Kitabı oku: «The Last Charm», sayfa 3
‘But if I hadn’t thrown it,’ I insist, ‘you wouldn’t have made the comments to cover for me.’
‘I would. He was pissing me off. He deserved it.’
‘It’s still not up to you to take the blame, Jake.’ Studying his apparent indifference, relaxed body language, and thinking back to the way he spoke to Mr Strickland, I tilt my head. ‘You’re pretty cocky now, aren’t you?’
‘If you say so. Why –’ he grins ‘– do you like cocky?’
‘Hardly,’ I scoff.
‘Shame.’ He sucks his cheeks in, studying me.
‘What happened to you?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. Why, what happened to you?’
It’s a deflection and we both know it, and his slight rudeness makes me blush. I settle into the chair at the other end of the row, so there’s an empty one between us. ‘You don’t need to cover for me, Jake. I appreciate what you did, but I can take care of myself. I know it’ll probably only be a couple of days of detention or maybe a suspension.’
‘I’ve already seen the head, and she’s expelling me. It was my last strike. It’s too late.’
I shoot out of my seat. ‘What?’ My eyes well up with tears. ‘Why didn’t you say something? I’ve got to go in and see her. That’s not right.’
Getting up, he blocks my path, holding me back from a door with an etched sign on it. Head teacher, Mrs Grace Irving. ‘Don’t.’
Despite the fact he’s a few inches shorter than me and skinny, he’s pretty strong. ‘You have to let me,’ I insist. ‘It’s not fair on you.’
‘No.’ He shifts to the left when I try to side-step him. ‘Listen! It’s too late for me here. It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m no good at keeping out of trouble. And if you hadn’t thrown that book then I would have done something else. Maybe something worse.’ He shakes his head, tufty black hair sticking out at all angles. ‘Mr Strickland’s a sexist twat. But you can have a fresh start. Forget what happened today. Begin again. It’s all right here, this school. Most of the teachers are cool.’
‘But—’
‘What’s the point of you owning up and getting in trouble, when I’ll probably end up getting expelled for something else tomorrow?’
I go to protest again, when he pushes me gently away and stares at me beseechingly. ‘Please, Jones.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ I realise there’s something else going on here and am taken aback at the way he uses my surname. We were only ever on first-name terms.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He shakes his head, looking anxious. ‘Just go along with it?’
Pausing, I bite my lip. This is more like the boy I knew, and the expression on his face reminds me of the way he used to look when it was time to go home from the park. It still doesn’t feel right to let him take the blame, but I’m at a complete loss and have tried my best, so after taking a deep breath and tucking away the guilt, I nod. ‘Okay. Thank you.’ I shuffle from one foot to another. ‘But are you going to be okay? Isn’t your dad going to kill you?’
The bored expression is back on his face. He loosens the knot in his school tie and yanks the loop over his head, making his hair even messier. ‘I’ll be fine. Go.’
‘I will, but … why take the blame for me?’
He pauses, and then says quietly, ‘I met you before I met you, and what I saw, I liked. I knew you were a good person.’
‘Well, that’s cryptic. What are you talking about? We met outside our houses on the day you moved in, and then spent the next five days together.’
Delving in his pocket, he unwraps a Polo, biting down on it with a distinct crunch. The smell of mint drifts over me. ‘I’ll tell you one day, when it’s right,’ he says with a shrug, before clearing his throat. He touches a finger to the heart-shaped clasp on my bracelet. ‘You still have it.’
‘Of course. It’s important to me. Mum never came back, but at least I know she thinks of me occasionally.’
His thick eyebrows give him an air of intensity that makes me jittery. It’s weird being with him again.
‘Jones, I need to—’
As he’s speaking, his dad flings his way into reception, curse words filling the air along with the stink of alcohol, and whatever Jake was about to say gets lost in the moment.
***
When the final bell rings, I dive out of last period before grabbing everything I need from my locker and taking a shortcut from the school grounds. I’ve had enough for my first day and am still unsettled by the scene I witnessed outside the head’s office when Jake’s dad turned up. He really is a horrible man. The only highlight of the day was running into Eloise, and after a warm hug, her introducing me to some nice girls she’s friends with.
On the walk home, I stop to study a view which catches my eye. I take out my sketchpad and a piece of charcoal. There’s an alleyway running between two houses, trees and bushes lining it to form an archway of foliage. The shape of the leaves and branches melding in the middle – with rays of sunshine streaming through them to make a dappled shadowy effect on the dirt path – is exquisite. I lose half an hour sketching, while leaning up against a concrete post. It’s only when the light changes I realise I’ve drifted again, and lost time. Crap. Shoving my stuff in my bag, I run the rest of the way home.
‘Sorry,’ I gasp, stumbling through the front door. Moving along the dim flock-papered hallway, I flip off my shoes. The carpet is thick and frayed under my feet and has an ugly red and yellow swirly pattern.
Dad steps out of the lounge, his face strained. ‘You’re late. Where’ve you been? I left work early to be here.’
Stiffening, I try to keep my voice even. ‘Sorry. Something caught my eye on the way home and I stopped to sketch it.’
‘You’re okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
His face softens and he steps forward, putting his large hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. ‘Leila, we agreed. You can’t keep wandering off. People worry.’
Sliding out from beneath his touch, I walk into the lounge. ‘I told you, I was just sketching.’ Propping my bag on a chair, I unzip it and reach in for my school books. I’m so sick of having this conversation with him, and don’t want another argument.
Sighing as he follows me in, he sits down in the chair opposite, his navy T-shirt dirty from where he’s been lying on some stranger’s floor to fix their plumbing. ‘You should wear the watch I bought you.’
‘It makes me feel trapped,’ I reply flatly. ‘I don’t want to spend my time counting down the minutes, always clock-watching.’
‘You need to be responsible—’
‘I am responsible.’ Wrenching my arms out of my blazer, I lob it into the corner. ‘Dad, stop! God, why can’t you just give me some space? What do you think is going to happen? I’m fourteen, not four.’
He stands up, shaking his head sadly. ‘With what happened at your last school …’
His disappointment is more than I can stand, and I don’t need the reminder. ‘Look,’ I huff, ‘that’s behind me. I stayed all day, okay? Can’t you give me some credit? I was only half an hour late.’
My grandad – whom I refer to as Ray nowadays – strides in from the kitchen holding a cup of tea. He must be having a good day with his illness, because he normally needs a mid-afternoon nap. ‘Leila, don’t you speak to your father like that! Not under my roof. In my day you showed your elders some respect. And in the Navy, you were taught to obey authority – your superiors – whether you agreed with them or not. You trusted that the orders you got were for the greater good. You should give your dad the same respect.’
I cross my arms across my chest, face boiling. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. He’s never reprimanded me before, and although I’m tempted to flounce up to my room, his expression says it won’t get me anywhere.
Stepping closer, he extends the hot drink toward me. ‘Come on, take a seat.’
Relaxing at his easy acceptance of my apology, I take the cup and sit down at the old mahogany table, giving Dad a conciliatory smile and rubbing his arm as he joins me. Thankfully he returns the gesture by squeezing my hand, warming my heart. No matter how shitty I can be, he always loves me.
‘Now that’s done –’ Ray clears his throat, uncomfortable with the show of emotion ‘– is this yours?’ Going over to the towering oak bookcase in the corner, he comes back with a copy of Pandora and passes it to me. ‘Someone left it on the doorstep earlier,’ he explains, ‘but they were gone by the time I got there. I’m not as quick these days with my bloody lungs. Yours?’
‘Yes.’ Flipping to the Orlando Bloom bookmark inside, I find a tiny charm stuck to the back with tape; a book with open pages and lines scored into them to look like writing. There’s an odd quiver in the pit of my stomach. It’s weird getting a charm from Jake. It’s mine and Mum’s thing so it feels like he’s intruding, and we don’t really know each other well enough to exchange gifts. I suppose it is kind of sweet though. ‘It’s from Jake.’ I look at Dad. ‘He picked up the book when … Uh, something happened today. I kind of lost my temper in class and he took the flack for me. I did try and sort it out,’ I blurt, ‘really, I did, but it was too late. He got expelled, and he wouldn’t let me do anything to stop it.’ I pause, thinking. ‘It was almost like he wanted to get thrown out. Then his dad arrived, and he was horrid, yanking Jake around all over the place. I didn’t get to say goodbye before they left.’
Dad frowns. ‘Doesn’t sound good. Now this boy knows where you live?’
‘It’s Jake Harding, Dad. From down the road? The one who lives in our old house?’
Ray clutches his side and goes white, before taking a deep rasping breath. ‘My Jake?
‘Ray, take it easy.’ Dad gets out of his chair, sliding an arm around his waist to prop him up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘We need to check on him,’ Ray mutters urgently. ‘I won’t rest easy until I do. I can go knock on the door and see if Jake can come over and help with something. I pay him to mow the lawn and help me wash the car, so it shouldn’t look suspicious.’
I follow uneasily as they shuffle into the hallway. Dad helps Ray put his shoes on, before pulling on his own toe-capped work boots. Since when does Ray need help with household maintenance? He’s only been ill for a few weeks. As I shove my feet into my flats, Ray steps away from Dad and steadies himself. ‘I can manage, thank you.’ Throwing open the door, he straightens his shoulders and marches down the front path as if his pain was never there.
Dad and I rush onto the pavement behind him. We come to an abrupt halt as the peeling red front door of my old house opens and Jake’s dad emerges, dragging his son along by one arm and carrying a bag over his other shoulder. ‘Cut it out, boy,’ he roars, ‘I told you what would happen if you kept getting in trouble at school. You can go up north to my family and give them grief instead!’
Unlocking a run-down blue Ford Mondeo with rust around the arches, he thrusts Jake into the back and throws the bag in after him, hitting him square in the face. I can see it all because their car is facing us, the driver’s side closest to the pavement. Jake’s head disappears beneath the line of the seats, and I turn into my dad’s shoulder, wincing.
Dad tenses, putting his arm across Ray’s chest as he tries to step forward. ‘You’re not well enough, and it’s not our business.’
‘I have to do something.’ He’s agitated, his hands clenching.
Jake’s mum steps out into the messy garden, greasy black hair dishevelled and a vivid scarlet mark on her cheekbone. Spotting us, she scrubs at her tearstained face and tucks shaking hands into her skirt pockets, trying hard to conceal her emotions. But I can see from the way her shoulders bow forward that her heart is breaking, and a little of my own breaks with it. No mother should be separated from their child. It’s just not right. But she stands by while her husband gets in the car and starts the engine. She does nothing but watch. Says nothing. Doesn’t take one step forward. My sympathy for her withers and dies. Every parent should fight for their child, doggedly, until there’s not an ounce of energy left in their body, until there is no breath left. It makes me hate Mum all over again, and tears sting my eyes.
Jake’s head reappears and he meets his mum’s gaze, nodding once and then giving her a solemn wave goodbye. His eyes flicker our way, but he pretends not to see us. I don’t blame him.
Winding the window down, Jake’s dad shouts at his wife to get in the house, or else. She hastily retreats inside, the door slamming behind her. Paint flecks shower down onto the garden path with the violent force, like dried blood. Revving the engine, Jake’s dad sticks his middle finger up at us, ‘Enjoying the show? Fuck off, the lot of you.’ With a screech, he peels away from the kerb, narrowly missing the cars parked on the other side of the road.
Ray’s shaking with anger, and Dad’s concerned, holding his elbow to guide him home, checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m following. As we go back inside, I picture Jake’s thin face, feeling scared for him and hoping he’ll be okay. I can’t help feeling it’s my fault.
Crossing the threshold into the dim interior of Ray’s hallway, realising how thoughtful it was of Jake to return my book and give me a charm when his own situation is so bad, I wonder when I’ll see him again.
I have no idea that the next time I do, I’ll be saving his life.
Leila
June 2006
The Puppy Charm
‘How cool is this?’ Eloise spins around on the steep stone-edged steps, sapphire eyes sparkling. ‘An end-of-school party at Durdle Door. Isn’t it brilliant?’ Flinging her arms out with enthusiasm, she starts to overbalance, alarm filling her face.
‘Careful!’ Grabbing her wrist to steady her, I nod my chin towards the beach below us. ‘Come on, we’ll chat down there.’ Behind me Michelle – Shell – giggles and Chloe sighs. I know they’ll both be rolling their eyes, even though we should be used to Eloise’s exuberance by now. Dad calls it her joie de vivre.
‘Do you know what’s even more brilliant?’ Eloise smiles, ignoring my suggestion. ‘That your dad finally got you a puppy. You’re so lucky – I’m majorly jealous!’
I can’t help grinning, excitement fizzing through me. ‘I know,’ I squeak, ‘she’s so adorable. I’ve waited so long.’ I think back to the other morning when Dad called me out to his work van and a tiny tri-coloured beagle exploded out of it. I almost cried with joy as I ran my hands over her wriggling little body and tan, white, and brown silky fur. ‘Well, I did what he asked.’ I nod. ‘I stayed in school and took all my GCSEs. I can’t believe I’ve only had her for three days – it already feels like for ever! It’s a bit of a drag that she’s not allowed out yet though. I can’t wait ’til I can walk her. Are you guys still coming to see her tomorrow?’ I crane my neck round to look over my shoulder at Shell and Chloe.
‘I wouldn’t miss meeting Fleur for the world,’ Shell says, face glowing with colour from our days spent basking in Bournemouth Gardens and on the pier approach.
‘I’ll be there, as long as she doesn’t wee on me.’ Chloe replies, before raising an eyebrow. ‘Fleur. You’re such a Potter geek. Couldn’t you think of anything more imaginative?’
I stick my tongue out at her, used to her gentle sarcasm. ‘Fleur Delacour is cool, and totally owned the Triwizard Tournament. And that French accent! You wish you were that cool.’
Chloe mutters something about Harry Potter being for kids, and I stick my tongue out at her again as if to prove my childishness.
‘Come on, you two,’ Eloise says with a grin, ‘pack it in. We’re here to party.’
Someone obviously agrees with her. ‘Yeah, move it along. I wanna get trashed!’ A voice shouts out above us, and I notice a gaggle of people behind Chloe. We’re holding things up.
‘All right, we’re going,’ Chloe yells over her shoulder, irritated.
We pick our way carefully down the steps cut into the side of the cliff, following each other in single file. Looking up, I take in the amazing view. The rich blue sea, reminding me of Winsor and Newton’s oil colour French Ultramarine, laps against the stony shore. A pale sky hovers above us, stretching into the distance. It would be so pretty to paint. My fingers itch for a graphite pencil and paper to draw an initial sketch.
As soon as we reach the beach, we take our sandals off, Chloe complaining about the millions of tiny stones beneath our feet. ‘These are going to get absolutely everywhere. Why couldn’t we go to Bournemouth beach?’ she grumbles, pushing her newly feathered fringe from her face self-consciously and straightening the empire line of her flowing red dress. ‘It’s sandy there, and right next to town.’
‘Not to mention there’s a pier you can go hide under to snog Simon’s face off,’ Eloise jokes. ‘You’re going to tell him you like him tonight, right? If you don’t, you won’t see him ’til September and he’s bound to have got off with someone else over the summer.’
‘Shut up,’ Chloe hisses, glancing around. ‘One of his friends might be listening.’
‘Well, I hope so. If they’re not here, he’s not likely to turn up either. Now, relax –’ Eloise reaches into her bag, pulling out some cans of beer ‘– and have one of these. It’ll put a smile on your face.’
I reach for a beer as Chloe shakes her head. I don’t really like the taste, but I do like the floaty feeling I get after drinking a few.
Shell touches Chloe on the arm, her hazel eyes kind. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here. And we’ll find a way for you to talk to him. I’m sure he likes you.’
‘Thanks,’ Chloe mutters, pushing a lock of straight black hair behind one ear.
When I moved back home at fourteen, Chloe was trying to be a carbon copy of Eloise, with a shoulder-length wavy bob and heavily filled-in eyebrows. But for the last year or so her confidence has improved, and she’s let her hair grow out, no longer plaiting it to make it kink, and wearing less make-up. She’s much prettier this way, and nice with it too – despite the fact she tends to moan a lot. Maybe it’s because neither of us has mums that we’re so dysfunctional.
Michelle is lovely, but in a kinder, more thoughtful way than Chloe. The spots that caused her such misery when we met are long gone, and she’s even taller than Eloise, with endless legs and envy-inspiring boobs. She towers above me, and I sometimes feel like a little girl compared to them all, being the shortest by at least three inches. Eloise regularly says they’d all love to be five foot, slim, and tiny-waisted, but I’m not convinced. It’s no fun not being able to reach the top shelf or being constantly told I look younger than I am. I’m going to have to sort some fake ID out soon. We start Sixth Form in three months’ time and Eloise is already talking about going clubbing. It would be so humiliating if I couldn’t get past the doormen.
‘So, why Durdle Door?’ Chloe persists as I crack open my beer and take a long deep gulp, shuddering at the taste. ‘I mean, it’s miles away. Look how long it took us to get here, and how many types of transport we had to use.’
‘Because of that,’ Eloise answers, pointing at the craggy, beige limestone arch that bends over gracefully into the sea, solid and immovable. ‘Later on –’ she leans in, arching her eyebrows ‘– some kids are jumping off the top. I also heard from Megan Whateley that others are planning to go skinny-dipping. You can’t do either of those things at Bournemouth beach; there’s too much of a risk of the police getting called.’
‘Isn’t jumping a bit dangerous?’ Staring up at the stone archway created by hundreds or potentially thousands of years of erosion, there’s a funny dip in my stomach. I’ve got a bad feeling at the thought of people jumping off it, and as I slide my chunky mobile phone out of my pocket and see the low signal, the feeling gets worse. It’s just past 7pm, so we’ve got hours to go. Eloise’s older brother Max won’t be here to pick us up until midnight.
‘Don’t worry –’ Eloise catches my eye ‘– people do it all the time. Just enjoy,’ she encourages me, smiling. ‘Feel the vibe in the air.’
I must admit it’s a beautiful setting for a party. The endless sea views in the evening sunshine are incredible. I can’t believe I never knew this existed, right on my doorstep. There’s no hint of a breeze and the sea is calm and flat. Lines of brown seaweed form lacy patches along the beach. I can hear birdsong and the waves make only a rhythmic whisper of sound against the shore. Far noisier than the elements are the couple of hundred or so pupils from our school and others from the surrounding areas. I look around, following my friend’s advice and soaking up the atmosphere. Various groups of kids are unfurling blankets, setting up ice boxes and stripping down to swim shorts and bikinis before racing down to the water.
‘Come on, let’s go –’ Eloise jiggles on the spot ‘– I want to find Jonny, and you never know, Chloe, Simon might be with him.’ Turning to glance over her shoulder, she grins as she looks back at us. ‘It’s chaos. I love it!’
She sets off, sure we’ll be following in her footsteps. I’ve always envied her vivacity and confidence. And why wouldn’t she be those things, with her cloud of curly black hair, heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, and curvy figure? Looking down at my skinny knees in denim shorts and my virtually flat chest, I sigh, knowing I’ll have to go in the sea later. I’ll be keeping my T-shirt on when everyone else is using the excuse to strip off. Hollyoaks has a lot to answer for, and just underlines how boring and sensible I am for not sleeping around or crushing on the wrong person.
If I had a mum, maybe I’d talk to her about how inadequate those TV programmes make me feel, and how my figure means I’m practically invisible to boys. Perhaps she’d pour me a cup of tea, pass me a slice of homemade cake, and say it won’t last for ever. Reassure me that one day I’ll blossom, and they’ll notice me, and having a boyfriend isn’t the most important thing in the world anyway – it just feels like it sometimes. She’d hug me tight and stroke my hair and finish off by saying that if I’m happy being single, that’s all right. But I don’t have a mum, and there’s no way I could confide any of this to Dad. We’d both be mortified by that type of conversation.
I twist the silver bracelet around my left wrist, playing with the handful of charms hanging off it. It holds six now: a plain silver heart; a tiny pencil; a silver conch shell with a pink interior; an open book with squiggly lines etched into its pages; a round disc with the sea, a setting sun, some seagulls, and a boat engraved on it with a tiny blue gem stone on its hull; and finally, a minuscule silver dog, which arrived this morning. Despite what Dad and Grandad Ray say about Mum never being in touch with them, she must be. How else would she know to send me the dog charm today?
The only time I’ve ever taken the bracelet off was when I was rushed to A&E a few years ago and one of the nurses insisted I remove it when they were treating my burns. She didn’t want me to lose it in the hustle and bustle of the hospital, she said, while helping me into the open-backed gown. I shudder, not liking to think about that night. There are too many bad memories.
I turn the dog charm between my fingers, a smile touching my lips. The bracelet sometimes looks bare because it has so many empty links, but I have faith Mum will send more charms to fill it up. Most of the time I resent her for leaving and never coming back, for not staying in touch on a regular basis. But at other times I’m just glad she makes the effort with the charms, even if it’s only every few years. It means that every so often, she thinks about me. That she cares, even if her stubbornly continued absence says the complete opposite.
I try and shrug off the thoughts which could lead me into a black cycle of pain and despair. The blare of music is rising, and as we trudge along the beach to find Jonny and his friends, I realise there isn’t one central source of sound. My ears pick out different tunes blaring from a variety of speakers and the contrasting beats and tempos thrum through my body. With them, my spirits rise. We’re free at last. School’s over, my uniform’s in the big black refuse bin. We’re done. And when we go back in September, it’ll be different; we’ll be treated like adults.
As we move from one group of kids to the next I raise my hand and wave at people, smiling and nodding. Tipping my head back to swallow more beer, I gaze up at the peaks and dips of the chalk cliffs towering above us, the tops and sides of them covered with vibrant green grass. The pockmarked cliff face sweeps down to the beach, and in some places, I can make out small caves running along the base. Some kids are already climbing up to explore them. Three points for guessing what the caves will be used for later.
A giggle escapes me. After months of feeling somehow apart from others, with the pressure of revision, exams, and my future on my shoulders – things only I could do something about – I suddenly feel part of something bigger, unified in something amazing with the people around me. There’s a crackle of energy in the air, like electricity. I grin. This is going to be fun. What could possibly go wrong?
***
It’s getting late. The sun’s rays have dimmed, and a couple of campfires have been built with driftwood to provide flickering light. It’s past 10pm, and everyone has gathered into one big mass, a knot of teenagers in a jagged circle. Music’s still playing, voices rising and falling in unpredictable patterns above the melodies. The day’s still muggy but the air isn’t quite as warm on our skin. My bum is going numb from sitting on the shingle, but I’ve had a great time. It has been fun. We’ve eaten, danced, drunk, laughed, and played. We swam, we splashed each other, and Jonny shocked us all by stripping off and jumping into the waves naked in front of everyone – a challenge to Eloise in his eyes. I honestly didn’t know where to look, so instead dove into the salty green-blue of the waves, closing my eyes against the image.
The fabric of my T-shirt drifted against my skin over my swimsuit, and for a moment I pretended I was a mermaid and that if I kept swimming, I’d find a magical world out there under the sea. It was a fanciful thought, and I was embarrassed by it – I’m nearly sixteen, for God’s sake – but as soon as it flowed through my head, a vivid picture formed, and I knew I’d be painting that mermaid someday. For a moment I wondered if I was drunk, but I’d only had one can of beer. I’m glad of it now as I don’t have that floaty, out-of-touch feeling I get after three or four.
Huddling in my beach towel next to Shell, our eyes meet. We share a smile before looking over at Eloise and Jonny kissing, and then at Chloe, who’s curled up shyly within the semi-circle of Simon’s arm. She’s gazing up at him in adoration. I’m both happy for her and sad at the same time, with a hint of jealousy thrown in which I immediately feel bad about.
‘Hey, isn’t that Jake Harding?’ Shell asks suddenly, gazing across the fire at a small group that’s broken off from the rest of us.
Tension runs through my body. ‘What? Where?’ I squint across at them.
‘Yeah, he came with Owen Plaitford.’ Eloise finally detaches her mouth from Jonny’s and looks at me as I twist back to face her. ‘They stayed friends after he left. I spoke to Owen earlier.’
‘What?’ I squeak. She could have said. Then, I scowl. If he’s stayed in touch with Owen, why hasn’t he stayed in touch with me? I thought he liked me, but maybe I was fooling myself and it was just a passing friendship, like the intense ones when you meet people on holiday, sharing secrets with them, and then never seeing them again.
I’ve always wondered what happened to Jake after his dad tore him away that day, feeling guilty for my part in it. Now, every time I see Pandora sitting on my packed bookshelf or catch sight of my book charm, I remember that short skinny boy and I’m caught between a mixture of gratitude and annoyance. If it all meant nothing, why did he give me the charm, especially when he knew how important the bracelet was to me?
‘So, Leila, are you going to make my night, or what?’ A pair of wet shorts appear in front of my face, their owner thrusting his groin towards me.
I rear back. ‘Urgh! Leave it out, Shaun,’ I groan, shaking my head.
He’s Jonny’s friend, and thinks it’s hysterical to pretend he fancies me and try it on. At school, he’ll sneak up behind me and grab me around the waist to pick me up or pluck my bag off my shoulder and make me chase him for it. Once he stuck his face in my neck and pretended to snog me loudly in front of everyone. I laughed and half-heartedly pushed him off, knowing we’re just friends, noticing how he watched for Shell’s reaction from the corner of his eye.
Leaning over, Shaun lifts me off the sand, bringing me in tight for a big hug, soaking my T-shirt and swimsuit all over again.
‘Shaun, you git!’ I yelp. ‘I only just dried off!’
‘Git?’ He mock roars. ‘I’ll teach you, you uppity little cow!’ Bending his knees, he tries to scoop me up over his shoulder, but I leap out of the way squealing.
Just as I open my mouth to laugh, a hand yanks Shaun backwards by the shoulder, sending him flying with the unexpected strength of it. ‘Leave her alone!’ A deep voice yells. I see Shaun’s feet leave the ground and he actually sails through the air like something out of a cartoon, his back arched. There’s a muffled ‘oof’ as he lands on the shingle not far from the fire. The breath whooshes from him and he curls over onto his side.
‘Shaun!’ Shell and I run over as Chloe and Eloise spring to their feet. He’s lying on the ground, red-faced and groaning.
