Chapter 14 – Simo
‘I smell cheese toasties,’ Joni says from behind the library counter. She taps her fingers on the wooden top, scanning us with obvious disapproval.
Food and water, the two things you’d be least likely to find in a library, banned for good reason.
And we brought both inside. Three minutes ago we were waiting by the kiosk as Paul gave the toasties the perfect crisp.
The sky was blue and held only a flock of innocent clouds.
Two minutes ago, as we started walking down the promenade, warm parcels in our hands, the sun was swallowed up by clouds that inflated to tremendous balloons, turning an angry shade of slate.
Before we could react, the flood gates opened and drenched us in seconds.
The library was closest, as usual offering shelter to those in desperate need.
That is, if its guardian allowed us in. Luckily for us, Joni has always been susceptible to bribery.
Luca weighs the tightly wrapped parcel in his hand and slides it over the counter, prompting a crooked grin. Joni’s thick-rimmed glasses and the halo of salt-and-pepper hair might lend her an angelic air, but that exterior hides a devious mind and a sharp tongue.
‘Now we’re talking,’ she says, and her nostrils flare as she soaks in the scent of hot sauce and melted cheese. ‘Off you go, boys, but if I find a single greasy thumbprint on any of my books, I’ll turn your innards into porridge.’
We scramble up the staircase, with Orlando, Joni’s sheepdog, on our heels.
He wags his tail and sniffs the air, but we’ve already lost one sandwich, and I’m not sharing mine with a dog.
We sprawl across a pair of benches while Orlando finds a comfy spot beneath us.
The library is one big space divided into two floors.
The upper level is a gallery along the outer walls, leaving a wide square in the centre that looks down on the maze of bookshelves on the ground floor.
I fold the toastie out of the paper and hand a still-steaming triangle to Luca.
My mouth burns from the hot cheese, but it tastes too good to slow down.
I watch Luca demolish his half in less than thirty seconds.
He licks the leftover grease from his fingers.
For someone so conscious of his appearance, he has poor eating habits.
I should be revolted, but I can’t tear my eyes away as he sucks on each finger.
What’s a normal amount to be thinking about another boy’s lips? Is there such a thing?
He catches my gaze.
‘You’re disgusting,’ I lie.
‘So are you. Swallow before you speak, please and thank you.’
Attending the festival without him had felt odd.
The pumpkin-pie ice cream only tasted half as good, and yet I also had fun.
Mairi is so easy to get along with that I’m annoyed I didn’t realise it sooner.
Beneath a friendly but reserved outer layer hides a whip-smart nerd.
I was mercilessly mocked for stumbling into a hay bale and dropping my ice cream, but in turn I got to make fun of her obsession with vampire novels.
She might deny crushing on Twilight characters, but her cheeks glowed suspiciously when Taylor Lautner was mentioned.
It was nice, at least until our duo expanded.
I’m still holding a grudge against Louise, and as for the fourth person of our party . . .
‘Curtains asked about you,’ I say. I regret it instantly, but at the same time I want to see Luca’s reaction.
His eyebrows lift in confusion. ‘As in . . . Jacob?’
I can’t help but think that he sounds pleased.
‘Him with the silly curtains, yes,’ I say.
‘What’s silly about them?’
‘They’re too long. He constantly blows them out of his face. It gets on my nerves.’
Luca watches me with a look I can’t interpret. He plays with the pearl pendant around his neck. The black vest he wears hugs his torso, especially the darker patches still wet from the rain. A few drops cling to his collarbones, forming twin puddles in the soft dips at his throat skin.
‘Why don’t you like Jacob?’
‘I never said that,’ I reply.
I had been more bothered to be reminded that I couldn’t be apart from Luca without someone noting his absence.
We’re not conjoined twins. It’s a stupid thing to feel annoyed about.
Before the noticeboard, I was proud to be part of something that extended beyond myself.
Ever since that rude awakening I’ve been questioning our bond, though I’d rather forget the message ever happened and go back to how things were before.
At least then I knew where we stood. Now I’m stumbling in the dark, trying to find the light switch.
‘I like him,’ Luca says, as if to challenge me. ‘He’s in my photography class, and he’s good. I’ve seen his portraits.’
He sounds like a show-off. ‘Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. Just a feeling.’
Luca opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say, it doesn’t come out. Instead, he changes course.
‘My grandparents want to meet you.’
‘The scary famous ones?’ Just the idea has me nervous. I’ve never met anyone more famous than Anton the town mascot.
‘They’re not famous. Just . . .’
‘Filthy rich?’ I suggest.
Luca snorts but doesn’t disagree.
‘Does that mean I get to see their house?’ I could live with meeting them if I get a tour of the manor in return.
‘They’re coming for lunch at the cafe on Sunday. It’ll be more relaxed that way, if we’re on home turf. As long as Dad keeps his head screwed on.’
I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘More relaxed? It’ll be a spectacle. Half the town will “drop by” for a coffee to ogle the rich couple who bought Hidden House.’ Luca suddenly looks worried. ‘I’m kidding – it won’t be that bad.’
He groans and sinks on to the bench, his theatrics prompting a yap from Orlando. ‘You’re not – it’ll be the event of the year. They’ll watch us from the street like zoo animals. Or a Broadway show starring Meryl Streep.’
‘Is it too late to rearrange things?’
Luca sits up with an expression like he’s nursing a toothache. ‘I could barely get Dad to agree in the first place. I mean, he’d be so happy to cancel, he’d likely throw a party to celebrate getting out of it. He’s so weird around them, always snapping and lashing out.’
‘And how do they react?’
‘They snap right back. Where Dad’s aggressive, they’re passive aggressive.’
‘Sounds like there’s a lot of baggage,’ I say, and am reminded of my own parents. Though we might handle conflict differently, it’s always there, simmering. I feel for Maz. From what Luca has said, he didn’t have the easiest childhood, and being confronted with his past must bring back its demons.
‘Too much baggage to unpack,’ Luca says, ‘but I guess them reaching out is their way of making up for it. So, I want lunch to go ahead. Please come? Maybe they’ll behave if you’re around.’
It’s not like I’d refuse him. ‘I’ll come.’
Overcome with relief, he falls back on to the bench and places his head on my thighs. ‘Thank ya,’ he says, and grins up at me. I don’t even mind that the rain clinging to his hair is sinking into the fabric of my jeans.
‘You can pay me back in muffins,’ I reply.
‘As many as you can eat and then some,’ he promises.
‘And you can show me pictures of the manor,’ I say.
‘I don’t have any. I didn’t even see inside.’
‘You didn’t find an excuse to sneak in? Not even to go to the bathroom?’
‘I was too nervous to pee. Besides, I couldn’t leave them alone with Dad. Any interaction between Maz and his parents requires a referee. Or a bodyguard. Or three bodyguards.’
I can’t hold back a snort. ‘Yeah, I know the feeling.’
Luca’s face grows serious. I feel too exposed to hold his gaze, so now it’s my turn to fidget with his pendant. My parents are being odd – odder than usual. They’ve been whispering, scheming, and not knowing what they’re up to makes me nervous.
‘You can stay at mine if you want, you know that,’ Luca says.
I want to accept. It’s almost impossible not to, with him gazing up at me, true sympathy in his cornflower eyes. But this – us, cosying up in a public space – won’t help quash the rumours.
I pretend to have an itch on my calf, forcing him up and away from me. How is it that girls can be as close as they like without anyone thinking they’re together, but when two boys show a semblance of care for each other they end up being shipped by an entire town?
‘I think I’d better go home.’ If I sit in the lounge and read or write in my notebook it at least makes it impossible for my parents to continue their plotting.
‘Who knew family could be so complicated?’ Luca says, and stares across the gallery.
I knew, I want to say. I don’t remember a time when my family wasn’t complicated, even before the chasm left in Hamza’s wake.
Mum cut her parents out of her life long before I was born, something to do with her falling pregnant before there was a ring on her hand, and – to add insult to injury – marrying a (lapsed) Catholic.
Dad has lived far away from his siblings for too long to maintain true closeness.
That unease, the feeling of being incomplete, has always had a seat at our dinner table.
Luca grew up in a bubble. Though the circumstances might have been unusual, his parents sheltered him from harm for a solid seventeen years.
His mum might be far away, but all he has to do is say the word, and Poppy would be back in a heartbeat.
It’s only now that he’s being forced to navigate the waters of fraught family dynamics.
There’s an ugly part of me that feels a grim satisfaction at the bursting of the bubble, though it makes me dislike myself more.
‘I have to ask Joni for those English books,’ says Luca, thankfully interrupting my moment of self-loathing.
‘I thought you weren’t going to “invest in hard copies”.’