He smiles at me. ‘You’re not getting out of it.’
‘Come on, then.’
We head to the same big flat rock that I took George to. This time, though, Theo and I face each other, rather than the rolling landscape.
He’s wearing a faded grey T-shirt with black jeans and looks so different out of his school uniform.
‘Who’s going first?’ I ask.
‘Let’s go at the same time,’ he replies, getting his pad out of his bag.
‘Really? How will that work?’
‘Ask me to pause if you need me to,’ he says casually, and then to my surprise, he starts to sketch.
‘Hold on, I’m not ready yet.’
‘Take your time,’ he murmurs, his pencil working quickly over the paper and his eyes darting up to my face and down again.
I’m nervous as I turn to a fresh page of my own. It feels disconcerting to be under scrutiny.
I focus on sketching the shape of Theo’s face. His hair is helping. It’s falling in its usual dark slash across his forehead, meaning I could probably get away with only doing one eye, the one that’s not obscured. Every time he glances up, his hair swishes aside and navy blue glints at me.
His hair isn’t as dark under the sunlight. Sometimes it looks like it’s black, but now it’s a very dark brown.
‘Did your mother have dark hair?’ I ask, breaking the intense silence.
Theo’s pencil jars to a stop. He nods abruptly, his eyes flicking to mine and sliding away again. ‘Yeah. I look like her.’
‘Do you remember her?’
‘Not as much as I’d like to,’ he replies in a low murmur, still sketching away.
‘You were six when you lost her?’
He nods, pressing his lips together at the memory.
‘When did your dad remarry?’
‘When I was seven.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. He doesn’t fuck around.’ He snorts, back to his usual caustic self. ‘Actually, it turns out he did fuck around. Last Christmas, Sylvie, my wicked stepmother, dropped in that she and dear old Daddy were celebrating ten years together. The bastards had the nerve to toast each other over the roast turkey.’
My mouth drops open. ‘He was seeing her when your mum was still alive?’
‘While my mum was battling cancer. Yep.’ He says this nonchalantly, but I can’t imagine how much hurt he’s carrying.
‘Is that why you acted up at boarding school?’ I’ve long since stopped drawing, but Theo is still at it.
He laughs. ‘The reason I got expelled?’ He shrugs. ‘I was done with it anyway. Sick of the rules and regulations. I needed a change of scene.’
‘When did you start boarding?’
‘When I was six.’
‘The same year your mother died?’
‘Straight after,’ he mutters.
I’m horrified at the thought of Theo being sent away to school as a six-year-old while he was grieving the death of his beloved mum.
He breaks me out of my daze by nodding at my pad. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘I haven’t done much yet.’
‘Show me.’
I turn the pad around, squirming. I’m not the best artist in the world. He nods and carries on drawing.
‘Can I see mine?’
He shakes his head.
‘Oi! That’s not fair,’ I protest.
‘Who said life was fair?’
I roll my eyes and sweep my light-brown hair over one shoulder. We’re sheltered from the breeze here and the sun is surprisingly strong today.
‘Can you put it back where it was.’ It’s a command, not a request, but I oblige him, lifting my long, slightly wavy locks to fall down my back.
‘You must see a lot of shit around here,’ he says. ‘Mine can’t be the only sob story you’ve heard.’
‘Far from it. Doesn’t make any of it easier, though.’
‘You don’t ever find yourself getting a bit immune to it all?’
‘I can’t imagine ever being immune to it, although I know people can get compassion fatigue. Mum and Dad have had real issues with the occasional social worker. Don’t get me wrong, many of them are incredible. But they’re all so overworked and underpaid – Mum knows because she used to be one. She thinks that if young people start becoming just another case number, care workers should quit and do something else.’
‘Keep still a minute,’ he says.
I freeze.
‘Lift your chin a bit…’
I try to follow his direction. He leans forward and stares right into my eyes, his gaze shifting only a minuscule amount as he sketches. I almost have the feeling he’s looking through me, rather than at me. There’s no connection – he’s focused on his work.
He has very long lashes. His eyes are so dark blue. They’re really stunning, actually.
Just as I think that thought, his pencil pauses.
The two of us stare at each other, not moving a muscle.
My cheeks begin to warm and I avert my gaze.
He laughs under his breath. ‘I won that one.’
My eyes shoot back to him. ‘Are you having staring contests with me?’
‘Come on,’ he gently reproaches me. ‘Don’t pretend you’re not aware of it.’
I smirk and reposition my pencil. I feel his gaze on me and when I glance up, he’s grinning. He turns the pad around.
‘Holy shit,’ I murmur, snatching the pad from him so I can study his drawing properly. It’s really good, like, unbelievably good.
‘Theo, this is amazing. How the hell did you learn to draw like this?’
My sketch in comparison is laughable. I’ve barely got the shape of his face down – he’s done shading and everything. I’m blown away.
I glance up, waiting for his answer.
He shrugs. ‘My mother used to paint. I guess I got it from her. My father doesn’t approve. He said I could take Art A level over his dead body.’
I frown. ‘Did you do Art at boarding school?’
‘Oh, plenty,’ he replies with a grin. ‘I did a lovely piece all over the outside of the gym wall just before I left.’
‘You graffitied? That’s so naughty!’
‘I bet you’ve never done a naughty thing in your whole life,’ he says in that low sexy tone of his.
I blush and look down. ‘My parents have enough to deal with without me adding to the burden.’
‘So you have to be the good girl?’ I glance up to see that his brow has furrowed. He’s no longer joking about. ‘That must be tiring.’
I shrug. ‘I’m naturally pretty well behaved. The thought of graffitiing all over the gym wall…’ I laugh. ‘What did you draw?’
He grins evilly. ‘A couple of my masters with great big dicks coming out of their foreheads.’
‘No!’
He shrugs. ‘Not very original, but it felt fucking great to do it.’
‘I’m not surprised you got expelled!’
He laughs. ‘Yeah, no, neither am I.’
‘Is it so bad having to go to our school?’
‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘To be honest, I’m just killing time until I work out what I’m going to do.’