The Day She Came Back(40)

‘And I was thinking about you. You’re not like the other girls at school.’

Victoria smirked at the irony, thinking how she had always figured her life would be that much easier if she were exactly like the other girls at school.

‘You’re sensible.’ He slurred a little.

‘Oh God! Is that code for boring?’ She rolled her eyes.

‘No, it’s code for easy to talk to because you get stuff and you don’t seem to give a shit about the rubbish that Courtney and her mates harp on about.’

‘I didn’t think we’d spoken enough over the years to allow you to have formed an opinion.’

Just the three exchanges in our whole school lives, in fact.

‘True, but I used to listen to you chat to other people like Daksha. I used to watch you in class.’

This she did not know. And it thrilled her.

‘And tonight, I didn’t feel like going home and I knew you lived close by and so I messaged you. I think I wanted to talk to you.’

‘And here we are.’ She swallowed as the kettle boiled.

‘Yes, here we are.’ He reached around his gums with his tongue, to free lodged chicken, no doubt. ‘I’ve never told anyone that before.’

‘Told anyone what?’ She had lost the thread a little.

‘About my brother.’

She felt ridiculously flattered that he had shared something so personal with her. This felt like a sure-fire way to leapfrog the chitchat and get close quickly, the thought of which she relished right now, as loneliness and confusion lapped at her heels.

Flynn shook his head. ‘Yeah, and about me not feeling anything for him. I keep a lot of shit locked in. It’s easier, I think.’

‘I won’t tell another soul.’ She meant it.

‘I know.’ He smiled at her, that glorious, stomach-flipping, lopsided smile. ‘You are cool, Victoria.’ Not for the first time since his arrival she thought of Prim and the chat they had had before she and Daksha had left for town, on her very last day . . .

‘Oh, darling, I don’t think I have ever been cool!’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been cool,’ she whispered.

‘You are. You are really cool and smart. Why didn’t you apply for university?’

‘Lots of reasons.’

‘Tell me four of them.’

She loved the random number. Flynn sat back in the chair and folded his arms as she reached for the sugar bowl and heaped two large teaspoons into her mug.

‘Because I want to carve my own path and I don’t want that path to be too predictable. I think that’s the most exciting way to live.’

‘Easy, I guess, when you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. Poor people crave the stability of that predictable path.’ He sipped his tea. ‘I’m not blaming you, just sayin’.’

She gave a half laugh, embarrassed that he too might recognise she was now ‘a woman of means’.

‘Come on: three more,’ he urged now, holding his tea in his cupped palms. His gaze, she noticed, was now slightly more focused.

‘Erm, I couldn’t decide what I wanted to study and so I figured that, if nothing was leaping out at me as an obvious choice, did I really want to commit to it for three or four years of my life?’

‘Fair enough. Next one.’

‘I . . . I didn’t want to leave my gran on her own. Prim, her name was Prim, Primrose.’ She swallowed. ‘She wasn’t ill or anything, but I knew she liked having me around and I knew she wasn’t getting younger.’ She felt her tears pool and widened her eyes, trying in vain to dispel them. ‘Although now I might make a different decision. Funny how a few bits of information can change your view on just about everything. Can make you question your loyalty.’

‘Okay, and the last one?’ he asked softly. Reaching out, he placed his hand over hers, acknowledging her sadness, and in truth she took immeasurable comfort from it.

‘My mum went to university and she never came home, and the thought of that happening to me scares me more than I can say.’

He nodded and leaned in. No wisecrack, no quip, no opinion. She felt the damp path her tears had left on her cheeks. ‘And I have never told anyone that before.’

‘I won’t tell a soul.’ He smiled. ‘Why didn’t she come home? Was this when she . . . I mean, I had heard . . .’ he whispered.

‘Drugs.’ It only felt like a half lie.

And without any more words, Flynn stood from the chair and walked around the table to where she sat and went down on his haunches. She placed her hands either side of his head and looked into his eyes as he stretched up to kiss her. It wasn’t the frenzied, urgent kissing of her dreams or imaginings, instead it was quiet, contained and almost chaste, and she was grateful for it.

‘Don’t cry,’ he soothed.

‘I can’t help it. I’m really, really sad.’

Flynn took her hand and led her into the drawing room, where he lay on the sofa. She slipped into the narrow space beside him, glad that she was not alone and quite unable to describe the feeling of utter abandonment as he drew the patchwork quilt over their tired limbs. It was heady and intoxicating to be in such close proximity to this boy, dizzying and wonderful. She inhaled the scent of him and liked the way his very essence caused desire to flare in her gut. His touch was rough and unconsidered, his breathing heavy and his eyes fixed. And it felt . . . it felt glorious. Many were the hours she had lain in her bed, imagining what this might feel like, and here she was! The flames of joy flickered, filling her up until it was a furnace that fuelled her.