‘A while ago,’ I say, keeping my voice down. I can feel Jackson watching us across the circle.
Betsy clears her throat pointedly.
‘Sorry!’ I say. ‘Bonfires. I’m ready, Betsy.’
I ignore Ethan’s glances and get on with my minutes. Having him here is making the meeting feel different – I’m seeing it from his point of view, like when someone watches your favourite TV show and all of a sudden you realise how rubbish the production values are. I can see Jackson watching Ethan, too, steady and unreadable.
I try to concentrate on the meeting. Betsy is explaining ‘for any newcomers’ (so, Ethan) that May Day is a traditional Gaelic festival celebrated here in Hamleigh for generations. She’s getting really deep-dive on the mythology for something that is essentially just the usual quirky British fayre-type merriment, only with a maypole.
Astonishingly little is achieved in the meeting, except that I’ve got lumbered with finding a May Queen and a May King for the parade, which is going to be tricky when the only people I know in Hamleigh are present, and don’t really like me. But I don’t want to say no to Betsy, so I’ll have to think of something.
I pack up and leave the meeting as soon as it’s done.
‘Leena?’ Ethan says as I head for the door, dodging Piotr, who is trying to stop Penelope hauling Roland out of his seat on her own. ‘Leena, slow down!’
‘What were you doing in there?’ I hiss, as we step outside. It’s raining, thick sideways rain that gets under your collar right away.
Ethan swears. He hates getting his hair wet. ‘God, this place,’ he moans, looking up at the sky.
‘You know, it also rains in London.’
‘Why are you so pissed at me?’ Ethan says, walking fast to keep up with me. ‘Was it what I said about northerners? Come on, Leena, I figured Jackson was the sort of guy who could take a joke. And why do you care, anyway? You keep saying how everyone chooses his side over yours and how awful he’s made you feel about the dog …’
‘Actually, I keep saying how awful I feel about the dog. Jackson is a really good guy and he’s not held that over me at all. You were the one acting all – all obnoxious and knobby, and I’ve been trying so hard to make a good impression on these people, and …’
‘Whoa!’ Ethan tugs my arm to pull me to a stop in the bus shelter. ‘Hello? I’m obnoxious and knobby, now, am I?’
‘I meant …’
‘You’re meant to be on my side, angel, aren’t you?’ He looks hurt. ‘Why do you care so much what these people think of you?’
I sag. ‘I don’t know, really.’
What am I doing? First yelling at my mum, then at Ethan. I need to get a grip on myself.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, taking his hands. ‘I’ve been kind of crazy these last few days – weeks, maybe.’
Ethan sighs, then leans forward and kisses me on the nose. ‘Come on. Let’s get you home and in the bath, hey?’
*
Ethan has to head back to London pretty much as soon as we get back from the meeting, which is probably a good thing: I’m meant to be spending the day helping Jackson to decorate the Year One classroom as my penance for losing Hank. I’d hoped Ethan would muck in and help, but now I really don’t fancy partaking of another Jackson-Ethan meet-up, at least not until Ethan’s had longer to cool off and realise he needs to apologise.
Jackson’s truck pulls into the car park just as I climb out of Agatha the Ford Ka, sweating slightly after a roasting from the air con. I didn’t pack enough rough clothes, so I’m in skinny black trousers and a fleece I borrowed from Grandma, which I assume is fine for doing DIY as it already has an enormous purple paint splodge over one boob. (Interesting, as nothing in Grandma’s house is painted purple.) Jackson is wearing threadbare jeans and a flannel shirt. He gives me a quick smile as he puts down the paint tins and brushes to unlock the doors.
‘Hi. You better at the roller or the fiddly bits?’ he says.
‘Err, fiddly bits,’ I say. I was expecting a frostier greeting after this morning; I’m a little taken aback.
I follow as he hefts the paint through to the classroom. It’s strange seeing a school with no children dashing about – it makes you realise how small and