But this morning, Ed got a second acceptance from Manchester Uni. His first choice. Things just became a lot less simple.
‘Oh!’ I exclaim. ‘Ross Tucker and that girl he met on holiday. They went out all through sixth form.’
Ed chortles. ‘Oh yeah, she was totally real, not made up at all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, what twenty-five-year-old model wouldn’t fall for aseventeen-year-old short arse on holiday in Tenerife with his parents?’
‘But. . . but he had those photos. He had his arm around her!’
Ed grins. ‘His cousin. Turns out his aunt is an ex-pat over there. I hear his mum went mental that he was telling everyone he shagged his cousin.’
My jaw hits the floor. ‘Noooo! Oh my god, that’s so creepy. Why didn’t I hear about this?’
‘No idea. I thought everyone knew,’ he replies, getting up to change the CD. ‘Though I must admit that I was kind of relieved to find out. The thought of Ross fuckin’ Tucker losing his virginity before me, was soul-destroying. The guy listens to Maroon 5.’
‘Says the guy who just put on Art Brut for the millionth time. You listen to the weirdest shit.’
He jumps back on the bed beside me. ‘Well, it’s better than that weird woman you always play. I’d like to launch her CD into space.’
I thump him on the thigh. ‘Do not force me to choose between you and Regina Spektor; you will lose. My love for her will span centuries, much further than one hundred and thirty-one miles. . .’
He plumps up his pillow and turns towards me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I looked it up,’ I confess. ‘Durham to Manchester is one hundred and thirty-one miles. Ed, you’ve always wanted to study there and—’
‘And I’ll hardly ever get to see you,’ he replies, turning on to his back. ‘Fuck. Why couldn’t they just have said no?’
‘Because you’re brilliant,’ I reply without hesitation. It’s true. I’ve never met someone so musically talented in my whole life. I can barely hold a note.
He sighs as I stroke his hair. ‘Listen, I won’t be the reason youdon’t go. It’s only three years. We will be fine. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.’
‘But you could meet someone,’ he says softly. ‘Some good-looking intellectual prick who likes Phil Spektor—’
‘Regina.’
‘And who fancies you just as much as I do.’
I turn the same colour as my hair. ‘Shut up. You’ll be in Manchester. There’s like fourteen billion girls there who’d die to meet a hot, piano-playing musician.’
‘I like how you omitted the clarinet.’
‘But the point is, I trust you and you should trust me. OK?’
He kisses me and smiles. ‘OK. I love you, you know that, right?’
I nod. ‘It’s understandable, I’m very loveable.’
‘You two need anything?’ I hear Yvonne shout from the top of the stairs. ‘Me and Dad are just off to the garden centre.’
‘We’re good, Mum,’ Ed yells back. ‘Kate brought enough heroin to last us at least three hours.’
‘Edward Morrison, don’t make me come down there.’
It always amuses me the way that Ed’s mum and dad still treat him like he’s a kid. It took them three years to allow us to be in the basement with the door closed.
‘It’s going to be weird,’ I say, looking around. ‘We’ve been hanging out in your bedroom since we were fourteen.’
