No.
It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me. This was too much. Too fast.
‘Stop,’ I said.
For a split second he froze, then he whipped his hands off me.
I wriggled away. He sat back.
I turned away, my fingers now trembling as I straightened my top. I couldn’t believe I’d got so carried away. Now we’d stopped I could hear people on the path just a couple of metres away. I brushed at the back of my head, dusting earth and twigs out of my hair.
‘I’m sorry.’ He knelt in front of me, his eyes all guarded. ‘I don’t know what to say . . . I’m sorry . . .’
‘It’s okay.’ I bit my lip. God, Emmi had been right. He had gone after sex on the first date. But then so had I. I’d been so gone – so out of my head . . .
‘That was scary.’ The words came out without me meaning to say them. I hunched over my knees, feeling humiliated. I didn’t want him to know how intensely I’d felt just then – how much I’d wanted him. Suddenly I felt raw, like he’d peeled my skin away. I covered my face with my hands. I didn’t want to feel such powerful things.
Then I felt his hand on my shoulder.
‘River?’ His voice was shaky.
I looked up. There were tears in his eyes. I swear to God. Real tears.
‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
I shook my head, this massive lump in my throat. ‘No. I just . . . I . . .’ I forced a smile. ‘I bet Romeo and Juliet didn’t have this trouble.’
Flynn smiled back. ‘Too busy talking.’
‘Maybe we should try that,’ I said.
Flynn gazed at me for a long moment. Then he sighed.
‘I hate being in that freaking play,’ he said.
13
I stared at him, genuinely shocked. ‘But the play’s brilliant and so are you. You say the lines like you really mean them.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t mean I hate the play, though I do think a lot of it’s stupid. I mean I hate being in it. Having to go to rehearsals and staying after school and all that.’
I frowned. ‘So why d’you agree to do it, then?’
Flynn glanced sideways at me. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone?’
I nodded, a little thrill shooting through me at the idea we had a Secret.
‘Nichols begged me to play Romeo. I don’t mean he got down on his knees, but he went on and on about it. I kept saying I wasn’t interested. In the end he virtually said that if I wanted a good mark on my A level English coursework, I’d better do it.’
I clapped my hand over my mouth. ‘You’re kidding,’ I said.
Flynn stood up. ‘So then I turned the tables, didn’t I? I said, okay, I’ll do the play – though I can’t come to rehearsals if I’m working – but only on condition you make sure I get a good grade for my course work.’
My eyes widened. ‘No way.’
I scrambled to my feet and followed Flynn past the bushes and under the tree. We emerged onto the path together.
‘Well, maybe it wasn’t quite that blatant.’ Flynn casually brushed the earth and stuff off the back of my shirt. ‘But we both knew what we were saying. Nichols needs me to be in the play so it isn’t a complete frigging shambles. I need to get an A* in my English A level. Sorted.’
I looked up at him, my mind reeling. Now I understood why Mr Nichols always seemed so wary around Flynn – and why he never made a fuss about Flynn missing rehearsals. It was hard to accept – a student and a teacher making that kind of deal. Still, knowing Flynn’s personality – and his acting ability – it made total sense.
‘I guess you don’t need me to tell you how good you are, then,’ I said sarcastically.
He put his arm round my shoulders. ‘I like you saying it, though,’ he said, kissing my hair.
We walked on a bit further. I marvelled at how easy it was to be with him. How natural it felt that, even after all that passion, we should just be walking along this path together.
‘Why are you good at it – acting and stuff?’ I said.
Flynn shrugged. ‘I’ve got a good memory, that’s all. Nichols explains what the lines mean to me once and I remember. After that, all you have to do is say them naturally.’
Saying them naturally was the hardest part, as far as I was concerned. But the last thing I wanted to do was tell Flynn how brilliant he was again. ‘Why d’you say a lot of the play’s stupid?’ I said. ‘I love it, especially all the bits about Romeo and Juliet saying how they feel about each other.’
Flynn laughed. ‘There’s just so much talking. I mean, you’ve got to feel sorry for Romeo. He has to go on and on about how fabulous Juliet is, when all he wants to do is have sex with her. I mean, that’s what he’d do, if he could. Forget all the poetry. Well, most of it.’
An ice-cold chill settled round my heart. ‘Don’t you like poetry?’ My voice sounded small and vulnerable.
Flynn squeezed my shoulder. ‘If you had to choose, between someone you liked writing you poems or kissing you, which would you go for? You can only have one. Forever. Poems or kisses.’
I thought about it. ‘Kisses,’ I said. ‘Because the person would be more there, in the kisses. And so would I. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like the occasional poem as well.’
He grinned. ‘Exactly,’ he said.
We wandered back onto the open green and sat down on the grass. The earlier sunshine had faded now behind a thin layer of cloud. I pulled my jacket out of my bag and started putting it on.
‘I can’t believe you think you’re rubbish-looking,’ Flynn said, watching me. ‘When I saw you in the High Street that time, wearing that top.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I wanted to kiss you the whole time we were having that coffee.’
‘Did you?’ I said, a warm glow spreading right through me.
He reached over and pulled me closer, so our foreheads and noses were almost touching. ‘You know what you said, earlier?’ His voice was low. ‘I don’t want to spoil it, okay? We can take it as slow as you want.’
I stared into his eyes, my heart pounding. This was all some mad dream, wasn’t it? He was looking at me like . . . like he really wanted me. The whole of me. Not just sex, like Emmi had said. Not cynical, like Mum had warned. But real.
Flynn kissed me lightly, then sat back. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said.
I swallowed. ‘Sure.’
‘How come you’ve got such a . . . such an . . . exotic name?’ He chose the word ‘exotic’ carefully. I loved that. More than anything, I loved that.
That he bothered to find the right word. That he knew the right word. That he knew it would matter to me.
‘My mum and dad went through this hippy phase,’ I said. ‘Well, my dad’s still in it. They’re divorced. Dad lives on this commune in the country – an hour or so outside of London. He probably grows half the vegetables your shop delivers.’
Flynn screwed up his face. ‘Don’t you mind him dropping out like that?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s where he belongs. And it’s not dropping out, not really. He works as a teacher. Part time. He’s just not that bothered about material things. About money.’
I bit my lip, wishing I hadn’t mentioned the ‘m’ word.
‘So what about your name,’ I went on quickly. ‘Not Flynn. Your first name. James said it was Patrick. Why don’t you let people call you that?’
Flynn lay back on the grass and looked up at the sky. He was silent for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. When he did speak his voice had an edge to it.
‘Patrick’s my dad’s name,’ he said.
I frowned, not understanding. Okay, so he didn’t get on with his dad . . . but . . .
‘But isn’t Flynn your dad’s name as well?’
He shook his head, not looking at me. ‘They never got married.’
‘I see,’ I said, not really seeing at all. ‘So what do your sisters call you? Surely they can’t call you Flynn if it’s their s
urname too?’
Flynn rolled over onto his side. ‘What’s the time?’
I checked my phone. ‘Almost five.’
He got up. ‘I gotta go,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to pick Caitlin up from a friend’s near home, then come back for Siobhan at six. And I’m doing an extra shift at the café tonight.’
‘Jeez, Flynn,’ I said, scrambling to my feet beside him. ‘Anyone would think you were responsible for your entire family.’ I meant it as a joke, but Flynn stared at me with this icy look in his eye.
‘I am,’ he said. ‘My mum works two jobs. She can’t be at home all the time. I have to look after the others.’
I blinked at him, this panicky feeling rising in my chest. I didn’t want us to part like this – him all cross. Not after how brilliant it had been earlier, when he’d said all that about taking things slow.
We stared at each other for a moment, then he slid his arms round my waist. God, he felt good – his back all solid and muscular. I sank against his chest. I could feel his heart beating under the thin cotton top he was wearing.
‘I wasn’t laughing at you,’ I said quietly. ‘I think it’s amazing how responsible you are. Most guys your age only think about themselves.’
He bent down to find my face. He kissed my nose, then my mouth.
We stood there for I don’t know how long, just lost in that kiss.
And then he pulled away. ‘Sorry I snapped at you before,’ he said quietly. ‘I just feel guilty sometimes.’
I wanted to ask him what he meant. Guilty about what, for goodness’ sake? But he was brushing the grass off his jumper, already walking towards the park exit. I strolled beside him, my heart in my mouth.
When am I going to see you again?
Despite all my earlier directness I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask it. He didn’t say anything until we got to the park gates and turned towards the High Street.
‘So, d’you want to meet up tomorrow?’ he said. ‘I’ve got loads of essays and stuff to do, but I could see you in the afternoon. Mum and Siob’ll be at work and Caitlin’s doing some half-term school club thing.’
I gazed up at his earnest face, suddenly seeing how much he wanted me to want to see him again.
‘Sure,’ I smiled. ‘I’d love to.’
14
I Facebooked Emmi and Grace, then, later, we went out. We ended up in this little pasta restaurant, eating spaghetti in tomato sauce and talking about boys.
I told them it had been good with Flynn, but that I was being sensible, emotionally. . . seeing how things went . . . It was a total lie, of course, but I couldn’t tell them the truth. It was somehow too precious, too private.
Anyway, Emmi did enough talking for the three of us. She and Alex were spending most of their time together now – and as far as Grace and I could work out, all they did was have sex. Emmi delighted in telling us all the different places they’d done it.
‘At the swimming baths on Friday afternoon. We were both soaking wet in this changing cubicle . . .’
Grace frowned. ‘Weren’t you cold?’
Emmi ignored her. ‘Then that night, going home, on the top deck of the number 91. That was awesome. There were these guys at the front of the bus, they didn’t have a clue.’ Emmi twirled up a forkful of spaghetti. She lowered her voice. ‘Then this afternoon,’ she said, ‘we went to the cinema. Really boring film. So we crept out and did it in So we crept out and did it in the ladies’ toilets.’
She shoved the spaghetti into her mouth and smiled triumphantly at us.
I stared at her. How could she be so matter-of-fact about it? She made it sound like a list of places she’d cleaned her teeth.
Not for the first time, I felt completely confused over Emmi’s unemotional attitude to sex. I’d never gone all the way myself, of course, but I could imagine with Flynn it would be mind-blowing. A massive deal.
Grace wrinkled up her snubby little nose. ‘Eew, Emmi, the ladies’ . . . ? You could have caught something,’ she said.
‘No, I couldn’t. We used a condom,’ Emmi said defiantly.
‘She means from the toilet.’ I grinned, then shook my head solemnly. ‘You’re a class act, Em. A class act.’
But Emmi didn’t seem to mind us teasing her. In fact, the more we made it clear we weren’t impressed, the more she looked down her nose at us both – as if there was something wrong with us for not having lost our virginity yet. As if we lacked something important – originality maybe, or confidence or nerve.
No. There was no way I could tell them how it had felt with Flynn in the park. How scarily powerful my feelings had been. How I’d felt when he’d kissed and touched me – like my heart was full to bursting and my breath was being sucked out of me and my head was exploding with it.
Flynn and I met up as arranged the next day. It was warm again and we sat out on the open grass in the park. Flynn was working on some history essay. I’d brought a book, but I didn’t read much. I just sat there, leaning against Flynn’s legs, enjoying the sun on my face.
I still couldn’t believe how easy it was just to be with him. It was like we’d known each other for ages. Like we didn’t need to speak at all.
Flynn worked fast, his lips moving silently as he read from his textbooks then wrote another few sentences. After ten minutes or so he seemed to be concentrating so hard I wasn’t sure he was even aware of my presence.
I turned back to my book, but I couldn’t follow the words on the page. Every thought in my head, every sense in my body was tuned to him. I knew there was so much he kept secret, hidden away from everyone. I was greedy for more of him.
I closed my book and turned round, gazing at his face.
He looked up straight away. ‘Sorry, I won’t be much longer.’ He stared down at the essay. ‘I’ve got to finish this today. I said I’d go and help Mum with her work tomorrow and then I’m doing some extra shifts at Goldbar’s on Wednesday and Thursday.’
I took a deep breath. I knew that talking about Flynn’s jobs was dangerous territory. It was too close to talking about him not having any money.
‘What work does your mum do?’ I said tentatively.
Flynn met my gaze. His eyes darkened, as if daring me to take the mickey. ‘Cleaning jobs,’ he said shortly. ‘And she does shifts at this call centre in Archway too.’
I nodded slowly, sensing that if I said the wrong thing now, he might get up and stalk off.
‘Please don’t get cross,’ I said. ‘But why did you say the other day that you feel guilty about your mum and sister working?’ I took his hand.
His eyes glittered dangerously. But he didn’t pull his hand away.
‘Because they’re bringing in more money than me,’ he muttered.
I frowned. ‘But you’re at school, and you work all the time when you’re not.’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘I’m still at school. I could have left last year. I could be working full time, really helping. Instead, they’re having to pay for me. Well, Mum’s money plus benefits pays the rent and bills. And Siobhan pays for food. My money just means we can buy new clothes occasionally. I hate it.’
His eyes burned so fiercely that I felt scared and turned on all at once.
‘So why did you stay on?’
‘I need A levels to get to law school,’ he said. ‘Once I’m a lawyer I’ll earn ten times more money than you get from doing rubbish cleaning jobs and car washing and stupid organic vegetable deliveries.’
‘You want to be a lawyer?’ I screwed up my face. It was hard to imagine Flynn sitting in some office, wearing a suit, poring over boring law books.
‘No.’ Flynn sighed. He let go of my hand and picked at a blade of grass on the ground between us. ‘Not really. But I want a profession . . . something that people have heard of. Something that’ll make people respect me. And I want to earn a lot of money. So I can look after my mum.’ His voice was very low. He sounded cross, but I was pretty sure he was just embarrassed again.
Flynn snorted with derision. I waited a second, hoping he’d say more, but he didn’t. I wanted to push him, but his face looked so thunderous I didn’t dare. I decided to get back to the earlier part of the conversation.
‘Why d’you want to be a lawyer?’ I said. ‘Why not a doctor? Or . . . or an accountant?’
I wanted him to say something noble – about wanting to fight for people’s rights or keep criminals off the streets or something.
Instead, he just sighed. ‘Well, I can do maths, but I don’t really like it. And science is boring – at least the GCSE courses were,’ he said. ‘A lawyer’s just easier. And there’s lots of money in the commercial stuff.’
I sat there, trying to get my head around this – I had never thought about work like that. I had thoughts sometimes of being a journalist or a therapist, maybe. And I suppose I had an idea that they would both be quite well paid. But I couldn’t imagine picking a career solely on how much money I could make from it.
‘How many people know?’ I said.
He glanced up at me. ‘That I want to be a lawyer?’
I shook my head. ‘Why you want to be a lawyer?’
‘Just Mum and Siob.’ His eyes bored into me. ‘And you.’ He looked down at the blade of grass he’d picked up, then split it with his thumbnail. ‘I don’t know why, but I seem to keep telling you things.’
I took a moment to savour this – to let it flow through me, warming me – then I asked him about his previous girlfriends.
Flynn shrugged a bit, then admitted to a few meaningless (he said) one-nighters, and two girls he’d gone out with for a couple of months each. He said he couldn’t even remember their names.
Falling Fast Page 8
