Chapter 39
We walk through The Lakes area arm in arm until we slump down on a small jetty over the water to take a breath.
And the words tumble out of me: my sudden, unwelcome feelings for Elliot, our late night confessions, our stilted and strange goodbye. Hennie soaks in all my words, toying with the edge of my jacket sleeve silently.
She sighs after my outburst and puts a steadying hand on my knee.
‘Good grief, babe,’ she breathes.
I wheeze with a hearty laugh, and let my head fall onto her shoulder.
‘What an eventful weekend,’ she says with a snort of laughter. Her voice is lower and grittier than usual from the late nights.
‘And yet, everything has remained the same,’ I say, gesturing at myself - at my lack of confidence, my lack of drumstick.
I feel her head turning, prompting me to sit up. She considers me for a moment, her brows creasing together.
‘You’ve arranged to see Owen soon?’ I ask eagerly, interrupting her thoughts.
She nods, a smile illuminating her face. ‘Yeah, there’s an artist he loves who’s doing a show in Brighton in October, so he’s coming down.’
‘Oh, really?’ I lean closer to her, seeking out any hidden truths in this admission. ‘That will be fun.’
‘Yes, it will,’ she says evenly. ‘Don’t you give me those eyes, we really are just friends.’
I lean back again as I wipe my face clean, a picture of innocence. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m just baffled Elliot didn’t ask you out,’ she ponders. ‘I really thought he would.’
The idea is laughable, but I just shrug my shoulders. ‘Maybe there’ll be another boy.’
‘Hmm.’ She nods with understanding. ‘That’s what you meant on your post-it note, right?’
‘Yeah.’ I sigh. ‘He did at least say we should do something soon. That’s–’
‘Wait, what?’ She sits up straight, her eyes narrowing. ‘Hang on. What exactly did he say?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say with a confused laugh. ‘That we should “definitely do something soon”? I don’t remember.’
‘Oh my God! Jubilant day!’ she shouts at the sky. She grabs my hand. ‘Oh Nora, my beautiful fool. I think that was him asking you out.’
I rear back in surprise. ‘No, he wasn’t. I think he meant all of us.’
Her eyes are wide, imploring. ‘I really, really don’t.’
‘Well, what am I supposed to do? Text him and ask, “sorry, Elliot, you know that offhand question you asked about hanging out again, did you mean the group or just you and I?” That’s crackers. He’d block me.’
‘I don’t think it is,’ she says haughtily. ‘Or you could just ask him out if you’re so unsure.’
A loud laugh erupts from my belly, and I fling the smooth pebble that’s sitting under my thigh into the lake. ‘Yeah, sure. Imagine.’
I watch a young group of friends stroll past the opposite end of the water, two girls sitting on their friends’ shoulders holding their bottles of beer, rapping something together perfectly in sync. The sight makes me smile.
‘I have to be honest, Nora. I know you’ve only known him three days, but it looked like you two really got on. I thought you sort of… I don’t know, really understood each other.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, like you’re made of similar stuff.’ She pouts thoughtfully. ‘Like when you have the same ingredients in a bowl but get slightly different cakes out of the oven.’
‘That’s probably true,’ I snort, thinking of our competitiveness and unrelenting stubbornness. Our careful vulnerability and uneasy steps towards each other.
‘Nora, what is it that’s stopping you from asking? Please don’t tell me you think he’s out of your league or something.’
I shake my head, trying to piece together an answer to the question I’ve always avoided.
‘A bit of me does think that, though. I’ve never felt like a desirable person.
Not a truly want-able or love-able person.
It’s a theory I’ve had that’s been tested over and over again and it’s always been proven correct. ’
She points a furious finger at me. ‘Hey, I fucking love you and you know that.’
‘I know,’ I say gently. ‘I mean in a romantic way, you know? I’ve always felt like there’s some fundamental part of me that’s missing, that everybody else was born with.
’ Her expression darkens again at my words.
‘I’ve always felt that way, Hen. I wish I could see things differently, but it’s just – it’s so embedded.
And when you’re told for years that you’re heinous to look at, and tormented for just being so…
wrongly put together as a human, it’s hard to believe any other kind of truth.
God knows I don’t look anything like the girls I’m sure Elliot dates. ’
‘With your consent, I’m going to start arguing with you now.’
‘Okay. Before you start: I love you, but this isn’t a belief that’s going to just vanish overnight,’ I say. ‘I’ve been working on this for years.’
‘Alright.’ She nods, her eyes skimming across my face.
It’s the same watchful expression she has when she thinks I might be about to panic.
‘I have to make it clear anyway that I think you are very wrong about this. You are, and have always been beautiful in my eyes. And not just because you’re wonderful and kind and clever and my best friend in the world.
You’re beautiful.’ She pulls my hand into hers.
‘Head-to-toe beautiful. I-consider-dyeing-my-hair-red-sometimes-because-of-you beautiful. Genuinely beautiful.’
Every fibre and shred of my insecurities wants to scream at her that she’s biased, but for once I try to ignore it and just let the words land somewhere near me. My lips twitch into a smile.
‘Harty, why haven’t you talked about this with your therapist?’
Now that is an excellent point I can’t argue with. ‘I thought the whole panic thing was more urgent, honestly.’
‘I think it might be time to bring it up with her,’ she says softly.
I nod, because she’s absolutely right. And I know I haven’t discussed it because I don’t want to face the reality of it. The humiliating, ugly truth that I deem myself so deeply unworthy.
‘So, sticking with the current situation at hand, then: you’ve seen pictures of these girls Elliot has dated, allegedly?’
I narrow my eyes, already seeing where this is going. ‘No.’
‘Don’t give me that look.’ She taps my hand gently. ‘I love proving you wrong. It’s my favourite pastime, especially since you’re so smart, it makes me look fantastic.’
I drop the glare obediently.
‘So you don’t actually have any idea what his type is,’ she confirms. ‘If types even exist, which I’m not sure they do.’
I suppose that isn’t strictly true. Josh taunting Elliot about having a thing for redheads suddenly flashes in my mind. I stare at the ground, not confirming or denying.
‘Right. Well, I’d hazard a guess that it sounds like his type might be you, given he kissed you. And most of the time, people tend to kiss someone on the mouth if they deem them attractive.’
My body folds inward and I cover my face with my hands. ‘I just… I don’t think I can ask him out, Hennie.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s just…’ The words come out strangled and tight. ‘He’s too – he’s too perfect.’
‘But that’s just it! He isn’t,’ she bellows.
She starts listing traits, counting them off on her fingers.
‘He’s horrible at communicating, cares far too much about his hair, really quite argumentative, might be more stubborn than you, he’s crap at talking about his feelings, refuses to dance at a music festival, wears colours that absolutely don’t suit him–’
‘Okay, alright!’ I motion for her to stop with a smile.
‘And his trousers needed a wash,’ she mutters.
‘Still think I should ask him out? That’s a lot of negatives,’ I joke.
‘Yeah, I do. I think you should do it for yourself.’
I resist the urge to sigh irritably. ‘Why are you rooting for Elliot, anyway? I didn’t think you liked him.’
‘It’s my job to be protective of you.’ She shrugs. ‘And he’s proved himself, in my eyes. Mostly.’
She’s avoiding my gaze; there seems to be some meaning behind the words that I’m not getting.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Fine,’ she snaps. ‘He might have… offered assistance sometimes. In a way.’
‘What kind of assistance?’ I press, my brows pulled sharply together.
‘He just…’ She watches me with what looks like an apology in her expression.
‘I didn’t know if I should mention it, but he asked what he could do in case you ever had a panic attack.
The instant you were first separated, he asked me.
He looked a bit ruffled actually. I believe his words were…
’ She assumes a comically deep voice. ‘What’s the best course of action if she ever panics?
Blah blah blah, I would like to be able to help her if I can, blah blah. ’
The most upsetting part is that this information doesn’t even surprise me in the slightest. Of course Elliot asked Hennie what he could do to help me in case I panicked.
‘Ah.’ No other words reach me.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t say. It’s always a good idea for people around to know how to help you, though.’
‘You’re right… so he’s a really decent human being, is what you’re saying?’
‘Well… yes. I suppose that’s my point.’
‘Oh.’ I pause. ‘I really thought you didn’t like him.’
‘I only acted that way towards him because you did, and the whole drumstick fiasco, of course. I wasn’t about to start kissing his feet.’
I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around them for warmth, resting my chin on my knee.
‘So, you won’t consider it? Giving it a go, with him?’
I sigh. ‘I just don’t know if now is the time, Hen. I don’t know if I can do it.’
‘Don’t you think you’re going to say that about every guy you meet? Who shows that they might like you, in a serious way? Who you like?’
I bite my lip, considering the question. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m doomed to push away every man I meet.
‘You can do it,’ she presses. ‘Elliot will say yes. I know he will.’
‘What makes you so sure?’ I ask. ‘I don’t know if I can trust anyone with my heart yet, until I’m absolutely certain they’ll look after it, you know? It’s a delicate instrument and I’d hate to tear it in half.’
A funny expression crosses her face. ‘What if you could be certain?’ she asks quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
She fiddles with a strand of her hair, looking guilty. ‘I have committed a great sin, Nora.’
I frown. ‘What have you done?’
‘I felt like I shouldn’t show you this, but I have now decided it’s for the greater good.’ She whips her phone out of her pocket. ‘So perhaps karma will forgive me. This feels like an atrocity against the sanctity of Ransom.’
I blink. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
She taps her phone screen a few times before turning to me again.
‘When we were running around to look for a Queen Ego related note, I saw this on the wall and felt compelled to take a picture as evidence. Just in case. I couldn’t actually take it off the wall because that felt like a step too far. But, still… behold.’
I have no idea what to expect when I look at the photo. It’s a little blurry and dark, but the subject is clear enough. A yellow post-it surrounded by a dozen others, stuck on one of the walls in Ransom. The wishes around the edges all beginning with the familiar sight of I want.
I want, I want, I want.
But what is written on this post-it note isn’t a sentence at all, but two words in a rushed, messy scrawl:
Nora Hartley