Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1) (17 page)

Within twenty-four hours we were back in Brighton, and Devon was miles away in every sense. It felt like it had happened to other people.

The journey back had been quiet. I spent the journey texting and thinking about Joe. Imagining what it’d be like to see him again. Just two more days. I couldn’t wait. Like, literally couldn’t wait. The following forty-eight hours were full of sinister potential. What if I was run over by a bus before I got to see him again? My whole life was focussed on the moment I got on the train to London.

Back in Brighton we dropped Ashley and her mum at theirs, picked up Daniel from his friend’s, then went home, where the house was quiet and cold and Dan stared at me like I was an alien. Mum cooked cheese on toast and made me eat it on a tray in bed like an invalid. I felt fine, although tired. I finished my toast then fell asleep again.

I woke up nine hours later to torrential rain and a too-much-sleep headache. I couldn’t stop thinking about the hospital. I felt almost nostalgic for it, with
its routine and regular meals and me and Ash in our own little bubble. I tried not to think about the event that got us there, although ‘I saved someone’s life’ kept appearing in my mind like someone walking across the front of a stage with a placard. It made my stomach pitch in fear and disbelief and, if I’m honest, excitement and pride.

My bedroom was closing in on me. The doctor at the hospital had told Mum and Dad that I needed to take it easy, which they saw as a free pass to keep me bedridden. Everything in my room was annoying. My purple duvet cover, the books on the shelves with the S-shaped book-ends, the photo collages of me and my friends … Childish and routine. Even the smell of my pillow was claustrophobically familiar. I missed the strangeness of the hospital. Missed feeling special. I stared at the ceiling, lethargy draped over me like a concrete blanket. My phone was on my chest, where I’d dropped it when there wasn’t a single thing left I could bear to watch on iPlayer. It wasn’t even as if I could have nice long conversations with Joe – maybe even pick up where we left off, phone-sex wise – since Joe was in one of his rubbish phases on the contact front. I supposed there was no need for him to get in touch: I was seeing him tomorrow.

Tomorrow! Flicking to Favourites, I clicked on his
name, and then instantly ended the call when my mum barged in. Well, not barged exactly. She’s not a barging kind of person. But, like, there’s no point knocking if you don’t wait for a response. She put a pile of clothes on my desk. ‘Here’s your Devon stuff, all washed.’

Whoop-di-doo. ‘Thanks.’

She stood for a moment, hand on hip, watching me. I stared back. She folded her arms. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Oh, you know.’ I sighed, smiling tightly. ‘Still completely fine and still going mental stuck in here.’

Mum sat on the edge of my bed and stroked my hair. I tried not to flinch. ‘You’ve had a traumatic experience,’ she said. ‘Your body needs time to recover.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I’d heard it approximately two hundred and forty-eight times before.

‘Just a couple more days taking it easy, darling. You can watch the telly in our room if you want.’ She started opening drawers and putting my clothes away.

‘Thanks, but there’s only so much
Cash in the Attic
I can take …’ She carefully placed a symmetrically folded pile of knickers in my drawer. ‘Mum, don’t. I’ll do it …’ Although I wouldn’t have. Just watching her made me feel tired. ‘Anyway, I’m nearly eighteen years old,’ I complained, returning to the
incarceration issue. ‘I think I can just about tell if I’m ill or not.’

She’d moved on to tidying my desk now. It was hair-tearingly irritating. She paused in the middle of dusting my lamp with a spat-on tissue. ‘Obviously we can’t keep you here, Sarah, but you’re not an adult yet. Whether you like it or not, we probably still know what’s best for you –’ She put her hand up and talked over my spluttering indignation. ‘As far as your health is concerned, anyway.’

I sagged back on my bed. I was too bloody obedient for my own good. Then I very speedily unsagged, sitting up so fast I got a head rush. ‘I can’t stay in bed for two more days! I’m going to London tomorrow.’

Mum didn’t pause from her tidying frenzy. ‘Not this time, you’re not. The girls will understand.’

I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. Mum looked at me, surprised, then came and sat on the edge of my bed. ‘Sweetheart, you’ve had a dreadful shock. You’re bound to be emotional.’ She put her hand on my forehead and I put out my arms so she could hug me. I wanted her to tell me it’d all be OK.

‘It’s not the shock,’ I hiccuped into her shoulder.

‘What is it then?’ asked Mum, gently.

I paused, smelling her familiar Mum smell and imagining the concern on her face. It was no good, I couldn’t tell her about Joe. The thought of all the
questions then, when they’d got used to the idea, the
we’re so liberal
enthusiasm and jovial teasing … I’d have cringed myself to death.

‘I just want to get back to normal … be with my friends. It’s been arranged for weeks.’ I made a huge effort to keep my voice calm – getting hysterical would not help my case – but the thought of not being able to see Joe! I was this far from whimpering with panic.

Mum disengaged from our hug and put on her practical face. ‘There’s no need to get so het up. Just re-arrange for the weekend.’

‘I can’t,’ I growled. ‘Donna’s with her mum and Cass is seeing Adam.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, darling. They’ll have to go without you, just this once.’

I took a breath and smoothed the material of my PJ bottoms. Keeping my voice low, I said, ‘Look, I’m fine. The hospital wouldn’t have let me come all the way back home if they didn’t think I was OK. We’re not planning on doing anything strenuous. We’re just going to do a bit of shopping, stay at Donna’s cousin’s place, then come home.’

‘You’re staying over!’ Mum said, her voice going squeaky.

‘Yes, I told you that,’ I said through gritted teeth.

She walked to the door, gearing up for the last
word. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah, but you’re not going. Trust us, this is the right thing to do. It’s either miss one occasion with your friends, or miss lots because you didn’t take the time to recover properly.’ And out she went, closing the door with a gentle click to show how calm and in control and right she was.

I burst into tears again. I had to see Joe. Had to. I couldn’t believe this half term, with all its potential, was turning out to be so crap.

After five minutes of messy sobbing, I blew my nose and lay in exhausted moodiness, considering my options. And then almost immediately thought, sod it, and phoned Joe. I was gearing up to leave a message when, incredibly, he answered.

‘Sarah.’ His voice saying my name was just about the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.

‘Joe. How’s it going?’ I realized I was involuntarily licking my phone, which was not only deeply weird but probably also deeply unhygienic. I stopped, if only because I didn’t want Joe wondering what the strange slurping noise was.

‘Yeah, good thanks, babes. We still on for Thursday?’ He lowered his voice. ‘I plan to keep you naked for forty-eight hours straight.’