Burning Bright (10 page)

What?
How had he gone from all that earlier fear and pain to this . . . this macho rubbish?

‘Flynn.’ I almost stamped my foot. ‘It’s not a joke.’

John shook his head at me. He started winding the bandage round Flynn’s hand.

‘Who was it?’

‘His dad,’ I said quickly.

‘Your old man?’ John threw Flynn a knowing look. ‘Well, I guess he had that coming.’

I blinked.

‘You’re fine. Nothing broken.’ John looked over at a stream of men pouring into the room. ‘Training session’s about to start.’ He fished a T-shirt and a pair
of old sweatpants out of the box at his side. ‘You want to join in?’

‘Yes,’ Flynn said.

‘No,’ I snapped at the same time.

Flynn took the sweats and moved towards the other men. I put out my hand to stop him. John caught my arm. He winked at me.

Flynn walked off.

‘What are—?’

‘Listen, sweetheart,’ John grunted. ‘It’s what he needs.’

I frowned. ‘What are you
talking
about? He’s just been in a fight. He’s hurt . . .’

‘I know.’ John smiled at me. ‘That’s why he needs this. It’s order. It’s discipline. It’s something to get his head round. Why d’you think he came
here?’

I stared at him.

‘Flynn’s a good kid. I’ve known him for years. Knew his old man too. Used to come round here a lot. He brought Flynn his first few times. Back when he was ten or eleven.’
He sighed. ‘You could always see Patrick Hayes was a loser.’

‘How does that make it right for Flynn to be doing a training session right now?’ I felt bewildered. In my world Flynn needed to be held, comforted.

Someone on the other side of the room was calling everyone together.

The old guy sighed. ‘Flynn’s a determined kid.’ He glanced at me. ‘He’s trying to turn out okay. Against all the odds.’

I frowned.

The man across the room was barking out orders now. ‘Run. Jump. Thirty jacks. Thirty press-ups.’

I watched Flynn doing press-ups. His face was impassive, though surely his bandaged hand
had
to be hurting him. At least no one seemed to have noticed me, shrunk away in the corner. I
tugged my jacket round me and sank into a chair.

I didn’t get it. I didn’t get it at all.

The man, whose name was Andy, kept the whole group on their toes. He told them to divide into pairs, then yelled, ‘Jab. Jab. Hook. Uppercut. Jab. Cross.’

As the men started swinging at each other, Andy wandered around the room, barking out orders.

‘Keep your guard up. Retract that punch. Thirty press-ups. Come
on
, ladies.’

I watched, appalled, as the men in the room sweated and fought their way through half an hour of boxing exercises. They were supposed to block each other’s punches – but some got
through. A couple of times I saw guys flying to the floor. Apart from the press-ups, the only respite from the fighting was when Andy told them to run the length of the room. The discipline was
ferocious. Anyone who didn’t do exactly as directed was singled out for ridicule and punishment. I noticed that this was never Flynn and marvelled. The boy who would be rude to his teachers
and my mum and all our friends if they so much as looked weirdly at him, meekly doing what he was told. For thirty minutes straight.

I got a few comments and sniggers, but nothing compared to the other day. At the end Flynn panted over to me. His face was covered in sweat but his eyes were shining. I shook my head. John had
been right. Flynn looked way better than he had done before the training session.

‘Everything make sense again?’ I asked drily.

It didn’t make sense to me. Flynn was incredibly bright. He was a super-subtle actor and unbelievably sensitive in so many ways. And yet he was into all this too – this structured
violence that I couldn’t see the point of.

He grinned down at me. ‘I told you,’ he said. ‘
You’re
the only thing that makes sense.’ The smile on his face faded. He looked anxious. ‘Will you come
with me to James’s? I know you like it there. I don’t want to go home yet. I just want to be with you.’

A warm glow spread through me. I might not understand Flynn as well as I’d like but the way we felt about each other was what really counted. It put everything else in the shadows.

Flynn changed out of the sweats and back into his shirt and trousers. We walked out together and got a bus to James’s house. James opened the door, staring at the sight of Flynn’s
cut face and bloodstained shirt.

‘
What happened?
’

‘Fight at Goldbar’s,’ Flynn mumbled.

A sceptical look flickered across James’s face.

Flynn looked him in the eye. ‘Okay, there wasn’t,’ he said. ‘But we need somewhere to hide out for the night anyway.’

James hesitated for a second. He glanced at me, then back at Flynn. ‘Right,’ he nodded. ‘Come on.’

He checked his parents wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours, then took us up to the little spare room. He brought Flynn a fresh T-shirt then left us, saying he had to go and have
his dinner.

Flynn went into the little room next door to have a shower. I’d switched off my phone as soon as Flynn and I had run away from the church. I turned it on again. Ignoring the missed calls
and messages, I texted Mum and told her I wasn’t coming home that night. I knew she’d be mad. I didn’t care. All I cared about was Flynn.

I lay down on the bed. The silky blue bedspread and matching curtains were somehow comforting. I closed my eyes, willing myself to relax, but I couldn’t slow my mind down. Flynn’s
raging face forced its way into my head again. I shivered, trying to push the image away. I didn’t want to face up to what his anger meant. To how afraid I’d been of him.

After a few minutes Flynn emerged from the bathroom, damp-haired, a towel around his middle. He sat down next to me on the bed. The bruises on his face were darkening and his lip was swollen. I
reached over and held his bandaged fist in my hand.

‘Thank you,’ Flynn said.

I looked up. ‘What for?’

‘For staying,’ he said softly. He leaned down and kissed me, very gently, on the cheek.

We lay next to each other in silence. After a few minutes, Flynn rolled onto his side and looked at me.

‘I know you’re worried about how angry I got . . . get . . .’ he said.

I stared at him. ‘You have to do something about it.’

‘I know.’ Flynn cleared his throat. ‘I will.’ He paused. His eyes – intense and gold in the lamplight – glistened. ‘I’ve never cried like that in
front of anyone before.’

I stroked his face, my finger tracing the outline of his cut lip.

‘I don’t want to go back out there,’ he said quietly. ‘I just want this. To be here with you.’

I rested my finger on his mouth. ‘This can’t last,’ I said. ‘Your mum will be worried. You’ll have to face school. I’ll have to face my parents.’

Flynn looked at me, his eyes all soft. ‘That stuff with my da,’ he said. ‘That’s got nothing to do with how I feel about you.’

‘I know,’ I said steadily. ‘But it still . . . it . . . it still has an impact. Look at earlier today, when you got angry with me for not telling you about Siobhan’s
boyfriend.’

‘I know.’ Flynn’s face fell. ‘I dunno why I got so mad. It’s just the idea of someone else hurting Siobhan . . . I know I wasn’t being fair, I’m
sorry.’

I nodded, feeling nervous about what I was going to say . . . of how he would react. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you get so angry because . . . because you’re scared.’

I braced myself, waiting for the familiar look of fury to blaze out of Flynn’s eyes. But to my surprise he just held my gaze, his face inexpressibly sad.

‘I wonder that too,’ he said very quietly. ‘It’s like . . . I’m scared I won’t be able to protect you. I couldn’t take it . . . you being hurt. You,
Siobhan, Mum, Caitlin . . .’

‘Or yourself,’ I whispered. ‘
You’re
scared of being hurt too, so you push people away before it can happen.’

‘Oh, Riv.’ Flynn stroked his hand through my hair. Deep creases lined his forehead. ‘Sometimes it feels like it’s you and me against the world.’

‘Sssh.’ We lay on the bed for a long time, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Eventually, it grew dusky outside. I closed my eyes, feeling exhausted. I turned around, nestling
into Flynn. I pulled his arm over me, letting myself sink back into him, letting myself fall. I couldn’t think anymore. All I wanted to do was sleep.

When I woke, it was dark. I sat up, taking a moment to adjust to the gloom. Flynn was lying on his side facing away from me, his hair flopping over his face. I was still dressed, but he had
pulled the covers over me. I wriggled closer and he turned into me, still asleep, his arm reaching out, pulling me closer. I snuggled up next to him, vaguely wondering what James had said to his
parents and how my mum had felt about my text saying I wasn’t coming home that night. Then Flynn snuffled into my hair. And I fell asleep again.

It was light when I woke next. Flynn’s arm was still over me. I could tell it was early, but I felt wide awake. I lifted his arm, got out of bed and wandered over to the window. The sun
was already high in the sky. I checked the time. Almost eight-thirty a.m. on Monday morning. A school day. School felt like a million miles from what Flynn and I had lived through this weekend.

‘River?’

I turned round. Flynn was staring blearily up at me.

‘We should leave before James’s parents see us,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be so embarrassing when—’

‘Relax.’ Flynn smiled sleepily. ‘James came up after you’d gone to sleep. His folks have no idea we’re here. They’ve gone to work now. James has left too. I
heard them. James said your mum called last night, asking if we were here, but James told her no.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I explained about my da – he’d more or less
guessed anyway. Let’s stay here for a bit longer, Riv, yeah?’

‘What about school?’ I wandered over and stood beside the bed.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘What about it?’

My eyes widened. ‘You’re considering
not going
? What about your A levels? What about Mr
I’m working hard to become a lawyer and stomp on the poor
people
?’

‘What about giving the other kids a chance to catch up?’ he said with a grin. Then his face fell. ‘Seriously, I don’t want to have to deal with school today.’

‘You think they’ll know about . . . what happened at the church?’

‘For sure.’

I stared at the dark bruises around his mouth. ‘We have to face everyone at some point.’

‘Okay, but not now.’

I looked at the fierce heat in his eyes. At his bruised face. At the knots of muscle along his arms. What was Mum going to say when she knew that Flynn had beaten up his da? What would
Flynn’s da do? And what about Flynn’s school?

‘I don’t want to face it all either,’ I whispered. We spent the next few hours making out. It was strange but, despite my not really understanding how Flynn could be so full of
hate towards his dad, I felt closer to him than ever. We even talked, again, about taking things further between us. I told Flynn how I felt – that I was sure I would be ready soon, that I
just needed a little more time.

In the end, hunger drove us out of the room. James had brought up some bread the night before, but Flynn had eaten most of that before he’d gone to sleep and I was starving. We tidied the
little bedroom then crept downstairs for juice and cereal.

‘James has been brilliant, hasn’t he?’ I said as we sat in the kitchen. ‘He’s a really good friend.’

Flynn looked up. ‘Don’t start fancying him, will you?’ He smiled.

I rolled my eyes. ‘I’m just saying . . .’ I paused. ‘I wish you liked Grace more,’ I said tentatively.

Flynn frowned. He rolled his glass against his swollen lip. ‘I do like Grace,’ he said. ‘She’s nice . . . kind. And James loves her. He told me.’

I grinned, thinking how pleased Grace would be to hear that. ‘He said that?’

‘Course. Last year, he went on and on about her for weeks. In the end I practically had to force him to promise me he’d talk to her at that party where you puked up.’

‘It’s funny but I thought back then he fancied Emmi,’ I said, remembering the early
Romeo and Juliet
rehearsals.

‘He did,’ Flynn said, spooning up some cereal.

I shook my head. ‘But how . . .?’

‘Come on, Riv. It’s possible to fancy more than one person at once, you know.’

I looked at him. ‘Not for me,’ I said.

We finished our cereal, lost in our own thoughts. Flynn washed up the bowls while I put the juice and milk back in the fridge. The doorbell rang. A single, persistent chime. We looked at each
other. I rushed to the kitchen window.

A police car was parked outside. My stomach turned over.

‘Feds?’ Flynn said in a flat voice.

I gulped. ‘Yes.’

The doorbell rang on. ‘What do we do?’ I said.

I don’t know what I expected Flynn to say – maybe that he was going to make a run for it out the back. But to my surprise he just stood up, calm as anything. ‘I’ll let
them in,’ he said. ‘I’ll make it clear you don’t know anything . . . that there’s no point them speaking to you.’

The doorbell was still ringing, its sound piercing through my skull.

‘You knew they would come,’ I said, realising how naïve I’d been not thinking this would happen. Someone in the church was bound to have called the police when the fight
started. There were only a few places Flynn would hide out after all. It wouldn’t take that long for the police to check all of them.

Flynn walked out into the hall. I followed him, my legs trembling.

Flynn opened the front door. I just caught a flash of blue uniforms before Flynn stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

I raced over and opened it. Two young, male police officers glanced at me, then back at Flynn.

‘We’re looking for a Patrick Flynn?’ one of them said. He looked at the picture in his hand, then up at Flynn again. ‘That you?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Flynn said in a meek voice.

And then the police officer arrested him.