Page 88
“But . . . why?” Her father looks at her. It’s always strange to see him unsmiling; the worried frown he’s wearing now looks out of place on his face. “You were so excited to go to uni.”
“I tried to be.” She swallows painfully. “I wanted to be, because you were. You both went to uni, and Mason and Henry, and I . . . I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Luca,” Henry murmurs, stricken.
“I don’t want to be a teacher,” Luca admits in a low rush. “I don’t want to go back to school. When I was little, it made me feel so anxious and just so . . . small. When I couldn’t sit still and teachers wouldn’t let me wear my headphones during exams and I got in trouble all the time—and then I went to uni, and all those feelings came back. Like I wasn’t good enough for any of it.” She sniffs. “I decided after my third exam. I studied so hard. I had a study schedule and everything. And then the exam was handed out and I just froze. I had a stomachache for days before and I barely slept, and I wanted to do well but it took so much effort just to read a single stupid paper, and I—I failed.” She exhales shakily. “I know I could’ve kept going. But I just didn’t care about anything I was learning. Not enough to be so miserable all the time.”
There’s a moment of silence during which Luca tries, desperately, to get her breaths to stop hitching.
“It sounds,” her mother says gently, “like you were doing your very best.”
And that does it: Luca bursts into tears.
“Oh, love,” her father says, and then he too rounds the table to lay a hand on her shoulder, the splay of his fingers a warm weight. “It’s all right.”
“You looked out for yourself,” her mum murmurs into her hair. “I’m proud of you for that.”
“Me too,” says Mason.
“Yeah,” Henry agrees, awkwardly patting her knee. “You’re much better at drumming, anyway.”
“But my band is falling apart,” she reminds him. Tears are still leaking uncontrollably from her eyes.
“Luca,” her mum chides. “Clearly, you know when it’s time to quit. Does this feel like that point?”
Luca knows the answer without a second’s thought. Uni felt like a giant weight pressing down on her chest. The band feels like the opposite. “No.”
“No,” her mum echoes. “Things might feel unsalvageable now, but it’s only been a few days. In two months, no one will even remember this.” She runs a soothing hand over Luca’s hair, brushing it away from her forehead. “I know you, sweetheart. You’ve never given up on anything that truly mattered to you.”
Luca hangs her head. “Okay,” she says meekly.
“Okay.” One last caress, and then her mum is letting go of her and clapping her hands. “All right. Let’s have some dessert, and then you can tell us all about this girl of yours.”
With a worn-out laugh, Luca wipes at her eyes. Her father drops a kiss into her hair before following her mum into the kitchen to grab bowls and ice cream. The sun is hanging lower now, spilling gold over the garden.
Luca breathes in deep. Her tears dry quickly in the warm summer air. For the first time since she received her certificate of exmatriculation, she feels like she’s setting down some invisible weight.
“If all else fails,” Henry says, nudging her with his elbow, “you can still join another band. Obviously, there’s a market for butch drummers.”
Luca is about to reply when her phone buzzes with a text. On instinct, she pulls it out to check who it’s from. Her heart leaps into her throat when she sees Florence’s name.
Hey. I hope you’re all right. I know it’s late, but I’m at the pub. I’ll be here all night if you’d like to come and see me.
It’s half past midnight by the time Luca makes it to The Hare and Oak. Music pours onto the pavement every time the door swings open, layering over the chatter of the smokers lingering by the entrance. Luca weaves through them with her hands buried in the pockets of her denim jacket and ducks into the pub.
It’s a Friday night, so every single seat is taken. The air is stuffy and heavy with the scent of cider and beer. Earl looks up from the pint he’s pulling just as Luca squeezes past the bar. Catching her eye, he jerks his chin toward the door that leads to the basement.
Palms clammy, Luca lets herself into the stairwell. There’s no light except for the thin glow slanting through the crack in the door to their practice room. It beckons like an invitation as Luca blindly feels her way down the uneven stairs.
She stops right in front of the door. The sound of a keyboard drifts from inside: a lazy, distracted chiming of keys, like a hand is meandering aimlessly up and down two octaves.
Luca tries to tell herself it’s a good sign Florence asked her to come here. Unless, of course, she wants to officially kick Luca out of the band, in which case it would be a very bad sign and Luca will have to find a way to flee the pub without anyone seeing her cry.
Luca runs a hand over her face. She won’t know unless she goes inside. The least she can do is make Florence look her in the eye while she says whatever she has to say.
With a tiny push of her hand, the door swings open. Immediately, the keyboard falls silent.
It takes every bit of courage in Luca’s bones to cross the threshold and close the door behind her. In the dim light of the small lamp on the coffee table, Florence looks pale as a sheet. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her hair tumbles onto her shoulders in a riot of curls. She’s wearing black slacks and a frayed maroon jumper and an expression so openly miserable, it makes Luca’s heart squeeze painfully in her chest.
