‘He hasn’t before. But sometimes he asks me to meet his sister from work. If he has to be somewhere else. Once I was late and he was so mad, I thought he was going to hit
me.’
‘Why does he always meet his sister?’ I said.
James shrugged. ‘Dunno. He’s never said. He only says that he has to look after her.’ He paused, blushing again. ‘Look. It’s no big deal,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ I said slowly, my mind whirling. Why was Flynn so protective of his sister? And why, now, was . . .
‘Why’s he doing this for me?’ I said.
‘He’s probably worried about you going home drunk,’ James said. ‘He’s got a massive thing about alcohol. All drugs, but alcohol especially. Never touches
it.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘What’s that about?’
James shrugged again. ‘No idea. But I’ve never seen him have so much as a sip of beer and he gets really angry if you push him on it.’
I frowned. The list of things which made Flynn really angry was getting longer every time I met him. Money. Drugs. Booze. People turning up late to protect his sister from some mysterious
danger.
I spotted Grace – minus Emmi, but carrying both our jackets in her arms – appearing at the doorway.
‘Okay,’ I whispered, remembering what hadn’t made sense to me before. ‘I see why he wants you to make sure I get home all right, but why did he say I should go soon?
Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to sit here quietly for a bit until I felt properly better?’
I stared at James, wondering what new revelation I was going to get about Flynn’s personality now.
James’s blush deepened. ‘Er . . .’ he said, watching Grace wander over to us. ‘I imagine that’s just because he doesn’t want you getting with anyone
else.’
The next day was Sunday. Stone and I went to see Dad at his commune. I hardly spoke all the way there. My head was full of Flynn and the night before.
Part of me was mortified that he’d seen me drunk and puking. But part of me kept remembering the way he’d looked at me – and how he’d said he liked me too . . .
This last point was reinforced by James. He’d spent most of the journey wrapped around Grace and, at some point, had mentioned to her that he thought Flynn was interested in me. Grace had
pestered me all night for details. I kept insisting nothing had happened between me and Flynn. Which was true. We hadn’t even kissed.
I just said he’d been nice about me being sick and I couldn’t really remember the rest of it.
Emmi had refused to come home with us. Grace and I agreed to tell my mum she’d decided to go back to hers instead. She turned up the next morning to pick up her stuff – explaining in
graphic detail how she’d spent the whole night with Alex.
I could tell she wasn’t pleased when Grace told her about me and Flynn.
‘He’s a bit weird, Riv,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think? Dead intense. I mean, look at last night. He wasn’t even there and he got the three of you to do what he
wanted and go straight home.’
I shrugged. ‘He was just trying to be nice,’ I said. But some part of me knew Emmi was right. It was a bit weird how protective he’d suddenly got. As if we’d been going
out for ages or something. As if I was really important to him.
But then, I sighed, that was what made Flynn so amazing – how intense he was. How deeply I felt it all.
The day at the commune passed very slowly. Stone had a great time, helping Dad and Gemma dig potatoes. He still loves all that nature stuff, so long as he’s sure his
friends can’t see him. I poked around, pretending to be working, but my heart wasn’t in it.
Dad must’ve seen I wasn’t enjoying myself. Not that I ever do, that much, at the commune. It’s basically just a bunch of fields and huts – with a big old farmhouse in the
middle. It’s not that far out of London, but far enough to feel like the countryside.
Today I was so distracted I spent half my time outside just leaning on my fork, staring across the vegetable field towards the trees that marked a boundary with the row of houses next to the
commune.
‘What’s the matter?’ Dad said, coming up to me. I blushed. I’d just been remembering how Flynn had dragged his fingers slowly down my cheek. Dad grinned. ‘Worried
you broke a nail?’
I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood to be teased. Dad tilted his head to one side and smiled gently at me. ‘Trouble shared, trouble halved,’ he said.
Dad’s full of cheesy old sayings like that. He’s so laid-back nowadays he’s practically asleep. He’d grown a bit of a beard since I’d last seen him two weeks ago,
and there were lines round his eyes from all the squinting against the sun he does with his outdoor work.
‘I guess commune-living seems pretty boring to you,’ Dad said, still smiling that slow smile.
I shrugged.
He leaned forward on his fork, next to mine. ‘What’s on your mind, River?’
He stood there, silently, waiting for me to speak. I looked away, over at the trees again. It was a dull, cloudy day. Not all that cold for the middle of October, but grey, like it might rain
later. The air felt heavy, oppressive. Somehow it reminded me of Flynn. Of the way his presence changed everything in a room.
Dad stood there, next to me, still waiting.
Mum would have jumped in by now. Emmi and Grace would never have shut up in the first place. It was easy not telling them how I felt. They never really listened anyway. But Dad was different.
Since he’d been at the commune, he’d grown quieter and more determined, like he had this strong sense of who he was and what he wanted. Like he belonged.
The wind was rushing through the trees, sweeping my hair across my face. I hooked it back behind my ear, then turned to him.
‘I met someone, Dad,’ I said.
Dad gave a tiny nod. He didn’t say anything.
‘I really like him.’ My cheeks felt hot, despite the chill of the wind. I looked down at my fork, at the rusty prongs, half covered with earth.
There was a long pause. Then Dad cleared his throat.
‘How does he feel about you?’
I shrugged. ‘I think he likes me. We haven’t really gone out yet, but . . .’ I prodded the fork into the ground. I could feel Dad’s eyes watching me. ‘Dad, I really
like him but there are things about him I don’t understand, like, he gets really angry about not having any money and he’s really protective about his sister, and Emmi and Grace think
he’s weird cos he’s so intense, but . . .’
I wanted to tell Dad how it felt when Flynn looked at me, how scary and powerful my feelings were, but there are some things you just can’t say to your own father.
Dad sighed. ‘You can never fully understand another person, River,’ he said softly. ‘Not really. Even here, at the commune, where we’re all trying to be awake to the
universe, we can’t get away from it – the politics, the emotional baggage, the petty squabbles that stop us seeing each other clearly.’ He put his rough, blistered hand on my
shoulder. ‘And it’s normal for young men to be angry about things,’ he said. ‘I was. Still am when I see all the injustice and cruelty that goes on.’
I bent over and started digging again. Dad joined in. After a couple of minutes he straightened up and smiled at me.
‘I wish, more than anything, your mum would have agreed to you growing up here,’ he said. ‘It’s such a good grounding for dealing with outside life.’
I shook my head.
‘Seriously, River . . .’
But before Dad could say anything else, Stone raced over to show us a weirdly-shaped potato he’d found.
‘There’s a whole bunch of them,’ Stone said, looking like three years had just dropped off his age.
Dad laughed and went over to see for himself. I kept on digging with my fork, hitting a potato almost immediately. As I freed the earth around it, I thought about what Dad had said. Was it
really true that you could never completely know another person? Surely that was what being in love meant – that you had that connection, that deep understanding.
I was sure Dad was wrong about other things too – how could living in a commune help you deal with real life? I mean, if I lived in a commune, how would I ever have met Flynn?
I sighed, then bent down and picked up the potato.
The next day, after school, Grace, Emmi and I went over to St Cletus’s on the bus. Emmi made sarcastic remarks about me and Flynn all the way there.
‘You can do way better than him, Riv,’ she kept saying. ‘I mean, have you seen his school uniform? It looks about tenth-hand.’
‘River thinks that’s romantic,’ Grace said slyly. ‘A poor man, nothing to give her but love.’ She clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes stupidly.
‘Shut up, both of you,’ I snarled.
They laughed. Emmi prodded me in the ribs. ‘We’re just teasing, girl,’ she said. ‘Flynn’s okay, if you must. I mean, he
is
a bit weird. Way too intense for
me – all that ridiculous
I must make sure you get home safely
nonsense. But he’s obviously really clever and, anyway, loads of people go for that brooding thing he
does.’
I rolled my eyes. She was making it sound like it was some kind of act that Flynn put on.
‘Tell you one thing, though,’ Emmi said, lowering her voice. ‘He’ll be after sex on your first date.’
Grace giggled.
I stared at Emmi, speechless.
‘You can see it in his eyes,’ she said mysteriously. ‘He’s not used to waiting for things.’
She sat back and started asking Grace what James Molloy was like as a kisser. I watched Grace go pink, admitting he was really quite good. And that she was definitely dumping Darren for him.
What on earth was Emmi going on about? Flynn and I hadn’t even kissed yet and we’d met weeks ago. The last thing Flynn was, was pushy. I shook my head. It might all be about sex for
Emmi, but the connection I’d felt with Flynn was different.
The bus took ages to get to the school. In the end we arrived ten minutes late for rehearsal. It was the last week before half-term and Mr Nichols was in full flow as we arrived in the rehearsal
room.
‘Everyone must know their lines by the end of half-term,’ he was saying, pacing across the room. ‘We’re going to begin blocking the play using the actual stage once
we’re back, and rehearsals will increase to three times a week.’
I looked round for Flynn. He was at the end of a long row of desks, his arms folded. He looked up at Mr Nichols. His face was sulky and sullen.
‘I can’t do three times a week,’ he said. ‘As you already know,
sir
.’
He said the last word with such withering contempt, I was surprised Mr Nichols didn’t give him detention on the spot.
Mr Nichols narrowed his eyes. ‘I didn’t say everyone would have to
attend
three times a week, Flynn . . .’ He caught sight of me and the other girls hovering by the
door. ‘Oh, you’re here. Good. Come in, girls. Now let’s get straight into Act 3, Scene 3.’
Flynn acted better than ever that night. He was clearly in a bad mood, but he seemed to channel it all into his part. His Romeo snapped and hissed with fury at being banished after killing
Tybalt. As usual, Mr Nichols spent very little time directing him. Flynn just didn’t need it in the same way that everyone else did. He already moved and spoke completely naturally, making
total sense of everything he said.
Soon we were at my own entrance. My legs shook as I walked over to him.
He kept his face hidden as we had our first exchange, then in a single move he leaped up and grabbed my arm.
‘Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?’
He walked me backwards, still gripping my arm. For a second I forgot we were acting. The passion in his eyes was totally genuine. I wasn’t listening to his words, only to the rolling
rhythm of the lines and the agony in his voice.
‘Where is she? And how doth she? And what says
My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?’
It was impossible to believe he didn’t mean it. Love and despair were etched all over his face. He was obsessed with Juliet. Desperate to know if she hated him for killing her cousin,
Tybalt.
As I spoke my lines back: ‘
O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps
. . .’ I was thinking how much I wanted him to feel that strongly about me. About us.
Later, in his scene with Juliet, he was calm and gentle. He gazed at Emmi as if she was the only person in the room. Jealousy seeped through me like poison. It suddenly occurred to me that he
was going to have to kiss her – several times – in the course of the play. Not tonight, maybe, but at some point in the rehearsals they were going to have to do it. And then over and
over again. And through three performances too.
I felt sick. My heart thudded horribly. It was impossible. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t watch him crooning over her any more.
I walked out of the rehearsal room and went to the bathroom, where I took several deep breaths.
I was just going to have to get my head around it. It wasn’t his fault. Or hers. There were kisses in the stage directions.
I gritted my teeth. He
had
to ask me out. We had to have a chance to talk properly. To kiss. Maybe if we knew where we stood with each other, it wouldn’t be so hard to see him with
Emmi in the play.
I looked into the mirror. Same old swamp-features: dull, mud-coloured hair, boring, ditchwater eyes. But there was something different about my face.
God
, I was positively glowing with
excitement at the thought of him. I blushed, realising how obvious it must look. Then I gritted my teeth again.
I didn’t care if it was obvious. Flynn knew how I felt. He’d known at the party. And he liked me too. Didn’t he?
The rehearsal ended soon after I got back. Flynn came over to me immediately. While everyone else filed out of the room he started chatting about the party, asking if I’d
got back all right. It was small talk, I quickly realised, designed to keep us where we were until the room emptied.
At last Mr Nichols was bustling us out of the room. We followed him towards the door, waiting while he switched out the light. He ushered us towards the stairs, then hurried on ahead, distracted
by a squabble that had broken out near the bottom.