has now forgotten.
His ability to remain calm is impressive. Training his eyes on the pavement in front of him, keeping his mind fixed on the one thing he feels compelled to do. Walk. Where, he has no idea. It is as if beyond that one goal he cannot think; as if the safety valve in his brain is protecting him from his own visceral thoughts, forcing him to stay rooted in the here and now.
Exhausted, abruptly unable to go any further, he stops and sits down on a low wall flanking the park, overcome by the wave of heat and noise. His phone vibrates in his pocket, startling the hell out of him. Lola’s name flashes up on the screen and his first thought is to let it go to voicemail. He doesn’t want to see her right now; he can’t see her right now. But guilt forces him to answer the phone.
She is talking very fast. She sounds excited about something. She is going on about the competition, his winning dive, watching it on TV yesterday morning with Hugo and Isabel. She is just leaving school and wants him to meet her in Greystone Park. He tells her he can’t right now; he is busy. But when she asks what he’s doing, he can only think of saying that he’s shopping in the high street. She asks him where, gabbles something about Hugo and Isabel, and then hangs up. He finds himself staring down at the phone in his hand in dull confusion, feeling trapped. He can’t possibly see her right now – she sounded so alive, so animated. He doesn’t recognize his own girlfriend. He doesn’t even recognize himself.
Against the violent brightness of the sun, three figures clamber out of a cab and leap into the oncoming traffic, forcing a double-decker bus to a sudden, tyre-screeching halt. Dodging vehicles and laughing, they tumble across the road towards him. He gets up, steps back and tries to arrange his face into a normal expression as they come charging, Lola’s arms circling his neck, her hair suddenly in his face, suffocating. She is warm and soft and sweet-smelling, yet he finds himself fighting the urge to push her away. She and Isabel are both squealing about something, their shouts and whoops shattering the air. Hugo grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a violent shake, and Mathéo quickly steps back, making a concerted effort to smile and breathe. Smile and breathe. That’s all he has to do for now. They are congratulating him on the diving competition. Overwhelmed and disoriented, he catches something about a gold medal, the Olympics, some stuff on the Internet, his picture in the morning paper.
‘I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t sleep!’ Lola is yelling in his ear, her face glowing, eyes wide with elation. ‘I thought I was going to go crazy, just lying in bed and staring at the clock and counting down the minutes and—’
‘Me too, me too!’ Isabel thumps his arm. ‘My whole family got together to watch you on TV—’
‘And she kept texting me every five minutes!’ Hugo puts in with an exaggerated sigh. ‘And everyone from school was tweeting about it at the same time—’
‘We tried and tried to call you after the interviews!’ Isabel adds in outrage. ‘And then most of last night! But your phone just kept going to voicemail!’
‘We – we went out to celebrate,’ Mathéo manages quickly with a dismissive laugh. ‘The pub was deafening!’
‘When did you get back?’
‘You said you were going to come home last night!’
‘We were waiting with leftover booze from the Leavers’ Ball to congratulate you!’
‘How come you weren’t at school today?’
Their voices merge and blur into one histrionic wave, and they all appear completely high on adrenalin, drunk with excitement, their chatter leaping in all directions as they talk over one another rapid-fire, full of so much energy he almost expects them to combust.
‘What happened to your face?’ Lola startles him for a moment, her hand on his cheek. ‘You’ve got the beginning of a massive bruise on your forehead. And is that
His ability to remain calm is impressive. Training his eyes on the pavement in front of him, keeping his mind fixed on the one thing he feels compelled to do. Walk. Where, he has no idea. It is as if beyond that one goal he cannot think; as if the safety valve in his brain is protecting him from his own visceral thoughts, forcing him to stay rooted in the here and now.
Exhausted, abruptly unable to go any further, he stops and sits down on a low wall flanking the park, overcome by the wave of heat and noise. His phone vibrates in his pocket, startling the hell out of him. Lola’s name flashes up on the screen and his first thought is to let it go to voicemail. He doesn’t want to see her right now; he can’t see her right now. But guilt forces him to answer the phone.
She is talking very fast. She sounds excited about something. She is going on about the competition, his winning dive, watching it on TV yesterday morning with Hugo and Isabel. She is just leaving school and wants him to meet her in Greystone Park. He tells her he can’t right now; he is busy. But when she asks what he’s doing, he can only think of saying that he’s shopping in the high street. She asks him where, gabbles something about Hugo and Isabel, and then hangs up. He finds himself staring down at the phone in his hand in dull confusion, feeling trapped. He can’t possibly see her right now – she sounded so alive, so animated. He doesn’t recognize his own girlfriend. He doesn’t even recognize himself.
Against the violent brightness of the sun, three figures clamber out of a cab and leap into the oncoming traffic, forcing a double-decker bus to a sudden, tyre-screeching halt. Dodging vehicles and laughing, they tumble across the road towards him. He gets up, steps back and tries to arrange his face into a normal expression as they come charging, Lola’s arms circling his neck, her hair suddenly in his face, suffocating. She is warm and soft and sweet-smelling, yet he finds himself fighting the urge to push her away. She and Isabel are both squealing about something, their shouts and whoops shattering the air. Hugo grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a violent shake, and Mathéo quickly steps back, making a concerted effort to smile and breathe. Smile and breathe. That’s all he has to do for now. They are congratulating him on the diving competition. Overwhelmed and disoriented, he catches something about a gold medal, the Olympics, some stuff on the Internet, his picture in the morning paper.
‘I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t sleep!’ Lola is yelling in his ear, her face glowing, eyes wide with elation. ‘I thought I was going to go crazy, just lying in bed and staring at the clock and counting down the minutes and—’
‘Me too, me too!’ Isabel thumps his arm. ‘My whole family got together to watch you on TV—’
‘And she kept texting me every five minutes!’ Hugo puts in with an exaggerated sigh. ‘And everyone from school was tweeting about it at the same time—’
‘We tried and tried to call you after the interviews!’ Isabel adds in outrage. ‘And then most of last night! But your phone just kept going to voicemail!’
‘We – we went out to celebrate,’ Mathéo manages quickly with a dismissive laugh. ‘The pub was deafening!’
‘When did you get back?’
‘You said you were going to come home last night!’
‘We were waiting with leftover booze from the Leavers’ Ball to congratulate you!’
‘How come you weren’t at school today?’
Their voices merge and blur into one histrionic wave, and they all appear completely high on adrenalin, drunk with excitement, their chatter leaping in all directions as they talk over one another rapid-fire, full of so much energy he almost expects them to combust.
‘What happened to your face?’ Lola startles him for a moment, her hand on his cheek. ‘You’ve got the beginning of a massive bruise on your forehead. And is that
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