I Was Born for This(62)

‘I’m coming home, Dad.’

There’s a pause.

‘Coming home? Really? I thought you were staying until Sunday!’

‘Yeah … I’m not now.’

‘Fereshteh … Did something happen, my girl?’

I sigh. ‘Er … yeah, sort of.’

‘Oh no. What—’

‘It’s fine, Dad. It’s not a big deal. I just want to come home now.’

‘Of course, of course. I’m working from home today so I can pick you up from the station any time.’

‘I don’t know what train I’m getting yet. I’ll call you from the station.’

‘Well, okay, then. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?’

The way he says it makes me well up a little bit.

‘Not right now,’ I say.

‘Did you enjoy the concert at least?’

God, I didn’t. I didn’t. And it feels like my whole life has gone to waste.

‘Yeah,’ I say.

‘Do you …’ He pauses. ‘Do you want to talk to your mother?’

Mum. Is she still angry? She’s going to be smug when she finds out I had a horrible time this week. I knew it wouldn’t end well, she’ll say. That’ll teach you to care so much about a boy band.

‘Does she want to talk to me?’ I ask.

Dad sighs. ‘Of course she does.’

‘Well, I’ll talk to her when I get home, anyway.’

Dad sighs again. ‘Okay.’

The train doesn’t leave for another half an hour so I have some time to kill. I buy a cup of tea from Starbucks and sit down on a stool, facing out at the rest of the station. I’ve still got The Ark playing through my earphones. Their third album, Joan of Arc. It’s not really my favourite but maybe I just haven’t listened to it enough.

I’m halfway through my cup when I spot someone familiar in the crowd. I squint through the window at the figure. Puffy hair, skinny jeans, button-up shirt. He’s walking towards Starbucks when he stops and stares directly at me, eyes widening.

Oh.

It’s Mac.

Oh God.

I can’t deal with this confrontation right now.

I slip out of Starbucks, pretending I haven’t seen him, and start walking in the opposite direction, round past the various station shops and cafés. I sneak a glance back and – oh God, he’s seen me. I walk a little faster and slip into a WHSmith, heading towards the back of the shop. I pretend to be perusing the sweets section (which is, at least, very characteristic of me), when I hear: ‘Angel!’

I turn. Mac is walking into the shop, waving at me. I wave cautiously back at him and he starts walking towards me, swerving round the shoppers and the aisles.

‘Hi,’ I say.

‘Hi,’ he says. He looks vaguely out of breath, like he’s been walking very fast.

There’s an awkward silence.

‘Why are you here?’ I ask.

‘Well … I thought I’d see if I could catch you before you left, actually,’ he says.

‘Did Juliet send you?’

‘No.’

Oh. That’s weird.

He senses my confusion and smiles sheepishly. ‘Well, when we woke up and we found out you’d left from your note, Juliet was really upset, so I wanted to—’

‘You wanted to come and find me and bring me back in some sort of valiant attempt to get back in Juliet’s good books,’ I say.

He chuckles. ‘Is it so bad to want to do something good for someone you like?’

I shrug at him.

Juliet was upset? Even after our big argument?

I thought that was it for our friendship.

Fuck. Have I fucked up?

‘This is like that movie trope where someone has to run to the airport and stop their romantic interest from leaving,’ I say.

Mac smirks. ‘Except you’re not my romantic interest.’

‘Yeah, no shit.’

He snorts and looks down. A couple of people push past us.

‘Let’s … let’s go find a bench, or something,’ I say.

We leave the shop, walk in silence towards a bunch of nearby seats, and sit down next to each other. I stare up at the departure board, becoming distinctly aware of the crowds of travellers swarming around us, walking from cafés to escalators to platforms. Everything’s swirling and moving. Nothing stays still for more than a second.

‘Why’d you do it?’ I ask him.

‘Do what?’

‘Lie.’

He looks away.

‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ he says.

‘Well, you did.’

‘I know.’

‘Did you just really fancy her, or …?’

‘Fancy,’ he scoffs. ‘I’m not twelve.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Okay, then.’

‘Sorry, just hadn’t heard anyone use that word since, like, Year 7.’

‘Okay. How about deeply in love? Is that better?’

He huffs out a laugh. ‘Are those the only two options? ‘Fancy’ or ‘deeply in love’?’

Oh God, he is really starting to piss me off.

‘Why don’t you explain your feelings, then?’ I say, leaning back into my seat and folding my arms. ‘Settle in, my guy. Let’s make each other really uncomfortable.’