‘Can I make a suggestion?’ George asks.
I nod stiffly.
‘Write to Theo.’
I stare at him.
‘Write to him. Tell him about the little things, the things that he’s missing out on. Write to him, the way I used to write to Sophie. I didn’t know if she’d ever get my letters, but it made me feel better to put it all out there in any case.’ He scratches the top of his head. ‘Sorry if I’m overstepping the mark.’
I shake my head quickly. ‘No. It feels good to talk to you again.’
He looks relieved.
‘Goodnight, George.’ I open the door.
‘Hang on.’ He swings his own door open and jumps out. He’s around at the passenger side in seconds.
‘You didn’t need to do that,’ I say, but I accept his hand anyway and a fizzing warmth travels up my arm as he helps me down from the cab. I let go of his hand reluctantly, not objecting when it becomes clear he’s walking me to the front door.
‘See you tomorrow,’ he says when we reach it.
Do we hug goodbye? Kiss?
In the end we do neither. But my pulse continues to race as I close the door behind me.
Chapter 16 Then
Becky is back at school on the Monday after we go to Fountains Abbey. It’s a shock to see her sitting on the bus – she hasn’t been in touch since Saturday morning.
‘Surprise,’ she says weakly, as I walk down the aisle towards her. My smile is ever so slightly a mask, as I feel quite torn when George slides into what had become my new regular row over the last couple of weeks.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask as I sit down, ignoring Joanne, who stomps past Becky to a seat at the back.
‘Absolutely knackered,’ she replies grouchily, smoothing her hand over her long dark hair. It’s tied up in a pristine high ponytail and she still looks beautiful, even though there are dark circles under her eyes and she’s lost weight that she definitely didn’t need to shift.
‘Why are you in?’ I ask, mystified.
‘I’m so bored at home,’ she moans. ‘But don’t expect me to be good company.’
‘Okay. I’m glad you’re here.’
‘What’s new?’ she asks. ‘Has Martin asked after me again?’ she whispers.
‘Not since the week before last,’ I whisper back. ‘But he’s been much more subdued than usual, so I’m sure he’s missed you,’ I add hurriedly.
This seems to pacify her. She rests her head on my shoulder.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been ill,’ she murmurs sleepily. ‘I hope you weren’t too lonely.’
I stare at the back of George’s head, a fresh wave of disappointment pulsing through me.
Last night I couldn’t sleep because I kept imagining this journey to school. I was planning on asking him if he’d play me a couple of the songs by the bands at the festival. I know he still brings his headphones and iPod to school, even though he hasn’t listened to music while we’ve been sitting on the bus together.
When Theo boards, I feel another pang. He sees that I’m with Becky and smiles, giving me a small wave. I wave in return before he swings into the seat next to George.
‘Is he speaking now?’ Becky looks taken aback.
I shrug. ‘Yeah, sort of. We’ve sort of become friends,’ I say awkwardly.
She stares at me. ‘How?’
She sounds almost accusatory, and I can’t really blame her. We have spoken while she’s been off ill and I went to see her last Wednesday after school, but, I don’t know, I kind of thought she might feel left out if I told her I was forming bonds with people in her absence. So I’ve let her lead our conversations and text exchanges.
I fill her in about Theo’s scrap with Pete and how George and I went after him. I play it down, but realise I’ve probably done this a bit too much because she stiffens when I mention that Theo came over on Friday after school.
‘I’m not sure you’ve missed me at all,’ she teases, but her smile is shaky and I know she needs reassurance.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ I say vehemently. ‘I’ve missed you violently. I’m so glad you’re back.’
‘Don’t get used to it. The doctor said I’ll probably have a “patchy return”. I think I’m going to be so tired after today that I might not be in for the rest of the week.’
I hate that I don’t hate the sound of this.
* * *
At lunchtime, I ask Becky if we can go and sit with Theo and George on the field, but she needs persuading. I realise that it’s probably the first time I’ve taken the lead in making friends, and I suspect this has thrown her, but she agrees eventually, mostly because I point out that it might make Martin jealous.
I’m nervous as we make our way over to them. When the sun breaks through the cotton wool clouds, it’s got real heat to it, and Theo is currently lying on his back with his arms behind his head and his face up to the sky.
George, on the other hand, watches our approach, his dark eyes giving away no clue as to whether he’s glad to have our company.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Oh, hello.’ Theo smiles and props himself up on his hands.
‘Can we join you?’
‘As if you need to ask,’ he teases, pulling up a handful of daisy-strewn grass and throwing it at me.
‘Steady with the hay fever irritants,’ Becky says drily, sitting down.
‘Neither of us gets hay fever,’ I tell Theo hastily as my stomach twists, but he doesn’t seem fazed by Becky’s cool attitude.
‘Are you feeling all right now?’ George asks Becky, setting the conversation on another course as I collect a few daisies together and attempt to make a chain.
Theo copies me.
‘A bit.’
‘This one’s been moping.’ He nods at me.
‘Aw.’ She seems mollified.
I smile at her. ‘I told George that we want to go to Leeds Festival this summer. He went a couple of years ago.’
‘Did you?’ She perks up. ‘Who was headlining?’
‘The Strokes.’
‘The White Stripes are headlining this year,’ Theo says, threading a daisy through the stem of another.
‘Oh, I love them!’ Becky exclaims. ‘We have to go,’ she says to me. ‘You’ve got to persuade your parents.’
‘George suggested we ask Jamie to take us,’ I reply.
‘Shall we all go?’ she asks excitedly, her attention moving from George to Theo. ‘We could get a whole group together!’
‘I’d be up for it,’ Theo replies, handing me his chain so I can connect it to mine.
I smile at him and glance at George.
George nods. ‘Sure.’
Becky beams.
I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. I don’t mind that Becky will forever think that this was her idea – as long as it happens, I don’t mind at all.
* * *
‘Hello, you lot,’ Mum calls cheerfully when we arrive home after school on Friday. Through the open door to the living room, I can see a stack of Life Story books out on the coffee table. Mum must’ve been updating them.