Well…this kid.
The train-in-my-bra guy. With hair the colour of wet sand. And legs that went on for miles. And tiny, delicate-looking feet.
“I didn’t mean to freeze up like that.”
“Yeah, well,” Cian mumbled, tugging his arm free. “I shouldn’t have done it. It won’t happen again.”
He turned to go, and Max just opened his mouth and puked words again. Like in the corridor. But—
Better words.
“What if I want it to happen again?”
Cian stopped.
Just stopped. Right there on the stairs, one hand on the railings. In his shorts and T-shirt and trainers, in the dark. Like it didn’t matter it was dark and Aunt Donna’s van was rumbling in the courtyard below.
He just stopped.
“It shouldn’t,” Cian said faintly.
“Why not?” Max asked.
“It just…shouldn’t.”
Of course it shouldn’t. Pretty, skinny, head-kicking kids like Cian shouldn’t want to kiss fat, disgusting blobs like Max. But…he had. And Max liked that he had.
Max shrugged. “Yeah, well. Still kind of want it to.”
Cian’s shoulders hunched and he shook his head.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and then started down again, bouncing down the steps. The metal jarred under Max’s body, and the sudden stab of pain in his chest was worse than anything Grandma Gracie could say or Jazz could do.
The air was too thin and Max gulped for it. Felt something burning behind his eyes.
Of course it shouldn’t happen. Of course—
“Oh, fuck it.”
The mumble was sudden, sharp, and…not Max’s. And then the stairs were bouncing again and that cool hand was on his neck and—
Max leaned forward this time. Tried to catch that buzzing sensation on his mouth. Tried to find where it came from, and it came from Cian somehow. From chapped lips and spearmint and the oddest scent of woodsmoke clinging to his skin.
The metal bounced.
The buzzing stayed but the heat was gone.
“Told myself I’d never be this thick,” Cian mumbled, looking anywhere but at Max. But then the dark gaze flickered upwards and Max’s breath caught. “But you’re kind of good at screwing with the defences, you know?”
“I am?”
A smile crooked the corner of Cian’s mouth.
“Yeah. Add that to the list of things you just don’t see.”
Then he turned and went properly. Didn’t run, just went. And disappeared into the dark courtyard like a ghost, leaving Max standing on the stairs with a thundering heart in his chest and something fierce and territorial lingering in his fingers.
He’d wanted to—grab.
He’d wanted to touch back. Not just kiss, but…hold on.
Hold.
He staggered down the steps and shuffled across the broken concrete to the van. Aunt Donna raised her eyebrows at him and Max shrugged.
“Don’t you shrug at me,” she said and grinned. “I think you’ve got something to be telling me and your mum.”
“Yeah, well.” Max heaved himself up into the passenger side. “When I know, you’ll know.”
Chapter Thirteen
HE DIDN’T REMEMBER about Jazz until after dinner.
Grandma Gracie had left while he was at school, and Aunt Donna and Mum were debating how to leave her out of the wedding invitations (Mum wanted subtle and delicately handled; Aunt Donna favoured telling her to piss off), so it just sort of slipped Max’s mind.
What with that kiss and all.
But it came creeping back in after dinner when he was scratching out some answers on his geography homework so he wouldn’t get into trouble for having not done it again. Because in geography, he had to sit right next to Tom Fallowfield. And now, an empty desk.
Jazz’s threat came creeping back, and Max’s fingers seized up around the pen.
He hadn’t told Cian.
Shit.
He abandoned the homework and went back downstairs. The kitchen table was covered in a big sheet of paper, Mum and Aunt Donna bent over it and working out seating arrangements. Max shifted awkwardly from foot to foot before deciding it was probably best, given Mum’s tendency to talk to the school and get him in worse trouble, to ask Aunt Donna on her own.
“Aunt Donna?”
“Mm?”
“The light’s gone out in my room.”
“Use the lamp, then. I’ll sort it in the morning,” she mumbled.
“The lamp’s gone too.”
She glanced up, frowning.
“Uh. I think a fuse blew.”
“What, the whole top floor?”
“Um, no, just my room.”
She raised her eyebrows. “There’s no special fuse for your room, Max.”
“Well—they don’t work. And I need to do my homework.”
“Do it down here.”
“I’m nearly done. Can you just come and fix it,” he demanded, losing patience, and she huffed.
“Jesus Christ. Fine.”
She handed her pen to Mum and threw Max a sour look as she got her home toolkit out from under the sink. Max winced. Would she help now he’d managed to piss her off?
And she went from pissed off to downright angry when she got to the top of the stairs and saw his perfectly well-lit room.
“What are you playing at, Max?”
“I need to call Cian.”
“You’ll see him tomorrow, for God’s—”
“It’s urgent.”
Aunt Donna snorted. “I am not playing silly buggers for teenage hormo—”
“It’s urgent,” Max repeated in a low, desperate voice. “Jazz—Jazz came up to me at the end of school today and said because I got his friend into trouble, he was gonna fuck up my friend. And he means Cian. I have to tell Cian.”
Aunt Donna’s face softened. Fractionally.
“What exactly did he say?”
“That. ’Cos they expelled Tom, he’s going to take it out on Cian. They—they thought he was a girl, and they said they’re going to fuck her up. Or just fuck her.”
The expression hardened again, and Aunt Donna’s lips thinned.
“Right,” she said. “And you don’t want your mum to know this because…?”
“She’ll just tell the school and Jazz will find out I told her and then they’ll—they’ll really go after me and Cian. Not just threaten. I just need to tell him.”
“I take it they know who Cian is?”
“They saw him. With me. At a bus stop. And he mouthed off to them a bit.”
“Good for him,” she muttered and then shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue about his number, Max.”
“But you know Lewis. Lewis would know.”
“I—yes, all right. Hang on. Won’t be able to get hold of Lewis, this time of night, but Cal might be around.”
He hovered in the doorway of his room as she stomped back downstairs. He heard Mum call out, and Aunt Donna yell something about plugs. Then she came back up the stairs already on her phone.
“Cal? Yeah, I’m all right. Look, bit urgent, your Cian, you don’t have his number, do you?”
Max shifted nervously from foot to foot.
“Yeah, that’ll do. Cheers.” There was a pause. Then Max’s heart rose up in his chest when Aunt Donna’s voice switched into her polite, almost mumsy tone. The one she used with teachers at school or that cute policewoman who’d been knocking on doors asking for witnesses last summer when there’d been that car crash at the end of the road.
Which meant not Lewis.
“Hello, Mrs Williams, I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night…”
Who the hell was Mrs Williams?
“My name’s Donna Watts. My stepson”—Max grimaced—“trains with your son, Cian?”
She was talking to Cian’s mum?
“Is Cian available, please?”
There was a short pause.
“Ah, I see. Well, I j
ust wanted to let you know, our Max has been having some problems with some of the boys at school. Bullying and the like. And a threat was made this morning involving your son as well.”
Another long pause. Max’s palms were sweating, and he wiped them anxiously on his pyjama bottoms. Could he talk to Cian yet?
“Nothing particularly specific. There was an incident, and one of the boys got expelled. From what Max has told me, his friends have decided that a good way to get back at Max would be to target Cian.”
Max strained to hear the reply, but Mrs Williams spoke softly, and he could barely hear a murmur.
“Of course. I’d be happy to do that. Tomorrow afternoon? No problem. See you then.”
And then she hung up, and Max’s jaw sagged.
“Where’s Cian?” he demanded.
“He’s at training. Mrs Williams is going to come up to the gym tomorrow at the end of your training session, and we’re all going to have a talk about it.”
Max’s stomach clenched up tight.
“That’s—that’s it? What if they go after him tomorrow?”
“She says she’ll keep an eye on him tomorrow so he doesn’t run into anyone.”
Max had the distinct feeling that Cian wouldn’t like that but kept his mouth shut. Better he was annoyed with Max than he got a kicking from Tom Fallowfield.
Or worse.
“Do your homework, Max,” she said, sliding her phone into her back pocket and picking up her toolkit again. “Nothing’s going to happen tomorrow.”
No. Not to Cian.
ACTUALLY, NOTHING HAPPENED to Max at school either.
It wasn’t a hundred per cent surprising. Tuesdays were usually quiet, and he made a special effort not to go to his locker after school. Instead, he went straight from his last class to the car park and found Mum waiting rather than Aunt Donna.
“Graeme called in sick this morning,” she said, apparently blissfully unaware of last night’s dilemma. “Donna will pick you up from the gym. Unless—you know. You don’t feel well or something.”
“What?”
“If you don’t feel right, honey, you don’t have to go.”
“Um. No, that’s—that’s okay. I’m fine. I should go.”
She hummed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.
“I just don’t think Donna’s being fair to you,” she said finally as they joined the main road. “She shouldn’t be holding the apprenticeship over your head, and she shouldn’t have a go at you about your weight all the time either. If you really hate it, sweetheart, you don’t have to go. Okay?”
Max hesitated.
He should jump on the offering. Never have to jog down those mats and make a fool of himself again. Not have to wake up hurting in the morning. Not have to put his ear to the changing room doors to make sure nobody was inside to see his folds when he needed a shower after the class.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s only ’til the autumn anyway.”
Mum hummed again, clearly unconvinced.
“Anyway,” Max said. “I’ll—you know. I’ll look better in your wedding pictures.”
She scoffed.
“Honey, you’re going to look wonderful in the wedding pictures, boxing or no boxing. None of that nonsense, please. You’re just fine the way you are.”
Except Grandma Gracie’s ‘oh dear’ was ringing in Max’s head, and he scowled at his boat-shoes in the footwell.
“Only I’m not, am I?” he spat. “I’m fat, Mum.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being—”
“Obese.”
“Max!”
“I am!” he insisted. “I’m fat. Face it. I’m Fatso Farrier.”
“Oh for goodness’ sake. You’re tall, Max. And you have big shoulders. And—”
“And I’m carrying a whole other me,” he said. “I could lose five stone and still be fat.”
“Now you’re being silly. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re the spit of your father, you know, and—”
“Yeah, who’s dead because he was too fat.”
The sudden silence in the car was angry. Hurt. And Max’s insides squirmed.
“Sorry, Mum,” he mumbled.
She didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried again.
But she only sighed and said, “Yes, you did.”
She didn’t say anything else until they got to the gym, and then it was just a soft reminder that Aunt Donna would pick him up. Max felt sick as she drove away. He hadn’t meant it. Dad had been big, yeah, all the Farriers were big, but…
But alcohol had killed him. Not being fat. Not being another Fatso Farrier.
And to just throw it in Mum’s face like that…
Max texted her another apology as he lumbered up the stairs and then pushed it all to the back of his mind.
There were other boys in the changing rooms this time, so he shoved himself into his clothes as quickly as possible, ears burning at their mutters, and slunk back out to the training room.
Lewis and Cian were already there. Cian’s face was still bruised, so they were set to legwork, and if Cian knew about the impending meeting between his mum and Max’s Aunt Donna, then he didn’t show any signs of it. He seemed to be more focused than usual—or he just didn’t want to look Max in the eye, concentrating overzealously on their feet, hunching so far into his guard that Max had no hope of breaking it.
Then in the middle of the session, he said, “Grade with me.”
“What?” Max said.
“Saturday. Grade with me.”
“Are you kidding? You’re like a black belt.”
Cian coughed a laugh. “No such thing in Muay Thai.”
“Fine, but you’re insane.”
“You all grade together. I just have to do more than you do.”
“So the beginners grade with the superfit competitors?”
“Yep.”
“That’s insane.”
“Saves time,” Cian said, shrugging. “Grade with me.”
“There’ll—there’ll be others there.”
“Yeah. Six of us. Seven, if you come. And Danny’s new too.”
Max shook his head. No way. He wasn’t going to be grading. What was the point? He was never going to—
“Can’t compete if you don’t grade!” Lewis called over the music. “If you can talk, you’re not working hard enough. Five laps, both of you. Now!”
Max groaned and began to lumber, legs aching. Cian went for a full sprint, but Max couldn’t hope to match it and let himself be lapped as his brain churned over the invitation. Lewis had said he was good at that elbow strike. And that he’d be good.
Lewis was an instructor. And he’d competed.
When they were allowed to get back to sparring, Max licked his lips and said, “Cian? Is Lewis—does he tell the truth about how good you are?”
“What, here?”
“Yeah. Like, does he say you’re good to make you keep coming, or—?”
“Kind of? He’ll never say you’re bad or anything. But if he says you could compete, then he’s not lying. Ever.”
Max bit his lip.
Lewis had said Max could be on the wall. That the only person standing in his way was Max himself.
And that it would have been different, that day, if Max had known how to elbow strike Tom’s face. That someone else might have ended up in that ambulance.
“Okay. I’ll grade.”
He lowered his guard a little too far.
And Cian’s shin rammed into his ribs, knocking the air out of him and sending him crashing to the mats.
“Sloppy, Max! Cian, don’t get smug. You missed about four opportunities before that one. Up! Come on, Max, up you get! Wipe that smug little smirk off his face!”
Max hauled.
“He’s gonna grade!” Cian shouted. “Aren’t you, Max? You’re gonna grade Saturday, aren’t you?”
Lewis grinned. And Cian looked so pl
eased. Proud.
So Max said, “Yeah,” and figured he could regret it Saturday.
Chapter Fourteen
AUNT DONNA AND Mrs Williams were waiting in the foyer when the session was over.
Cian simply said, “Hi, Mum,” and flopped down into one of the chairs like he knew it was coming. Max hovered nervously by the desk, surveying them all.
Mrs Williams was—
Not like her son. At all.
Oh, she had that wet-sand hair, thick and straight, just like Cian’s. She had the same pale skin and light freckles. She had blue eyes—a darker blue, but still blue.
But Cian was all whipcord thin, wiry and made of something hard and unyielding, something tough and beaten into shape.
Mrs Williams was…soft.
Fat, Max’s mind supplied.
And it was true. She was fat. She was tall—again like her son—but she was what Mum might have called matronly. Wearing dark blue leggings and a polo shirt, she was bursting out of every inch of them. A patterned overall was slung over her arm, like she’d come from some kind of work, and the crook of her elbow was a meaty place into which the fabric had been stuffed. The strap of her handbag was cutting a line between her breasts, almost disappearing. Her round face had nothing like Cian’s angular jaw, and her eyes and smile cut grooves into the flesh.
But—
Happy grooves. There were no frown lines. Even without smiling, she was smiling. And she was pretty. Unmistakeably, undeniably pretty.
Max relaxed a little as she eyed him right back, and then a proper smile glimmered out of her peaceable face.
“You must be Max,” she said.
Her voice was gentle and soft, higher even than Cian’s, and he relaxed even further on hearing it. She was kind. Soft. Nice.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, feeling sweaty and greasy under her appraisal.
She chuckled. “Oh, sit down, dear. You look exhausted. Cian, what’ve you been up to, eh?”
“Nothing Lewis didn’t tell me to do,” Cian said.
“I’m sure,” his mother returned, and then her deep blue eyes were back on Max. “Your mum tells me—”
“Stepmum—” Aunt Donna said.
“—Aunt Donna,” Max said at the exact same time.
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