Chapter 28
SINCLAIR
Kit had an emergency operation at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh.
His shit of a father had beaten him so badly that he’d ruptured his spleen.
Will is surprisingly composed as he tells us this.
The doctors say Kit would probably have died of internal bleeding if he hadn’t got help last night.
I think Mum knows too. She did tell children’s services, and that means Kit won’t be going home.
I don’t know the details, but if I understand correctly, she’ll give him some kind of scholarship so that he can board at school.
It’s been a wild few days, and I haven’t seen much of Tori, because she’s been spending a lot of time with her brother.
The insecure part of my brain keeps trying to convince me there might be other reasons for that too.
I try to ignore it, but I can’t deny that things have been weird between us since we slept together.
Henry wouldn’t be Henry if he hadn’t instantly noticed that something was up.
I ask him after dinner what he’s doing for the rest of the evening, and he says he’ll come round later.
Soon after that, he knocks on my door; he’s wearing joggers, his school hoodie and his grim socks-and-Birkenstocks combo, and carrying a packet of biscuits, plus tea in his favourite mug.
We talk about Will and Kit for a while, and I learn that Mum gave Henry a bit of a hard time for not telling her about their problems. Although in the end she had to agree that he couldn’t really have done so, seeing Kit had sworn him to secrecy.
Henry’s gone back to calling me Sinclair as is only right and proper. So now, when he eyes me and sips his tea, I know what’s coming next.
‘So, Charlie, what’s up?’
I decide to ignore the fact that he keeps using my first name when he wants to steer the conversation subtly around to Tori. Instead I ask, ‘How’s Emma?’
‘Fine.’ Henry runs his thumb around the rim of his mug. ‘She saw her dad last weekend. I think it went well.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ he says. I say nothing. ‘And how’s Tori?’
‘How should she be? The whole thing with Will and Kit is stressing her out.’ I shrug my shoulders.
‘Understandable,’ Henry says. ‘What does your mum think about you two? Does she know?’
‘That we’re together?’ He nods. ‘She was pleased,’ I say. Because she really was. ‘So’s Dad.’ It would be more truthful to say that they looked at each other with a told-you-so expression on their faces, and smiled gently.
‘How about Tori’s parents?’ Henry asks.
‘Yeah, them too. Or I think they are.’ I gulp. Tori hasn’t told me they weren’t, anyway. But I also get the impression that Charlotte and George Belhaven-Wynford have other worries just now. Tori hasn’t been home for ages, which is definitely to do with her mum and the drinking.
‘Lovely, that’s nice.’ Henry goes silent.
When I look over, he’s eyeing me.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘Nothing.’
‘So, how’s it going with your first girlfriend? Got any questions? Need any tips?’
I hate Henry, but I know he isn’t being ironic.
Hardly surprising – he’s the baby of his family.
I suppose he’s been waiting his whole life for the chance to be the one with pearls of wisdom to dispense in relationship matters.
And it’s not like I wouldn’t be grateful.
He and Emma are endgame. And what he had before, with Grace, wasn’t bad either.
Henry knows how it works, let’s be honest here.
Meanwhile, I’ve got room for improvement, to put it mildly.
‘Yeah, there is something.’ I squirm.
Henry puts down his mug. I wish he wasn’t focusing his full attention on me because, given what I need to talk to him about, there’s no way I can look him in the eye.
‘What is it?’
I gulp.
Oh, shit, if only I’d never said anything . . .
But Henry won’t let it go now, I know him well enough to be sure of that.
‘Sinclair?’
I shut my eyes.
‘Oh,’ Henry says, as I open them again. ‘You’ve done it.’
‘What?’ I blurt. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shrugs. ‘Some kind of intuition.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘Haven’t you then? Sorry if so – don’t feel under any pressure. And about the other day, when I burst in on you, I’ve been meaning to say I’m sorry if that was annoying of me. There was no need for it.’
‘Henry,’ I say, and he goes quiet. ‘Shut up.’
‘No, I had to say that.’
‘OK, got you, but that’s not it.’
‘What then?’
‘Yes, of course you’re right. You know, with your intuition.’ I pause. ‘We . . .’ Shagged? Slept together? Made love? Hell, none of those things, considering how it went.
Henry tries to keep his face as neutral as possible, but he looks like he’s bursting with pride. I bet he’ll tell Emma all about it. They’ve probably been betting on it – I wouldn’t put it past them.
‘I’m happy for you both.’
‘You’re happy?’
‘Yeah. Shouldn’t I say that? Sorry, but I really am. You two are totally made for each other.’ Henry really does look pleased. ‘But was it good? I want to know everything! Well, not everything, just as much as you want to say. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.’
‘Henry, just shut the hell up.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Sorry.’ He claps both hands to his mouth, but the look of challenge in his eyes betrays him.
I wish the ground would swallow me.
Was it good?
He should be asking Tori that, not me. And according to her, it was nice. It’s amazing how much damage that fucking word has done to my fragile male ego. But I guess I deserve it.
‘Well, no.’ I stare at my knees, because I simply can’t meet Henry’s eyes while I’m embarrassing myself like this.
I don’t know what I’ll do if he laughs. Laugh too, and later cry tears of fury because I’m a wuss.
Not over the crying – I’m kind of glad that I’m someone who can cry reasonably often.
It’s kind of a release. But this whole sex thing is driving me mad.
I get a horrible feeling that other people don’t turn it into such a big deal. They just do it.
‘No you don’t want to go into detail?’ Henry asks carefully.
‘No. No it wasn’t good . . . Or yes it was. It was good. It was damn good. For me, at any rate. I hope it was at least a little bit good for Tori. I don’t know. Fuck . . .’ I force myself to take some deep breaths. Henry doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s driving me crazy.
‘Didn’t it work?’ he asks eventually, when I can’t say another word. ‘That wouldn’t be a disaster. The first time with Grace it didn’t work. I was too nervous.’
‘God, stop it,’ I mumble.
‘Ha, no, it’s not a disaster. I didn’t last long with Emma at first either, but fortunately I usually managed to return the favour.’
This is actually stuff you don’t necessarily need to know about your best pal, but it’s kind of comforting all the same.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I groan, and let myself drop backwards onto my bed. ‘I was in her and, well, then I was finished right away. I don’t think she was anywhere near coming.’
‘Maybe she can’t come that way.’
Don’t think about the fact that we’re talking about Tori here. Just don’t think it . . .
‘So what should I do?’
‘Ask her what she likes. And tell her what you like.’ It sounds so simple when Henry puts it like that.
‘Don’t you dare tell me communication is key,’ I grumble, because I know Henry.
He laughs. ‘Hey, what can I say? Communication has certainly proved useful so far.’
‘Maybe I should have told her it was my first time.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Henry asks.
I shake my head.
‘Got you.’
‘I didn’t want to kill the mood.’
‘I promise you, that kind of thing never kills the mood.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘Sinclair, it’s important. Talking to each other, I mean. Especially during sex. Or afterwards, before the next time.’
If there is a next time . . . But we’d better not think that, either.
There has to be a next time. Because, OK, maybe it was anything but optimal, but nobody can tell me there was nothing between us.
The start was promising. There was a spark.
It was genuine. I get goosebumps thinking about it, and Tori has to kiss me like that again, and pull me to her, and touch me or I’ll die.
‘It’s not fair, everything always works out for you,’ I mumble.
Henry laughs. ‘For Emma and me? Everything never works. Sometimes nothing works. Sometimes some things do. You never know, and that’s normal.’
‘If you say so . . .’
‘Emma didn’t come our first time. Only afterwards, when I was totally focused on her. And, like I said, it didn’t work out right away with me and Grace either.’ Henry looks at me. ‘By the way, do you think there’s been something funny about her lately?’
‘Grace? What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it, but she doesn’t seem happy. And . . . she’s lost weight, hasn’t she? Even more, I mean.’
I try to remember the way Grace looked at our last rehearsal. ‘To be honest, I hadn’t noticed. But I wasn’t thinking about it.’
Henry nods. ‘I’m a bit worried.’
‘She’s spending a lot of time with Gideon,’ I say. ‘During rehearsals too. You could ask him.’
‘I don’t want to interfere, you know?’
‘I don’t think it’s interfering. If he thinks it’s weird, say you’re looking out for her as school captain.’
Henry seems unconvinced. ‘I just hope she’s all right.’
‘And if she isn’t, that’s not your fault.’
He darts a glance at me. ‘Yeah, well . . .’
‘She understood, Henry. Definitely.’
‘Yeah, and she’s seen me with Emma every day since. But I’m scared it’s not that. Or not just that. Anyway, never mind. We’re talking about you here.’
‘We’re not.’
‘Yes, we are. We have to come up with a strategy for next time.’
‘Henry, I really don’t know if I want to be thinking about you and your strategy when we next . . .’
‘OK, fine, you’re right.’
I laugh. ‘So, what’s the solution? What do I do now?’
‘You’ve got ten fingers and a tongue, so just be a bit creative, OK?’