Chapter 9
Now
The bus to college is supposed to be pulling up in the village in three hours, but already I sit on the edge of my bed with a sickness in my stomach. There’s another message from Dad already on my phone:
Have a great first day!
I always loved school. But I loved my school, with my friends, doing subjects that I actually chose. Now I’m hundreds of miles away, and everything has changed. As much as I appreciate the voice notes Freya sends me to keep me updated with any gossip, it’s not quite like the real thing.
I grip the duvet cover in my balled fists and it creases with the force and dampness of my hands. I can’t do it. I can’t walk into that college and pretend everything is okay. I can’t walk out of this room and act like it’s not killing me.
For an hour, I stare at the walls, sending myself crazy with panic. My heart pounds as my chest rises and falls until my vision is blurred from the tears.
Not knowing where else to turn, I take out my phone and dial the number I’ve learned by heart.
‘Hello?’ Freya’s tired voice flows through the speaker.
‘Are you awake?’ is the only reply I can think to give her and I picture her rolling her eyes on the other end.
‘I am now. What can I do for you?’ The sound of her voice now only reminds me how much I’ve missed her, how much I really need her.
‘You could come and fetch me if you like,’ I try and joke, but my laugh comes out like the depressed deflating of an old party balloon.
‘That bad, huh?’ She sighs. ‘You know I would if I could, Ava, but I don’t think the tube reaches that far. I’m sorry.’ And I believe her. If she did have the means, she’d be here before lunch, but she’s just as stuck as I am. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I’m supposed to start college today …’
‘Ah,’ she says.
‘How am I meant to just start again, Freya?’
‘You aren’t starting again. You do know that you still have all of the same friends, right? We’re just a little bit further away. And in that place, you’re not starting over. It’s already full of happy memories,’
‘And sad ones.’ I interject.
‘You’d be sad about those same memories whether you’re in London or Timbuk-bloody-tu,’ she chides. ‘Ava, you’ve always got London, and you’ve always loved the farm. And you’ve got Callum – he’s starting afresh too. And what about Jacob, won’t he be in the same year? That’s a good thing, surely?’
Hearing her say his name so directly makes me blink a few times before I can process her meaning.
‘Everything has changed so much. I hardly recognise Jacob any more.’ The thought of his cold shoulder makes me shudder. I tell her all about him not coming to dinner, and the tractor, and Pen, and she listens intently before tutting loudly on the other end.
‘Why is it that boys go through puberty and all of a sudden, they stink? And yes, I mean literally and figuratively.’ Her bluntness makes me chuckle, and some of the dread dissolves from me a little.
‘Look, Ava, I’m not going to pretend everything is going to be perfect, and finishing your fashion A-level on your own is utterly insane.
But if anyone can do it, it’s you. I know how hard you work.
I know how much it all means to you. All of this is just one more obstacle to tackle, and no matter how exhausting it all is, I know you’ll get there.
I know you’ll smash it. Just stop thinking about everything around you for one second and remember who you are. ’
‘What if it’s all for nothing and I don’t even get in?’ I think again of my empty inbox. My dream school has gone radio silent.
‘Don’t be stupid. Of course you’ll get in. They’d be a fool not to accept you. And then you only have one year surrounded by various kinds of animal dung before you’ll be living it up in Milan like the diva you were born to be.’
‘The animal dung isn’t so bad, you know. You get used to it quite quickly.’ I chuckle, unable to find the emotion to address the serious parts of her speech.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Once our goodbyes turn into another conversation, and I spend another ten minutes on the phone, I am suitably inspired. Freya always knows what to say to make me feel better. When we finally hang up, I sit with her words for a moment, feeling each and every one.
With renewed strength, I get dressed, pull my portfolio from the wardrobe, and head straight out the back door for a little reminder of who I am.
I find my way to the treehouse almost instinctively.
I suppose, even when everything with Jacob feels so different, the treehouse is still the space I’ve always been safe.
The knots and branches, no matter how much they age, have helped me get through so much, hidden me from so much, that it is the only place I can think to go when it all gets too much.
After tossing my portfolio into the hatch, I climb up behind it.
Sweeping away a few fallen leaves with my hand, I make myself comfortable on the floor.
Crossing my legs, I open the files, using the surfaces of one of the boxes that was once a banquet table, or a treasure chest, or a flying car.
Sliding through the pages of sketches, I find the one that is still unfinished and pull out my pencil case.
I had thought to call it ‘the wolf in sheep’s clothing’.
From the outside, it’s your regular suit: black, straight lines worn with a white shirt.
But on the inside, its silk lining is bursting with colour, with vines twisting around the stitching, and lots of embroidery with leaves, trees and woodland creatures.
It was meant to be all ornamental – the whole thing in such bright colours, is almost offending to the eyes.
‘Looks good.’ A voice startles me and sends my pencil in a rogue line across the page. I huff and scramble to erase it, but I only make it worse.
‘Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Jacob grimaces as I look up at him. He’s in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and an old jacket with a sheep wool collar. There’s a rucksack slung over his shoulder.
‘How do you do that?’ I ask him, looking back down at my page. To my own surprise, I don’t sound irritated, just curious.
‘What?’
‘Move so silently. You’re like some predator, sneaking around.’ I feel him peering over at my sketches and I lean a little closer to the paper to shield it from his view.
‘Practise?’ he says. I’m still not looking at him, but I can tell he’s shrugging. ‘I watch a lot of animals in their habitats and don’t like to disturb them.’
‘So that’s what I am right now? An animal in my natural habitat?’ I look up at him with a smile.
‘It looks that way to me.’ He smiles, and a little glimmer of his old self flashes across his face. Maybe it’s the light of the treehouse, or maybe it’s being so far away from everyone else, but at least I know my Jacob is still in there, deep down.
My Jacob. Except he isn’t mine, not any more. My smile drops.
‘What are you doing here?’ I say, turning away from him.
‘Callum said you missed the bus. I thought you might need a lift.’
My heart thumps faster in my chest as I reach for my phone to check the time. ‘I—I missed the bus?’ I hadn’t realised how late it’s gotten.
‘Yeah.’ He raises an eyebrow, watching me as I silently curse.
‘You know,’ he says, sitting down beside me, ‘college isn’t too bad.’
Once upon a time, he was the only person I could tell all of my thoughts to.
Before they’d even registered in my own mind, they’d be spoken aloud to him, and he’d listen until I was all finished and nothing felt so heavy any more.
I think about this morning, when it took me so many words to try and explain to Freya what I thought was going wrong.
But it’s taken Jacob a couple of minutes of looking at me to figure out what’s got me so frazzled.
I wonder, briefly, if we could still be friends, if he can still see me so clearly.
But it’s obvious that so many things have changed.
‘You’ve had a personality transplant,’ I say quietly.
‘What?’ He furrows his brows.
‘You used to hate school,’ I say, not wishing to repeat my original statement. It feels too familiar, like I’m not allowed to say those things about him any more.
‘College is different. I can at least do some subjects I’m interested in.’
‘Your college doesn’t offer the one thing I’m interested in.’ I can’t help it; the misery overcomes me again. I grow a bit deflated. ‘A whole year of work down the drain just for me to have to start again.’
‘It doesn’t look like it’s gone down the drain to me.
’ Jacob rests a finger on the page of my portfolio, preventing me from closing it or hiding it away.
‘You have real talent, Kitty. You won’t need an A-level in fashion to prove you’re good at what you do.
Come on, just give college a chance. You never know … you might enjoy it.’
Jacob gets to his feet and stretches out his hand for me to take. I want to be stubborn. I want to stay angry. But the offer of his hand is too much to refuse. So, I take it, and follow him to my feet.
‘One day,’ I warn him. ‘If you’re lying and it sucks, I will never go again.’
‘Okay, deal.’ He smiles.
One of his front teeth is slightly chipped from when he slipped off the rope swing and fell headfirst into the bank of the stream when we were ten.
He never cried, or worried. He got up, laughed, and swung right back across the stream to me, still bleeding, still smiling.
I’m glad he hasn’t had it fixed. All his imperfections are reminders of the Jacob I once knew, of who we both once were, and there’s so much joy in each scar and crease.