Falling Fast (14 page)

I glared at them, furious now, unable to speak.

I desperately wanted Flynn to push her away, to turn back to me. It was irrational and unkind – but I couldn’t help it. I’d pictured them holding each other so often, in their
roles as Romeo and Juliet, hating the images of them together that forced themselves into my head. And now, here they both were, halfway to a full-on kissing session.

And it was all my fault for pushing Flynn towards her.

Knowing that made me feel even angrier. Emmi didn’t stop crying all the way home, and she didn’t let go of Flynn either. He turned several times and looked at me apologetically. A
couple of times he tried to reach out to hold me too. But I shrank away. No way was he getting his hands on both of us.

I said as little as possible when we reached Emmi’s house. We helped her in through the front door and, as her parents barely knew Flynn and as Emmi was still sobbing and incoherent, they
fell on me, demanding to know what had happened.

As I explained, the full weight of the situation hit home. My guts tensed up at the thought of how much danger we’d been in. How terrifying the whole thing had been.

But no one seemed to notice me. After I’d finished explaining, Emmi’s mum flapped hysterically round her daughter while her dad pushed Flynn – rather aggressively – to
describe in detail how he’d dealt with the two guys who’d harassed us.

By the time we got inside the next cab I was all knotted up, seething with a rage that I didn’t understand. I mean, I wasn’t in danger any more. The whole episode was over,
wasn’t it?

Flynn told the driver my address, then slumped back on the back seat with a deep sigh.

‘Man, that was heavy,’ he groaned. He turned to me and scooped his arm round my shoulders. I sat, rigidly, while he dropped his head and kissed the back of my neck.

‘River?’ He straightened up, pulling me closer. ‘What’s wrong?’

I don’t know.
That would have been the honest answer. I felt like a pressure cooker, all these big emotions swirling around in my head and no way of letting them go. But I
couldn’t think how to put that into words, so I said nothing.

Flynn sat back with a sigh. ‘I hope Emmi’s all right,’ he said. ‘Those pigs really freaked her out.’

Emmi. Again. My feelings of anger solidified around that one point and the sliver of jealousy that slid inside me earlier exploded into a thousand shards, each one full of hate.

‘Getting in practice for your Big Performance?’ I said sarcastically.

‘What?’ Flynn stared at me.

I could see in his face he had no idea what I was talking about. Or else he was acting. It suddenly struck me that he was such a brilliant actor I would never know if he was lying. Ever.

The thought was not comforting.

‘Enjoy getting close to Emmi on the way home?’ I hissed.

I knew that was totally unfair, but I couldn’t help myself.

Flynn made a face at me. ‘Don’t be stupid, Riv.’ He frowned, as if waiting for me to say sorry and snuggle up to him.

It was what I wanted to do. But the angry, jealous, hateful knives inside me wouldn’t let me. I stared back at him, waiting for him to say that it was me he wanted. That he’d rather
eat dog poo than kiss Emmi.

But he didn’t.

‘Look, River,’ he sighed. ‘I’m sure you’re feeling like crap, but frankly so am I. Okay? So why don’t you cut out this rubbish about Emmi and tell me
what’s really wrong?’ His voice was calm, but I recognised the steely anger underneath.

It infuriated me.

‘You don’t let me in,’ I said. ‘I mean, you let me in so far and then no further.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Your past. Your mum and dad. Your drinking – or lack of it. Your attitude to money. To Siobhan. I mean, I’ve never even been to your house, Flynn.’ The words were
spitting out of me. ‘I want you to trust me.’

Flynn rolled his eyes. ‘Give it a chance, Riv,’ he said. ‘We’ve only been going out a few weeks.’

‘So what?’ I was shouting now. ‘Romeo and Juliet only met a few times and they were prepared to die for—’

‘OH, SHUT
UP
ABOUT THAT FRIGGING PLAY,’ Flynn roared. ‘IT’S FRIGGING FICTION, RIVER. MADE UP. PEOPLE’S REAL LIVES AREN’T LIKE THAT.’

He swung away from me across the back seat of the cab.

Tears welled in my eyes. I glanced up at the cab driver. He was studiously ignoring us, staring steadily out of the front window.

A great pit of fear and loneliness opened up in my stomach. I had a flashback to that moment of utter panic earlier, when the fair-haired guy had dragged me across the alleyway. For two or three
seconds I’d been so scared. And Flynn had saved me. And been hurt doing it. And here I was yelling at him.

I wriggled across the back seat and put my hand on his arm. ‘Flynn?’

He was stiff, unyielding. I could feel the anger still pulsing through him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I know I’m being weird. It’s just I . . . I was so frightened earlier. I thought those guys were really going to . . . to attack
us.’

It wasn’t the full reason I’d got jealous and pushed Flynn to open up, but I was pretty sure it was the only explanation of my behaviour that would get us to a hug in the next two
minutes.

With a sigh Flynn turned round.

‘I just can’t handle a frigging tantrum right now, okay?’ he mumbled.

I looked up at his face. A bruise was developing around the cut on his lip where the guy in the alleyway had punched him. It felt like that moment had happened a million years ago. I stroked the
red, swollen skin around the cut.

The cab stopped at some traffic lights. A street lamp outside cast a pale glow over Flynn’s face. His eyes were so full of feeling – a great mixture of longing and fear and hurt and
anger.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ I whispered. ‘Please can I come back to your house?’

Flynn stared at me for a long time. And then his eyes clouded over.

‘I’ve never taken anyone home,’ he said slowly. ‘Anyone. Ever.’

I caught my breath. My heart pounded.

‘I’m not anyone.’ I hesitated, and the words – unplanned and unprompted – bled out of me. ‘I love you.’

There was a long pause, then he bent his head closer and whispered in my ear.

‘I’m sorry.’

He sat back, not touching me.

We spent the rest of the journey in silence. I felt totally numb. I’d expected that once I said I loved him, he would automatically say it back. I’d imagined that once I asked,
straight out, for him to trust me and talk to me and take me home, he would. That the way we felt about each other – the strength of it, the passion of it – would burn everything else
away.

By the time we reached my house, I had to face that I’d been wrong. I’d misunderstood how he felt. Flynn was just an intelligent boy with a chip on his shoulder about being poor, a
headful of hormones that made him good at kissing and a fierce desire to grow up to be rich.

There was nothing beyond that. Or nothing he wanted to share with me, anyway.

He wasn’t in love with me.

He wasn’t Romeo.

Mum gasped when she saw my tear-stained face and Flynn’s cut lip. Again, I explained what had happened. Flynn stood sullenly beside me, making eye contact with neither of
us. It was obvious he couldn’t wait to leave. He said goodbye without a kiss. Just squeezed my arm, then went.

I stumbled upstairs while Mum flapped and fussed and ran me a hot bath.

She tried to get me to talk about what had happened at the pub. But beyond reassuring her that I wasn’t hurt and that the whole thing had only lasted a couple of minutes, I refused to
talk.

She left me to get some sleep.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

The next day was Thursday. I told Mum I couldn’t face school.

The truth was, I couldn’t face the rehearsal.

Couldn’t face Flynn.

I had no way of contacting him, I realised. He had no mobile and he’d never given me a home phone number either. He said his family didn’t have a phone line.

Yeah, right.

I took this as further proof that he didn’t really care about me – and sank into a dark, bottomless misery.

Emmi phoned that evening, but I didn’t want to speak to her either. I still felt angry with her for crying all over Flynn in the cab. Perhaps if she hadn’t done that, I
wouldn’t have got so angry myself and . . .

No. In my heart I knew it wasn’t Emmi’s fault.

I still didn’t want to speak to her, though. She was his Juliet. And I was nothing.

Mum let me stay off school on Friday as well. Normally I’d see Flynn on a Friday evening, but he hadn’t called and, anyway, there was no way I could go out with him now. I
couldn’t bear loving him so much and knowing he didn’t feel the same.

I lounged about the house all weekend, hoping that he’d call. Mum started to get seriously worried about me, nagging me to eat and asking why I wasn’t going out with Emmi and Grace.
She even suggested that I spoke to a counsellor about the attack at the pub.

I told her I was fine and pretended I was going off to meet Emmi.

As I reached the park, Emmi herself rang again. I took the call this time, in case she decided to phone my home number if I didn’t.

We chatted for a bit, then Emmi asked how Flynn was. I told her I thought things were cooling off between us.

‘No way,’ Emmi said. ‘I mean I still think he’s too intense, but he obviously cares about you. Why else would he have come to our defence like that?’

Because he trains to fight in that boxing club. Because being angry is who he is.

I said nothing. Just ended the call and walked, shivering, round the park. It was a bitterly cold day. The first of December. There would only be a couple more weeks of rehearsals. And then the
two performances.

Not long to go. Not long before I’d never see Flynn again.

Dad was there when I got back from the park. Mum and Stone went out of the room and left us drinking a cup of tea in the kitchen.

We sat in silence for a while. Dad looked so out of place in our house now – with his fuzzy beard and his shapeless cord trousers. It was funny to think he’d once lived here.

‘You haven’t come to see me for a while,’ he said. There was no reproach in his voice. Just a mild curiosity. I said nothing.

Dad drained his cup and set it down on the table. ‘So,’ he said slowly. ‘What’s up?’

I shrugged.

Dad sat there, waiting.

But this time, I didn’t want to speak to him. So I sat there too, not saying anything.

Dad cleared his throat. ‘Okay. You don’t want to talk. That’s fine. I just wanted you to know I’m here, if you need me.’

He stood up.

‘Dad?’ My voice was small and broken. A hot tear leaked out of my eye.

Dad came over and put his arms round me. I breathed in his familiar smell – musty clothes and earth and a hint of incense.

‘Dad, he doesn’t love me.’ My voice broke as I said the words out loud. ‘He’s all closed in and hidden away and I’ve tried, but he won’t let me in and I
don’t know what I did wrong and oh, Daddy, I can’t bear it . . .’

He hugged me tighter as I sobbed. Stroking my hair. Letting me cry it all out. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ he kept saying. ‘Let it go . . . let it go . . .’

He held me for what felt like a long time, just stroking my hair.

And when I looked up, his eyes were bright, like jewels.

Like he’d been crying too.

I went to back to school on Monday, feeling stronger. I stayed strong all day – telling Emmi and Grace it was definitely over with Flynn. I stayed strong all the way to
St Cletus’s, in fact.

And then I walked into the assembly room and saw him on the stage. And I wanted to die. He was rehearsing Act 5, when Romeo mistakenly thinks that Juliet is dead.

Mr Nichols ordered Emmi up on stage, so Flynn had a real person to work with. I watched him run his hands down the outline of her body – almost touching her but not quite.

‘
Death, that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath

Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty
.’

And Emmi did look beautiful lying there.

I listened to him say his lines, lost in the intensity of his misery. I left before he could talk to me afterwards. The next day I phoned and left a message for Mr Nichols, saying I was too ill
to come to rehearsals for the rest of the week.

I planned another quiet weekend. I went out shopping with Emmi and Grace after school on Friday. We came back late afternoon – Emmi and Grace rushed off to get ready for
a party they were both set on going to. I told them I might come by later and pretended I was going to check out a skirt I’d spotted in one of the local shops. Then I hung around the High
Street until six o’clock. I knew that was when Siobhan normally finished her shift at the hairdressers’. I waited over the road for Flynn to arrive.

He was there at two minutes to – just a hint of a swagger in the way he strolled up to the shop and leaned against the lamp post outside. He put his hands in his pockets, then lifted one
foot and rested the sole against the lamp post behind him.

He didn’t look round. He didn’t see me.

I watched him hungrily. The street was still fairly busy and I could see his head turning, every now and then, gazing at the people who passed him. It started raining – a few light drops.
Flynn looked up at the sky, his fringe falling away from his forehead. He folded his arms, muttering something. He was only wearing a thin cotton top. I smiled, imagining him saying
frigging
weather
under his breath.

Then Siobhan came out. She looked straight across the road before I had a chance to duck back. For a second I thought she’d seen me – but she didn’t wave or anything and Flynn
didn’t turn round, so I guessed she hadn’t.

They walked off together, deep in conversation. I watched them go, a million feelings careering around my head: how much I wanted to speak to Flynn myself . . . how much I envied his sister
right now . . . and how much I missed him, like a big dark hole at the very heart of me.