Burning Bright (14 page)

A lump came into my throat. I lay down beside him. ‘Really?’ I forced a grin onto my face. ‘Stone says my eyes are the colour of ditchwater.’

Flynn snorted. ‘Someone needs to find Stone a freakin’ girlfriend.’ He rested his hand in the dip of my waist. ‘I hope you’re impressed by how restrained I’m
being here,’ he grinned. ‘Because it’s killing me not kissing you.’

I laughed. But the lump in my throat was lodged so firmly that it hurt. ‘Maybe I’d rather have a poem than a kiss,’ I said, remembering one of the first conversations Flynn and
I ever had.

‘Whoa.’ Flynn chuckled. ‘Okay then. Roses are red, violets are blue. River, you’re mad, but I still love you.’

I grinned. ‘That was rubbish.’

Flynn’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, really? Okay, Miss Only-Posh-Poems-Will-Do.’ He paused. ‘How about:
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
’

‘That’s not a proper poem. Plus it isn’t even original. That’s from
Romeo and Juliet
.’

Flynn gazed at me. I was expecting him to come back at me with some clever, witty remark, but he didn’t. He just kept on gazing at me.

‘It’s how it is though, isn’t it?’ he said.

The lump in my throat hardened. I stared at his face – at the strong lines of it and the sad eyes. How could I be losing that face?

‘Listen,’ Flynn said. ‘About my da. I don’t think he’ll come up to you once he knows we’ve gone. He’ll probably just assume we’ve split up or
something, so I doubt he’ll think he can get any money off you.’

‘I’m sure he won’t.’

‘Okay, but if he does turn up, please just walk away. And tell your mum. Tell James. He’s promised me he’ll look out for you and . . .’

‘I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you, right at this moment,’ I said.

Flynn closed his eyes, his lips trembling slightly. Then he looked across at the clock above the little fireplace opposite the sofa. ‘Eleven minutes left,’ he said. ‘It’s
not enough time for anything.’

‘I think we both know that’s not true.’ I tried to laugh, but it was no good. The time for being all dry and ironic was over. The weight in my chest was going to suffocate me.
I couldn’t even cry and wash it away.

‘Flynn?’ My voice cracked.

‘What would you like now?’ Flynn’s eyes gleamed miserably in the candlelight. ‘Another poem?’

I shook my head and moved closer. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said. ‘I’d rather have a kiss.’

Ten minutes later we were back downstairs. We didn’t say anything as we stood in the corridor outside the kitchen. I clung to Flynn, feeling numb. This wasn’t
really happening, was it? Surely I would see him as usual tomorrow or the next day?

‘Just a bit longer?’ I pleaded.

Flynn shook his head, pushing me gently away. ‘We can’t risk your mum finding me here. She’ll take it out on you – stop you working here.’

‘Okay.’ I drew back and stared at his face – trying to imprint it on my brain. It swam, blurrily, in front of my eyes. He bent down and kissed me. Then he pushed open the door
and stood back. I hesitated for a second then stumbled into the kitchen. I heard the door swing shut behind me. I didn’t look back.

I crossed the room to the other door – the one that led back into the café. Laila materialised beside me. She shoved a plastic bag into my hands. ‘Your skirt and
blouse,’ she said with a smile.

I stared at her blankly, then wiped my face, took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The café had filled up since I’d been gone and there was a real buzz about the place. Honey
and cardamom scents wafted towards me from a nearby table, mingling with the clatter of knives and forks and the hum of good-humoured conversation. Mum and Yazmina were still sitting across the
room. Mum’s fork was poised above her plate and she was chatting animatedly. She looked up and saw me.

‘River?’ she smiled. ‘Did you get your outfit? I was thinking of sending a search party.’

I stared at her stupidly. Outfit? Then I felt the handle of the plastic bag sweating into my hand. Oh yes. I nodded then stretched a smile across my lips.

‘Yes, thanks, Yazmina.’

Yazmina caught my eye and winked. I nodded, acknowledging that I was really thanking her for those last few minutes with Flynn.

‘Have you had a nice meal, Mum?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes, Yazmina’s been telling me about how she set up the café. And the food here is delicious.’

I wanted to smile for real now. Yazmina had clearly done an unbelievable charm job on Mum. But my eyes felt dull and heavy.

‘Are you all right, River?’ Mum frowned. ‘You
were
gone a long time.’

Yazmina rose up from the table and billowed her way towards me. She put her arm round me and gave my shoulder a meaningful squeeze. ‘Even for a simple white blouse and black skirt a girl
must make sure the fit is correct and the style flattering,’ she said. ‘Yes, River?’

I nodded and smiled. ‘Yes.’ I felt nothing. Nothing at all. Just an agonising weight in my chest.

Mum checked her watch. ‘We have to go, River. Stone will be back from football soon and expecting some tea.’

‘Right.’

I followed Mum down the steps of the café. I wondered if Flynn was watching me from Yazmina’s living room. I looked up, but I couldn’t see him.

Mum’s heels click-clacked towards her car. As the lights flashed, telling us the doors were open, this scream started up inside my head. No words, just a long, thin, silent scream. We were
going. We were leaving and Flynn was there. He was still inside. He was so close. It wasn’t too late. I could go back in, I could beg him to stay . . .

But if I went back in now, Mum would know Flynn was there. And it wouldn’t do any good anyway. We’d still have to say goodbye. This was it.

I got into the car and let Mum drive me away.

She chattered on, asking to see my uniform. I shook out a mid-length skirt and a soft, pretty white top from the bag. They looked as if they’d fit me perfectly. Mum glanced sideways and
nodded.

‘Yazmina seems very nice,’ she said approvingly. ‘And very caring to the girls who work there. She told me about her life growing up in Turkey. Fascinating past. She’s
divorced too, you know.’ She patted my knee. ‘I think this job will be a great thing for you. Just the thing to keep you busy.’

I glanced at her.
Just the thing to help me get over Flynn.
That was what she meant. I looked back at the café, tuning Mum out. Listening to the long scream in my head.

It isn’t over. It won’t ever be over.

I don’t ever want to get over him.

The first week was bad. I stumbled from school to home – experiencing the world as though everything was wrapped in cotton wool and I couldn’t quite touch it. As if
I
were wrapped in cotton wool and it couldn’t touch
me
. The heavy weight didn’t shift from my chest, though I learned to live around it – eating enough food to fuel
my body and concentrating sufficiently in class to avoid being picked on for not paying attention.

The second week was worse. The numb, cotton-wool feeling started to wear off. And the thin scream that had started in my head as I’d walked away from the café became this permanent
background noise to my life. Wherever I was, whatever I was doing, inside my head I was screaming. It was the rawest, unhappiest feeling I’d ever known. Flynn and I messaged and spoke
whenever we could. But it didn’t stop me missing him so much that I felt like I was going mad with it.

Maybe we were trying not to upset each other, but we shied away from talking about how we felt most of the time. Flynn told me about Ireland, about his family and how they were settling in, and
what his new sixth form college was like. He mentioned there were girls in his class. Twice. I tried not to let my jealousy about this show. I didn’t want him to keep things from me and I
didn’t want to make him angry. I was scared of having an argument with him and there being no way of properly making up.

Emmi and Grace tried to help me in their different ways. As soon as I was no longer grounded they kept asking me to go out with them after school and at weekends. Emmi took me shopping and told
me how fabulous I looked in everything I tried on. Grace let me use her phone to call Flynn a few times. It was very generous of her but it wasn’t enough.

I was hoping that in another week or so Mum would stop checking my phone account, but so far she showed no sign of letting up.

Emmi and Grace knew I was missing Flynn. But in spite of our friendship I didn’t tell them just how badly I was hurting. Partly because I knew that neither of them really liked Flynn. But
mostly because I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling. All I knew was that I was sinking and screaming into some dark place where no one could reach me.

For the first couple of weeks they accepted it when I said I didn’t want to go out, but after that they started pushing me to do things with them. So I threw myself into my GCSEs,
explaining I’d hardly done any work for the last two months, and had loads to catch up on with the exams just a few months away. Emmi was particularly dismissive of this as an excuse but Mum,
of course, loved it.

I was hiding how I felt from Mum as much as from my friends. Luckily, she was used to us not talking much anymore, so I guess it didn’t seem odd to her that I spent so much time alone.
Working hard was a good reason for staying in. And I did work hard. Essays and reading and writing were places where I could lose myself for a few minutes – the only Flynn-free time I ever
got, apart from when things got busy at the café, and I was dashing about, sweat beading on my forehead, taking orders and serving food.

I liked working at the café. Yazmina always asked after Flynn. She told me on my first evening how he’d begged her to let her use the upstairs room ‘to say goodbye to his
lovely girl’. She beamed. ‘I thought this was so romantic, how could I say no? And then he ask me to keep your mother out of the way. Which is perhaps not so romantic. But he smiles at
me and I cannot say no. He is charm, that boy. When he wants. Charm. You know?’

I knew.

Two more weeks passed. I still thought about Flynn all the time. His voice. His face. His touch.

That was all that was real. Everything else was just passing by at a distance. I lived for the moments when I spoke to him and I spent almost all the rest of my time wrapped up in my head,
hurting.

This has to pass, I thought.

Soon, this has to pass.

February got warmer. It was ironic, I thought, that Flynn and I had only gone out together during the depths of winter, when it had been difficult to find places where we
didn’t freeze. And now the weather was mild and we could have spent whole days in the park. And instead he was in Ireland, where he told me glumly it hadn’t stopped raining for weeks.
And I was here, looking at the sunshine flooding through my window, wishing I was out in it with Flynn.

It was a month to the day when Flynn had left. I was walking home from school not thinking about anything in particular, just experiencing the usual dull ache in my chest. I heard heavy
footsteps right behind me and looked over my shoulder. Flynn’s dad padded up.

‘Hello there,’ he smiled.

I blinked. He looked almost exactly like that first time I’d seen him in the hair salon, except there was a small scar across his nose – presumably from where Flynn had hit him
– and his hands weren’t shaking.

‘Hi,’ I said uncertainly. Flynn had made me promise to walk away without a word if his da showed up. But it wasn’t so easy. How could I just ignore the man? He was standing
right in front of me.

‘So Patrick and the others have gone,’ he said. He was still smiling. I relaxed a little. He didn’t seem drunk, he wasn’t slurring his words or staggering about like he
had in the church.

I nodded.

‘That was a bad business, eh?’ Flynn’s dad scratched his nose. ‘I could’ve pressed charges, you know.’

I nodded again. There was an awkward silence.

‘Are you . . . all right now?’ I stammered, feeling embarrassed.

Flynn’s dad sighed. ‘I’m fine, though it’s been difficult to work, of course.’

I stared at him.

‘Been off for weeks, I have,’ he said pointedly. ‘Hard to make ends meet. Very hard.’ He looked away for a second, then back at me – his eyes full of appeal in an
expression exactly like one of Flynn’s.

Oh my goodness.
He was asking me for money.

‘My mum stopped giving me any cash,’ I said. ‘She was angry with me . . .’ I tailed off, not wanting to give more away.

Flynn’s dad raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s ironic, eh?’ he said. ‘Wherever Patrick goes, there’s a lot of anger.’

I wanted to say something in Flynn’s defence, but I couldn’t think what. I gulped. More than anything I just wanted to get away from his dad.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I fished in my pocket and drew out a five-pence piece. ‘See, that’s all I have,’ I said.

To my surprise, Flynn’s dad reached out and took the coin. Then he hesitated for a second and put it back in my palm. ‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘Sorry to have troubled
you.’ He turned and shuffled off.

I didn’t tell Flynn when I next spoke to him. I’d intended to, but when the time came I couldn’t bring myself. I knew Flynn would be angry – angry with his dad for
pestering me and angry with me for not walking away immediately, like I’d promised I would.

It was getting harder to talk to him anyway. Like our present lives weren’t connected anymore. I didn’t know the people he talked about. His new friends. And he was out of touch with
everyone at home except for James. I knew they still messaged on Facebook most days. James occasionally mentioned him when we were out as well, but not often.

Sometimes it felt like Flynn only really existed in my head.

Half-term started at the very end of February. On Saturday I went to a party. Emmi had been nagging me to come out with her and Alex for weeks now. I’d avoided Alex as
much as possible since he’d accused Flynn of stealing his iPad, but I knew his parents had bought a new model for him with the insurance and nobody had mentioned the subject for ages.