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‘You remember,’ I gush.
‘I could never forget. I’m just glad you remember too.’
‘Always,’ I beam.
Sketch’s head disappears out of view, and I hold my breath until he appears again at my side of the car.
I tilt my wrist, listening to the crack of my bones as I look at my watch. It’s almost one o’clock.My father will almost certainly wake for his lunch soon. I’ll never make it back in time to prepare his lamp chops with the fat cut off.
‘Okay,’ I say, nodding. ‘I’ll go with you.’
Sketch smiles brightly, and my tummy somersaults.
‘I live on Millview Drive. It’s just past the graveyard on the right,’ I explain and point as if it’s possible to see my parents’ house at the tip of my finger.
Sketch’s eyes narrow. ‘You still live all the way out in Millview? But that’s at least… what? Six miles outside town.’
‘Four and a half, maybe five,’ I say. ‘Is it too far for you to drive? I understand.’
Sketch’s chiselled jawline softens. ‘No, it’s fine. I like driving. I’m happy for an excuse to head out of town. But, man, Annie, that’s one heck of a round trip on foot. I walked it once myself, when I was younger, but I wouldn’t fancy that trek often.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I like walking.’
I’m lying. I do mind. I mind a lot. My feet hurt, and the blisters are unbearable sometimes. It’s not so bad today because it was sunny when I set out, but in the bitter winter… My God, it feels as if my toes might actually freeze and fall off.
‘Do you walk it often?’ Sketch probes gently.
I roll my shoulders. ‘Couple of times a week. Sometimes more. Walking gives me time to think.’
‘That’s a lot of thinking.’
‘I’ve a lot to think about,’ I say, truthfully.
I don’t tell him that it gives me time to cry without fear of being heard. And I definitely don’t tell him that every time I walk into town, I daydream about never walking back.
There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence as Sketch glances at my shoes. I blush. My right shoe has a noticeable hole in it. It’s really only surface damage, and it doesn’t let the water in, but I can tell Sketch is shocked. Thankfully, he spares me the embarrassment of asking me if I have another pair. It’s obvious he knows the answer.
‘You weren’t going to walk all the way home carrying that, were you?’ He points at the parcel in my arms that’s growing unbearably heavy now. ‘Here, let me take it before you hurt yourself.’
I hand it over reluctantly. I try to pretend I don’t care about the contents of the brown paper parcel as much as I do, but my eyes won’t seem to pull away from the bag. If the eggs break… I don’t want to think about it.
‘C’mon. Let’s get you home.’ He slips his arm around my shoulders and ushers me towards the passenger door of his car.
I stiffen as the warmth of his arm caresses the nape of my neck. I drag my eyes around the street, trying to take in as much as I can without moving my head. Nobody’s around. Nobody to see me get into a car with a boy. Nobody to inadvertently tell tales to my father.Thank God.
SEVEN
ANNIE
Sketch’s Morris has a built-in radio. I can’t believe it. Actual music fills the whole car as we drive. I don’t recognise the song, but it doesn’t matter; I tap my feet in time to the beat anyway.
‘You like to dance?’ Sketch asks as we make our way out of town.
‘Iloveto dance,’ I confess.
‘Really? I’ve never seen you in Mount Clements.’
I fix a stray strand of hair behind my ear and inhale deeply as I shift slightly to stare out the window.
