I take the mug, but it’s empty except for an old teabag and a few dregs of cold tea. I don’t care – it’s not exactly hot chocolate weather, anyhow.
‘Sorry about the javelin,’ I say, but Miss Smith’s eyes are glassy and distant and I don’t think she’s listening. ‘It wasn’t deliberate …’
‘Come again soon, Peter,’ she says. ‘It’s been so very long since I’ve seen you. I’ll make an apple pie next time!’
‘Thing is, I’m not actually Peter,’ I say. ‘I’m Ryan.’
‘You’re a good boy,’ she says, patting my arm with a claw-like hand. ‘Goodbye, Peter!’
I pick up my rucksack and head off, smiling all the way home.
14
Eden
‘Beautiful day out there,’ Mum announces brightly, appearing in the bedroom doorway like a messenger of doom. ‘Any plans, Eden?’
It feels more like the middle of the night, but I groan and peer blearily over the duvet.
‘My plans are to sleep,’ I mutter. ‘It’s the holidays, remember?’
‘You had a lie-in on Saturday,’ she points out. ‘And Sunday. And Monday. Wake up, Eden! Stop letting life pass you by!’ She drags the curtains open abruptly and the room floods with sunlight, sending me scrabbling beneath the covers.
‘Noooooooo! What are you doing?’
The duvet is dragged firmly from my hands, and I surface to find Mum sitting on the windowsill, her face determined. I know when I am beaten. I sit up, scowling.
‘I need you to do an errand for me,’ Mum is saying. ‘It’s my friend Jo’s birthday on Friday and I’ve ordered her one of those gorgeous coffee-table cookery books, all healthy stuff and juices and cake made out of chia seeds. She’ll love it. I need you to pick it up from the bookshop for me.’
‘Why can’t you just pick it up after work?’ I grumble.
‘I’m working late all week,’ she says briskly. ‘Come on, love, it’s not much to ask!’
‘But, Mum … I don’t want to go to town!’ I argue. ‘I’ve got tons of studying to do this holiday!’
‘Looks like it,’ she says, raising a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Look. You’re a clever girl, Eden, you’ll find the time. I won’t get a chance to pick it up myself. Jo’s my best friend, and it’s her birthday. Be fair … I don’t often ask you to do this kind of thing, do I?’
‘Suppose not,’ I admit.
‘Good. That’s sorted, then. Maybe we could try a few of the recipes ourselves; you used to like that kind of thing. Cakes and baking …’
I roll my eyes. ‘When I was a kid,’ I say, scornfully. ‘Not now.’
Mum’s shoulders slump. ‘Well, whatever. Pick up the book – I’ve left a note of the title and author on the table downstairs, along with some cash. Can you go to Tesco Metro and pick up a few bits and pieces to eat, too? I’m covering late shifts all week, and on Friday I’ll be going straight from work to meet Jo for a birthday drink, so you’re going to have to fix your own meals. I’m sorry; it’s all a bit rubbish, really. But if you could do a little shop and then maybe meet up with a friend for a milkshake or a coffee, whatever …’
I grit my teeth.
‘Mum,’ I cut in. ‘I’ll do your errands, fine, but please stay out of my social life! I don’t need your help!’
‘OK, OK, I just thought … well, it might be nice to meet up with some friends while you’re out.’
‘Mum!’
She jumps up from the windowsill, miming a sad, can’t-blame-me-for-trying expression. ‘I won’t be in until past seven,’ she says. ‘Thanks a million, pet … and see you later!’
Moments later I hear the door click shut and I am finally left in peace. It’s no use though. I can’t get back to sleep. Ridiculously, my mobile says it’s just past eight o’clock.
I shower, dress and eat a lazy breakfast, but already I am dreading the trip to town. Mum is only trying to help, I know, but there is no way I want to ‘meet up with friends’ for a milkshake. There are no friends to meet up with any more; she knows that, surely?
Maybe she’s been chatting with Mr Khan, plotting ways to give me a personality transplant.
I am usually meticulous about homework, but Mr Khan’s assignment is just fluffy pseudo psychology. Why take it seriously? Against my better judgement, I take out my notebook and write a title in fancy lettering: Ways To Improve My Pitiful Social Life. I begin to write.
Be sure to smile brightly at everyone and make cheery small talk at every opportunity.
Join an after-school club. Perhaps stamp-collecting, or crochet?
Suggest jolly outings to bond with classmates. Bike rides, picnics, trips to the seaside?
Always look on the bright side. A sunny personality wins friends.
Accept all party invitations with enthusiasm. Dress prettily and be charming to all.
This exercise in sarcasm doesn’t hold my attention for long, and at eleven o’clock I take a deep breath and head for town. I don’t want to run the risk of bumping into someone from school on the bus, so I walk in, skulking along in Converse, baggy grey jeans and a black hoodie, my eyes outlined with thick black kohl. At home, the mirror tells me I look good – bold and brave and confident. Outside, I catch glimpses of my reflection as I pass the shiny plate-glass shop windows, and realize I just look sad and lost.
I tilt my chin high and pretend not to care. Collecting the book is easy, and I head on to Tesco to buy pizza, oven chips, coleslaw, quiche. I browse the High Street for a while. The little paper crane Ryan gave me is in my hoodie pocket for luck, and on impulse I treat myself to some patterned paper to make some origami cranes of my own. I’m just heading home when I spot Chloe, Flick and Ima further along the pavement.
Great.
Instinctively I put my head down and act like I haven’t noticed them, but it’s too late – Ima is calling my name. They come towards me, all grins and whoops, and I look up through my fringe and pretend I’m happy to see them.
‘Hey!’ Chloe says. ‘Great to see you! We’ve been shopping … well, window shopping, anyway!’
‘Cool,’ I say. ‘I’ve just been … doing stuff.’
I think my mouth is malfunctioning. It’s coming out with rubbish, but Chloe, Flick and Ima don’t seem to notice.
‘Everyone’s in town today,’ Ima is saying. ‘It’s crazy! Summer holiday madness. Anyhow, we’re just going to Costa to get frappés … there’s a whole bunch of Year Nine boys in there. Want to come?’
‘No, no; I can’t,’ I bluster, panicked. ‘I’m in a hurry. Doing … things.’
‘Whatever,’ Flick shrugs. ‘See you at Lara’s party, then?’
‘Yeah, yeah, definitely,’ I bluff, and they’re on their way, giggling, chatting, waving goodbye.
I take in a ragged breath as if I’ve just been through some kind of trauma. If losing the power of coherent speech counts as a trauma, I probably have. I think of my five-point plan to improve my social life, of Mum’s suggestion that I meet some friends for a milkshake, and I want to cry.
It won’t happen, because I do not want a social life. I do not want friends.
It hurts too much when they go away.
I square my shoulders and walk on, and that’s when I see her.
She’s standing outside Topshop, just across the road, looking at her mobile phone. She is taller than when I last saw her and much more grown-up – her face has lost that round, pink-cheeked, childish look. Her hair is still long and ash blonde, hanging over one shoulder in a neat ponytail, and her pale
lashes are dark with mascara. She’s wearing a cute little print dress, a cardi and lace-up ankle boots with a tiny heel, which don’t seem like her style at all … but still, it’s her all right.
I’d know Andie Carson anywhere.
15
Ryan
When my head fills up with thoughts I don’t want to think, I run away. I don’t pack a rucksack or leave a goodbye note, because it’s not that kind of running away, and I don’t go far or stay away for long. It’s a coward’s kind of running, I suppose, and it can only ever work for a little while, because the things I am running from are with me the whole time. They’re inside my head.
Today I wake up angry, which happens quite a lot.
I’ve been thinking of Mum and Dad and how disappointed they are in me. I’ve been thinking of Mr Khan and how he thinks it’s somehow OK to turn up in my living room, discussing shrinks and counselling with my family. Most of all, though, I’ve been thinking of Miss Smith and the overgrown garden, now a little tidier and planted up with cheap bedding plants. I think of her bird feeder, swinging empty from the fossilized tree, and the way she thought my name was Peter and tried to give me hot chocolate, but couldn’t quite remember how. Where is the real Peter? Where are her family, her friends? How come a delinquent kid has to do her weeding and chop down the brambles? Old age sucks.
Actually, life sucks, full stop.
If you think about these things too much, they make you sad, and that’s bad news. I’ve seen what sad has done to Eden Banks, how it snuffed out the light in her eyes, leached the colour right out of her life. Sad is not for me.
Angry is better than sad, but still, it gets into your blood. It fizzes through you like a virus, seeping into everything. It makes you kick chairs, throw school books into wastepaper bins, javelins into gardens. It makes you sneer at teachers, cheek your parents, punch a wall, push the boundaries. Even your friends treat you carefully, like you’re a firework that might suddenly go off in their face. Not that I have friends any more, not really … Buzz and Chris are more partners in crime.
The truth is that anger gets you into a whole lot of trouble, so I run, and that takes the edge off things a little.
I don’t make a fuss about it. I run in jeans and T-shirt, with a hoody I can take off when I get too warm. I have good trainers, the kind that let me run on pavements or fields, through rain, slush, snow, fallen leaves, zombie apocalypse.
Well, you get the idea.
I also have Rocket, my dog, who never wakes up angry but is always full of joy. When I run with him the joy rubs off on me a little, eventually, just for a while. I think life must be much easier for dogs. No school, no chores, no regrets. Usually we run early in the morning or late at night, because those times are quiet, but right now I head out in broad daylight because I want to outrun the bad thoughts in my head and I don’t much care who sees me.
We run along the edge of the woods, towards town, towards the park. I settle into an easy, loping pace, my feet slapping the pavement, my breath fast and easy. I can feel my muscles stretching, feel the anger slowly seeping away. Every bit of me feels alive. Rocket runs beside me, bright-eyed, happy. His tail waves like a flag.
I will keep running until the anger has gone, make maybe one or two circuits of the park. Then I’ll throw sticks for Rocket, and maybe buy an ice cream.
16
Eden
My eyes open wide and my heart constricts with shock. As I try to make sense of it, Andie looks up, eyes sparkling, her face lighting up with that big trademark grin that has been melting my heart since forever. Today, though, it leaves me numb, speechless.
‘Eden!’ she calls. ‘Hey! I’ve been waiting for you! Long time no see!’
A sick, sour feeling pools in my belly and I turn and shove my way through the crowded street of shoppers, away from Andie. She can’t be here, surely? And why on earth would she be waiting for me?
‘Eden, wait up!’
She falls into step beside me, half-running; puts a hand on my arm, squeezes gently.
‘Slow down, Eden, please.’ she says. ‘Don’t run away from me. I know it’s been ages, I know I should have been in touch …’
I shrug off her touch, my heart pounding. My eyes are blurry but I don’t cry any more; I tilt my chin upwards and stride along, hoping she’ll get sick of following. She doesn’t.
‘Look, I’m sorry, OK?’ Andie tells me. ‘Listen to me, Eden! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ve let you down, I should have been in touch … but I was angry. It was a mess, OK? Can we talk? Please?’
‘I don’t even know why you’re here!’ I snap.
‘I’m here to make things right,’ she says. ‘Everything went wrong, and we all blamed each other, and look at the mess we’re in now! Come on, Eden, I’ve come all this way to see you … surely you can spare half an hour to talk to me? Please? For old times’ sake?’
I look at Andie and the fight goes out of me. My shoulders slump.
‘Shall we go to the park?’ she suggests. ‘Like we used to?’
We walk across town to the park, slip through the gates and into the greenery.
‘Tell me why you’re here,’ I ask again, and she explains that she’s down until the weekend – a family visit, the first one since the move to Scotland.
‘I just want to spend some time with you,’ she explains. ‘It ended badly, didn’t it? We were supposed to be friends forever, but we messed up, and it plays on my mind, Eden. I can’t move on … I feel bad. Can’t we sort things out, clear the air?’
‘It’s too late,’ I say. ‘Some things can’t be fixed.’
‘But we can,’ Andie says. ‘We’re different! We had – have – something special! Hey, shall we go to the swings?’
She drags me over to the children’s playground, scene of a million childhood memories. We perch awkwardly alongside each other on the swings, creaking listlessly back and forth.
‘You’ve changed, you know,’ she says, as if it might have escaped my attention. ‘I almost didn’t recognize you. Your hair … it’s so different … so dramatic. And your clothes. You used to wear bright colours, so all that black is a bit of a shock. Goth-chic, right? And you seem … I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got this all wrong, but you seem kind of subdued. Kind of sad.’
‘I’m fine,’ I growl. ‘Is this why you’re here, Andie? Are you going to pick us apart, one at a time? Tell me I’m sad? Tell Ryan he’s angry and out of control? I never see Hasmita any more, but I expect you’ll find some insult for her, too, and Tasha …’
‘That’s not what this is about.’ Andie frowns. ‘I’ve missed you, Eden, can’t you see that? You were my best friend, and I left without explaining things, without saying goodbye.’
I scuff my feet across the soft surface of the playground.
‘I don’t have time to see Ryan and Hasmita, and obviously, Tasha’s moved away …’ She trails off into silence, looking guilty. ‘Look, d’you want the truth? I don’t think I can face them, Eden, not right now. Much as I love them, it’s you I’ve come to see. So don’t tell them you’ve seen me, OK? I don’t want them to feel bad.’
I almost laugh. There is exactly zero chance of me telling Ryan, Hasmita or Tasha that I’ve seen Andie, because I won’t be seeing them either.
‘I just have some loose ends to tie up,’ Andie is saying. ‘This is about us two, Eden. About our friendship …’
‘Do we have a friendship?’ I ask.
‘You know we do!’
Andie is silent, swinging slowly back and forth
for a while. Abruptly she jumps off the swing and turns to face me. Her fingers fidget with the neckline of her little print dress. There’s a glint of silver in the spring sunshine as she tugs a pendant out into the light, a small broken-heart pendant on a slender chain.
‘Remember this?’ she asks. ‘You bought it for me on my eleventh birthday. A best friends necklace … I still wear it, Eden. Do you wear yours?’
I nod wordlessly. My fingers tremble as they scoop out a matching silver chain, the other half of the broken-heart pendant. I’ve worn it all this time, just like Andie.
‘Best friends, Eden,’ she says. ‘It ended badly, like I said, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you, not ever. I’m here because I want to repair the friendship, make things right again. Please tell me I’m not too late.’
I shake my head, hardly daring to believe it.
‘Not too late,’ I whisper. ‘Oh, Andie!’
Suddenly we’re hugging – awkward, anxious, holding on as if we’ll never let go. I want to laugh and cry all at once, because Andie still smells of the same vanilla shower gel she always loved. It’s like someone has reached out and wiped away the last two years, erased everything bad that ever happened.
‘Friends forever,’ Andie says, and her breath smells of toothpaste against my cheek and she holds me so tight it’s as if she’s trying to anchor me. I’m not sure who is holding who, which one of us needs to be anchored – and I don’t even care.
We have so much to catch up on, and we’ve barely even scratched the surface when the cheesy jingle of the ice-cream van drifts through the air. It’s the exact same jingle as always, and Andie’s face lights up the way it always did.
‘Want one?’ I ask. ‘Wait there … I’ll treat you!’
Broken Heart Club Page 6