Chapter 20
TORI
It does get better, but not for five days.
Almost a week when I mainly slept, and about which I can remember scarily little.
Thursday is the first day when I can keep down a little tea and a mouthful of soup.
By Friday, my temperature is finally normal.
On Saturday, I have a shower, followed by a lie-down because it’s so exhausting.
Nobody is allowed to visit apart from Mum and Dad, who ask if they should take me home with them. I smile and say no, thank you, and, once my parents have left, I have a secret cry. It’s not like I wouldn’t rather be with them. But Mum was sober and so bloody jittery and nervous I couldn’t bear it.
Emma’s sent me loads of entertaining TikToks and film recommendations, but I spend most of my time asleep anyway.
I get a bouquet of flowers and a ‘get well soon’ card from the theatre club, which everyone except Sinclair has signed.
It’s a slap in the face, and however much I try to kid myself that he might just have forgotten, I can’t help imagining him at a rehearsal just sitting there and passing the card on without a word.
It’s so painful that I have to ignore the WhatsApp he sends me asking how I am, because my pride is hurt.
It’s probably just his guilty conscience forcing him to ask after me – he doesn’t really care.
But I have nothing to say to the guy anyway.
I can only dimly remember the last week, and nothing at all about the day on which – according to Dr Henderson – I fainted in morning assembly.
But the images of the evening before that won’t disappear.
Annoyingly. I wish they weren’t so seared on my mind.
Charlie kissing Eleanor and making sure I can see.
I still don’t know how I feel. Angry, helpless, disappointed.
A bit of everything. I really wish I didn’t care.
Indifference. That’s one thing I’ll never feel towards Charlie and it’s driving me mad.
If only I could never see him again. But at the same time, I spend every waking moment talking silently to myself about everything I have to say to him.
What on earth was he thinking? Is he proud of himself?
Do I really mean so little to him? Why the hell?
I know I’ll never ask any of those things.
Maybe everything’s over between us. Just now, I don’t feel like I could ever look him in the eye and not see everything that’s happened in the last few weeks.
The way he kissed me and then pushed me away.
Or I pushed him away. We pushed each other away.
I don’t know. Everything’s too confusing and it’s making my head ache, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
The stupid card’s there on the bedside table, mocking me.
Eleanor signed it and added a tiny heart after her name.
If it wasn’t so important to me to be a good feminist, I’d hate her.
For her guilty-conscience heart and her lips on Charlie’s.
But she didn’t do anything, I tell myself, it was him who kissed her so I force myself to keep hating him.
It doesn’t make the whole thing any easier, but Eleanor’s acted perfectly to me from the very start.
She helped me when I felt uncomfortable around Val.
Almost like she could sense it. It would be so much easier if I could just hate her, but unfortunately, I can’t.
All the same, I don’t know how I’m ever going to face her and Charlie, and put a brave face on things in rehearsals.
It would probably be better if I gave up my job as assistant director.
My work on the scriptwriting team is done, the script’s pretty much settled, and, to be honest, I really don’t give a damn what does or doesn’t happen on that stage in the summer.
I’m past caring. I can’t just keep on getting hurt and kidding myself it doesn’t matter.
Because it does matter. It matters a lot.
Because I’m in love with Charlie. Have been for way too long, and it hurts.
I don’t want to lose him, but if there’s no other way, then I’ll have to suck it up because I can’t and won’t go on the way the last few weeks have been.
I’m sure of that the next Monday afternoon, when I’m allowed back to my room because they need my bed in the sick bay for boaking second-formers.
I’ve spoken to Ms Barnett and I’m going back to class tomorrow, but I can leave any time if I don’t feel up to it.
Considering the mountains of missed schoolwork I’ve got to catch up on, I have to give it a try.
At least I missed the French and history tests last week.
Emma doesn’t leave my side on Monday evening, makes us tea and settles down on the edge of my bed to bring me up to date with everything.
I was only out of it for a week, but it feels like there’s a whole month of classes and gossip I’ve missed.
But when Emma sips awkwardly at her tea, not meeting my eye, I realize there has to be something she’s not telling me.
‘Did Sinclair ever get in touch?’ she asks casually.
I tense. I’d like to say no, but that wouldn’t be true. He did get in touch. ‘Yeah, he texted.’ Emma looks at me. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. I . . . He was pretty worried.’
Oh, was he indeed? Don’t make me laugh. ‘Good to know. He didn’t even sign the drama club card.’
‘Oh.’ Emma hesitates. ‘That’s probably because he’s not in the drama club any more.’
‘What?’ I laugh because I’m sure she’s pulling my leg. But Emma’s expression is serious. I fall silent. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He quit.’
‘He what?’
‘Last Monday. Then he cried his eyes out at Henry’s.’
‘Hold on, hold the bus!’ I raise a hand. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘Tori, no.’ Emma gulps. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if he wanted to tell you himself. But, well, I thought you ought to know.’
‘But why?’ I blurt. My mind is racing. Charlie quit the role. ‘So who’s playing Romeo now? There wasn’t an understudy, he can’t just . . .’
Emma shrugs. ‘Gideon reckons Louis will probably step in, but it’s apparently been total mayhem ever since.’
I can imagine. God, he’s dumb. What did he do that for?
For your sake? whispers a na?ve, hopeful voice in my head. No. No, no, no. I can’t think that. The whole world doesn’t revolve around me. Charlie made a decision and it’s nothing to do with me. Jeez, it’s all so confusing.
‘He’s at the bakery, I think,’ Emma says, just as I’m wondering where he is. It’s almost creepy how well she knows me. ‘But please wrap up warm.’
SINCLAIR
Dad didn’t ask any questions when I offered to do a few extra shifts at the bakery even though I’d already worked the weekend.
I think he understands that the bake room is the only place I can find peace just now.
Quiet – just me and the dough, which doesn’t look reproachfully at me, or start whispering the moment my back’s turned.
Like the rest of the drama club, or indeed the whole school, now that the news is out that I chucked everything away.
I’d hoped to feel more relief. I’m rid of the role and all my problems with it, aren’t I?
Of course not, because – sadly – I care way more about what happens to the play than I’d like.
Besides, I’m scared of how Tori will react when she hears about it.
Mum says she’s doing better and she’ll be able to leave the sick bay soon, which, on the one hand, is a relief and, on the other, sends me into a blind panic.
Because it means I’ll have to talk to her.
Have a conversation I’ve run through so often in my head in the last few weeks that there’s no way I can screw it up now.
Unless, of course, Tori departs from my imaginary script.
I’ve just put the dishwasher on and I’m wiping down the work surfaces when I hear the knock. Four quick taps in succession. But even so, God knows why, it never occurs to me that it might be Tori. Maybe because she’s ill and the rainy streets of Ebrington are the last place she should be.
My heart skips a beat as I see her out there. I hurry to open the door.
‘What the . . .’ I start as she comes in.
‘Hi,’ she says.
We’re standing face to face and I’d forgotten how beautiful she is. It’s only a week since we saw each other but it feels like a lifetime.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask slowly.
Tori shrugs her shoulders. Her pale skin looks almost like porcelain.
Even her freckles seem paler. The rings under her eyes make her look tired and her cheekbones are more prominent.
She looks knackered. Like someone who should be in bed with tea and a hot-water bottle, not standing here with me.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ I step towards her.
‘You’re meant to be in the sick bay, not—’
‘Dr Henderson let me out,’ she says. Her voice sounds scratchy. I want to take her in my arms and never let her go.
‘When?’
‘This afternoon.’
‘And does he know you’re here?’
‘I don’t see what business that is of his,’ she retorts.
‘Because you should be resting,’ I snap at her. Because the last time you stood next to me, you just keeled over and since then I’ve been feeling like I can’t breathe. Is that really so hard to understand?
‘I can take perfectly good care of myself, thank you very much.’ She sounds irritable, which is probably a good sign. But I don’t want to argue.
‘How are you?’ I ask quietly.
The antagonism vanishes from her eyes, making way for something soft, vulnerable.
God, I’ve missed her. Not just because I haven’t seen her for a week.
It’s felt like we’ve been drifting ever further apart for months now.
I had a brief moment of hope after we kissed, but that just made everything even more complicated.
‘Better.’ Tori swallows. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘You should be in bed, Tori,’ I insist, but she shakes her head.
‘And you should be on the stage.’
I freeze. And then I understand. She’s heard. Great. Of course she has. What did I expect? That she’d hear none of the school gossip from the sick bay? I should have known better.
‘Is that why you didn’t sign the card?’ she asks. ‘Or did you just not care?’
I open my mouth, but her question is so absurd I can’t even speak.
Not care?
Tori stares at me and then she nods. ‘I see.’
That’s the moment I explode. ‘Are you seriously asking me that?’ She flinches, but I can’t stop. ‘Are you seriously asking me if I care about you, after I’ve just been through the worst week of my life because nobody would tell me how you were?’
The silence after my outburst is unbearably loud. My heart is pounding in my throat and Tori’s staring at me with her huge brown eyes.
‘Shit, sorry.’ I run both hands over my face, and then I swear again because I’d forgotten how floury they are.
‘Charlie,’ she says quietly, but I shake my head.
‘OK. Surprise: I care about you. I care more than anything, got that? I think about you all the time. Every day, half the night. Not just when you’re ill and I’m freaking out with worry.
The whole time. And I wouldn’t change that even if I could.
Because I’m in love with you, for God’s sake.
So, if you’d be so kind as to go back to school and get yourself back to bed—’
I don’t get any further.
‘What?’ Tori looks at me like she’s seen a ghost. ‘What did you just say?’
‘You heard me.’
‘Charlie, what did you just say?’
‘That I’m in love with you, for God’s sake.’
‘Is that why you kissed me?’ she asks quietly. ‘Or was that Romeo kissing . . .’
I laugh out loud. ‘Seriously? Of course that wasn’t Romeo. That was Charlie, who always gets everything wrong, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Meaning you regret it?’
I shake my head.
‘Would you do it again?’ she asks.
I want to look away, but I owe it to her to look her in the eye. My voice is rough. ‘Only if you asked me to.’
There’s a dark flash in her eyes. Tori’s lips are pale, but she’s still the most beautiful woman in the world.
‘“Your mouth has cleansed my lips from sin,”’ she whispers. I get goosebumps and shut my eyes, just for a second. ‘“Then give it back to me.”’
And I take a step towards her.