‘I’m Eleni, Megan. It’s wonderful to meet you.’ She sweeps me into a hug and I’m surrounded by the scent of green tea, lavender and musky incense. ‘Arthur and I are thrilled that Jas has made a friend so soon. Apanagía mou, I’m sorry, I’ve just got oil on your back. I’m making dolmádes and I’m covered in the stuff. Take your coat off and I’ll try to rinse it. Your mother’s not going to be pleased with me. What an awful first impression! Signómi. Éla, come through.’
Eleni continues to talk as she herds me into a small kitchen. Her English is fluent, though she peppers it with Greek, tossed in like chunks of feta in a salad.
The kitchen smells incredible. Its counters are strewn with mess: a Greek yoghurt pot; sprigs of mint; onion and garlic skins; deflated lemon halves.
‘I’m making a feast!’ Eleni announces, throwing her hands in the air.
A small head pokes round the door. Jasmine looks up and a smile breaks across her face. ‘Lily mou! This is my friend, Megan.’
Lily nods shyly, casting a furtive glance in my direction. ‘Hello,’ she whispers.
I nod and try to smile back.
Don’t.
I blush and instantly look down.
‘I’m Lily.’ She holds out a hand that’s covered with dried glue and pieces of glitter. ‘I’ve been making a birthday card.’
I shake her hand. I’m Megan. I wish I could tell you my name.
Don’t say anything.
I jump a little, then whip my hand away from Lily’s before she notices how much it’s trembling. Lily comes further into the kitchen and swipes a golden ball off a dish on the counter. Compared with her sister, her skin is paler, her hair not as dark and glossy, more of a light brown. She shares those big, beautiful eyes though, and they rove greedily across all the food.
Jasmine points at the round thing Lily is nibbling. ‘That’s a falafel. Have you had one before?’
I shake my head.
‘They’re ace. Technically not Greek, but we still love ’em! Try one.’
She picks one up and raises it to my mouth, which drops open in surprise. The brush of Jasmine’s fingers against my lips sends tingles through me. I try to look normal and chew, even though there’s no saliva left. Jasmine turns away and I manage to swallow. It’s delicious – warm, crispy and herby.
‘These,’ Jasmine tugs my arm, gesturing at some knobbly, sausage-like patties, ‘are kofte. Lamb. Good job you’re not a veggie. Lily is, but she doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.’
Lily sticks her tongue out. It’s covered with mushed-up brown stuff.
‘It’s ready!’ Eleni announces. ‘Lily, go and fetch Dad, will you?’
Lily nods, then turns and scampers up the stairs.
Jasmine and I grab a couple of dishes and carry them to the dining table, which is set in the corner of a large living room. Two sofas are buried under mounds of precariously stacked boxes and bulging bin bags. There’s a rolled rug propped against the window, a bag of coat hangers on the table and the TV has been plonked in the middle of the floor with a purple toilet air freshener perched on top of it.
Eleni apologises again. ‘Signómi, sorry, sorry,’ she breathes. ‘What a tip. We really need to start moving this stuff. What must you think of us?’
It’s OK. You should see our place.
As Jasmine and Eleni return to the kitchen for more food, I settle at the table and my attention flits from dish to tantalising dish.
Heavy footsteps plod down the stairs. Seconds later, Jasmine’s dad appears. He’s so tall his grey, tousled hair almost touches the top of the doorframe. Bags hang like rainclouds beneath his eyes, which are a sharp, light blue.
‘Hello, I’m Arthur. You must be Megan. Nice to meet you.’
He holds out a hand, which I shake, surprised by his firm grip. ‘Where do you live, Megan?’
Silence descends, as thick as clotted cream. Jasmine, where are you? Her dad is frowning at me, I can feel it.
He doesn’t know what Jasmine sees in you.
‘Da-ad,’ Jasmine groans as she steps into the room. ‘I told you about Megan. Don’t you ever listen to me?’
‘Oh. I … er. Of course you did. I remember now. Sorry, Megan.’
‘So embarrassing,’ Jasmine mumbles.
True to Jasmine’s warning, Eleni is a ‘feeder’, and by the time the mezze is over, I’m so full, I can’t imagine being hungry ever again. My ribs ache and my head is woozy from too much laughter.
The meal was hilarious, raucous, exciting. The conversation, driven by Jasmine and Eleni, darted from subject to subject so fast I could barely keep up. Every now and then, little Lily piped up with something, her sweet voice cutting through her mother and sister’s chatter. Arthur was content to lean back in his chair and just watch.
‘Urgh. I feel disgusting,’ Jasmine complains, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m too full to move.’
Eleni smiles. ‘You’ll have to move some time. You can’t sleep here.’
‘I could,’ counters Jasmine. ‘If you leave this all out, I might wake up in the night and fancy a midnight snack.’
‘Yes, there’s too much left. Are you sure you can’t manage any more, Megan?’
I shake my head. I wish I could. I’m so glad I tried it. I’ve never tasted anything like it before. It was gorgeous. Every mouthful. From the delicately spiced kofte to the garlicky hummus and the refreshing, crisp Greek salad.
‘Would you like to take some home for your mum, Megan?’ Eleni asks.
Mum probably had a rubbery ready meal for dinner. I nod and Eleni promises to package a few things up.
‘Is it OK if Megan stays for a bit?’ Jasmine asks.
Arthur agrees.
I try to smile at Eleni as we leave, to thank her for the meal, but I’m not sure she sees me. I should write her a note or something.
Upstairs, I settle on Jasmine’s bed. My eyes wander around her room. There’s a cup of tea-dredges on the floor and a plate with breadcrumbs on. Her underwear drawer is open, with a pair of knickers and a bra spilling over the edge. The light blue walls are decorated with posters of Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.
Jasmine sees me looking. ‘Horrible colour, isn’t it? I can’t wait to redecorate.’
I find a notepad in my bag and write: I was looking at the posters.
‘Oh, them! Aren’t they glamorous?’
I nod.
‘Did you bring the photos?’
I pull Grandpa’s camera and a pile of photos from my rucksack. I pass the Canon to Jasmine. Sensing its significance, she holds it carefully. I write: It was my grandpa’s.
Jasmine runs her fingers over the casing. Her nails are smooth and shiny, the tips white and clean, unlike my bitten, ragged stumps. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmurs. ‘Can I see the photos?’
I nod and grab a handful for her to flick through. I really should put them in an album, organise them somehow. I watch as a series of shots flash through Jasmine’s hands – birds, trees, leaves, rivers, the moor, the forest, Brookby.
‘Wow, Megan. These are good! I mean, really good! You’re so talented. I’d happily stick one of these up on my wall.’
Really? You think I’m good?
I write: Take one.
Jasmine shakes her head. ‘I wasn’t hinting. They’re yours. You should keep them.’
I point to my message, insisting.
‘OK, thanks.’
Jasmine flashes that glorious smile and starts to pick through them, inspecting each photo. She settles on a close-up of dew-drops glistening on spears of grass.
‘Jasmine, time for Megan to go,’ Eleni shouts up the stairs. ‘Don’t you have French homework?’
Jasmine scowls. ‘I was hoping she’d forgotten.’ She picks up her textbook and slams it on the desk. Something falls out of the pages. A note with her name on.
Jasmine stares at it in silence for a few moments, then says in a low voice: ‘You read it.’
I pick the note up an
d unfold it. It’s written in angular block capitals, with each word scratched deep into the paper, as if whoever wrote it was pouring all their anger into every stroke of the pen. My skin ices over.
YOU MAKE ME SICK. YOU’RE A STUPID BITCH IF YOU THINK ANYONE LIKES YOU.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I glance up at Jasmine, my mouth stupidly frozen in a small ‘o’. She won’t meet my eyes. ‘I’ve had a couple since I arrived. I thought I was leaving stuff like this behind,’ her voice cracks, ‘but it just follows me!’
What did the others say? I write on the back of some revision notes.
Jasmine still won’t look at me. ‘Horrible stuff.’
Like?
‘ “Why would Owen fancy a minger like you?” Stuff like that. It must be the same person who messed with Owen’s graffiti.’
Who? I scribble.
‘Some of the girls from my old school know people here. They might have put them up to it. Or – I don’t know – Sadie, maybe?’
Maybe. Or it could be Lindsay. What was it Sadie said the other day? Lindsay was on the warpath. I should’ve warned Jasmine.
‘Owen told me that he and Sadie were an item over the summer. She’s probably pissed off that I’m friends with you, and that I’m seeing Owen.’
So are you ‘seeing’ Owen?
Jasmine blushes a little. ‘I dunno. I bumped into him at the weekend, after I left yours. I was feeling a bit … you know, wobbly, and he was nice to me. Took my mind off it.’
I grit my teeth. I bet he did.
‘Listen, about Friday night. He said he wasn’t thinking.’
That’s bull. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to get a reaction out of me.
I don’t want to argue so I point to the vicious note and raise my eyebrows.
Jasmine sighs. ‘I don’t know what to do about them. Mum will go mental if I tell her.’
I read the message again. A shiver snakes across my skin. Shouldn’t we tell someone? I’m afraid for her. What if this person is dangerous?
We’re getting close to our first exams now. Every lesson at school is filled with revision or practice papers. We spend every spare minute studying. Despite this, I’m still managing to see Mr Harwell once or twice a week. After the slap, it was as awkward as I’d imagined. He seemed a bit embarrassed that he’d had to report me.
The first two weeks of exams pass in a blur of sleepless nights and information overload. We have a break for May half-term, but we’ll have to spend most of it cramming.
On Tuesday, I head to Jasmine’s for English revision.
‘This is so booooring!’ she says with a yawn, stretching back on her bed and kicking her copy of Wuthering Heights to the floor.
I lie down too, propping my head in my hand. Jasmine’s eyes are closed. Even without mascara, her lashes are jet black and really thick. Her smooth, rose-coloured lips are moist and slightly parted, her breaths coming out soft and slow.
I want to kiss her.
I’m sorry … what?
What the hell was that? Where did it even come from?
‘Isn’t Cathy the most annoying character ever?’
What? Who?
Jasmine opens her eyes. ‘Why are you so red?’
I’m not. Stop staring at me! You’re making it worse!
‘Seriously, Megan, you look like you’re about to explode. Want me to open a window?’
I nod.
She gets up and walks across the room.
Stop looking at her bum, Megan! What’s wrong with you?
‘I was just saying, Cathy’s such a whiney cow.’
I wanted to kiss her. Is that normal? Do other girls have random impulses to kiss their best friends?
‘Megan? Hello? What are you thinking about? It’s definitely not Cathy. Something far more interesting.’ Jasmine sits cross-legged on the bed and taps my knee. I stare at the spot she’s just touched.
‘C’mon, what’s going on? You look like a beetroot!’
Great. I look like a big, sweaty beetroot. That’s attractive. But why do I care if I look attractive? Did I ever care how I looked for Hana? What does this mean?
Jasmine pouts. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’
Tell you? Absolutely not! And stop pouting. It’s distracting.
She grins. ‘You know you want to. Go on!’
I don’t respond.
Jasmine frowns, thinks for a moment, then whisks the book off the floor, suddenly business-like. ‘Well, we’d better get back to this then.’
She starts to find her page, but I don’t move. I can’t just sit here and read a stupid book like nothing’s happened!
Jasmine snaps her book shut. ‘You’re seriously making me paranoid, Megan. Did I do something? Does my breath smell?’
I shake my head, grab some paper and write: Sorry. Have to go. Not feeling so great.
Jasmine’s irritation is swept away by concern and she presses her hand to my forehead. My skin flares up again, even worse than before.
‘You poor thing. You’re boiling! Hang on, I’ll get my stuff and walk you back.’
I’ll be fine, I write. Honestly. I stand up.
Jasmine stands too. ‘There’s no way you’re going on your own. I’m coming.’
One look at her expression and I know I won’t be able to put her off.
Outside, I walk quickly, gulping the cool air, which soothes my burning skin. I’m vaguely aware that Jasmine is talking about some kid in her Science class who thinks he can beat the multiple choice tests by following a pattern in the answers.
That’s not the first time I’ve wanted to kiss Jasmine. How could I have forgotten? That night at the ridge. I suppose it just got lost amongst all the Hana stuff. Would I have made a move if I hadn’t realised where we were? What would she have done? Pushed me away, probably. Laughed at me. This isn’t happening!
‘All right?’ someone grunts behind us. We stop. It’s Owen. Great. Exactly who I want to see right now.
‘Hi!’ Jasmine says, with a dazzling smile.
‘Where you going?’
Jasmine hesitates. ‘I’m just walking Megan home.’
He puts his hand on her hip. On her hip! Ergh. ‘You want a revision break?’ he growls softly.
I shudder. I assume it won’t be their first ‘revision break’.
Jasmine is lost in Owen. It’s like she’s forgotten I’m even here. ‘OK,’ she breathes.
She wrenches herself away to look at me. ‘You’ll be all right?’ She tries to make it sound like a question, though we both know it’s more of a statement.
I nod, then turn and stride away. I can’t believe her! One minute she’s all worried about me, then she dumps me the second someone more interesting comes along. She’s just like Hana.
Jasmine texts me later to ask if I got back OK. I ignore her. I need some space. I can’t cope with this and exams. It’s too much.
I lie in bed, but my body’s humming with restless energy. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep. By eleven, I’ve had enough. I get up, poke my head around Mum’s door to check she’s asleep, then sneak out.
I’ve done this a couple of times before. Just wandered around the village at night. I like that there aren’t many people around. I don’t know where I’m going, but that’s OK. I don’t need to know.
I end up at Jasmine’s house. How did that happen? I pick at some flaky paint on her fence, wondering what I’m doing. I’m still angry with her for ditching me, but I really want to see her. Should I text, tell her I’m outside? No. That’s too weird. Who just turns up on their friend’s doorstep in the middle of the night? I wind a strand of hair around my finger, tighter and tighter, cutting off the circulation. Was Hana right about me being clingy? I should go.
I head home, my footsteps heavy.
I’m groggy and grumpy the next morning. I stare at a crack in the ceiling, trying to sort through my thoughts, but I’m not getting very far. Then Jasmine texts:
Megan, I got another note. Can you come round? Xxx
Why did this have to happen now? What do I do? I can’t just abandon her. Well, I could. She abandoned me yesterday. No, that’s cruel.
Another text arrives:
I’m freaking out. I need you! Xxx
I fling back my duvet and rush to find some clothes.
As I cycle to Jasmine’s, I stress about how I’m going to act around her. Everything’s changed. I don’t want to be all awkward. I just wish I had more time to think this through!
As soon as Jasmine answers the door, I’m blushing and making even less eye contact than usual. Thank God I can’t speak, or I’d be stammering and gibbering like an idiot.
Jasmine doesn’t seem to notice, though. She drags me up to her room, where the note is lying on her bed. ‘Someone pushed it through the front door!’ she whispers. ‘What if Mum or Dad had read it?’
I take a look.
YOU DISGUST ME. YOU DON’T DESERVE ANY FRIENDS.
This is sick! What kind of twisted, messed-up person would do this? I grab a pen and scribble all over the words, again and again, digging into the paper until it starts to tear. When I look up, Jasmine is watching me, wide-eyed. I breathe heavily through my nose, try to reign myself in before I completely lose it.
‘What do we do?’ she whimpers.
I fetch my notepad and write: I don’t know. I’m sorry.
‘If I tell Mum, she’ll want to take me away again. She’ll cancel my sixth-form place. I want to stay, Megan!’
I stare at Jasmine in horror. No! You can’t leave. Please!
Jasmine and I spend the rest of half-term revising together. She’s pretty jumpy, and I can tell she’s not sleeping well. She’s definitely struggling to focus. I try to help, but I’m really worried about how she’s going to manage with exams.
Although I’m trying to be a good friend, I make an effort to not stare at her too much, not get too close or touch her unless I need to. Little things that used to mean nothing, like holding her hand, mean everything now. Whatever this is, Jasmine can’t ever find out how I feel. There’s no going back from something like that. It would ruin our friendship.
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