Truly, Wildly, Deeply

by Jenny McLachlan

  ‘See you on Monday,’ I say to Jackson, ‘and keep your trousers on.’

  ‘Will do,’ he says, saluting me.

  I turn to face Mum.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  She frowns. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  And that’s all it takes to make my bottom lip start to tremble. I can’t talk. If I talk, I cry.

  Mum’s smile vanishes and she grabs my shoulders. ‘What’s happened, Annie?’ She sounds terrified, and I know why. I never cry. Enduring operations, daily pain and almost daily discrimination has toughened me up. I didn’t even cry when my nanna died, which I know makes me sound like a massive bitch, but it’s just what happened.

  ‘It’s Fab,’ I finally say. ‘He doesn’t like me any more!’ And because I can’t believe those pathetic words have just poured out of my mouth, I burst into tears.

  Mum looks baffled – this was not what she expected. Her mouth falls open and her confused face makes me laugh at the same time as crying, but then she strokes my cheek, and I drop the laughing and just go with crying.

  ‘There’s only one thing to do in this situation,’ she says.

  ‘Go to Pizza Express?’ I say, looking up. I love Pizza Express: the dough balls, the cheesecake, the teeny cup of coffee that Mum’s started letting me have at the end.

  Mum nods and gets out her phone. ‘But only if I can get a voucher. Otherwise it’s the chippy.’

  FORTY-TWO

  Over a plate of twelve dough balls, Mum gets the whole story out of me. Well, not the whole story, obviously. I spare her some details about the pictures, like the thigh-squeezing and the visible tongues.

  Instead I tell her that the night before I went to the wedding, ‘I had a silly kiss with a mate, for a laugh’, which is almost the truth, and then I explain that the close proximity between the kiss and me telling Fab I liked him made him go off me.

  ‘Wow …’ She peers at me over the edge of her wine glass. ‘Looking at it from Fab’s point of view, I can see that the photos might have ruined the moment a bit.’

  ‘Mum, when the kiss happened, Fab and I weren’t going out or anything. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d got off with some girl the night before.’

  ‘Really?’ She looks incredulous.

  ‘Yes, really.’ I take sip of water, not quite able to look at her. ‘I don’t own him.’

  ‘But what if you saw photos of it? Wouldn’t you have questioned whether he genuinely cared about you?’

  ‘No,’ I say, then – because I’m starting to feel tearful again – I snatch a dough ball off her plate and shove it in my mouth. ‘All right, I wouldn’t like it. In fact, I’d hate it. I’d think he was a dick. Thanks, Mum. You’ve made me realise that Fab thinks I’m a massive dick!’ I groan and put my head in my hands.

  Mum leans forward and gives my shoulder a pat. ‘You’re not a massive dick, love. You just had a dick-ish moment – a regrettable kiss – and we’ve all had those.’

  ‘Fab hasn’t,’ I say.

  ‘Well, if he hasn’t yet, he will one day.’

  This makes me feel a bit better. ‘But what can I do now? We’re barely talking to each other!’

  Mum shrugs. ‘I guess it depends how much you like him.’

  ‘I like him a lot. I wish I didn’t, but I do. I think about him all the time and I miss talking to him. I even miss him looking at me!’

  ‘Then think of a way to prove this to him. Sometimes actions speak louder than words … and photos on Instagram.’

  ‘It’s going to have to be an action of epic proportions to speak louder than those.’

  Around us, plates clatter, children shriek and the chefs call out to each other.

  ‘You’re nothing if not determined, Annie,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll tell you something your dad did for me. You know he’s scared of heights? Well, he once took me up the Eiffel Tower because he knew that was what I wanted to do more than anything else in the world.’

  ‘Really?’ It’s not often I hear Mum telling me a story about Dad being nice. He moved out before I was born, then went back to Greece just after I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. He’s told me the two aren’t connected, but like Mum said, sometimes actions speak louder than words. ‘How did he handle it? Last time he was over he refused to go on the London Eye with me.’

  Mum laughs. ‘Not well. He was sick – not over the edge, thank God.’

  ‘So, you’re saying I need to do the equivalent of making myself vomit for Fab?’

  She grins. ‘Kind of! Think of what is important to him and give it to him.’

  I nod, my mind already running through what’s important to Fab.

  ‘Right,’ she says, ‘it’s my turn to talk. I’ve got some exciting news from school.’

  I look up. ‘What happened?’

  ‘A fox ran into the playground during playtime and it caused mayhem!’

  When we get home, I go up to my room and put on some music. I let Alice and Mabel out of their cage, then pick up Wuthering Heights. But the book is only a prop because my mind is just going over and over what Mum said at Pizza Express. What could I do to show Fab just what he means to me? To show that I’m sincere and not the sort of person who only does things on a whim?

  My first thought is table football, simply because he loves playing it. Could I practise in secret then blow him away with my skills? No. That’s rubbish. It has to be better than that.

  I run through Fab’s other favourite things: pork … books … toast … helping people … Actually, what doesn’t he like? He loves everything! Whatever I choose, it has to be special to just the two of us.

  Alice hops over to me and investigates the pages of Wuthering Heights.

  ‘Are you a book sniffer too, Alice?’ I say.

  She ignores me. Obviously. She’s a rat, but even so I add, ‘That’s Fab’s favourite bit.’

  I sit up, making Alice jump away.

  Wuthering Heights … That’s it! The only person I know who loves Wuthering Heights as much as I do is Fab. He even told me once – arms waving around – that Emily Brontë’s descriptions of the moors were ‘majestic’ and that one day he would see them with his own eyes. Miss Caudle told us you can visit Haworth, the parsonage where Emily wrote Wuthering Heights. Miss said you can even walk to Top Withens, the ruined house that’s supposed to be the inspiration for Wuthering Heights.

  I push all practical problems to one side – access issues, the journey, money – and just focus on the look on Fab’s face when I tell him where we’re going. He was excited about blackberry-picking. Top Withens will blow his mind!

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, lifting Mabel off my laptop. ‘I’ve got an epic romantic gesture to plan. I’m taking Fab to Wuthering Heights.’

  FORTY-THREE

  All weekend, I work out how I can get Fab to Haworth, looking into train times, buses and the opening hours of the parsonage. The more the plan takes shape in my mind, the more convinced I become that it’s going to work. I tell Mum and she thinks it’s a great idea, but that it’s too far for us to go on our own. She says I have to wait until she can take us in the car. I point out that not only is she being a very uncool mum, but having her there would make it the worst romantic gesture ever. She just laughs and tells me to think of a romantic gesture that isn’t two hundred and fifty miles away and then she’ll be a cool mum.

  To be honest, we have a bit of an argument about it that ends with her saying: ‘Accept it, Annie. You’re not going.’

  Oh, but I am. Because next weekend Mum’s going to stay with her friend and she believes Hilary and I are having a girly sleepover.

  Hilary is sleeping over, but only on the Friday night, then on Saturday morning Hilary’s going home and I’m whisking Fab off to the Yorkshire moors.

  Back at college, it’s easy enough to persuade Hilary to lie for me – she’d do anything to see her OTP get together – but she thinks I’m making a mistake keeping it a secret from Fab.

  ‘What if he’s no
t in when you turn up?’ she asks.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I say, pushing this thought to the back of my mind, along with an even worse thought: that Fab will be in, but will refuse to go with me.

  The trip has become so real in my mind, so vivid, that there are moments when I want to rush across the common room and blurt it all out to Fab, but I don’t, because there’s still this frosty force field surrounding us. So I keep quiet and tell myself that he won’t be able to resist the offer of a trip to Haworth and that at some point on Saturday all the frostiness between us will magically vanish … I don’t know exactly when this will happen, but I’m convinced that at some point – between eating sandwiches on the train and buying Brontë fudge in the gift shop – Fab’s arm will fall across my shoulders and I’ll rest against him, our eyes will meet and – bam! – Fannie will burst into life again.

  FORTY-FOUR

  ‘You girls have fun,’ says Mum, leaning out of the car window. ‘There’s pizza and ice cream in the freezer and I made a nut roast for Sunday. You can have your very own roast dinner!’

  ‘Yummy!’ says Hilary.

  Mum starts the engine. ‘Look after each other, and promise me: no parties.’ She wags her finger as she says this.

  ‘We promise,’ I say. Then I nudge Hilary.

  ‘No way,’ adds Hilary. ‘We definitely won’t be having a party.’

  ‘And, Annie …’ Mum fixes me with a look, ‘don’t you dare go to Haworth.’

  ‘What?’ I say, laughing loudly. ‘I’m not going anywhere!’

  We wave until the car’s disappeared around the corner. Then we go inside and shut the door behind us. I rest against it.

  ‘I laughed too hard, didn’t I?’ I say.

  ‘Just a bit,’ says Hilary, grinning at me.

  ‘Now come upstairs and help me choose a running-away-to-Haworth outfit.’

  While Hilary sits on my bed, offering opinions on the clothes I’m holding up, Alice and Mabel fight on her lap.

  Once we’ve got my bottom half sorted out – jeans (it’s going to be cold), and my favourite white and platinum Nikes – we move on to my top half.

  ‘Do I want a fluffy jumper or a cool sweatshirt with cats on it?’

  ‘What’s on the jumper?’

  ‘A pineapple.’

  ‘Wear the sweatshirt because it looks warmer. You’re practically going to Scotland. It’s going to be freezing.’

  ‘That’s it then.’ I chuck the cat sweatshirt on top of my jeans. ‘I just need to find Bananagrams then I’m ready.’ I pile my hair up on my head and twist a band round it.

  ‘What’s Bananagrams?’

  ‘A game,’ I say. ‘We’re going to play it on the train.’

  ‘Are you feeling nervous?’ asks Hilary.

  Nervous doesn’t really cover it. I nod, and say, ‘A bit.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Hilary lifts Alice and Mabel back into their cage. ‘When do romantic gestures in films backfire? Never! Now tell me what you’re doing.’

  I’ve already told her several times, but she knows it calms me down to repeat it. ‘Tomorrow, at six thirty, we’ll get the train together.’

  ‘I’ll leave you at the station and you’ll get a taxi to Fab’s.’

  I nod. ‘That’s it. And I’ll say, “Come to Haworth with me!” He says, “Amazing!”, jumps in the taxi, then it’s back to the station to catch the train to London. Three different trains and a bus later, we’re in Haworth. We visit the Brontë parsonage, have a quick walk on the moors and then it’s back to Haworth for a cream tea – I know Fab will love cream teas – then we do the same journey home, but in reverse.’

  ‘What could go wrong?’ she says.

  ‘Nothing!’ I say, making my voice extra bright so that it sounds convincing.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Getting Hilary up and on the six-thirty train is hard work, but I manage it, and as dawn breaks I’m pulling up outside Fab’s house in a taxi. I felt quite calm on the train, with Hilary chatting away about her plans to paint her bedroom, but now my heart’s beating as fast as the taxi driver’s dance music.

  ‘Will you wait for me?’ I say. ‘I’ve just got to get my friend then we’re going back to the station.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He keeps the engine running while I walk up the path.

  I don’t ring the doorbell in case it wakes up Fab’s mum. Instead, I find Fab’s bedroom window and throw a small stone at it. Ghost Cathy taps on the window in Wuthering Heights so I thought this would be the perfect way to start our adventure. The stone misses. So I try another – a bigger one this time.

  Fab still doesn’t appear.

  Aware of the taxi waiting behind me, meter running, music thudding, I pick up a handful of tiny stones and hurl them at the window. They bounce off and fall all over me.

  ‘Ow!’ I say.

  ‘Annie? What are you doing?’

  I look up and see Fab standing in the doorway holding a bowl of cereal. He’s barefoot and wearing shorts.

  ‘I thought you’d be asleep,’ I whisper.

  He frowns at me. ‘No. I needed to be up early. Why are you here? Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?’

  Now I’m face-to-face with Fab, pretending to be a fictitious ghost seems like a pretty silly thing to do. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  His eyes widen. ‘Trust me. I am surprised.’

  I shake my head. ‘No, this isn’t the surprise.’ I walk over to him and look him in the eyes. ‘Fab, I’ve come to take you to Haworth!’

  He blinks. ‘I do not understand.’

  Behind me, the taxi driver beeps his horn, startling me.

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I haven’t got time to explain, but you need to grab a coat and put on some jeans because Haworth is in Yorkshire, and that’s up north, and it’s cold up there.’ Fab continues staring at me like I’m mad, so I add, ‘You’re always saying that you want to see the moors where Wuthering Heights is set, so let’s go!’

  He shivers and folds his arms. ‘Annie, are you joking?’

  ‘No! Now hurry up. The train’s leaving soon and if we’re going to get to Haworth and back in one day we need to get a move on.’

  ‘But I’m helping my uncle Emil build a shed. How long will it take?’

  ‘Fab, it’s over two hundred miles away, so it will take a long time, but we’ll be back by tonight.’

  Slowly he shakes his head, and all my dreams and plans start to slip away from me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Fab was supposed to laugh, throw a coat on and jump in the taxi with me!

  ‘I’m sorry, Annie, but I have to put up the shed and I’m going to Julia’s this evening to see her honeymoon pictures. I promised I’d make a cheesecake –’

  ‘Cheesecake?’ My voice rises. ‘Fab, I’ve spent over one hundred pounds on train tickets. I’ve planned everything. We’re going to walk on the moors. We’ll see Emily’s dog’s collar!’

  ‘Well, you should have told me about your surprise and checked to see if I was free first!’

  ‘But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it? I thought you’d find this exciting. We’re going to have an adventure.’

  We stare at each other and for a moment I think he might change his mind, but then that shutdown look comes over his face, the one I’ve seen so much of in the past two weeks, and he says, ‘No. It is impossible.’

  ‘When have you ever said that something is impossible?’ I burst out. ‘With you, anything is possible: table football, games of rounders, blackberrying trips. Trust me, this trip is very possible.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Maybe we can go another time. I’m sorry you wasted your money.’

  Suddenly, I’m not sure if I actually want to go with Fab. All his energy that I love so much seems to have vanished.

  ‘I haven’t wasted my money,’ I say, ‘because I’m still going!’ I turn and walk towards the taxi.

  Still holding his cereal, he
runs after me in his bare feet. ‘You can’t go on your own,’ he says, grabbing my arm.

  I shake him off. ‘Oh really? Just watch me!’ I get out my wallet and find the train tickets. ‘I booked for the ten-past-eight train and I’m going to be on it. Here’s your ticket.’ I throw it at his chest and it flutters to the floor. Then I yank the taxi door open. Before I get in, I shout, ‘Enjoy putting up a shed!’

  ‘I will!’ he shouts back.

  I slam the door. ‘Just drive,’ I say to the taxi driver, which is something I’ve always wanted to say, only I thought it would feel better than this.

  We pull away from the kerb and I stare straight ahead, my arms folded. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Fab watching me. He’s scowling and he looks deeply disapproving. I have to clamp my lips shut to stop myself from sticking my tongue out at him.

  Once we’re back on the main road, the taxi driver says, ‘So … Didn’t go according to plan?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Just you getting that train now?’

  I nod, and keep my eyes on the road ahead.

  ‘Sure you still want to go?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. If it’s the last thing I do, I am getting on that train and going to Haworth – and I’ll take hundreds of photos and send them to Fab all day so he knows exactly what he’s missing!

  The driver turns his music up. ‘You’re the boss!’

  FORTY-SIX

  Back at the station, I have time to buy a hot chocolate and a cheese croissant before going to the platform.

  I sit in my wheelchair and even though it’s too hot I take a sip of my drink. Sugar sweeps through my body. This is what I need to calm me down. Behind me, a train comes to a hissing stop. I know that it’s heading back towards my town and I’m struck by how easy it would be just to turn round, get on that train and go home.

  But how many times have I sat on the train going to college, dreaming that I don’t get off and that I keep going? And now I’m on the brink of doing just that. I might have planned on doing this with Fab, but I can still do it on my own.