Casting Shadows (12 page)

There was a murmur of approval round the circle of boys. Sally’s lips tightened slightly. ‘And what about River?’

Flynn looked at me. He sighed. ‘I still think I was right to be angry that River hadn’t told me she knew about Siobhan and—’

‘I promised Siobhan,’ I blurted out, forgetting everyone else in the room. Flynn and I had never really talked about what had happened that day We never really talked about anything
like that. ‘You couldn’t expect me to break a promise.’

Flynn kept his eyes on mine. ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t. I just think you shouldn’t have made the promise in the first place.’

‘But . . .’

‘If I could come in here,’ Sally said briskly. ‘Rather than get bogged down in the ethics of the situation, let’s focus on how else you could have handled it. Flynn, what
else could you have said or done to express your anger that River had kept information from you?’

There was a short pause.

‘I could have just told her I felt angry,’ Flynn said. ‘I could . . . I
should . .
. have said: “River, I understand that you made a promise to Siobhan but
I’m your boyfriend and I don’t want us to have secrets from each other.” I wish I’d said that instead of shouting, because I hate River being upset and scared.’

Another pause. Flynn and I looked at each other. His eyes were bright and open, as vulnerable as I’d ever seen.

‘And how would you feel if Flynn had said that, River?’ Sally asked.

‘Better,’ I said, not taking my eyes off him. ‘Yeah, I would have understood that.’

The rest of the session passed smoothly I didn’t say anything else. I’m not sure Flynn would have done either but Sally drew him into a couple of the discussions that took place
later on. I wasn’t really certain, but it seemed to me that she was trying to get Flynn to help the other boys understand what she was saying. As if they were more likely to listen to him or
something. It was flattering, I guess, and Flynn certainly didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I was amazed by how patient he was throughout the session. Most of the other boys got riled at some
point or just ignored what was said to them. But once we’d had our turn, Flynn stopped looking bored and listened attentively. When he did speak what he said was so perceptive and reasonable
that it took my breath away.

Gemma picked us up and we travelled home in silence. Neither of us wanted to talk about the session in front of her and, like Dad, Gemma was good at sensing that kind of stuff and not pushing
it.

When we got back Leo was in the kitchen, bending over some homework. Flynn threw him an irritated look and said he was going for a walk. He’d started to do that quite a lot, after his
counselling sessions. I’d rather he’d talk to me but I understood he needed a bit of time on his own. And he was never gone for long.

I sat down at the table with a cup of tea, and asked Leo what he was working on.

‘Spanish.’ Leo glanced up from his textbook. ‘Did you know there’s no direct translation for the word “embarrassed”? There’s “verguenza” for
“shame”, or maybe “avergonzado” if you mean, more, “abashed”, maybe. But nothing that properly means “embarrassed”. D’you think that’s
because Spanish people don’t feel embarrassed like we do?’

‘Dunno . . . maybe. It’s interesting.’ I took a sip of tea, grinning to myself at Leo’s earnestness. His blond hair was all ruffled and there was a gigantic ink smudge on
his cheek. He looked like some absent-minded professor.

‘This guy in my Spanish conversation class, today . . .’ Leo went on. He had bent over his exercise book and was writing in tiny, careful lines. ‘. . . he was showing off in
our “show and tell” session, talking about when he went to some big international football match, and he wanted to say he was embarrassed about England losing to some rubbish team but
he didn’t know the word, so he tried to blag it by making one up, which works sometimes with big words in Spanish ’cos they’re often like the English ones. So he said
“estaba embarazada” which actually means “I was pregnant”.’ He chuckled.

I watched him write across the page. Normally I never noticed how Leo looked. But right now, sitting there all unself-conscious and caught up in his work, he looked, well . . . he looked cute.
If only he didn’t get so uptight about things, I was sure he’d find life so much easier. Maybe the first step was coming to terms with being gay . . .

‘How are you?’ I said softly. ‘Have you talked to your dad?’

Leo stopped writing and looked up. His face reddened as he registered what I meant. ‘No.’ He seemed to shrink a little as if all the easy confidence he’d been infused with when
I’d come into the room was seeping out of his body.

‘I’m sorry. I just thought maybe it was hard for you at school and stuff.’

Leo shrugged. ‘It’s okay.’ He looked away.

I started to get up from the table.

‘I haven’t told anyone else what I told you about me,’ he said.

I sat back down, feeling uncomfortable. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Right.’

Leo looked like he was struggling to say something else. He shook his head. I groaned inwardly. Why was it always this heavy with him? I fidgeted in my seat, wanting to get away, but worrying it
might seem rude . . . that maybe he wanted a chance to say more about how he felt about being gay Then Leo leaned forward, across the table.

‘You’ve got something in your hair,’ he said, reaching his hand out towards me.

The door from the garden opened. Leo snatched his hand back as Flynn stomped in. He stared at us sitting at the kitchen table. I looked back at him, my face flushing. Leo stared down at the
table. The atmosphere in the room felt suddenly charged, like an electric current was surging through it.

‘Hi,’ Flynn said. There was a tightness in his voice.

I stood up, feeling guilty, though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

‘I’m going to have a bath,’ I said. Without looking at either Flynn or Leo I left the kitchen and went up to our apartment. Neither Dad nor Gemma were there. I grabbed a towel
and started running a bath.

As I came out into the living area, Flynn appeared in the doorway of the apartment, his fists clenched by his sides.

‘I’m sorry about that stupid counselling session,’ he said in a low, angry voice.

‘It was fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly, it wasn’t that big a deal.’

‘Well, I
hated
it,’ Flynn said. ‘I can’t bear everyone hearing our stuff. I can’t bear thinking how weak it makes me look.’

Weak?
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think that.’

Flynn unclenched his fists. He walked over and took my hand in his. ‘You would tell me if anyone . . . you know . . . if anyone ever tries to . . . with you. I mean, you wouldn’t
not
tell me, just because you think I’d go after them, would you?’

I stared into his eyes. ‘Is this about Leo, downstairs?’

A beat passed. Flynn nodded. ‘Partly I can see how he looks at you. He was doing something just now, wasn’t he?’

I shook my head, wondering if I should break my promise to Leo and tell Flynn his fears were groundless, that Leo was more likely to fancy him than me. ‘He was just getting something out
of my hair.’

Flynn touched my hair himself, letting the strands run through his fingers. ‘There’s nothing
in
your hair, Riv He was just trying to get closer to you.’

I pulled away from him, irritated. ‘No, he wasn’t.’ Again, it was on the tip of my tongue to tell Flynn that Leo thought he was gay. Again, I held back. ‘Leo didn’t
do anything. He’s
never
done anything.’ I walked away, across the room.

Flynn followed me. ‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ he said, reaching out for my shoulder. ‘Forget Leo.’

I turned slowly round to face him.

‘Forget Leo,’ Flynn repeated, his eyes soft gold in the electric light, beseeching. ‘Just promise that you’d tell me if
anyone
has ever come after you.
Please?’ He paused. ‘Has anything ever happened that you
haven’t
told me?’

I stood in front of him, feeling uncertain. Should I tell him about Slug Tongue and James? For a second I seriously considered it. But then, I thought, what was the point? It was all a long time
ago now. Almost seven months. I took a deep breath.

‘I’m not saying no one’s ever tried to talk to me when you weren’t there. But no one’s ever gone any further. Because I don’t want anyone else. And I’ve
always made that clear. So guys have always backed off. Because I love you. Which I do even more after tonight.’

Flynn’s eyes softened. He ran a finger down the inside of my bare arm. I shivered at his touch and pulled him close.

‘I love you too, Riv,’ he said.

We stood, looking into each other’s eyes. I marvelled at the huge feelings that rose inside me when we were together. Not the old, out-of-balance emotions I used to have, back in the days
before we lived together, when Flynn’s temper was an issue and I wasn’t sure how he really felt about me, but something much more pure and intense – and way more powerful.

How was it possible to feel this much for someone? It was like we were really one person.

For a second the thought made me feel terrified. Suppose Flynn took his love away?

‘It’s all about you,’ Flynn whispered. ‘Everything in my life. All about you.’

I smiled. I didn’t need to be scared. Flynn felt just like I did.

I couldn’t imagine anyone or anything ever breaking us up.

Another couple of weeks passed and Flynn and I settled into a comfortable routine. We were both busy and, what with our schoolwork and the chores at the commune, we had very
little spare time. It was October now and the weather grew cooler as the days shortened. Flynn’s eighteenth birthday took place in the middle of the month. Like me, he didn’t want a big
fuss made at college but Gemma and I baked him a cake which everyone shared after dinner. Flynn’s mum sent him a parcel containing gifts from her and his sisters, and I gave him a practical
present that I knew he really wanted – some new football boots.

After dinner, Flynn drew me to one side saying he had something to show me.

‘What is it?’ I asked as we went up to our room. ‘Are you sure you liked the boots?’ I’d been a bit anxious about them all week. They weren’t the most
romantic present.

‘The boots are awesome, Riv,’ Flynn reassured me. ‘Come here.’

He led me over to the chest of drawers, opened the middle drawer where he kept his clothes and drew out a loop of thin leather cord. A tiny blue ‘R’ dangled from the end. It was the
one from the broken chain, that Grace had given me years ago just after we started at Langton.

‘I took it to be mended but it needed a whole new chain so I got this leather thong instead. It totally matches the “R”, look.’ Flynn held the necklace up so I could see
the thread of blue that ran through the black leather. ‘What do you think?’

I nodded. ‘It’s great but . . . but it’s
your
birthday, you shouldn’t be giving me presents.’

Flynn grinned. ‘Who says?’ He offered me the necklace. ‘I think this leather looks awesome.’

I stared at him. ‘Then you should wear it,’ I said. I held up the bracelet he’d given me earlier in the year. ‘You gave me this, I’m giving you that.’

‘Really?’ Flynn’s eyes widened. ‘Excellent.’ He put the leather around his neck then tucked the ‘R’ down his shirt. ‘Now you’ll always be
with me, see?’ he said, making a silly face.

I grinned back. In the distance a firework exploded. There’d been quite a few going off recently late at night, people getting ready for Bonfire Night in a few weeks’ time.

‘Hey, let’s have a party!’ I said, suddenly consumed with excitement. ‘For
both
our birthdays.’

Flynn frowned. ‘What
here?
In the commune?’

‘Yes.’ I nodded eagerly. ‘We can invite everyone from college and all our friends from our old schools.’

‘I don’t have any friends from St Cletus’s,’ Flynn said.

‘What about James?’ I said.

‘Okay but . . .’ Flynn looked out of the window as another distant firework exploded in the sky. ‘Hey, d’you think your dad would let us build a bonfire?’ He looked
excited.

‘For the party? I guess he might,’ I said, confused by why Flynn seemed so thrilled. ‘I was thinking we could have the party in the barn. Dad wants it cleared out anyway, and
there’s loads of room. Maybe we could borrow a sound system or-’

‘That’s a
brilliant
idea.’ Flynn gave me a hug. ‘Let’s go and ask them now.’

We tore downstairs. Dad and Gemma were sipping cups of peppermint tea and charting with Ros and John in the kitchen. It took a few minutes to persuade them that we should have the party. Flynn
was great at batting away all the objections the adults raised: there wouldn’t be any mess or any damage because we’d stay in the barn; we’d move the sheep to the top field and
make sure no one went anywhere near them – or beyond, to the hens and the vegetable patch; and he’d set up a rota of people to guard the bonfire all evening.

‘Please, Dad?’ I asked, squeezing my hands together. ‘I haven’t had a party for years and Flynn’s never had one and it’s his eighteenth.’

Dad fetched the other residents: John’s wife, Julia, the IT guy and Leo’s dad. They had a small conference while Flynn and I waited anxiously outside. After about ten minutes, Dad
emerged to say they’d all agreed, provided we agreed to their ground rules about drink and drugs and to oversee everything in a sensible and responsible way.

Flynn and I were ecstatic. We decided to hold the party at the end of the month, on the last Saturday of half-term. I pointed out to Flynn that this was also the date of our one-year
anniversary. It seemed like a good omen and soon preparations were in full swing. I was in charge of invitations and soon had promises from almost everyone I asked at college and my old school that
they were definitely going to be there. Gemma offered to cook a bit of vegetarian food, while Flynn talked to James about sourcing a sound system. Dad even said we could let our guests bring small
amounts of cider. I grinned, wondering how he expected me to
stop
people bringing alcohol. It struck me that not having lived with me and Stone for so many years, Dad had missed out on a
lot. Cider, indeed. I hoped the party could be outside as much as possible, where he’d be less likely to catch the inevitable flash of vodka bottles or smell the spliff.