. Pretty much.
Kelly’s still singing, giving it some welly. Her voice is so amazing. Stuff college, she needs to be on TV. She’s got a YouTube channel, a few hundred subscribers, nothing massive, but she could be huge; all she needs is a lucky break. She grabs hold of Pete and swings him up, then does a twirl under his arm, choosing to ignore the stares and giggles from the basketball lot sat in the corner on the decent sofas. I glance at Ananya, but if she’s fazed she’s not showing it. Ed conducts in the air while Stacey laughs, until Kelly runs out of puff and drops into the seat next to me. Behind her, Pete’s kind of pink in the face.
‘What’s the news then?’ Kelly says.
A chorus of ‘Nothing’ greets this.
‘Well, we’ve got that Drama audition thing,’ Pete says from his perch on the table near Ananya.
She smiles up at him and adds, ‘Yeah, there’s bursaries going for the summer drama school at Edrington. Part of their outreach programme.’
My ears prick up at the mention of Annabel’s school. ‘Oh yeah?’
Ananya grins, her face alight. ‘I really hope I get a bursary – there’s no way my parents are paying for it. Did you know they’re sponsored by Mr Huntington?’
‘Are they?’ I’m aiming for casual here, but I can feel tell-tale heat creeping up my neck.
‘Yeah. And I hear they’ve got some famous director coming. You do workshops and rehearsals through the summer then there’s going to be a showcase performance in September. You should audition too, Kelly – it’s going to be a musical.’
‘Which one?’ Kelly says.
‘Grease.’
‘Seriously?’ She mimes an exaggerated yawn. ‘I’d be an excellent Sandy though.’
She would and all. Kelly sings a few bars of ‘You’re The One That I Want’.
I groan. ‘Oh God, she’s off again.’
Kelly shimmies at me and sings louder.
‘You’re all going to come to the showcase if we get in, right?’ Pete shouts over the top of her.
I give a half-nod. Part of me is totally dying to see Annabel’s school and another part really doesn’t want to. Stuff already feels complicated enough.
Kelly spots my expression and stops singing, to zero in. ‘What about you?’
Luckily for me, the bell goes. Stace grabs her stuff. ‘Dammit, it’s never ten, is it? Come on,’ she says to Ed. Ananya and Pete head off to what’s laughingly called the Drama studio. They’ve been fundraising to get some proper new lights and seats in there for forever.
When it’s just me and Kelly she sits down, puts her chin on her hands and gives me a Look. ‘Out with it then, Cooper.’
‘Out with what?’
‘Whatever it is. I know you.’
I think about Annabel, feel my face heat up and swerve for the other main news which, amazingly, feels less complicated. ‘Well, we’ve started the campaign. You still up for helping?’
Kelly’s face lights up like I knew it would. She loves a good Cause, does Kelly. Over the years she’s cycled through animal rights, nuclear disarmament, global warming and a ton besides, usually dragging me with her, though ironically I’m the one who kept up being a veggie. ‘Definitely.’
‘Thanks. By the way, Mum and Dad don’t know yet.’
‘Won’t they see it online?’
‘They’re too old school. I had to explain what Tinder was to Mum the other day and she definitely didn’t get it.’
‘Why were you on Tinder? Looking for a date? Has anything happened with you-know-who?’
I’m about to tell her, I really am, but something holds me back. This … whatever it is, with Annabel, feels like a bubble floating in the light – if I poke it too hard it’s going to pop, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. I kind of want to float with it, just for a little while. My phone pings and I grab it before Kelly gets a look at the sender. I would love to. What time? A xx.
I shove the phone in my pocket. ‘Nope, I think imminent homelessness is enough. Plus I haven’t done my English.’
Kelly lets me switch the subject but as we half study, half piss about, I touch my phone in my pocket every so often, like I’m trying to reassure myself. I catch Kelly giving me a thoughtful look. It’s one that says there’s something different about me, but she can’t quite make it out.
Which would make two of us, because whatever this thing is that’s going on with Annabel, I already know life’s about to get even more complicated.
Whether that’s good or bad is anyone’s guess.
I’m nervous, Friday on my way home from school. Annabel’s due in, ooh, about an hour and I’ve got no idea what state the house is in. I poke my head into the lounge. Dad’s in front of the TV, in the big armchair that’s always been his, a cup of tea resting on the arm. I give him a hug. On the floor by his feet is the free paper, folded back to the job pages. Dad’s ringed a load and then scribbled them out, the scribbles getting increasingly vicious the further down the page you look.
‘You all right, Dad?’ I say to his balding head.
‘Yes, love,’ he says and I can tell from his voice he’s in pain. I wish they’d give him disability benefit. Lorraine next door gets it, even though she seems all right to me, but apparently Dad’s back doesn’t give him enough points to qualify. So he’s got to apply for a load of jobs he can’t do, every week, to get jobseeker’s allowance, which is tricky given we’ve got no laptop other than Jamie’s, and the library only has a couple of PCs. Plus the jobcentre’s a forty-minute bus ride away, which knackers his back and costs £4.20 for a return. Mum needs the car for work because she has to drive all over the place to get to each client – not that she gets paid petrol or travelling time. She practically cried when unleaded went up to £1.20 a litre.
‘Want a fresh cuppa?’ I say.
‘That’d be smashing,’ Dad replies and gives me a smile though his eyes are hazy with pain.
‘You taken any painkillers?’
‘Yeah, I’ve used up all the ones from the doctors. Got to get myself down there again if they’ll give me an appointment.’
‘I’ll call for you in the morning.’
Dad squeezes my arm. ‘Thanks, love.’ I pause at the door. He looks so small suddenly, hunched in his chair, and I know it’s not just because of his bad back.
There’s a couple of cups perched on the arm of Dad’s chair as well as the paper on the floor. I should tidy up before Annabel gets here. Although running the hoover round the lounge isn’t going to make much difference to the ragged carpet edges or stains anyway. Nope, to make this house look in decent nick we’d need some sort of fairy godmother.
In the kitchen, Mum’s whacking the grill.
‘You all right?’
‘Damn thing won’t switch on,’ she says.
I twist the knob all the way round and hit the ignition button, but it doesn’t give its usual whoomp. I sniff; no smell of gas.
‘Er … have we paid the gas bill?’ Mum leans closer and sniffs too, then looks in the oven where there’s a tray of pale chips. ‘Not all of it, but I called up and paid them something – the woman said it was fine.’
‘Then maybe the cooker’s knackered?’
Mum sighs. ‘Probably.’ She looks to the ceiling and blinks rapidly, then says, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK, we’ll sort something out. What else have we got in?’
‘Beans. That’s about it,’ Mum says and I don’t know whether to sit at the table with my head in my hands or start laughing, because I know they�
�re not even Heinz, just those watery ones that we all lie and say we prefer anyway.
Before I get the chance to do either, there’s a voice from the doorway.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Annabel’s standing there, holding a bunch of flowers, Jack hovering behind her. Oh crap. I look at Jack and realise he’s got his best T-shirt on and his hair carefully gelled. And then my heart contracts because I spot he’s swapped his jeans with the hole in the knee for his school trousers, about the only ones he owns that aren’t an inch too short. He sees me looking and goes pink so I give him a faint wink. Seems like I’m not the only one who wants to put a good face on it for our visitor. Unless Mum told him to scrub up – probably she did, but whatever, I think I love Jack even more for it.
Mum plasters a smile on her face. ‘Hello, Annabel.’
Annabel hands over the flowers and Mum goes all pink with pleasure. ‘Thank you, they’re lovely,’ she says. Dad shuffles in from the lounge and Mum turns to him. ‘We might have to do a rain check – oven’s packed up.’
Dad’s face is expressionless. Now he’s up I can see he’s made an effort too; he’s combed his hair anyway, and got dressed. Mum’s definitely had a word. I’m picturing her rushing home from work with the carrier bags, telling Jack and Dad to be on their best behaviour, getting everything out and fretting over the time. She’s even got the paper tablecloth out and a little milk jug of wild flowers Mum must’ve got from the garden.
We all look at each other and then Mum says, ‘Sorry, Annabel, it seems we’ve hit a problem with the cooker.’
Annabel takes all this in her stride, saying, ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we can arrange something!’ in this voice that reminds me of talking to teachers at school, but more easy and practised. She turns to Dad and holds out her hand. ‘Mr Cooper. It’s so lovely to meet you.’
He takes her hand a little awkwardly, but she’s got on a face you can’t help smiling back at and I relax as I see him manage to stand a bit straighter, despite his back, and tell her, ‘Take a seat while Joni’s mum and me sort this out.’
Jack slides into a chair next to her.
‘Hello,’ she says, still smiling. ‘You must be Jack.’
I edge my way over to where Mum and Dad are having a whispered debate by the sink.
‘I can’t give the girl beans on toast, Derek,’ Mum’s saying.
‘Well, haven’t we got anything else?’
‘Have you done any shopping?’ Their voices are starting to carry. I glance back at Annabel and Jack, who seem deep in conversation. I think Jack’s telling her about Dylan’s new Xbox – or to be precise, his new Xbox One X Project Scorpio, as Jack’s still insisting on calling it.
‘Look, we’ll do it another night,’ I say, my voice low because I’m trying to catch what Jack’s saying. Annabel has an intent look on her face as she listens to him. Then she decides something; I see the click as a plan slots itself into place in her brain. She stands up.
‘I’m sorry for interrupting, but I wondered if you would mind … well, I thought it would be fun to order pizza.’
I whip my head towards Jack. He’s a total gannet for pepperoni and loves Domino’s when we can afford it, which is not too often. To be fair, we probably should’ve just done that the night of his birthday. He grabs a glass quickly to avoid looking at me and lifts it to his mouth before realising there isn’t any water in it and lowering it again, his face sheepish. I’m trying to think of a decent excuse, because there’s no way we’ve got the spare cash for ordering pizza.
‘I’ll pay,’ Annabel says like she’s read my mind, then on seeing Mum and Dad’s faces change she adds quickly, ‘I’d like to. As a thank you to Joni for teaching me in the library.’ Her face softens when she looks at me, in a way that makes me swallow nervously.
This does not go unnoticed by Mum. Dad’s already saying, ‘Sorry, love, we can’t let you waste your money –’ when she cuts across him. ‘That’s really nice of you. Only if you’re sure though,’ she says.
A faint whoop from Jack, who then pretends he’s dropped something under the table so I can’t glare at him.
Annabel gives him a conspiratorial smile. ‘What about Domino’s?’
We order. Every time Mum says she’s not hungry, or I say we can share, Annabel waits for us to tell her our favourites and then adds them quietly to the order, angling the phone screen away from where I’m peering over her shoulder, trying to work out how much it’s all costing. It’s better than thinking about the look on Dad’s face as Annabel started ordering, because if I do, I might howl.
‘Can I have double pepperoni? And those garlic breads with cheese and bacon? And maybe some Fanta?’ Jack’s saying in a rush.
‘Jack!’ We blast him from both sides; me and Mum’s eyes meeting helplessly over his head as Annabel gives that smile and taps away. I’m trying really hard not to mind, but there’s this weird itchy feeling starting up inside, one I can’t help. I’m ashamed. I know Annabel doesn’t mean it to be like that, but it is anyway. She keeps glancing at me, her eyes asking if this is OK and I get the sense she really wants not only me but Mum, Dad and Jack to like her. It should help, but there’s this horrible question scratching away at the back of my mind.
Does she think she can buy them? Buy me?
The next moment, Jamie walks into the kitchen.
Oh double crap.
To his credit though, after looking at my mortified face, he goes up and says hi to Annabel.
Then Jack says, his voice squeaky with excitement, ‘We’re ordering pizza and we can have anything we want.’
‘Jack!’ Dad’s shout fills the room. Everyone stops for a second. Dad pushes a shaky hand through his hair, his face mottled. Annabel looks uncertainly at me and I try and give her a reassuring smile, but I suspect it doesn’t come out right.
Jamie’s eyes narrow. Oh no. Then he looks at me again and in a passable attempt at a polite voice says, ‘That’s nice. I’m not staying though. I’m meeting up with Dealo to talk about that stuff.’ He gives me a meaningful look.
I glance at Mum. Usually she’d have something to say about Jamie skipping off out when we had someone over, but she seems to have picked up on the tension in the room and says mildly, ‘Don’t be back too late.’
Jamie goes and I take a deep breath. Mum starts to unwrap the flowers.
‘Shall I help you with these?’ Annabel seems to be done with the pizza order and puts her phone back in her handbag. It’s a small pink tote with big buckles that I bet Kelly would kill for. We don’t have a vase tall enough, so wind up chopping a good few inches from the flower stems and divide them between a tiny vase that used to be Nana’s and an old pint glass. Mum pops the vase on the table, swiping the little jug of flowers away. She goes to the back door, about to tip them out in the rhubarb patch when Annabel says, ‘Those are so beautiful.’ She walks over and touches the purple petals where a flower looks as though its mouth is open and says, ‘Mummy’s a super keen gardener. She used to take me to the Chelsea Flower Show, but she’s too busy this year …’ She trails off, clears her throat. ‘I can’t remember the name. Prunella uhhh …’
‘Vulgaris.’ We all turn to stare at Mum, who gives Annabel a gentle smile, like the sort I usually see her give to Jack, then looks at our jaws hanging. ‘Your nana used to know the Latin for all the flowers about. It’s also called self-heal or heal-all. You can eat it, you know.’
Jack screws up his face and Dad says, ‘Eat flowers? We’d have to be right down on our uppers for it to come to that.’ But there’s not the usual twinkle in his eyes as he says it. Instead he sounds like Jamie. I cough and move over to Annabel who is looking at Mum under her lashes, this odd expression on her face, like the echo of her pleased look, but sad somehow too.
Suddenly, an almost unbearable urge to be alone with her hits me square in the stomach. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with how she’s being or anything, but at the same time,
my family on their best behaviour, Dad’s expression … Annabel working so hard to seem at ease … the pizza. Nothing fits right. Is this what it’ll be like if we … carry on with whatever it is we’re doing? Awkward? Me feeling small next to her? And if so, can I live with it or should I put whatever there is brewing between us to bed now?
Can I, if I even wanted to?
‘You want to go and look at the other flowers?’ I say and for some reason add, ‘In the garden?’ like a dumb-ass.
‘Sure,’ Annabel says.
We wander down past the cat toilet/rhubarb patch and the overgrown bushes laced with brambles, ducking past a couple of mouldy-looking socks hanging from the rotary where no one has got them in for weeks. The garden’s narrow and lumpy, full of dips concealed by weeds. The bits that were supposed to be grass were taken over by dandelions years ago. We’ve long given up trying to sort the lot out and now it’s a kind of wildflower meadow at the bottom, a haven for bees at least.
‘Watch your step,’ I say, just as Annabel stumbles. I shoot a hand out to steady her and don’t take it away. We’re nearing the bottom of the garden and I gesture to an old pile of bricks Jamie used a couple of years back to make a barbecue, a little way from the horse chestnut tree. We sit, the tops of our legs inches from each other, and I tip my head up to the wide branches. From here you can see the bit of board Jamie nailed on to make a tree house of sorts, and the remains of the old rope ladder with its broken top rung. That cracked under me actually, a few years back, and I landed butt-first at the bottom. Not recommended. No one climbs the tree nowadays except Jack sometimes and me when I need somewhere to hide and think.
‘Do you still climb it?’ Annabel says, like she’s reading my thoughts again.
‘Only usually Jack these days,’ I say.
Annabel shudders. ‘I’m terrified of heights. I don’t think I could even climb that.’ She gestures to the rope ladder.
‘It’d probably collapse if you tried anyway. But I love this tree. I swear I used to spend a zillion hours up there with books and stuff. All those animal stories – I had all Mum’s old ones. Watership Down, The Animals of Farthing Wood. It was like my own little world.’
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