Casting Shadows (18 page)

She took me through to the bathroom and sat there while I got in and soaked in the water. When I got out she wrapped me in the bathrobe again and we came into the bedroom. She found me some
pyjamas and I got back into bed.

I knew at once somebody had been in the room while I was having my bath. The chest of drawers top drawer was shut. And my phone was in a different place by the bed. Dad, I was guessing, trying
to work out what had happened.

I picked up my phone. Another text each from Grace and Emmi. Nothing from Flynn. I put it down and crawled under the covers. I felt exhausted. Like it was too much energy to even keep my eyes
open.

I lay curled up again, the mobile in my hand, willing myself to sleep. If I could sleep then more time would pass and maybe when I woke up Flynn would be back, or be on the phone, calling
me.

This time my sleep was disturbed and full of nightmares. I was in a dark house exploring its shadowy corners, the metallic taste of fear in my mouth all the time. I woke feeling more tired than
ever. The sun was still bright, but lower in the sky, sinking down to the horizon. I got out of bed and went to the window. How often had Flynn and I stood here, arms around each other, just
looking out like this.

I suddenly missed him like a part of my own body. I wished I hadn’t had that bath earlier. It had washed away the last time he’d held me and touched me. And it had made the outside
of me clean. Which didn’t match the inside, all loathsome and dirty. I could see that now. Of course Flynn was right to be angry about me kissing James. It was a double betrayal. It was the
same as if he’d kissed Emmi.

I closed my eyes as the thought of Flynn and Emmi filled me with a terrible jealousy that ate at my very soul. But Flynn hadn’t done that. He didn’t want Emmi. He wanted me.

I clung to that thought. He loved me. I was sure he did. Which meant he couldn’t stay away from me. No more than I could stay away from him.

He’s coming back. He’s coming back.

I went back to bed. I took the photograph that Flynn had given me and hugged it to my chest, then I pulled the pillow that Flynn slept on across the bed and rested my head
against it. It smelled of him. A mix of fresh sweat and my hair wax he was always borrowing and his particular smell: male and sharp and clean.

I lay there, hugging the pillow and the picture, until the light faded from the sky and the room went dark.

Gemma brought me a tray of food which I didn’t touch. Then, later, Dad came back. He sat down next to the mattress.

‘I’ve spoken to Grace and to Emmi,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry but I took their numbers from your phone while you were in the bath.’

Whatever.
I shrugged.

‘Anyway,’ Dad went on. ‘They’ve told me what happened last night.’

Oh God.

‘They both wanted to come and see you but I told them it wasn’t a good idea – not just yet.’

I nodded. I couldn’t face either of them.

Dad gave a heavy sigh. ‘And I’ve confronted Leo with what they both told me and he’s told me the truth now so I think I understand what happened last night.’ He paused.
‘Obviously, despite him attacking Leo, we’re all worried about Flynn. He isn’t answering his phone, so I’ve rung around the local hospitals . . .’

My heart lurched.

‘. . . and there’s no sign that he’s been anywhere near them. So I’ve called his mum and told her what’s happened. I’m hoping that if anyone can get through
to him it’s her.’

I lay still. Inside, my stomach was churning. Now all those people knew I’d kissed James. I felt stupid and humiliated.

‘And I called your mum too.’

I covered my face with my hands.

‘River, I had to. She’s terribly worried about you. I persuaded her that she couldn’t do any good coming here tonight but I’m pretty sure she’s going to drive up
tomorrow. And if you don’t eat something or talk to us then I’m going to call a doctor too.’

I turned away. Let him call who he liked. Let anyone who wanted traipse in here. They could come into my room. They could sit at the end of my bed. But they couldn’t reach me.

Gemma came in later with more food, which I also didn’t touch. When she came later to collect the tray I pretended to be asleep.

But I didn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep all night. Flynn’s phone was still not taking voice messages, so I sent text after text . . . ludicrously long ones in which I tried to
explain everything that had happened with James again, in which I told him over and over how much I loved him and how sorry I was that I’d hurt him.

After a while, the texts stopped going through. I rang again, to discover the number had been discontinued. I tried to find Flynn on Facebook but his account had been deleted. I went back to my
phone and sat, staring down at Flynn’s picture on my screensaver.

It felt like my last link with him had been cut. I fingered the heart on the silver chain around my wrist. I was numb, as if my life had been suspended.

I fell asleep at dawn and slept restlessly for a few hours. When I woke up Dad was in my room again.

‘River?’

From the tone of his voice I knew something had happened. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding.

‘Flynn’s mum just called me.’ Dad reached out and took my hand. ‘She’s spoken to Flynn.’

He’s all right. He’s all right.
I felt faint as the relief of it washed over me.

‘But . . .’ Dad hesitated. ‘She doesn’t know where he is. He wouldn’t tell her but he’s definitely not anywhere near here – and he’s not back in
London either. He told her he was okay . . . that he’d found somewhere to stay.’ He hesitated again.

Did he say anything about me?

‘He said that he wasn’t coming back to the commune. He was adamant about it apparently. He didn’t mention you but he’s not coming back to live here, or going back to the
sixth form college.’

I lay still, my face like stone. Inside I was empty. I couldn’t accept what Dad had said. It couldn’t be true.

The doorbell rang.

Dad raised his eyes. ‘That’ll be your mum.’ He left the room.

I lay still, unable to move. I could hear raised voices downstairs. Then a door slamming. Silence.

The shock of what I’d heard ebbed and flowed through me, settling like washed-up rubbish on the shores of my mind.

Flynn wasn’t coming back.

He didn’t want me.

I was on my own
.

As the truth of it sank in, I felt myself disintegrating. I was broken pieces, like the smashed mirror Flynn had replaced with our photo. I was splinters of myself, seeping away from my centre,
sliding into the air around me.

I was nothing without him.

I didn’t even feel afraid anymore. I was nothing definite enough to feel any emotion.

When Mum walked in I was so shut down I was barely even breathing.

She came straight over to the bed and leaned right across me. ‘River?’ she said, her voice all anxious and angry. ‘River? This has to stop now. Please, darling. You’re
worrying everyone to death.’

Not Flynn. He’s not worried. He’s not even here
.

I stared up, into her face. It felt like I couldn’t have moved a muscle if I’d wanted to.

‘Come on, River.’ Mum grabbed my arm and shook it. Her voice rose. ‘Get up. Now. Can’t you see how selfish and stupid this is?’

‘Hey,’ Dad called out from the door.

Mum stood up and turned towards him.

‘This is
your
fault,’ she hissed. ‘You let that criminal boy stay here.
In the same room
, for God’s sake. I hold you entirely responsible for
what’s happened.’

Somewhere, a part of me knew that what she was saying was unfair. I could hear Dad defending himself: calm but steely. And Gemma, anxious and soothing, trying to get them both to stop talking in
front of me. But Mum had lost it.

‘What the hell did you think would happen once the relationship was over? She’s seventeen.
Just
seventeen. She doesn’t have the resources to deal with this.
That’s so typical of you – not thinking through the consequences of your decisions.’

There was a short pause. Then Dad spoke.

‘You’re right. It was a mistake.’ He sighed. ‘But it’s done now and knowing all that doesn’t help River, does it?’

Mum didn’t seem to know what to say to that. A few moments later they all trooped downstairs. Every now and then I could hear arguing voices, then it all went quiet. I got up and went to
the loo. I felt giddy and had to lean against the wall as I walked. I guessed it was from not having eaten since Saturday night. It must be Monday morning now but I still couldn’t face the
idea of food.

When I came back to my room Leo was standing outside. We looked at each other. The swelling around his mouth had gone down but the bruising looked worse – an ugly, dark purple. I tried to
smile at him but my mouth muscles didn’t seem to want to move.

I went inside. He followed me, leaning against the wall as I got into bed and curled up again.

It’s World War Three down there,’ he said. ‘Your mum wants you carted off to the loony bin. Your dad wants to call some counsellor at Gemma’s therapy centre and talk to
her about what to do. And my dad keeps butting in, saying how the most important thing is that I give a statement to the police so that they can issue a warrant for Flynn’s arrest.’

I looked up. Flynn had been arrested before, after he’d attacked his da. He’d been let off with a warning or something then but I imagined the police wouldn’t go so easy on him
a second time.

Leo shot me a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry I had to say it was him who hit me but your dad had guessed anyway from talking to Grace and Emmi. And you don’t need to worry.
I’ve already told my dad a million times I’m not talking to the police.’ He paused. ‘Not because I care about Flynn. But because you were there, which would mean you’d
have to talk to them too. And I can see you don’t want to talk to anyone.’

I kept looking at him. Somehow Leo saying that got through to me, in a way that nobody else’s words so far had. He was telling it like it was, listening to me.

You don’t want to talk to anyone.

He grinned. ‘I actually came up to show you this.’ He pulled a slim, wrapped package out of his pocket. ‘I found it in the barn. Your dad and I were taking the sound system
apart, ready for James’s brother to pick up. I thought I’d bring this up to see if you knew who left it there. Looks like a book.’

He held the package out to me. I sat up, staring at it.

It
was
a book. It was the book of poems I’d bought Flynn as an anniversary present.
Rapture,
a collection of love poems by Carol Ann Duffy. They were on Flynn’s
syllabus for next term but that, of course, wasn’t the only reason I’d decided to give them to him.

Is it yours?’ Leo asked.

I nodded.

‘A present for someone?’

I looked at him.

‘Him?’

I nodded again.

Leo’s face hardened. ‘Do you mind if I open it?’

I blinked. I did mind. And, then again, I didn’t. What did it matter if Leo knew what I’d been planning on giving Flynn? What did anything matter now?

I shrugged, then lay back and closed my eyes.

Across the room I could hear the sound of tearing paper. Then Leo whistled. ‘Man, this is ace. I love her stuff.’

The sound of pages turning. Silence. Then footsteps across the room, towards me. The floorboards creaked. I could just picture Leo walking towards the bed. I felt his weight pressing down on one
side of the mattress, then the air breeze past my face as he laid the book on the pillow beside me.

‘Well, if it’s yours I’ll leave it here.’

I opened my eyes. Leo was staring down at the poems. He started to move away but I took his hand and placed it onto the book.

He glanced at me. ‘You want me to have it?’

I shook my head.

‘You want me to read the poems out to you?’

I nodded.

Leo considered me for a moment. Then he picked up the book. ‘Okay.’

He started at the beginning and read the first poem, ‘You’. It was this poem that had caught my eye and made me think of Flynn.

As Leo read, the misery that I’d been bottling up for so long started seeping out of me in scalding tears that trickled down my cheeks and that I made no attempt to brush away. Leo must
have seen me crying but he made no comment and didn’t stop reading.

He finished ‘You’, turned the page and read the next poem. Then the next. In the end he read solidly for about twenty minutes. His voice wasn’t deep and expressive like
Flynn’s but it was melodic and sensitive – and he understood the poems. I was certain that even Flynn couldn’t have read them with more feeling.

He stopped when Mum and Dad came in.

If they looked surprised to see him I couldn’t tell, because I turned my face away as soon as I saw them.

‘River, we need to make a decision. Your mum wants to take you home to
her
house right now . . .’ Dad left the words hanging, presumably to see my response.

I shook my head. No way was I going back to Mum’s. She had no idea how I was feeling – and no sympathy for me either. Anyway, I wanted to be here, waiting, in case Flynn changed his
mind and came back.

‘In that case,’ Dad went on, ‘we’ve agreed she will stay here for a couple of nights while we get the doctor in to see you.’

I turned away again.

I could hear shuffling by the door, then Mum and Dad left. I looked up at Leo, wondering what he was going to say. But he just picked up the poetry book and carried on reading.

He read all evening, only taking a break to bring up his supper on a tray. He offered me some. ‘Why don’t you have a roll? They’ve got honey on.’

I looked at him again. I knew Leo didn’t even like honey. And I also knew that he knew I loved it. He was self-consciously avoiding my gaze, his eyes fixed on the book in front of him.

He started reading again but I wasn’t listening. I was suddenly aware of just how hungry I was. How weak I felt. How every cell in my body was insisting that I reach over and take a roll.
Without me being consciously aware I was doing it, my hand was on the plate, picking up the nearest roll. I bit into it, tasting the floury softness of the bread and the sticky sweetness of the
honey. I’d never tasted anything so delicious in my life. I took another bite and another, now cramming the food in.