à la Cara. ‘Fine.’
Alice’s dad shifts from foot to foot, like he needs the loo. He should have gone before, she thinks.
‘Can I sit down?’ he asks, indicating to the edge of the bed.
She shrugs again. Maybe if she acts like Cara, Cara will somehow be in the room with them.
He sits down. He doesn’t seem to quite know how to sit. He tries with both feet on the floor at first then he swivels round so that he’s facing her and puts his legs sideways on the bed. It feels like the facts of life talk all over again. Except they both came in for that. Embarrassing.
‘Your mum and I are a bit worried about you, sweetheart. About how you’re dealing with the Cara situation.’
‘I’m fine,’ she says. Because how do you explain to someone like him what it’s like not to have your best friend with you? She bets he’s never had a best friend. Or even a friend. Not like her and Cara.
‘Are you? Really? Sweetheart?’ he gives her a long hard look in the eyes and puts one hand on her knee.
She flinches and pulls away. Because she remembers what Cara said about that initial conversation in the car. That Cara knew from then on that knee-touching meant things were going to get bad.
‘Sweetheart?’ he asks again.
‘Dad, I’m fine. Honestly.’
He gives her another long look. Maybe he needs glasses, if he can’t see her properly without. All old people have glasses, right?
‘OK, sweetheart. But if you ever need to talk, you know where we are, right?’
She nods. Of course she knows. And of course, night after night, when she has her pyjamas on, she longs to go and curl up on the sofa with them, or on their bed, like when she was little, and tell them everything. But she can’t. Because they’ll tell Cara’s mum. If anyone ever sees her again. It was different telling Mr Belvoir; he won’t tell anyone. He said so. If Alice’s mum told Cara’s mum, she’d be sad and angry at Cara for always. And Alice will have betrayed Cara yet again. ‘Cara, why did you have to be so secretive?’ she asks her absent friend. ‘Why couldn’t you just have gone to your mum? Why did you have to put me in this position?’
Just before he leaves, Alice’s dad turns to face her. ‘You know you couldn’t have stopped it, right?’
Alice stares at him a moment. Then she nods because it is expected.
But when her dad goes back downstairs, Alice curls up on her bed, legs drawn up to her chest. Only her sobs break the silence of the room.
Chapter 22
The supper tray, that’s what this will be, this turn in the lock. The door’s opening now. Our first encounter since he closed the door on Cara. Since he knew I knew she was here. And our first real exchange since I kissed him then pushed him away.
His eyes. I look at them first. There’s nothing in them for me. I can’t read them. I could say angry, I could say pleading. But they’re just eyes. Staring at mine as intently as I stare at his.
‘I got you a cupcake,’ he says.
I look at the tray.
And yes, there it is. The cupcake.
What fresh game is this?
It’s plainly shop-bought, the cupcake. Featuring a blue colour in its icing that does not exist in nature. But what does it mean? Is he trying to show me he researched me before he brought me here? My cake business. He must have seen that picture of me and Cara. Is he trying to endear himself to me, trying again to make me want him?
I shrug at the tray. He looks hurt; that emotion I can read. He would hurt more if I let rip fully. If I tore up the cupcake and threw it at him. If I shoved it into his mouth and kept it there so that he couldn’t breathe, like I can’t breathe without Cara.
But there’s a bigger picture now. There’s a plan. So I can’t throw the cupcake at him. I may even eat it, when he’s gone. I can’t worry about whatever crazy rationale he’s working to; I’m working to a deadline.
‘What time is it?’ I ask. Because that’s what I told Cara I’d do. Ask the time so I can
Alice’s dad shifts from foot to foot, like he needs the loo. He should have gone before, she thinks.
‘Can I sit down?’ he asks, indicating to the edge of the bed.
She shrugs again. Maybe if she acts like Cara, Cara will somehow be in the room with them.
He sits down. He doesn’t seem to quite know how to sit. He tries with both feet on the floor at first then he swivels round so that he’s facing her and puts his legs sideways on the bed. It feels like the facts of life talk all over again. Except they both came in for that. Embarrassing.
‘Your mum and I are a bit worried about you, sweetheart. About how you’re dealing with the Cara situation.’
‘I’m fine,’ she says. Because how do you explain to someone like him what it’s like not to have your best friend with you? She bets he’s never had a best friend. Or even a friend. Not like her and Cara.
‘Are you? Really? Sweetheart?’ he gives her a long hard look in the eyes and puts one hand on her knee.
She flinches and pulls away. Because she remembers what Cara said about that initial conversation in the car. That Cara knew from then on that knee-touching meant things were going to get bad.
‘Sweetheart?’ he asks again.
‘Dad, I’m fine. Honestly.’
He gives her another long look. Maybe he needs glasses, if he can’t see her properly without. All old people have glasses, right?
‘OK, sweetheart. But if you ever need to talk, you know where we are, right?’
She nods. Of course she knows. And of course, night after night, when she has her pyjamas on, she longs to go and curl up on the sofa with them, or on their bed, like when she was little, and tell them everything. But she can’t. Because they’ll tell Cara’s mum. If anyone ever sees her again. It was different telling Mr Belvoir; he won’t tell anyone. He said so. If Alice’s mum told Cara’s mum, she’d be sad and angry at Cara for always. And Alice will have betrayed Cara yet again. ‘Cara, why did you have to be so secretive?’ she asks her absent friend. ‘Why couldn’t you just have gone to your mum? Why did you have to put me in this position?’
Just before he leaves, Alice’s dad turns to face her. ‘You know you couldn’t have stopped it, right?’
Alice stares at him a moment. Then she nods because it is expected.
But when her dad goes back downstairs, Alice curls up on her bed, legs drawn up to her chest. Only her sobs break the silence of the room.
Chapter 22
The supper tray, that’s what this will be, this turn in the lock. The door’s opening now. Our first encounter since he closed the door on Cara. Since he knew I knew she was here. And our first real exchange since I kissed him then pushed him away.
His eyes. I look at them first. There’s nothing in them for me. I can’t read them. I could say angry, I could say pleading. But they’re just eyes. Staring at mine as intently as I stare at his.
‘I got you a cupcake,’ he says.
I look at the tray.
And yes, there it is. The cupcake.
What fresh game is this?
It’s plainly shop-bought, the cupcake. Featuring a blue colour in its icing that does not exist in nature. But what does it mean? Is he trying to show me he researched me before he brought me here? My cake business. He must have seen that picture of me and Cara. Is he trying to endear himself to me, trying again to make me want him?
I shrug at the tray. He looks hurt; that emotion I can read. He would hurt more if I let rip fully. If I tore up the cupcake and threw it at him. If I shoved it into his mouth and kept it there so that he couldn’t breathe, like I can’t breathe without Cara.
But there’s a bigger picture now. There’s a plan. So I can’t throw the cupcake at him. I may even eat it, when he’s gone. I can’t worry about whatever crazy rationale he’s working to; I’m working to a deadline.
‘What time is it?’ I ask. Because that’s what I told Cara I’d do. Ask the time so I can
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