Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(20)

‘John . . .’ Mum said, a soft warning.

‘I try my best, Dad,’ I said, knowing I was wasting my breath.

I heard his short exhalation of annoyance and tried to ignore the pang of hurt that he always managed to induce at times like this. He never actually said it, but he didn’t need to. I was not the confident star he’d thought Esther’s would turn me into, and this became more and more apparent each year, with every parents’ evening and end-of-year report.

And it wasn’t just him. I wondered if I’d ever be able to shake the feeling that, for all my opportunities and privileges, I’d never be as good as Tarin, who had shone her whole life on her own merit. All the money thrown at my education, and what did I have to show for it, apart from a handful of A grades I’d probably have had anyway and a good school name to put on my CV? What a waste I was. What a disappointment.

When we got home I took refuge in my room and curled up under the covers with my laptop and a bag of Skittles, hoping to be soothed by the combined comforts of YouTube and Buzzfeed. I had just started scrolling through a series of gifs entitled ‘17 Ways You Know You’re A Private School Girl’ when my bedroom door opened and Mum came in.

‘He doesn’t mean to be that way,’ she said, forgoing both a greeting and an invitation. She sat down on the bed beside me, craning her neck slightly to look at my laptop screen. I pushed it down pointedly, and a flicker of disappointment passed over her face.

‘Mmmm,’ I said, deliberately noncommittal.

‘It’s because he loves you and wants what’s best for you,’ she continued. ‘We both do.’

Making me feel inadequate isn’t exactly a sign of love, I thought, but I kept the words inside my head, where they belonged.

On Saturday, I went to the Marina with Rosie and Suzanne, who were meeting a group of their school friends at the cinema. Rosie’s mother drove us, even though we could have got the bus, and then insisted on paying for our tickets. Rosie, hunched inside her jacket, complained about her interference for almost the entire time after her mother left and before the rest of the group arrived, until Suzanne made a pointed comment about it being nice that she had a mother who loved her that much, which shut her up.

The rest of their friends turned up not long after, spirited and loud, and I felt myself begin to shrink inside, even as I pasted my most sociable grin on my face. Charlie, Levina’s boyfriend, was leading the show as always. Everything was fair game.

‘So how’s Esther’s, Caddy?’ he asked me, the question deceptively friendly. He was looking at me, and he was smiling, but his eyes weren’t even focused on me. It occurred to me that if I turned away and asked him to name the band on my T-shirt (Haim) or the colour of my eyes (brown), he wouldn’t be able to say.

‘Fine,’ I said stupidly, because what else could I say? There’s something unstoppable about being set up as the punchline to a joke. Even when you see it coming, there’s no avoiding the inevitable.

‘Got a girlfriend, yet?’

I felt my face flush scarlet, my heart seizing. ‘What?’

‘We all know the truth about Esther’s girls,’ Charlie’s eyes were dancing. ‘Lesbi-honest.’

Almost everyone laughed, even Rosie, though she hooked her arm through mine and squeezed. But Suzanne, who was wearing an exaggerated not-amused expression, said, ‘Is that the best you can do, Charles? A lesbian joke about a girls’ school?’

Charlie’s smile dropped, but only momentarily, returning with a slight strain. ‘Who said it was a joke?’

Suzanne rolled her eyes at him, then looked at me, keeping her shoulders turned outward so she was still addressing the whole group. ‘So little imagination. How many times have you heard that joke, Cads?’ Her sparkling eyes were focused on me, steady and sharp and encouraging.

‘Every time a guy thinks he’s being funny?’ I said, taking this unexpected gift of a chance to speak.

My voice wasn’t as strong as hers or Charlie’s had been, but it was enough. Everyone laughed, and even Charlie shrugged and grinned, accepting the shift.

As everyone turned to head into the multiplex, Suzanne bounced a little on her feet, taking hold of my free arm and hooking hers through it.

‘Thanks,’ I whispered, so no one else would hear.

She squeezed my arm rather than respond, a satisfied grin flashing across her face. We walked through the doors together, still connected, a happy line of three.

Suzanne and I were standing by the ticket machines not long after, waiting for the others, who were still queuing for popcorn. I took a sip of Coke, which already tasted a bit flat, and reached out to steal one of Suzanne’s nachos.

‘What’s taking them so long?’ she grumbled, angling the box towards me so I could swipe some salsa.

‘Rosie’s always like this,’ I replied. ‘She has real issues making decisions, especially when it’s food.’

Suzanne smiled. ‘Yesterday, at lunch –’

She stopped so abruptly I thought it was for effect, until I saw her face. The smile had disappeared, and she looked stunned. The bad kind of stunned. The horrified kind.

‘Oh my God,’ she said, and her voice was so flat it didn’t even sound like her. Before I could ask what, she said, in the same flat voice, ‘That’s my dad.’