you’re completely right. I don’t want you to visit because no blokes will come near me because they think I’m attached. And all the really annoying girls want to be my friend because they think they’ve got a chance with you. I don’t need that nonsense, to be honest.” I added a laugh, hollow and pitiful, but necessary.
Please give me space
, I was subliminally begging him.
Please let me go away and have the chance to get over this.
The bulge of his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed hard, and he pressed his lips together as he nodded.
“I’ll be home for summer,” I said. “That’ll come around in no time.”
“But it’s Easter in a few weeks,” he protested.
“We’re thinking of staying up there, a group of us. Someone’s got a houseshare that will be free over the holidays. We’re going to move in. It’ll be a laugh.” For a moment I thought he might ask if he could come, so I added, “But room will be tight. I’ll see you during the summer, all right?”
“Look—” he began.
“All right?” I insisted.
He pressed his lips together again; they whitened under thepressure, his eyes narrowing. It wasn’t all right. Slowly, he shook his head, once, twice, three times. “All right,” he eventually said.
I ruffled the sides of his head. “Good dog,” I said. “There’s a good Mal. There’s a good Mal.”
“Ah, gerroff,” he said, brushing my hands away. “One of these days I will actually bite you, and then you’ll have to go for a rabies injection. Then you’ll be sorry.”
“But then they’d have to lock you up so you’d be more sorry.”
Unexpectedly, because we’d already hugged, he scooped me into his arms, lifted me off my feet. “I miss you,” he whispered, soft as an angel’s sigh. “I miss you so much it hurts.”
So why don’t you love me?
I asked inside.
Why don’t you love me?
“Any more, for any more?” shouted the coach driver, resting his foot on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to the coach. He was shouting at me, I realized; he was glaring his impatience right at me. I glanced up at the coach: every window seat seemed to be taken, no one else was getting ready to board. Everyone else was ready to go. Except me, of course.
“Oh, yes, me!” I called.
“I knew that,” he mumbled loudly.
I spun back to Mal. “I’ll see you in the summer,” I said, then hurried toward the coach driver. Mal raised his right hand, the one that had slid below the waist of my pajama trousers three weeks ago, but he didn’t wave when I paused to smile at him at the top of the steps.
The next time we saw each other, everything would be different, I decided. I wouldn’t be a virgin, I was determined about that. I would find someone to take that first bite with. They didn’t have to be special, that special person didn’t want me, didn’t love me, and no one would ever live up to him, so someone nice enough would have to do.
I would make more friends, now that I needed more people in my life because I wouldn’t be able to run back to London on a whim any longer.
Most importantly, the next time I saw Mal again, I wouldn’t be in love with him anymore. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but I knew if I still wanted him to be in my life, if our friendship was going to survive this, then more than anything I had to make that true. Or hide it so well it would be as if it had never existed.
One time, I found a note Leo wrote. I don’t know why he wrote it, but it had made me sit down on his bed in shock and read it over and over.
i hav too dads. one is a spy and livs at my huse. the uver one isnt ded. i dont no where he livs. mum lovs my to dads. she lovs me. by Leo.
He must have written it a while ago because his spelling is so much better now, but I couldn’t work out how he knew so much. He’s always known that Keith isn’t his “real” dad, even though he chose to call him Dad straightaway. I hadn’t guessed he gave
Please give me space
, I was subliminally begging him.
Please let me go away and have the chance to get over this.
The bulge of his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed hard, and he pressed his lips together as he nodded.
“I’ll be home for summer,” I said. “That’ll come around in no time.”
“But it’s Easter in a few weeks,” he protested.
“We’re thinking of staying up there, a group of us. Someone’s got a houseshare that will be free over the holidays. We’re going to move in. It’ll be a laugh.” For a moment I thought he might ask if he could come, so I added, “But room will be tight. I’ll see you during the summer, all right?”
“Look—” he began.
“All right?” I insisted.
He pressed his lips together again; they whitened under thepressure, his eyes narrowing. It wasn’t all right. Slowly, he shook his head, once, twice, three times. “All right,” he eventually said.
I ruffled the sides of his head. “Good dog,” I said. “There’s a good Mal. There’s a good Mal.”
“Ah, gerroff,” he said, brushing my hands away. “One of these days I will actually bite you, and then you’ll have to go for a rabies injection. Then you’ll be sorry.”
“But then they’d have to lock you up so you’d be more sorry.”
Unexpectedly, because we’d already hugged, he scooped me into his arms, lifted me off my feet. “I miss you,” he whispered, soft as an angel’s sigh. “I miss you so much it hurts.”
So why don’t you love me?
I asked inside.
Why don’t you love me?
“Any more, for any more?” shouted the coach driver, resting his foot on the bottom step of the stairs leading up to the coach. He was shouting at me, I realized; he was glaring his impatience right at me. I glanced up at the coach: every window seat seemed to be taken, no one else was getting ready to board. Everyone else was ready to go. Except me, of course.
“Oh, yes, me!” I called.
“I knew that,” he mumbled loudly.
I spun back to Mal. “I’ll see you in the summer,” I said, then hurried toward the coach driver. Mal raised his right hand, the one that had slid below the waist of my pajama trousers three weeks ago, but he didn’t wave when I paused to smile at him at the top of the steps.
The next time we saw each other, everything would be different, I decided. I wouldn’t be a virgin, I was determined about that. I would find someone to take that first bite with. They didn’t have to be special, that special person didn’t want me, didn’t love me, and no one would ever live up to him, so someone nice enough would have to do.
I would make more friends, now that I needed more people in my life because I wouldn’t be able to run back to London on a whim any longer.
Most importantly, the next time I saw Mal again, I wouldn’t be in love with him anymore. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but I knew if I still wanted him to be in my life, if our friendship was going to survive this, then more than anything I had to make that true. Or hide it so well it would be as if it had never existed.
One time, I found a note Leo wrote. I don’t know why he wrote it, but it had made me sit down on his bed in shock and read it over and over.
i hav too dads. one is a spy and livs at my huse. the uver one isnt ded. i dont no where he livs. mum lovs my to dads. she lovs me. by Leo.
He must have written it a while ago because his spelling is so much better now, but I couldn’t work out how he knew so much. He’s always known that Keith isn’t his “real” dad, even though he chose to call him Dad straightaway. I hadn’t guessed he gave
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