Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
SAM
Day One
Will is … different. He has a handsome smile, a lovely set of teeth.
I remember when they were crooked. Not anymore.
Also, his eyebrows are a lovely shape, almost like a crescent moon.
They’re looked after, as if he goes for beauty treatments.
His eyelashes are thick and dark. I’ve been mesmerised by him all night.
It’s weird to observe these things in the face of a boy who made my childhood so special.
But he’s not a boy anymore, is he? He’s a man.
He has this way of speaking that brightens up the room.
Mum can’t contain her mirth at the way his Welsh accent lilts up, and the way his self-deprecating humour tells us he’s part of the joke, that he knows he’s being crass at times.
But there’s something else. I see it in the way his eyes flicker, never truly resting on the person he’s talking to.
The way he plays with his cutlery, or strokes the side of his wine glass.
Or how he looks down at the floor, at his lap, at his hands.
He relaxes back into his chair when the attention isn’t on him.
When one of us is talking and he’s observing, he finally meets your eye.
It’s like he turns the spotlight back on us and yet he’s the one who shines.
‘I found these,’ Mum says, coming back out after loading the dishwasher.
We tried to help her, but she insisted on us staying out and ‘catching up’.
We haven’t talked much, but I did establish that he still plays Pokémon Go, and we are now friends on the app.
He’s already kicked me off a nearby gym.
Got his Nintendo friend code, too. She places a leather-bound photo album down on the table, brushing off a sheen of dust.
‘Mum, no.’
‘Oh my God.’ Will leans forwards eyes wide. He reaches for the album, putting his wine glass safely down, fingers splayed, like an excited child who has just seen a bar of chocolate. ‘This isn’t what I think it is, is it?’
‘The very same one.’
My hands cover my face, groaning. ‘Please don’t.’
‘But Sam, there are photos in here I haven’t seen for years.’
As Will turns the pages, the creak of the plastic wrapping screeches out.
‘Aw, look at you.’ He’s peering at a photo of five-year-old me, holding a stuffed bear. ‘This is so cute.’
‘That’s Mr Blanky,’ I say, nodding slowly.
‘What happened to Mr Blanky?’
I clear my throat. ‘Uh…’
‘Sam still has him.’
Flushed, I meet Will’s eye. ‘Yeah.’
Will hoots, his feet kicking the air. ‘Amazing. Oh, and this one? Wow.’
My hand slams over the photo. ‘Mum.’
‘Oh, it’s fine.’
It most certainly is not fine. It’s a photo of me crying after my candy floss had fallen on the floor.
‘Such a traumatic time,’ Will remarks, winking at me.
My chest flutters. Will’s eye contact breaks, but he chances a quick look at me, a slight flush to his neck.
‘Sam.’
His tone sends a jolt through me, making me lean closer. Close enough to feel his warmth, smell something exotic on his skin, a masculine musk of earth. He’s pointing at a photo of two boys cross-legged, knees touching, clutching Gameboys.
‘Some things never change,’ Mum says, tutting affectionately.
I admire his skin up close. He peers down at the photograph. ‘We were so nerdy.’
‘We’re millennials, what do you expect?’
My knee brushes his, and he jolts away, the book slipping from his grasp.
‘Oh God.’ Will leans forwards at the same time as I do.
As he leans up, book retrieved, the back of his head bumps the edge of my nose.
I move back before I can do any more damage, but not before I inhale the scent of his shampoo.
‘Oh my God. Have I broken your nose?’ he asks.
I laugh, placing a finger to the edge of my nose, which feels a little warm from the bump but nothing else. ‘You barely touched me.’
‘You promise you’re okay?’ His eyes search my face, his tongue brushing his lips.
I drop my hand, adopting a confused expression. ‘I might be concussed.’
‘Not funny, Sam.’
‘I’m fine.’
Later that evening, after I’ve walked Will home, Mum and I linger outside, with a fresh glass of wine.
‘Is it nice to see him again?’
‘Yeah, it’s cool.’
Mum swills the wine in her glass, her legs crossed. ‘I see it sometimes, Sam. I’m sorry if you’ve ever resented us moving here.’
I baulk, leaning forwards. ‘Not at all.’
‘You know you don’t have to stay around, don’t you?’ Mum gives me her concerned look. ‘If you want to do something else, I’m not holding you back.’
‘I know that. Where’s this coming from, Mum?’
Mum looks at me, then at the photo album. ‘I saw how happy you looked when you talked with Will. I haven’t seen you that happy in a long time.’
I lean back into my chair. ‘It’s nice to reminisce, that’s all. Simpler times, weren’t they?’
‘You were inseparable.’
Yes, we were. But I don’t like the way Mum is looking at me, like she’s trying to get into my head. Mum and I have always been close, always told each other everything. ‘What do you think will happen with him and his ex?’
I don’t miss Mum’s small smile, as if what she’s thinking has been addressed in some way. ‘That’s for him to work out, and not for us to get involved in.’
‘Yeah, you’re right.’
I don’t need the drama.
But I do crave some excitement.