Hasmita pours us orange juice and finds cookies in the cupboard; we take them up to her room. It is tidier than the last time I was here, the Disney princess posters banished, replaced with pin-ups of some dodgy boy-band that Chloe, Flick and Ima also like. She puts on a Taylor Swift CD we’d once loved, and we chat in an awkward, stilted way about schools, uniforms, teachers, homework; anything except what’s really on our minds.
‘You dropped the Goth look,’ Hasmita says, stating the obvious. ‘You look more like you again.’
‘Not so much of a nobody any more?’ I quip.
‘About that,’ she says. ‘I’m really sorry; you weren’t meant to hear. I mean, that’s no excuse, I know. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just didn’t want to go into the whole story with Jen and Lisa, you know?’
I do know, I suppose, and I try to smile at Hasmita to show there are no hard feelings, but I don’t quite manage it and the conversation dies again. When I find myself mentioning the heatwave and how hot it’s been lately, I know I am scraping the barrel. It’s August, after all. Warm weather is hardly big news. Finally I run out of ideas and the conversation fizzles completely. The two of us have never been stuck for words before. At sleepovers, her mum used to have to knock on the bedroom door at three in the morning to get the lot of us to shut up, but those days are very clearly gone.
I wish I’d never come. Whatever friendship there might have been between Hasmita and me, it is over.
I put my glass down, make an excuse and stand up. I tried, at least, but I’ve left it way too late. The bond we once shared is broken now, dust and ashes.
I’m about to leave when Hasmita grabs my arm.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurts. ‘Please don’t go, not yet! I’m so sorry, Eden. I’ve been a terrible, terrible friend.’
What am I supposed to say to that?
I don’t have to say anything, though, because Hasmita is still talking. ‘I just got it wrong. I tried to block out what happened, pretend everything was still OK. The easiest way to do that was to start over, and that’s exactly what I did. I started at St Bernadette’s; a brand-new beginning. I didn’t want to think about the Heart Club, about any of it, and that meant dropping you and Ryan and Tasha as well. I just wanted it all to go away.’
‘I guess we all did,’ I admit.
Hasmita looks at me, her eyeliner smudged and blotchy, her lashes damp with tears. ‘I’m sorry I pretended I didn’t know you the other week,’ she says. ‘I feel so bad about that, but I knew I couldn’t talk to you, couldn’t talk about … well, what happened. You know?’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘It was my fault, too.’
‘None of it has worked, though,’ Hasmita is saying. ‘Not for me. You can’t forget it, you can’t run away from it and there’s nobody else who really understands!’
I put an arm around Hasmita, stroke her long, dark hair.
‘Shhh,’ I whisper. ‘I understand, OK? And I’ve made those mistakes too, believe me. It doesn’t matter, now. None of it does.’
Suddenly, it doesn’t. We talk for a long time, Hasmita and me. We talk about the old days, about Andie and Ryan and Tasha. It’s like picking our way through a minefield, because there are still lots of things we can’t say, don’t say – not yet, anyhow. But it’s a start.
Hasmita hasn’t even tried to email Tasha – not once – and that shocks me because the two of them were once as close as Andie and me. I guess it helps to see that I’m not the only person hurting here, the only person who’s messed up. It’s all of us.
‘Can you forgive me?’ Hasmita asks. ‘Please, Eden? I got it all so wrong; maybe we both did. I’ve missed you!’
‘I’ve missed you too!’
I tell her about my attempts to change, to become invisible.
‘The dyed hair and the black baggy clothes,’ she says. ‘I wondered what that was about. I’m glad you went back to your real colour; it suits you loads better.’
I almost tell her that Andie thinks so too, but think better of it. Andie was very clear that she wasn’t ready to meet the others, and that might hurt Hasmita’s feelings.
‘It just feels like I’m starting to be me again,’ I say instead. ‘I have bags of old stuff to take to the charity shop, though. Whatever happens, I’m not going to hide any more. I’m fed up with being invisible. I need to go shopping for some stuff that isn’t all grey and gloomy, so if you’re ever at a loose end …’
‘I’ll come shopping with you!’ she says at once. ‘You know I will! I’d love to. And I am still the makeover queen, trust me. Actually, I saw a cute little pinafore dress in Topshop last week – not my thing, but totally you, Eden. And they have some brilliant T-shirts; I can be your stylist!’
‘You can!’ I promise. ‘Next week? I’ve got money saved up and Mum will probably give me something, too!’
Hasmita’s eyes shine.
‘Are we friends again, Eden?’ she asks, hopeful.
‘We’ve never not been friends,’ I tell her. ‘We’ve just been … lost.’
41
Ryan
We make another trip to see Miss Smith, and this time we paint the six-foot fence with soft yellow emulsion paint. It isn’t the right kind of paint, and we haven’t primed the wood or sanded it or anything, but my cash has run out and there’s a big tin of yellow paint in the shed, ancient and lumpy and thick as custard, but still usable. Just. It seems like the right thing to do.
I mix up the paint and pour half into an old enamel saucepan (also from the shed) and clean up two ancient, cobwebby brushes. Eden and I start at opposite ends of the fence and paint towards each other, and when we meet in the middle she reaches out with one paint-spattered finger and touches the end of my nose.
‘Hey!’ I protest. ‘What was that for?’
‘Just because,’ Eden teases. ‘The world needs more yellow paint …’
‘You could be right,’ I say. ‘Miss Smith is going to love this. The paint might not last forever, but it really brings the light in. Just imagine looking out at all that sunshine yellow on a grey November day!’
‘As long as she doesn’t think we’re vandals.’ Eden frowns. ‘She seems a bit out of sorts today.’
Miss Smith has chosen not to come outside to sit in the sun. She’s in her chair by the window, huddled in her blue shawl as if the August day is somehow chilly and forbidding. Now, as I look towards the house, I see her head has fallen against the chair; she’s sleeping.
‘She won’t think that,’ I say with confidence. ‘She’ll be pleased. She’s got something really cool to look out on now.’
‘The dead tree bugs me a bit,’ Eden comments.
‘Me too. We could come over tomorrow and try to do something with it.’
Eden shakes her head. ‘Not tomorrow. I’m busy!’
I blink. ‘OK. Right. Well, no worries.’
Eden prods me gently in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’ she demands. ‘Why I’m busy? Go on!’
I sigh. ‘Why are you busy, Eden?’ I echo.
Her face lights up. ‘I’m meeting Hasmita!’ she exclaims. ‘We’re going shopping. How cool is that?’
I laugh. ‘Very cool,’ I admit. ‘Seriously, that’s brilliant news! D’you think she’ll meet up with me sometime, too?’
‘Of course,’ Eden says. ‘Maybe we really can put the Heart Club back together again! That would be amazing!’
‘But Eden …’
‘Shhh,’ she laughs, putting a paint-smudged finger agains
t my lips. ‘Oh – oops!’
I retaliate, printing a fingerprint of yellow on her chin, and she laughs and streaks my cheeks with yellow, adding spots of paint above my eyebrows.
I strike back with streaks of paint across her cheekbones, but suddenly she stops laughing and looks stricken, lost.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask. ‘I didn’t mean anything, Eden. I thought …’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not you, Ryan,’ she says. ‘I was just thinking about Andie, y’know? We met at nursery, you probably remember – she painted my face with yellow paint. The two of us ended up covered in the stuff. I was just thinking … well, she’d have loved this.’
I bite my lip. ‘She probably would have,’ I say uncertainly.
‘She told me I looked like sunshine,’ Eden whispers.
‘You do,’ I say.
She leans over and kisses me, and in spite of the yellow paint she tastes like sunshine, too.
42
Eden
If clothes shopping were a GCSE subject, Hasmita would get an A* grade. She has a knack of picking out cool, quirky items that look brilliant and don’t cost the earth. Instead of being an ordeal, the shopping trip is fun. Hasmita buys fancy shades and a floppy straw hat and I get a T-shirt, a teal-blue pinafore dress with a sixties vibe and a cute little vest top that will be perfect for sunny days.
I’m on a high, buoyed up by new clothes and old friends and the memory of a kiss that turned my insides upside down. Hasmita and I chat non-stop. Any last vestiges of awkwardness have fallen away, and we’re talking about anything and everything. Almost.
I tell her that I chose to ditch the whole friendship game, and Hasmita looks shocked. ‘Isn’t there anyone you could pal up with at Moreton Park?’ she asks. I tell her I’m friends with Ryan again, then mention Chloe, Flick and Ima.
‘They’re lovely,’ I explain. ‘We had fun at Lara’s party, and we’ve texted a few times since, but I’m scared to risk getting close to anyone again.’
‘Except me,’ Hasmita teases. ‘And Ryan, maybe …’
I laugh. ‘Well, OK,’ I say. ‘I can trust you two. We may have hurt each other in the past, let each other down, but there were reasons for that. We were just trying to cope the best way we could.’
Hasmita tells me that she found it hard to settle in at St Bernadette’s but made good friends eventually.
‘You have to let people in again, Eden,’ she says. ‘What’s the alternative? Shutting down, trusting nobody, being alone? That’s no way to live. Friendship is always a risk, and no, we’ll probably never have anything as wonderful as the Heart Club was, but you can’t make your life into some kind of shrine to the past. Give new friends a chance!’
I force a smile, even though I’m feeling wobbly.
‘But, Hazz, what if I get hurt again?’
She sighs. ‘You will get hurt again, Eden,’ she says. ‘It’s normal, it’s natural. It’s pretty much unavoidable. Getting hurt is a side effect of being alive!’
She links my arm, rests her cheek against mine.
‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Eden,’ she says. ‘I made a lot of mistakes, but it gets better, I promise. I will do my very best not to hurt you again, OK? I’m on your side, always.’
Hasmita drags me into the nearest cafe and orders milkshakes and chocolate brownies. ‘Medicinal purposes,’ she tells me. ‘Chocolate brownies cure all known heartaches!’
The conversation drifts on to safer ground. She tells me how much she hates the St Bernadette’s uniform, how she campaigned to get the hideous tan tights replaced by black opaques. She failed, but achieved a compromise of optional white ankle socks. She’s also started a school debating group and has fallen for the brother of one of her classmates.
I tell her that I’m sort of seeing Ryan, and she whoops out loud when I tell her I kissed him.
‘Wow!’ she says. ‘You and Ryan? Andie liked him too, didn’t she?’
Guilt prickles my skin and I can’t meet Hasmita’s eyes, but she sees my panic and squeezes my hand.
‘Look, we can’t live in the past, Eden,’ she says. ‘That was then and this is now, and you and Ryan are perfect for each other. How about we drag him out for a milkshake one day soon? I can’t believe what you said about him turning bad boy. Ryan hasn’t got a bad bone in his body.’
‘He’s just angry, I think,’ I say. ‘You know how it is; we all get by the best way we can. Hey, remember Andie’s paper-crane phase? Ryan made me this …’
I take the crumpled paper crane from my pocket and hold it out to Hasmita, grinning.
‘Oh, wow,’ she says. ‘So many memories! He likes you, Eden. That’s cool!’
‘He’s still a big softy underneath,’ I say. ‘Remember how he always wanted a dog called Rocket? He’s got one, now! So cute!’
‘No way!’ Hasmita laughs. ‘It would be great to catch up. By the way, you got me thinking. I wrote to Tasha. I figured that shutting bits of your past away and pretending they didn’t happen is not a great way to live. So hey, I’m trying. Writing to Tasha was a start – maybe she’ll reply, who knows?’
‘Maybe she will,’ I say.
I wish I could pull Andie back into the group too, but my last few text messages have gone unanswered. Andie has vanished again. I know that hassling her with messages won’t help; she’ll be in touch again in her own time.
I hope.
I push away my thoughts of Andie and I’m clowning about trying on Hasmita’s sunglasses and floppy hat when someone calls my name. I peer over the shades and see Ima, Chloe and Flick making their way over, and for once I am happy to see them.
‘Eden! I knew it was you!’ Chloe says, swiping away the floppy hat. ‘Wow. I still haven’t got used to your hair like that. It’s gorgeous! What’s with the hat and shades, though? Are you in disguise?’
‘Incognito,’ Hasmita giggles. ‘Hi, I’m Eden’s friend, Hasmita.’
‘Hi!’ my classmate says. ‘I’m Chloe and this is Ima and Flick.’
‘We have been so worried about you,’ Ima breaks in. ‘You just literally vanished from Lara’s party. What happened? I was worried!’
I force a grin. ‘Oh I was fine; I told you. No big deal!’
This sounds lame, I know, the kind of excuse I’ve used a million times to keep Chloe, Flick and Ima at arm’s length. Spots of pink appear on my cheeks as if to flag up the lie. It hasn’t taken long for my new, reinvented self to crumble.
I’ve reckoned without Hasmita, though.
‘You didn’t tell them?’ my old friend says, hands on hips. ‘Seriously? You have to, Eden! It’s so romantic!’
‘A boy?’ Flick shrieks. ‘Not … Ryan Kelly?’
‘No way!’ Ima says, horrified. ‘He was asking about you before the party, and then he stuck to you like glue while the band were playing. Just tell me you are not dating the javelin psycho of Moreton Park Academy!’
‘Unreal,’ Chloe breathes.
Hasmita laughs. ‘Eden,’ she says. ‘You can’t keep this a secret! C’mon, guys, grab yourselves some drinks and come and join us; we’ll tell you the whole story!’
An hour later, we’re all still there, trading stories and making our milkshakes last forever. I’ve confessed all about Ryan, or almost all – I keep trying to tell them he’s misunderstood, and that the javelin thing was wildly exaggerated, but I’m not sure they believe a word.
‘It’s like a fairy tale,’ Flick sighs. ‘Bad boy meets shy girl and changes his ways; how cool?’
‘It’s not
really like that,’ I argue.
‘It’s a bit like that,’ Hasmita insists. ‘So, girls, what have you been up to? Shopping, like us?’
‘No, we’ve been at drama club,’ Chloe says. ‘It’s every Monday and Friday in the holidays, and every Friday night during term time. It’s fun!’
‘Ooh, we should do that!’ Hasmita says to me. ‘I love drama, and they don’t do it at St Bernadette’s! Is it too late to join?’
It turns out that the club is looking for someone to help with make-up and scenery, and that anyone can lend a hand.
‘Couldn’t be more perfect,’ Hasmita declares. ‘I’m a genius with lipstick and eyeliner, right? And you’ve done scenery stuff before, Eden. It’s a great excuse to meet up regularly, too. I think we should go!’
I am pretty sure it’s also a plot to throw me together with Chloe, Flick and Ima, but after hanging out with them today I think that might be fun. The Heart Club is over, but maybe something else can take shape from its ashes?
Friends … whether I am ready for them or not, they’re finding their way back into my life.
43
Ryan
I’m whistling as I fix myself Weetabix and pour out ice-cool orange juice, and Dad looks up from his iPad and raises an eyebrow.
‘You’re in a good mood again today,’ he comments, as if not quite believing it. ‘One of those mornings, huh? Up and at ’em, son!’
Mum is less obvious, grinning at me as she butters toast and makes coffee. I’ve seen the worry lift away from her shoulders these last few days, replaced by a spark of hope, of relief. It’s easier to see those things than the anxiety and fear that usually cloud her expression whenever I’m around.
I pour them both a glass of orange juice and clink glasses with Mum, and Dad joins in with the whistling. The mood in the Kelly family kitchen is lighter than it has been in a very long time.
Broken Heart Club Page 14