by Kate Hewitt
That was both appalling and wonderful. Frightening yet needed.
And yet, despite the fears and uncertainties catapulting through her, she wouldn’t trade this moment for the whole world.
Their sparklers died out and they were left in darkness, surprising in its totality after the bright lights that had been blazing right before their eyes. Lindy turned instinctively back towards the house, and Roger must have as well, for they bumped into each other as they moved, and then their extinguished sparklers fell to the ground and his hands were on her arms as they did an awkward, shuffling dance that bore little resemblance to anything Lindy taught in class, and yet felt far more exciting.
She let out a breathless little laugh and Roger’s hands tightened on her arms as their bodies bumped—and she thought, she knew, he was going to kiss her. She could almost already feel it—how his lips would be soft and cold, and she felt as if there were trumpets blaring inside of her, as if fireworks were cartwheeling behind her eyes, all in anticipation of that wonderful, wonderful kiss.
The kiss that didn’t happen.
Roger let her go and stepped back quickly, muttering “Sorry” under his breath, and Lindy refocused on the darkness and saw how severe he looked and realised she must have misread the moment entirely. Disappointment swamped her—enough disappointment for her to realise just how much she’d wanted him to kiss her. She’d wanted it with a yearning she felt soul-deep, one that was shot through her whole body like flecks of gold embedded in rock. She wanted it—and she didn’t get it.
Roger started back towards the house, and after a few seconds of tortured deliberation, Lindy followed.
She might have been trying to convince herself she just wanted to be Roger’s friend, but in that moment she knew otherwise. She was halfway—or more—to falling in love with him.
Chapter Sixteen
“All right, Year Sixes, I know you’ve got this.” Lindy gave the twenty-eight pupils in various moods from ebullient to terrified to bored her biggest smile and a double thumbs up.
“One…two…three…go!” She switched on the music—Tchaikovsky’s sedate ‘Waltz of the Flowers’—and started clapping the time to the beat. Fourteen couples joined haltingly on the floor, some looking more tortured than others. “One step, two, heads up, look forward; smile like you’re enjoying yourselves!” Lindy barked out commands in time to the tempo as she moved around the room, correcting kids’ fumbling box steps with a smile here, a touch there. They weren’t too bad, considering there were still four more weeks to go until the Christmas ball.
It was two weeks since Roger and his mum had come to her house for chilli and sparklers, two weeks since Lindy had been brave enough to acknowledge to herself, and no one else, that she might actually be falling in love with him. At least, she suspected that’s what this strange, heady, bubbly up feeling was, mixed with a healthy dose of pure terror. She’d never been in love before, so she didn’t really know how it was meant to feel, but if this wasn’t it, she didn’t know what was.
She did know that what she felt was deeper than mere interest or attraction—what she’d felt for Roger at the beginning, when she’d flirted with him so shamelessly, so seemingly harmlessly. It was more physical than the friendship she’d been aiming for, because she felt a driving need to touch him that she could only indulge in the merest of ways—the brush of a hand, the touch of his shoulder, and all the while her body felt as if it were on fire.
It was painful, living like this. It was also invigorating—had she ever felt so alive? Every morning she woke up and marvelled at things she’d always enjoyed, but never quite so intensely as this—the autumn sun gilding the frosted blades of grass in gold, the happy sigh Toby gave as he flopped at her feet, the crisp taste of her morning can of Coke. She revelled in each one, delighting in the smallest things, brimming with bonhomie for the world and everyone in it.
And she didn’t even know if Roger felt the same way. In all truth, she thought he probably didn’t; perhaps it hadn’t even occurred to him, and yet somehow right now that didn’t even matter. She was, Lindy realised, simply enjoying feeling this way—like she was alive, truly, gloriously alive, as if life mattered, and there was something bigger than herself in it. And yes, she did hope he might come to feel the same way in time—but if he didn’t? She’d hug this precious secret to herself and enjoy every moment of it.
“Miss, Will is being sick!”
The terrified shriek of one of her Year Six girls had Lindy coming quickly out of her pleasant reverie. Fortunately, the boy in question was only pretending to be sick, hands clutched to stomach, because, like most eleven-year-old boys, he hated the waltz. Lindy collared him and then started partnering him, much to his dismay.
She persevered, careening around the room as she cracked jokes, and she was eventually rewarded with the smallest of smiles.
The bell rang a few minutes later, and Lindy dodged out of the way of the rush towards the school doors and freedom.
“Don’t forget to practise!” she yelled after them. “Same time, next week!”
With a little laugh and a shake of her head, she started tidying up after the tornado that was a Year Six class—she found no less than seven discarded jumpers, two backpacks, a pencil case, and, rather worryingly, a single trainer. She dumped it all in the lost and found bin by the doors, and then turned off the music and packed up her own stuff. She needed to get back to Toby and give him his afternoon walk before he started to panic at being left alone for too long.
As she left the building, navigating through the schoolyard three twenty scrum, her mind drifted back to the few times she’d seen Roger since Bonfire Night—two Monday evening classes, and then a Saturday walk with Toby along the Lea River. She’d been toying with the idea of asking him out for a drink, and she’d composed various texts over the last few weeks, aiming for casual but friendly, except every time she went to press send, she knew what she felt wasn’t either casual or friendly, yet what was the alternative? I’m falling in love with you and trying to think of ways to spend time with you. Do you feel the same?
Just the thought of typing those words, never mind actually sending them, set a shiver of terror through her. No, she couldn’t do that. Not yet, maybe not ever. She just wanted to enjoy this feeling—this exciting-yet-safe sensation, for a little while longer, before she so much as attempted to catapult it to the next dizzying level.
“Lindy!”
Lindy turned to see Harriet Lang bearing down on her like a ship in full sail, a look of fearful purpose on her face. Lindy tried to smile.
“Hey!” she said, summoning enthusiasm. Harriet still scared her a little bit.
“How are you? I can’t wait to hear all about this Christmas extravaganza of yours! Will won’t tell me a word about it.”
“Will…” Belatedly Lindy realised the pretending-vomiting pupil of earlier was Harriet’s son. “Ah,” she said, and Harriet gave a knowing nod.
“He’s a handful, isn’t he? If he’s any trouble, I give you my full permission to blast him.” She shook her head. “He loves pushing both boundaries and buttons.”
“His heart’s in the right place, though,” Lindy said, because she had a bit of a soft spot for Will Lang and his cheeky grin. “At least I think it is.”
“Let’s hope so,” Harriet returned with a mock shudder. “Are you walking out?” She nodded towards the school gate, with the steady stream of parents and pupils going through it.
“Yes.” Lindy couldn’t keep the slight note of hesitation from her voice. She had a feeling, judging from Harriet’s rather beady expression, that she was about to get a grilling.
“Good, we’ll walk with you.” She shouted for Chloe and Will who fell in line alongside them as they all headed towards the gate.
“So I feel as if I need to apologise,” Harriet said frankly as Will and Chloe ran ahead. “Properly this time, for me and my big mouth.”
“What—”
“Tha
t unsuitable comment I made, way back when, in Tea on the Lea.” Harriet grimaced, looking slightly shamefaced. “I only meant to tease, but I think he heard and now that I know you’re friends…” She paused. “Good friends…”
“Why does this apology feel like a way to get the gossip?” Lindy asked, smiling to take any sting from her words. Harriet let out a laugh.
“Because it is. I admit that unreservedly. But I am sorry. I hate to think I hurt someone’s feelings.”
“I don’t know if you did or not,” Lindy said after a moment. “I haven’t actually spoken to Roger about it, and he hasn’t given any indication that he heard.” Although she was almost certain he had.
“So…”
“We’re friends,” Lindy said firmly, in a tone she hoped invited no more questions. “Good friends.”
“Ah.” Harriet nodded with too much understanding. They’d reached the end of the school lane and were coming out to the top of the high street; Lindy knew Harriet’s house, in Wychwood’s slightly less well-to-do area, was up to the left, while she was going to head down the high street, back to Willoughby Close.
Chloe and William had already turned left, chasing each other up the street, as the last of the autumn leaves drifted down in yellow and reds. Lindy was about to say goodbye, but she saw that Harriet was hesitating, and with some trepidation she waited for whatever it was the other woman intended to say.
“Look, please don’t take this the wrong way…” Great beginning. “Because I was once where you were. In Willoughby Close. Feeling…alone.”
Lindy opened her mouth and then shut it. How did Harriet know she’d felt alone? Her presumption, along with her perception, silenced her.
“I only say that because I remember how you told us about your parents dying when you were young,” Harriet explained. “And, to be honest, I recognise the signs of self-sufficiency.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with self-sufficiency,” Lindy said, her tone sharpening a little. “Especially when I’ve had to be self-sufficient since I was nineteen.” Wow, she sounded both bitter and angry. How had that happened? She’d been feeling so happy, so benevolent. Harriet Lang had knocked both emotions right out of her, at least for the moment.
“Of course, I understand,” Harriet said quietly. “I’m just saying…let Willoughby Close work its magic, as silly as that sounds. There are so many people who want to help you. Support you. It’s hard to let them, to let people in, especially when you’re used to doing everything yourself, or being the kind of person who does it for everybody else. That’s how I was. But I ended up in Willoughby Close for a season—it’s a long story—because I needed to be, and I needed friends. I found them there, and you can too.”
“Thanks, Harriet,” Lindy said, her voice a bit brittle, “but I’m not sure I need this pep talk. I’ve been hanging out with lots of the Willoughby Close gang.” She’d had drinks at the pub and Sunday roasts at Willoughby Manor… What was Harriet talking about?
“I know you’ve gone out,” Harriet answered, “and you’re very good at accepting invitations. But I’m talking about something a bit deeper.” She paused while Lindy simply stared. “You’re very friendly, and yet you still somehow keep people at arm’s length. I think you know you do it, as well. Maybe it’s intentional?” Harriet gave her a sympathetic smile and Lindy found she could not reply.
How had Harriet seen that? No one had before, at least that she knew. No one had seemed to care enough. She was good for drinks and parties and the occasional evening out, but…real life? That call for help in the night, in the dark?
“I…I don’t know what to say,” Lindy said finally.
“You don’t have to say anything.” Harriet patted her arm. “Just think about what I’m saying.” Dumbly Lindy nodded, and Harriet turned to Chloe and William, who were little more than specks far up the street. “Oy! You two! Wait up!” With a last, commiserating smile for Lindy, she started to jog up the street.
Lindy walked the rest of the way home in a bit of a daze. She was stunned by Harriet’s comments, her courage in making them…and how spot on they actually were. Lindy had always attributed the invisible distance she felt from people to the simple, hard truth that for the last fifteen years she’d had to live on her own; everyone else had friends and family, close-knit communities that often proved impenetrable to her. Without that tribe surrounding you, it was hard to make inroads into community life the way everybody else did.
Now, in light of Harriet’s comments, she had to ask herself if that distance existed because she’d put it there. Intentionally. Wilfully. Because getting close to people often meant getting hurt. The devastation she’d felt after her parents’ death…well, she’d put a lid on that box a long time ago, had soldiered on, declaring herself fine. Believing that if she acted fine, well, then she would be. And she was, she was sure she was, except…
She was starting to realise there had been an emptiness inside her all along that she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, even to herself. Being comfortable in her own skin, happy in her own company, all the tried and trite phrases that reassured her she was okay…suddenly they felt like so many catchphrases that were nothing more than salves. Placebos when what she needed was a whole-heart cure.
She’d told Roger she was like him in her sense of isolation, but she’d never realised it was out of choice. Out of fear. And even with this new, unwelcome knowledge, she had no idea how to change, or even if she wanted to. She might feel like she was falling in love, but was that all it was? All she wanted it to be? A feeling, and nothing more?
*
“Still in the friend zone?”
The smell of Lynx aftershave assaulted Roger’s nostrils before Chris’s loud, cheerful voice registered on his eardrums.
“You haven’t asked me about whether I’ve been to a rave this weekend,” Roger replied, a bit disgruntled. He liked routine, and he’d also had his reply ready—No raves, but I’ve found a new interest in grime. Not that he actually understood what grime was precisely, although he had googled it—something about London and the Underground, it seemed, although that didn’t really make sense.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t wait to hear about your lady friend,” Chris replied as he switched on the kettle, even though it had just boiled. “Is she still your lady…friend?”
“If by that, are you asking—again—if I remain in the ‘friend zone,’ as you termed it, then the answer would be yes.” Roger tried not to sound dispirited. The last few weeks with Lindy had been lovely, although they hadn’t actually seen each other all that much. Still, he’d found himself looking forward to the dance classes with more enthusiasm than he’d ever felt before, and their walk along the Lea River had been sweetly companionable.
Even so, the memory of that moment in the garden on Bonfire Night—the awkward dance they’d done as Roger had wondered whether to kiss her—remained singed into his memory. He still had no idea what that moment had meant—if it had been a disappointment or relief for Lindy that he hadn’t, or perhaps she’d just been entirely oblivious to the tension he’d felt ratcheting through him. Maybe he was so firmly friend-zoned it wouldn’t even cross her mind, and she’d just wanted to move past him, back into the house.
He had a sinking feeling that was the most likely case.
“Ah, sorry, man,” Chris said as he poured the kettle over his mug of instant coffee granules and then dumped two spoonfuls of sugar in. “That sucks.”
“Mmm.” It did, rather, although Roger would not have used such terms.
“You’ve got to make her see you differently—”
“So you’ve said,” Roger cut across his young friend a bit acidly, “but I really don’t see how.” He couldn’t change who he was, or how Lindy did—or didn’t—see him. He definitely knew that much.
“You could just come out with it, you know,” Chris said musingly. “It’s not my style, but it works for some. Just spit it out. Tell her you’ve got feeling
s.” He imbued the word with such lascivious emphasis, adding a meaningful wiggle of his eyebrows, that Roger nearly blushed.
“I do not believe that is my style, either.”
“What have you got to lose?”
“Her friendship, for a start.” And he really didn’t want to lose that, especially with his mother so ill. If Lindy suddenly cut off all ties, his mum would notice, and Roger couldn’t bear for her to be disappointed at this stage. Her meaningful comments over the last few weeks—don’t forget the blue shirt, Roger! Is that cologne you’re wearing?—had been hard enough to take already; hearing her morose musings as to why Lindy’s interested had cooled would be far worse.
Chris gave an understanding nod. “Do you think that would be it, if you told her? No second chances?”
“I…don’t know.” Lindy did not strike Roger as the type of person to be so unforgiving, but the humiliation would be off the charts if he confessed his feelings and received a horrified, dumbstruck look in reply. He’d be as likely to sever any ties as Lindy, simply out of self-preservation.
“Well, maybe it’s worth the risk,” Chris said as he took a slurp of coffee. “You know, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that.” He paused to adopt a serious and sentimental look. “And remember, it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” he intoned, as if offering a true pearl of wisdom.
“Many thanks for that sage advice,” Roger replied tartly, and Chris grinned.
“I know it sounds like a load of tosh, but there is something to it.”
Roger fished out his teabag and then picked up his mug. “Do you have a girlfriend, Chris?” he asked politely.
Chris’s grin widened. “Nope.”
