by S. C. Ransom
“But he is taking you out on your own on Saturday?”
“Well, yes, but only to a country pub. I think that’s the plan.” I thought I’d better not mention his other plan about Cornwall.
I could see that she was about to launch into another question so was really relieved when the bell rang for the next lesson.
“I’ll see you later.” I smiled at Mia as I leapt up, hoping she wouldn’t think I was running off. I still couldn’t fathom my own reaction. Why was I not more enthusiastic about getting a date with the school heart-throb? Just two days ago I would have been delighted to sit there with them for hours analysing everything he said, reading all sorts of things into his every action. Now I didn’t even want to listen to his messages.
I couldn’t help thinking about that other face, and quickly glanced in a passing window just in case he might be around, but there was still nothing. Was he real in some way? Had I imagined it all? My heart twisted at the thought that I might never see him again, and I dismissed it quickly: he had promised that he would come back today. I smiled to myself. I could hardly wait to see him again in the mirror.
The afternoon dragged on, but finally we were free for the day. I managed to avoid Grace and the others and ran down to the car park where Josh was waiting for me. Back home both Mum and Dad were in, so I ran upstairs quickly, with the excuse that I had to do some research on my art project. I couldn’t help darting into the bathroom first to check that I looked reasonably presentable.
I sat at my desk with the mirror and held tightly to the band on my wrist. Nothing happened. I took it off and rubbed it gently, carefully examining its depths. There was nothing unusual about it at all. No movement, and no face behind my shoulder. I battled with my disappointment. If he suddenly appeared I didn’t want him seeing me looking desperate, but that was how I felt.
I must have sat there for the best part of an hour, trying to call him back. If he had been the product of my imagination, I reasoned, I wouldn’t be having this difficulty: I would have been able to see him immediately. But if he was real, if that were possible in some weird way, then he obviously didn’t want to come back, or he would be with me.
I continued to torment myself until I remembered that it had been quite late when I had last seen him. Perhaps he’d come back twenty-four hours after that? Part of me knew that I was clutching at straws, but I stubbornly clung on to the hope. I needed to fill my time until then. I searched around for something diverting, glancing every few minutes at the bracelet, just in case. The bracelet: that was diverting enough. There must be something on the Internet which I could look up.
I set up my laptop on my desk, and took the bracelet off. It shone enticingly in the light from my halogen lamp. How could I go about searching for that? I tried “ancient opal silver bracelets”, but that gave me nothing useful. I turned it over to look again at the strange shadows on the inside, and for a fraction of a second, as my eyes found the spot it seemed as if there were words there. Startled, I looked again and I could have sworn that they blurred and faded back into the dimpled metal. Maybe all my late night reading did mean that I needed glasses, as Mum kept warning me. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Nothing.
This searching was going to be harder than I thought. Maybe antiques would be a better way. I looked that up, and found myself dragged into a world of strange bric-a-brac and poorly-organised websites. I must have spent hours going down the antiques track. Some of the bracelets were beautiful, but none of them was anything like mine. What most of them seemed to agree on was that a bracelet with an opal that large and clear, and with that weight of silver, was worth a lot of money.
Why had it ended up in the river? It had been buried very deep, so whoever had thrown it in tied to that rock hadn’t intended it to be found in a hurry.
I sighed. I was no further forward – I just had more and more questions. Still, I realised as I stretched, I had successfully used up a lot of time. It was about this time last night I had last seen him. I slipped the bracelet back on to my wrist, where it felt so comfortable and right. I closed my eyes and composed myself for a moment before turning to face the mirror.
There was nothing there.
I felt the crushing disappointment before I was able to gather myself. It felt like a wave that winded me and left me breathless. He had promised to come, but he wasn’t there. I shut my eyes and tried to control my feelings. How had I got to the point where I cared so much about it? I had never felt like this before.
As I sat there for the next hour, all I could think of was his glorious face, with those piercing blue eyes, and strong, soft lips. I tried not to think too much about the lips, about how they would feel, gently pressed on mine. But the memory of his face was a normal, indistinct one, not like the blinding vision of that first night; he wasn’t here, and I had no way of working out how to change that. I felt the tears prick my eyes as I struggled with the loss of something I had never had.
The next morning I had a moment of lightness as I woke, then the memory of the night before washed over me. He hadn’t come back – he had promised, but then let me down. In the cold light of day I realised that I couldn’t go on tormenting myself over something that was probably a figment of my imagination. What I had seen before couldn’t possibly have been real. The figure at St Paul’s, the face in the mirror – I had to assume it was all nonsense as there was no rational explanation. I felt like rolling over and hiding under the duvet, but I couldn’t stay there forever. I took a deep breath, and sat up. It was time to get on with the real world.
My exams were finished, it was Friday, and I had a date tomorrow with one of the hottest guys at school. I really couldn’t complain.
I thought about Rob’s face, with his deep brown eyes and his knowing smile. He was handsome, I acknowledged with a half-hearted attempt at a smile, and he was incredibly fit. I just needed to decide how I was going to deal with him and his expectations. That was the tricky question I should be wrestling with, not how to summon a strange hallucination.
It was a dull day at school, and we were all pleased to be back on the coaches after the final bell. We had plans to be back in Richmond that night, at one of the pubs on the river. Grace had persuaded her dad to give her a lift, so they stopped to pick me up. As usual, she assessed me critically during the trip, adjusting my clothes and adding a couple of accessories from her huge handbag. I managed to convince her that I was looking scruffy because I was saving the good stuff until my date with Rob the next night, which seemed to satisfy her.
Neither Rob nor Jack was with the group that night; there was some sort of cricket activity going on. Both Grace and I felt that cricket was the dullest game in the world, and could never be persuaded to watch. So it was a girls’ night out, and we were always much more raucous than when the boys were with us.
We were the first ones at the pub. We grabbed a table on the balcony where we could watch the sun go down over the river and keep an eye on the activities in the terrace. It was a large area beside the Thames which went all the way up to Richmond Bridge. There were pubs and bars at both ends, and lots of grass and seats in the middle. On an average summer Friday night it would be busy, and tonight looked as if it would be no different. It was full of students, most of whom had clearly finished their exams for the year so there was a lot of exuberance. I was fairly sure that someone would be thrown in the water before the night was out.
Grace was in a very lively mood, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, clearly still thrilled about Jack.
“Come on then,” I cajoled, keen to get her talking before she started asking me questions. “What’s the latest with you and Jack? I mean, it’s been four days now.”
“Well,” she started, looking like she was about to burst with excitement, “he has been texting me every day.”
“What, just once a day?”
“Well, no. More like once an hour, or once every ten minutes.” She glowed with happiness. “I think that
’s probably a good sign.”
“I think you’re right,” I agreed, feeling very happy for her. “I’ve known him for years and he’s never been great about texts. You must be making an impression.” She beamed at me again as I reached out to squeeze her hand. “You and Jack: it’s a such great combination.”
“I hope so. I’ve been waiting so long for him to notice me. I just need to make sure that I don’t put him off by being too keen. In fact,” she added, “I should be taking lessons from you. I’ve never seen anyone play it so cool.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I mumbled. But she was determined.
“Huh! From the minute Rob played his hand in the restaurant the other night you have been acting as if you could take him or leave him. It’s probably driving him crazy. I can’t imagine any girl has done that to him before.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. “Well … there’s no point in just giving in, is there?”
“It’s a smart move. I’ve never seen him so wound up over a girl.”
I spent a few seconds wiping the condensation off my glass while I considered how best to answer her. “The thing is, I’m really not sure that I do want him.” I didn’t dare raise my face to look at her – she was never going to buy it.
“What!” spluttered Grace. “But you’ve fancied Rob for ages! What’s made you change your mind?”
“I really don’t know. It’s just that, well, I’m not convinced that he’s the sort of guy I want to be going out with.”
“You can’t be serious. Every other girl in our year has been drooling over him for months. You can’t turn him down.”
“Well, I can, if that’s what I decide I want.” I put my drink down rather too abruptly, spilling some of it on the table. Grace sat back, looking shocked.
“I’m sorry. Of course you can do whatever you want, I’m just surprised.”
“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to be so sharp. I’m really confused,” I whispered, reaching for her hand apologetically.
“But why? What’s happened? Has he … well, has he done something wrong?”
“No, not yet.” I could see a way to explain my strange behaviour which wasn’t too far from the truth. “But I know what he wants, and I’m not sure he’s going to take no for an answer.”
Grace nodded. “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready, and he shouldn’t make you.”
“But I’m really not sure he’ll take it well. And I feel confused because … well, if we went out for a bit of time … I mean, you never know, I might feel … different.” It felt strange and somehow mean not giving Grace the whole story, but the whole story was just too odd. The fact that I seemed to prefer a figment of my imagination in a mirror to one of the most desirable boys in our year wasn’t easy to explain. And anyway, I still really didn’t know what I felt about Rob.
I was almost grateful when the rest of the girls turned up: I knew Grace wouldn’t want to have this debate with an audience. Conversation quickly turned to other things, and although my friends did tease me a bit about my date with Rob, they were easily deflected. Many of them were planning to enjoy the end-of-exams party season in a big way, so there was a lot of gossip about which of the boys they were targeting. We all knew that the planning was futile, that the boys had ideas of their own which rarely matched ours, but we just loved talking about it. The evening passed quickly, and I was surprised when my phone buzzed with the message from Mum to say that she was on her way to pick us up.
I couldn’t resist a glance in my mirror when I got home, but as expected there was only my own pale face staring back at me. There were dark circles under my eyes and I hoped that I would be able to sleep.
I was lucky: sleep came quickly and deeply, and the next thing I knew Mum was putting a coffee on my desk.
“Morning, sleepy-head. It’s just gone ten, and I didn’t think you would want to stay in bed all day.”
“Ooh, thanks, Mum,” I groaned, stretching. “Do we have any plans for today, or…”
“I’m glad you asked,” she grinned, with a gleam in her eye. “There are a disturbing number of weeds out there in the garden, and I was thinking that maybe the two of us could get them thrashed.”
I dropped back on to my pillow, realising I was beaten. When Mum was in one of these moods it was easier to go with the flow.
Actually, the gardening was pretty therapeutic. I had to concentrate enough to make sure that I was pulling up the right plants, and that kept my mind from wandering too far. I had kept the bracelet on, and occasionally my gaze settled on it, but just like yesterday, the stone stayed quite still.
After we had finished a particularly overrun bed Mum brought out some cold drinks and we sat together in the shade of the shed, considering our handiwork.
“That’s a pretty bracelet,” she commented. “Is that the one you found in the river?”
I nodded, holding out my arm so that she could see it more easily. “It’s cleaned up really nicely,” she said, approvingly. “But I would be careful of it. Opals have a reputation for being unlucky, but that’s just because they smash easily. And this one is such a size it would be a tragedy to ruin it.” She was turning my arm to and fro to admire the stone when she gave a little gasp and suddenly had me in a much tighter grip.
“Mum? What is it?” I hardly dared hope. Had she seen something? She was staring intently at the beautiful blue gem.
“Very odd,” she said thoughtfully. “Must be a trick of the light.”
“What? Is there something wrong?”
“No, nothing.” She shook herself. “Such a strange stone, the opal. Hidden depths, you know.” She paused. “I really wouldn’t wear it all the time. Keep it for best. Now, how about helping to dig some of those new potatoes?”
I helped as quickly as I could, diving into the shed when I had an excuse, but there was nothing at all that was reflective in there. Even the windows were too grubby to be helpful. I finally escaped and ran to my bedroom, hoping that Mum had seen something in the stone that meant that he would be there. But again I was disappointed, alone in the mirror.
I jumped into the shower to wash off the grime of the garden. Afterwards I looked at the bracelet on the bathroom shelf, and for a minute considered just putting it into my jewellery box, but in the end I couldn’t resist easing it on to my wrist, where there was now a faint tan line showing where it had been.
I really hadn’t got a clue what to wear for the date with Rob. I didn’t want to give the wrong impression by making myself look too available, but I didn’t want to look too boring either. After an hour peering hopelessly into the far corners of the wardrobe, I did what I should have done first: I called Grace. She had an encyclopaedic knowledge of my clothes and quickly talked me through a few options. Some we had to discard because the clothes were sitting in a grubby pile not having made it to the washing basket, and other combinations I flatly refused. She even offered to cycle over with her new Topshop dress, but I thought that was going a bit too far. We ended up choosing an outfit I would never have thought to put together myself.
Her advice was obviously good, because even Dad whistled appreciatively as I came down the stairs.
“You look stunning, darling. I hope your date will behave himself.”
“Me too, Dad; me too. You can rely on me to sort him out if he doesn’t.” At that point my phone buzzed. “Rob’s here, Dad. I’ll see you later.” He gave me a squeeze and kissed the top of my head as I made for the door.
“Next time he can come in and introduce himself,” he said pointedly.
“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged as I sidled out of the door. I really didn’t want that complication this evening.
Rob was waiting in his car, engine running, clearly wanting to avoid an opportunity to speak to a parent. I jumped in, and he was off immediately.
“Hi, nice car.”
He grinned. “Not really, but my mum lets me use it whenever I want, so I’m not complaining. Now, we just
need to do this…” He pulled the car into a lay-by just around the corner from my house, and killed the engine. “Time to say hello properly, I think.” He pulled me towards him and kissed me. I didn’t resist, but I couldn’t help thinking about the premeditation involved in the manoeuvre. He smelled nice though, a combination of shampoo and aftershave.
I kissed him back, trying to show the right level of enthusiasm but not overdoing it, but he instantly took it as a signal to go further. I pushed him back as his hand slid over me. “I thought we were going for dinner,” I said, keeping my voice light. “So where are we going?” Thankfully he settled back into his seat immediately.
“It’s a really cool bar in Chertsey. Used to be the old town hall. They have some great bands on there midweek. You won’t have heard of it,” he added and I thought that I heard just a touch of condescension.
I hid a smile. The bar he was describing was one of my parents’ favourites, and I had been going there for as long as I could remember. It was a great place, though, and it also did fantastic food, so at least I knew I would enjoy the meal. There didn’t seem to be any point in letting him know that I was a regular.
He was in an upbeat mood as we drove there, relaying the details of the cricket victory last night. I made encouraging noises in all the right places, and he went on and on, and I started to feel a little irritated. I tried to get a grip on myself. I really had to stop questioning everything he did and start enjoying myself.
The Old Town Hall was an imposing building. A colonnade ran the length of the ground floor with imposing double doors at the centre. They led directly to a wide, sweeping staircase which split into two and doubled back to a magnificent balcony. Through the main doors into the restaurant I could hear the low buzz of conversation, laughter and, in the background, some unobtrusive jazz. The smell of garlic and flowers mingled, and I could see huge vases of lilies scattered around the room.
“What do you think?” asked Rob.
“It’s beautiful – I love the decor.” The room was huge, with a twenty-foot ceiling and about a dozen full-height French windows. The night was warm so all the windows were open and the long, light drapes billowed gently in any passing breeze.
