Undone(47)

If everything’s gone to plan you should be set up for a pretty good summer. If everything hasn’t gone to plan (and I know how stubborn you can be) then you’re in for a pretty standard sort of summer - only you won’t have me around to stave off the boredom sorry. .

I keep wondering whether you’re playing along with my silly challenges. I wouldn’t like to bet on it, but I do hope you are. And I really, really hope you’re having FUN. Even just a little bit? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d snagged yourself a boyfriend by now (can’t quite imagine you going for someone at school though...unless you’ve been keeping secrets from me and you’re secretly in love with Marc Fishman. Please don’t be in love with Marc Fishman. That name is just too hideous to even contemplate. But if you DO happen to be in love with him, you’re not allowed to get married until you’re at least 28... and you absolutely MUST keep your name. Agreed? Good.)

And if it turns out that you don’t have a boyfriend - WHO CARES?! It’s not like you need some random boy to tell you how amazing you are, because hopefully you’re starting to believe what this non-random boy has been telling you for years. YOU ARE AMAZING. So there. Anyway, boys are more trouble than

I’ll keep this brief.

It’s summer.

Go outside. (It’s nice out there, honest. Fresh air is good for the soul.)

Enjoy the sunshine.

Have fun.

Simple.



Love you always, pickle,

Kai

xxx



p.s. I was going to suggest you get a bikini and do a bit of sunbathing in the park but I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead. Count yourself lucky.

p.p.s. Remember that summer we put the paddling pool in your garden and pretended to be marine biologists? That was brilliant.





chapter twenty-nine


A week into the summer holidays and I haven’t done a bloody thing. Mum’s been on my back to ‘get out and do something’. As soon as she gets home from work she seems to have the uncanny ability to deduce that I’ve been on the sofa all day. Maybe it’s the imprint my bum makes on the faux leather.

I miss him so much. It doesn’t get any easier. No matter what they say, time doesn’t heal the wound. Time just unravels and shows you new and more painful ways to miss someone. The longer they’ve been gone, the worse it is. You start to forget their smile or the way they tilted their head when they were confused or the way they looked at you and knew exactly what you were thinking. You can look at them in photos, but it’s not even close to the real thing, and pretty soon you feel like your real memories are being replaced by the photo memories – like the only way you can picture them any more is in one of those photographs. They become two-dimensional and it rips your heart out whenever you think about it so you really try not to.

At least I’ve got the letters. That’s more than most people get. But it won’t be long before they’re all gone. The stack is dwindling way too fast. Four more, then I’ll be left with nothing – apart from the satisfaction of knowing I at least did something to get back at the people responsible for his death. It’s not enough though. It’s not nearly enough.

I’ve decided to focus my attentions on Lucas for the moment. If all goes to plan, I’ll be having the sort of summer romance that would put Sandra Dee to shame.

He’s making things easy for me. It’s getting more and more obvious that he maybe kind of sort of does like me a little bit. He’s been texting me (not that I’d ever admit that to Sasha). Nothing serious – just stuff like Are you coming to Sasha’s tonight? and Would it be wrong to kill my sister? ;) It’s not exactly flirting, but Stu and Bugs have never texted me, so it’s got to mean something.

After yet another exchange of innocuous messages, I decide it’s time. I compose a message and amend it several times before the wording is just right: Want to hang out today? Just us two? ;)

The reply is almost instant: Finally. ;)

I smile to myself, not because I’m happy or excited, but because I’m finally doing something. The thought of spending time with Lucas without the others around makes me nauseous, but it has to be done. It will be worth it in the end.

I meet Lucas in the park. He’s slouching on a bench with his legs far apart, casually twirling a frisbee on his finger like one of those plate-spinning idiots you see on TV. He’s wearing jeans and a black and red checked shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his biceps. Ray-bans and a pair of flip-flops (Havaianas, of course) complete the look.

He sits up straighter when he sees me coming. He smiles that ultra-confident smile that has every girl hooked and he calls, ‘Catch!’ as he launches the frisbee. I have a moment of panic when I’m certain it’s headed straight for my face, but somehow I manage to catch it cleanly – which I’ve done maybe one other time in my whole life. I try to disguise how surprised I am at making the catch while Lucas claps and whoops like I’m a particularly skilled performing seal.

I sit down next to him and hand over the frisbee. ‘Impressive! I didn’t have you down as a world-champion frisbee player.’

I shrug. ‘There’s lots of things you don’t know about me . . .’

‘Clearly! I hesitate to ask if you fancy a game . . . I fear my fragile ego might be in for a battering . . .’