‘Take it. It’s yours.’
LIAM
‘Howrya, Mrs Rutherford,’ I say, slinging my stuff into the boot before hopping around into the passenger seat, grateful to be out of the biting cold air and into her lovely, warm car.
She smiles softly. ‘It’s Eliza, please.’ I run my hands roughly down my thighs, pretending to rub away some dirt that’s not there. ‘You look just like your picture,’ she adds, in a slow, hypnotic voice that might be even posher than Emerald’s.
It doesn’t feel right to look at her too long, but I don’t want to seem rude so I give her a stupid-looking grin back. It’s mad, ’cause her face is so familiar but then not. It was only a glance but it was enough to catch the same quick eyes, the scaffold of cheekbones and delicately pointed nose I know so well. I turn further around to stare at the airport lights disappearing into the traffic behind us. Good Jesus, what am I doing here?
We hit a huge roundabout and take the first exit, then she does a right off the main road, and then, half a mile later, she nips right again and suddenly we’re lost in a knot of never-ending country lanes. Endless hedgerows slink past us, almost tickling the car on either side. I don’t know why each of these points feels important, but they do. I don’t know how she knows where she’s going. There are no signposts anywhere.
Neither of us speaks as we roll down a steep, narrow hill for miles and miles but for some reason the silence isn’t awkward. After everything Em confided in me about her mum, I thought I’d have a head start, but from the way Eliza looks at me, I reckon she’s got the full skinny on me too. Classical music is playing and she breathes in sync with the strings, like she’s forgotten I’m here. Despite everything I’m feeling, it’s almost relaxing. Still, I can’t stop my right leg from bounding up and down.
‘It was really sound of you to pick me up.’ I kind of whisper it so as not to disturb her concentration.
I catch her eyes looking across at me and I immediately sit straighter. ‘It’s the least I could do, Liam.’ The way invisible threads between her eyes and mouth inform each other, even the way she moves her hands on and off the wheel, it’s like Emerald flows through her. She takes a drink from the large coffee cup between us. ‘Besides, I love driving now. Used to hate it, but it’s funny how things can change,’ she says, as warm breath smokes from her mouth.
Soft, icy flakes dapple the windscreen making everything even more dreamlike. It’s not long before a veil of snow covers my side and the view is lost entirely, but soon a huge wiper swoops across the white-out, revealing yet another vast patchwork of hills all around. I never imagined England would be this still and beautiful.
‘How’ve you enjoyed your first term at Uni? Em says you’re studying music.’
‘Yeah, but it’s more technology and production than actual music. There aren’t many instruments, like. It’s kind of industry focused.’
‘You mean you might get a job at the end of it?’
‘I better,’ I say. ‘I’ve promised my da.’
‘Well, good for you,’ she says, tucking her hair behind her ear as she laughs. ‘Is music something you’ve always wanted to do?’
I nod. ‘I’d never be doing it if it wasn’t for Em though. It was her that pushed me.’
Eliza’s huge eyes widen. ‘How did she manage that?’
Maybe it’s her honeyed voice or the fact I’m melting into the soft leather beneath me, but I’m opening my gob again, blabbing away. ‘Ah, one night, we were talking about stuff and she just came out with it. Said I was afraid. No one had said that to me before.’ Eliza is staring at me but for some reason this just makes even more words spill out. ‘At the time I was raging, but only because she was right. Sorry,’ I say, finally getting a grip of myself. ‘That probably sounds a bit stupid.’
‘Not at all,’ she sighs. ‘Sounds like you guys were really ready to meet.’ She takes a long look at me now, communicating something beyond what her mouth has just said. Then her eyes flick back to the road.
When the pupil is ready the teacher will come. I say it to myself but the car slows at the top of the bridge, and each of my words come out so much louder than I intended. Like when you’ve been singing along to the radio and the music suddenly stops.
Eliza spins around. ‘What was that?’
‘Something Em said to me last summer. It didn’t make sense then, but it does now.’ I stop there because we have. The car is completely still now. I realise Eliza is nodding at me, which only compels me to keep talking. ‘I want to show her I’m ready. That I’m trying, you know, to push myself. Ah, it’s hard to explain, but –’
Eliza places her hand over her mouth and breathes heavily before turning back around to me. ‘You explain it perfectly, Liam,’ she says slowly. I look at her full-on for the first time. ‘You know, I’m still trying too,’ she says, sniffling. ‘I was a difficult pupil …’ She stops there and begins tapping her hand on my right knee. ‘But I’m really trying to be a better teacher,’ she adds.
We drive on silently through the dark until we eventually arrive at a set of ancient gates, where a sign reads HOLLYFIELD SCHOOL FOR GIRLS. DAY AND BOARDING. VISITOR’S ENTRANCE. We follow a winding, tree-lined road and in the distance I see a grand house lit up at the end of the drive.
The car has steamed up and I need to see better so I crack a window to let in some air. Gravel crunches loudly under the wheels as we reach the end of the drive. Eliza pulls into a car park space in a small courtyard opposite a large set of doors that sit at the top of a fancy-looking entrance. A couple of girls, younger than Em, file out of the front steps, armed with bags and bundle into waiting cars.
I follow Eliza’s eyes through the windscreen. ‘Do you know which room is hers? Can you see it from here?’
We both peer out and Eliza jabs her finger on the foggy glass in front of me towards the left of the building. ‘That one – three floors up. You want me to go and get her?’
I reach for the door handle. ‘You’re all right. I just need to grab something from the boot.’
‘But you’re shaking, Liam. You’ll need a warmer –’
‘Thanks, but I’m not cold.’
EMERALD
Kitty bursts into the room, her enormous hood covered in tiny white flakes. ‘Your mum’s here, Em. Her car has just pulled up outside.’
‘Is it snowing?’ we all cry, crawling over beds and each other to reach the large window that spans the length of our room. I pull back the curtains and look out over the school grounds. It’s almost fully dark but the front field is covered in a delicate dusting of white. The lamplight illuminates gazillions of snowflakes in its glare and everything from the old granite gates and beyond is bestowed with a strange and majestic stillness.
‘Snow is like the best make-up – everything looks so much better with it on,’ says Kitty with alarming conviction, pulling out her phone to take a photo.
I quickly spot the lights of Mum’s old silver Volvo parked on the front drive outside. It’s taken a while to get used to her doing what she actually said she’d do. I grab my duffel bag from under my bed and start shoving the last unnecessary shoes inside. Kit, meanwhile, joins Bryony in pulling every last item of clothing from our wardrobe on to the floor.
Kitty picks up Iggy’s fencing foil and darts towards me. ‘Sure I can’t change your mind about coming out tonight? C’mon, it’ll be fun.’
I shake my head and push Kitty backwards on to Iggy’s bed. ‘Mum’s asked me to come home. Dad gets out next week so it’s kind of an odd time.’
Bryony busies herself re-tying the laces of her high-tops, which I see aren’t even undone. Talk of my incarcerated father makes her uncomfortable. ‘It’s been hard for Mum lately,’ I add.
Nobody says anything, but I feel Kit’s arm around me. She gives me a quick squeeze but soon she’s up, prancing around the room and we’re all whistling as she hikes the waistband of some gypsy skirt up over her boobs and starts some crazy dance.
Suddenly Bryony stops zipping up my yellow ball dress in front of the mirror and flashes her hand dramatically mid-air. ‘Sshh …’ she shouts. ‘Do you hear that?’
‘What?’ asks Kit, irritated her act has been interrupted.
Bryony cocks her ear towards the window. ‘It’s coming from –’ She stops, shuffles towards the window, wiping the glass with her sleeve. ‘Ohmygod!’ She leans back and rubs at it again, furiously, pushing her face right up against it now. ‘Ohmygod. Oh. My. God.’
‘What is it?’ asks Kit, shoving past. Me and Iggy climb over the discarded clothes heap and topple over the beds to join them. Next thing we’re all lined-up along the heavy mullion windows, all of which have steamed up with the heat of our breath. Bryony and Kit are screeching so much I can’t hear a thing. Opening the windows this high up is a number one school no-no, up there with smoking. You just don’t do it, or if you do, you make bloody sure you’re not caught. Still, I yank down the catch on the old glass pane to a blast of freezing air. It’s only then I hear a familiar guitar riff and I’m hit by his voice, all rough and smooth and extraordinary, rising up from the ground, three floors below, walloping me clean in the heart.
‘I wish you could see you the way I do,
Your all-knowing look cuts right through …’
Everything behind, above and below me, including Mum, who I see is standing by her car (and even from this distance I can tell might be crying) – everyone around me falls away. All I can see is Liam, his accidental coolness, standing outside my school – my school – with his guitar slung over his shoulder and wearing no coat in December. He’s shivering ... staring straight ahead, singing to me.
‘You see the truth when I’ve no clue …’
‘Liam!’ I shout out into the darkness. He stops playing and I watch his eyes scan the building for my voice. Finally his heart-stopping stare hits the glass and our eyes lock. He opens his mouth to sing again, his face exploding into the most insane, nervous smile.
‘I just fall deeper and deeper into you.’
There’s a thud as Bryony crashes backwards on to the bed, but I don’t even look. I’m watching Liam set his guitar down gently on the ground outside, not looking at anyone but me.
I push off the window and topple over Bryony’s various limbs to pull on my boots. I fly through the senior girls’ dorm like I’m running through air. I reach the top of the stairs and charge down the three ancient wooden flights before swinging around the enormous Christmas tree twinkling by the fire. As I burst out into the air, tiny flecks of delicious cold snow hit my skin and I tear across the gravel and into his arms.
Clasping his strong, cold hands on either side of my face, he examines it just like he did the night of our first date on the beach in Portstrand, his icy fingertips feeling every part of it, like it really is, to him, some kind of treasure.
‘You dared me to dream and I did,’ he says quietly, his blue eyes burning into mine so much they close.
The heat of his mouth is a surprise. His soft, slow kisses are like warm waves, surging into every part of me. There, in the snow and the biting December wind, my tongue finds saltwater, cocoa, woodsmoke and the delicious, unmistakeable taste of last summer.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
No Filter would never have made it without the unique magic and infectious passion of my agent, Marianne Gunn O’Connor. Huge, heartfelt thanks for believing in me.
Rebecca McNally, Publishing Director of Children’s Books at Bloomsbury, I am indebted to your support. Thank you for welcoming me into the Bloomsbury family. I’m so grateful you took a chance on me. To Hannah Sandford, Commissioning Editor extraordinaire, for being so lovely, for saying so many sensible things so nicely and for simply making this book better. Your notes are a masterclass. To Helen Vick and Lizz Skelly for their guidance and being marvellously good at their jobs.
Author Brian Keaney read this book in its infancy. Thank you for your honesty and for pulling no punches in telling me just how atrocious my grammar was. Your advice was invaluable. To my writer friends John Moloney, Deborah Bee and Alice Smellie for your early enthusiasm and well chosen words of encouragement.
I was lucky enough to be young in the beautiful seaside village of Portmarnock. The view from the Shelters there is forever etched into my heart. Special thanks to all the Liams I’ve loved for showing me how kind young men can be. Massive shout-out to all the incredible women in my life on either side of the Irish Sea: you know who you are. I cherish your constant support and madness.
For my dear dad, Paddy, who read this book before he died last year and was generous enough to say he liked it. Thank you for reading me stories. I miss you every day. My wonderful mum, Maura – thank you for being the finest human I know and to Niamh for being a great big sister. To my children, Alfie and Mabel, for your delicious mischief and for always making me laugh. And to our dog, Mildred, without whose steadfast affection I’d have finished this book a whole lot sooner. And finally, to my husband, Alan, without whom this would all still be a dream. I love you.
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Oxford, New York, New Delhi and Sydney
First published in Great Britain in July 2017 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
www.bloomsbury.com
BLOOMSBURY is a registered trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Copyright © Orlagh Collins 2017
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying
or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 4088 8451 5
EPUB ISBN 978 1 4088 8450 8
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