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‘Right. Yeah.’ He rubs his hand over his hair and it falls back into his eyes like an advertisement for something sweet and addictive. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened between you two. She wouldn’t tell me. But she’s my sister and I’ve got to have her back.’ He holds a hand up. ‘But I’m glad it’s over.’
I don’t move as relief floods over me. This means no more baaing as I walk down the corridor. No more half-sucked boiled sweets found in my hair at the end of the day. No more sheep porn.
And they only started spreading rumours about Miss Smith when they started bullying me. Does it also mean that in these one-to-ones, nothing bad has to happen? It won’t come out the next day that Miss Smith christened all the desks in the room with Don?
‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, holding my gaze.
I sit on the stump and he digs in his pocket and hands me a caramel Freddo. I unwrap the chocolate frog – half-melted already but I eat it anyway. We always used to get these at the beach.
‘How are you?’ he asks.
I shrug. Absolutely fucking awful, thanks. Until you showed up and I started eating chocolate from your hand.
‘Yeah.’ He nods then twists his head away as if he’s seen something in the treeline.
I can’t see anything.
‘You’ve handled all this so well. It’s pretty impressive.’
I’m shocked at the glow this lights inside me. Don is praising me for dealing with the absolute torture he and Princess unleashed on me, and that makes me happy? What’s wrong with me?
He goes on, ‘So, while Princess was mad at you, she kind of showed me something.’
My heart sinks, because he doesn’t have to say anything else; I know exactly what it was. Even though she wasn’t even meant to know about it.
‘I guess it was, kind of, a love letter?’
Am I not a mistress that is passing fair?
Shall I promise thou canst put it anywhere?
My face sets on fire. I wish I were dead.
‘Do you… like me?’ he says.
I cover my face with my hands and try not to rock back and forth like a child trapped in a terrible nightmare but I am what I am. I whisper, ‘No, no, no.’
But then his hand is on my knee. ‘It’s just, I like you too. I’ve always liked you, actually.’
I stop rocking, the heat from his hand working up my leg.
This is it. This is what I always dreamed of. He said the exact words.
‘I mean, you’re like, very hot, you know?’
I keep my hands on my face.
He’s so, so, gorgeous. Like, he’s a real man already, with his face all tanned and chiselled and his shoulders so solid, and those hazel-green eyes and his pink lips that always look like he’s been sucking a lollipop.
One time I watched him winning a cricket match almost single-handedly, his arms whirling before he bowled out two batsmen, one after the other, straight into the wicket before they’d even thought of swinging; and then batting so hard and fast I’m sure he almost split the bat; and the runs, his hair flicking into his face then slicking back with sweat; and afterwards, the arms of his whites rolled up high on his shoulders. Princess ran out on the field and he lifted her and one of his teammates, one in each arm, clear up into the sky and spun them round like they were nothing.
He leans towards me like he always does, always did, in my dreams.
But then I remember him chewing on his cheek behind Whip as she taunted me. ‘Get a life, Barb. We’ve forgotten you already.’ And I remember the thing I always craved – the gold necklace with the red gem – and how he handed one to Miss Smith and glanced back at the class with that cruel smile everyone else saw as cheeky. And then I see the common room, plastered with sheep-women with their legs splayed open.
He hasn’t always liked me. We hung out because I was friends with his sister and his parents became friends with mine. He barely noticed me. And even if he did like me…
I put my hand on his but I can’t quite push it away. ‘I do – I did like you,’ I stutter, and finally brush him off.
