Steph holds her hand to her throat.
‘You went behind my back?’ Clay yells louder.
Rev Cootes looks from Clay to Eleanor. His eyes are wide and he keeps shaking his head.
Mrs Zas tries to grab his arm but he pulls away from her and walks to Clay.
Jake and I get to Clay at the same time as he does.
‘I don’t understand,’ Rev Cootes says.
Clay gives him a cold laugh. ‘Come on, Grandpa…’
Clay’s mum strides towards us.
She doesn’t hug Clay or kiss him or touch his arm, she just stares at him in shock.
‘I warned you,’ Jake tells her.
Clay spins round and looks at Jake.
‘He needs help,’ Jake adds.
‘You told her?’ Clay says.
Jake holds his head high and levels his gaze to Clay.
‘I wrote to her.’
For the first time in ages, I feel sorry for Clay. Really sorry. I guess he feels a bit like I felt when I saw Clay and Jake sitting on the bench by the Lido – like my best friend in the whole world had just betrayed me.
‘You have to get better,’ Jake says. ‘And you’re not getting better here. There’s a special clinic in New York… they can help you…’
‘Stop it.’ Clay says, holding out his hands in front of him like a barrier. ‘Just stop talking.’
Jake’s shoulders drop.
Eleanor steps forward. ‘Jake did the right thing—’
‘You don’t get to say anything!’ Clay shouts her down.
‘I understand.’ Her voice goes quiet. ‘I know you love him. And I know you want to stay here – with Grandpa, with Jake and Feather…’
It feels strange, hearing someone I’ve never met say my name like they know me. I wonder whether Jake wrote about me in his letter to her.
Clay’s cheeks flush pink. He walks up to his mum, stands really close to her face and says, ‘You don’t get to decide what happens to me. Ever.’
And then he turns round and moves quickly towards to the vicarage. We watch him walk across The Green, more air than flesh and bone, until he disappears in the bright afternoon sun.
I lie on my back, my blue dress floating around me, and look up at the night sky. The stars are clear tonight. The moon nearly full.
I prop myself up and look across at the dance floor. Mum and Dad sway from side to side. Mum’s out of rhythm with the music but she’s trying: taking small steps, concentrating, willing her body to dance despite the fact that her legs are swollen and that her feet must be killing her.
I look at the others too.
Hemmed in by the loop of coloured lanterns, Rev Cootes dances with Mrs Zas and Steph dances with Mitch and there are a whole load of other people from Willingdon and Newton, too. I wonder whether this was what The Willingdon Waltz was like before Max died.
None of the dancers are talking, they’re just lost in the music and their steps and the sway of their bodies. It’s nearly midnight. It’ll be the last dance soon.
Jake comes over and hands me a glass of champagne he swiped off the adults’ table.
I think about Clay being really ill and his mum having just showed up and what that will mean for him and Jake, and how Jake must be really stressed out about it all. And still, he finds the time to make me feel good about today.
‘You’re awesome, Jake,’ I say.
He takes a sip of champagne and looks over to the vicarage.
‘I don’t think Clay would agree.’ He shakes his head. ‘He’ll never forgive me.’
‘It’ll take time,’ I say, ‘but he will. When he’s better.’
Clay hasn’t left the house since his mum showed up. His mum ran after them into the vicarage and she hasn’t come out either.
‘Fancy another dance?’ I ask Jake.
He shakes his head. ‘Not right now.’
We had fun dancing but I know that it just reminded him of the fact that he should have been up there with Clay.
I hand him my glass, get up and brush down the creases in my dress.
‘I’ve got an idea. Stay here, just for a minute.’
Before Jake has the chance to say anything, I hitch up my dress and run over to St Mary’s, up the path, through the cemetery to the rectory and round to Clay’s room.
I get onto my tiptoes and look in through the window.
Clay’s bedside lamp is on. Eleanor is walking around the room, folding clothes into a suitcase. Clay is sitting on the bed. They’re talking, which I guess is a good sign. I wonder whether they’ve talked about the day Max died. How it was Clay who pushed him in. How Eleanor was too busy sunbathing next to Steph to see it happen. How, a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know I had a brother.
After a while, Eleanor goes out through his bedroom door into the hall.
I take an intake of breath and knock on the window.
‘Clay!’ I hiss. ‘It’s Feather. Open up.’
He comes to the window and looks at me. His face makes me think of the moon: pale and glowing and unknown.
‘Please come out,’ I hiss through the window. ‘Just for one dance.’
Clay opens the window.
We look at each other for a second. And then I just say it, because it’s true and it matters and it’s the last night they’ve got together:
‘Jake needs you.’
He looks past me across The Green and then he closes the window and draws the curtains.
‘Please!’ I yell.
He doesn’t answer.
I know he’s angry at Jake but soon it’ll be too late, he’ll be gone and then he’ll regret wasting these last few hours when he could have been with him.
Dejectedly, I walk back towards The Green and then I hear bleating behind me. And then a voice.
‘I like the dress…’
I spin round to see Clay walking towards me with Houdini. He’s wearing jeans that hang off his hips and a collared shirt that swallows up his body, but my stomach still does a somersault.
‘Thought Cinderella could do with a dance partner,’ Clay says, handing me Houdini’s lead.
‘Hey!’ I punch him on the arm. But I’m glad. It’s the first time I’ve heard him crack a joke in ages.
‘You saying Houdini isn’t your type?’ He laughs. ‘Poor Houdini.’ He pats him on the side.
You’re my type, I want to say, but I bite my lip. I wonder if I’ll ever stop fancying him.
I want to ask him whether things are okay with his mum but I’m worried he’ll get angry and change his mind about coming out, so I just keep walking alongside him and Houdini.
Mum and Steph are sitting under the chestnut tree. They’ve kicked off their shoes and they’re leaning into each other and looking up into fairy lights twisted around the branches. Things are back to how they should be, only better. This time, Mum and Steph aren’t cooped up in the lounge, watching TV and eating crisps – they’re out here, on this clear, warm night, laughing and looking up at the stars.
When we get to the dance floor, Jake doesn’t notice us, he’s too busy tearing around with Mrs Zas, a crazy jive number.
I run over to the DJ and ask him to put on something slow and soppy. And then I push Clay onto the dance floor.
He weaves between the dancers and then taps Jake on the shoulder. Jake turns round and, when he sees Clay, his face lights up.
Clay bows and holds out his hand, like in those old-fashioned films.
Jake smiles, grabs Clay’s hand and sweeps him into his arms.
The music switches to a slow song. It’s the one Mum and Dad did their wedding dance to: ‘Endless Love’ by Lionel Richie and Diana Ross. Their voices come over the speakers: … our lives have just begun…
All the dancers freeze for a moment as they readjust to the change in tempo. They look around and, one by one, they see Jake and Clay, standing in the middle of the dance floor, their arms folded around each other, so close they could be one person.
*
At five in the morning, Jake and I sit on the pavement outside St Mary’s Cemetery. The sun pushes up behind the steeple and makes the whole village glow orange.
We haven’t been to sleep. When everyone went home, we sat by the Lido with Clay and talked and laughed and looked up at the stars.
Then he got a call from his mum. They had to get ready for their flight home. He said that he and his mum had a talk. That they’re going to try to get on.
I tuck my arm under Jake’s and lean my head on his shoulder. The Green is covered in streamers and balloons and plastic champagne flutes. The black dance floor glistens with dew.
Jake sits up and looks at me. ‘Feather?’
I blink. ‘Yeah?’
‘You know what you asked me last year on your birthday?’
I’m so tired it’s like the cogs in my brain have stopped moving.
‘Last year?’
He places his hand under my chin and lifts it up.
‘You’re beautiful.’
I laugh and shake my head. ‘Hasn’t the champagne worn off yet?’
He places a finger on my lips. ‘Shush,’ he says.
And then he leans in and kisses me, his lips light and gentle and warm. And I know that he doesn’t fancy me and I don’t fancy him and that we’re best friends and brother and sister and everything else that isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but it feels okay. Better than okay. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like there’s hope, like maybe, one day, someone will find me beautiful. And someone will kiss me for real.
‘Happy birthday, Feather Tucker,’ Jake says, our foreheads resting against each other.
Jake leans back against the gate and looks up at the sky. He’s been really quiet since Clay went in to pack.
‘We can save up,’ I say. ‘You can go out and visit him – maybe at Christmas…’
Jake shakes his head. ‘It’s over.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s okay, Feather.’ He looks at me and smiles but it’s one of those strained smiles people put on when they’re in pain but trying to make out they’re okay.
‘You don’t have to say it’s okay just to make me feel better, Jake. I understand what you two have.’
Jake points over to Bewitched and says, ‘Remember that tune Mrs Zas is always humming?’
I nod and start singing, ‘Turn, turn, turn…’ My voice bounces on the cold morning air.
Jake joins in, ‘… there’s a time to everything under heaven…’
Jake looks up at the orange clouds and blinks.
‘This was our time,’ he says. ‘Clay’s and mine. And now it’s time to let go.’
‘But you said you love him.’
‘Of course I love him.’
‘Well, if you love someone, aren’t you meant to follow them to the ends of the earth?’
Jake pulls at a tuft of grass growing through a crack in the pavement.
‘When did you get so romantic?’
I guess I’ve always been romantic, I just don’t say it out loud that often.
‘It’s true though, isn’t it?’
Jake looks up at the sky. ‘He made me find out who I am, who I really am. I’ll carry that with me for the rest of my life. He has to get better – that means going home.’ He leans in and kisses the top of my head. ‘And I’ve got you, Feather Tucker, don’t I?’
I hold his hand and uncurl his fingers. Then I take the half-wishbone from my pocket, the one that I snapped with Clay on the day he came to lunch with Mum and Dad, and place it in Jake’s palm.
‘What’s this?’ he asks
‘Clay’s got the other half,’ I say. ‘I want you to have this, so that you never stop hoping.’
‘Hoping for what?’
‘That you’ll find the other half.’
‘I told you that it’s over, Feather…’
‘Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. But that’s not the point. The point is that it will remind you that there’s someone out there who’s going to love you. And maybe that will be Clay, some time in the future, or maybe it will be someone else altogether but, whatever happens, that love will be real, and it will last forever.’
‘Wow, that’s quite a big responsibility to place on a chicken bone.’
I punch his arm. ‘Just keep it.’
‘Of course.’ He smiles and puts it in his jacket pocket. ‘Thank you, Feather.’
A taxi pulls into The Green, stops a few feet away from us and beeps its horn.
Behind us, the front door of the rectory clicks open.
Clay stumbles out, wheeling the suitcase I saw on Rev Cootes’s doorstep in January. That day feels like a million years ago.
Clay’s mum and Rev Cootes follow. As does Houdini, who walks along the path to where I’m sitting and rests his head in my lap.
‘Hey, buddy,’ I say, rubbing his ears.
I miss him not being at home as much but I guess it makes him happy, scooting between our cottage and the vicarage. At least it seems to have stopped him wanting to run away every two seconds.
When Clay’s mum is settled in the taxi, Rev Cootes and I step back to give Jake and Clay a moment.
The sun is higher now. The sky a lighter blue. A bird starts singing from the chestnut tree in the middle of The Green.
Jake takes a jumper out of the bag he’s been carrying and holds it up to Clay. It must have taken Steph ages. I wonder whether she knew all along, about Jake liking Clay.
Rev Cootes sucks in his breath and says, ‘It’s beautiful.’
A hummingbird hovering in the air, its wings beating so hard it looks as though it’s about to take off into the dark, Willingdon sky.
Jake lifts the jumper over Clay’s thin body. And then Clay takes Jake’s face in his hands, strokes his cheek and kisses him.
Then, the two of us, Jake and I, stand in the middle of
The Green and watch the taxi turn out of the village.
‘I’d better get home to Mum,’ I say.
Jake nods.
We both look over at the cottage. Mum’s curtains are fully open. No blue flashes bouncing against the wall.
We hug one last time and then I walk home.
*
For the first time since I can remember, I go through the front door without a knot in my stomach. I stand outside Mum’s room and listen. I recognise her breathing, though it sounds lighter than usual. And there’s someone else’s breathing too.
As I walk into the room, I’m amazed at how light and warm it is with the early morning sun spilling in through the open curtains. I was right, the TV’s off and the controllers are stacked up on the coffee table next to Mum’s armchair. And on the bed, Mum and Dad are sleeping, curled up into each other, Dad’s hand slipped into Mum’s. Shadows from the tree outside the lounge dance over their sleeping faces. They’re still dressed in their party outfits, Mum in the emerald-green dress Mrs Zas made for her, the same colour as the one she wore for the ballroom-dancing competition she won all those years ago, and Dad in his tux, his bow tie loose around his neck. Mum’s long hair is spread over her pillow. And, wherever they are behind their closed eyelids, I know they’re happy.
I go over to Mum, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and whisper, ‘You’re going to be okay, aren’t you, Mum.’
Her eyes flicker open. She looks up at me and I know she’s trying to work out whether this is still part of her dream or whether I’m actually there.
I lean over and kiss her cheek. ‘Go back to sleep, Mum.’
She smiles and closes her eyes.
Yes, she’s going to be okay.
I tiptoe out of the lounge, head for the stairs and start walking up to my room; my arms and legs ache from swimming and dancing so much yesterday and my eyes are heavy from being open all night. Then I stop walking. I’m tired – really tired – but I’m not ready to sleep, not yet.
I head back downstairs and into the lounge and take Mum’s hand out of Dad’s.
&nb
sp; ‘Mum,’ I whisper.
She shifts her head but doesn’t open her eyes.
‘Mum…’ I say again.
She opens her eyes.
‘Come with me,’ I say.
It takes me a while to get her fully awake and to help her off the bed and into her shoes.
‘Where are we going?’ Her voice is thick with sleep.
‘You’ll see.’
I go to the hall to get her canes but she calls after me:
‘I’m fine without them, love.’
I nod and come back to her, slot my arm under hers and walk her to the front door.
We walk across The Green. Fairy lights blink from the trees and glitter sparkles on the dance floor. Streamers and paper cups and plates lie scattered on the grass.
The bird keeps singing from the middle of The Green, light and clear.
We walk past the cemetery and towards the park. We don’t talk. We don’t need to.
When we get to the Lido, I take off Mum’s sandals and then take off my own shoes and help Mum to sit down on the edge of the pool. The lane dividers lie curled up in a jumble of knots on the grass; the competition organisers took them out after the races so that people could just have fun swimming in the Lido. The bunting’s still up over the stage they had for the mayor. And there’s a single red balloon caught in the branches of the chestnut tree.
Mum and I sit on the edge of the pool, our legs dangling in the cool water, watching the sun rising, lighting up the world from below.
‘Max loved it here,’ Mum says.
She’s got her eyes closed, her face tilted to the morning sun. She looks as peaceful as she did sleeping next to Dad.
‘I loved it here,’ she says.
I look at the blue sky bouncing off the water and take her hand.
‘Happy New Year, Mum,’ I say.
Because it is. It’s a new year of my life. And a new start, for all of us.
Mum lifts her legs out of the water and lets them fall in again. The water splashes up over us.
‘Hey!’ I laugh.
Mum splashes her legs again, harder this time.
‘Mum!’
And then I start kicking my legs too and then we’re both kicking, the water splashing up around us, splitting in the sun. We kick and laugh and sway until we’re drenched, until we’ve laughed so hard that our cheeks hurt, until we know that the new year has started, and that everything’s going to be better than okay.
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