by Tom Ellen
I grabbed my bag and she grabbed her coat and we walked out of the hall and started following the edge of the lake round to Wulfstan.
‘So, look . . .’ I started. ‘I know it’s awkward to mention your birthday . . .’
She cut me off with a humourless snort-laugh. ‘Last night was pretty much a disaster from start to finish.’
‘Because of me.’ I nodded.
She didn’t look at me. ‘Well . . . At least eighty per cent because of you, yeah.’
We got to the First Night Bridge and both automatically sat down on it, with our legs dangling out over the edge. The hum of music and laughter from the hall carried across the lake towards us. Earlier, on the train back with Becky, I’d tried to rehearse this whole big speech in my head, but like everything else this term, I ended up just bumbling straight into it without thinking.
‘Phoebe, listen,’ I said. ‘I know that everything that happened with Abbey yesterday makes me out to be a complete arsehole. And obviously the reason for that is because I am a complete arsehole. But you have to know: I barely spoke to her all term. Yesterday she literally came up here out of the blue. And I know it was awful, and I’m so sorry, but it was also good because we finally sorted everything out. We just needed to see each other and say the last things we had to say, and properly say goodbye. And we’ve done that. And the truth is . . . I told her how much I like you. Because I really, really like you. And I want us to be a couple. Like, an actual couple. You have been the best thing about uni. The only good thing.’
I stopped to catch my breath, but Phoebe didn’t say anything. She was just watching the water lapping softly at the bank below her. I reached into my rucksack.
‘I should have given you this yesterday. And it’s not wrapped because I am a twat. And, y’know, also because I was busy heroically bringing Becky back . . .’
She gave me a pretty hefty eye-roll for that, which, to be fair, I deserved.
‘But, anyway . . . happy birthday.’
I handed her the Ariel book, and she just stared down at it blankly, like I’d given her a bus ticket, or something. Finally, she said: ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Do you really like it?’
She turned to look at me. ‘Of course. Thank you. It will be on my shelf for ever.’ She touched the yellowy, frayed corner of the cover, gently. ‘I love things like this. Like, when you look at them it reminds you suddenly of some really specific memory. Something you thought was buried, but then you touch this kind of emotional portkey and it all comes back to you.’
‘Yeah.’ I nodded, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what she was on about. I was mainly wondering if and when she was going to respond to my declaration of . . . not love, exactly, but pretty serious like.
Suddenly, she said: ‘Why were you crying on that first night?’ and I must have flinched or something because she added: ‘I saw you in the computer room.’
I exhaled. ‘Well . . . Me and Abbey had had this awful summer and I just couldn’t take it any more. We broke up that night. Or . . . started breaking up. I don’t know. It feels so long ago. But I felt like there was all this pressure welling up inside me, and it just got too much . . . I can’t really describe it.’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t really describe anything. I think about that a lot. I feel like the words that can explain what is actually happening inside me don’t exist.’
She looked at me, and almost laughed. ‘Listen . . . this is cringe but I really don’t care any more.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I fancied you at school. I feel like I’m on a TV show doing some big reveal, but whatever, there it is. Secret’s out.’
I didn’t really know how to respond to that. I was more interested in whether she fancied me now. So I just said: ‘Well, that’s nice . . . thanks,’ which for some reason made her laugh so hard that her fur thing fell off and nearly dropped in the water.
I grabbed it before it could tumble over the edge. ‘Hang on, do you mean even in Year Eleven when I had that ridiculous, shaved-at-the-sides haircut?’
She laughed again. ‘Well, it lessened then, obviously. That was when I turned my attentions to Adam Kramer.’
‘Thank god. I would have lost all respect for you.’
She wrapped the fur back around her neck, and I wondered if maybe I should try to kiss her.
She stretched her legs out over the water and sighed and then looked me dead in the eyes. ‘To be honest, Luke, and obviously I may live to regret this, but . . . I just don’t think I want to be with you.’
PHOEBE
He opened his mouth to respond, but I kept talking.
‘I want us to be friends,’ I said. ‘Proper, real friends who would be there for each other whether we were getting with each other or not.’
He closed his mouth, and then nodded. He looked out across the lake.
‘And right now,’ I said, ‘don’t you need a proper friend more than you need a girlfriend?’
He smiled sadly. ‘Well, yeah. I haven’t got too many proper friends at the moment.’
‘That’s not true.’
He straightened his back and reached over to hold my hand. ‘Phoebe, seriously, I know things have been really messy, honestly, I know that, but—’
I shook my head to cut him off. ‘Things haven’t been really messy, Luke. You’ve been really messy. And your mess has started to mess me up, too. So, if you really do like me, then be a good friend and don’t let that happen.’
He breathed out slowly, like he’d just been deflated. But he kept hold of my hand. Finally, he said, ‘If friends is your final offer, Phoebe, I guess I’ll have to take it.’
I wriggled my fingers round his, into a handshake position: ‘To friendship.’ He laughed and we shook. He was really handsome in a tux. Clean cut and broad and grown-up. He looked like he was born to wear it, and walk down a red carpet having his picture taken.
We clambered to our feet and started to walk back round the lake. When we got to the hall I said: ‘I’m just going to put the book back in my room. Don’t think Sylvia would forgive me if I got Jägerbomb all over it.’
He nodded. ‘See you in there.’
I watched him walk off into the madness of the ball, where Ed and Arthur and a few others were cheering and waving him over. And that was it. I had rejected Luke Taylor. Year Nine me would have died from shock at that sentence. It actually made me laugh out loud, to myself, like a lunatic. And then I wanted to tell Flora. I got out my phone and saw she had texted back:
‘You look awesome, best one. If you ruin that dress I will kill you xxx’
I went back to my room and squeezed the Ariel book on to the little bookshelf. Who knows, maybe Luke Taylor would turn out to be the love of my life, but in order to ascertain that I would have to actually get to know him first, and properly pay attention this time.
I wandered back down the deserted Jutland walkway, and as I crossed the car park I could see Josh was near the entrance to the hall. As I came in, he turned and smiled and I felt a bit nervous. He started walking towards me, and I wondered what we would say.
‘What time you heading home tomorrow?’ he asked. There was a tension in his voice I had never heard before.
‘Think my mum’s coming at midday.’
Neither of us knew what to say next. I replayed the moment I had tried to kiss him in my head. It was almost unbearable.
Just as I was about to make an excuse and walk off, he threw his arms around me. And I hugged him back. And we both just stayed there in the hug. The words we’d said had felt all strange and wrong and not what we meant, but the hug felt right and not weird and how things really were.
We broke away and looked at each other and I didn’t understand what was happening between us. What he felt and what I felt and what everything meant. But there was loads of time to figure that out.
‘I’ll see you later, Bennet.’ He smiled.
I found Frankie and Negin at the edge of the dance floor, watching Becky get frantically w
altzed about by Connor. Luke was on the other side of the hall, dancing with Arthur and Rita and everyone. There was still no sign of Will, or any of the other football boys.
‘So . . .’ Frankie took a sip of her drink. ‘Glad you and Luke Taylor are love’s young dream because my life as the nun of York Met is continuing without my consent.’
Negin gave me a look that said: Things are not good.
‘Shape-Face Girl and Ed are over there,’ she whispered. I followed her glance to where Ed and Sophie-or-Sarah were kissing, right in the middle of the dance floor.
‘Oh, shit,’ I groaned.
Frankie huffed. ‘Maybe if I had a banana mouth and perfectly circular eyes I could bag an attractive tall man, too.’
‘Well, I’m not with Luke Taylor, either,’ I said. ‘So you can also sign me up to the York Met nunnery.’
‘Me, too,’ Negin sighed. ‘Interesting Thought Boy is getting with some random.’
‘What?’ We followed her gaze. I didn’t recognize ITB at first without his holey jumper. He looked less philosophical in a tux. But there he was, his tongue down the throat of some rand—
‘That’s not a random!’ I yelled. ‘That’s Stephanie Stevens.’
‘Who?’ Negin and Frankie said in unison.
I shook my head. ‘I should never have saved her life. I should have let her choke on her own vomit.’
We stood in a row, my head leaning on Frankie, and Negin’s head leaning on me. We just watched Stephanie Stevens and ITB, and Ed and Sophie-or-Sarah like we were watching late night QVC.
‘Oh well . . .’ Frankie sighed. ‘I think we should just get Becky, dance our arses off, then go back and decoupage our letters and competitively eat cheese toasties until one of us dies from a cheddar overdose.’
‘Sounds good.’ I looped an arm around each of them. ‘I mean, you know loads of people die in Freshers’, right? Like, millions.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We owe at least one round of Jägerbombs to all the following people:
Everyone at Chicken House for being amazing as always. Our fantastic editor Rachel Leyshon, who suggested so many of the best twists and turns and various other things in this novel: we bloody love you, Rachel. Huge, huge thank yous also to Barry, Rachel H, Elinor, Jazz, Esther, Kesia and Laura for being brilliant and for doing so much for us. We really appreciate it.
Our incredible agent Kirsty McLachlan for being a constant source of advice, support and highly reassuring phone chats throughout the entire writing process.
All our mates who either experienced the stuff in this book alongside us, or generously donated their stories, or just sat in various pubs with us over the past two years, reminiscing about all aspects of uni life. Most notably: Laura Allsop, James Amos, Kate Baker, Max Baldwin, Jonathan Bray, Chris Carroll, Alexie Cottam, Jonathan Driscoll, Christina Heaps, Harvey Horner, Louise Gaskell, Yasmina Green, Ryan Kohn, Tim Lee, Michael Lindall, Robin Pasricha, Jodie Peake, Neil Redford, Matthew Sharkey, Ed Shirley, Jeremy Stubbings, Ella Sunyer, Peter Todd and Alex Trotter.
Shauna Kavanagh for WAY too much to mention, really, but here goes: reading countless drafts, offering phenomenal (and vitally useful) feedback, explaining to us what the hell Snapchat is (even though we still don’t really get it), and providing us with high-quality tea and biscuits on our recce in York. You were a massive part of this book, Shauna, and we owe you big time. You are a truly amazing and inspirational person. THANK YOU.
Vanessa Long for very kindly having us to stay and buying us Bettys treats when we went back to York to illegally break into Derwent halls and relive our youth.
Holly Bourne and Anna McCleery for reading early drafts, and giving us invaluable feedback. You are both proper legends.
Families Ellen and Ivison for being a great bunch of lads and giving us so much love and support.
Diana, Rosey and Jessyka Battle for cups of tea and teen angst.
Everybody in the ridiculously supportive and amazing UKYA and UKMG communities, most notably: Emma Shevah, Non Pratt, Lisa Williamson, Juno Dawson, Liz Hyder, Maura Brickell, Nina Douglas, bloggers extraordinaire Jim and Debbie, Peter Bunzl, Honor and Perdita Cargill, and Abi Elphinstone.
Kate Sullivan, Allison Hellegers and Myrthe Spiteri for their fantastic support from the US and the Netherlands, and generally just for being awesome.
Tom would also like to thank Anna Hards and Laura Yogasundram for their friendship and general greatness over the past fifteen years, and also for kindly donating Interesting Thought Boy (and so, so much more . . .)
And Lucy would like to thank Richard for sacking off Cambridge to come to York and sit on bridges with me. As well as reminding me of a million ways we were in the autumn of 2001.
Plus, Frankie Colborne-Malpas for being Frankie. I am writing this just as you are (supposed to be) revising for your A levels and have all of the freshers experience to come. I can’t wait to hear about how the real Frankie lollops through it all. You are an extremely special, talented and hilarious person and I will always, always want to know what you are up to so don’t forget who your librarian is when you make it to the big time . . .
And to Negin Tellaie for being inspirationally brave and brilliantly witty. Thank you for letting me borrow you as my inspiration for Freshers Negin. I hope you like her.
The Francis Holland class of 2017 for telling me their university hopes and dreams. Most notably – Lily Carr-Gomm for being a first draft reader, Bella, Alice, Issey, Renata, Marina, Lydia, Phoebe, Andrea and, of course, the best library prefects a gal could wish for: Alix Sharp and Lily Sayre.
The staff at Francis Holland who are the most supportive and lovely people that anyone could wish to work with. I am so lucky to be a person who never wakes up and doesn’t want to go to work, even when I’ve been writing all weekend. Your constant support and cake provision keeps me going. Tally, Cat, Pip, Jo, Dorian, Tash and my 11+ sisters Raff and Caroline all made writing this book a little bit more fun. I would also like to formally acknowledge my head teacher Lucy Elphinstone, who has always supported me as a writer as well as a librarian. I wouldn’t be able to pursue both of my passions without her help and understanding.
And, lastly, from both of us, to all our Derwent College friends from 2001 to 2005. This one is for you . . .
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
LOBSTERS by TOM ELLEN & LUCY IVISON
Sam and Hannah have just the summer before uni to find ‘The One’. Their lobster.
But fate works against them, with awkward misunderstandings, the plotting of friends and their own fears of being virgins for ever.
In the end though, it all boils down to love . . .
‘. . . frank, funny and honest.’
THE OBSERVER
‘. . . will make you laugh and cringe.’
THE TELEGRAPH
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-909489-33-2, £7.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-909489-57-8, £7.99
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NEVER EVERS by TOM ELLEN & LUCY IVISON
The school ski trip isn’t going to plan. Mouse has fallen out with her friends and Jack’s totally clueless about girls. But when a French pop star – who Jack’s a dead ringer for – arrives in the resort, the snowy slopes begin to get a bit more interesting . . .
‘This book perfectly captures the highs and lows of the early teenage years.’
THE SUN
‘I gobbled it whole in a day. Everyone who likes enjoying life should read it.’
HOLLY BOURNE
Paperback, ISBN: 978-1-910002-36-0, £6.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-910655-36-8, £6.99
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
THE BABY by LISA DRAKEFORD
Five friends. A party. One unexpected guest.
When Olivia opens the bathroom door, the last thing she expects to see is her best friend Nicola giving birth on the floor – and to say Nicola is shocked is an understatement. She’s not ready to be a mum, a
nd she needs Olivia’s help. But Olivia has her own problems – specifically her bullying boyfriend, Jonty, and keeping an eye on younger sister Alice. And then there’s Nicola’s friend Ben, who’s struggling with secrets of his own . . .
‘I read it in a day and couldn’t do anything else until it was finished.’
THE SUN
‘Written with urgency and style, this is good stuff . . .’
THE SUN
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910002-23-0, £7.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-910002-24-7, £7.99
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UNDER ROSE-TAINTED SKIES by LOUISE GORNALL
I’m Norah, and my life happens within the walls of my house, where I live with my mom, and this evil overlord called Agoraphobia.
Everything’s under control. It’s not rosy – I’m not going to win any prizes for Most Exciting Life or anything, but at least I’m safe from the outside world, right?
Wrong. This new boy, Luke, just moved in next door, and suddenly staying safe isn’t enough. If I don’t take risks, how will I ever get out – or let anyone in?
‘. . . the most beautiful, yet unflinching, depiction of agoraphobia I’ve ever read.’
HOLLY BOURNE
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910655-86-3, £7.99 • ebook, ISBN 978-1-910655-87-0, £7.99
Text © Tom Ellen and Lucy Ivison 2017
First paperback edition published in Great Britain in 2017
This electronic edition published in 2017
Chicken House
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United Kingdom
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Tom Ellen and Lucy Ivison have asserted their right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the authors of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
