Chapter 9
SINCLAIR
‘I can’t believe it, Charlie,’ Dad says for the umpteenth time. ‘The lead role, that’s amazing.’ He looks up as Margaret comes through from the shop into the bakery. ‘Have you heard, Margaret? My son’s going to be an actor.’
‘The whole village has heard, Peter,’ she says, nodding her thanks as I hand her a tray of fresh scones. ‘You realize we’re all coming to see the play, of course?’
‘Please don’t!’ I laugh, but I’m deadly serious. If only I could ban even my parents from being in the audience in the summer, but I’d never have the heart. They were thrilled when I told them yesterday that I’d got the role of Romeo, since when Dad’s been telling everyone he meets.
‘I never expected to have a chance,’ I say, popping a tray of rolls into the oven.
‘Don’t talk like that,’ Dad immediately reproves me. ‘You have no reason to put yourself down.’
‘Well, no, but I’ve got no acting experience,’ I say, with a shrug.
‘That’s as may be, but it clearly didn’t bother anybody.’ Dad looks up from his dough. ‘You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’
‘We’ll see – we haven’t started rehearsing yet. Maybe then they’ll throw me back out.’
‘Charles,’ Dad ticks me off, ‘a little more self-belief, if you please. Did Tori get a part too, by the way?’
It’s an effort not to flinch. ‘No, she didn’t audition.’
‘Didn’t she? Doesn’t she have any ambitions in that direction?’
She does. But these days she’s got a toxic boyfriend too. I keep that to myself, though. ‘She didn’t want to.’
‘Pity,’ says Dad. ‘Is she well? I haven’t seen her for such a long time.’
‘Yes, she’s fine,’ I say lamely.
‘Would Tori like to come for dinner with us again soon?’
‘I can ask her.’ Which, of course, I won’t. ‘She’s been hanging around with a different crowd lately. Valentine Ward and all those arrogant rugby boys . . .’
‘Oh.’ Dad looks at me but doesn’t enquire further.
Being married to Mum, he obviously gets to know a fair bit about the hierarchies among Dunbridge pupils, and Valentine’s mother likes to queen it on the school council at any opportunity, so he’s well aware of the Wards.
‘Charlie, I’ve been meaning to say – you don’t have to help me here all the time,’ he says, to my surprise.
‘I know your old man running the bakery isn’t exactly glamorous. ’
I pause in mid-movement. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I only mean—’
‘You think I’m ashamed of my family? Come on, Dad, do me a favour.’
‘I know what people your age can be like.’
‘Anyone who feels like looking down on me can take a running jump.’
There’s a hint of a smile on Dad’s lips. ‘I’m proud of you, son.’
‘I’m proud of you too, Father.’
‘God, that makes me sound so old . . . Don’t call me that.’ He laughs.
‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?’ I grin.
‘Just call me Dad, OK, not Father.’
‘Duly noted.’ I hesitate, then just say what’s on my mind. ‘And you’ll still be proud of me if I’m wasting my time on this drama malarkey now?’
Dad eyes me. ‘You don’t waste your time.’
‘I probably won’t be able to help in the shop so often.’
‘Like I said, you don’t have to.’
I nod.
‘Why would you think I wouldn’t be proud of you?’ Dad asks.
I shrug. ‘Because it’s kind of nonsense, isn’t it? Acting, rehearsals . . . It’s not honest work, it’s not real.’
‘Charlie, you’re too smart to think that,’ he says drily. ‘We’re not sending you to that school so that you can end up as a baker one day.’
‘What if I wanted to?’
‘You want to go to university,’ Dad says, because he knows me. ‘And that’s a good thing.’
I swallow.
‘So, what are your plans there? Still interested in scriptwriting?’
‘I think so.’
‘That’s great,’ Dad declares. ‘I can’t wait to see where you end up.’
‘Me either,’ I say. Or who with. Until a couple of weeks ago, I’d been sure I’d do creative writing at St Andrews.
And that Henry, Emma and Tori would be there too.
But who knows? Maybe Valentine Ward’s put her off since then, and talked her into applying to Cambridge, where he’s bound to get in to do economics.
Not because he’s got what it takes, but because his folks have the money to grease the wheels.
I can’t believe Dad would really think I’d be ashamed of him and what he does.
No way. I’d be ashamed if I only got anywhere in life thanks to influential parents.
I’d be ashamed if I were Valentine Ward who puts other people down so that he can feel better about himself, and always gets whatever he wants.
Rugby captain, coaching through his A levels despite being thick as, and Tori – especially Tori.
My friend who isn’t talking to me, these days.
It wasn’t until the assembly this morning that I even knew she and Will had been home at the weekend.
In the old days, I would have done. I might even have gone with them, but I can’t remember the last time we went to her family home in Holloway together. Perhaps Val was there with her . . .
I slap a lump of dough onto the counter. Dad glances up but doesn’t say anything.
And neither do I.
Not saying things is what I do best.
TORI
Since the auditions, things have been even weirder between Sinclair and me.
We see each other in class and in the dining room for meals.
On the morning runs, I toy with the idea of going the official route with Emma and Henry instead of taking the shortcut with Sinclair, but then I remember who I am.
And there’s no way I’m a person who’d run any further than they had to just because they’ve had a pointless row with their best friend.
‘What are we doing for Sinclair’s birthday?’ Henry asks me, in a low voice, a while later, once Ms Kelleher’s sent us off to break.
A good question, because he’s turning eighteen.
Entering adulthood. So it’s time to swallow my hurt pride.
I glance over to Sinclair who’s a few yards ahead of us, walking down the corridor with Emma and Gideon.
Before I get a chance to answer, I spot Val standing with his friends a slight distance away.
We’ve barely seen each other for the last few days.
Outside class, he’s practically glued to either the rugby field or the gym equipment.
Similarly, Olive is spending so much time in the school pool that I’m surprised she hasn’t grown webbed feet.
I don’t know when I last saw her with dry hair.
Even now, her dark head is still wet as she comes around the corner. She looks up as Henry beckons her over.
‘Have you got a second? It’s about Sinclair’s birthday,’ he says.
Olive seems reluctant to slow her steps. When her eyes meet mine, I don’t see the rejection I’ve got used to lately. She looks uncertain.
‘Yeah?’
‘If we throw him a party, are you in?’
Olive looks surprised. ‘You mean you want me there?’
Henry’s taken aback. ‘Of course we do.’ I don’t feel able to say the same, so I just nod when Olive glances at me. ‘He’s turning eighteen, we’re his friends . . .’
‘OK, I . . . Just text me, let me know what I can do to help,’ Olive says, looking past Henry. ‘I need to speak to Dad quickly, sorry.’ She hurries towards the sick bay to find Dr Henderson who’s working there this morning.
‘Are you two still not getting on?’ Henry muses.
I shrug my shoulders. ‘Looks that way.’ Although Olive was less stand-offish than normal just now . . . But maybe that was down to Henry being there.
‘She’ll come round,’ he says.
I sigh. ‘Got any top tips on conflict resolution?’
‘I might be school captain, but I’m not on the peer mediation team,’ he says.
‘Yeah, but they’re kind of similar . . .’
Henry smiles and shakes his head. ‘I think the whole business is as upsetting for Olive as it is for you.’
How does he always manage to hit the bullseye? I exhale quietly. ‘Maybe it’s me. It seems like I’m fighting with all my friends just now. Hey, perhaps you’ll be next.’
Henry ignores my pathetic attempt at humour. ‘Sinclair too?’
I don’t reply.
‘You mean because of Eleanor and the play?’
‘I know it makes me a rubbish friend that I can’t be happy for him.’
‘Hey, I wouldn’t be thrilled if Emma was up on stage with some other Romeo either.’
‘Yeah, but you and Emma are a couple.’
‘Exactly,’ Henry says. He seems fully aware of the effect of his words because he just keeps talking while my thoughts start to whirl. ‘But the point was, midnight party for Sinclair in the old greenhouse so that we can all see his birthday in together – what do you think?’
I try to pull myself together. ‘Sounds good.’
‘Or is that too boring?’ Henry wonders.
‘What else were you thinking? Want to hire the Mahiki?’
He laughs. ‘Yeah, along with a private jet to take us to London.’
‘I’ll ask my mum,’ I say drily.
‘Sinclair would hate that,’ Henry remarks.
‘He would.’
‘You too.’ Henry goes quiet. ‘We should arrange something he’ll really enjoy.’
‘How about a film night? We can get hold of a screen and a projector, and then we’ll watch all his deathly arty films in the greenhouse.’
Henry’s eyes light up. ‘That sounds good! I’ll take care of it.’
‘What sounds good?’ asks Emma, who’s suddenly popped up. Sinclair has stopped too and he looks from Henry to me.
I bite my bottom lip and pray that he didn’t hear.
‘Tori was suggesting having another games night,’ Henry declares, without batting an eyelid. ‘This evening, my room?’
‘I’m doing a shift in the bakery,’ Sinclair says. ‘Sorry.’
‘Before that?’ Henry asks.
‘Riding lesson,’ Sinclair murmurs.
‘OK, another time then.’ Henry takes Emma’s hand.
They’re so in love, so perfect together.
And they walk away, leaving me with my best friend, and nothing to say to him.
We’re standing in the corridor of our school, avoiding each other’s eyes, feeling guilty, but neither of us can admit that because it would be weak.