My Box-Shaped Heart

by Rachael Lucas

  He’s in a pair of faded jeans and a different plaid shirt, and a washed-out grey T-shirt with a fox logo on the front. He wears clothes as if they’re an afterthought. As if he doesn’t care that they’re all a bit small on him. But the strange thing is that I recognize the fox logo as being one of the expensive designers Rio loves, and the plaid shirt is Abercrombie. His too-small clothes aren’t like my Primark ones: they’re like him – sort of posh, but casual about it, somehow.

  ‘What d’you want to do?’ he says.

  ‘I don’t mind.’ I feel like my entire brain has been overtaken by the urge to just kiss him right there in the middle of the foyer. As if all the parts of me that normally think sensible thoughts, the ones that have spent the last few years trying to hold things together, are completely rebelling. I take his hand, and he gives me a smile of surprise.

  ‘Hello.’ He swings my hand in his.

  ‘Hi.’ I smile back. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ It comes out sounding so unlikely that I pull a face.

  He looks at me and raises his eyebrows for a second, and he looks so like a disapproving teacher that I burst out laughing.

  ‘I mean an actual walk.’

  ‘Oh.’ His face falls. ‘I liked the one we did yesterday.’

  I feel myself fizzing all over again. ‘Me too.’

  He stops walking for a second before me, and the momentum spins me round so I’m facing him. He takes a step forward and puts his hand in the small of my back and before I know what’s happening I’m kissing him, on the pavement, in the middle of the car park.

  I pull back, laughing.

  ‘A walk,’ I say, in admonishment.

  ‘Absolutely.’ His turned-down trying-not-to-laugh smile is incredibly cute.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I say, and tugging his hand I march ahead.

  ‘It’s not often I meet someone who can keep up with me,’ Ed says as we walk along the road to the shop.

  ‘I’ve got long legs,’ I say, lifting one foot up and wiggling it in the air.

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Where d’you want to go?’

  I look along the high street. The rain has stopped at last, and the evening sun has come out, polishing the tops of the buildings with gold. I catch a glimpse of the castle beyond the facades of the shops that line the street.

  ‘Do you want to walk round the loch?’

  ‘Is it open at this time of night?’ Ed cocks his head to one side.

  ‘No,’ I say, with a mischievous raise of one eyebrow. ‘But I have ways.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ he says, and he swings my hand again. ‘This sounds interesting.’

  We walk past the chip shop and my stomach growls. I think – if ever it was needed – this must be proof that I’ll never be the sort of person who loses their appetite. Swimming always leaves me ravenous, even when I’m walking hand in hand with a boy.

  ‘Shall we get some?’ I dig into the pocket of my jeans and pull out the fiver I stuffed there earlier.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Ed smiles.

  As we wait for the next batch to cook, we lean against the green-and-white-tiled wall.

  ‘Oh God,’ says Ed, pointing at one of the notices pinned to the wall.

  There’s a photograph of a wedding dress glued to the corner of a handwritten index card: ‘For sale. Never worn.’

  ‘Maybe she decided on a different style.’ I lean forward and peer at the picture. ‘It looks a bit old-fashioned.’

  ‘Maybe she . . . disappeared.’ Ed waggles his eyebrows.

  ‘Maybe she changed her mind at the last minute and went travelling round the world, and left him with the dress as a memento.’

  ‘I read a thing about that once,’ Ed says, and he looks thoughtful for a moment. ‘It was in the paper, I think.’

  ‘Look at this one.’ I point to another scrap of paper. ‘Half-finished bottle of Bell’s Whisky – £7?’

  ‘Maybe they’re having a clear-out.’

  I read out another. ‘Four lawnmowers, all perfect condition.’

  ‘Authentic as real baby-doll and outfits . . .’ It’s Ed’s turn to peer at the wall, and then he takes my elbow and pulls me in so I can inspect it too.

  There’s a photograph of what looks like a newborn baby, and a heap of pink and purple frilly dresses, and they’re lying on top of what looks like the bonnet of an ancient brown Volvo.

  ‘What the . . . ?’ I pull a face.

  ‘It takes all sorts, my granny used to say.’

  I shake my head. We’re both trying not to laugh now.

  ‘Don’t ask . . .’

  ‘Two chips?’

  The sullen-faced woman behind the counter has completely ignored our rising hysterics.

  ‘Salt and sauce?’

  ‘Yes please,’ we say together.

  ‘So, teach me the ways of the secret path,’ Ed says, following me between the Spar and the little bookshop on the high street.

  We’ve decided to keep our chips wrapped in their bags until we get to the loch, and I’ve promised him that I’ll show him how we get into the locked National Trust land after hours.

  ‘It shuts at five,’ I explain. ‘But you can climb over the wall down here where it collapsed a couple of years ago when there was a flood. They didn’t bother fixing it . . . Hold these a second.’ I scramble over the wooden gate, ignoring the sign that says ‘No Entry – Private Land’.

  ‘You’re surprisingly rebellious,’ Ed says, and I think he sounds approving.

  ‘I have hidden depths.’

  I reach over and take the hot paper parcels of chips from his hands, and he clambers over the gate after me. We make our way down the side of an empty field, which is overgrown with thistles and yellow ragwort, and I give a showman’s bow as I present the fallen-down wall to him.

  ‘So nobody knows about this?’

  ‘I think they probably figure the only people who’ll come down here at this time of night are locals.’ I think of the American tourists I saw the other day, their necks strewn with binoculars and expensive cameras. They wouldn’t risk climbing up here without a guidebook and a flask of hot coffee.

  ‘So we have the entire loch to ourselves.’ Ed spins around, taking in the view.

  The thin evening sun is reflecting on the water, and the castle overlooks us from the hill – a stone skeleton that has stood guard over Hopetoun since the time when Mary Queen of Scots was born here in 1542. There’s an island in the middle, inhabited only by birds, and the path that meanders round the outside of the loch is almost three miles long, dotted with wooden exercise equipment and chairs dedicated to locals and visitors from all around the world who’ve loved spending time here. But this is the time I like it best. There’s nobody here but us, and it’s as if the place was built for us alone.

  ‘I used to come here when I was little,’ Ed says as we head for the nearest bench.

  We sit down and open our chips, tearing at the damp paper.

  ‘Me too.’

  He grins. ‘We might’ve been here at the same time.’

  ‘Neil used to take me and Lauren at the weekends, sometimes, if Mum was teaching.’

  ‘Lauren? She’s your not-stepsister, right?’

  ‘Yeah. And Neil’s her dad – my not-stepdad. He’s an idiot.’

  Ed makes a noise of agreement through a mouthful of chips. ‘Yeah, there’s a lot of that about.’

  I spin round on the bench so I’m facing him, tucking my legs up as if I was back in primary school, sitting tailor-fashion. I prop the chips on my ankles where they balance precariously.

  ‘Idiots or stepdads?’

  I don’t know anything about Ed’s family, except that he has a mum who doesn’t take kindly to—

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I forgot to text my mum and let her know what I was doing. Hang on.’ I pull my phone out of the pocket in my bag and send her a message.

  Just hanging out for a bit
. Will text when I’m on the bus. Won’t be late.

  The reply is instant.

  Love you xxx

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s pretty laid back in her own way. To be honest, she’s been so wrapped up in her own stuff, she hasn’t really been all that focused on –’ I stop for a moment, realizing I’m making her sound like she’s really shit at being a mum, and she’s not. I pop a chip in my mouth and don’t finish the sentence.

  ‘My dad used to take me here too,’ Ed says.

  ‘Is he . . . ?’

  I don’t finish the sentence.

  Ed shakes his head with a flat sort of smile. ‘No – still very much here. I just don’t have anything to do with him.’

  I don’t know quite what to say to that. Ed’s chewing on the inside of his lip so his mouth twists sideways. His expression is thunderous.

  ‘He’s a dick.’ He throws a chip across the path so it lands in the water. A duck flaps towards it and swallows it, whole.

  ‘We moved here because of him. To get away from him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘S’OK.’ He shrugs and scuffs the ground with the toe of his boot, making a sweeping arc in the gravel and exposing the dirt underneath. ‘I’m less pissed off than I was before. But I still feel bad.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘I feel like it’s my fault. Like – I didn’t know anything was going on until . . .’

  He trails off. I don’t quite know what to say. A silence falls and I can’t work out if I should ask what he means. But if I do, and he starts asking me what’s going on in my life, I don’t even know where I’d begin. I nibble on the end of a chip and watch as a pair of swans sail past.

  ‘So what about your sister-not-sister?’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Lauren?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I don’t want to go there. I guess we’re both in the same place. I skirt around the issue, cautiously.

  ‘We’re not exactly the same sort of person.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘What sort of person is she?’

  ‘Oh,’ I begin, not thinking. ‘Expensive designer clothes, loads of money, that sort of –’ And then I stop, looking at Ed’s Abercrombie shirt. His jeans have a rip in the knee, but, somehow, where mine are worn his look more like they were meant to be that way. It’s as if he’s sprouted six inches overnight and his limbs are growing out of the ends of his clothes. I can sympathize, because that’s pretty much what happened to me a year or so back. Mum was in her shopping phase then, though, and an entire new wardrobe arrived (purchased with the credit card Neil paid off, mind you) in a courier van one afternoon. I haven’t grown since then, and the stuff she bought is the same stuff I’m wearing now.

  ‘And what sort of person are you?’ Ed looks at me intently.

  I’ve never really thought about that before.

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘You think so?’ I can feel myself smiling at the compliment.

  ‘And kind.’

  ‘Are we back to the Oreos again?’

  ‘No.’ Ed scrumples up the wrapper of his chips. He’s managed to eat them in record time. Mine are stuck together in an unappetizing-looking mass.

  ‘I watched you today when I was swimming,’ he carries on. ‘You’re really nice to all those little kids.’

  ‘That’s because I remember being one myself.’

  He grins. ‘That’s what most teachers forget.’

  ‘Totally.’ I think about school and breathe a sigh of relief. We’re almost at the holidays, and then we can stop.

  I look out across the still water of the lake and think for a moment. If you’d asked me a month ago, I’d have been able to tell you who I thought I was. I was Holly, who was just sixteen. Youngest in the year at school with a February birthday. Tallest in the class; taller than most of the boys. Red hair, long nose, white skin covered in freckles. Brown eyes. The one who always handed in homework on time in case she got into trouble. The one who tried to cover up what was happening at home because her mum was falling apart and—

  ‘I don’t really know what sort of person I am,’ I say. ‘But I think it’s time to find out.’

  I turn and drop the bag of chips in the bin beside the bench and shuffle along the bench so our legs are touching.

  ‘Hello,’ says Ed.

  ‘I’m Holly,’ I say.

  His eyes crinkle up as he smiles at me.

  ‘Lovely to make your acquaintance, Holly,’ he says in his posh Edinburgh voice.

  I look at him and wonder how I could have ever thought of him as weird-looking. His eyes seem to shift colour in the light – tonight they’re more brown than green, and his pupils are deep black.

  ‘How do you do,’ I say in a posh voice.

  He laughs, and instead of shaking my hand as he did the first time, he leans forward and tangles his hand in my hair and pulls me into a kiss.

  By the time we’ve meandered around the loch, our shadows stretch out long in front of us. We’ve talked and kissed and talked, and I feel like I could stay up all night asking him questions about everything and never run out of things to say. But it’s half nine, and the last bus is at ten to.

  We stand at the bus stop with two old ladies who have armfuls of M&S bags.

  ‘Let me help you with those,’ says Ed as the bus groans to a stop in front of us. He takes the bags from the women and hops on to the bus, putting them down in the luggage rack before hopping back off again.

  ‘I’ll see you,’ he says, and I lift my face to his for one last kiss. I don’t want the evening to end.

  I watch from the window of the bus as he stands waving, still smiling his big smile, his eyebrows framing his face. I want to jump back off the bus and stay in this world, the world over the hill where I am completely myself.

  ‘You’ve got a keeper there, hen,’ says one of the old women to me as I stand up.

  ‘Aye.’ The other one nods. ‘Lovely manners. A proper gentleman.’

  They both cackle with laughter as I feel my face going scarlet. I duck my head in acknowledgement and sway down the aisle to the front door of the bus.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It’s a week into the holidays, and Neil’s here, dropping off Lauren. ‘You’re looking well,’ he says, grinning widely at me.

  I swear he can tell there’s something different about me. He gave me a funny look as soon as he got out of the car. And Mum said this morning she thought I looked happy. I don’t know whether to be glad that having some sort of life means I look cheerful, or concerned that it means my normal face looks like the end of the world is nigh.

  Lauren’s standing in the hall with a chic-looking travel suitcase at her feet and what looks like some sort of make-up holdall over her shoulder. She would have a special case for carrying all her MAC stuff. My make-up comes from Superdrug and is shoved in an old toilet bag with the pattern all faded on the side where the sun shines on it on the bathroom window ledge.

  ‘I really appreciate this, Fi,’ Neil is saying. He peels off a wodge of twenty-pound notes, which he’s taken out of his back pocket. ‘Just to keep you lot going. I don’t want you going without.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Mum says haltingly.

  I give her a fierce look. We’ve got no food in, and she doesn’t get her child benefit until tomorrow, and I for one am more than happy to spend Neil’s money on a trip to Tesco to buy something for dinner that isn’t freezer remnants. We’ve been living on that for the last five days after a bill came in that Mum had forgotten about. But there’s a difference – she’s been working out her finances with Cressi, sitting at the kitchen table with a spreadsheet on the ancient laptop that whirrs and groans and takes five minutes to come to life. It feels like maybe we might just make it. Especially if Neil’s given us—

  ‘Three hundred quid,’ he says, handing over a wodge of notes to Mum. ‘And here’s a bit for you too
, Holls. I’ve given Lauren some already. Don’t want you two pulling hair and fighting like the old days.’ He gives Mum a wink.

  She shakes her head and catches my eye for a second afterwards, giving me a look that says, Just humour him; he’ll be gone soon.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, surprised. He’s given me three brand-new twenty-pound notes. ‘That’s –’ I stop for a second, looking sideways at Lauren, wondering how this makes her feel. I smile at Neil, and it’s a genuine one tinged with relief that he’s going, even if it does mean he’s leaving Lauren here with us, and I have no idea how that’s going to go. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Holly’s sorted the room out for you,’ Mum says as Neil drops a kiss on Lauren’s forehead and disappears – the door closing and silence falling instantly.

  Her father brings a cloud of noise and performance with him wherever he goes – it’s all an act, though. He’s all about show and having the right clothes and the right car and the right everything. It’s no wonder that as soon as he got on his feet after he met Mum he started scouting around for someone to give him a foothold on the way up. He’s always looking for more, more, most. I think that’s why Lauren’s always dressed the way she is. She’s an accessory, like the posh car and the glamorous holiday to Barbados.

  ‘Do you want to come up?’ I feel shy all of a sudden. This was her home, and then it wasn’t – and now it feels like she’s on my territory, and she doesn’t know how to handle it, and I’m not the sort of alpha person who knows how to claim it.

  ‘OK.’ She nods.

  She’s so quiet. I half expect her to unpack all her cronies from the travel bag and for the house to feel like the school common room does. I feel my stomach contract with nerves. For a second, I picture Madison in here, sitting on top of the faded duvet cover on the box-room bed, looking out at me with their blank stares and perfect hair and make-up. Thank God I can escape and spend time with Ed.

  ‘You’ve still got Blue Teddy.’ Lauren smiles at me, picking him up off the shelf.

  ‘I couldn’t get rid of him.’

  I’m surprised she remembers. We won him together at the funfair at Portobello Beach when we were both nine, the summer it was baking hot for weeks and weeks, and Neil took time off to spend time together there, letting us hang out winning cheap cuddly toys at the hook-a-duck stand, and filling up on candy floss and sticky pink lollipops.