I look over my shoulder. “I didn’t know whether I would ever be able to.”
“I did,” says Lucas. I look up at him now, the sun turning his hair the color of spun sugar, the spatter of freckles on his nose, and all I see is the friend who was there when nobody else was. The only friend I had in the world, who showed me what it was to be loved. To have a family. Nothing else. Nothing more.
“Hey, remember all those times I’d say I wish I could be waiting for you at the school gates?” Lucas says. “Show those fuckers.”
“I do,” I say.
“Finally made it.”
“But there’re no fuckers to show anymore,” I say, and Lucas lets go of me and says, “No. I suppose all the fuckers have moved on. Like us.”
“Like us,” I say.
When we get back to Fishers Way, we cook chips together, Lucas peeling and cutting the potatoes, and me turning off the gas every few seconds once the oil is boiling because I’m scared of setting fire to the house. My house. My home.
“Will you stop bloody turning it off?”
“Those chip pan fire demos on Blue Peter never left my memory, Luke, I’m only keeping us safe.”
We talk nonstop at the dinner table. Lucas tells me about Guadeloupe. And I tell him about Marv, Carol, and Cadie. I tell him about the wonderful, warm, and cozy three-hour afternoon I spent with them.
“We had a roast dinner, crumble, and then played Trivial Pursuit,” I tell him, and Lucas’s eyes widen. “Shit. Family goals, or what? And Cadie. Was she nice?”
“Amazing, Luke. She cried when Marv introduced us. And so did I. She’s really funny, and so intelligent. She looks like me. We have the same chin, the same shifty side-eye.”
Lucas grins, shakes his head. “It’s unbelievable, Em. You have a half sister. I have a half brother.”
I smile. “Always meant to be.”
We finish eating, and Lucas excuses himself to use the toilet, while I sip my beer. When he walks back in, he’s holding the box I gave him on his wedding day. The box of CDs. The box of CDs Eliot made for me, all those years ago. He sits next to me at the table, places it down, and pushes the box toward me.
“These are yours, Emmie. Not mine.” I see him swallow as he steels himself to speak.
“I know,” I say. “I already know they were Eliot.”
Lucas looks up at me, lips parted. “Did he—”
“I found a CD with Louise’s things. I think he was gearing up to tell me and then didn’t. Louise actually was going to, I think. She said she had something for me, before she died, and I kept wondering what it was…”
Lucas stares at me, nodding his head slowly.
“I called him, straightaway. Left some warbling mad voice mail, telling him I knew.” I don’t tell Lucas that I told him I was glad they were him. That I felt like I knew, on some level. That my heart knew before my head.
Lucas clears his throat, fiddles with the corner of the napkin in his hands. “You sent me the French tape, and… Eliot listened to it. He got a distinction in languages and I wanted to make sure you had the best feedback. And he said you talked about some bad bands and how I should send you a mixtape. The way brothers do, when sharing tips on impressing girls.” Lucas laughs embarrassedly, the skin beneath his freckles going pink. “But I know shit all about music, really, compared to him, so he made me one, and I’d just posted it. You loved it so much that when you wanted another, I’d just ask him, and he’d hand it over, and I’d just send it, Em. I didn’t even look inside. I just knew it made you happy.”
And they did. Those CDs were proof I was loved. That someone cared enough to spend time making something for me.
“And then, in your room one day, I saw them. And… I was jealous, of all the shit he’d written inside. I knew he had feelings for you. So I stopped it. Then the stuff with Stacey happened at the party, and all three of us sort of… broke up—that was that, you know?”
The cold creeps in outside, the sky turning gray with heavy, black clouds, and the kitchen darkens.
“I wish I’d known,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “And I really wanted to tell you, Em. So many times. But I was so conscious of not upsetting you, or making you feel like you couldn’t trust me as your friend. That is all I’ve ever cared about. And… I’m a coward. I am.”
“Maybe you were.” I smile. “But you’re not so much now.” I look down at the box of CDs. “Not even close.”
“I thought you might throw me out.”
I laugh. “No chance. You’d have to top previous Dick Moves to get thrown out, and that’d be quite a hard thing to do at this point.”
Lucas laughs. He holds out his glass, and I clink it. We drink.
“When I spoke to him,” Lucas says. “When we talked, after the wedding, about Ana’s house and our stupid argument and…” The kiss, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to. “I told him.”
“Told him what?”
“That you belong together. And I should’ve never stood in the way. Even if I didn’t realize I was at times.”
I blink at him, my heart swelling behind my ribs. With happiness. With sadness. “Do you really believe that?”
Lucas nods, squeezes my hand across the table.
“I think if Emmie and Eliot doesn’t happen, then there’s no hope for the rest of us.”
I smile, tears sting my eyes. I hide my face with my hand, and Lucas laughs. “Ah shit, she’s getting all snively. Sort your life out, Emmie Blue, nobody likes a sap.” But he squeezes my hand again and pulls me toward him. We hold each other across the table.
“You should call him,” Lucas says as he pulls away.
“I have. Numerous times. Voice mail.”
Lucas groans. “God, he’s such a caveman. I mean, I know people talk about turning their phone off, having some downtime while they’re away, but nobody really does it. They just tell Instagram they are.”
“Except for Eliot,” I say.
“Except for Eliot,” Lucas repeats.
“Unless he’s blocked me or something.”
“Mm-mm,” says Lucas, shaking his head. “Nah. Never. He’ll come around. He’ll be back.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Lucas takes my hand again, balls his into a fist, like we’re about to arm wrestle. “Then you’ll get through it, Emmie Blue.”
“I’m made of strong stuff,” I say, and Lucas says, “Always have been.”
Dear Emmie,
I hope my email finds you well, and I apologize for the delay in getting back to you. Things have been very busy in the run-up to exams here.
It was a pleasure meeting you and I feel, along with the rest of the team, that you would be a perfect fit for Fortescue Lane. I would therefore love to offer you the position of Junior School Counselor, starting on Tuesday, May 28.
I look forward to hearing from you and do so much hope that you accept.
Kind regards,
Laura Borne
WhatsApp from Rosie Kalwar:
Fox has got even posher since we got here to London. And OMG his dad is like a fucking royal or some shit. He has a mustache. Like a proper woolly mammoth mustache and keeps saying things I have only heard in Downton Abbey. I’m hiding in the loo texting this.