The Country Escape - Jane Lovering Page 0,66
sure myself until Thea said she’d take the quilt off to post. Then I thought I’d just take my chances.’ He held up a bag. ‘I’ve brought my pumpkin-carving kit. You know, because I value my fingers and your knives might be great for hacking and slashing at unwanted visitors, but – actually, now I realise I might be an unwanted visitor and should not have pointed that out.’
That made me laugh. ‘Of course, you’re not unwanted.’
He gave me a grin. His hair was all dishevelled by the wind, tangled around his head and caught in the graze of stubble up his cheeks. It made him look slightly exotic. ‘Good. Because I’ve also brought a party.’ He held up the rucksack that he’d evidently peeled off his back.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You were right. Why should the kids have all the fun? I know it’s not Halloween until Friday, but I just thought, well, we can test out the pumpkins, and I brought some WKD and some crisps…’ He dug in the bag and pulled out the items. Four bottles of luridly blue WKD, and two tubes of crisps. ‘And also a CD of “Songs of the Nineties”, which I reckon will do us both as music.’
I stared at him, slowly rubbing the towel over my hair to make it look as though I was doing something rather than thinking fast. He’d remembered. That throwaway remark I’d made about Halloween parties – he’d remembered. ‘Wow.’
‘Well, yes, obviously, it’s not much of a party, but I grew up in Steepleton. Three people, one of whom knew all the words to “Livin’ la Vida Loca”, and a packet of Quavers, and you’d got a party. Alcohol and Pringles makes this practically an invitation-only ball.’
I was still staring at him from underneath the towel. ‘You’re wet,’ I said, eventually.
‘Oh. Oh.’ He sat down on the nearest kitchen chair, one of the serial killer ones that Kee had left – they really were going to have to go. Onto the wood-burner, for preference, although since my better ones were now stacked in the shed and probably covered in cobwebs, I didn’t have a lot of choice other than to keep using them for now. ‘Yes. Sorry. Um. Yes. Look, I’ll go back and take the pumpkins with me. I can give them to Rory on Friday.’ He stood up again, the legs of the chair making a horrible noise on the flagstones. ‘Sorry. Again.’
‘What?’ I pulled the towel off my head. ‘What the hell are you on about?’ Why the hell was he talking about leaving when he’d only just arrived? And had brought alcohol?
‘You said…’ Realisation slowly dawned, his eyes widened behind the glasses and he looked down at himself. His coat was dripping on the floor. ‘Oh. You meant literally wet.’
‘Of course, I did! You didn’t think I meant…’ I stared at him. ‘You thought I was calling you pathetic? Gabriel…’ I didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He was still looking at the floor.
‘It scars you, you know.’ His voice was very quiet. ‘If they’d attacked me with razor blades or something, you’d see the marks. But they attacked me with words, and that’s worse, because people forget words. They forget what they said and how they were, and you’re supposed to smile and say that we’re all grown up now and it’s done and forgotten, but it fucking isn’t.’ He flicked a glance up to my face. I don’t know what expression he saw there but he carried on talking. ‘If I had scars all over my arms I could hold them up and say, “This is what you did to me.” But there’s nothing to see. So I have to pretend it’s all right, but it lives on inside you like some kind of little fireworm that flares up every now and again and just eats away at the person you’ve tried so hard to be.’
I put a hand on his arm. Now he looked in my face, properly, scanning me, and I didn’t know what he could see, or how much of what I felt was showing. ‘Bullying is wrong.’ They were all the words that came to me.
‘Look, I’m sorry I reacted like that. It’s actually becoming increasingly obvious what you really meant – it’s soaked through to my underwear – and I’m sorry I got a bit…’ He tailed off. His eyes were huge. ‘Yeah,’ he finished.
I wanted to move in closer. To give him a hug, to