I glance back at Mr Milford.
‘You got this,’ he mouths. ‘Ready?’
I nod before I can change my mind.
The first few notes that come out of my mouth are quiet and hesitant. My heart begins to quicken. I can’t fall apart. Not here, not now.
Then I remember that Tanvi is just behind me, rooting for me, and so is Mr Milford, and the rest of the choir, and Jodie, and Noah, and this strange sense of calm washes over me, melting my anxiety away and my voice begins to soar, fierce and powerful and passionate, as I sing like my life depends on it.
The applause is like nothing I’ve ever heard – clapping and stamping and cheering combined. I’m so thrown I forget to take a proper bow, managing a sort of nod before floating back to my place in a daze. My choir mates are all clapping too, Tanvi the loudest of all, grinning madly as she pounds her hands together.
It’s only as the introduction for the final song of the night, ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’, kicks in that I realize my face is wet with happy tears I didn’t even know had fallen.
There’s just one thing stopping the moment from being perfect. And I know it’s a stupid thing, because I even didn’t tell Bonnie about the concert and even if I had she wouldn’t have been able to come, but in this moment, there’s only one more thing I want, and that’s for my mum to be in the audience right now.
44
It takes me a full ten minutes to make it across the foyer, random parents and people I barely know stopping me and congratulating me on my performance. I’m accosted by Jodie (on tinselly crutches) and her friend Benny, both of them looking festive in equally hideous Christmas jumpers.
‘OMG!’ Jodie squeals. You can sing, Ro!’
‘Have you thought about going on X Factor?’ Benny, a skinny boy with a bleached-blond afro, asks. ‘Cos you totally should.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, laughing.
‘What?’ he cries. ‘You crazy, girl!’
Benny is still trying to persuade me to apply for next year’s auditions when I spot Noah in my peripheral vision. Luckily, Jodie notices him too, a smile spreading across her face.
‘Come on, Benny,’ she says, pulling at her Benny’s sleeve and winking at me. ‘Let’s make tracks, I’m gasping for a pint.’
I wave them off before turning to face Noah. He’s wearing his school uniform. Today is his last day of term too.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Hi,’ he replies.
He hesitates before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. He aims a little off and gets my ear. It still feels nice though.
‘You were really good,’ he says.
‘Thank you.’
‘No, you don’t get it – you were really, really, really good, Ro.’
‘Thank you,’ I say again, laughing.
There’s a pause.
‘Er, what are you doing on Sunday?’ he asks.
‘No plans, I don’t think.’
‘Um, do you want to come over to my mum’s place? She’s taking Finn to this football tournament in Sheffield so we’ll be able to watch what we want on TV and stuff, and not have Finn interrupting all the time …’ He trails off, his olive cheeks turning pinker by the second.
‘OK,’ I say, my heart fluttering a little.
‘OK, great,’ he says, smiling shyly. ‘Hang on a second, my phone’s ringing.’ He pulls it out of his pocket. ‘It’s my irritatingly punctual mum. She’s outside. Sorry.’
‘No worries. See you Sunday then?’
‘Yeah. We’ll come pick you up from Tanvi’s. Is around ten OK?’
‘Great.’
There’s another pause. Noah leans in for a second kiss. This time his aim is perfect.
*
I find Tanvi’s family by the exit. When I approach, they break into noisy cheers. It’s lovely but I can’t help but feel sad too. Because no matter how kind and welcoming they are, the Shahs can’t help but act as a reminder that my actual family is nowhere to be seen.
I sent Dad a text about the concert last week. His reply came two days later:
Sorry, but it’s Izzy’s dance recital that night. Hope it goes well. Dad x
I wasn’t exactly surprised, but it still hurt. I have a feeling it always will a bit.
I’m chatting to Prisha when Tanvi interrupts us. ‘Sorry to butt in,’ she says. ‘But can I borrow Ro for a second?’
‘Sure,’ Prisha says, standing aside.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘There’s someone here to see you.’
‘Who?’ I ask, frowning.
Please not my dad.
She points.
The foyer is so crowded, it takes me a few seconds to work out what I’m supposed to be looking at.
Then I see her.
Standing over by the Christmas tree, a backpack at her feet.
Bonnie.
Her hair is freshly dyed a deep cherry red for the winter. It suits her.
‘I invited her,’ Tanvi says. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
I shake my head wordlessly and push my way through the crowd. I’m a couple of metres away when Bonnie notices me, her face springing into a smile.
‘You’re here,’ I say, stopping in front of her.
I don’t know why, but I sound out of breath.
‘I’m here,’ she confirms.
‘But I thought you had a gig.’
‘I got Danielle to cover it for me.’
There’s a pause as I process the fact that Bonnie was in the audience just now, that she heard me sing after all.
‘Your voice, Ro,’ Bonnie says. ‘It’s … it’s outstanding.’
My heart swells. I never knew how much I wanted to hear her say that until she did.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
‘I mean it, Ro. It’s beautiful. I had no idea …’ She takes hold of my hands. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, her eyes filling with tears. ‘About the audition. I behaved badly and it cost you a place with that choir, I can see that now. Can you try again? Please tell me you’ll get another chance.’
‘I, I suppose so,’ I say. ‘Next year maybe.’
‘Good,’ Bonnie says, pumping my arms, her face almost as red as her hair. ‘Promise me you’ll try again, won’t you? Please.’
‘OK,’ I say.
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
And in that moment, I know I’ll keep my word, that I’ll definitely try again.
‘Good girl.’
She lets go of my hands. We look at our feet in unison, suddenly slightly shy with each other.
Bonnie clears her throat. ‘Look, I don’t suppose you fancy coming home with me tonight?’
I look up. ‘But I thought the house wasn’t going to be ready until way after Christmas?’
‘I managed to move things along a bit.’
I hesitate. I wasn’t expecting this. Any of it.
‘It’s not perfect,’ Bonnie continues. ‘I mean, there’s still a lot of stuff and I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to sort it all. It’s early days and I’ve got a lot of progress still to make but I’m getting there, I am …
‘Carina says it’s OK, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ she adds. ‘That can we can review things after Christmas. I’ve got some overnight things for you. A toothbrush, pyjamas, a towel …’ She points down at the backpack.
When I don’t say anything, her face droops with disappointment.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have sprung it on you,’ she says. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise, that’s all. Silly of me …’
‘No, no,’ I say. ‘It’s not that. It’s just that me and Tanvi had plans to go to Shake It Off.’
‘Oh, well, I won’t keep you then. How about I give you a ring tomorrow instead?’ She bends down to pick up the backpack.
‘Wait,’ I say. My eyes search the crowd for Tanvi. She spots me and smiles and waves. I turn back to Bonnie. ‘What if Tanvi came with us instead?’
‘Yes. I mean, if that’s OK with you.’
Bonnie’s face relaxes into a smile. ‘I’d really like that, Ro.’
Bonnie, Tanvi and I catch the bus home, getting off a couple of stops early to buy fish and chips. We walk the rest of the way, holding our individually wrapped portions in our hands to keep our fingers warm, Bonnie and Tanvi getting on like old friends, just like I would have predicted, had it ever crossed my mind that one day we’d all be heading home together like this.
I haven’t been back to Arcadia Avenue since the night of the fire and it feels strange to walk down the street for the first time in six weeks. Stripped of its climbing ivy, the house looks naked and vulnerable, a bit like Bonnie without her make-up.
Instinctively, I make my way down the path leading to the back door, Tanvi automatically following.
‘I thought we could go through the front,’ Bonnie calls after us, a set of shiny keys dangling from her index finger.
I swallow hard. The last time I went through the front door I was barely tall enough to peep through the letter box. In the darkness, Tanvi finds my hand and gives it a squeeze.
‘Remember what I said before,’ Bonnie says in a low voice as I retrace my steps towards her, Tanvi just behind me. ‘It’s not perfect.’
‘I remember, Bonnie,’ I say.
Bonnie smiles a nervous smile and inserts the key into the lock. For a moment it seems to stick, but with a gentle wiggle it turns and the door creaks open. I’m greeted with the smell of fresh paint, a scent so incongruous with this house it makes my brain ache with confusion.
Bonnie reaches inside and turns on the light. As I peer into the illuminated hallway, I realize that I’ve never seen it from this angle before.
Bonnie’s right – it isn’t perfect. There’s still stuff piled up against the walls, but substantially less than before, and there’s a defined path leading to the kitchen straight ahead. My eyes fall to the carpet.
‘It’s green,’ I say softly.
‘What?’ Bonnie asks.
I shake my head and smile. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Miracles come in all different shapes and forms. Some are big and dramatic, others small and quiet.
To the outside world, it’s probably a very ordinary scene – a mother, her daughter and her daughter’s best friend sitting at the kitchen table eating fish and chips straight from the paper.
But Ro Snow knows differently.
Acknowledgements
This book would not exist were it not for the patience and enthusiasm of my wonderful publisher, David Fickling Books. The entire team is such a pleasure to work with and I thank my lucky stars every day that I get to call myself a DFB author. Special thanks go to my editor, Bella Pearson. You always push me to make my books the best they can possibly be with your probing questions, fiendishly clever suggestions and almost forensic attention to detail. It goes without saying, but I’m going to miss you terribly. I’d also love to thank Rosie Fickling for being an invaluable second pair of eyes and championing Ro’s story from the very beginning, the design team (especially Alice Todd) for another smasher of a cover, Carolyn McGlone for being calm and kind and brilliant at all times, Phil Earle for his continued passion and generosity, and David Fickling for making every moment a joy.
Massive thanks to my agent, Catherine Clarke, for making me feel safe and sane every step of the way! Your support and guidance means the world.
A big shout-out to the authors, bloggers, booksellers and publishing folk that make up the UK YA community – you make it a very special place to be. In particular, I’d like to thank Non Pratt for being such a wonderful friend (and Aldi, for supplying the cheap champagne).
Thanks to Gregory Ashton for the title, too many brilliant ideas to count and some solid gold friendship, Matt Phillips for reading an early draft and persuading me to stick with it, Anne Murphy for answering my questions about social work procedures and Kath Nolan and Helen Williamson for answering my questions about hospital procedures (in both cases, any errors are entirely my own).
A special thank you to Emerson Milford Dickson for bidding so generously in the Authors for Grenfell auction. Thank you for letting me use not one, but two of your names in the book.
I started writing this book in 2014, abandoning it twice before deciding to resurrect it (with serious intent!) in January 2017. My Monday night writing group colleagues have been valued readers from the very beginning. Chris, Maria, Sara-Mae, Fiona and James, thank you for your ongoing patience and support.
As always, thanks to my family (Mum, Dad, Helen, Jake and Isla) for supporting me in their own unique down-to-earth way, and my dear friends Nikki Dibley, Katherine Jackson, Winnie Tang and Dave Whitfield for letting me rabbit on about plot holes and titles and deadlines. That’s true friendship, right there.
Finally, I’d like to thank Dylan Bray. On top of being my biggest cheerleader, our conversations had a genuine impact on the shape of the finished book. The free haircuts are just a bonus, honest.
Also by Lisa Williamson:
The Art of Being Normal
All About Mia
Co-written:
Floored
Copyright
Paper Avalanche
First published in 2019
by David Fickling Books, 31 Beaumont Street, Oxford, OX1 2NP
This ebook edition first published in 2019
All rights reserved
Text © Lisa Williamson, 2019
Cover Design © Alice Todd, 2019
The right of Lisa Williamson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
ISBN 978–1–91098–999–9
Paper Avalanche Page 27
