Playing With My Heartstrings (8 page)

There was absolutely nothing I could say to that. Nothing sprang to my arctic-frozen mind and Tara kept opening her mouth - which strongly resembled a sulky model pout - then shut it again, preferring to keep her thoughts to herself. I was glad she did.

As a cooler breeze created goose bumps all over my arms, I finally found the courage to say something, which magically formed in my head as I calmly went along. "Thanks for trying to help" - horrible guilt, due to my initial reaction, established a bitter taste in my mouth that couldn't be easily swallowed - "but it really wasn't necessary," I reassured Tara. "I'm going to talk to Joel soon - I promise. Besides," I morosely sighed, "it's my problem and I've got to sort it out, whether I want to or not."

"Of course you want to sort it out in your own way, I completely understand that," Tara said. "But seeing you in the state you were in a few days ago made me so angry that it would've been a crime not to call him and give him a piece of my mind."

Caring, teenage therapist-in-the-making Tara was coming to my rescue. Again. Although I kept meaning to do it, I'd forgotten the amount of times Tara had helped me in sticky situations that I'd accidently created and just like a super mum, she achieved her targets and saved me from getting into more trouble, for which I was appreciatively grateful. In certain ways, Tara reminded me of my own mother, whose concerning nature always helped me pull through anything, regardless whether it was good or bad.

This problem, however, was teetering a little too dangerously towards bad and beyond, which was causing me to almost lose what lack of balance I had left.

"But wasn't it a bit risky, Tara? You wouldn't want to get caught up in somebody's problems like that, would you?"

Tara offered a stop-worrying-and-have-some-fun wink, instantly winning the I'm-in-the-right case. If only my winks were able to tell much more than 'I've got an eyelash stuck in my eye'. Hm.

"So," Tara said, her tone immediately marking the end of the most-nail-biting-than-The-X-Factor-final subject. "Are you doing anything else today?"

"Yes," I lied, madly grinning as though I'd just (illegally) won the Lottery, "Cassie and I are going to bake some biscuits this afternoon and I'm heading to the shops to buy some new clothes - most of my tops are falling apart."

"Great!" Tara happily exclaimed. "I'm just walking back home - so you don't have any time to pop in? Mum just made a batch of those double chocolate chip brownies you liked; remember having them at our sleepover last year?"

I nodded, the unforgettable smell of cocoa flooding my nose. "Yeah, I devoured tons of those, didn't I?" I commented, then added, "Unfortunately, I'm already running late, but I can call you later, if you like?"

"Sure," Tara agreed, disappointment flooding her doll-like features. "See you soon, then. Bye!"

Tara confidentially strode into the ever-increasingly crowd, her noticeable, to-die-for hair quickly disappearing amongst the chattering mob, and I stood on the patch of grass for a second, then walked in the opposite path.

Without any sign of a warning, I'd formed a plan.

*************

"Please put in 20p to proceed with your call," a male-sounding robot - who knew, it may have been a human, who was cursed with a voice as croaky and frightening as a Dalek - said, encouraging me to add yet another 20p into the telephone and dwindle my pocket money further.

I was an idiot. Yes, an absolute idiot. What kind of ordinary teenager leaves their £200 super-duper smartphone at home when they obviously use it all the time? In the eyes of my technology-geek classmates at school, it would be worse if you left your phone in the pocket of your Dairy Milk-stained jeans at home than forgetting to study for the menacing Algebra test. Weird times, I observed, as I awaited to hear a beep on the other end of the line for the third time. I prayed that it would work.

As the whole world - OK, not the whole world, but the bustling city that was filled to the brim of tourists and Converse-wearing kids; even three year olds had a pair! - was passing by me, I was stuck in a miniscule, barely used phone box, which stank of stale cigarettes, horrid old cans of lager and possibly urine that nearly prompted me to throw up. Lord help me.

By the time I'd reached the end of singing an imaginary song - its lyrics that I'd prefer to not disclose - a familiar beep could be heard on the line. Yes! This was what I'd been anticipating for the last fifteen minutes or so; at last, I was starting to get somewhere. Joel may have been out with his West Ham-supporting mates or chillaxing - his favourite hobby, he once confided in me - at home, way too relaxed to get out of bed and answer the ringing phone. An apparent male trait, as realisation dawned upon me.

"Hello?"

I almost jumped out of my skin. How much time had passed since the beeping started? In all honesty, part of myself truly wanted to believe that the call would go to voicemail and I'd have to leave a petty message on the answer machine instead.

Ironically, I wouldn't be left off the hook just yet.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Sadie Thompson. Um, who is this?"

"Hold on a sec." Having heard it a second time, I could tell that the voice was one of a young boy, who seriously sounded as though he was stuck in the Land of Boredom. Clearly holding the phone away, I faintly heard the boy yelling, "JOEL! SOMEBODY IS ON THE PHONE FOR YOU!" Even from a distance, I had to pull the phone away from my ear in order to not risk going deaf. From now on, ear muffs were definitely going to become a must-have in my handbag.

Then the line abruptly became muffled and a fear deep inside the pit of my stomach suddenly came to life. This may have been my one and final chance to talk to my heavenly gorgeous crush and it could all go wrong within seconds. So what if I was nervous about chatting with him? My heart knew that I wanted to hear his relaxed, calm voice and words that would set off fireworks in my electrifying body.

Despite all that he'd done to me, I regarded myself as a fool if I couldn't find the courage and bravery to offer all of the love left inside of me. I loved Joel and there was absolutely no way to deny it.

Not that I would in the first place.

"Hey," Joel said, a warm chuckle magically easing all of my tension into the cool summer air. "How are you?"

I gulped. What could I say without causing offence? Somehow, bringing about a potentially massive argument in a suffocating phone box in the middle of a street ringing with the bubbly chatter of work colleagues and dramatically overdressed teenagers seemed inappropriate and wrong. As if I wanted an audience whom I'd have loved to have disappeared into thin air to witness my becoming hysterical and possibly passing out onto week old cigarette butts. And my spare change was rapidly disappearing, so not being able to afford to use the phone box was another well-meaning factor.

"Fine, fine," I lied, spitting the words in a panicked rush. "Um, why don't we meet up somewhere, like the Rollers' Cafe?"

Joel muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then replied, "OK. I'll see you in thirty minutes."

"Alright, bye." I hung up, denying Joel a chance to respond and glanced through the see-through glass, watching the crowd ahead. A few of my old friends were hanging out together, laughing about falling off their cheaply-made skateboards, and generally having a great time, without any hint of worry on their lit-up faces.

Noticing that a remarkably tall, menacing man with a long, curly beard, informally clad in a grey and black stripe tracksuit, had formed a queue outside of the phone box, I grasped my handbag tightly and opened the door, not bothering to hold it for him in case he decided to take lack of money I had left in my Paris-themed purse. In the heart of the sometimes hair-raising city, I never took any chances. Especially if I was alone.

Turning left, I skipped down the street, careful of bumping into fellow classmates who would probably raise the topic of my resembling a haunted bride, and crossed the road towards the path leading onto the best cafe in town (as I liked to believe).

As I neared the entrance and the scent of cappuccino cake entered my nose with uncontrollable excitement, my eager legs made the first steps into the building. Here I go. And before my gangly arms reached the handle, it occurred to me that I had nothing to lose.

Except shopping for a nice pair of trainers.

Chapter 7

"Want anything else, honey?" A middle-aged woman asked me, a grin outstretched on her bright neon pink lips.

"No, thanks," I replied as the woman placed a plate of cappuccino cake and a cup of menacingly dark coffee on the tiny, blue-tiled table. Just the way I liked it.

"Bon appétit," she said as she walked back to the counter, her obviously very poor French accent barely disguising her strong native one, which my ears sorely strained to hear.

Sitting in the corner furthest away from the window, I stared at my plate, littered with crumbs of heavenly-to-taste chocolate sponge and dollops of coffee cream, which made my mouth water with undeniable hunger. Even if Joel decided to not meet up with me, I guessed that I wouldn't mind too much because it gave me the perfect opportunity to eat my top-favourite cake in the greatest cafe in the whole of the county. Chocolate, I thought as I took my first oh-so-divine bite, never let me down, unlike immature, obnoxious and incomprehensible boys. Cake just wasn't complicated. Simples.

Because I'd been magically sucked into a world of my own - clearly chocolate- and coffee-filled - I'd completely lost track of time and somehow forgot about the pending meeting, which was an absolute miracle in itself. So, imagine my surprise when I looked up from my sad-looking, empty plate - without a single crumb in sight - then saw Joel's face boring into mine, evidently waiting to talk.

"Sorry," I said, wiping away the sure-to-be-there cocoa stains from my mouth, "I didn't see you."

Joel grinned. "I only just got here, but I can already see how much you like the cake."

I blushed, a nervous giggle on the horizon. "Yeah, it's my favourite."

Joel pulled out the chair on the opposite side and sat down, his night sky blue eyes never tearing away from my own.

"So, are you having anything?" I asked, nicely avoiding an uncomfortable silence.

"Nah, I already had some lunch before going out."

And before my mind processed what I was going to say, I stupidly asked, "What did you have?"

Amusingly taken-aback, Joel laughed. "A bacon sandwich with a packet of cheese and onion crisps and a can of Coke." He paused, then added, "And what about you?"

My initial fears mysteriously escaping into thin air, I casually responded, "A slice of too-good-to-be-true cake and ridiculously strong black-as-my-leather-jacket coffee," with a hint of playful sarcasm.

"You haven't lost any of your humour, have you?" Joel said, his tone suddenly turning a lot quieter.

I contemplated for a moment, his words saturating into my mind, then replied, "No, I don't think I have, but I don't feel the same, either," each word a humongous effort to admit.

Stunned into a speechless stupor, Joel sank into his plastic chair and slowly rocked back and forth, guilt clearly expressed in his remorseful body language. Despite every part of me preparing to attack on my defence at any moment, my heart would've had to have been ripped out and shredded to pieces in order to not experience a single, tiny emotion of empathy for Joel. Pity the fool.

"Sadie," Joel breathed, "I can explain to you what happened."

"Then go ahead," I said. "I've been waiting to hear it."

Joel sighed, anxiously flexing his man-sized fingers. "That night, I wasn't entirely honest with you, Sadie -"

"What do you mean?" I rudely cut in, rage recklessly flickering like a candle.