Authors: Emma Haughton
“Lunch,” I remind him. “We're going to meet Danny. Remember?”
Dad glances at his laptop, the screen crammed with the usual muddle of figures and footnotes. Looks back at me, stricken. I can tell he's weighing it up.
Genetics wins. “Could you just give me half an hour?”
I look at my watch. It's already gone twelve.
“You go ahead,” he says. “Tell Martha I'll be there soon. An hour tops, I promise.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “See you there.”
I don't take the short cut, but the road that runs round the back of the park. Now, when it comes to it, I want to put this off a little bit longer. That's the trouble, I think, as I turn down Palace Avenue. You want something so badly, so deeply, so much for so long, that when it actually arrives, you just don't feel ready.
I walk fast. The blood pumping, the rhythm of my breathing helping to settle the jittery sensation in my stomach. I don't even mind when it begins to rain. There's no one around, just the odd car passing with a sizzle of tyres on wet tarmac. As I pass I glance in all the windows of the houses, hoping for a glimpse of other lives. I want to see people doing normal things â eating, watching TV, chatting over cups of tea.
Right now, suddenly, I would happily settle for an ordinary life â not this extraordinary one I seem to be living.
In the white house near the end of the road I catch sight of a woman and a child. They're standing in the kitchen, the woman grasping the girl round the waist, holding her up so she can stir something in a bowl. I stop for a moment. See the girl stick her finger into the mixture and offer it to her mother, who jerks her head back, laughing.
A twist in my heart, sharp as glass. We used to do stuff like that, Mum and I. Make brownies and biscuits. Big fluffy scones. Once a giant birthday cake for Dad, decorated top to bottom with tiny silver balls and pastel-coloured sugar flowers.
Five years on and this is how my mother comes back to me. In the small things. Moments that meant so little at the time, and so much now.
And in the big things too, I realize. Like today. Needing her more than ever.
Martha is stooped over, arranging pans, dressed in a blue and yellow patterned skirt I've never seen before. And make-up.
Her voice, when she sees me, is glittery and cheerful. Bright as sunshine. “Hannah! Don't just stand there. Come in, you silly thing. You'll get soaked.”
I shrug off my coat and hang it in the little lobby by the back door. Inhale the rich, tempting smell coming from the oven. Through the glass doors leading into the dining room I can see the large oak table, busy with plates and cutlery and several posies of flowers. And wine glasses, I notice â the best crystal ones Danny and I were never allowed anywhere near. Everything is gleaming, as if it were new, recently unwrapped.
Like old times, I think, remembering the lunches we used to have here. All of us, Mum and Dad, Martha and Paul, Danny and Alice and I, sat around this same table.
It all feels so long ago.
“Your dad not with you?” Martha asks.
“He'll be along in a bit. He had something important to finish first.” I have no idea if this is true.
“You look frozen.” Martha checks out my skirt and thin summer top â the only halfway smart things I could find in my wardrobe. “Go and warm up. Paul's lit the fire.”
I glance through the doorway into the living room. I can see several people. Paul in a crisp blue shirt, though he's dispensed with the usual tie. Beside him a short man dressed in a leather jacket and beige trousers, and one of those strange manicured beards that looks like it's been painted on. To his left, sideways on, a tall man wearing a baseball cap, its peak pulled low over his face.
No sign of Danny. Or Alice. I'm guessing she's playing up in her room.
“You sure you don't want any help?” I ask.
Martha stirs something in a saucepan, then wipes her hands on a tea towel. “Thanks, sweetheart, but it's all sorted. I was running late though. Had to persuade Danny to shower and have a shave. And find him something decent to wear.”
“A shave?” I frown, remembering Danny's smooth, tanned face.
“I know,” Martha laughs. “I nearly choked when I saw all that stubble⦠And how much he's grown. It's amazing how quickly boys change at this age.” She flashes a smile and grabs my hand. “Ready?”
My stomach flips. I feel almost queasy with nerves.
“Oh, Hannah.” Martha pauses to brush the hair away from my face. “Always so shy.”
No one seems to notice us at first. The bearded man is saying something about the government and funding cuts, gesturing wildly as he speaks, while the other one stands with his legs wide apart and his hands thrust deep into his pockets, nodding in agreement. I hover to the side, not wanting to interrupt.
Paul catches my eye and comes over. Placing a hand on each shoulder, he turns me towards the man with the beard. “This is Hannah, Danny's oldest friend. More like one of the family really.”
“Tony Dickson.” The man takes my hand and shakes it vigorously. “Very pleased to meet you.”
“Mr Dickson brought Danny down from London,” Paul explains.
I nod, trying to think of something to say in return. I attempt a smile, but it comes out all wobbly. I'm conscious of the taller man studying me. I turn to face him, taking in the NYC logo on his baseball cap and the clean line of his jaw. He's wearing a pair of dark jeans that look like they might be Paul's, and a polo shirt that's clearly several sizes too big.
Everyone looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. My mind stalls. My knees feel weak and shaky, like they're about to let the rest of me flop to the floor.
“Go on,” Martha nudges. I raise my eyes, cheeks hot, fighting the urge to look away. The tall man is smiling at me. A big wide smile, with lots of teeth.
He takes a step forwards. “Hannah,” he says, his voice low and confident.
I lift my hand, assuming he'll want to shake it too, but he raises his arms towards me.
I stare at him vacantly. What on earth am I supposed to do?
Then I realize, with a jolt that almost stops my heart.
Danny?
I freeze, eyes locked on his face. I can't get over how different he looks. I mean, I know he's older now. I knew he must have changed, of course I understood that. But the difference between the boy in my head and thisâ¦this
man
towering over me leaves me paralysed and winded with shock.
“Hannah!” Martha hisses behind me. I glance back, bewildered. She narrows her eyes and nods towards the man. I face him again, taking in the faint line of stubble around his cheeks.
And suddenly I see it. A glimpse of the Danny I still have in my head. Those blue-sky eyes. The familiar mess of blond hair, barely visible under his cap.
And that smile. How could I ever forget that smile?
Danny.
My breath quickens into a gasp, crushing my voice to a whisper.
“Danny⦠Oh god⦠Danny⦠Is that really you?”
“Hey, titch!”
Danny's grin widens as he moves towards me, arms still outstretched. Stupidly, inexplicably, I flinch, stepping backwards. Danny's hands drop to his sides.
“Hannah!” Martha's tone is sharper.
I take a deep breath and pull myself together. “Oh god, I'm sorry,” I mumble. “It's just that you look⦠I mean, you look so⦔
“Different?” Danny laughs, his mouth slackening into something between a smile and a grimace. “I guess I do.”
He falls silent for a moment, examining me with a strange, almost wolfish expression. “For that matter, so do you, Hannah. We might have passed on the street and I'd never have known it was you. You're taller and you look much more⦔ He lets the sentence tail off.
I stare back at him, my heart still pounding, my head spinning. It isn't just that Danny has grown so tall. He was always tall for his age, even before â people assumed he was older than me, though there's only six months' difference. No, it's more that everything about him has changed â his manner, the way he holds himself, the slight stoop in his shoulders.
And his voice⦠A man's voice now, deep and unfamiliar. That's what throws me more than anything; he doesn't even
sound
like Danny any more.
“You look like you need to sit down.” Paul grasps my elbow and guides me towards the sofa. I sink onto the far end, near the warmth and crackle of the fire. Realize I'm shivering.
“So⦔ Danny lowers himself into the armchair opposite. “Nothing to say, titch? I mean, it's been a while.”
“Iâ¦Iâ¦godâ¦sorryâ¦it's all a bit of a shock.” I clear my throat and start again. “Sorry, Danny. I mean, how are you? Really, are you okay?”
“Fine.” He sniffs, flashing a smile at his mother. “Never better.”
Everyone laughs, though I'm not sure any of us could say why. Least of all me. I'm dazed. Not happy. Not pleased, excited, or any of those things I always imagined I'd feel ifâ¦when I saw Danny again. I just feel flat, like after Christmas lunch, when you've eaten too much and opened all your presents and there's nothing left to do but watch TV. Or the last day of a holiday, when going home hangs over you like a cloud and there no longer seems any point trying to enjoy yourself.
For a moment, it feels like disappointment. Because only now, seeing Danny in the flesh, do I grasp how much has changed.
“Didn't I tell you, Hannah?” Martha's eyes are gleaming with triumph. “Didn't I always say Danny would come home?”
Over and over, I think. Though I stopped listening years ago.
Danny watches the pair of us, a strange expression twitching across his lips. He looks nearly as on edge as I am. “I guess she's a bit overwhelmed, Mum. It's a lot to take in.” He glances at me for confirmation. “I know how she feels.”
“Yes, it's all been rather dramatic,” says Paul. “As I'm sure Hannah can imagine.”
And I can. I see Danny walking in, that big silly grin spread wide across his face. See him drop his bag on the floor and stride over to his mother, hugging her tight and hard. Hear Martha's squeals, first of disbelief, then delight, and Alice running downstairs and charging at him like a cannonball. I can see Rudman spinning round in ecstasy, barking and whimpering and thumping his tail against the furniture.
Of course I know it didn't really happen that way â I just like to think it did.
At that moment there's a knock on the door, then Dad appears, looking rushed and apologetic. And untidy, his trousers creased and his jacket looking like it should have been thrown away years ago. Though he's changed his shirt, at least, and brushed his hair. He takes in the room, saying hello to Martha and nodding at Paul, before turning to me and Danny.
A slight grimace of surprise, then Dad strides over, offering his hand. “Good to see you again, Daniel.”
Danny stands for the handshake. “You too.” He looks a little nervous, his fingers twitching as they fall back to his side.
“Hannah's been on tenterhooks all week,” Dad says. “Waiting for the big day.”
I raise an eyebrow. Surprised he's noticed.
All at once Danny's face relaxes. “It's great to see you again, Mr Radcliffe.”
“You've never called me that before.” Dad frowns. “Let's stick to David.”
Danny reddens a little. “Sorry. It's justâ¦you knowâ¦hard to tell whether everything's still the same⦔
“We understand, darling,” Martha cuts in, offering Dad a drink.
I turn back to Danny. “Soâ¦honestly, how are you?” I ask again. This time really wanting to know.
Danny wrinkles up his nose. “I dunno. Tired, I guess. Glad to be back.”
My eyes never leave his face. I can't get over how much he's changed. His features are sharper somehowâ¦leaner, with hollows that were never there before. The same broad tanned cheeks, however, and turquoise eyes, though underneath you can see the exhaustion.
It's Danny, I can see that now. The same, but different. Older.
I nod towards him. “When did you get that?”
A puzzled look eclipses his smile.
“The baseball cap,” I say. “I thought you hated them. You always said they made people look dopey.”
Danny lifts it enough to reveal a large bruise around his left eye, just beginning to fade to yellow. Then pulls it back over his brow. “Doesn't it suit me?”
“Sure.” I grin. “You look great. Dopey, but great.”
He laughs. “You look good too. Seriously. I mean the last time I saw you, titch, you were just a skinny girl on a bike. Now look at you, all grown up.”
I feel my face flush with pleasure, my breathing settle.
“You remember that trip?” Danny asks. “Down to the lake? When you chickened out of riding the ledge.”
“How could I forget?” Warmth spreads through me as my anxiety drains away. Danny's back, I tell myself. Danny's back. And finally I can let myself believe it.
Upstairs there's a sudden high-pitched wail. All heads turn towards the door, then Martha hurries out. Moments later the muffled sound of Alice's protests.
Several silent minutes pass before Martha reappears, cheeks flushed, and bends to whisper something to Paul.
“Leave it,” he replies, shaking his head. “Just give her time.”
Mr Dickson talks a lot, but somehow doesn't say very much. I gather it's his job as a social worker to make sure Danny settles back in okay, but he seems more interested in Martha's food than in Danny or the rest of us.
Not that I blame him. Martha's really gone to town. There's a huge quiche with salad, and tons of fresh herb bread and roasted vegetables. And a large, golden-skinned rice pudding, still baking in the oven.