‘Aww, so cute,’ Ruby says, a fake smile plastered on her face when she sees Hope and Jess’s hands intertwined on the table. ‘Oh my gosh, how long has it been since you guys have seen each other?’ Ruby asks, looking at Devon and I and making her eyes wide like this is all some exciting celebration and her questions are all spontaneous, when if I know Ruby, they’re not. She’s come over here with a purpose.
‘It’s been a while.’ Devon nods.
‘No, it can’t be that long. It was only what, two years ago now that you were back here for the summer fair. We had those cheeky shots – yes, you must have seen Scarlett then I’m sure. Now I best go, but don’t you stay out late; we have a busy day tomorrow,’ she says with a wink, and a swish of her hips and a look that suggests she would devour Devon in a heartbeat if she got him alone, then she saunters off.
I can feel my nose tingling as I try and curb the tears that I feel any second now are going to spring from my eyes. I’m glad I’m in one of my own outfits tonight and not one of my mum’s tight-fitting choices as the booth suddenly feels claustrophobic. I need to go.
The atmosphere at our table has gone from joyful to tense in a matter of minutes. In my blurry vision I can see Hope looking over at me with a sad expression on her face. Even in her slightly drunken state I know she understands what’s going on. After all I confessed to her about Devon being the closest thing to me, how much his leaving hurt me and how confusing it all is with him being back. I know she didn’t miss Ruby’s comment about the summer fair. She waves at Jess urging him to move so I can get past. I nod my thanks as Devon mumbles something behind me.
How could I have let my guard down and have been so silly to let Devon, Jess and Hope get to know each other? And worse still let myself relax and actually enjoy the warm feeling in my stomach of them all getting along?
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, everyone, but I’ve got so much to do tomorrow. I’d best be off,’ I say as I stand, not wanting to make a scene.
‘Scar, can we talk?’ I hear Devon ask, but I don’t have the strength to look at him.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I reply and then turn to leave.
10
When I step outside the pub, I sense snow flurries will be upon Springhollow soon. The sky has turned a misty grey, with plumes of wispy white clouds, and there’s a peacefulness to the air, like the calm before the magic. I take quick strides in my boots as the chill seeps through my coat, clashing with the heat of my body. When I near Mr and Mrs Rolph’s bakery, I feel something tug at my coat and hear panting from behind me. My heart starts thumping in my chest, though I know everyone in Springhollow and crime is a once a year occurrence – if that – I start waving my arms manically and picking up my pace against the force. That is until I hear a groan I recognise and turn around to see Devon grabbing at my wrist.
When our eyes connect, he lets go and I stop still.
*
‘I love you, little Steve Rogers, you’re so cute. Yes, you are,’ I say, kneeling on Devon’s bed as Steve Rogers scurries around on the duvet.
D jumps onto the bed as the little hamster curls up into a ball in the middle of the cushy blanket.
‘D, careful,’ I say, watching the ball move up and down in tiny bounces.
‘He loves it, it’s like he’s flying,’ Devon tells me and so I stand up and start bouncing too.
‘Scar, who do you love more? Me or Steve Rogers?’ D asks as our jumping gets a tad crazier, but Devon’s right, the little hamster seems to like it, squealing with glee and stretching out his tiny paws.
‘I love you both the same, but I will probably love you forever. I don’t think pets last that long. Autumn’s rabbit died last week, and he was only three,’ I say, matter-of-fact. Just then Devon slips on the duvet and goes flying off the side of his bed. I scream and jump down beside him.
‘D, are you OK?’ I whisper, suddenly aware that I don’t want his mum running up the stairs to check on us.
Devon lets out a grunt. ‘Ouch, yeah, I’m OK,’ he says, wiggling his toes as I check him over. ‘Scar?’
‘What?’ I reply, kneeling next to him and frantically looking around.
‘I think I love you more th…’
‘D, wait, move, move, move. I think your squashing Steve Rogers,’ I interrupt panicking and fearing for the little guy’s life when I don’t see him anywhere on the bed.
*
If I knew one thing when I was a young, naïve twelve-year-old, I knew I loved Devon – at least in the same way I loved a hamster. I trusted him. I liked spending time with him. He made me laugh and looked after me and I did the same for him. He was always there when I needed him and always stood up for me when Ruby and her gang called me names. He was cool and liked awesome stuff and unlike my mum – who didn’t quite get why it was so important to add wings to my skateboard – Devon never questioned my antics or ideas; he joined in and helped me bring them to life.
The thing is I must stop pretending I am twelve years old; romanticising the past with the belief that it can somehow be my future. I’m angry with myself for being so stupid and mad that all these years later Devon can still hurt me like this. I need to put an end to all of this now. Despite what my twelve-year-old self assumed, I can’t love him forever.
Devon goes to speak but I cut him off. ‘Don’t you dare,’ I start. The words come out hard but contained. ‘So, what, you turn up at my door this morning having a go at me for acting strange, blaming me for not writing to you; like I was the one who ruined it all? You came here two years ago, and you didn’t think to say hi? To check in? You had all the time in the world for Ruby, but your supposed best friend wasn’t worth a visit? I don’t want to hear it, Devon. I’ve managed fine without you for the past ten years. Please just leave me alone.’ I sigh a heavy sigh as the words lift off my chest. I pull my coat tighter around my body, aware now that my skin is no longer hot and sweaty but icy and stiff. In our time apart we’ve managed to build a web of resentment and more lies; it’s no good for either of us.
‘That’s not fair. I tried, Scar. I wrote to you – how many letters did I send? How many? I made a mistake; I should have come to see you that summer but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you ignored me, and I was scared. I didn’t know if you wanted to see me again. How could I have possibly known? I didn’t get one response, Scar, not one.’ Devon’s eyes are welling up now. He runs a hand through his dew-damp hair before rubbing his hands together. His shoulders are curved slightly to ward off the dropping temperature. I’m controlling my tears with the discipline I have practised over the years.
‘Yes, well you can keep throwing that in my face, D, but I was young and hurt and you lied to me. This is all your fault. You left.’ My voice escapes a little louder this time. I’m fed up of hearing that line; of him throwing my mistakes in my face. My hands begin to tremble. I know I am doing the same to him; trying to throw all the blame his way, but I can’t help it. It’s like my only protection. If it’s Devon’s fault he will know how to fix it. He got his life in order when he moved to New York. He did fine without me, scored his dream job and dream role. What have I done in his absence? If I acknowledge any part of it being my fault, then I will have to fix it and I don’t know how.