Chapter 7 #2
So, objectively, it would be better for all concerned if I went to Mr Acevedo and gave up the role.
But part of me is already addicted to the kick I got on the stage on Wednesday afternoon.
I’d never experienced anything like it. It was madness, and I want to feel it again.
I want to forget everything around me and I want to feel that light. I’m desperate for it.
The closest comparison I can find to it is when I ride out on Jubilee or another of the school horses and gallop along that straight section of the path through the little clearing in the woods.
Reins loose, slightly out of the saddle to reduce the weight.
Speed, tunnel vision, going with the flow, and then the adrenaline.
We’re flying. I had no idea you could feel anything like that on a ratty old school theatre stage.
‘Sinclair, it’s OK.’ I jump and look up. Right into Florence’s face. ‘You have to do what feels best to you.’
I sigh. ‘And how will the four of you manage?’
She shrugs her shoulders. ‘We’ll find someone else who wants to join in.’
‘You could ask Tori,’ I say, without thinking.
Florence frowns in confusion. ‘Does she write?’
‘No, but she reads a lot.’
‘Yeah, mainly trash if her videos are anything to go by,’ murmurs Quentin. He looks away hastily as I glare sharply at him.
‘Young adult romance novels are not trash,’ I say, because Tori’s answer to that kind of provocation is deeply engrained in me now.
‘You mean dirty books for horny teenage girls to get off on,’ Quentin laughs quietly. ‘Not that she needs them now that Ward’s looking after that for her.’
He freezes as I leap up off my chair and instinctively clench both fists. ‘Take that back.’ I step threateningly towards him, which does the trick. Quentin raises his hands in self-defence.
‘Whoa, easy, it was just a joke.’
‘Hey,’ Florence’s voice cuts through the silence that follows. Amara tugs me down by the sleeve while Ho-wing just rolls his eyes. ‘Pull yourselves together.’
‘Just shut it, OK?’ I growl in Quentin’s direction, avoiding Amara’s warning expression.
Quentin exhales, barely audibly, shaking his head as if to say What’s the fuss about?
True, isn’t it? My blood is boiling as I reluctantly sit down.
I still want to deck him, even though I know my reaction is way over the top – and that Quentin might even be right.
About Tori and Val, that is. The rest was total bullshit.
But maybe Tori is actually reading less now because she’s with Val and doing .
. . Fuck, I don’t want to think about it.
‘Can we all just calm down now, please?’ Florence looks from Quentin to me. I stare at the old floorboards of the school library in silence.
‘And, let’s face it, Romeo and Juliet is kind of trashy too, if you look at it like that,’ Amara murmurs. ‘Except there’s no happy ending.’
‘Romeo and Juliet’s a classic,’ Quentin immediately contradicts Amara and she rolls her eyes at him.
‘So will Colleen Hoover’s books be in a few years’ time.’
‘Guys, seriously,’ Florence cuts in. ‘If you,’ she looks at Quentin, ‘can’t ditch your medieval ideas of literature, then you might as well have walked out with Lowell. And I’m begging you from the bottom of my heart to ditch them because we can’t lose another team member now.’
Quentin crosses his arms and leans back, but he’s looking mildly guilty.
Florence turns to me. I can see in her eyes that she would actually prefer it if I stayed and wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t necessary.
‘Do you think Tori would be interested?’ There’s a hint of hope in her voice.
‘If she reads a lot, she’ll have a good sense of storytelling and an ear for language. ’
‘You should ask her at any rate,’ I say. ‘I’m sure she’d do a good job.’
I might be pissed off with Tori but I’m not a bad friend. I know she might enjoy this. And enjoy doing something just for herself. Without that jerk Val making her give up her dreams.
‘I’ll ask her,’ Florence says, looking at me. ‘Does this mean we’ll have to make do without you from now on?’
I feel four pairs of eyes on me. And then I remember the addictive sensation on the stage. The certainty that I have a talent I’d had no idea about.
I nod slowly.
I guess it does.
TORI
Plot twist: I didn’t party with Val and his pals in the Dungeon on Friday night.
Around lunchtime, it suddenly hit me that Arthur would be there any moment to pick me and Will up, by which point I didn’t have time to tell Val.
I hastily packed my weekend bag, and half an hour later, my brother and I were getting into the big dark car.
This trip home had been planned for ages, long before I knew I’d be spending last weekend with my family too, for the dinner at Val’s.
If I’d remembered sooner, I might have made my excuses and stayed at school, but our driver was on his way over by then and I don’t want to be a bad daughter.
Or a bad girlfriend. So, as I chat to Arthur, I make a mental note to text Val in a bit.
Arthur is more than just a chauffeur – he’s been part of the family for twenty-two years and helps to look after the estate too.
I can’t imagine life without him, or without Martha, our cook and housekeeper, or Deborah our old nanny.
For as long as Will and I can remember, they’ve been there, living in estate cottages on the other side of the grounds.
My family home looks like a scaled-down version of Dunbridge Academy, about sixty miles north-east of Ebrington and right on the coast. As always, a warm feeling spreads through me as Arthur turns the car through the wrought-iron gateway and up the gravel drive to the front door.
It’s not late but it’s properly dark now.
Golden yellow light shines out of the windows, and lanterns line the drive.
Will is sitting on the back seat beside me, and now looks up from his phone for the first time since we left.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask, as we pull up and Arthur gets out.
Will freezes. ‘Yeah. Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘I just wondered . . .’ I begin. ‘Who were you texting?’
‘Nobody,’ he snaps, undoing his seatbelt.
Kit, then. I can only speculate about whether something’s up between my brother and his boyfriend – last time I asked, Will didn’t want to talk about it. But I haven’t seen Kit around at school for a few days.
I don’t say anything now, though, because Will’s opening his door and getting out. Dad appears to greet us, so I follow his lead.
Arthur opens the boot. ‘Let me get that, Victoria,’ he says, before I can take my bag from it.
‘It’s not heavy,’ I lie, heaving it over my shoulder. The wide strap digs in a bit, reminding me very clearly of the seven books I packed because I couldn’t decide what to read this weekend. Even though my room here bears a strong resemblance to the Dunbridge library.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, as he comes down the last few steps towards me having greeted Will.
‘How was the journey, love?’ he asks, taking my bag and giving me a hug. ‘Let me see you. Is everything OK?’
I hate it when he does that because it means I’m going to have to work at keeping my face under control. Smile then. Glow. Everything’s fine. ‘Missed you,’ I mumble, pressing my face into the smooth cotton of his shirt.
‘Missed you too, kid,’ he says, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. Then he lets go. ‘Come on, inside with you now or you’ll freeze.’
I turn back. ‘Thanks for the lift, Arthur.’
He smiles. ‘Nice to have you home.’
I glance at Dad in mild confusion – Arthur isn’t putting the car away in the garage as he usually does.
‘Your mother’s still out,’ Dad says. ‘Theresa Tomlinson’s birthday. She must have lost track of time – she was planning to be back before you arrived.’
‘Oh, right.’ I don’t say anything else. I’d rather not think about what that means.
‘Have you two eaten?’ Dad asks, as we walk into the house.
‘No, not yet,’ I say. ‘Aren’t we waiting for Mum?’
‘I was with a client until just now but I tried to call her.’ Dad shrugs. ‘Martha’s getting dinner for seven o’clock.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Will mumbles, slipping off his shoes and coat. He pockets his phone. ‘And I’m tired. Is it OK if I go straight up to my room?’
Dad hesitates, and I see the disappointment in his eyes.
It’s rare for us all to sit round the table together as a family, especially since Will and I have been at boarding school, and the evenings when we do mean the world to our parents.
I know that as well as my brother does. But then Dad smiles.
‘Of course. Get some rest. Martha can put something aside for you in case you get hungry later.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ he mumbles, grabbing his bag and vanishing upstairs as fast as he can.
‘Is he all right?’ Dad asks, under his breath, as Will’s footsteps fade away. ‘Trouble with Kit?’
I shrug. ‘I hope not. I couldn’t get anything out of him.’
‘Hm . . .’ Dad’s silent for a moment. Then he puts my bag at the foot of the wide staircase. ‘OK. Do you want to freshen up and then we can have dinner on the sofa instead?’
I have to smile. ‘Only if we can watch Spider-Man.’
‘The Tom Holland version, of course.’ Dad nods. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘See you in a bit, then.’
Will’s door is shut as I cross the upstairs landing.
It’s only a week since I was last here but, as always, stepping into my childhood bedroom feels like entering a whole new world.
It’s at least three times the size of my room at Dunbridge, but it feels less like home.
I’ve rarely slept here for more than a few days at a time since the juniors.
We spend most of the holidays away. It’s ages since I stayed in this room for more than a week.
And every time I’m back here, I think what a shame that is.
It’s dark outside so I can’t see the sea, but when the tall lattice windows are open, I can hear the waves breaking against the cliffs.