by Sara Barnard
Joe gestures at the empty chair at the end of the table opposite Kaitlyn, then excuses himself, saying that he needs to call home and check in. Sasha watches him go, then sits, aware that Kaitlyn is watching her carefully, and she can’t help but wonder if she looks as different to them as they do to her. She doesn’t think she does, but she’s suddenly desperate to ask them what they see when they look at her. Can they see that her eyeliner is wonky and her jeans are too tight? Can they smell the bleach she’s been swilling around toilets all day? She can. It doesn’t matter how often she showers, she can still smell it in her hair, that and the faint trace of rubber that lingers on her hands hours after she’s taken her yellow gloves off.
Sasha shrugs off her jacket, and when she turns to hang it on the back of her chair, she sees the Labrador sitting quietly by Kaitlyn’s side. She must be staring, because Kaitlyn puts her hand on the dog’s blond head and says, ‘This is Remy.’ Sasha knows about Remy, knows why Kaitlyn needs Remy. They’ve all talked about it. All asked Dawson if she’s OK, if there’s anything they can do. But it’s still a shock to see it first-hand. Sasha tries to hide it with a smile she’s pretty sure borders on manic.
‘Hey, sweet boy!’ she gushes, reaching across the table to pat him on the head.
But Kaitlyn holds her hand up, stopping her before she can. ‘He’s working.’
Sasha’s hand freezes in mid-air, and it makes the back of Kaitlyn’s neck burn as she watches the others exchange wide-eyed looks around the table as though she’s a drunk relative who’s just said something horribly racist at Christmas dinner. The silence that follows is excruciating. She didn’t mean to snap, especially at sweet Sasha who blushes and whips her hand away as though she’s been scalded.
She’s mad at Dawson, not her.
As if on cue, he nods at Remy. ‘Don’t fall for that face. He’s just angling for a dough ball.’
And just like that, what Kaitlyn said is undone, and the tension evaporates. Sasha’s face softens, and when she laughs, Kaitlyn feels a familiar heat pool at the corners of her eyes. She wants to tell him to stop, but he can’t stop, can he? This is who Dawson is, what he does. He balances her out, and as she sits there, watching Sasha smile at him across the table, Kaitlyn can’t help but ask herself what sort of person she’d be without him, if he is the only thing that makes her softer, more human.
Dawson pours Sasha a glass of wine, and when he asks her how her day’s been, he shows her more affection in those few moments than he has shown Kaitlyn since he arrived at the restaurant. If Kaitlyn had asked him how he was doing – and she has, several times – he’d tell her that he was fine, that he was just tired. But he doesn’t look tired now – the skin around his eyes crinkling, he’s smiling so hard. Kaitlyn looks across at Sasha, and in that moment she hates her. ‘That’s mine!’ she wants to shriek, as though Dawson only has a finite amount of attention and he’s wasting it on Sasha. But as swiftly as the thought arrives, it’s gone again, and she feels sick with guilt.
This isn’t Sasha’s fault. It’s Dawson’s.
‘What do you fancy?’ he asks Sasha before he can say anything else.
He sees the menu tremble as he hands it to her, and he wonders if she notices. If she does, she has the grace not to say anything. She had the grace not to say anything about Kaitlyn’s swipe either. He loves that about her. She has such a big heart, and he envies her that; envies how quickly she forgives.
She tells him that she’s probably going to have the lasagne, and when he feigns horror and tells her to try something more adventurous, they laugh, and it’s so easy that he almost forgets about Kaitlyn. It used to be like this with her, and he misses the back and forth. Misses her. He doesn’t know how you can miss someone who is sitting right next to you.
‘Have what you want, Sasha. There’s nothing wrong with lasagne,’ Kaitlyn says suddenly, and Dawson and Sasha look at one another across the table like a couple of kids who’ve been told off for talking in church.
‘OK,’ Sasha says, and her voice sounds tiny. ‘I’ll have the lasagne.’
‘Or not. Have whatever you want, that’s the point.’ Kaitlyn shrugs.
Dawson catches himself just before he rolls his eyes. He knows that shrug; he’s been on the receiving end of it many, many times. It’s her super-casual I-don’t-care shrug, which actually means she’s furious. Sasha obviously knows the shrug as well, because she has the sense not to say anything else as the three of them return to their menus, reading them with such scrutiny, you’d think they were trying to crack the Enigma code, not choose a pizza.
Then it’s so quiet, Dawson can hear Velvet and Hugo chatting happily at the other end of the table. He’s telling her about India, except he calls it ‘IndYA’, and Dawson feels the corners of his mouth twitch playfully, the awkwardness immediately forgotten as he starts to daydream about Jasper.
He’d probably think Hugo was a right knob.
His stomach turns to water at the thought of him, of his cola-coloured curls and the callus on the inside of his finger. And just like that, he’s giddy. His head – and heart – spinning as he wishes he was back in Jasper’s flat, drinking tea and talking about Barry Jenkins. He indulges the feeling for a moment, diving in head first, wallowing in the warmth of it, the promise. He’s suddenly aware of every hair on his body bristling as his eyes swim out of focus. If he could bottle this feeling, he would – get drunk on it and dance in the street under the midnight moon – because it never lasts. It’s like a soap bubble that pops as soon as you touch it . . .
Kaitlyn reaches for the bottle of red wine to refill her glass, grazing him with her elbow as she does, and – POP – it’s gone, and he’s back in the busy, chilly restaurant with the menu in his hand. His eyes swim out of focus for another reason, the sudden rush of guilt making his stomach clench and his hands shiver. He’s certain she can see it, see the shame pinching his cheeks so they’re red raw.
I’m a prick, he thinks. I’m a prick. I’m a prick. I’m a prick. Why is he doing this to her? To them? Don’t be such a fucking coward, he thinks, making himself turn his head to look at her. He gazes at the stubborn line of her jaw and the patch of skin behind her ear that he used to press his mouth to, whispering his secrets into her skin, and waits, waits to feel something – anything – but there’s nothing.
There’s nothing left.
Joe feels the tension shrouding the table from the other side of the restaurant and almost doesn’t come back after calling home to check on his mother. Dawson and Kaitlyn are looking at everything but each other – their phones, their wine glasses, the white neon sign on the wall that says DOUGH – while Hugo and Velvet aren’t looking at anything except each other, engrossed in a conversation so animated, it makes the silence between Dawson and Kaitlyn more obvious. It should bother him, how childish they’re being. A year ago he would have wanted to bang Dawson and Kaitlyn’s heads together and would have worried himself silly that Hugo was going to break Velvet’s heart again. But he can’t help but regard it fondly now – the fickleness of it all, the fighting and flirting and foolish decisions.
He misses it.
Sasha obviously doesn’t. She’s hiding behind her menu as though she isn’t with them and looks relieved when he sits down next to her. He almost asks her what he’s missed, but he doesn’t want to know.
‘Everything OK at home?’ Dawson asks when Joe puts his phone down and picks up a menu. Dawson’s smile is so fake – so ‘Wow! Everything is fine!’ like he’s auditioning for a toothpaste advert – that it reminds Joe of when his parents used to argue, then pretend that everything was OK when he walked into the room.
He misses that as well.
‘All good,’ he says, playing along.
‘Good.’ Dawson nods, pouring him a glass of wine. ‘Good. How’s—?’
‘Actually,’ Joe interrupts before Dawson can ask what he’s about to ask, ‘I’ve got some good news.’
Dawson’s eyes light up, clea
rly desperate for a distraction from whatever is going on with Kaitlyn.
‘Did I hear someone say they had good news?’ Velvet pipes up from the end of the table.
They each turn to look at him expectantly, and he immediately regrets saying it, because it isn’t good news at all, is it? But he hasn’t told anyone yet – not even his father – and he wants to know what they’ll say.
Now it’s his turn to plaster on a fake-toothpaste-advert smile.
‘I’ve got a new job,’ he says and waits.
Kaitlyn is the first to speak. ‘Where?’
‘Champion Biscuits.’
‘Well done,’ she says, then frowns as if to say, ‘So?’ clearly confused as to why he’s making such a fuss about a part-time job at Champion Biscuits.
Dawson is the first to cotton on. ‘Part time, yeah?’
‘Full time.’
‘Full time?’ they all say at once.
‘It’s a management trainee position.’
‘Management?’ Sasha sounds genuinely panicked. ‘How are you going to do that and go to uni?’
‘He’s not,’ Kaitlyn says, arching an eyebrow at her in such a way that tells her to shut up.
There’s an agonizing moment of silence as the others look around at each other. They eventually settle on Dawson, who’s clearly been nominated as the one who will handle this with the most tact.
He hesitates then says, ‘So you’re dropping out of uni?’
‘Why?’ Velvet asks before Joe can respond. ‘I thought you loved it.’
‘Yeah,’ Sasha adds, mirroring Dawson’s frown. ‘What about your film stuff?’
All Joe can do is shrug. ‘It’s a great opportunity.’
‘A great opportunity?’ Velvet shakes her head at him and throws her hands up. ‘University is a great opportunity. Why the fuck would you drop out to go and work for Champion ruddy Biscuits?’
‘Leave him alone,’ Kaitlyn says suddenly, and it’s enough to make each of them stop and look at her.
‘We’re not having a go at him,’ Velvet says, glaring down the table at her. ‘We’re worried.’
‘Worried?’ Kaitlyn returns her glare. ‘Do you have a fucking clue what he’s going through?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Well, why are you giving him a hard time?’
‘I’m not giving him a hard time; I’m concerned.’
Joe holds his hands up. ‘Guys—’
‘Concerned?’ Kaitlyn chuckles sourly, and Velvet’s whole body stiffens.
‘The fuck is that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that no one drops out of uni unless they have to. Think about it.’ Kaitlyn jabs her temple with her finger. ‘His dad quit work to take care of his mum, so who’s paying the bills?’
They all go deathly silent, and Joe is mortified, his cheeks stinging, and his chest hurting from the effort of keeping it all in. He tries to smile, but can’t, and when Sasha reaches for his hand under the table and squeezes it, something in him finally buckles and it all spills out.
‘Dad’s in debt. A lot of debt.’
The silence that follows is even thicker – fuller – as each of them nod quietly. But there’s no pity in their faces as they turn toward him. They don’t smile and tell him that everything’s going to be OK, that it’s only temporary. And he’s grateful, because things aren’t going to be OK, and it isn’t temporary: this is how it is.
How it always will be.
‘How much?’ Hugo says.
It’s the first time he’s spoken to anyone but Velvet since he arrived and exchanged pleasantries, so the shock of it makes each of them turn to stare at him.
‘How much do you need?’
He looks down the table at Joe, his brow furrowed with such genuine concern that it knocks the air right out of him. Joe shakes his head, because it’s all he can manage, and Hugo starts to say something, then stops and nods, and Joe’s grateful, because he’s just about holding it together and he can’t cry, not in a Pizza fucking Express. He supposes most people would take the money – after all, what’s nine grand to someone like Hugo Delaney? But it isn’t about money. Joe’s parents worked their whole lives to make sure that he had a roof over his head and dinner on the table and money to go the cinema with Ivy. Now they can’t, and he can, and it really is as simple as that. So no, it isn’t about money; it’s about family. The one we’re born into, Joe thinks, looking around the table at the others, and the family we make for ourselves.
When the food arrives, and the chatter turns to why there’s a hole in Dawson’s pizza, Velvet nudges Hugo with her shoulder, and he looks up from the salad he’s poking with a fork.
‘That was sweet,’ she tells him.
He pretends not to know what she’s talking about, picking up a dough ball and inspecting it with a furious frown. ‘What was?’
‘You know what.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s only money. I just blew ten grand on a trip to Goa.’
‘Ten grand?’ She gasps, her eyes wide.
‘That’s nothing.’ He puts the dough ball back down. ‘My mother’s spent more on a handbag.’
‘Jesus.’
‘She still isn’t happy.’
They sit quietly for a moment or two, picking at their food while they watch the others eat.
‘Are you happy?’ he asks suddenly.
The question catches her off guard.
She thinks about it for a second, then nods. ‘Yeah, I guess. Are you?’
‘I think so.’
‘You think so?’
‘It’s been a while, you know?’
She knows.
She must be staring, because he looks up, and when their gaze meets she feels such a potent rush of affection, it makes her chest hurt. Not attraction, but affection – affection for this boy who’s never eaten a dough ball and has just offered to help his friend for no reason other than because he could. It’s like she’s seeing him for the first time, really seeing him. Then she feels something else – pride, she realizes. She’s proud of him and of herself for waiting. Waiting for him to become the person she knew he was all along.
Hugo has been waiting as well. So – as much as he wants to look away – he can’t, because this is it, he realizes. This is the moment he’s been waiting for since Velvet walked out of his mother’s flat that night with her sandals in one hand and her phone in the other.
Sorry. He feels the word in his mouth, weighing heavy on his tongue, but it doesn’t feel big enough – substantial enough – but it’s all he’s got.
‘Listen, Velvet,’ he says, but she shakes her head.
‘Hugo, don’t.’
His heart throws itself at his ribs so suddenly, he almost drops his fork. This is it, he thinks. She’s going to annihilate me. He can feel the tips of his ears burning as he braces himself for it, but she just smiles.
‘Let’s just start again, OK? Right here. Right now.’ She draws a line on the table with her finger. ‘That was before.’ She points above the line she just drew. ‘And this is now.’ She points under it.
‘You sure?’
Velvet nods. She means it, he knows, and the relief is giddying. He can feel it burning off him, filling the space between them, filling the entire restaurant. But this time, it isn’t blue; it’s green. The greenest of greens – the colour of his grandmother’s lawn after it rains, of ripe avocados and sour limes and sweet frozen peas – and all he can hear is a voice in his head reminding him what he’s known all along.
The past is the past is the past.
Hugo Delaney created group ‘THEY’VE BROKEN UP!?’
Hugo Delaney added Velvet Brown
Hugo Delaney added Sasha Harris
Hugo Delaney added Joe Lindsay
Hugo:
Kaitlyn and Dawson!!!!!!
Joe:
I’m a bit heartbroken tbh
Sasha:
Same
Velvet:
It’s such a s
hame, but I’m kind of not surprised . . .I thought things seemed a bit weird between them. I’d just hoped I was wrong
Joe:
I KNEW something was up at Pizza Express
Sasha:
I didn’t
I thought it was just Kait being in a bad mood. I’m a terrible friend!
Joe:
Don’t be mental. None of us were on great form
Hugo:
I’m taking this harder than my parents’ divorce.
Seriously. I actually LIKE Kaitlyn and Dawson
Sasha:
Hey. Really sorry to hear about you and Dawson. Hope you’re OK. Here if you need me. We all are xxx
Kaitlyn:
Sasha:
Hey, Dawson! I know we don’t talk much outside the group, but I wanted you to know I’m here if you want someone to chat to. Or not. I’ll be here anyway xxx
Dawson:
Hey, Sash. Thank you xx
YEAR SIX
PLEASE JOIN HUGO DELANEY AT HIS
BLACK TIE GALA
TO RAISE MONEY FOR THE BRITISH HEART FOUNDATION
Saturday 12 June
7 p.m. to 11 p.m.
Westminster Pier, London
The boat will depart at 7.30 p.m. promptly
£200 per person
£2,000 table sponsorship for ten guests
River cruise, dinner, entertainment, silent and live auctions
Sasha:
OH MY GOD, YOU CHAMPION! (Sorry, poor choice of words . . .) Can’t believe you’re going to be working at the UKB!!!
Joe:
I’ll take champion!
Also, thank you
Sasha:
Totally going to embarrass you in person when I see you at Hugo’s
Joe: