Except for Marco. He continued to sip his coffee, looking at me with that intense stare of his. I was forced to say something before my blushes took over.
“So are you going to study philosophy? When you start at college?” I asked. It was an innocent question, but it had an interesting effect on Marco. He broke my gaze, looking down at his coffee. Had I touched a nerve?
“No. Law,” he said, with a weird false smile.
“Why, when you love philosophy?” I asked.
“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”
I poked my spoon in the warm chocolate sauce puddling on my plate. “Both,” I said.
“My father has an excellent legal mind.” Marco stirred the dregs of his coffee with a long-handled spoon. “I thought that, maybe, we would spend more time together if I decide to take law as one of my A-level subjects. We’d at least have that in common.”
“And have you?”
“Have I what, Helen?”
“Have you spent more time together now that you’re planning to study a boring subject?” I asked. It was meant to be a joke, but Marco’s face fell. There was no doubt about it now. I’d definitely hit a nerve.
He said nothing for five whole seconds. I counted. I wanted to gather up my words and stuff them back into my uncontrollable mouth.
“Yes, actually. We have. He’s asked me to help out on a special assignment,” Marco said quietly.
“Oh, awesome!” I said. Why didn’t he sound more excited?
“Speaking of my assignment, I’d better get back to my work.” I knew it. I’d prodded too hard, and now Marco was retreating.
“Do you have to?”
He smiled and gave me a funny look that had an even funnier effect on me. The butterflies destroyed my appetite once and for all.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Smile like that. Pull that face. Ask me to stay. There’s a very real risk that I’ll do whatever you ask, Helen.”
I smiled. “In that case, follow me.”
Twenty minutes later, we were on the top deck of the 43 bus heading towards London Bridge.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Marco asked once we sat down. We were lucky enough to get the best seats in the house: the row at the very front. It had the widest window, and sitting there felt like you were driving the bus.
“This is it!” I said.
“Helen Thomas, I know London is a lot bigger than my hometown. But I have been on a bus before.”
“It’s not the bus that’s special, Marco. It’s the journey. This is my favourite bus route.”
“Oh. Why’s that?” He looked genuinely interested.
“I’ll show you. Think of it as a personalized tour of London, minus the tourists,” I said.
The bus crawled up Holloway Road, stuck in Saturday night traffic. The closer we got to Highbury Corner, the less we moved. The more exciting tourist highlights were at least twenty minutes away. I had to improvise.
“See that building over there?” I said, pointing across the road. “That’s my old library. I pretty much lived there on the Saturdays I wasn’t with Dad. Sometimes Mum would take yoga classes in the Buddhist Centre next door.”
“Free babysitting. Very clever,” Marco said.
“I’d never thought of it that way,” I said, laughing. “I was just so happy to be in the library.”
Marco turned away from the window and put his arm around me. “A girl who’s happiest in the library is one I think I’d get along with.” The corny line didn’t stop the heat from flooding my face. I unzipped my parka to let some cool air in.
The bus moved past the traffic jam at Highbury Corner and picked up the pace. We’d reached a stretch of high street jammed with pubs, bars, restaurants and boutiques. I knew a couple of these places, like Nando’s and a Turkish restaurant Mum used to love. We didn’t consider going anywhere else. The rest of the street was a little too fancy for our budget.
The bus wound its way past Exmouth Market. I pointed out the place where I took drama lessons one summer holiday. “Mum was friends with one of the tutors, so he got her a good deal,” I said.
“I can’t imagine you as a thespian,” Marco said. Sometimes, it was really obvious that English was his second language. He used the sort of words that belonged in a BBC period drama.
“I wasn’t! I hated every minute of it, but Mum needed something to keep me busy over the summer break while she was at work.”
I stuck out like a sore thumb at that place. Everything, from my skin to my hair to what I had in my packed lunch, set me apart from the posh kids who went there. I was almost grateful when September rolled around, and I started the new school year with familiar faces.
“I take it this is bringing back some unpleasant memories?” Marco asked. My emotions, including the bitterness of feeling like an outsider in my own city, must have danced across my face.
“Yeah. It’s been a long time since I thought about how unhappy I was there,” I said. “It’s just weird, how certain places are linked to strong feelings. Do you know what I mean?”
Marco turned back to face the front of the bus. “Unfortunately, I do. After my mother left, I couldn’t bring myself to set foot in her study. Neither could Father.”
“That sounds awful,” I said.
“Yes, it was. A part of me wonders if that’s why Father had me start boarding school a year sooner than usual.”
“Why? She didn’t leave because of you,” I said.
“Of course not. But it would have been a constant reminder.”
“Well, now this bus route will remind me of something better,” I said. “You.”
Then I reached over and kissed him gently on the lips.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Maria was at the end of her tether. The house arrest turned her into an unofficial prison guard/babysitter, and it wasn’t fair. For example, apparently Apollo ate an astonishing amount for an immortal. You know, beings that have no need to eat.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. He demands three square meals per day, plus enough snacks to keep him going through the night,” Maria said, exasperated.
“Maria, this isn’t a hotel. Why can’t he make his own food?” I asked while making my toast.
“I let him do that once and returned to find my kitchen turned upside down! You know what these fools are like. They haven’t the faintest idea how to do anything for themselves.”
Maria was right about that one. It took Aphrodite weeks to figure out that you have to peel bananas before they go into a smoothie.
As if on cue, Apollo came into the kitchen carrying a stack of dirty plates and mugs down from his room.
“Don’t forget to load up the dishwasher,” Maria called after him. Apollo turned and glared at us, but put his dirty plates into the dishwasher.
“Gossiping, are we?” Apollo said.
He finished loading the dishwasher and turned his attention to the fridge. “I’m having one of the most intense creative spurts I’ve had in decades, and I think better on a full stomach. You have no right to judge me.”