‘I can try,’ Trip said seriously.
‘Fine. We can walk back along the beach in that case.’
They set off along the sand, the warmth of the pub quicklyfading behind them. For a few blissful minutes, neither of them spoke.
Then Trip broke.
‘Your friends are great,’ he said. ‘Super welcoming.’
‘They’re not actually my friends,’ Ivy said quickly, and then felt bad. She tried to explain. ‘I mean, we didn’t hang out all that much at school. It was mostly just me and Raye and then those guys were more like … acquaintances I saw every day. Because we all did art together. Otherwise, we don’t have much in common. They’re too popular for me.’
Trip walked quietly for a minute. ‘Theyseem to think they’re your friends,’ he said at last. ‘They seem to really like you.’
Ivy let out a sharp laugh. ‘Of course you’d think that. Because everyonedoeslike you.’
He frowned. ‘That’s not … do they?’
‘Yes! Everyone loves you, ergo you think everyone is great. It’sinfuriating,’ Ivy snapped, surprising them both.Where had that come from?
Trip slowed to a stop, looking at her, clearly also confused. ‘Hey. What’s wrong?’
She stopped too and stood looking at him.What’s wrong?She didn’t know exactly. Trip was looking at her, entirely serious for once. Like he really wanted to know. And all of a sudden, words were bubbling to the surface.
‘I feel like I’m failing at everything,’ she found herself saying. ‘You heard the others. They’re loving uni. Having this transformative experience. Finding themselves. Whereas me? Ispend most nights alone in a bedsit. Everyone’s out there doing all these amazing things and I can’t evendrawanything lately. I’m an artist and I can’t draw!’ Her voice rose to a wail.
Trip opened his mouth but before he could speak, she carried on. ‘I hate commuting for college every day. I hate leaving the house when it’s dark and getting back when it’s dark and missing out on all the fun stuff. It’slonely. I let a stupid pretentious art boy break my heart. I’m behind on my project and my tutor Jess thinks I’m rubbish. And the worst thing is, she’s right.’ She let out a hard sob, unable to keep it in any more. ‘I thought art school would make me feel like I was finally becoming the person I always knew Icouldbe, once I left this place. Growing up, I always had this – thissparkwhen it came to art. Like it was meant to be. But it’s not what I expected,’ she finished forlornly. ‘At all.’
There was a long silence. Ivy realised she was properly crying now and she groped blindly in her pockets for a tissue. ‘I know it’s stupid, I know people have it worse …’
‘It’s not stupid,’ Trip said quietly. He pushed a handkerchief into her hand and she took it gratefully, scrubbing at her cheeks. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a really tough time. I get it.’
‘You don’t get it,’ she muttered, but all her anger was gone now and she just felt sad and tired. ‘You, Trip Wakefield, are clearly not accustomed to failure.’
‘I mean, I get looking forward to something and then it falling flat.’ He gave her a crooked smile. ‘I meant what I said back there, Ivy. I’ve known you for a week and I can already tell you’re pretty cool. Don’t let a bad start at art school put youoff what you’re meant to do with your life. That spark you had growing up? You’ll get it back.’
Ivy looked out at the vast dark sea, speckled with lights, and let out another wail. ‘God, you’re annoyingly good at this.’
He waited while she wiped her eyes. She looked down at the handkerchief.
‘Is thismonogrammed?’ she asked, seeing the initialsE.W.embroidered on the corner. ‘Seriously?’
He laughed. ‘It’s my dad’s. But yeah.’ She held out the damp piece of cloth. ‘Why don’t you, um, keep it?’
‘Okay,’ she said, stuffing it into her pocket. ‘Sorry about that. I’m over it. No more self-pity. I think the lemonade went to my head.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’ Trip opened his mouth and she held up a hand. ‘Seriously. I do not want to talk about it.’
They walked on in silence. ‘Whatshallwe talk about then?’ whispered Trip, clearly unable to take it, and Ivy burst out laughing.
‘You’re ridiculous. Okay, I have a question for you. Is Trip your actual name? Or is it short for something?’
He shook his head, mock-hurt. ‘You don’t think it’s anactualname? Wow. Aren’t you named after a plant?’
‘I’m named after my great-great-aunt. It could have been worse – the other one was called Dorcus. Come on. Is Trip at least short for something?’
He grinned at her. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘Triple chocolate cake,’ she guessed.
‘Delicious, but no.’
