Skylarks

by Karen Gregory

  As we get closer to her house, she says in a quiet voice, ‘My ankle is starting to hurt rather a lot.’

  ‘Is it?’ I focus on her, realise she’s in way more pain than she’s been letting on. ‘Oh Christ, Annie, you should’ve said.’

  She bites her lip.

  ‘Look, don’t worry about dropping me off. We’re near yours – just get home and I can get a bus or something.’

  Annabel gives a tight nod and a few moments later we pull up outside her gates.

  ‘Your parents home?’ I say. I’m not sure I want to run into them again, but on the other hand, someone needs to make sure she’s all right.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’d best come in with you for a minute, do you think?’

  Annabel nods, her face white.

  We go up the long driveway and park in the turning circle.

  When Annabel puts her feet on the ground she lets out a small cry of pain. I go over to her side and kneel in front of her to help her ease her boot off. Her right ankle looks puffy, the beginning of a dark bruise already forming over the top of her foot. I frown.

  ‘I’m not sure about this. What if it’s broken?’

  ‘It’s not, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to drive.’

  She’s probably right. ‘Come on then. Let’s get you in.’

  She leans on me and half hops, half limps to the front door. We go into the cool hallway.

  I can’t help standing and listening, feeling myself getting twitchy. ‘Definitely just us in, is it?’

  She gives me a quick look, a little sad, and says, ‘Mary doesn’t come at the weekends usually. And Mummy said she was going to be at the town house. Daddy had to go to town – some crisis again to do with his company, I’m not sure what.’

  I help her to one of the lounges, where two enormous sofas are lined up opposite each other like they are about to do battle, a massive stone fireplace in between them. I sit her down on the closest sofa, then go to the kitchen for ice. The fridge freezer’s rammed; there is no way most of it’s going to get eaten, but I find the ice eventually.

  In the lounge, Annabel is pressing gently on her ankle and wincing.

  I chuck her a tea towel filled with ice cubes. ‘Here, put that on it.’ When she has, I pass her a Diet Coke and a grab-bag of crisps.

  ‘You got any painkillers?’

  Following her directions, I locate some paracetamol in a mini chemist’s in one of the bathrooms. She necks a couple, then lies back and shuts her eyes.

  ‘You sure you don’t want that looking at?’ I say.

  Her eyes spring open again, a faint look of panic in them. ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? You’re not scared of hospitals, are – hang on. You worried about what your parents will say? Weren’t they keen for you to go today?’

  She gazes at me until I twig.

  ‘You never told them. What about the form thingy?’

  ‘I didn’t think they’d agree, so I signed it myself,’ she says.

  ‘Oh.’ I think about this, then a slow smile spreads over my face. ‘I think I might be a bad influence on you.’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh yeah? So you usually do stuff behind your parents’ backs?’

  Annabel purses her lips. ‘Not generally, no,’ she says, her voice thoughtful.

  ‘You looked like you were about to wet yourself on that hill.’

  ‘I did not!’ Her face is indignant, then her mouth twitches and her face starts to glow. ‘I suppose … maybe a little. I was frightened to start with. But then, once we were up in the sky … it was so beautiful and I felt really … I don’t know …’

  ‘Free?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I know what she means.

  ‘I felt like I was minuscule, but also like I could do absolutely anything I wanted. None of the usual worries mattered at all. And –’ her voice catches, ‘I thought about you. About us. I didn’t want it to end.’

  I scoot along the enormous sofa and reach out my arms. I need to ask her – did she mean the flying, or us, or is it the same thing, because as we kiss and hold on tight to each other, that’s how it feels, how it has been feeling these last few weeks. Like flying free.

  We sink closer into each other, and I’m thinking about how huge the sky was, and how my heart feels big enough to fill it right about now.

  I pull back to look at her.

  And then she says it before I do.

  ‘Joni. I think … I love you.’

  This massive pulse goes through me and then I’m laughing with it, taking hold of her arms so I can feel how we’re both shaking.

  ‘I love you too.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I feel like we’ve been here together for an eternity. We take it slow, both of us nervous. She sits up and I pull her top off over her head. It gets caught in her ponytail and she has to stop me and tug it off herself, and we both start giggling, then I go serious again as I look at her. I sit back and take off my own top, then my jeans, and hers, which takes forever because they’re skinny ones and because of her bad foot, and I’m whispering all the time, ‘This ok?’ and ‘I love you,’ and stopping to kiss her. Then it’s just our underwear between us, which feels like nothing at all, and I’m on top of her, fumbling about with her bra and I can feel her trembling too.

  I stop. ‘Are you OK?’

  In response, she reaches around and unhooks it herself, and I can’t even speak. She’s so beautiful, the curves of her body, the half-nervous, half-happy smile on her face. My hand shakes as I reach out for her, feel her skin soft and hot beneath me, and she gives a small gasp and pulls me in close.

  We’re both breathing really hard, moving with our legs between each other, like we did that time in my room, and I’m so turned on, I’m pretty close to … I let out a weird noise and that sets her off and she’s giggling now, fiddling about with my bra, but she’s having the same trouble I did.

  ‘How is this so hard?’ I say, and we’re both laughing, my bra finally off.

  We stay like that, our bodies pressed together, barely moving for ages, just kissing, getting used to the feel of skin on skin. My whole body feels like its singing, like we’re still up there together in those clouds.

  I want to stay like this and never leave.

  ‘I love you,’ Annabel says again.

  ‘I do too. I love you.’ I look at her, and I’m on the edge of tears. ‘You’re beautiful.’

  ‘You are.’

  Then I start to smile. ‘No, you are.’

  We’re giggling again, then Annabel stops smiling and gives me a look I’m sure I’m going to remember until I’m ninety or something. ‘You really are, Joni. You’re beautiful, inside and out. And I want to …’ She bites her lip and I know what she means, because there’s so much more I want to do too. But we’ve got time. We’ve got a whole universe of it.

  ‘We will,’ I say, and I really feel it, that everything is open to us now.

  A while later, we’re dressed again and cuddled up on the sofa, scoffing crisps. I’ve gone to the bathroom and when I looked in the mirror it seemed so weird it was the same me looking back. Except, maybe it wasn’t. There’s this light there in my eyes, made up of the last few weeks: the library, the campaign. Annabel.

  I knock back the last of my Coke and as I put it down I notice the screen of my phone flashing with a text, but I don’t look at it, just snuggle closer to Annabel. I don’t care if I have a hundred notifications, everything else can wait.

  ‘Should we go again?’ I say and Annabel gives me this smile I’ve seen on Kelly when she’s taking the mick, eyebrows wiggling. I burst out laughing. ‘I meant paragliding.’

  Annabel laughs too, then says, ‘Yes. To all of it.’

  I’m about to answer, when there’s the sound of the front door opening and closing.

  A moment later, Annabel’s dad walks in.

  We’ve already sprung apart
and Annabel’s halfway through pushing her hair back into a ponytail. I’m sure I must be looking guilty. Then I flush bright red as I see him take in our feet, which are still bare, our socks kicked off somewhere or other.

  He goes over and gives Annabel a kiss. ‘Hello, darling.’

  ‘Daddy! I didn’t – you remember Joni? From the library?’

  I sit up straighter, wondering if I should stand and call him ‘sir’. His gaze flicks from me to Annabel, the pouches under his eyes creasing in a thoughtful squint.

  Then he says, ‘Ah yes, hello again,’ but his tone isn’t exactly friendly. I feel Annabel stiffen beside me.

  ‘Uh, I need to be getting off, actually,’ I say. I grab my socks, shove them on and jump up. Annabel comes too, trying not to let her limp show. Her dad doesn’t notice anyway; he seems lost in some thought.

  He follows us into the hallway and says suddenly, ‘Joni from Cherry Tree Estate, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Um, yeah, that’s me.’ I smile. He smiles back, but his eyes stay cold.

  ‘Well, lovely to see you again.’ He disappears into his study, but not before giving Annabel a look.

  I turn to her and whisper. ‘Oh crap, do you think he’s mad?’

  She shakes her head, an expression I can’t quite work out on her face. ‘I’ll need to call you a cab. I don’t think I can drive.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I start to say, then there’s this feeling of dismay, because I don’t want money to come up between us again. The last few hours have shown me it doesn’t matter, not if we don’t let it.

  ‘You’re not walking. I’m going to call one now,’ Annabel says.

  When the taxi arrives, she insists on giving me a tenner and I do my best to accept it without being all weird.

  I wish I could kiss her goodbye, but with her dad in the next room, it’s probably not the best idea.

  Still, as we drive away and I look back to see her framed between the pillars either side of her doorway, I can’t help thinking how one day soon, she’ll have to tell her parents. Then we won’t have to worry about getting caught, like we’re twelve and we’ve done something wrong.

  Because what we’ve got is the opposite of wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The text was from Kelly and it’s not her normal chirpy one. I phone her once I’ve got in. ‘What’s up?’

  Her voice sounds like she’s been crying. ‘It’s Pete …’

  I bike over and she lets me in, her face puffy. We go to her room and I sit cross-legged next to her as she sniffs. ‘I went to rehearsal today, and just seeing him with Ananya … I’ve made a mistake, like, a huge one.’

  ‘You definitely like him then?’

  She nods.

  ‘Blimey. It’s a shame –’ I shut up. Nicely done there, Joni.

  ‘Yeah, I know, I could’ve worked it out sooner.’

  ‘Maybe they’ll split up? Not that I’ve got anything against Ananya but …’

  Kelly blows her nose. ‘I want him to be happy. I just wish it was with me.’ Then she flicks back her hair and gives a laugh. ‘No use moaning about it now. I’ve had my cry. Time to move on.’

  I wonder about this, but I let her turn the conversation to other stuff. I tell her about the paragliding and she shrieks. ‘That sounds awesome. You should’ve taken up a selfie stick and filmed the whole thing. I’ve seen people doing it on YouTube.’

  ‘Maybe next time.’ I’ve been trying not to, because of Pete and Ananya, but I’m finding it really hard to stop my mind going back over the past few hours. I smile before I can help myself.

  ‘What else have you been up to?’ Kelly says.

  I tell her. It’s weird – before, I wanted to keep me and Annabel in a bubble, separate from everything else. Now I want to shout her name to everyone I see, tell them we’re together and we love each other.

  Kelly gives me a hug. ‘Right, I want to meet her properly, OK? We barely had time to say hi at the meeting. Get her down the pub next weekend.’

  This time, I don’t hesitate or worry how Annabel might fit in, because it doesn’t matter. She fits with me.

  Instead I smile.

  The week seems to zoom by. Annabel’s ankle is getting better. She ended up telling Mary and going for an X-ray – she said she’d tripped over – but it’s just a bad sprain. We don’t see each other though. Her dad’s gone back to London for some work stuff that’s come up, but Mary tells her mum about Annabel’s ankle and Eleanor decides to work from home all week, so I steer clear.

  I imagine what it will be like when Annabel comes out to her parents. I think about how maybe they’ll be a bit shocked, but soon enough they’ll come around, and then I can start spending time with her whenever we want, without worrying about who might see. I picture us all sitting at that big dining table, her parents properly getting to know me. Her mum smiling at me, pleased me and Annabel have found each other. Because once her parents see us together, properly see us, they’ll know it’s right, won’t they?

  It could happen.

  The only dark spot is that I’ve missed an instalment for Jack’s trip. I meant to pay it, but then we had nothing in for a food shop. I spend hours wondering how to get more cash. We could take out a loan, but I’m not eighteen so I’d have to ask Mum and Dad, and I can just picture the look on Dad’s face, a mixture of hurt and pride.

  ‘We pay our way in this family,’ he’d say.

  Sometimes, I want to argue back, ask why it matters so much. Loads of other people get loans. Why should we always miss out? Then I think about how much stress it would cause, having a loan hanging over us, and that seems totally unfair too. I’m also feeling guilty about the paragliding, because that money could’ve gone on something else.

  Halfway around Lidl one day, a voice snakes into my ear.

  You could ask Annabel.

  I stop. Part of me is seriously considering it for about three seconds. Annabel would say yes, I know she would. And I so want Jack to go on his trip. I imagine his face when I tell him, how happy he’s going to be …

  And then I think about how Mum and Dad would feel when they find out where the money’s come from, the look on Dad’s face when Annabel bought the pizza. How small I would feel, having to ask, and how she wouldn’t have any option except yes because that’s the sort of person Annabel is. It would shift things between us, make that pendulum swing so far in her direction I’m not sure it could ever come back.

  I sigh and pull my mind back to comparing prices on toilet roll.

  But I can’t stay down for long. By Friday, I’m counting the hours until I can see Annabel, although I don’t even know how I’m going to manage being around her all day in the library and not being able to do anything without Mrs H spotting us. I try to distract myself with homework and the tons of texts flying back and forth between us.

  She calls lateish, her name on my phone giving me a big goofy grin. I wonder for a moment about what song would be good to have as a ringtone for her, before shaking my head. I’m not that far gone.

  ‘How’s the foot?’ I say.

  ‘Almost better. I’ve told Mummy I’m coming to the library tomorrow whether I can walk or not.’

  I smile at the resolve in her voice.

  Annabel continues. ‘I need to go in a moment, Daddy’s just come back from town and he says he wants to speak with me. I hope it isn’t to do with my grades.’ Her voice catches and I picture her putting one finger up to her mouth to bite the nail and then stopping herself, like she sometimes does.

  Annabel has been getting double the number of practice papers I do, and believe me, her dad keeps track.

  There are times I am beyond glad my parents are ‘as long as you do your best’ type people.

  I wish I could show her it’s OK to stand up to him, that she’s enough on her own. ‘You know, one day we’ll be little old ladies with white hair, and our grades will so not matter,’ I say instead.

  ‘Speak for yourself. I intend to
dye mine,’ Annabel says and this time I can hear a proper smile in her voice. Then she adds, ‘I’ve been thinking about something since I came to your meeting. Would you mind if I spoke to Daddy about it? Only because he may be able to help. Not with money, I know you don’t want that,’ she adds quickly. ‘I just thought, well, he knows people. He could speak to some connections. What do you think?’

  ‘I think … Thank you. You don’t have to, but if you reckon he might be able to help, I guess it can’t do any harm.’

  ‘Wonderful. I may not today – I don’t think he’s in a brilliant mood. I heard him talking to Mummy about bringing something forward with his lawyers and the Guardian. Although, he’s always distracted about something at work. I should just talk to him now, shouldn’t I?’ I can practically hear her wearing a hole in her carpet as she talks.

  ‘Whenever you think’s best. But you don’t have to, you know.’

  ‘No, I definitely will. I’ll do it now.’ There’s that determination in her voice again. It makes me oddly proud. ‘That’s him now. I need to go,’ she says.

  ‘OK. See you in the morning. Love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  Next morning, I wake up early with the birds. There’s loads of them now it’s summer and it seems like they’re celebrating with me. The holidays are around the corner; soon it will be Annabel and me every day at the library. Long evenings for us to wander the Downs together. Maybe we can find somewhere to go, just the two of us, overnight. I can’t afford a hotel, but we could scrounge a tent from someone and pitch up somewhere. I’d love to lie next to her all night, to wake up and have her right there.

  It feels like the only blip in the sky for miles is the campaign. It’s growing, but not fast enough. And the dodgy stuff on social media’s kind of ramping up. I had to block a good twenty people the other day and Kelly phoned to say she’s disabled comments on the blog after she got fed up wading through all the haters. It makes me feel so helpless and angry, then irritated with myself for letting them get to me. But it does, and I wish they’d just stop.

  As if someone’s read my mind, my phone pings. I already know from the egg symbol on the person’s profile what to expect, but I can’t help looking anyway. diaf you fucking plebs. I really wish I didn’t know ‘diaf’ stands for die in a fire.