Chapter 1 #3
I follow his gaze, interest flaring. “I didn’t know that. I’ll have to take a look.” Then realisation sears me. I have more important things to do than shop for records; even if I didn’t, I currently lack a place to store them. “Great,” I say dully.
He looks me over, focusing on the suitcase and bags strewn at my feet. He lowers his sunglasses, showing bright blue eyes clouded in confusion. “Are you going somewhere? Are you moving house?”
“You could say that.”
His eyes are busy, and then they narrow with reluctant concern. “You look upset. Are you okay, Wes?”
I roll my head on my neck, suddenly tired of polite chit-chat. “Are you actually really bothered?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Because I’d just jog on if I were you,” I say. “We’re not mates, so you don’t need to know my problems.”
He arches one eyebrow. “Well, that is true. You’re messy and far too chaotic for my taste.”
For some reason that makes me smile, but it fades quickly. “I’ll see you at uni.”
Relief flares in his eyes. “See you then.” He nods and walks away, and for some ridiculous reason, I want to call him back.
His leaving makes me feel more alone than before, which is absurd.
I rub my eyelids, feeling the hot dampness there.
I have to pull myself together and get moving.
I don’t know where yet, but sitting here isn’t doing me any favours.
It’s already afternoon, and panic stirs at how time is marching on. I need somewhere to sleep tonight.
Footsteps sound briskly, and I look up, blinking as Julian marches back to me. “I did try to go,” he snaps. “And believe me, I have no room for people’s problems and weaknesses.”
“No?”
“Absolutely not . I would like nothing more than to walk away and leave you here sad and pathetic amongst a bundle of what looks like rubbish for a bonfire.” He steps closer, his nostrils flaring. “And smelling of sweat and desperation, too.”
“You should try for a job at the Samaritans. You’d be a shoo-in.”
He ignores me. “But for some incredibly ridiculous reason that I will no doubt regret for the rest of my life, I can’t leave you when you’re obviously going through something.” He grimaces. “I don’t even want to think about the type of problems you might have.”
I scratch my chin. “You really don’t.” I stare at him as he steps back and gestures at me. “What?”
“Get up.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re coming home with me.”
“Are you fucking mad?” I gape at him. “We don’t really know each other.”
“I am aware. But you’re my competition. I can’t have you upset. I need you to keep my interest alive in the boring classes.”
“Your altruism knows no end.”
“I need competition to thrive, and you’re it. The one person at uni with as much ability as me.” He pauses. “Well, a bit less, to be honest, but you do try hard.”
“You must struggle in life with your massive sense of inferiority.”
His lip twitches, but he gestures briskly at me again. “Come along. You can come home with me for the night.”
I stare at him. “And what do you want in return?”
He rolls his eyes, a smile playing over his lips. “Not your scrawny arse that’s for sure.” When I don’t move, he clicks his fingers like I’m a stray dog he’s beckoning. “Are you coming? I can’t stand around here talking to what looks like a tramp on a doorstep.”
“Why? Am I too much competition for you?”
He shakes his head. “A poor riposte. Well?”
I stay still for a second. I’m not entirely sure what’s happening at the moment. I should head for the YMCA and see if I can get a bed for the night. Then I can think things through tomorrow, and maybe if I’m lucky, my guardian angel will come up with a solution.
Or maybe she already has. Am I really unlucky enough to have a guardian angel with such a sick sense of humour that she’d send me my snobby rival to help? I shake my head at the reminder of my day so far. I’m definitely that unlucky.
I heave myself to my feet. “Okay, thank you.”
I hold out my bag, and he stares at me. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you a bag to carry.”
“Is there anything in my appearance to demonstrate that I’m a pack animal?”
Despite the day I’ve had, my lip twitches. He’s always amused me with his sharp retorts and prickly demeanour. He’s like a very posh hedgehog.
“I’ll take your rucksack,” he says in a magnanimous tone.
“Very kind of you.”
A cab appears on the street, and Julian raises his hand languidly. The driver immediately screeches to a halt as if he’s seen King Charles. He lowers the window. “Where to, mate?”
“Saint Katherine’s Wharf.”
I blink. “Blimey, that’s posh. Do you live near there?”
He looks back at me as he stows my rucksack on the back seat. “No, I have a flat on the wharf.”
Me eyes widen and they remain wide during a lengthy drive where the cabbie tries to initiate conversation and Julian refuses to humour him.
I step out after we arrive at our destination and stare up at the massive brick building. “ Here ?” I say in disbelief. It reeks of money. The Porsche drawing up to the entrance, and the concierge darting out to help the driver, cements the appearance.
Julian nods, running a casual hand through his hair, which, unlike my messy waves, immediately falls into artless perfection. “Come along,” he says.
I obediently fall into step next to him, carrying my bags. We enter the building through huge wooden doors, and into an atrium-style foyer. Sunlight shines through the glass above, sending rainbow colours onto the marble floor and my feet in their shabby trainers.
“Do close your mouth,” Julian mutters. He nods at the concierge and stops to press a button by the lifts. “You look like a rather slow guppy.”
“You live here?” I say again.
“No, I just said that to pretend.” The doors open, and he gestures for me to enter the lift.
“This is bigger than my bedroom,” I marvel.
He rolls his eyes. “Surely not. How ever did you, with your large mouth, fit?”
I suddenly remember I’ll never see my room again and feel a hollow ache in my chest.
“No, no,” Julian says in a slightly panicked voice. “No sad faces.”
“Are they not allowed in this building?” I snap.
He smiles, obviously happy to see my sarcasm.
I stare at him. Have I walked off with a lunatic? Maybe he’ll chop me into little pieces in his flat in the clouds. I try to summon up some fear, but after the day I’ve had, it’s just not coming.
Instead, I follow him meekly out of the lift, standing quietly as he swipes a keycard and then walks through the door. I stop dead. “Fucking hell. This is epic.”
It’s open-plan, and light streams into the room through huge windows. On one side is a kitchen with shiny white units and a breakfast bar, and on the other is a big lounge with a sectional sofa that could easily seat ten people.
He walks past me, dumping my rucksack on a chair. “Come along. I’ll show you to your room.”
I stand still and carry on staring. Then an idea occurs to me. “Wait. Will your mum and dad mind me staying?”
He stares at me. “Pardon?”
I hesitate. “Your parents. Are they at work?”
His forehead creases in a frown. “I don’t live with my parents.”
“So, who do you live with?” I ask following him through the flat.
“No one. Now I’ll put you in this room.” He opens a door. “Luckily, the cleaner has been, and the linens are fresh.” He looks back. “Why are you standing there gaping at me?”
“You live alone?”
“Yes.”
“ Here ?”
“No, a flat down the road. I thought I’d break in here to search for the excitement that your company lacks.” He smirks. “Of course, this is my place.”
“And you live here on your own?”
“Are you having some sort of episode? I just said that.”
“This place must be mega expensive.”
His mouth twitches. “ Mega . Now, do you want to see the room or maybe you’d like to sleep in the hall?” He looks me up and down. “Or maybe the laundry chute.”
I roll my eyes and march into the room. “Oh my god,” I say slowly.
It’s three times the size of my bedroom at home, and it has a bed I bet I could get lost in. It’s decorated in blue and cream, with a soft chair and a big wardrobe. Double doors open onto a small balcony, where I can see an iron chair and table.
I sink down on the bed and it cushions me like it was made for my body. He sits next to me and smooths the already smooth duvet. For some reason, I’m absolutely positive he’s nervous, and it’s such a novel concept that I stare at him.
“What?” he snaps. Then he blanches. “Do I have dirt on my face?”
“No more than usual,” I say solemnly, and he fights a smile, not quite succeeding.
This makes me stare more because he’s usually a beautiful boy, but he’s incandescent when he smiles, his eyes lighting up and his face warm.
Unfortunately, it fades very quickly, and he stands. “Will you be alright in here?”
“You haven’t asked me about my situation,” I say quietly.
I don’t need to elaborate, and his face softens. “Maybe because I don’t want you to ask me the same thing.” He hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “I really don’t. Honestly, I’d like to crawl into bed and just forget this day ever happened.”
“Then why don’t you?” he asks, shrugging casually. “Don’t worry about entertaining me. A brief knowledge of your personality has ensured I don’t expect that from you.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I say admiringly, and he laughs.
It sounds awkward, like a seal clapping, but it makes me smile even though my heart is breaking. “Thank you,” I say softly.
He immediately and predictably waves me off. “No need. What are friends for?”
“And are we friends?”
His phone pings, and my question goes unanswered as he takes his phone from his pocket. He looks down at the text and then curses. “Shit, I’ve got to go out.” He looks up. “I’m so sorry. I probably won’t be back tonight.”
It must be someone he’s dating. “Why are you apologising? You’re doing me a massive favour as it is.”
“Well, I’d hoped to stay around.” I’m absurdly touched, and it must show on my face because he immediately looks uneasy. “I thought I needed to be here and show you how to use the shower—a skill that has obviously eluded you today.”
I laugh, and I could kiss him for that alone. His mouth softens into a smile. “Stay,” he says quietly. “Order food if you want it. The takeaway menus are in a drawer in the kitchen. I have accounts with all of them, so put the bill on those.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you could,” he says firmly. “Please don’t argue. It’s very tedious, and your voice hurts my brain.” He steps back. “Have a shower and sleep. It’ll feel better in the morning.”
“Will it?”
He stares at me for a second and shrugs. “Probably not, but at least you’ll have eaten and slept.”
“Thank you.”
He waves a hand. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere.”
I watch him go. The front door slams, and silence descends, so absolute that it’s startling.
At home, there’d be loads of familiar noises—cars on the street, our neighbour Mr Phillips practising scales on his cello, and our other neighbour Betty’s television playing loudly.
I’m so homesick that I bend over, holding myself round my middle as if I’m going to fly apart.
The feeling passes, and I decide I’m too tired to shower. I’ll do it in the morning. After undressing, I pull the duvet back and climb into bed. It’s like lying on a cloud. The sheets are soft against my naked skin, and the duvet is fluffy.
I lean over and retrieve my mum’s jewellery box from my bag.
Pulling off its T-shirt swaddling, I cradle it in my hand, the red leather cracked and worn.
I open the lid, and the little dancer in her tutu immediately starts to turn, the sound of the familiar sweet tune tinkling in the hushed room.
I touch her blue skirt delicately with the tip of my finger.
The box is full of my mum’s jewellery. I hadn’t lied to the man—it’s all cheap crap combined with little things we’d made or found for her.
It meant nothing to the men ready to throw onto a pile of rubbish, but to me, it’s more precious than priceless pearls.
I carefully set the box on the bedside table, listening to the sweet song and watching the twirling ballerina. My blinks get longer and longer, and then the world fades away.