Casting Shadows (2 page)

It was weird him not holding me while we kissed. Kind of sexy, actually. It made me feel more in control. I brought my hands down his back then let go. He pulled away, his forehead beaded with
sweat.

Well, it
was
hot in the kitchen.

‘River.’ Yazmina’s heavily accented voice pierced through me.

I jumped back guiltily and turned round. Yazmina was standing in the doorway, a half smile on her lips.

Behind her, his eyes wide with shock, stood Dad.

I froze.

A few long seconds passed. Then Yazmina gave a low chuckle. She stood back, holding the door through to the café open.

‘Take the food out, Flynn,’ she said.

Flynn didn’t move. The cooks across the kitchen had stopped arguing and were watching us with interest.

I stared at Dad. His mouth had fallen open. ‘River?’ he said.

‘Hello, Dad.’

‘Hello, Mr Armstrong,’ Flynn said. He sounded a little sullen but I knew he was just embarrassed. This was so
not
what we’d planned.

My heart raced. Nobody spoke, then Dad said, ‘Hello again, Flynn.’ His voice sounded tight and he wasn’t smiling.

No
, this was
awful.

Yazmina sighed. ‘Flynn,’ she said firmly, looking down at the half-empty baskets of pitta bread in his hands. ‘Please take the food outside.’

Flynn nodded. He glanced at me for a quick, desperate second, then strode away through the swing doors.

Yazmina raised her eyes at me. ‘Perhaps you would pick up the bread on the floor, River,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. She turned to Dad. ‘If you’re going to shout,
River can show you up to my rooms.’ Then she followed Flynn out into the café.

My face burning, I bent down and started picking up slices of pitta bread from the floor.

‘River?’ Dad sounded hoarse. ‘I can’t believe it, that . . . that was
Flynn.’

I bit my lip, my chest tightening. ‘Yes, Dad,’ I said. I swallowed. ‘I . . . we . . .’

My heart sank. All our careful planning had been completely pointless. I’d intended to soften Dad up before Flynn came to join us. But now . . . No way was Dad going to believe Flynn and I
were taking it easy . . . that we hadn’t even
seen
each other while he got started with his anger management counselling. Dad had just seen us kissing.

How embarrassing was that?

I stood up, pieces of bread in my hands.

Dad grabbed my arm. ‘I thought he was in Ireland,’ he said slowly. ‘I thought . . .’

‘I’m sorry.’ I couldn’t look him in the eye. I turned and walked over to the food waste bin in the corner. As I shoved the bits of bread inside it, I took a deep breath.
What did I do now? It occurred to me that all I
could
do was ignore that kiss . . . carry on as originally planned. I turned back, taking in Dad’s worried expression, the creases
around his bright blue eyes, his tanned, worn face. I walked over and hugged him, breathing in the familiar smell of earth and incense from his shirt.

‘Oh, Dad.’ I looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry . . . this wasn’t how we planned . . . but Flynn’s been back for a bit and—’

‘How long?’ Dad asked.

‘Er, about three months, but—’

‘What?’
Dad said, horrified.

‘He’s
changed,
Dad,’ I persisted. ‘He’s been seeing a counsellor. He’s
totally
getting on top of all the anger stuff and—’

‘Wait, River.’ Dad frowned. ‘Stop.’

‘I know it’s a shock but—’

‘Slow down.’ Dad shook his head. ‘This is serious, River. You promised your mum and me that you weren’t going to see Flynn again. Does
she
know he’s back
from Ireland?’

I wrinkled up my nose. ‘No. I wanted to tell
you
first, Dad. She and Flynn don’t get on. But you’re . . . you . . .’

‘So when did he get in touch?’

I felt my shoulders sag. Why was Dad insisting on dragging the conversation down to all these details?

I looked up at him. His eyes were tender but wary. And there was something else in his expression too. Something closer to anger. That wasn’t like Dad, he’s the most laid-back man on
the planet.

At that moment the swing doors burst open and Flynn strode back in. ‘Hi,’ he said awkwardly.

He stood for a second, gazing at me, then he turned to Dad, a determined look on his face.

‘There’s a corner table out there if you want it, Mr Armstrong,’ he said. He brushed back his hair selfconsciously. ‘For two, I mean,’ he added.

I blinked. I’d never heard Flynn speak so . . . so deferentially. His whole face was tense, but he lowered his eyes as Dad stared at him. My heart went out to him. He was trying so hard to
get my dad to like him. And all for me. Without thinking, I reached out my hand and took his.

Flynn shot me a swift grin.

‘I think we’ll go somewhere else, actually,’ Dad said in the stoniest voice I’d ever heard him use.

I could feel Flynn’s hand tensing in mine. I gave it a warning squeeze, then let go.

‘That’s fine, Dad,’ I said. I glanced at Flynn. His eyes were dark gold. I caught a flash of his old temper and shivered. ‘It’s okay,’ I said. I don’t
know if I was talking to Flynn or to Dad or to myself. ‘It’s going to be okay.’

‘Come on, River.’ Dad held open the door out to the café.

I tore my eyes away from Flynn and walked through. As I headed for the door that led outside I could hear the man who’d spoken to me earlier complaining he still had no salt. Beyond him, I
caught a glimpse of James and Grace, their mouths gaping with shock. So much for our plan to big-up Flynn. Bitter tears welled in my eyes.

Dad was lost in thought as we walked along Holloway Road to where his beaten-up old car was parked. My pulse raced as I tried to work out what to say next. All I’d wanted tonight was for
Dad to realise Flynn had changed, so that he wouldn’t mind us going back out together.

But now, no way was Dad going to get his head around the idea of us dating again. He couldn’t even seem to get his head around unlocking his car. We stood on the pavement beside it while
he fumbled in his pockets for the key, clearly not concentrating on what he was doing.

‘Dad?’ I said. ‘What . . . where are we going?’

Dad stared round at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. ‘I want you to come up to the commune with me,’ he said. ‘For the weekend, so we can talk properly.’

I frowned. This wasn’t one of my scheduled days to visit Dad. He was just popping over to see me after a meeting with one of the commune’s organic vegetable clients. I hadn’t
actually been to the commune for several weeks now, not since before my GCSE exams, though I’d agreed with Mum and Dad ages ago that I’d spend my school holidays there.

I didn’t want to go. I’d planned to see Flynn this weekend – we were going to go to the park with Grace and James tomorrow afternoon, then to see a movie in the evening.

‘But I don’t have any stuff with me,’ I said.

Dad shook his head. ‘We can stop off at your mum’s. Pick up what you need.’ He paused. ‘I want to talk to her anyway.’

My heart thudded. ‘Dad, please don’t tell her about Flynn.’ I gripped his arm. ‘Please. She’ll be so mad.’

‘River.’ Dad rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t think you appreciate how . . . how let down I feel. You promised us you wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy. That was
the condition of letting you stay with your mother during term time, remember?’

I nodded.

‘And now, to find out you’re still involved with him all these months later. It’s . . . I don’t know what to say, what to think.’

‘We did break up,’ I said, anxiety clutching at my throat. ‘And I told Flynn I wouldn’t go back out with him unless he did something about his temper and he
has
.
Like I told you, he’s been seeing a counsellor. And he’s got a job – three jobs, actually.
And
he worked really hard for his exams.’

Dad stared at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I wanted to tell him how much I loved Flynn, how being apart from him before had nearly killed me. But I couldn’t say it. I
looked away, my face burning.

Behind me, I could hear Dad unlocking the car door. I scurried round to the other side and slid into the passenger seat.

We drove off in silence.

A few hours later I was sitting alone, on the bed in the little storeroom off Dad’s living room in his and Gemma’s commune apartment. It was where I usually slept
when I stayed with them – unless my brother, Stone, came too. Then one of us had to sleep on the couch in the living room. I checked my phone again. The signal was always weak here but at
least there
was
a signal. After we’d left Mum’s and begun the long drive up to the commune, I’d texted Flynn and told him what had happened and he’d messaged back
to say he’d call me at ten thirty.

I felt so lonely, so miserable without him.

I sighed and lay back on the bed. Dad had, of course, told Mum about Flynn. And Mum had, predictably, gone ballistic.

Ten more minutes passed. Flynn would be calling soon. I decided to go down to the kitchen, maybe get a drink. I had shut myself away as soon as we arrived, so I hadn’t seen anyone who
lived here yet. I was hoping to avoid the other residents. I took off my shoes and trotted down the stone steps, my socks silent but slippery against their smoothness. As I padded along the
corridor to the kitchen, I heard Dad’s voice.

‘I couldn’t believe the way she was . . . the way she . . . God, she was really kissing him.’ He let out a big sigh.

‘She’s sixteen, love.’ That was Gemma. ‘Seventeen in a few months. She’s not a baby.’

‘I know,’ Dad groaned. ‘It’s just it’s hard, thinking about . . . you know . . .’

I shrank back against the stone wall of the corridor, my heart racing.

‘Isn’t the important thing how River feels? And also
how
it happens?’ Gemma said gently. ‘From what you said it sounds as if he was very respectful to
you.’

Dad said something in a low voice that I couldn’t catch.

‘Okay,’ Gemma said, ‘but there were reasons why he attacked his dad. And lots of teenage boys get a bit out of control. He’s never hurt
River.
And everyone
deserves a second chance, don’t they?’

Yes.
I nodded, out in the corridor. My heart surged with affection for Gemma.

And then my phone rang. The sound filled the corridor. Chairs scraped back across the stone floor in the kitchen as I fled back towards the stairs. I answered the call as I panted up them, two
at a time.

‘River?’ Flynn sounded concerned. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah.’ I tore into the little bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

We talked for a few minutes. I kept my eyes on the door, but Dad and Gemma hadn’t followed me. I could tell Flynn was upset that Dad was being so heavy about us seeing each other. He was
trying hard to keep things light, to reassure me, but the tightness in his voice was unmistakeable. And I felt the same way.

We said we loved each other and rang off. I still felt troubled. I put my head in my hands. A rap on the door. Then Gemma poked her head round. ‘River?’ she said.

I looked up at her, my lips trembling. She smiled and walked over to me, scooping me into a hug. Tears welled up as she held me. She smelled like my dad – her clothes slightly musty with a
whiff of incense, but on her the smell was lighter, more flowery somehow.

Gemma’s not much bigger than me, really Completely different from Mum. She’s got long black hair and, when you don’t know her, she comes across as very gentle and shy. But
she’s a strong person. She and Dad lost their baby earlier in the year. I know it really upset them, especially Gemma, but she hasn’t let it make her all bitter or mean. Dad adores her.
It suddenly struck me that if anyone could persuade him to accept me and Flynn being together it was her.

‘He’s a good person,’ I wept. ‘He’s really changed. He just needs people to believe in him.’

Gemma stroked my hair. ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she said.

‘And I’m prepared to give him a chance.’ I looked up. Dad was standing in the doorway, gazing at me. ‘But there’s one condition.’

I nodded eagerly, disentangling myself from Gemma’s arms. ‘What?’

Dad pursed his lips. ‘I want to get to know him first. I want Flynn to come and spend the rest of the weekend here on the commune with you, me and Gemma.’

‘Okay.’ I frowned. ‘But it’s Friday night already . . . how is Flynn going to get here?’

‘We’ll pick him up from the station tomorrow. Tell him to get on a train to arrive by midday. I’ll cover his fare.’

My heart was in my mouth as we waited at the station the next morning. Dad looked pretty tense too. As the train pulled in, I fingered the phone in my pocket. I was half
expecting Flynn to call and tell me he couldn’t face the interrogation he was bound to be given. Our last kiss flashed into my head. We’d have to be so careful about what we did in
front of my dad. It was obvious that for all his liberal talk about human beings needing to love each other more, he was totally freaked out by the idea of me really loving someone myself.

The train stopped. I held my breath, waiting for Flynn to appear. He’d seemed so much calmer since he’d been seeing his counsellor, but he would be under enormous pressure coming
face to face with Dad and having to spend time at the commune – a place he usually referred to disparagingly as the drop-out centre. Suppose he lost his temper with someone? Some of the
people here were fairly odd and, if not drop-outs, certainly alternative in their approach to life.

Suppose he lost his temper with Dad?

The doors opened and Flynn stepped out onto the sunny platform. He loped along, looking around for us. I could tell he was uncertain of himself . . . there was something awkward in the hunch of
his shoulders and the way his hands were stuffed into his pockets.

‘There he is.’ I hurried over, Dad at my side.

Flynn turned and saw us. His eyes – bright green in the sunlight – lit up as he looked at me. I had always adored how expressive his face was but now, for the first time, I was
grateful that he was making his feelings so obvious. The love that shone from his eyes was exactly what I wanted Dad to see.